Effluvia

Tortured Souls: I want the whole set. These are the coolest action figures I've ever seen.

I like Sage. She seems pretty cool.

Duran Duran to reunite with all original members. To some people, this is equivalent to man first walking on the moon.

Picking a gothic name. One of the suggestions for picking your gothic name is to use "names of nasty infections or bad habits."

I suggested Gonorrhea Nosepicker.

Journal Roulette

Endearment - Some mom.

Siobhanorama!

Siobhan is in California, I suppose. I hear she was going to try out to play drums for Don't Stop, a loving musical tribute to Journey.

Two Years Ago
Starring Leaky the Condom.

One Year Ago
Personal grooming. Really personal.

So sure, I've been meaning to update and everything, but who has the time?

It's true that you're at the bottom of my list of priorities. My readers as neglected middle child. Tell it to your therapist, baby.

But there has been a lot going on. When did I last update? Last Wednesday? Let's look at events since last Wednesday.

Last Thursday: I'd just updated the day before. What do you people want from me? I'm not a machine. Anyway, it was the big Survivor finale night. TV was the most important thing.

Last Friday: The Wife and I took off early, threw it in the car and went to Memphis. Made it in at a decent hour, too. But no computer = no update.

Saturday and Sunday: Still no computer = no update. Not that I wasn't busy. Why, just on Saturday morning I chopped down five large, dead-but-still-prickly yucca plants in my mom's yard. The hoe and the shovel didn't phase them, either. I had to get a rusty old handsaw and hack them off at ground level. Then I mowed the backyard. Then I took down the Christmas tree.

"?" you say.

"!" I insist.

Yeah, the tree has been my responsibility since junior high, but I wasn't home this past holiday season, was I? So my sister Julie put it up. And never took it down.

"Are you gonna take that tree down?" my grandmother asked when she saw me carrying the box the ornaments go in, "well, bless your heart."

Saturday night we went for drinks, crashed a party and did a big drunken dance at Backstreet with Shawn the Magnificent Stylist and Jon, his buddy.

I have a Jon story to tell, actually. He insisted that it go online, and I do try to flatter new readers:

Jon has sensitive skin, and has tried all manner of shaving products in an attempt to pamper his face.

"I mean, I'm the pretty boy, you know?" he asked, "I can't go around with ingrown hairs."

Once he tried the shaving powder that is traditionally used by black men.

"It took the top layer of my skin off," he told me, "I was a scab from ear to ear."

Then a friend of his suggested that he wax the hair off his face.

"But men's facial hair," he said ominously, "is far more deeply rooted and dense than women's hair."

First the friend tried to wax a spot under a sideburn as kind of a test strip. She didn't have the right kind of waxing cloth, though, so the wax hardened on Jon's skin before it could be ripped off.

"I had to shave off the wax. Went through four blades, wiping each one after every stroke. Not recommended."

Then his friend moved on to his chin. She managed to get the cloth on right and rip it off.

"Blood everywhere," Jon grinned.

Let that be a lesson to you kids: don't try any fancy-shmancy tricks on your facial hair. It'll make you go blind or, at the very least, scar you for life.

Regarding Saturday night: what do you think it is that makes a three-hundred pound man want to put on a dress and do drop splits?

"Maybe he just wants to feel pretty," James suggested when I asked him the same question.

Sunday was nonstop: breakfast then lots of family. By the end of the day the Wife and I were both nodding.

Monday: The drive back to New Orleans, mainly. We got home around five, but come on! I'd been in the car all day! I didn't feel like updating. I did start reading the new book for my book club, though: Bee Season, by Myla Goldberg. It is very, very sad. It's about a seriously fucked up family. I'm not done with, but I recommend it already.

Tuesday: Television again. Storyline-critical episodes of Buffy and Angel, and then I didn't see The Sopranos on Sunday night so I had to watch that, too.

Wednesday: I got paid, so Sonya and I attempted - once again - to buy happiness. After stuffing ourselves near-to-bursting with Indian food first, though. And we spent the money on clothes, mainly, so it's not like it's completely frivolous.

[Note to New Orleans area male readers: check out the sales at the Gap in the Riverwalk! Shirts and jeans for as little as ten bucks a pop, and really nice stuff under twenty.]

Yesterday: So Sonya sent some pictures to a photo exhibit that Save Our Cemeteries was having. She got picked to exhibit and - and this is really cool - she was a winner! One of five winners, specifically, out of a field of thirty-odd pictures. The opening night reception was at the Inter-Continental last night. The waiter said I was with the prettiest woman there. I agreed with him.

Here's Sonya's picture, by the way:

After that we cruised down Canal to the tattoo parlor, where I gave a picture and some instructions to Sage. She's working on some art for me and should have it next week for me to look at. I'll keep you informed.

After that we came home and I went for takeout at Semolina. My lasagna was hard and crusty, though. So I sat down to update instead. But the computer froze up halfway through. Frustrated, I read my book for the rest of the night.

So that's where I've been. I hope you're satisfied.