Effluvia

Here's a story about...

...Koerperwelten. Which is sponsored by...

...The Institute for Plastination. And it's all rather like...

...Francis Bacon-like.

From McSweeney's:

• Good Nick, Evil Nick
• How to avoid a hangover

Journal Roulette

Nothing - It's interesting. Sometimes people seem to be chugging along, keeping their little internet diary, and then they just quit. No word, no nothin'. What happened? Are they dead? In jail? We'll never know.

Siobhanorama!

Shea butter. Made from the cows who roam the outfield at Shea Stadium, I suppose.

One Years Ago
A breath mint is mysteriously referenced.

Saturday you would have thought that Sonya and I were going to lay around the house all day. Well into the afternoon we were still in our pajamas, playing video games and flipping around on the TV. But no! Shortly before three we piled into the Louisiana Badass and cruised across the bridge and into the Westbank, off to see Hannibal.

Getting there was interesting, though. It took, like, forever to get out of our neighborhood and onto the bridge. Then, we were happily chatting as I moved over into the lane that exited onto Manhattan Blvd. when every car in front of me suddenly stopped. This necessitated me hopping on the anti-lock brakes and hoping for the best. I'd never had to slam on the brakes in Sonya's car - or any car with anti-lock brakes - before, and the experience was queasy-making. Even though I punched my foot into the brake it applied braking power slowly and gradually, with great patience. This led to the dumping of barrels of adrenaline into both mine and Sonya's bloodstreams as the back of the piece-of-shit car in front of us drew steadily closer. We stopped in time, though. We went into the theatre wide-eyed and totally awake...

...which was good, since we had to sit at the far left end of the front row. Much turning of the head to follow the action was required. The movie itself? Maybe not the Oscar-winner that The Silence of the Lambs was, but it's still a very good, very gory horror flick. Very gory. Blood and guts and (most memorably) brains. And it's a beautiful movie, too - obviously the work of the man who made Alien and Blade Runner. Sir Anthony was charming and Julianne Moore, to quote Sonya, was "hot." She was dead-on in her version of the Clarice Starling accent that Jodie Foster pioneered in Lambs. I say see the movie. I guarantee what happens to Commandatore Pazzi will make you yell "Shit!" in a crowded theatre. I know I did.

Directly from the Westbank we went to the French Quarter for dinner and the Krewe du Vieux parade. Dinner was at Mr. Gyro's, a little dive on Decatur. Hummus! Dolmadhes! Oily black olives! Good filling Mojo's food. Groaning and garlicky we wandered up to Royal to watch the parade.

My buddy Dave has a philosophy that, reduced to its most simple form, can be stated thusly:

This is also the overriding theme of the Krewe du Vieux. Big cocks. Small cocks. Cartoon cocks. Frighteningly realistic cocks. Huge giant cocks pulled on mule-drawn wagons. Small cocks worn on hats. Or as hats. Lots of cocks, all very funny. A secondary theme of the parade was "politicians are stupid." These themes were combined on one float: George W. Bush astride a huge rocket-style cock. I caught no beads, but I've never laughed so hard at a parade before.

Sonya is involved with this charity that takes sick kids on trips, so Sunday afternoon we hung Mardi Gras beads around the necks of bemused kids arriving at the airport. And we drank beer with Sonya's boss. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday, and my karma has taken on a healthy pink glow ever since!

And yesterday I affirmed my status as Greatest Fucking Husband In The World by taking Sonya a big bouquet of yellow roses at work. All her coworkers sighed and smiled at me as I followed Sonya to her office, her carrying her flowers proudly. It was a fine moment to be me.

I also got the three soft spots on my teeth sealed yesterday. At twenty bucks per tooth it's not a cheap procedure, and before Ms. Dental Chicky started sealing I asked her how long the seal would last. I was thinking that if it only lasts, like, until the next check-up then it might be a scan. But she assured me that she'd had hers for years and that as long as I didn't eat ice or hard candy I would have a long and happy relationship with my sealed teeth.

Now that I think about it, though, it's a bad approach to dental health, isn't it? I mean, it's like nuclear waste. They're burying the problem. No, it won't blow up, but it's under there, just waiting for a chance to do something horrible.

So it's Valentine's, and I'm thinking about getting The Wife some lingerie, right? It a strange thing, though. I think any man who loves a woman would think she'd look good - and hot, even - in the skimpiest and wispiest of little outfits. Most women, though, don't think that a floor-length, long-sleeved, high-necked flannel nightgown could cover up their most glaring flaws. And, of course, the kind of lingerie that men like on women is completely different from the kind of lingerie that women actually like and enjoy wearing. It's a challenge, this buying underwear for others, but hopefully if you know the other person well enough you can choose something that everyone involved can enjoy.

Hopefully.