NP: Bob Mould, Body of Song

After Vaughan's last night, I'm feeling a bit on the sluggish side today, but for some reason I made it through Monday unscathed. For the most part anyway. You'd think that drinking beer mostly all day in the 90-degree heat at Lollapalooza (review coming soon, I swear) on Saturday, followed by soccer in the 100-degree heat on Sunday, more beer, and a four-hour gig in an unconditioned Cullen's -- with, natch, still more beer -- would have pretty much been the end of me.

You'd think wrong. Yeah, I'm surprised, too. I didn't even take my normal half-day off after the Sunday night gig. More on that later, too. It was an odd one, and not just because of the heat.

The ideal answer is that intense heat and beer combine to form some sort of superfuel that allows me to function without sleep. More likely it's the effects of biking to work and playing lots of soccer on my energy levels. Those effects still haven't translated into any appreciable weight loss, but I'm starting to resign myself to life at 225.

Speaking of last night, I expected Pat and Ron to be much punchier in extra innings of a game that was delayed almost three hours, with the clock striking 1am. It was funny hearing a bunch of people chanting Andy Masur's name by the booth, though.