I was at Kinko's with Sonya the other night, waiting on some copies she was having done for work. That place is busy right after work, you know? The one on Union here in Memphis is a regular Studio 54 around six o'clock. Anyway, we were leaning against a copier and people-watching.

"Is she dressing too young?" Sonya asked, pointing to this woman in a red jacket. She was probably in her fifties or so, gray-haired and a bit jowly, and she had on a short black skirt with a distressingly high slit in back with some strappy, clunky high-heeled mary janes. Good legs, too. It was distressing, really. Below the waist, a twentysomething office girl. Above the shoulders, your aunt.

"Yeah," I said to Sonya, "but she almost pulls it off, you know?"

Speaking of distracting skirts, I was at the library yesterday afternoon. I saw this girl, maybe fifteen, maybe thirteen, in the classic Catholic schoolgirl outfit: sweater, white button-down shirt, little plaid skirt, wool tights and saddle shoes. With blonde curly hair, too. Just cute as she could be.

If I were you, honey, I thought to myself, I'd be at home making self-starring porn and selling it over the internet instead of worrying about school because you, darlin', are a walking talking fetish.

The library is annoying. I love the big main library on Peabody, true, but after school on a weekday it's swarming with schoolkids. Not studying, not being quiet, but running fucking wild and enjoying a vibrant social scene. It's like their parents treat the library like a daycare for the over-ten set. And they don't shush 'em, either. When I was a kid you had to be quiet in the library or face severe repercussions. Actually, they'd just tell you to be quiet, but that's beside the point. These kids don't even try to be quiet. I suppose the library staff must be afraid that if they provoke the children they'll get shot, or forced to smoke crack, or something.

Kids today. Sheesh!

Last night a couple of friends and I went to Charlotte's Place, a bar at the intersection of Cooper and Peabody (across the street from Ruby Begonia's, for all you Memphians playing along at home). I'd passed by before, but I always assumed it was just an obscure lesbian bar, which it is not. I've never been any place quite like it.

My friends (whom, for the purposes of this entry, we'll call Pooh and Flipper) were very excited about the night out. Pooh had been to Charlotte's before and she really wanted to show it off to us. Flipper picked me up about seven-thirty, and we went to get Pooh.

Picture it, if you will: the door says "Please Knock We're Open," so you knock and a little middle-aged white-haired lady opens the door and lets you in. There are two small bar tables, each with three chairs each. Between the tables is an antique gas-burning fireplace, its blue flames mellow and warm. There's a short bar with six stools and an old Seeburg jukebox in the corner. There's a couple of bathrooms at the back, and the whole thing is the size of an average college-apartment living room. The walls are covered with pictures of cats, bar patrons and folksy little plaques with sayings in inpenetrable German.

Charlotte, it turns out, is from Austria and is shockingly and refreshingly outspoken about a great number of topics. Her favorite expression is "Jaysus Chrast!" She served us beers, told us about the history of the bar, her cats, her temp job and her near deaf husband and ran the jukebox for us , which was stocked with plenty of Mungo Jerry, Frank Sinatra, Sonny and Cher and Berlin.

"Oh, dere's my Berlin," she said when Take My Breath Away came on, "I luffed dat Top Gun movie. Dat Tom Cruss, he's nutting to sneeze at."

We drank and visited with Charlotte and sang along with the jukebox for several hours. Charlotte locked the doors behind us when we came in and locked up behind us when we left. No one else came in the whole time we were there. Apparently the place has been open for years. If you live in the area I can't recommend it highly enough; it's a totally unique experience.

I've been in this class for the last few days dealing with people's different approaches to life. Apparently, some people need to talk out whatever problems they might have; the instructor called this "emptying their bucket."

Pooh and Flipper, who I mentioned above, were also in this class with me. Of course, we had a wonderful time with this phrase.

• "Empty the bucket? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
• "I need to get my bucket emptied."
• "I haven't had my bucket emptied in weeks."
• "I'd let her empty my bucket."
• "Ah, my bucket is empty."
• "I got my bucket emptied twice last week."

Tonight, I went to make a griller (griller: a darned tasty frozen meatless patty; a fake burger) and dropped it in a pan. It spun 'round and 'round and made that spinny noise that dropped discs sometimes do before lying flat.

"Oooh," Sonya yelled from the living room, "sounds tempting. Make me one, too."

Kids run to the tasty sound of hockey pucks hitting the ice!

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