So things went much better Wednesday afternoon than I thought they would. Marilyn wasn't at the house, so James and I just packed up his shit and hightailed it out of there. Of course it wasn't that easy...

(If you have no idea what I'm talking about, please read Wednesday's entry - it explains it all, much like Clarissa.)

If you've been following the news lately you've probably heard about the murderous heat here in the south. Hell, if you live here you know about it firsthand. I know it's killed a lot or people in Texas, but I haven't heard about any fatalities in Memphis. I attribute that to Memphians being smart enough to come inside and turn on the air conditioner when its hot. I realize Texans are new to such things as air conditioners, running water and silverware so we must excuse their ignorance.

Anyway, we were having a lovely bout of killer heat Wednesday afternoon when James and I went to his house. Most of his stuff was already boxed up and just needed to be transported to his apartment, so I started loading the boxes while James packed everything else. I filled the bed of my truck and the interior of James' roomy, luxurious Grand Prix. I was soaked, I mean absolutely stink-ass drenched with sweat by the time we were through.

The good thing about having a little truck is that you can adjust the temperature quickly. On cold days I'm warm and toasty in minutes, and on blazing hot days I'm cucumber-cool as I drive. This was not always the case.

Before the truck I had a 1983 Nissan Pulsar. This was a wonderful little car. My mom drove it back and forth to work every day and then gave it to me in 1989, when she bought a new Pulsar.

My mom is pretty cool.

By the time I got the Pulsar the air conditioner was long gone. The windows did open, though, and it had a sunroof. As long as I kept driving I was okay. Heatstroke was a real possibility at stop signs, though, and I avoided possible traffic jams like the plague.

So I drove the Pulsar through my senior year of high school and on to college and for two years after that. I got pretty good at working on it, too. I actually put a new radiator in it the summer before I sold it. That totally validated my manhood.

By the time I sold it the driver's window wouldn't roll down, it died at stop signs and the engine had taken to coughing like a tubercular old man as I drove down the road. It had to go.

My mom said she saw it driving down to the casinos a few weeks after I got rid of it. Some cars never die.

All that's beside the point, though. I got all cool and comfy (though still damp) on my ride back to Memphis and then got extra-sweaty and extra-stinky when we carried the shit up to James' apartment. Then a shower and a late night meal of eggs and pancakes at the IHOP and I was ready for bed.

Tonight I will sleep in Kentucky. Yes, this afternoon Sonya and I begin our weekend-long pilgrimage to see Buffett in Cincinnati. I've never been to Cincinnati - or Ohio. Or Kentucky, for that matter. I'm pretty sure there's a reason I've never been to those places, but it's time for a Bubba-fix and the handiest one is in Ohio. So I'm going. The aforementioned James and his life-companion Jen will be watching the dog this weekend. Again. Thanks, guys - you're the best babysitters I could ask for.

James is letting me borrow his Discman CD player for the journey, since his Pleasuremobile has a built-in 12-disc changer. You rock, James! If you was here I'd kiss ya!

Is Cincinnati considered part of the midwest? I would think so - it seems to be in the heart of the nation's vague midsection. What kind of accents do people from Cincinnati have? Who's gonna be quarterback for the Bengals this fall? I hope to bring answers to all these questions back come Sunday night.

Have you seen the Pissing Calvin stickers? I don't know if that's what they're actually called (or if they actually have a name) but they're sticker of Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes fame) pissing on things. Usually he's whizzing on the Ford logo (if the sticker's on a Chevy) or the Chevy logo (if the situation is reversed). I've also seen Clavin urinate on Bugs Bunny, flames, another Calvin (?) and various NASCAR car numbers. I also saw a variation on the theme where Calvin was kneeling in front of a cross.

At least he wasn't pissing on that.

So James and I were driving to Midtown the other day to get some take-out. A big ass Oldsmobile passes us. It was full of Mexicans. They've become a big population in Memphis lately, taking a lot of construction jobs and setting up several neighborhoods. I say more power to 'em - they work hard and don't make trouble, just like me. However, some of them are not exactly approved to be in the country.

The Oldsmobile passes us, and there's Calvin on the back window, pissing on the words "La Migra." The INS, in other words.

I laughed my ass off. It's good to know how the Mexican-American community feels about that particular arm of the government.

Last night's America Undercover - Hookers at the Point II - Goin' Out Again. Stories of attempted anal rape, twisted johns and life on the streets. One hooker even quit hooking and became a pimp her ownself, advising one of her employees to use a "country" accent as she asks potential clients, "would you like me to suck your penis?" Inspiring, uplifting family fare.

All that shaky, hidden-camera b.j. footage was pretty cool too.

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