Memo

Just so everyone knows, I was not the whitest girl at the KRS-One concert last night. Granted, I was one of the smallest people there, swallowed in a sea of linebackers nostagic for late '80s hip-hop, but I wasn't the whitest girl there.

The girl who stood directly to my right for the majority of the show took that prize. She was a Lisa Loeb look-alike, who clapped along like she was at a Jason Collett show and she lacked in the booty-shaking rhythm that makes me a little less white. Her boyfriend was wearing a Richmond club district worthy white Diesel zip-up.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, is homeless. It's the ultimate street cred, so to speak.

KRS-one-one-one!

Oh, and RZA came up to perform. It's too bad I don't like Wu-Tang.

(Truth be told, every CMW weekend keeps getting weirder. Two years ago, I met Nando at MSTRKRFT. Last year, I watched Fefe Dobson and Jackson Soul. I was glad I didn't have to work this year. With record snowfalls, I don't think any amount of free shows would make hawking Rogers products in the blowing snow enjoyable. Plus, what's Diamond Dog without Alice?)