10/19/98
The Autumn of our Discontent

Friday night I went to Jack's (the little grocery store across the street from my building) and got a forty. I really wanted to go out and do something that night, but Sonya was tired and I got tired too. I didn't even drink my forty. I was in bed by eleven o'clock.

Last week must have been more stressful than I realized.

Saturday was terribly busy. I dropped Sonya off at Cole-Haysten (her stylist - and mine too, for that matter) and went to browse at Blockbuster Music. I saw a band name that I thought was just great. You ready for this?

Black tape for a blue girl.

Isn't that cool? Doesn't that conjure up a very specific (albeit unpleasant) image? There is a band that has a firm grasp on who they are and what they want to be.

I picked up this CD and studied the packaging. Apparently, they're some sort of goth/classical/ambient hybrid, which may mean they are unlistenable.

But what a great name!

I went and got Sonya and we continued on to Seessel's. Now, Sonya and I don't go grocery shopping very often. Most of the time one or the other of us will stop by Jack's or Walgreens and grab a few packs of smokes, a two-liter coke and some peanut butter. Voila - a week's food! So we spent a ridiculous amount of money at the store Saturday, 'cause we had to restock the whole damn cupboard. Then it was home for a quick shower and some fine-tuning on my submissions to editors.

Then we went to West Memphis. Why? 'Cause the West Memphis Marching Classic was this weekend, and my sister drafted us to volunteer at it. The Classic, as those in the know call it, is a competition for high school marching bands from all around the area. Apparently these things are quite common in the world of marching bands - having never participated in a band I really don't know.

But my nephew is the field commander for the West Memphis band (that means he leads the band when they march, I suppose. It also means he kind of conducts, but with a lot of theatre) and my sister Dawne is a big wheel in that particular machine. She calls, Sonya and I answer. One year we worked the concession stand. Both of us had ferocious, head-swelling colds. I cut my hand and bled like a stuck pig in the ice bin. I didn't tell anyone.

So we got there around six or so and immediately run into my niece Jamie and her fiance. It's hard to believe, you know? The whole world is growin' up.

Congratulations, Jamie!

We found Dawne and found out that she didn't need me or Sonya to work. This was a good thing. We joined my mother and grandmother in the stands and watched the bands. My nephew kicks butt, field commander-wise. He also has a bevy of girls following him everywhere he goes and he likes Todd Snider. This is one cool kid, in my opinion.

He wants to go to the U of M next year, too. Wouldn't that be strange, me running into my little nephew at Newby's one night? I repeat my comment about everyone growing up.

Before we left Sonya and I met up with Joel, a friend of ours from college who was judging the contest. He was an English major too, like us, and a phenomenal drinker. Now he teaches high school kids in central Arkansas. The world is a strange place.

Then Sonya and I spent a couple of hours at Kinko's, printing out query letters and samples of my novel. The motherfucker is in the mail, y'all. I used a whole roll of stamps, but it's gone. twenty-two queries and samples went out today. Two more queries and one complete manuscript go out tomorrow. I have produced the art...now it is in the hands of God.

A bad day in the NFL yesterday - the worst possible day, actually. When the Saints lose and the Falcons win it is bad. When the Falcons actually beat the Saints it is horrible. It takes so much character to be a Saints fan. It's easy to cheer for Dallas or Denver or San Francisco or Green Bay...they have a proven tradition of winning. They may have a bad season now and again, but they come back. The Saints, though, have never been very good, and there is no guarantee that they'll get good. New Orleans fans just have to believe.

How many people can say their favorite sports team requires faith?





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