To E (A: B.B. King’s Blues Club)

I’ll say one thing, E., you’ve made me a tourist in my own hometown. That’s a thing of awesomeness.

I’ve only been to B.B. King’s once, and that was to see one Ms. Ruby Wilson. She’s amazing, by the way. But I wasn’t disappointed Saturday night, either. I’d heard of Preston Shannon but had never heard him play before, and I was really impressed. Good stuff.

Paul and I hit up Beale Street early Saturday (around 8 p.m.), having already driven to Harbor Town and Tom Lee to see the flood stage. It wasn’t easy gauging the river level in Tom Lee because it’s truly on the bluff, but Harbor Town was another matter altogether. My favorite spot in the greenbelt, one I go to a lot to sit and write, is completely underwater.

When USACE sent out a press release last week about the river surpassing flood stage, I told the guy I share an office with that I feared My Spot was flooded. He said, in his usual practical way, that parks in floodplains are meant to be flooded. I know he’s right, but when I saw it for myself, my heart sank.

Anyway, Paul and I drove to Arkansas to see the levee then headed back to Beale to take pictures and grab some food. The pics turned out great; the fried pickles at B.B.’s were the worst I’ve ever had. But we had a great time and I got tons of photos. The best ones of the river stage and of B.B. King’s are in my Memphis folder, and new pics of Paul and me in the Harbor Town greenbelt are in my Friends folder.

Your five ain't even better than our bench

FINAL FOUR BABY!



CAN I GET SOME MEMPHIS LOVIN' UP IN HERE?!

Gettin' NOSty

Two weeks without caffeine. Well, without measurable caffeine. My two coffee outings were both for decafs. (Have I ever mentioned my sig drink? It's a venti, decaf, nonfat, sugar-free vanilla, extra extra dry cappuccino ... extra dry. Basically three shots of espresso and a cup full o' milk foam.)

So ... no caffeine for two weeks. Then, last night, I'm in Arkansas taking pictures of where the Mississippi River is flooding the levee, and I decide that I want a six-pack of Fat Tire more than anything in the world. Fat Tire, for the uninitiated, is an amber ale by New Belgium Brewing that's pretty darn good ... and completely unavailable in Memphis. My office is pretty much on the edge of the Memphis/Arkansas bridge, and it's not uncommon for coworkers to pop over to West Memphis to pick up some Fat Tire (or other New Belgium beer).

Yes, I'm aware it's illegal interstate commerce to carry beer across state lines.

Anyway, I'm driving through Arkansas and say to myself (and Paul): "Hey Self! And Paul! Why not track down some Fat Tire?" I head to the nearest grocery store and, alas, they don't carry Fat Tire. Or they've sold out. They were out of a lot of tasty beverages, probably because the Tigers play in the Elite Eight today.

But the trip wasn't a total loss: As I was dejectedly walking toward the exit, I spotted four-packs of NOS energy drink. NOS! Right there on the shelf! The first time I tried NOS -- okay, the only time I tried NOS -- was on the way home from picking Matt up in Evansville. I traded the cherry tomatoes from my mini veggie tray for part of his bottle of NOS. I hate tomatoes. But I loved NOS ...

... which means, naturally, it's not available in Tennessee. Or at least in most of Tennesssee. Apparently, it's sold at 7-Elevens, but there aren't any in the western two-thirds of the state. In fact, I have no idea where 7-Elevens are anywhere in the state, but if I knew, I'd so totally drive there to buy a Slurpee.

So, last night, I bought two four-packs of NOS.

Did I mention I haven't had caffeine in a couple of weeks?

This is one incredible kick. It has a crapload of calories (which is why NOS, like cookies, is a sometimes food) and more caffeine and all those other energy drink goodies (ginseng, taurine, whatever-ine) than you can shake a stick at. This nice can has 250 fantastic milligrams of caffeine, which is like seven-plus cans of Coke. Or three-and-a-half cans of Vault. Or two-plus venti cappuccinos.

It cuts through the Ambien haze like an (insert relevant simile here).

And, with that, folks, I'm off for a while. Yah!

Marbles, music, March Madness

As of the time I'm posting this, none of the NCAA games are over yet. So ... three cheers for Xavier, North Carolina, UCLA and Tennessee! Boos and hisses to West Virginia, Washington State, Western Kentucky and Louisville.

