Well, that was a nice little five-day break from laying it all out on-line, wasn't it? And if you don't like the wait between updates you are welcome to (as the Gerbil in the Microwave says) bite me.

And, just so you'll know, Buffy the Vampire Slayer totally rules. I am so on that particular bandwagon.

So let's backtrack. Yes, Thursday was totally fun. I drank that much. Incredible. And Sonya met her lifelong idols. Here's my thoughts from Friday night:

Grand Casino Biloxi
Room 428
08/20/99
8:31 p.m. CDT

Jen and Sonya are off at their second Duran Duran concert in as many nights. Bless their pointy little heads - they certainly were excited.

I've lost $25 already tonight. That - combined with the $20 I lost playing video poker through the course of the day yesterday - tells me that it's time to stop gambling. What else are you supposed to do, though, when you're staying in a fuckin' casino? I become cheaper as I get older - I keep thinking that there are many better things I could do with that money. Stupid, stupid gambling.

I think we may go boogie after the concert. Then we do the whole thing again tomorrow. With much less driving, though.

Now let me tell you 'bout my day-long drunk.

We got to the Horseshoe yesterday at about two in the afternoon. Jen and Sonya immediately lined up with other like-minded folks. I didn't care where I sat, really, so this left me to wander the casino for five hours - 'til the doors to Bluesville opened.

I drank. And drank. And played quarter video poker. And drank. And ate tater tots. And drank. If you're down at the Horseshoe be sure to say "Hi!" to Cliff the bartender. He's a gem. And tip him!

Preliminary count says that I drank...oh, a dozen or so drinks last night between two and midnight. But I didn't pass out or puke.

I just got drunk. And more drunk.

Now, I'm not trying to brag here, like some frat boy who sucks down half a keg and turns his liver into cat food, but I'm very impressed with myself. Beer, vodka, gen and tonic...I tossed it all back with impunity and managed to keep my feet. It was a near thing there towards the end, when I've been told that I nearly fell several times. Actually, I remember the floor being none too stable.

Mind you, I thought the alarm going off this morning might very well kill me, but I survived.

I made lots of friends last night and saw lots of people I know and love at the show. I don't know about them, but I had a blast.

I'm wearing the Bettie Page t-shirt tonight. I was cashing in some chips earlier and the two young-ish guys in the change booth were admiring it.

"She's hot."

"She's totally hot."

They had no clue who she was.

"Is she new?" one of them asked.

I didn't go boogie. I passed out shortly after I wrote all that. Drunken foolishness will take the energy right out of you.

Saturday morning I got up very early - 7:30 or so - wide awake and ravenously hungry. I'd passed out just after nine on Friday night and had only had a few crab claws for dinner; the previous nights drinking binge took a great deal out of me. Sonya and Jen had been carousing late into the night with their fellow Durannies and one of them, Anna, was asleep in the bed with Jen. I slipped out of the room as quietly as possible and had the valet bring the car around.

I'd seen an IHOP on the way in on Friday and I had my favorite combo (pancakes/hash browns) on my mind from the moment I awoke. I settled into a booth with the local paper and soon devoured my breakfast with a intensity that was unsettling to me when I was finished. I'd also read in the paper that the Saints game would be blacked out. Damn.

I got back in the car with no real plan except to check out the beach. I stopped at a likely spot and promptly filled my All-Stars with sand. That wouldn't do at all.

So I went down to the big souvenir joint (T-Shirt Harbor or something like that - there was a huge plastic shark head surrounding the front door, very original) and was promptly greeted by the bevy of bored high school girls behind the counter. I found their shoe section (after passing the hermit crab section and the hurricane damaged goods section) after a little searching. They had two kinds of shoes that I was interested in: the $1.49 flip-flops that will blow out if you think about walking too fast and the $15.00 strappy Teva-clones.

Grand total: $1.61.

Back to the beach, after taking off the All-Stars and putting on my spiffy new flip-flops. There, I picked up glass for twenty minutes.

You see, once upon a time when I was a pup - we're talking twenty years ago or so - me, my mom and my two sisters went to Biloxi for a vacation. Everything was going wonderfully until, while wading in neck-deep water, I managed to step on a piece of broken glass.

I hopped, one-footed, all the way up to the beach. If you've ever been to Biloxi and done some wading you know that there are places where the sand-flats stretch out for miles. It was a long, painful hopping trip back up to the beach. From there I limped up to the concrete wall at the edge of the sand and sat down, blubbering and shaking.

My sisters were a little alarmed at the trail of blood I left from the water's edge to the sea-wall, to say the least. After that I remember a long, nightmarish drive around town, a sandy towel turning deep red wrapped around my foot, while we looked for the emergency room. We found it, eventually, and they sewed my foot up. The rest of the vacation was marred by my ill-temper, fever and puking in the bed. I was a sick, miserable kid, I'm sure.

