PrettyFakes

Favorite exchange of the day:

I told you about the bread that Wyatt & SC sent me—well, they sent some to a bunch of friends. Some are thankful, but still weird.

Dear Wyatt & SC,

Thanks so much for sending me that gift. The thought was really nice. but, you know i don’t eat bread, right?

-H

Then not too long afterwards:

Dear H,

Ha! Ha! Ha! fucker.

Wyatt

You just have to understand H. When Wah & Jah were getting married a couple years back in Savannah-wow! I mean, three years back—a bunch of us sat down over Redneck Bloody Marys (that’s half a draft Bud Light with tomato juice to top it off) and tried to categorize his eating habits—which are not moral, nor intestinal, but simply capricious. We decided it was largely no bread and no sauces or saucy solids. Dammit. What were some of the other things? There’s like ten things he “can’t” eat.

Anyway. I’m on Day Five of Gorjus Trek: Thee Reckoning; or, The Quest for the Case of Jack. The first few days were spent at O’Steen palace, watching Krull and Iron Maiden videos on VH1Classics.

Then jp! and la federala hosted me in the Blue House. jp! gave me an awexxome Stax t-shirt (he got the old one) and Robert Gordon’s It Came from Memphis, which I can’t wait to read (filled with Bill Eggleston photos of Alex Chilton!! Ooh, my toes is tinglin’!). Federala presented me with a bottle of wonderful Prosecco, direct from her parents in California, which I will always associate with their her & jp’s wedding. That, and Wyatt throwing espresso on me.

Last nite I hit W & KC’s. Their new Fondren Playmate Palace has all a swinger could ask for—heavy-duty wood paneling on the ceiling, shag carpeting, a mini-bar, and fake wood in the fireplace. Oh!! And the new Darkness cd. If you aren’t singing along to “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” and “Growing on Me” (as of right now, my favorite song ever) by the end of this post—then you ain’t metal.

Oh yeah! And a four-year old. Lily acts like a thirty-year old in a four year old’s body, though. While W was at Sissyfits practice (what, you say? Sissyfits? Oh yeah—three skinny punk kids playing Misfits covers in dresses. Be there Saturday night at Martin’s or you’ll get all L7 on me) and KC decorated the tree, Lily “read” to me a story about “stunks” and bears and it was actually a pretty good description about what was going on in the story. Then she padded off to bed because it was her bedtime. No one even asked her to! I’m telling you, she’s an alien midget.

She did ask her mom if she could come wake me up in the morning. I said that of course she could. “Well, I was just seeing, because Sally says that I can never, ever wake her up early, and that I should wake up my mom instead.”

Awww. And you all thought Sally was nice. So at six forty-five this morning I hear this little pad-pad-pad in my guest room (decorated with a tasteful poster of The Van—the slogan for which reads “Bobby couldn’t make it—until he went fun-truckin’!” Yeah, in italics, just like that). Then Lil’ shouted “it’s daytime!!”

Unh-hunh. Did I talk about staying up ‘till one in the morning downloading songs with KC and drinking Blue Ribbon? (Song list, if you were wondering: Cat Stevens “The First Cut is the Deepest,” Berlin “No More Words,” Joy Division “Transmission,” New Order “Temptation,” Clan of Xymox “Obsession” (why aren’t there more Cure ripoff bands?), Let’s Active’s massive Beatlesesque “Every Word Means No” (which I had never heard), and something by the Alarm, maybe. Oh! And the English Beat’s “Sooner of Later.” We could never get that stupid “Kansas” by Wolfgang Press. Note to RIAA cutthroats: we own all this shit on cassette or 45 already, so fuck-off.

So I watched “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and drank chocolate milk at seven in the morning. Lily does a mean Lucy impression, too—”now I’ve got dog germs on me!” Particularly realistic since Santo was drooling all over us.

So it was a wonderful, wonderful morning. Lord, I need to start studying. Send me your Labor Law vibes, everybody! All together now, just like how you saved Tinkerbell, all those years ago—”to prove a ? 8(a)(1) violation you must balance the employer’s business purpose versus the effect on the union’s ? 7 rights!!”

I knew you could.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 at 9:46 am and is filed under Gorjus, The Rock and The Roll. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.