Sniff. Bob Keeshan, also known as Captain Kangaroo, died. First Mister Rogers, now this? Siiiigh. We'll miss you, Captain.

In happier news, I went out last night and saw The Decemberists, who are now my all time favorite band. I was not feeling particularly well that night, but am so glad I rallied to get out and see some tunes. They even did a lovely (and very sexy) cover of "Ask" by the Smiths, which was a nice end to the night. Amusing to see all of the hipsters in their black nerd glasses singing along to it.

This morning I'm preoccupied with the realization of what a homebody I've become. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT...but still. I get truly giddy at the thought of having a weekend spread out before me with nothing at all to do...no one to see...nowhere to go but nestle inside for two solid days and read and nap and nest and talk to no one at all.

So there I was, standing in the club, sans beer because I still felt hungover if that's possible, not sure what to do with my hands (no beer to hold) and feeling very out of place and awkward and it hit me how long it had been since I went OUT. And I got conflicted with the two trains of thought -- one saying "if you want to meet new people and be a part of the world and stop bitching about being bored, you need to get out more," and the other saying "but I'm not feeling comfortable here and my feet hurt and I've been standing for four hours and I'd much rather just be home watching "The West Wing."

Have to find a happy medium, I think, and not sure how to do it. I feel like I've been a shut in for too long and my comfort bubble has gotten freaking ENORMOUS. Hmmm. Can't think too long on this or I'll get depressed and it's Friday and that will lead to...two solid days of staying inside.