My apologies to all my rabidly loyal readers who have flooded me with e-mail, phone calls and crude homemade pornography, insisting that I update immediately. I love you kids - here's the fix you've been craving.

I'm really struggling here to remember last weekend...I know I went to my mom's on Saturday. That included a trip to Wal-Mart which, in West Memphis, is like a low-rent version of This is Your Life with all sorts of half-familiar faces floating up out of the past.

I saw Tori Amos at the Orpheum Wednesday night. It was excellent, the near-religious experience I wanted it to be - really, really cool music. My mom is a volunteer usher at the Orpheum. I think she was both amused and annoyed with the interesting crowd that showed up. All the freaky little kids were out, too, with their platform shoes and vinyl clothes. I was amused...and I felt just a tad old. In my day, you wore an Iron Maiden t-shirt to the concert and that was pretty much it as far as fashion statements went.

Here's a Funny Story from last week. You'll like this.

Wednesday at lunch Sonya calls and proposes I meet her and Kathy (her mondo cool boss) and another co-worker of hers so we can all go over to Calvary Church. Lunchtime prayers, you ask? Nooooo...Calvary has this thing called Calvary and the Arts where they have a band come in Wednesday at lunch. The band plays a short set and then a restaurant caters in lunch.

The musician for the week was Kirk Whalum - a bad-ass jazz saxophonist. The restauant was the Rendezvous - a local barbecue landmark. How could I say no?

So we get there and find a comfy pew. Kirk is bad, y'all. His band was cookin', he was riffin', his brother came up and sang with them. They did a little improv Wizard of Oz medley that delighted me.

The problem is Kirk went a little long. There was no way I'd have time to sit and eat.

"No problem," Kathy said, "you can get it to go."

So I did. They wrapped my plate in plastic wrap, I gave the wife a kiss and followed a group of people towards a door.

We all went out the door...which slammed behind us, trapping us on a fenced-in porch. We stood around, trying the gates and doors leading off the porch (all locked) until someone walked by and we got them to go back inside and let us back in.

So there I am, speed-walking down Second Street with a covered plate of hot food in my hands. For those of you that don't know, Second Street is the Studio 54 of the homeless crowd during the day. They wander back and forth, getting day jobs and urinating in doorways.

Immediately a homeless guy, bearded and wild-eyed, stops in my paths. He was obviously quite taken with my plate o' barbecue.

"Got some lunch there?" he asked.

"Yup."

"Can I have a bite?"

I knew I didn't have time to eat by then. "Bon appetit, monkeyboy," I said, thrusting the plate into his hands.

He shouted thank-you's for two blocks after me.

Friday night was fun. Sonya and I went to Libertyland. Libertyland is Memphis' entry in the theme park sweepstakes and to tell the truth it's kind of sad. It was built in some burst of Bicentennial optimism twenty years ago, hence its somewhat hokey theme of general American-ness. I mean it's a fine place and all, but after you've been to Universal Studios it really pales in comparison. Sonya and I ate corn-dogs and funnel cake and rode several rides that spin you around real fast. It was cool.

You know, I know married people who haven't got one nice word to say about their spouse. I don't get that. Did they not know they disliked the person before they married them? The person has changed, you say? Pardon me for saying so, but big fucking deal. You should really, really like someone before you marry them - in fact, you should like them so much you can deal with any changes that come later. Barring, you know, their sprouting of extra genitalia or their odd predilection for children's flesh.

Anyway, I say all that to say this: Sonya and I have a damn good time together. She's my bud, you know? I don't understand it when these folks seem to actively dislike their spouse.

Saturday I drank some beer and cleaned the house. Sonya helped.

Sunday the Saints lost. Again. They got their goddam clocks cleaned, is what happened. The Saints are the 49er's bitches until further notice.

Last night was kind of fun, too. James came down to the house yesterday afternoon and wanted me and Sonya to come with him and Jen to "do something." The plan was shaky, I admit, but Sonya and I were game. We hopped into the shower and then headed out in James' all-but-sold Luxurymobile to get Jen from Theatre Memphis, where she had been performing.

Jen looked funny, too. Her normally straight hair was curled and kinked soccer-mom style and her face was covered with stray streaks of stage make-up. She was cute, really. Just radically different than her usual look. We gave her a hard time, I assure you.

So we went to a movie - Urban Legend, the Robert Englund/Rebecca Gayheart/Jared Leto vehicle. Can you imagine? Freddie Krueger, the Noxzema girl and Jordan Catalano all in the same movie. Star-studded is what it was. It was good fun - the killer-on-campus genre made all cynical and smart-assed for the nineties. Mind you, this particular movie won't be giving Saving Private Ryan a run for its money this spring, but it was good stupid fall afternoon fun.

And the bitchy goth roommate was a hoot.

After the movie we came to a consensus that we were, indeed, hungry. That was about all the agreeing we could do. Sonya and James wanted honey-baked ham. Jen wanted Chinese. I wanted...well, I wanted food. I wasn't really lobbying for anything in particular.

So one of us would fling a restaurant name in the air and the other three would gleefully shoot it down. Finally, we were at Poplar and Highland and had worked it down to two places - A-tan (Chinese) and El Porton (Mexican). I flipped a coin. Heads - El Porton.

But there was a thirty minute wait.

Back in the car and I start thinking about a review I read for an authentic Mexican place over on Summer...I direct James to La Espiga, where we sent him in to find out if they take plastic.

He was gone for a long time. We started to worry. James is half-Korean, and I was hoping he hadn't forgotten his wallet...or else he might end up in some Born in East L.A.-style mix-up.

If you know James, try picturing him in a serape and sombrero, screaming into a Guadalajara payphone.

"Harold...come...get...me...NOW!"

The good news was James made it back. The bad news? No credit cards accepted - only checks.

Checks?

So we ended up getting Chinese, which was very good. I really wanted a burrito, though.

Then I drove Jen's Miata back downtown. I like that little car -it's zippy. James and I were driving in formation down Poplar, goosing the gas just a little bit.

I said to Sonya, "this is how so many after-school specials start."

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