Friday morning when I woke up my roommate said to me

'...Did you hear anything weird last night?'
'No... why?'
'...because I think I may have poured a beer into my laptop.'

but
that does not compare
to what happened Friday night.

I started the evening by preloading in a coworker's hotel room and managed to empty a flask of Crown Royal+Yukon Jack. Then we went in a large group to an art gallery where we were given tickets for drinks. We were supposed to get two; somehow I ended up with four. It turns out that I'm the only person in the company who drinks whiskey; normally this would mean that I would be the only person to order whiskey, but such was not the case. I ended up drinking three very large glasses of whiskey on the rocks -one bourbon, one scotch, and the Crown I had ordered for myself.

Meanwhile - there is a exhibitor who has been trying unsuccessfully for a very long time to get placement in our paper. I don't know why people would read her advice column, since I couldn't stand talking to her for five minutes. At any rate, she gloms onto people - anybody, whether they're in editorial or not - especially those who work for papers she's not in. I see she's roped someone else in and I decide to spring into action. I go up to these people and say to this other woman the first thing that comes to mind, which is, inexplicably:

'Hey - your boots fucking rock!'

To my credit, they were cool boots, but what kind of degenerate just walks up to someone and compliments their boots? We talk about boots for about thirty seconds and this lady just vanishes. I'm thinking yeah, I'm a good person.

Except
i'm left
with the advice goddess.

So I'm like, hey look - that's great - but I've got to go ... refill ... my ... canapes. And I disappear into the crowd, except I can't find anybody from my company. I end up chatting with the art director of New York magazine instead. Some guy who claims to have partied with Paul Fallon in Moscow shows up and says hey, there's a party up on the 19th floor later tonight.

Eventually my people start showing up again, but it's getting late, the place is emptying out, the bar is closing, and I've still got three tickets. Make that five, after everyone's given me their leftovers. I go to the bartender, hey, what can I get for five tickets? He goes, um ... And I go, here's an empty flask. [I know, it's a long shot.] And he goes - well, what do you like? I figure, shoot for the stars, right? and I go- You got any Crown? He takes the tickets and fills the flask, all the while getting the hairy eyeball from the other bartender, and I leave with a $10 tip.

By this time, the shuttles to the hotel were no longer running, so we hire a cab. Cabbie says: where do you want to go? [In retrospect, it was a reasonable question to ask.] And we say: I dunno. And he says, I gotta take you somewhere. And we say: We're not from around here, really - we just want to go out. And he says: well, ok, where do you want to go? And I say, well, where do you hang out?

So he drops us off at the hotel, which is about two blocks from the art gallery. My one coworker [unbeknownst to the rest of us] gives him a $20 for our $3.50 fare and says keep the change. I tip him $2, and my other coworker says, I'd like to tip you but I've only got a $20. He says: [heh] I've only got eight bucks. She says: [heh] well have a good day then.

We end up at a bar near the hotel, but it's not really my scene, and my one coworker and I just kind of hang out outside and shoot the shit. Coincidentally, this is when I finish the second flask of whiskey. Eventually everyone reconvenes and we hit the streets to get back to the hotel. Except it's Juneteenth and the streets are swarming with people. Some dude goes 'Yo! Jesus!' [OK, I need a haircut.]

We finally get back to the hotel, and up to the 19th floor, and there's nothing.

except

a life-sized cardboard cutout of a 1950s-era housewife.

Mooch'd!

We take my new date to another party on the patio with a crappy 80s nostalgia band where I run into trouble with the locals. Hey! she says, what are you doing with her? I'm like: we're partying. And she's like, you can't party with her, she's cardboard! That's wrong! And I'm like, if love is wrong I don't want to be right. And she's all: that's not natural! And I'm like: I'm from New York, anything goes. She threatened to call (e:dragonlady7) . I said, don't worry about her, she's down.

The party ends. I drop off my cardboard date at the hotel room and two of my coworkers drunkenly decide to swim the [rather stagnant and nasty] Arkansas River, which runs by the hotel. [A video of this is available.] They claim to be refreshed, but the rest of us think that maybe they don't smell quite right. A bottle of vadko is passed. Someone says, why does this stuff taste like crayons? Someone else says, well, it's Fleischmann's. [Later, he says: crayons? I don't know about crayons, but that flask was filled with irish cream for about a year ... maybe I should have washed it out better.]

It was getting very late, so we called it a night.

The next day, at the Bill Clinton keynote lunch, somebody who looked very familiar sat down at our table. I'm trying not to make eye contact, but she says, 'hey, I saw you yesterday-' and I said, 'ehm, I didn't embarrass myself, did I?' and she said 'no, at the website critique...' I said, 'phew - after the critique I had a fair amount of booze and did some regrettable things...' She says, 'oh, yeah, you had the cardboard date. How did that turn out?'