I've been keeping my hands busy during these basketball games -- and in between -- by playing with my marbles. Practicing with my marbles, really. Mattie has a nice glasswork setup in Michigan, so we agreed that I'd wire-wrap marbles and he'd pay me in jewelry. I love jewelry, especially unique jewelry, and double-especially made by a friend. Anyway, I've been waiting for the first set of his stuff and practicing wrapping little cat's eyes marbles in 24- and 32-gauge wire. My thumbs are so sore they're spasming. I don't know how I'm going to do a bunch of these at once.

Speaking of Michigan, a friend tells me it's snowing there today. It's 78 degrees in Memphis. Michigan, it sucks to be you. ^_^

Now for your viewing pleasure, the greatest video of "O Fortuna" (Carmina Burana) I have ever seen. A friend sent it to me, telling me the camerawork is outrageous. He wasn't kidding. Skip ahead about 40 seconds for the song to begin. The frenetic intensity kicks up about two minutes in. It's the most fun you'll have at the symphony all day.

[Video removed from YouTube. You guys missed out.]

P.S. Good going, North Carolina ... especially since my bracket has you winning the national championship. One down, three to go.

To E (... again)

E, You sound frustrated. I'm sorry. >_<;
Here goes:

I’ll write you in rhyme
It isn’t too formal
And for better or worse
It kind of feels normal!

An aside now: At work
One day long ago
I spoke completely in haiku
To see if anyone would know
(They didn’t.)

Your riddles aren’t easy
(Well, the last was a bit)
But I print out each clue
And mull over it.

Sometimes it takes
Hours, you see,
Then the lightbulb goes off
And I’m so proud of me!
(Then I take it to coworkers
And sometimes to Paul
And they say it was easy,
No struggle at all. Ouch.) :-\

So what happens if
I decide not to guess?
Will the game keep on going?
That’s what I’d like best.

Let’s review the facts
The ones I recall:
You’re a guy from Memphis.
Is that it? Is that all?

Your birthday likely
Is between 04 and 08
Though sometimes the snow
Falls early or late.
(Nothing rhymes with August. Or April.)

Fourteen local schools
Are named after trees
Nine include “Oak” –
This isn’t a breeze!

I assume that I know you
Or it would be futile
To tell me your birthday
And your former school.
(Think hard: Do I even know these things about you?)

Oh ... one more thing. I know you think I got the Graceland clue too quickly, but I was racing the clock before the NCAA tournament. Racing the clock. Basketball. That's kind of funny. Anyway, the NCAA reference also likely means you like basketball. In any case, I haven't gotten any further than I was a few weeks ago. I just can't think of anyone who fits the bill.

To E (A: Graceland!)

Cue Paul Simon: "My traveling companions are ghosts and empty sockets; I'm looking at ghosts and empties, but I've reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland."

First things first: The real pic of Graceland is here. I don't want you to think I cheated by not taking a picture of the mansion! No, no ... in the pursuit of the perfect Memphis album, I drove all the way out to Graceland after work and mingled with the gawkers who came from distant lands to partake of All Things Elvis.

I didn't take the tour, but I have a good reason: I promised a friend (a Memphian who, like me, has never seen the inside of Graceland) we'd visit before Paul and I move. So unless he reneges, I'm holding off on that tour. Friends before photos. :)

The collage above -- you can see a larger version if you click it -- is made of photos I snapped yesterday of some of the interesting things people have scribbled on the wall outside Graceland. Most people just sign their names, but I love the people who write "Elvis Lives" or "You da man" or (my favorite) "Marry me, Elvis!" Nothing like proposing to a dead guy -- if he's really dead. Playing the X-Files theme here would be a nice touch.

For someone who hasn't taken the tour, I have had a pretty solid Graceland experience. I was initiated when I was an intern on the copy desk at the Commercial Appeal. When August rolled around, the editors -- most of whom had been there for 15-plus years -- told the other intern and me, "Look, every year we edit these damn Graceland vigil stories leading up to the anniversary of his death. We're passing those stories off on you." So he and I edited the stories. As a "reward," a few of the editors took us to the candlelight death vigil.

