Post Storm Sunset

Doin' the Jane Fonda

Yeah, so...

Am curently listening to "Jane Fonda" by Mickey Avalon.

M just heard it the other day on the radio and it is her newest little obsession. Probably has something to do with the decadent overtones.

Witness:

I had a baby named Jane
she could shake that thing
said her daddy used to hang with Johnny Coltrane
she sang the soul train with a friend named Jen
her booty was bigger than a Mercedes Benz

Its hard to convey the flavor via lyrics alone, but it reminds me most of Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" with a little of the Nails' "Eighty-eight lines about forty-four women" thrown in for good measure.

It has that flip, slightly buzzed, degenerate kind of charm.

If you like that sort of thing.

Light and Dark

Another Lost Weekend - Part 1

Got a little sh*tty last weekend, both Friday and Saturday night. Hadn't meant to, Friday, but you know how that goes, sometimes.

After a mediocre dinner at China Chili's new locale, M and I decided to stop in for a drink at Monroe's and maybe listen to a little music.

Dink and Donk* were playing - a protomale' guitar duo who's goofy enthusiasm and head bobbing only slightly overshadowed their jaunty covers of Sting and Tom Petty. We ended up hitting the bricks a couple of drinks later.

*not their real names, of course, but their pseudonyms seemed so much less... denotative.

"Oh, what the hell," I said as we walked back to the cars. "Let's stop in for one at the Newsroom."

" I love you," M said, leaning in to me. And the night had begun anew.

The Newsroom for those who don't know, is a semi-dive bar (though "very well lit," someone recently pointed out) with extremely cheap drinks and a varied clientele, including: hardcore drunks, nascar afficianados, aging punkers, aging rockers, college kids, hipsters, and gay cowboys - just to name a few.

Okay, there was only one gay cowboy (picture John Waters directing Clint Eastwood in "High Plains Drifter") -but- there's always something going on at the Newroom.

Example: A week or two earlier, I'd ended up there with the boys, Mat and Ax, having followed a drunken rugby team from bar to bar. We didn't know if we were for or agin' 'em, but figure'd wherever they ended up, it'd be interesting. And it was. Turns out a rugby guy grabbed one o' the regulars (a life-sized punk-rock troll-doll in leopard-skin pants) and they proceeded to scuffle.

Not much happened of any great import (though it was entertaining), and the Rugby Team was eventually asked to leave.

Blah blah blah.

Some weeks later, M and I end up drinking with none other than Random, the punker-troll-boy, who quickly developed a little man-crush on me and bought round after round for M and I. At one point the beers were three deep and still coming.

Random'd left his leopard pants at home but the vertical hair and cool-hand-luke attitude were very much in evidence, and a good time was had by all.

More to follow...

P.S. Did I mention M and I are going to see "Madam Butterfly" at the Phoenix Opera House in a couple of weeks?

P.P.S. Yes, really.

P.P.P.S. Photo cred for "The Monument" goes to M

Life Downtown.

M and I have decided to start a comic strip. It will be called "Life Downtown" and will feature little snippets of dialogue from inane conversations, barroom and otherwise.

Example:

M: You shouldn't be so uptight about assh*les. Everyone's got one and they all like to have it played with.

(pause)

Ok, well it sounded like a good idea.

Thursday A.M. Commute

Enough is Enough.

Found out my ex-wife's husband has a blog just the other day. Just. Like. Mine. It's called Papa's Point or something.

Whatever, dude. That's all I have to say. Whatever.

Your not me, okay, and your never gonna be me, so just stop trying, okay? Okay?

THERE'S ONLY ONE ME AND YOUR NOT HIM!!
(I mean, me... whatever... you get the idea. )

And don't think I don't see what you're up to:

First, it was me and her.
Now its you and her.

Then I start a blog.
Now you have a blog.

What's next, dude? You gonna start wearing Sponge Bob Underpants, too? Hunh?

Listen, up:

If I find out you're moving to New York to live in a sh*t-hole apartment while scraping by doing crappy theater for no money, that's it! I'm gonna have to:
Kick. Your. Ass.

You follow me? You see what I'm saying?

(pause)

Yeah.
That's right.

Who's the man, now, dog?
Who's the man, now!?

Mini Digi Pics from Dekalb