Effluvia

Stubby flips! This is Stubby Clapp, the fan-favorite second baseman of the Memphis Redbirds. I would have just linked to this picture in the Commercial Appeal, but links there tend to disappear. Here's the caption: Game 'Bird: Beginning the game with a flip, and later supplying the first hit, Redbird Stubby Clapp and team beat the Iowa Cubs 14-3 Friday night. It was the Redbirds' regular season home-opener.

Good wine. I'm having a glass of Coppola Rosso '98, the famed director's rich and tasty red table wine. It's reasonably priced, too, so I have to recommend.

And hell, as long as we're recommending what we're consuming the nice folks over at Philip Morris make a damned fine cigarette.

Tonight's music is provided by the AM Gold collection - specifically, 1969, 1970 and 1973. Stuck in the middle with you, baby.

Bygone Days
Uncensored!

75 YEARS AGO
April 15, 1925

J. B. Hodges of Dumas, Miss., won first prize at the old fiddlers' contest last night at the Auditorium. When presented with his award he announced, "get thy hands off me prize fighting cock, ye scalawags, or President Taft himself shall tan thy poxy hides!"

Siobhanorama

Siobhan, talking about Leslie, the guy she met while she was out with us last weekend. I asked her if he ever took his cab-driver hat off:

"Turns out he has a funny-lookin' head. It was better with the hat on."

So me and James and Sonya left the house last night, going to eat and, eventually, meet Jen at the movies to see American Psycho. We stopped first at Last Chance Records to do some vinyl shopping. Then we immediately left because they were closing. Bummer.

We went to Mojo's and had hummus and stuff. We also gave each other super-hero names; James was Captain Time ('cause he has a watch), I was Hummus Man (using my garlicky breath to render my enemies harmless) and Sonya was Cabbage Girl (she had cabbage leaves for dinner). Jen, not being present, was Ms. Absent Friends.

This is funny. Before we left the house, Sonya managed to walk in to a door. For the rest of the evening, she had a nice lump over her left eye. At one point she tried to indirectly blame me for it.

"I was in there, cussin' up a storm," she said, "and you didn't even come to check on me."

"Yeah," I countered, "but you could have been in there cussing because your lipstick melted, or something. You cuss all the time. If I came running every time I'd never get to sit down."

Then, later in the car, "yeah," Sonya muttered, "you guys wouldn't be laughing if you'd run your balls into a door."

"We all, from time to time, lead with our face," I informed Sonya, "but men never lead with their balls."

"Not towards a door, anyway," James added.

For the record, I recommend American Psycho. Christian Bale, as the titular lunatic, is evil like a box of razors in the ball pit at McDonald's.

The Wife and I were awakened this morning by the sound of the dog puking on the comforter. I stripped the blanket off the bed and walked the dog, who has been itching herself silly recently and hasn't felt at all well. This was, like, nine-thirty. I got back upstairs and Sonya had gone back to sleep on the couch. The dog joined her. I got a (dog-vomit-free) blanket and pillows off the bed and crashed in the living room floor. It was almost noon when I finally woke up.

But hell, I been working hard. Putting in almost eight hours of hard labor at the data mine every day, then coming home and doing freelance stuff until after midnight every night this week. We didn't get in bed until two this morning. I never sleep late. It was nice.

We had a late lunch-type breakfast at the IHOP while my oil got changed across the street. Then it was off to the Arkansas countryside to visit Sonya's grandparents and give them souvenir plates from our trip to London. They liked the plates. Sonya's granny got a police scanner for Christmas and regaled us with stories of rural law enforcement. Her Papaw showed us his garden; Sonya was impressed with his promising crop of sunflowers.

This is the same Papaw who had a piece of his lung removed this summer. He's looking slim and trim and acts like he feels better than he has in a while. He laughs a lot and can barely hear and he has a croggled finger from some long-ago injury. He reminds me of my own grandfather and I like him intensely.

We managed to catch Sonya's other grandmother at home - she's a tiny little dynamo of a woman who is constantly on the go, taking her less mobile friends to take care of their business and whatnot. She told us about her dislike of snakes ("you just lay there, buddy, while I go get my hoe and I'll take care of you," she tells them when she's mowing her yard and comes across them) and she has a big collection of souvenir plates, so she was proud of the one we got her.

Back to Memphis for dinner at A-Tan. The Wen family runs one of the best Chinese restaurants in town, and I'm always amused by the way they talk. Some of them are newly arrived from China and barely speak English; others have accents just like mine but will occasionally let loose a burst of Cantonese, peppered with "y'all."

We ate the house special beef and talked children, of all things. The consensus? We're happy now, but we'll probably want a kid in a few years. And we'll have one and everything will be great.

I've never quite bought the argument about not wanting to bring a kid into "a world like this." I mean, sure, the world doesn't need some people's kids, but any kid that Sonya and I have will have something special to contribute. The world needs our potential offspring. It will be, when it happens, a Blessed Event.

Tomorrow, visiting my family and vinyl shopping. This is shaping up to be a fine weekend.