12/07/99
Chador

So here, off the top of my head, are some CDs that I would like for Christmas, if you're so inclined:

I am, obviously, in a butt-shaking mood.




I was looking at the Diary Registry's Louisiana Page and I've come to the following conclusion: New Orleans needs a good, daily journal-writer like Beth - a smart, funny DINK who's totally in love with the town. I was going through that list and checking out the New Orleans writers. They're all either talentless or oh-so-tragic or unreadable. We need a good New Orleans journal. Someone who could appreciate and complement a city as complex and challenging as that one.

As for Memphis, well, see for yourself. I rule this fuckin' town.




Well, looks like that Mars Explorer thing tipped over, huh? Personally, I blame the space monkeys (pictured, below).


Space Monkey #1

Space Monkey #2





Have you seen the new archive? Do you like it? That's not the only part of the site update you'll see in the coming weeks. In addition to the entrance page (and it's Forum-inspired paragraph) and the archive, there's a cast list and a links page on the horizon, as well as one of those nifty "One Year Ago" button and, coming in April, a "Two Years Ago" button. Aren't you excited? I am!




Here's one reason I haven't had much interesting to report lately: we're broke! I get paid Friday, though, and then I should be entertaining again.

I have found that money leads to mischief.




I went to Walgreen's last night to pick up a few things. Standing by the door was a girl, probably my age or a bit younger, wearing a long black chador, the female dress of choice in conservative Muslim countries. She didn't have on the full hood, though, just a wimple-type arrangement that covered her hair and throat, leaving her face fully exposed.

Sticking out from under the chador, though, were two feet, bright red polish on the toes, which were peeking out of a pair of strappy platforms.

I wast tempted to run up to her and start screaming.

"Damn you, harlot! Your shameless footwear has driven impure thoughts into my head! Shame! Shame!"

I mean come on. You're in America now, honey. Go half-naked and you'll be admired and beloved. Nobody gives a damn what you wear except your family, and their opinion stopped having any weight when you were twelve or so. Get you some baggy jeans and a baby-doll t-shirt and go party!




I've been in a funk since I got home. I had to make another trip to Walgreen's tonight, so I decided to treat myself (Merry Christmas To Me!) with some peanut butter. It's been months, y'all.

I was walking down to Walgreen's when one of the filthy stinking homeless people who hang out at the trolley stop across from Jack's said, "what you know good?"

"Hadn't got anything for you today, sorry," I muttered.

[For The Non-Homeless Savvy: He really didn't want to know if I knew anything good. If I had responded with anything except a grunting negative he then would have said "let me ask you something" and then he would have segued into a request for money. I was merely stopping the process before it got started.]

"I didn't want anything from you anyway!" He said it as I walked away, and he said it nasty, like his feelings were hurt, "bye!"

What did he want from me, to be friends? I'm sorry, that's not going to happen. If you're gonna panhandle, buddy, you've got to have a thicker skin than that.




Damn. I think I've got a Brak infestation.





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