So Sunday night me and Sonya and James and Jen went to the Castle for their Halloween fiesta. Sonya was '80s chick, I was heavy metal dude (actually I just dressed as myself ten years ago) and Jen and James were tarnished angels or, if you prefer, white-trash fairies. We had a few drinks and looked at the colorful costumes. Then, a bit after midnight, we left. We tried to, anyway. The car wouldn't start.

What to do?

As it happened, Prince Mongo (local celebrity and proprietor of the Castle) was walking his dog just as our car failed to start. I walked over to him.

"Hey, Mongo!" I said, "I might need to leave the car in your parking lot tonight. Is that okay?"

"What's the problem, spirit?" he asked. His dog, a hugely fat and arthritic rottweiler, came over to me and, wiggling her stumpy little tail, pressed her big wet nose against my leg.

"Feel free to pet my gigantic head while you talk to the boss," she said to me. I swear, y'all, this dog was like a pony. I rubbed her behind the ears and explained my situation to Mongo.

"Let me try and give you a jump," He said finally, "I've got a big truck."

A few words here on Mongo. More than a local celebrity, Mongo is something of an institution in Memphis, even making an appearance on Real People back in the late seventies/early eighties. He has, at times, driven a huge, strangely decorated jeep, put obscene statues on his lawn, operated numerous pizza joints and bars (that inevitably get closed for serving alcohol to minors) and owned (quite successfully) a big chunk of downtown real estate. He runs for mayor every time the position is open (except for this - he ran for the city council) and he never wears shoes. People tend to shrug and roll their eyes when Mongo is mentioned. His latest venture is the Castle and living in his RV, parked in front of the Castle.

So Mongo pulled his truck up and gave me a jump, stopping periodically throughout the process to check on his "girl." She laid on the concrete by the door and watched the proceedings. The jumpstart worked and we made it home a good deal later than expected. However, we got to hang with a true Memphis character, so I think it was a pretty good trade-off.

My home-grown publication, JENNYSEAT, is now available at Shangri-La Records. You should go get a copy. Can't make it to Shangri-La? Well, I can send you a copy - it's just two bucks! E-mail me if you're interested and we'll work out the mailing details.

I picked Sonya up after work yesterday to go do some shopping and get a new battery for her car. I had drunk a great deal of water yesterday afternoon (as I usually do) and the traffic was ridiculous, as is also usual every afternoon going from downtown to out east. I desperately had to use the bathroom. Sonya knew this and took great delight in my discomfort.

"Do you need to peeeeeeee?" Sonya asked seductively, "wouldn't you love to take a nice long peeeeeeeee?"

Between the laughing and the traffic I very nearly wet myself. I made it to CompUSA, though, so I got to pee and do some Mac accessory shopping. I peed first, though.

Later, Sonya, James and I put the battery in the car. It was an exercise in lost patience and skinned knuckles. The car runs now, though, and that's the important thing.

A Story of the Homeless People

Back in... I guess it was January or February of 1995, I guess, I was working as a shipping clerk at a chemical company. There, I'd spend the majority of my work day in a tiny little shack (called a scale house), weighing tanker trucks and filling out paperwork.

There were two shifts in the scale house: first and second. There was a lock on the scale house door. There was a fence with an electric security gate around the plant. Sometimes, though, we were a bit casual about locking up.

I guess that's why I came in the scale house one morning to find a stinking, piss-soaked barefoot hobo wearing layers upon layers of clothes, making some strange brew of sugar and creamer in our coffee pot. Several of my coworkers - material handlers and truck loaders, rough and amiable fellows, all of them - were already there and were quite amused at this fellow. To be honest, at first I thought he was a truck driver.

I was told the cops had already been called, so I went about doing my morning paperwork and putting my lunch (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich) away.

"What kind of sandwich is that?" the hobo asked in a vaguely French-Canadian accent.

I told him.

"Man, I'd give you six dollars for that sandwich." And suddenly he was thrusting six one dollar bills towards me. Sold! I snatched the cash from him and gave him the sandwich. He inhaled it.

Moments before the police arrived he said, to no one in particular, "man, maybe that guy could give me my money back, you know?" No one took up for him, though, and I ignored him.

Later, I defended my actions to some guys in the lab.

"First," I said, "he could have just asked me for the sandwich and I would have given it to him. He didn't. And I didn't ask for money; he offered it. If he made a bad deal that's his problem. Besides, a person like that needs to learn you can't get something for nothing."

I had Taco Bell for lunch that day. It was good.

Wow, I really come across like a soulless motherfucker in that one, don't I?

You know, I may have to break that little Scott Evil's neck if he breaks Willow's heart. You hear that, Seth Green? I'm not threatening you or anything, I'm just saying.

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