Effluvia

I hate to harp on the weather, but today it was actually warmer and more beautiful than yesterday. Roxy and I took a long walk this evening through the balmy, flower-scented Garden District. It can be good, living in the jungle.

A cold front moves through tonight, though, and it's supposed to be in the forties tomorrow. Cold, but not so bad as, say, Minneapolis, where the current temperature is a bracing one degree.

Whatever else you do, friend, you must watch this little video clip. [Thanks, Glen!]

Journals

• Bad Hair Days
• Plaintive Wail
• Humidity and Hebephrenia
• Randomly Ever After
• U9
• Fukushu
• Nature of life...
• DNA Sequencing

Three more reasons to love living in this city:

• The weather at 10:00 a.m. on December 10? A sunny 65 degrees. Rapturous. The kind of day you get married on.
• The brand of free beer served after the YMCA 5K - on the floor of the Superdome, no less? Abita Amber. It's beats the hell out of Coors Light, I tell you what.
• The 2000 New Orleans Saints and their exciting brand of "don't touch that dial" football. I had three mild heart attacks during the game yesterdey.

Yes, the Wife and I did go see Jerry Lee Lewis at the House of Blues Friday night. When we walked up some guy was leaning in the open door of an RV parked outside.

"So you're not going to move?" we heard him say.

"Hell no, I ain't movin'!" I said in my best Jerry Lee voice once we were safely past, "you tell 'em to fuck their concert, too. I'm layin' right here. Send somebody out to drive me across that lake again! That's motherfucker's big!"

There was an interesting crowd at the concert, though the main concentration was Older With Money. Lots of nice clothes, and they didn't bat an eye at spending twenty bucks for two drinks. There was also Older And Drunk and Young Hipsters in attendance. Sonya and I hugged up against one of the bars. Neither of us were drinking, so I kept slipping ones to the bartender and she kept us supplied with Coke and cranberry juice all night.

Indeed, it's always wise to be friends with a bartender, and both of them working our bar Saturday night were friendly - the girl especially so. We chatted with her all night and she told us about the high points of working at the HOB, about her musician husband and what kind of customers are the most annoying.

The raver kids are the most annoying, apparently. They have no bar etiquette. We told her we'd be seeing her on Friday night for Better Than Ezra, and she seemed quite pleased.

Sonya (with the permission of the bartenders) sat on the bar during Jerry Lee's set, and it was quite impressive. I've heard lots of stories about the Killer forgetting lyrics, or being dead drunk or stumbling off stage two songs into a show, but Saturday night he was on, ripping through a bunch of fifties standards and some (though not all) of his hits. He even stood up and kicked the piano bench over.

His between-song patter, though, was totally incomprehensible.

"I'll give a free drink," the male bartender said, "to anyone who can tell me what the hell he's saying."

When he sang, though, he sounded just like the forty-something year old recordings that made him so famous in the first place. He only played for thirty minutes, though, and no encore. I guess you can't be too free with the talents of a Living Legend. I certainly thought I got my money's worth.

Sunday morning I got up early for the race. I got to park under the Superdome (neat!) and wandered around Poydras, looking for my fellow employees. I couldn't find them, though, so I ran alone. I was happier that way.

It was a wonderful wide and flat course. I can't stress that enough. Even the flattest of races in Memphis would roll a little bit - that's what the Delta does - and I would invariably exhaust myself fighting my way up small hills. Not here. Straight down Poydras to the casino, then up Canal and over to Armstrong Park before going back to the Superdome. I probably ran all but a half-mile, and I finished in 36:55. About what I expected, considering I had a cold, I didn't run at all last week and I coughed all during the race, having to pause occasionally to spit up vile things. I was pleased. And the tourists on Canal seemed bemused by the whole thing; it looked like they couldn't imagine who would run in this town, what with all the inhabitants being so busy eating and drinking.

Afterwards I stood at the center of the Superdome floor, drinking cup after cup of Abita Springs water and eating some little biscuit type foods I'd snagged from a corporate table. I looked up in awe at the rows of seats stretching up far above me. I can't imagine standing down there and the place being full of people screaming for - or against - me. Professional athletes should be commended for the simple ability to not freeze up or run away when confronted with a mob like that.

After that I wandered from level to level in the parking lot, trying to find my car. It took a long time, and I really had to pee.

A few years ago I was watching TV with a friend of mine. Some woman with full, sexy lips came on the show we were watching.

"Now she's got DSL," he said emphatically.

"DSL? What's that?" I asked.

"Dick suckin' lips!" he grinned.

Now, of course, there's digital subscriber line, which has the same initials. It tickles me every time I hear a commercial for it - because that's what I think first.

"Do you want DSL?"

"Everyone's getting DSL!"

"DSL - it's the fastest thing on the internet!"