Last night, I went to Times Square.
I was greeted with throngs of screaming teenagers, like, dying over one Gossip Girl arrival after another. Inside was worse, paparazzi (and PR) pushed and shoved and threatened to escort us out if we – standing at a whopping 5’4” – didn’t get out of their way to take the perfect shot.
But after waiting forty-five minutes for Leighton to sing, I wasn’t going anywhere. When she did come on stage, well, who knew white leggings painted with blue and yellow fallopian tubes even existed? I spent a minute wondering where the bangs came from, then I turned on the camera and watched Carter Baizen try and boogie his way past Rufus onto the stage.
And then, after one song, I escaped, kind of devastated I’d skipped Fred Perry’s birthday celebration with a civilized Friendly Fires performance in lieu of the violent teenage mob.