So Saturday dawned cloudy and somewhat soggy, with Roxy (and my twitchy neck) herding me out of bed at the crack of eight-thirty. A big day was planned, as Sonya and I had to drop some things off at the frame shop, go record shopping (ah, the joys of a working turntable!) and - and here's the big one - get a nipple pierced. One of mine, actually.

Yes, I'd said that I would get one pierced once I ran a 5K and if, in the running, I didn't embarass myself too badly. But we'll get there in a second.

So we headed out at noonish or so, stopping by B.A. Framer to get my Blair Witch poster and Sonya's autographed Placebo 8"x10" framed. The woman at the shop ooh-ed and ahh-ed over my poster appreciatively.

This is what we in the business call foreshadowing. Keep reading.

The frame shop was trying, so we went straight to Applebee's for nachos and griled chicken salad. Fine food.

Then we hit Memphis' premiere dusty record shops, Audiomania and Shangri-La. I found Sonya a Duran Duran promo single she'd never seen before, so there was much rejoicing.

Then it was time.

Here is the entry I considered uploading on Saturday afternoon, right after I got home:

Please help...

Hole in nipple...

Call 911...

I went to Underground Art, which is the premiere flesh alteration establishment in Memphis. Sonya plopped down on their couch while I stepped up to the counter, where the girl sitting behind it looked at my quizzically.

"Is your piercer in?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Is he available at the moment?" I inquired.

"She is."

She? Bonus!

"Well," I told her, "I'd like to get a nipple pierced, then."

"That's what I needed to know!" she said brightly.

I quickly signed my life away - agreeing not to hold them liable if my nipple should fall off, basically - and picked out my jewelry: a plain stainless steel hoop with a big black bead. Then Erica the Piercer collected me and off we hustled to the piercing room.

Erica was very cute in the gen-x alternagirl manner: pierced lower lip, square little glasses, forearms covered with tattoos. She was also a total professional, running smoothly and efficiently through the care and feeding instructions for perforated skin. After she'd run down her checklist I took off my shirt as she set out the tools of her trade: a nasty-looking set of clamps, antiseptic, rubber gloves and a needle as big around as a hot dog.

"So," I said, gripping the edges of my chair, "how much does this hurt compared to, say, a tattoo?"

"Well," she smiled, "it's different. A tattoo is so shallow, and it takes a long time. This is quick, though, but it goes all the way through..." she trailed off here, allowing me to reach my own conclusions.

All the pain of a tattoo, I thought, compressed into seconds!

Anyway, she puts the clamp on my nipple to give her some skin to work with, for I am a flat-nippled fellow by nature.

I bit my lip, and said nothing.

"Now don't move," she said.

BAM! Amazing, stabbing pain. I was, after all, being stabbed. Then it was out. She took the clamp off.

"Let me try with a bigger needle," she said, "you need a better hole. And we won't use the clamp because I know you don't like them."

Erica was obviously a sensitive and caring professional. "Take deep breaths," she advised, "take strength from your breathing." Oddly enough, this helped.

A slight pinch, another BAM! and the ring was hanging from my abused-looking flesh. She attached the bead, cleaned up the blood and said, "you're all set! You did good. You can put your shirt on now."

I have to clean and be gentle with my piercing for the next few months. "After that," Erica instructed, "you can go crazy with it."

I pulled my shirt over my head. "When will this...initial pain go away?" I winced.

"A day or two," she looked at me sheepishly, "maybe a week. But it's always going to be more sensitive - which is good."

"I agree."

I stepped back out into the main room after thanking Erica.

Sonya looked up. "Did it hurt?" she asked.

"Hell yes!" I said, a bit louder than I meant to. This tickled the hell out of the woman sitting next to Sonya.

So, to sum up: Underground Art is a fine establishment. If you need to get pierced, go see Erica.

Meanwhile, Sonya and I scooted down to Last Chance Records to do a bit more music shopping. I was, to put none too fine a point on it, miserable. I walked all around the store, hunched over, trying to keep my poor ravaged chest from brushing against my shirt. I did get the new record by The Donnas, though, which is worth the price of admission simple for their cover of Motley Crue's Too Fast for Love.

We got some more records, stopped at Seessel's for sea salt (to rub on my new wound) and went home, where I immediately downed three lemon drops in quick succession before I walked the dog. These allowed me to walk the dog, then get back inside and start in on the beer. A long, sloshy drunk followed, in which I escaped the pain completely. James and Jen showed up at one point, bearing Sonic burgers, which I devoured. Sonya eventually put me to bed where I spent a surprisingly restless night. The pained neck, pierced nipple and massive drunk contributed to poor sleep.

Sunday was far more relaxing, and the pain in my chest had subsided considerably. Sonya and I went to do one of our famous Double Feature days, seeing Notting Hill and Austin Powers: TSWSM. It was fun. Hugh Grant doesn't play different parts, does he? He just plays the Hugh Grant character: a rumpled, stammering, charming guy with a nice accent. That particular movie could have stood to be edited down another thirty minutes, but the wife liked it. Austin Powers was good, stupid summer fun. I liked Fat Bastard, myself.

"You, baby, get in my stomach!"

Then a trip to West Memphis to give Sonya's dad his Father's Day presents; he was off at guard duty on the actual holiday itself. Then we went home, settling in for a quiet game of Yahtzee.

Then the phone rang. It was Jen.

"Do you want to see The Blair Witch Project tonight?"

"How is this possible?" I asked.

"Jody called," Jen explained, "Malco's got a copy. They're showing it tonight at midnight." Jody is Jen's friend, an accomplished actor, a Malco employee (Malco being THE theater chain in Memphis) and a fellow Blair Witch enthusiast. Jody and I actually discussed the movie a few weeks ago.

"Tonight," Jen explained, "at midnight."

Ridiculous, of course. A horror movie? At midnight? On a school night? Sonya, Jen and I both had to be at work this morning.

"Let's do it," I said.

Off we went at eleven. By midnight we were firmly seated in theater four at the Malco Ridgeway. I was worried I might drift off.

I was also more than a little terrified.

Good god, people. I've been looking forward to this movie and everything, but it was the scariest thing I've ever seen. A truly riveting masterpiece. Horrifying. Every one of you must see this movie.

I won't give any details away - and even if you do find out details, it won't make any difference. I knew everything you could know about the movie without actually seeing it and I was still shit-my-pants scared. I watched the last fifteen minutes through tightly laced fingers.

Let me tell you this, though. There's no gore, no blood. Nothing jumps out at you, and the music never spikes in Psycho-like shrieking. There is nothing that you usually consider frightening in this movie.

And I was terrified.

Afterwards, Jody was waiting for us in the lobby.

"You're welcome," he said as I walked forward to shake his hand.

"You know," Jody said, "I didn't relax for one minute during the entire movie. It was great!"

And even though it was pushing three in the morning when we got home, Sonya and I both had a hard time going to sleep.

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