18 hours in february
2/21/03, 7:30 a.m.
Shit! I have to be in court in a half an hour! Hope I have everything ready!
2/21/03, 8:00 a.m.
"Gosh, the last time we were in this courtroom, I was watching you divorce your first husband. Good thing he wasn't there."
2/21/03, 8:07 a.m.
"In the matter of She-who and Ric Johnson..."
2/21/03, 8:17 a.m.
"...must attend Children First within 30 days or show cause why she can't. I will write this up and you will receive it next week. But you are divorced now."
2/21/03, 8:15 a.m.
I saw the sign on the diner door: "No Solicitors." It strikes me that I just represented myself in court. Does that make me a "solicitor?" I take the chance.
I buy The Ex breakfast and lust openly and guiltlessly after the waitress at the next table. It's a good feeling, that. We comment that they've added a salad bar. A salad
tub actually. As it was a converted clawfoot tub up on an oak frame with a false floor in the basin. We wonder how that could ever be sanitary. Ah, the joys of living in redneck country.
2/21/03, 8:45 a.m.
"Hey, I still have laundry in my truck, you think I can wash some?"
"Sure, but your mom will be there."
"Oh, I'll survive"
2/21/03, 9:15 a.m.
"You wanna play some cards while the wash is in?"
"Okay, but don't tell Pegleg"
2/21/03, 12:00 p.m.
"See ya later. I'm gonna go take a little nap."
2/21/03, 5:00 p.m.
"Oh, shit! I slept for five hours! I have a party to do!"
2/21/03, 6:00 p.m.
I buy all the champagne and crackers I need and head over to Todd's.
2/21/03, 7:00 p.m.
After a round-table toast that ends with the phrase "...and a collection of pornography" we commence playing trivia games. My three-man team (me, Cowboy and Newman) being the older of the six of us there, won the final three-edition Trivial Pursuit match by being lucky enough to roll our pie full of wedgies into the center hub first.
2/21/03, 11:00 p.m.
"I'm going drinking. Who's with me?" Four of us (two from the party and two late-comers) end up at a dive bar known for it's high percentage of medical-community babes based on it's location. The bar lives up to it's promise and a few tables away, a gaggle of three beautiful brunettes sits to drink. Peer pressure around the table convinces me to buy them a round of drinks. They agree readily and I discover that two of the women are "together" but, to my relief, the
really cute one is heterosexual. She returns a
shot later. At last call I return the favor and sit down with a woman that was too far gone to even ask for a phone number, but had a nice conversation anyway.
2/22/03, 3:45 a.m.
Newman, with whom I've hung out since we were thirteen and with whom I got drunk the first time in my life, drives me to
Power's Hamburgers
This is when the evening took a surreal turn. "Surreal" is the only word to describe it.
Power's is a Fort Wayne institution. A 24-hour art deco diner that serves the most wonderfully horrible grilled onion hamburgers anywhere. White Castle can only dream of being what Power's excels at. The patrons are not simply low-income folks. The patrons (at least at 3:45 a.m.) are truly the dregs of society. All attitudes are checked at the door and everyone who walks in is bonded by the unspoken truth that all are Power's junkies and have come to worship at the shrine.
If you like Power's, the atmosphere screams,
you must be okay.
An older man with a younger woman converse with a blind karaoke host as Newman and I walk in. The two older men behind the counter, one rotund, one slender, both in filthy T-shirts, are the only other people there. The place is nearly half full at this number with five of the nine bar stools occupied and the lone booth sitting empty. The reek of grilled onions and hamburger grease layered on and left to age on the porcelainized sheet metal interior for the last sixty years gives the little diner a singular, memorable and permeating aroma.
Newman orders five with cheese and I order three without (onions are assumed) and the man and woman bid farewell to the blind man and leave. I know this man. He good-naturedly heckled the
Mimi Burns Band when I went to see them and considered joining them. I've sung karaoke when he hosted. But now he's a Power's patron, like all of us.
As our burgers slide in front of us on the bar on unadorned, off-white, oval stoneware plates, a wild-eyed young man in spiky bleached hair and camo fatigues sits a the counter beside me, blocking my karaoke conversation and line-singing with the blind man.
The young man, chemically influenced or mentally imbalanced, immediately starts to diss Eminem, affecting a poor (even by white standards) Ebonics dialect. I nod at the man's rant, but take it in stride--he's a Power's fan after all, so he must be okay. He lulls, and my mind flashes to what the diner must look like from the outside, and can't unconvince myself that I'm in an
Edward Hopper painting.
The Three Wise Men whisper in my ear and ask the blind man (through the camo man) if he knows
"The Scotsman". He sings a bit of the last verse in a tonal lilt that belied his appearance. "The Scotsman" is one of my trademarks.
"Sing it with me" I call, and the camo guy (who gives the air of a rapper wannabe) looks at me cross-eyed but with Powers Respect.
We sing it together and the cooks seem rather unimpressed. But I had fun. The wild-eyed youth to my left starts to ask us with mock attitude what country we're from (we'd sung it on a Scottish brougue) "What? Fuckin' Turkey or something?!?"
We assured him it was Scottish.
"No problem man, I was just asking. That was cool." Camo-man said as the Power's camaraderie overtook him.
Two Rent-a-cops came in and took seats on the opposite side of karaoke guy around the corner of the counter. This inspired a new wave of Anti-Marshall-Mathers-speak from my countermate. Suddenly, he breaks into a well-rehearsed rap of how he's better than Eminem.
What could I do? What would you do? I did the only thing that seemed appropriate at that moment.
I
beatboxed.
I snared with my hand on the counter and beat with my voice.
He finished. We left. Laughing till it hurt.
2/22/03, 9:00 a.m.
Wake up in New Haven at Newman's apartment. New Haven, Indiana is a hopping place at 9:00 on a Saturday morning. I walk down to the gas station and buy Advil and coffee.
There are two barber shops and four beauty shops packed with patrons. I thought it might be novel to get my hair cut by a barber, but chose the beauty shop because every stylist was cute. And the cutest one cut my hair. It was nice.
2/22/03, 11:00 a.m. After a bit of "Girls Gone Wild" on DVD, I went to the library and blogged. Newman joined me and we set off for my car.
2/22/03, 1:30 p.m.
We decide to get breakfast at Denny's. Our waitress was young, cute and smiley.
"Angie, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure!"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No." Smile.
"Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"Do you know how old I am?"
Damn, second time in a week. "Nope."
"I'd love to have dinner with you!"
I gave her my number. She promised to call. She asked if there was anything else I wanted.
"Not that's on the menu."
She blushed and smiled widely.
I tipped her well.
She hasn't called.
She stole my look! Dammit!
'Joe Millionaire' Chooses Zora on Finale? How could he choose Zora over Sarah? Just look at the picture! How could just resist such beauty mixed with such blatant subservience? She'd be like the perfect wife. She wouldn't mind being locked away in a closet if you were tired of her. If you look at the other pix over at The Smoking Gun it's clear that not only does she enjoy play with other women, but she like to tie them up too! And if you're in the mood she'll even tie you up!
Does anyone have a copy of the Parker Brother's game called Pit that they are willing to part with? I'd like to get a deck, but don't feel like paying full retail plus shipping on the Net and I can't find it in town. Anyone?
Between "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "The X-Files" is "Miracles."
