Effluvia

Ah, sweet old-school Memphis wrestling.

From McSweeney's: The Homeschool College.

The guy who shows you how to dance correctly. And that's not even the funniest thing on his site.

"The Irish Pub Co. has built more than two dozen pubs in the United States and hundreds around the world, shipping the building parts from Ireland."

I knew it!

From The Commercial Appeal:
"Acting on information from two confidential informants, federal agents found 58 kilograms of cocaine, about 127 pounds, hidden in the University Cabana Apartments, on Vollintine near University."

A friend of mine used to live at the University Cabana. This doesn't surprise me at all.

Journal Roulette

A Digital Life - Some dork lives on a boat.

Siobhanorama!

New shit from the S-Dog! Hell yeah!

Two Years Ago
The story of Edwin.

One Year Ago
A nice little piece of fiction.

The unremitting dullness of my life has left me with little to say to you, my reading public. I regret this error.

I can totally write off last week in my search for something interesting to tell you. It didn't happen.

Sonya and I did go to Memphis this weekend to see family and friends. At one point on the drive there we got really tickled about something and we were both laughing really hard. I can't remember what it was, though. Sorry.

Saturday we saw the aforementioned family and friends, as per usual. There were entertaining moments.

My mom asked me to pick up a jar of anti-aging cream for her at Goldsmith's.

"I can give you some money or it can be my birthday present," she said.

Birthday present it would be, I assured her.

Holy shit! It cost, like, twice as much I had expected it to! Happy birthday, Glenda! When the day comes you're getting a call and that's it.

Went to Parvo (the famous salon) to visit our beauty-oriented friends. Topics discussed: hair, Queer As Folk, anal sex. It was stereotypical. We leaned heavily on Shawn to come to New Orleans for the Placebo concert in May; apparently he has a work-related thing that weekend.

"Shawn," I said reasonably, "what could be more fun than me, Sonya and Placebo in New Orleans?"

There was no argument against logic like that. Sonya and I agreed that if I hadn't convinced him then he was unconvincible.

I don't think "unconvincible" is a word. Get me! I'm Dubya!

Anyhow, Shawn, if you don't come down for the concert I will be forced to declare you uncool. That's right; you'll be stripped of your coolness. That hip wardrobe? Gone. Cool job? Finished. Hip friends? Not any more. You'll be working in the sporting goods department at Wal Mart by the time I'm done with you. You've been warned.

Also, we went by Jen and James' house. They've recently gotten the digital cable. I walked in and James turned on Fox Sports World. Soccer.

I plopped down on the couch. "Beer!" I yelled.

Then we started switching back and forth between MuchMusic and M2. Real, actual music videos.

Sonya watched, enrapt. "I'm never leaving," she declared.

We also went to the Young Avenue Deli Saturday night with Jen and James. We ate and got to visit a little bit with Dave, my former coworker andlead singer of crash into june (they were playing a gig that night). Amongst Dave's several witty observations:

• "Shit, you did it right. I look up and see Rocco, walking in straight from New Orleans to see my gig!"
• "What's that new Placebo song? Special K? It's about drugs, right? I know they're not singing about flakes.
• "I don't know about this opening band; they all like Rush. I mean, it's cool for one guy to like Rush, but when they all like Rush..."

Sunday morning we were joined by Jen, James, Glen and Glen's new girlfriend at Zinnie's for brunch. One horrible thing happened.

Glen was talking to his girlfriend. James was talking to Jen, Sonya and me. James went to fork up a bite of egg. He brought the forkful halfway up to his mouth, still talking.

And Jen, Sonya and I looked on, terrified, at the dangling bit of still-clear uncooked egg yolk hanging off James' fork. It stretched down a bit but still did not snap and fall to the plate.

James finished what he was saying and popped the fork in his mouth. The three of us sitting opposite him screamed.

"What?" James demanded, chicken goo glistening on his chin.

On the drive back Sunday night we were listening to a radio program about the Rolling Stones. Several clips from an interview with Keith Richards were played.

"That must be an old interview," I said, "because Keith sounds like Jimmy Page when he talks nowadays."

And I went into my Jimmy Page impression.

"Flah la fafa, flahblahblahfafablah. And I said nooooooooooo!"

This makes Sonya laugh 'til she nearly pees on herself.

But cruel Karma would visit be shortly thereafter when I needed to pee. I pulled off at an exit not far across the Louisiana line. I went in one gas station.

"We don't have any public restrooms."

Hello! You're a shabby gas station on the interstate. Without a bathroom you might as well not even exist.

"Oh, we don't want a bunch of travellers in here."

Stupid.

The next place was big and brightly lit and ultramodern. And the door was locked.

"Go to the window!" the girl inside yelled through the glass door.

"I gotta pee!" I yelled back, swishing my hand through the air and moving my head back and forth in a saucy manner, "if I go to the window and do what I gotta do ain't nobody gonna be happy, girlfriend!"

Well, I thought about doing all that. What I actually did was get back in the car and - whining in the back of my throat like a wounded coyote the whole time - drive down to the next gas station, where I proceeded to flood their toilet with glistening rivers of urine. I didn't buy anything, either.

Monday I cooked a roast. Today I dropped my car off at Pep Boys to get a couple of new tires. No, these things may not be funny, but you'd realize life isn't all fun and games if you came over any other time besides when your mom drops you off to spend the weekend.