Rough night last night. Conversations and facing reality and making choices and crying. And then, dreams: I. I am riding a bike, taking an unfamiliar trail through the woods. It’s nighttime. I’m cruising along and I start to notice people sleeping on the ground all around me. I’ve stumbled upon a homeless camp. And my dumb ass is riding right through it while everyone’s trying to sleep. But not everyone is asleep, I see as…
Brandon’s got some pictures up of Beale Street and St. Patrick’s Day shenanigans. My favorite is of the little girl in the star shirt grooving with giant tassels on her feet. (I forgot all about St. Patrick’s Day, and somehow still managed to wear a green shirt Friday. Kinda sad, isn’t it?) I did some snooping Googling and found out that the dudes on the green bus are these guys — The Secret Order of…
When did I become one of those neighbors who, if I hear muffled voices outside my door, mutes my music and creeps to the door to eavesdrop? I never hear what they’re saying, ever.
This morning I was on my home phone with Phil and someone named Dung Nguyen beeped in. I didn’t answer. Dung Nguyen called back a few minutes later, when I was off the phone. I answered. I heard lots of background noise on his end. “Hello?” “DAAAAAA?” “Hel–LO?” “DAAAAAAAAA!” I hung up. A few minutes later, Dung Nguyen called back. When I answered, I heard a baby crying in the background. “Hello?” Silence. Except for…
I finally saw The 40-Year-Old Virgin. I loved it. I watched it twice. It’s a damn smart film. It’s well-written and quite quaint and moralistic in its messages, despite its ribald delivery. You’ve got Andy, the virgin. He’s shy and polite, well-groomed but eccentric. He lives a stereotypical bachelor’s life, only without the promiscuity. (He has a sweet apartment with an awesome MST3K poster. There are also lots and lots of action figures in his…
This kid turns nine today: Shortly after this photo was taken last weekend at his pre-birthday party, he decided he was embarrassed and spent ten or fifteen minutes with his head in his hand, crying and wishing everyone would disappear. And then he perked back up. Nine-year-olds are damned moody. Just like the rest of us, I guess. Happy birthday, Patrick.
It’s Friday night. Do you know where your social life is? AppetizerWhat job would you definitely not want to have?Anything involving blood or shit. Or small children. Or teenagers. SoupOprah calls and wants you to appear on her show. What would that day’s show be about?It would be a celebration of Oprah’s biggest fan. SaladName 3 vegetables that you eat on a regular basis.Ha! Lately I’ve been munching on baby carrots and lettuce. If pickles…
Miller Genuine Draft is on my shitlist. I just saw a commercial for their stupid fucking beer and Etta James’ “I’d Rather Go Blind” was the background music.
I don’t have anything to write about, but I want to get that last post off the top of the screen because it’s ugly and depressing. So I want to take you to a fanciful world where everything uttered will make you laugh. I want to take you to Paul’s Letters to Larry (David). Now, I don’t know Paul, but he lives here in Memphis. I found his blog through another Memphis blog (A Pulp…
Weekend: Good. Mom’s birthday: Good. Yesterday: Pure crap. I call shadenfreude on myself. The day started beautifully: A trip to the pet store, snickering at the baby ferrets, a walk in the park, a desperate voicemail for my dad — asking him to not cash the hefty car insurance check I’d written him until Thursday when my paycheck would clear (otherwise I’d be a measly $12 in the hole with probably $90 in fees to…
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