1976 must have been a magical golden year or something, because I know all these cool people who have turned 30 this year. As a 31-year-old, I feel it is my duty to lead them through this coming of age.
Last night was James’ 30th, and he had a totally awesome party. There was a nice mix of his friends (all of whom are ace), and a number of the captionettes from work showed up. Things were going well, and then someone got the SingStar out.
I’ve never played SingStar before, but just for the record, I would like to say that I kick arse at it. I sang “Come on, Eileen” (and I put the comma in there, even though Dexy’s Midnight Runners refused to), “Ice Ice Baby” (but SingStar refused to recognised my awesomeness on the mic), “Atomic” (“To-niiiiiiiiight”), Rio (channelling the spirit of Le Bon), “Song 2” (channelling Alex James, because he is hot) and I beat the birthday boy on Erasure’s “A little respect”. They say musical skill is heritable, so I blame my mum for my SingStar skillz.
MySpace managed to come up as a topic of conversation on more than one occasion, which is surely a zeitgeisty sort of thing.
I stayed up far too late and lost my voice, but it was bloody good night. I woke up this morning and discovered The Lost Boys DVD was in my bag. Excellent.