Knoxville Blues

I made this.

It was my only sale at the Knoxville T-shirt Dealey.

Which makes me proud that someone wanted it...

but also jealous that they now have it and I don't.

Pathetic, no?

By the Farmer's Market

Knoxville Tee Postmortem

Holiday Cheer

It's 5 a.m. on Christmas day (the birthday of our Lord, Jesus Christ!) and I am sitting in the darkness, typing...

I am typing on this, the best of all possible computers (dude, its a Dell!), in the best of all possible condos (sure it's a little "beige", whatever), in this, the best of all possible towns... Phoenix, Arizona, for the uninitiated.

It is truly the best of all possible worlds.

*Yeah, okay, I've just re-read "Candide" and for those of you who don't care for the philosophy of optimism, maybe you'd better just take your christmas goose and get it stuffed somewhere else, comprende? I suppose you could always ask for your money back, but no, wait, that's right, I'm doing this for free - and you're just along for the ride, so maybe you should just kiss my big hairy ass if you don't like it!

(Long Pause)

Sigh. On the other hand, I do write this crap for a reason, ego gratification or whatever, so maybe I could be a little more, you know, diplomatic or whatever. So, okay, just forget that whole "kiss my ass" thing. Sorry. I'm just feeling a little vulnerable right now, okay? Seriously. No, seriously, dude. Seriously, dude! Oh, just f*ck off, then!

Anyway, the festivities started Friday when T showed up from L.A. and we hoofed over to Carly's for a cold one.

The plan had been to meet up with a couple old buddies, in town for the holidays, and enjoy a rousting boys night out, just like old times. At least that's how Seal had pitched it.

J didn't get the memo, however, and when he brought his girlfriend, the door was opened to a considerably wider demographic. Subsequently, Boys Night Out turned into something more like Holiday Family Fun - cool, but not the same - and T & I ghosted* after the 2nd bar.

Back downtown, we met up with M at the Lost Leaf. M, meantime, had just fallen off the wagon and after 4 dry months was quickly making up for lost time.

Accordingly, we settled in with her at a table next to the bar, hunkered down, rolled up our sleeves, and prepared for a night of "good cheer" (not to mention a little game of "catch up").

A few hours and many drinks later, M, my girlfriend, took advantage of a gap in conversation, to make the following pronouncement:

I sometimes fantasize I have a penis.

And that was just the beginning of the weekend.

*ghosted - vanished: dissappeared: became invisible or unnoticeable

X-mas

Ball

Hick Sheep

In preparation for an evening on the town, I changed out of my work duds into a hoody/suit-jacket/tattered-jeans kinda thing and swaggered towards the door. Once there, I paused and turned to M.

What I meant to say, was:

Am I hip, chic*, or what?

What came out of my mouth:

Am I Hick Sheep or what?

After rolling around on the floor for a bit, M got up and we went to dinner.

The waiter was a jerk, too.

* "Chic," here, is pronounced "sheek." Duh.

A Different Reality

I was driving down Central Avenue last weekend. Up actually. The streets are all torn up with Lightrail construction and it's pretty slow going.

Near the library, while trying to navigate my boat of a company truck safely between flashing safety barriers and shards of jagged edged asphalt, I saw her.

She was possibly the most unnappealing woman I have ever seen, at about 5 foot tall, weighing around two and half bills, with a mop of unkempt hair, a large hairy facial mole and lips pulled back in, what appeared to be, a well practiced snarl.

She was poured into a pair of grimy, threadbare sweatpants and an equally grubby hoody.

The hoody had been unzipped to reveal a t-shirt with the following, written in large colorful letters:

I have the Pussy
-so-
I make the Rules!

What's my point?

At the time, I assumed the shirt was pretty much a "f*ck you!" to the world, but I now find myself wondering...

Could she have been oblivious to the sentiment on her shirt? Perhaps she was mentally handicapped or indifferent, even - maybe so poor she literally couldn't afford to care.

Or it could've been a Zen thing - detachment from worldly things and all that. The clothing was funtional, after all. Who cares about some stupidly worded sentiments? Hell, maybe the snarl wasn't even a snarl - maybe just a natural deformity.

On the other hand, she could be truly delusional - believe she has power over men (and/or women) based on the addictive quality of her sex.

But I like the last possibility, best.

What if the shirt was brazenly proclaiming the truth? What if, somewhere, she actually has a devotee? Maybe even a whole slew of them...

All hooked on that nooky.

Final

Night Rain

Thanksgiving Eve