If you can't see the vigil in person, catch the video online in August. I can't even begin to describe how weird it is. The city blocks off the street (appropriately named Elvis Presley Boulevard), and people line up for blocks to carry candles to the memorial garden where he's buried. Fans make shrines with photos and votives. The year I went, I saw one group holding a séance. Several people were sobbing. Many others were drinking. It was an interesting experience.

So there you have it. My Graceland tale. More photos here. And when I do take that tour, I'll post some pics of the Jungle Room. Promise.

Goodbye, winter ...

... Hello, allergies.

Before I can even visibly tell things are blooming outside, my sinuses ache with a vengeance. I'm afraid I'm not a very fun person to be around this time of year because I can't really hold a conversation. Instead, it sounds something like this: "Yeah, so (sniff) I decided to wear (wipe, sniff) sandals to work (achoo!) because I couldn't find (wipe) any (sniff) clean (sniff) socks (sniff)."

... which, by the way, is half true. I wore sandals to work today, but not because I couldn't find any clean socks. Actually, I'm just sick of wearing tennis shoes. Hello, Man. I'm stickin' it to you.

I whittled the apartment search down to two: The Reserve at Wescott Plantation and The Islands. I had pretty strict criteria: not too expensive, cat-friendly, in-unit washer and dryer, six-month lease availability.

Wescott wins hands-down. I called them today to double-check a few things and was very impressed by their lease staff. The complex is new: Phase I is four years old; Phase II just finished except for one building waiting for final inspection. Every unit has a sunroom or a deck. There's a lake and walking trails and a pool ... and on and on. As a bonus, it's on a golf course. (A very ecologically minded friend today listed a half-dozen reasons why golf courses are bad and I shouldn't live on one, but I figured there's not much I can do now that the course already is built.)

The only downside to Wescott is it's about 25 miles away from The Citadel, meaning a roughly 35- to 40-minute commute. That's not much farther than I'm commuting now, but I won't be making that drive every day. Paul will. The Islands doesn't really set my world on fire -- some of the amenities just aren't as nice -- but the location is great: 10 minutes from Downtown Charleston (where The Citadel is) and six minutes from the beach.

Out of fairness, I'll visit both when I'm in Charleston, though I'm leaning heavily toward the former. With 116 days to go, I guess I need to make that visit soon.

A visit to the lowcountry. In spring. When things are blooming. Great.

Well, I guess it can't be any worse than it is here.

Proud Mary keep on burning

Can't read this post without listening to a little Creedence Clearwater Revival. Aural requirement.

I just can't get over how pretty the sunset on the river was last night. The view reminded me of watching sunsets on the Gulf. Nothing compares to the shimmering reflection of the setting sun or the rising moon on the water.

There's something immutable about sunset (well, at least until the sun burns itself out), and yet each one is unique and beautiful in its own right. I want to see them all! And when I've seen them all here, I'll go to Charleston Harbor and watch them from there.

Speaking of Charleston, I'm going to spend a couple hours this afternoon looking online and through city guides for an apartment. Paul and I are going to rent for a few months while searching for a house ... but we can't find the perfect house until we find the perfect apartment! I figure if I narrow it down to two or three, it'll make things easier when we visit ... whenever that is. I'm really in no rush to go.

P.S. I ran into Samuel L. Jackson getting barbecue take-out yesterday. He was wearing a really cool lavender baseball cap. I want a really cool lavender baseball cap! A policeman hanging around the front door of the restaurant shook his hand, but otherwise nobody bothered him. Man, dude just wants to eat his barbecue in peace. We all can respect that.

Hair, photos, kite

I have new pics up in my Memphis gallery and my Friends gallery.

This is one of them. And let me tell you what my problem is with this picture. My hair isn't red. It's just not. I took, like, 16 pictures in different lighting -- sunlight, fluorescent, incandescent -- and you know what, it's not red. I covered up my blonde highlights, and for what? Brown-red. Not red-red.

The bonus is that the color manages to wash me out even further. I already had the computer-monitor-geeky-pale thing going on, and now it's even worse. It's really obvious in person.

I should spend more time outside.

This should be the last time I post a haircolor pic for a few months; I might as well keep this color for a while. I guess that's good news to the dude who made my day by dissing my haircut on his first visit to my blog. ::rolls eyes::

Paul and I went to the river this afternoon to fly a kite. No, we actually went to the river to watch the sunset, but we keep a mini parafoil in the car (not the stunt kite -- I took out the few remaining crossbars and sent that to Matt), so Paul flew the parafoil while I snapped pics of the sunset.

