After spending Friday night at the movies (thank you, Mark Wahlberg and your Invincible self) and Saturday plotting out our next marketing moves with Exist over a delicious dinner at The Fat Cat Pie Company, Sunday was shaping up to look pretty boring.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know."
Eyes light up as though someone hit a switch.
An hour later, we were on the train to NYC. Our mission?
Robin and I, reuniting after a long hiatus, discussed the possibility of bringing Six Until Me. to the stage. I was unwilling to subject myself to red suspenders, so the deal never sealed. Maybe next time. He looks at me with such waxy affection.
Ah, our old pal Bono. He's interested in writing a song about the plight of medical insurance in America. I told him to consult the blogosphere for further insight. Then we high-fived. All wax.
I guess this sort of makes it official: Hillary and Kerri in 2008.
After a few songs with the lads from Liverpool, Chris and I said our goodbyes and headed out to a little Italian cafe in Manhattan for pizza and a bottle of wine, as we waxed poetic about our afternoon adventures.
...Waxed poetic. I think the whole reason for this post was to utilize that pun.