Wall of Voodoo, Dude.

Lunched briefly with a coworker today at a place called Meatballz in Scottsdale. Its just around the corner from work and the Calamari on Fridays is pretty good. Just don't pronounce the "i" in Calimari or they look at you funny.

Oh, and did I happen to mention the place is run by New Yorkers?

Re: NY - I've finally come to realize I just can't get a way from the fucking place. Oh, sure, I left like a thief in the night, sold or gave away most of everything I had, moved thousand of miles and now do I everything I can to avoid even the topic... but everywhere I go, everyone I meet - my girlfriend (or whatever title you want to use - M points out we haven't exchanged stuffed animals yet, so maybe squeeze or ol' lady is more appropriate? You fill in the blank. Hey - maybe we should have a contest... anyway), my coworkers, half of my customers and every other person on the god damned planet that I strike up a conversation with - they're all from Brooklyn or Queens or Long Island or some other god damned place. And man are they smug about it.

But I digress..

So, anyway, there I am, having eaten the Calimar' when Sully, my big bald-headed irish coworker shows up. We sit, bitch about work for a while and then "Mexican Radio" comes on:

"I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
and the touch of a world that is older..."

Me: Man, I dig this song. Reminds me of my old buddy, D. It was kinda of our theme song back in the day. (pause) Though I would be hard pressed to say why, exactly.

Big Bald Headed Irish Co-worker: Yeah, Black Flag was one of my favorite bands back then.

Dude.














It was Wall of Voodo, dude.

And then we talked about the Blue People of Kentucky.