Compared to the stunt kite incident (Paul, Matt, a nutdriver flying through the air...), manning the parafoil was a piece of cake. Folding it up and putting it back in the bag ... not so much. And even harder was warding off the little kid who rode up on his bike and tried to sweet-talk me into giving him my kite while his dad gabbed on his cell phone half-way across the park. Cute kid, but I kept the kite. Is that bad?

Good news

Talked to the fine folks at UT Cancer yesterday. My JAK2 came back negative, so my stem cells aren't mutated! Check that one off the list.

We're slowly whittling away at the list of possibilities and I think we're entering Really Really Rare Disorder territory. I'd love some resolution -- just a definitive answer, you know -- but each time a test comes back negative, I get a little rush. I could have it so much worse.

My bracket going into Saturday: 22 of 32. Definitely passable.

Already, my bracket takes a hit

Memphis' CBS affiliate broke into the NCAA tourney coverage yesterday with an announcement: Five-term Memphis Mayor Willie Herenton is resigning effective July. He's already been mayor 16 years and just won that fifth re-election bid a couple of months ago. Herenton is outspoken to a fault -- a often-divisive, sore spot with some locals -- but I've got to give him credit for never hesitating to be himself, for better or worse. Its seems to have served him well thus far.

All that said, the news was horrible timing: Not only did I have to scramble to edit some stuff instead of blogging, but I also missed some tournament play. Good thing the games are free online at ncaa.com.

My bracket got screwed after I went to bed last night and I dropped to 12 of 16 picks. That took my rank in one group to 12 of 23 and in another group to 16 of 20. Ouch. But I'm not too crippled yet: There's plenty of time for the leaders to screw up, allowing me to edge ahead of the pack. As long as I beat Paul, I'm okay with it.

The office might as well be shut down during March Madness. Everyone is studying brackets, watching games online, talking trash.

This'll give you an idea of where my mind is: I was stuck at a long stop light Thursday morning, so I loaded the message headers of my work e-mail onto my phone. I saw a message from my boss with the subject line "Early Friday," and thought, Sweet! We're shutting down early because of the Tigers game in Little Rock. Got to work, opened that e-mail, and realized we're shutting down because of Good Friday. If the Tigers win, it will be a good Friday, indeed.

Paul and his dad have tickets for tonight. So does the guy I share an office with. Mom and Dad are driving the two-ish hours to Little Rock this morning to see if they can snag any of the newly released tickets at the arena box office. Not me. I'm going to snag a bottle of Framboise and watch the game in my jammies from the comfort of my couch.

Dribbling over the brackets

Sixty-five teams, one very indecisive Kate. Anyone else in a March Madness pool?

I've got two days to pony up a bracket and $5 each for the two pools I'm in. Oh, that it were so easy. I'm on the fence about a couple of upsets.

Paul's bracket is a long shot, even by his standards. I think our biggest first-round disagreement so far has been Xavier/Georgia. I think third-seed Xavier is going to pull this off, but he says 14-seed Georgia has been touched by the basketball gods. I admit Georgia's four-win SEC upset points to a team that probably deserves higher than a 14 seed, but I'm just not seeing them taking Xavier down.

He has the championship as a rematch between Memphis and the University of Tennessee, with Memphis winning. Such an optimist! Odds are a million to one that game will ever happen again. Right now, I have North Carolina winning the championship. That might change in the next couple of days though.

Advice?

To E (A: Lil' John's Animall)

Okay, you get bonus obscurity points for this one. Took me a long time -- and a little on-the-fly musing with a coworker -- to come up with Lil' John's Animall. But, for better or worse, said coworker (actually, a couple of them) have started following the hunt pretty closely. He agrees with me that Lil' John's Animall isn't exactly in the same league o' landmarks as The Pyramid and Corky's, but it is what it is.

I've been trying with each answer to write my memories of that place, but tonight was the first time to visit Animall. That said, I'm glad I went. I was able to special-order a 36-inch sisal scratching post for Fred for a mere $40. Paul and I hit a dead end trying to find Fred a scratching post; she's 33 inches when stretched out, and that's way taller than most posts. Lately, in lieu of a "real" post, she's taken to clawing the moulding on my doorways within an inch of their lives, so this might be the best $40 we've ever spent.

