Polaroid 420 with 669 film, Jackson, Mississippi, June 22, 2008.
Although it is already Tuesday, I am still exhausted by this weekend’s hijinx, where Prof. and the Contessa joined Lula and me, along with some friends, and wandered all over Jackson. And lo, I could tell you about the exquisite photography and paintings we saw at the museum, or the wine we drank, or the fine dining, but I’d rather talk about the awesome pinball game I played at the Fondren Beverage Emporium, and the fact that we totally saw this lady taking pictures of a guy with his shirt off leaning on a motorcycle. By burned out buildings downtown. It was awesome. Actually, it was one of the best weekends I’ve ever had in Jackson, or just about anywhere.
So, this Sandusky Review thing, I wrote the story and the Prof. edited it and I finished all the interior illustrations last night (just have to ink them) and then do a cover (and try to make it not be terrible). I may need to slow down because the good folks at Light + Glass are going to exhibit the panels from the Sandusky Review volume 3. Roy finally gave in after I told him I was going to camp out in his front yard, not necessarily because he would mind, but because the neighbors are already probably mad about the huge decommissioned Golden Flake truck he and Jerri have parked in the back yard.
I seem to be rambling. In closing, let me just say that “Party Barge” is a mega-F-minus, although the cover is super. Also: ROM Collins at my house, tonight!!
You left out the part about our being quizzed about Bjork by a low-rent male prostitute. Whose grammar we corrected.
And also that we got to watch Lula talk her way into a closed gas station—so that she could by Sparks.
Wait, what? Did that happen? It’s all a blur of hobo-beating stories to me.
See, some people are going to read that and think you’re kidding about the hobo-beating stories. But you’re not.
I also enjoyed the heck out of my trip to the Fondren Beverage Emporium, where I was—at first—delighted to see that they were selling Sifers Valomilk—the Original Flowing Center Cup.
From Casanova #9—Fraction/Moon
However: I believe that Kubark Benday and Matt Fraction may have over-sold it. My center was not flowing so much as pasty, though after being in the car for a while it did work its way into a disgusting ooze.
On the plus side, unlike our last weekend getaway, not one single carload of drunken yokels pulled up alongside us to tell Contessa that she deserves better than me. So there’s that.
Here here, gorjus! Last weekend made me love Jackson all over again! P.S. that foto is pretty awesome too.
no, no, that shit should be flowy, gooey, sticky, and completely impossible to eat without a napkin. it should almost be like someone’s pranked you when you eat them.
the first time i made my pal deke eat one, he looked at me like i just pulled a practical joke on him.
the second you touch the chocolate, it should melt some beneath your fingertips, and the first bite should open up the flow-deluge.
you had some kind of deawesomed Valomilk.
Yeah, I gotta say, that wasn’t my experience at all. I think maybe they were stored at too low a temperature (which is quite a feat for Mississippi in the summer)—there wasn’t any appreciable difference between the mallow center and the peanut butter center of a Reese’s. I guess I should have left it in the car a little longer.
In all fairness, I think there is a high probability that the Valomilk was either a) bootlegged in from a Sub-Merriam where Valomilks do not actually have flowing centers, or b) really, really old.
Also, it could just have been gross. It was no Good News, I’ll say that. HAWAI’I LOVES THEM, FOR GOSH SAKES