YOU'LL HAVE TO SING LOUDER THAN THAT TO STOP A WAR

I still have confetti in my hair. And on my person. And in my car. And on my wife. And in my digestive tract, because I drank at least one piece that landed in Jamee's beer.

We drove the two-and-a-half hours to Charlottesville to see The Flaming Lips tonight. Just got back and will be crashing shortly. Worth the trip and the only thing that would have made it better was if Chaps, who serve the best milkshakes in Virginia, was still open after the show.

We were showered with confetti, we sang along, and though nobody was molested by a panda, a good time was had by all.

And when Mathilda is old enough for science projects, we're building a confetti cannon.

The test is over...