I also bought a $4 bag of premium moist treats (!) with real sardines (!!!) for the girls.

Maybe you'll get an Animall referral fee, E.

Summer sing-alongs

Man, I am completely stoked about Beale Street Music Festival this year. (Holy smokes, I just used stoked in a sentence!) The lineup looks absolutely amazing.

Three days, four stages, a crapload of fantastic bands: My Chemical Romance, Disturbed, Santana, Sheryl Crow, Fergie, The Black Crowes, Matisyahu, Aretha Franklin, and -- be still, my heart! -- Ben Folds. I really respect Ben Folds and have wanted to see him in concert for … forever. I’m also looking forward to checking out Lord T & Eloise, whose music (coined “Aristocrunk”) has gained a lot of national attention. Take a listen here.

I’ve heard quite a few people say this is the best BSMF lineup in a long time. I think it’s going to be a great weekend, and it's in the same park I've been spending every Sunday lately. (See high-quality diagram to the left.) Very cool.

I’m looking for other concerts this summer – you know, before I get too settled in. I don’t particularly want to do Warped alone, and everybody else is being waffle-y. None of the other festivals work. Bonnaroo has a stellar lineup and is close to home, but it’s too crowded and too expensive ($250 a ticket? No way …). Coachella has a great lineup but is too far away; Lollapalooza hasn’t announced its lineup, but it’s too far, as well. Dave Matthews has a couple of doable gigs in August (Memphis, Cincinnati). Maybe I’ll hit one of those – again, if somebody tags along.

By the way, I’m feeling a bajillion times better today than yesterday, so sorry for the Woe-is-Meisms. Smacky put it best when he said he’s lucky to have someone who can remember the good even when he’s showing the worst. I not only have the greatest husband in the world, but the most fantastic, patient friends in the universe … through thick and thin. Thanks, guys.

… and see you at Music Fest.

P.S. Hope nobody was too attached to the blonde highlights; my hair’s short and red now. Going to spend my last few months livin’ it up. ^_^

You da man, E ...

'Nuff said. ^_^
--

So, it's 2 p.m. on Sunday. I think I'm headed down to the river for some Kate-time.

I took Mattie to Tom Lee Park last week. Of course, he's been there before -- the first time he was in Memphis -- and got a decent history lesson from the down-on-their-luck historians who give the insider's tour for a fifth of cheap vodka. But we went last week anyway, for my benefit. "The view's not that great," he told me (and he's right). "That's not the point," I replied. I think he understood, but I can't be sure. Then I cried and talked about leaving everything behind. And, quite finished, we got in the car and drove home.

Matt's gone with me too. I cried then, as well. I guess it's where I go to vent and resent.

There are incredible benefits to Paul and me working in our own, separate little worlds right now. It's a great time for introspection and for listening to what I'm telling myself. I guess all that sounds more dramatic than I intend it to be. That's okay; the blog is just one more way for me to remember This Here Now ... you know, in case I ever wonder why things are the way they are (or were the way they were).
--

And, incidentally, that brings me back to you, E (though that wasn't my intent). Knowing who you are -- especially if I know you in real life -- means one more loss. Is that silly? I feel silly. But kind of sad, too. Okay, I've got to get out of the house before I get lost in my head.

I'd rather sleep when I'm dead

I met my new psychiatrist yesterday. Nice guy. In half an hour, he gleaned enough insight about me to come to this startling diagnosis: I’m really stressed out. Gee, thanks. Now can I get back to my regularly scheduled programming?

Actually, I was pretty excited to tell him I’d weaned myself from over-the-counter sleeping pills, which my former psych cleared me to take as needed.

The new guy asked me how much sleep I’m getting now; I told him about four hours a night. He looked a little alarmed and said I need at least seven or eight hours a night to function properly. I grudgingly told him I’d start the OTC pills again (an out-and-out lie) ... but he was insistent about writing me a prescription for Ambien (that's the pretty compound you're looking at).

Now, I’ve done fine for years without prescrip sleeping pills. But, just for the heck of it, I filled the prescription and took an Ambien about 10:30 last night. (Hey, never say never!)

