Hippo Brigade

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Sunday night we saw Radiohead at the Hollywood Bowl. Their show was perfection, except for that one time Thom forgot the lyrics and he was all, “bullocks!” Oh, to be British.

But first we walked around Robertson Blvd in West Hollywood, in hopes of running into the cast of The Hills. After no signs of Heidi and Spence, we got a little hungry and ate at the Ivy, where my drink cost 95 dollars.

Then we headed to the show.

We watched Radiohead make amazing sounds with thousands of other people, all of whom where mildly sedated and gently swaying.

I’ll admit I was a little high from the billows of second hand smoke that were so lovingly blown in my direction from Mr. One Row Down, and Mr. Directly Behind Me, and Mr. To My Right. Thanks boys, the concert wouldn’t have been the same without you!

They neglected to play my favorite song, Fake Plastic Trees, and part of me thanks them for that, because if they played it, my brain might have exploded.