So seeing so much broken glass spread around the beach like so many treats in a sea of Cracker-Jacks made me sad. I picked up what I could, careful not to cut myself or to step out of my cheap shoes. Then I gave up and headed for the hotel.

I did stop by the cemetery, though.

Now, I've always wanted to go poking around the cemeteries in New Orleans, but I've never set aside the time to do it. All those big masoleums and sepulchres and stuff seem like they just need to be explored, by my way of thinking. Never done it, though. As I drove by the sign that said "Biloxi Cemetery," though, I thought to myself, hey, Harold, what else have you got goin' on this morning?

Not too damned much, that's for sure.

I went looking through the newer, less built-up part of the graveyard first. Lots of Virgin Mary statues, and several big family crypts. And fire ants. Lots of fire ants. Apparently I kicked through one of their little colonies because I've got several itchy, swollen spots on my foot. I went back to the car, put my shoes back on and drove up to the older part of the cemetery.

It was totally creepy, y'all. There were all these ancient, twisted oak trees just dripping spanish moss. It was shady and kind of dusty, and it looked like the groundskeeper didn't worry about the old section too much, becuase the grass was long and various creepers and vines were all over the stones. Who was going to complain, though? No one had been buried in that section in years, as far as I could tell, and it didn't look like anyone had come through recently.

And in the middle of all that you could raise your head, turn to the right and see the Gulf of Mexico spread out, just across the road.

I don't think it would be such a bad place to be buried.

I got a nice little nineteenth century inscription, too, from the crypt of Peter Seymour (March 1, 1865 - January 11, 1891):

...thy darling form lies sleeping
In the cold and silent tomb...

Then I spent a longish few hours reading by the pool, alternately working through the new Tom Clancy and doing just a touch of girl-watching. I couldn't compete, though, with this kid whose room overlooked the pool. He was probably ten or so, and the whole time I was at the pool he sat beside his picture window, watching the assorted women around the pool and smiling a faint smile.

That kid may not quite have figured out what jerking off is, yet. I bet he does soon.

I made a trip to the arcade Saturday afternoon, too. For the record, I pretty much suck at Mortal Kombat 3, but I'm fairly gifted at Street Fighter Alpha.

Then I was feeling kind of cabin fever-y. The thing about a place like the Grand is that they try to get you to stay inside their place the whole time you're there. Stores, food, gambling, alcohol, ATMs...it's all here, the place seems to whisper to you, you don't need to leave. But I did, so I did.

Let me tell you, the Grand is just a block or two away from a damned unsavory neighborhood. It was the middle of the afternoon, though, and there wasn't a soul in sight. I figured it was safe to explore.

I was walking past a machine shop with a high fence when a volley of barking from behind me sent me jumping a good three feet off the ground. I turned to see two dobermans, both behind the fence and very excited about me walking so close to their territory.

Being the dog person that I am (and realizing they couldn't get at me through the fence) I leaned towards them and smiled.

"Good boys!" I said happily, "you're both doing such a good job!"

This caused them to perk up their already-pointy ears, wag their little stubby tails and bark more ferociously than ever. I continued on my journey.

Eventually I found myself on a long pier, jutting out into the Gulf with a shrimpboat picturesquely working the water not twenty feet away. I walked to the end of the pier, found a wino asleep there, and retreated to the halfway point of the pier to watch the boat and the low clouds moving over the Gulf.

I wished that I had a beer, but other than that the moment was pretty damned near perfect. I briefly considered going to sea, becoming a shrimper and taking my livelihood from the briny deeps.

I figured my fellow seamen would object to me bringing the wife and dog along, so I discarded that idea. But I do understand the appeal.

I went back to the hotel, said hi to the girls and got in the car to run and get a bottle of wine. And to listen to the Saints game on the radio. I drove around, cheering for the Saints and eventually I stopped at Glenda's Package Shop for a surprisingly good five dollar vintage. I stopped at several bars along the way, hoping that someone might be pirating the game, but all I found were a bunch of yahoos singing Jimmy Buffett songs. I went back to the hotel and drank my wine.

About ten I got the call from the girls to come have a drink with them. I accepted and we camped out in the Bayview lobby with a bar close at hand and (theoretically) a good view if the boys from the band should go by. I actually spoke briefly with Warren the Buff Guitar Player, which was pretty cool. Monica, a fellow Durannie, told me that Simon Le Bon was a major pussyhound. I would be, too, I suppose. More power to you, Si!

Sonya and Jen got to hang with the band and take pictures and get lots of autographs. They were very pleased. Hell, I had a good time, too. It's always nice to run to the beach.

And Sunday we drove home. Not lots to tell, there. Mississippi is dog-ugly, you know. We drove as fast as possible.

I'd like to run the River of Dreams 5K this Friday night, but I'm totally out of practice. I haven't run in weeks. I should tomorrow, I suppose, to see if I still can.

I got the new Tori Amos single today - I will listen to it soon. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that it's pretty good.

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