At 10:45 a.m. this morning, Mattie told me to check my sent mail. Here’s what I sent him, time-stamped 7:29 a.m. I’ve censored it:

Fillad the Ambien and Xamx prescribpatiosn last night. Ambien oatient info s]= to alwlow for sever or eight hours f9 slee0 so I opstend for eight. I woke up relaly groggy. Like i can't really gunction groggh, tropped on the bed and cakkm I guess wjll try to get everything sucey up sof you have a kiln or something. ****, hoa am i goinf tograve to work **** **** ****. And thers a baskejball game in the middlw of the afyernoon. I shhjouleve known it was aiutak rugh to fill. ****. amaybe i need some caffgiene, ****. eonomu

os god please te.;; me thsi is not that strange, i sast watntl tk go back to slepp ,. aoyk sssays he hates 5his arr3lint but i think i6s a nife feeling of just rloaalom th5outh my soul. I habent felt so drgged in a vong tme. O neeeh to findsome caffeime and shower. i wantdd to talk ti yiu and ask 6oi wanted tk ask absout this andglass, **** wjwa6 di u di fin. s **** **** .

I have no recollection of sending it. Anterograde amnesia. I'm familiar with the concept (I take a couple of benzodiazepines), but I've never had anything more than some serious fuzzy-headedness.

One look at this e-mail and I am absolutely horrified, like sick-to-my-stomach horrified. I frantically went through my phone logs, text messages, etc., to make sure I hadn’t tried to contact anyone else, but it looks like Matt was the only person to receive thoughtful musings this morning. Thank god. At least he’s not shocked about it as much as I am.

In fact, he was pretty cool, telling me, “Why's it embarrassing? I've done way stranger things under the influence.” That makes me feel better -- and it's true: He did some pretty stupid things in the six weeks he stayed here, and that's six weeks out of ... how old is he again? Almost 24?

I can pick out certain elements of that e-mail. Have Ambien and Xanax. Slept eight hours. Woke up groggy. Tripped over bed. How's the glasswork/kiln? Have to go to work. Basketball game today. Need caffeine. Feel drugged. Extensive cursing.

God, this is seriously embarrassing.

The countdown is on!

The C-USA basketball tournament started today, and my seats are awesome. If I'm AWOL the next couple of days, there's a better reason than usual: I'm catching some hoops.

Tuesday morning, I made an executive decision: I am moving to Charleston July 19. No more nebulous "sometime in July" crap; Paul and I will make the big move on our sixth anniversary. It's also five years to the day -- our first anniversary, if you can't do the math -- that we moved Downtown to the Mississippi River bluffs. I've put a widget in the left column of this page in place of my favorite Tom Stoppard quote. If the widget is behaving nicely, you can see the number of days left until I move. This is great if you're planning, say, a big Good Riddance soiree. Or even if you're planning a smaller, more intimate Help Kate Pack party.

The Big Date follows another recent executive decision: I'm taking a road trip right after we move. Paul will be putting together his class schedules and lectures, so I'm going to pack up the car and just go. It's the perfect opportunity because (1.) he'll be out of commission (there's a nice little military pun for you), and (2.) I won't be settled into a job or school yet.

I'm trying to convince a couple of friends to triangulate on Warped Tour in Cincinnati, Ohio, July 30. Okay, it's not true triangulation because it's a four-hour drive for one person, seven for another, and nine for me. I've also been highly considering -- if I can con a friend into being my navigator -- taking a week and making a 12-hour trip up the East Coast to NYC. Last year, Paul and I drove from Memphis to New York -- I think a roughly 19-hour drive -- with me doing most of the driving. It was the best trip of my life. From Charleston, it's a nearly straight shot up the seaboard -- and I'd get to linger in Raleigh/Durham, Richmond, Washington, Baltimore, Philly, and Newark before even making it into the city.

Mom would kill me if she knew I was planning to travel that far alone (or even with a friend in tow). Of course, she'd also kill me if she knew Matt stayed over last week while Paul was out of town. Or that I'm ready to get that tattoo I've been talking about for three years.

I'm still not jumping for joy over the move, but having a date on the books means I have a solid idea of how much time is left to clean out, pack, find a place to live, and so on. And knowing I'm taking a couple of weeks right after to travel gives me something to really look forward to.

P.S. Smacky: You, too, can take classes from Elvis' karate instructor, Kang Rhee.

