I elbowed Toby Keith

He's the country singer who wrote "These Colors Don't Run," and it was an accident. Actually I thought he was part of the stagecrew, until I saw him turn a corner and head for Stephen Colbert's guest chair.

See, April and I got the very last standby tickets for the Colbert Report (drop the T -- it's French, bitch). So we were standing next to an old guy from Wisconsin who was far less interested in talking bowling with me as he was in staring at boobs with April. Anyway, Toby walked past and I knocked him a good one. Oops.

Turns out Toby is some kind of redneck Democrat or something, with a new movie called, get this, Beer For My Horses. He sang, which was not so hotso. Would've preferred the originally scheduled guest, the biker who stopped "journalist" Robert Novak from leaving the scene of his hit and run. After Novak caught the cancer, they didn't feel like making fun of him. Go figure.

Here I am outside the studio.

Earlier, we met Paul at PS1 for some disco and James Turrell light exhibit action. He's the guy who bought that crater 38 years ago and has been working on it ever since.

Not everyone liked the exhibit, which was a hole cut in the ceiling.

There were lots of other hipsters, many sporting these Roman sandals. Go Trojans!

April wants me to mention that girls without bras and mannequins with nipples are running rampant here. I have no pictures of that, but I have one of this guy, who forgot his pants.

We also went to the best burger place in town, Burger Joint. Bizarrely enough, this tiny grill is housed in the belly of a super-fancy hotel, denoted by a little glowing burger sign. If you don't order correctly, you get sent to the end of the line.

Look, the white trash aesthetic is out of control.

This place was in Chelsea, so I figured it was an art gallery, but no it was one of those clothing stores where they have three things on a table, each costing more than a small car. Great door though.

There are lots of multiple-use spaces here. Went to see Cause Co-motion at the Cakeshop, which has a bakery and a record store upstairs and a venue downstairs. And then I picked up a CD by a fantastic local band, My Teenage Stride (see their cute videos here and here), at Sound Fix, a Brooklyn record store attached to a bar. I wonder how many people do a lot of drunk purchasing instead of dialing. Smart business move.

I will leave you with a pic of April and I at PS1. I can't figure out how to turn it rightside up on this computer. Trust me, it's cute.