The Badly Drawn Boy show was very good, but that's beside the point. The point itself is that the doorman at Hiro Ballroom is a big dumb idiot. I misplaced my driver's license a few months ago, and am always forgetting to bring my passport, unless I'm flying. But I'm 30, I have some grey hairs and my skin isn't as tight as it once was - I don't even expect to be carded anymore.

I explain to the doorman that I'm ID-free, tell him how old I am, apologize, and smile at him. He is *immediately* belligerent, genuinely grade-A disproportionately pissed off, as though I've done this to him on purpose and it's caused him great harm. "What year were you born?"

"1976," still smiling.

"How old are you??"

Uh. "Still 30."

"When did you turn 30???"

"July of 2006. I was born in July of 1976."

"You need ID!! What would you do if the cops stopped you on the street and demanded your ID? How would you prove who you are??"

Now I'm not smiling anymore. "Okay, when would the cops stop me in the street and demand my ID? They can't actually do that."

God knows who he's talking to at this point. "See, she's borderline. I can't tell how old she is."

I try smiling again. "Well, that's very flattering."

"It's not flattering if I don't let you in."

"No, it's still flattering, I just wouldn't get to see the show. Please, ask me anything." Here, I'm expecting 'when did you graduate high school' or 'who ran for president in '84' or anything intelligent, but instead:

"How old are you??"

"30."

"Fine, go in. But I'm not stamping your hand."

I'm suspended strangely - I lose my weekdays to the office and my weekends to constant travel, yet the weather barely changes, already halfway through October and still a mild, drab summer. It feels like one unbelievably long day. You think I've been remiss in updating the site, but it was only this morning, two weeks ago!

I wouldn't mind a change. The air swings by at a perpetual, comfortable 75 degrees. I get up every morning and go to work, I eat, I watch tv, I go to bed, I dream, I dream, repeat. The only difference from week to week is what I'm reading on the subway. I have the occasional excitement - some nice dinners out, some friends in, a concert here and there (the Shins last month, Badly Drawn Boy tomorrow, etc.) and my two new columns on UGO (here and here)- but maybe something bigger.

I don't know what. A drastic haircut? A pony? Time will tell, if it ever deigns to pass.