To E (A: Corky's ... I think)

Corky's BBQ (or Bar-B-Q, if you go by their sign). This one almost tripped me up -- in more than one way. As a bonus, here's a pic of the wall o' famous people.

Corky's is a Memphis institution, albeit not nearly as good as Interstate BBQ. :D My favorite memory of Corky's doesn't have to do with the restaurant itself, but rather the commercial that features Robert Moye: "These are myyy ribs you've been eating all these years," or something like that. I wish I could find it on YouTube or something -- it cracks me up.

Now, I do believe you owe me a clue about yourself. And another photo clue at some point. So get crackin'. Are you writing these in bulk at once? Because that'd be the smart thing. ... As if I get a say in how you play the game. :)

Actual Paul quote o' the day

"As far as I'm concerned, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, The Eagles, the guy who sang for The Eagles, Boston, Kansas -- they're all the same to me. ... The Kinks, The Clash, The Beatles ... you know."

The post-Matt blog

Nice, goofy picture, huh? Matt and I both look like we just woke up. And he's wearing my hat. :)

Actually, it's the last picture I took before Matt went home to Michigan, taking the warm weather with him. After days of 65- to 70-degree awesomeness, it snowed four or five inches last night -- the first snow all season. Actually, the first big snow in a couple of years. I blame Matt.

I miss him already. It was such a fun week. The weather was absolutely perfect Sunday, so Matt and Paul and I went to the park to fly a kite I bought at the beach last year. It's a stunt kite, and the guys had a bit of trouble getting the hang of it, so by the end, it was on its last leg. Most of the cross-supports had popped out or were gone altogether. In lieu of a tail, Matt tied a nutdriver to the end of the kite (look for that in the pic), which actually got the kite airborne ... though it was probably a little bit dangerous to have a heavy, metal hand tool flying above us for extended periods.

I feel kind of bad, because Matt and I didn't attack Memphis much while Paul was out of town Tuesday through Thursday. We went out some, but he assured me he saw the city last time he was here and really was in town this time to visit me, so we stuck around the house and watched a lot of Adult Swim and some Fruits Basket. (Thankfully, Matt's patient; Furuba is very shoujo compared to what he normally watches.) We talked a lot. And I had so much fun, I didn't check my e-mail or blog for days.

Paul really likes Matt and said he already misses him too. Matt's like a big ball of positive energy, so having him gone makes it a little too quiet around here.

I think I'll go play in the snow a while and finish blogging later.

Shh ... Mattie's sleeping

I've never had a pic of Mattie before -- he hates pictures. But he fell asleep in the recliner and I took my chance. Shh, don't tell him. And don't wake him up either. Why won't he just go to bed? Boys are silly.

The drive to Indiana wasn't bad, except there's no real direct route there so I had to use smaller, divided highways. To top that, the GPS decided I needed the extremely scenic tour of West Tennessee, so I hit the Main Street of a half-dozen small towns between Memphis and the Kentucky border. To pass the time, I listened to CNBC and the iPod, but I was glad to have a passenger to keep me awake on the way home. Mattie and I talked a lot and listened to his iPod. He has a much more eclectic selection than I do -- like Top 40 hits from the 1940s.

God, it's good to have him back. Now I don't know why I was so worried. It's the same way with Carrie -- even if it's been two years, it's like no time has passed at all. We pick up where we left off, and there's something both comforting and comfortable about that.

Right as rain.

To E... (A: Pink Palace)

The Pink Palace Mansion. I also have a pic of the museum front here. My favorite memory of Pink Palace came at some point in junior high or high school. It's kind of hazy in my mind, but I remember a small group of students going up the dim stairs in the mansion to a research lab at the top. I remember a bright room with microscopes. And that's about it for that.

Another enduring memory is the "bird flight" ramp -- other Memphians should know what I'm talking about. You walk up the ramp with your arms stretched to each side and it shows you how your arms would move if they were wings.

Sorry it's so belated, E. ... It's been a long week. I actually was able to get the pic last night (Friday), but I wasn't able to get it uploaded before I went to Indiana. The clue was really tricky. ^_^ Somebody has suggested you might be a serial killer and I am setting myself up for a fall. I think that's a hilarious suggestion. I guess if you are a serial killer, well, the joke is on me.

So what next?