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So I saw Coldplay in concert last night and they were, in a word, awesome! There was screaming, dancing, blinding strobe lights, and millions and millions of paper butterflies–all the ingredients necessary for a kick-ass concert. But the weirdest part of the night? I came away from the whole experience thinking that Chris Martin is actually attractive. But not only attractive, like. . . a hottie (do the kids still use “hottie”?). Now, you must understand that I’ve always been in the camp of “What is Gwen chris-martinthinking?” but now I realize that Mr Martin is not necessarily the gigantic leap down from Brad Pitt that I once thought he was (still a step down, but who isn’t compared to Brad Pitt?). I mean, lets face it, the guy is┬áSUPER British. I mean REALLY, REALLY British. What with his almost transparent skin, buggy eyes, awkward smile, and gangly extremities, he’s practically your stereotypical 18th century Hobo who wanders around London in rags and the pile of mud he slept on the previous night, getting shooed away by the local Baker. But, this is all an illusion my friend! Some horrific fantasy my mind has played on me for years. . .until last night. On stage, the Hoboness disappears and is replaced by the musical force that is Chris Martin. He’s funny and charming and he plays the guitar (oh, the power of the guitar!). Then again, maybe anyone can look that great on stage, under the correct lighting, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans (and millions of butterflies), playing the guitar. An interesting project in human psychology that should surely be further investigated, but not by me.

Seriously, those blue eyes are staring into the depths of my soul.