Effluvia

"The amazing thing is, and the reason why I'm not upset about it, is that we turn it over eight times and if we don't jump offside with two minutes left, I think we'd have gone the length of the field and scored to win." - Mike Martz, on the Rams loss to New Orleans, 10/28/2001

"I don't think they so much stopped us, except when they made the big plays. We made too many errors. It was right there for us." - Kurt Warner, on the same loss

Jesus, even this writer for the St. Louis paper says the Rams - and Mike Martz especially - are talking a lot of bullshit about the Saints. It's an excellent article, actually.

You NFL fans will remember that last week the Rams kicked an onside kick against the Jets when the Rams were already ahead, 31-7. There is such a thing as karma, I guess.

Speaking of my adopted home town...

"NEW ORLEANS (AP) -- New Orleans, working hard to escape the black marks it got as murder capital of the United States in 1994, has hit a setback in new FBI statistics.

"For every 100,000 people, 20.4 were victims of murder or manslaughter last year in New Orleans, the highest rate of all 263 reporting cities, according to an Associated Press analysis of data from the FBI's 2000 Uniform Crime Report."

We're number one! We're number one!

Also, I was coming across the Crescent City Connection the other day (I had to make a run to the West Bank for Sonic Burgers, dude) and they're doing some painting and other work on the bridge, right? And there was this sign up that said "BRIDGE PAINTING AND REPAIR BY..." with the name of the company and their phone number.

And I thought, "who are they trying to reach, here? The person who needs some work done on their own personal bridge?"

Like, some rich guy saying, "goddamn, that ol' bridge over the South Creek shore could use some work...but hey! Them boys doing the work on the CCC shore are doin' a good job! I'll call 'em!"

That is, of course, a Southern, nouveau riche kind of rich guy, but still.

Siobhanorama!

Stuck full of needles. Just like Pinhead, man.

Three Years Ago
"How'd you burn your other ear?"

Two Years Ago
"If you were on fire I wouldn't walk across the street to piss on you."

One Year Ago
"...I was as close to full-blown despair as ever I come."

Some quintessential New Orleans moments:

...at the Milan Lounge on Friday night with a couple of friends. The Milan is near the corner of Milan and Prytania, if you ever want to go. You should. It's about the size of my living room, with all the scuzzy charm of a small, well-used and well-aged bar. It's set apart because of all the Cubs paraphernalia in one corner, and because they have to buzz you in. As soon as you get in you feel like you've passed some small but essential test. Everyone knows everyone else. The bartender offered us some ribs. Some standard issue New Orleans funk started up on the stereo and I thought, "yeah, this is a moment." Recommended.

...after the Voodoo Music Festival in City Park on Saturday. Sonya and a friend of ours and I were walking along Marconi, under a canopy of oak trees, making our way back towards City Park Drive with a crowd of other people. It was cool, but there was hardly any breeze in just that spot. George Porter Jr. was tuning up on one of the stages as we made our way out, his bass warm and inviting.

From an e-mail I sent a friend the other day, concerning being caught in the crush near the stage at the Voodoofest the other day:

"...we were right in front of the stage, just after BTE had finished their set. The crush to get close to the stage was ENORMOUS. Sonya was pinched between two fat guys, our friend Megan was twisted at an unnatural angle and I simply couldn't move. Sonya and Megan went over the barricade and were herded off by security. I bashed my way out.

"'You can't leave!' these silly little kids kept saying to me.

"'The hell I can't!' I said, swinging elbows all the way."

So I'm doing the novel writing thing this month, right? While you won't be getting regular updates (don't cry, now) you will be getting piping fresh fiction, straight out of my brain!

Here's the first of it:

Trey and Dave worked in the monitor room. It was a pretty good job, considering where they worked.

It was a long, skinny room, cluttered with paperwork and other, less recognizable garbage, and withone wall dominated by a bank of televisions. A few buttons and switches were built into the desks under the TVs, and a single red phone sat on the floor.

There were two chairs.

"We need a fuckin' video game, man," Dave said, leaning his chair back against the wall and studying the ceiling.

Trey sat upright in his chair, eyes moving from one monitor to the next, making short, sharp marks on the clipboard in his lap.

"I don't know about you, Dave," Trey said, eyes never leaving the wall of TVs in front of him, "but I don't want to lose this job. Or get blamed because someone else fucks up. Pay attention."

Dave made the international sign for jerking off, then looked down and started to watch the images in front of him.

They seemed to do this for days.

"What's that going on in 2526?" Dave asked.

"Machine-applied hot needles," Trey told him, "over two thousand of them. Someone's really proud of that. Check out 7693."

Dave looked.

"Holy shit. What are they doing to that poor bastard?"

"Hydrochloric enema," Trey said, shaking his head.

Quiet for hours as they watched the monitors. Your average person, put in their place, would have gone a little crazy looking at the horrors they had to watch. At the very least an average person would turn away.

But Trey and Dave had had up-close experience with some of the things they had to watch now.

"And there's all the fucking difference in the world between watching and participating, know what I'm sayin'?" Dave had said shortly after they'd been assigned to that room.

So they watched what was - quite literally - the tortures of the damned take place on screen in front of them. They made notes, and sometimes did a little filing. Some days the phone would ring - one of them would answer and give the usual report.

"No malfunctions, changes, or escapes," Trey would say. Should any of those things ever happen all they had to do was pick up the phone to report it. None of those things ever happened.

Sure, the room was hot. But you had to consider the location. And Trey, unfortunately, was a real sweaty guy. So the room didn't smell too good. At least they didn't have to worry about going to the bathroom or getting food, right?

And that's good, because the room had no door.

Trey and Dave, on the whole, were pleased with their place in the scheme of things. Especially pleased, when they considered the alternative.

So one day the phone rang and Trey answered.

"Report," a rough voice on the other end demanded.

"No malfunctions, changes, or escapes," Trey said.

It was about twenty minutes after that that things got screwy.

"Dave, check out 1379," Trey said.

Dave looked. He saw a small room - maybe six by six - with a door standing open.

"Aw, shit. What was going on there?"

"It was one of those Darkness Visible rooms."

Even in the hot room, Dave shuddered. "Those are bad, man. How long's it been empty?"

Trey reached out, flipped a few switches. The screen they were both looking at froze, then rushed into reverse. Trey stopped it.

There wasn't much to see except swirling black. Then the door opened, letting in a sliver of light and a small, quick figure. More darkness. The door opened again and the same figure went out...but it was obvious the door was still cracked. It opened wider. A naked man went out. The door slowly swung open into the empty and ordinary cell.

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit. We're so fucked, man," Dave breathed out and flung his own clipboard across the room, "even though some dumbass left the door open, we're still gonna get demoted for this."

Trey raised an eyebrow and looked at the phone.

"Should I call it in?"

"I don't know."

Quiet for a minute. And hot. The screens flickered in front of them. All of the screens flickered and rolled and were generally hard on the eyes, regardless of the images being shown.

"We're in trouble either way," Trey said slowly, reaching for the phone, "but they're gonna be a lot more pissed if we're slow to report this, you know?"

Dave nodded.

"Call it in, dude."