The teevee tells me that the weather’s gone all orange and pink and red. It’s disgusting, mixing those colors like that.
About an hour ago I was driving north on Avalon, taking a right onto Madison, when I saw the biggest fucking lightning streak I have ever seen. It was so big because it was seemingly right in fucking front of me, and its union with whatever it struck created the loudest and sickest boom-snap-crackle-fizz in the air around me, and set off car alarms all around the Piggly Wiggly.
It made my teeth hurt.
So, like many other level-headed young adults in this city, I’ll be spending the evening at the Beale Street Music Festival downtown on the riverfront, blogging for the Commercial Appeal‘s MIM blog. I’ve got Courtney’s galoshes, Donna’s raincoat, and, if I can sneak out of the office in an hour or two, all night to devote to some mud-stompin’, hurricane-drinkin’, and music-listening.
Should be a good time. If I don’t get electrocuted.