The concert? So. unbelievably. BEST. I don't think I've ever heard a live band play so tight EVER; they sounded exactly like their CD. And my homies in Wookie!?!? They were ready and rocked. It was so cool to see them having fun again, and they stayed sober through their set, even! Good friends, good music -- it was all good. As an extra bonus? I'm not even hung over today.

I do think the coolest part of the night, however, was when I went up to Roger as they were getting on the bus, and I handed him my article. He said he'd read it, of course, but I told him that I give him serious credit, because here, I thought that all my questions were different and interesting when he and I talked, but then when I went to write the article and googled him, I found that at least a dozen other writers were as interesting as I thought I was. And yet when we talked, he made it seem like he'd never heard my questions before, and you know, that's got to get old after awhile. I mean, I know I hate repeating shit over and over and over until I want to kill myself or the person asking, right? But you know he said? He said that we had a great talk and that I made him think. Not only that, but HE REMEMBERED I TALKED TO HIM WHEN THE BAND WAS IN BOSTON. AND MY NAME. If ever there was a way to reserve a place in my jaded heart forever, that was it, because I now want to have his love children. Think his wife and kids will mind?

All right, seriously, though, it's bands like the Peacemakers that make live music cool -- that give-it-all-you-got and then total accessibility to fans. If you've never experienced a live show like that, go forth and find one, and then pimp that band out to everyone you know so that they don't have to sign with a huge record label and get the heart and soul sucked out of it. I know I'll be doing it for the Peacemakers.
Oh, whatEVER.

Anyway, tonight was Puente's going-away bash, and the one up-until-two-hours-ago-ex-friend and I were doing the whole "I'm not LOOKING at you" thing when, all of a sudden, she said "Mich ..." and I looked at her. Then she says, "Did you know (our one friend who thought the whole fight was stupid) is going to the Plain-Dealer?" And I'm like, "Holy shit! I SO did not know that!" So then it started slowly, talking to each other in the whole context of the group, and then, the bathroom trip. We went to the can, and as we were washing our hands, I said "Come here," and gave her a hug and said I missed her -- which I did, don't let me fool you -- and she said she missed me, too. And then we spent an hour or so in the parking lot catching up on shit. The end. I guess I'm still kind of shell-shocked about the whole thing, but happy nonetheless, because really? I don't like carrying that kind of negativity around, no matter what I say about being at peace with shit like that. Now, if I can just make a decision about the other friend who called me today wanting to make peace ...

But the big news? I still fit into my Tommy cropped jeans from last summer. That's one less article of clothing I have to replace!
Oh, whatEVER.

Wait! I know! Let's start with how hot I looked; for someone who lives in yoga pants and sweatshirts (and dyes in the summer), it's always an adventure when I get decked out. But the simple white sweater from Old Navy, the black dress pants, the rose/orange dyed silk scarf from Israel, the genuine pearl stud earrings and, of course, the red, 3-1/2 inch Manolo slingbacks served me well. Hair? Perfect. Makeup? It enhanced, not hindered. (You know how sometimes you wake up and realize that makeup is just not going to help you and, in some cases, make it worse? Didn't happen today. Zits were sufficiently covered and everything.) What can I say? I was hot.

Got to the Hilton about 15 minutes before Perry was supposed to speak (took the Outer Drive downtown since every road between here and Chicago is a disaster) and was warmly welcomed by my former colleagues, most of whom didn't recognize me at first. I'd like to think it was because I was too hot for words, but more likely it was because I've gained weight. Or it could be because I was wearing my contacts. Anyway, my girl Kaffy, who still works at IEG, escorted me to the Continental Ballroom, where Mr. Farrell was giving his keynote. I was told I could sit anywhere I wanted, so I chose a table that was not too close, but far enough up front that I wouldn't have to watch him on the big sceeen.

About 15 minutes after I sat down, the lights went down, and a video higlighting Lollapalooza 2003 roared onto the screen. Since it wasn't in a This-is-what-it-is kind of format, it was funny watching the sponsorship people so not getting it, so not sure whether to laugh at the hijinks or whether to admit they were frightened of what was going to come next. I mean, hey! I can see Perry killing the $1,500 conference buzz for the 40-something Norah Jones set populating it.

And then, a little haltingly, he walked in.

For some reason, I was totally expecting him to be in a black suit with exaggerated pin stripes, kinda like the one Dave Navarro wore on his wedding day to Carmen. But I was at least in the ballpark: The man walked in wearing a well-tailored, vintage gray pin-striped suit with a dusty pink shirt and matching tie. I know, right? Much more conservative than I anticipated. And yeah, he really is that skinny. Couldn't tell how tall he is, but way thin. And totally out of his element talking to a bunch of business people.

But damned if he didn't pull it off.

I'm not going to go into what he talked about, because I was covering it, but aside from the fact that you could tell he was like whoa, this is so not my thing, he delivered a thoughtful, intelligent speech THAT I GOT TO SEE AND YOU DIDN'T! Bwahahahahahahahaha!

But it only got better from there. See, after he finished, I went to say hi to Lesa, the owner of the company, and to thank her for letting me sit in. And get this: She and her sister Laren, who also works for the company, told me that they thought Perry would be dropping in on the Conrad Hilton Suite for the exclusive cocktail party before the evening festivities and that if I WANTED TO GO, THEY WOULD GIVE ME A VIP PASS UP THERE! Holy Shit, right!?!?! I was stunned -- and totally unprepared; here I thought I was going to be listening to him speak, and now, I might actually be talking to him, and I have not one damn intelligent question. So after hyperventilating on the phone with my editor at the magazine, we pulled it together, and I was ready to go.

So of course he doesn't show, but I still got to hang in the Conrad Hilton Suite and catch up with some of the folks I used to work with, plus find out what everyone else thought of Perry's speech, which gives me more fodder for the article I want to do.

Did I mention how cool my day was?
Oh, whatEVER.