- Z

Went to a reception at the William J Clinton Presidential Library. It's not exactly the kind of place I would travel to, but there's some pretty interesting stuff in there, including a replica of the Clinton oval office [sans Ms Lewinsky] and a replica of the cabinet meeting room. There was one very bizarre exhibit of Billy Clinton's childhood heroes [cowboys- this is Arkansas after all] that one of my coworkers believes is space filler until Hillary R Clinton has something to put in there too. Hmmm.

At the reception, there was free booze and fancy food, and, nestled in among the banquet of stuffed mushrooms and pork tenderloins and european cheeses-- fried chicken strips. Nice. There was also a balcony outside the reception room; the door said 'smoking permitted - but no inhaling.'*

One of my coworkers brought party favors, and all of us are now armed with parachuting army guys. We are trying to decide whether it would be more fun to drop them from the balcony of the presidential library, or the 18th floor of the hotel atrium during the procession of the ducks.

- Z

_______________

• I spent all last night working on that one.

Yes: this is the Peabody Little Rock. Kind of insane with the ducks, but all in all a nice place.

This is the 29th Annual Convention of the Association of Alternative Newsweeklies - the place is swarming with marxist hippie rags [that is to say: good people.] Keynote speakers this year are Gen Wesley K Clark (Ret) and Pres William J Clinton. There is going to be an enormous reception at his place tonight [that is to say: the Clinton Library] followed by all-you-can-drink booze at the office of the Arkansas Times [windows say: 'AAN UNITE TO IMPEACH'].

If you were wondering what marxist hippie rags have to talk about, here's a sampling of the classes I'm attending: 'Where Journalism Meets the Cell Phone: An Introduction to Mobile Content,' 'How Blogs Changed My Paper,' and 'Free Online Classifieds: Do They Work?'

Just listened to some embarassing stories about Old Times from the classified director, chowed down an enormous muffuletta and a couple homebrews at some joint down the street, and passed out for an hour. I feel refreshed.

- Z

_______________

• New journal music is Tony Joe White: 'They Caught the Devil and Put Him in Jail in Eudora, Arkansas' gather:0393049001150405167

So they sent me to Little Rock for a conference. Sitting in the room, biting off a little something something from the hotel's wifi network.

My itinerary said our flight was supposed to leave at 6:30am - v. early. Set the alarm for 4:30am, got to bed early. A panicked phone call arrived at 1am from the publisher's assistant: the flight is supposed to leave at 6am, not 6:30am. After we'd all assembled at the airport we just kind of looked around and said: it's going to be a long day.

When we arrived at the hotel, they were just starting the Procession of the Ducks. Let me say this slowly: the hotel has ducks who live in a $90000 penthouse suite. Every day at 11am, the ducks wake up from their little nappy, take a ride down the elevator, and walk down a red carpet to the hotel's fountain. There is also an announcer and JP Sousa is also involved. Running through my head: 'How much less would my room have cost if I didn't have to foot the bill for these ducks?'

They were fat and fast, too - tasty, I bet.

Checked in and got my goody bag. It contained [among other things] a local brew which I am eager to try. However: no fridge. Dddaaammmnnn iiittt!!!

- Z

So the Park Lane is slated for closure and likely demolition next year. There is understandably some hubbub regarding the new development, and the latest person to register his displeasure at the closing is Peter Gust, former head chef of the Park Lane.

In an effort to keep the restaurant open, Mr. Gust has taken to unlocking the front door after everyone else has left and often remains in the dining room after hours. Mr. Gust, who died about fifteen years ago, has earned the nickname 'Peter Ghost,' and his presence has been independently corroborated by several employees.

- Z

So (e:dragonlady7) took a mental health day today and we popped down to Allentown with the goal of visiting all four festivals. Considering that my office is in Allentown, I figured I could drive in and park in our lot. [There are few perks in working for my company; this is my weekend to take advantage of all of them.] So I came in and, where someone had previously pulled a couple garbage totes across our driveway so that unknown parties would not park there, some bitch had hung up a superghetto cardboard sign that says 'Park $5.' Whatever. I breeze by her and park in my usual spot, and when I get out of the car she says 'It's five bucks to park here.'

I say, no it isn't, I'm going in to work for a minute.

She says, it's still five bucks.

I say, trust me it's free, this is my parking lot - and walk into the building. What is wrong with some people?

Saw (e:mrmike) at Music is Art.

Then we headed over to Nietzsche's. Mr. Nietzsche is an extremely good person and a friend of the company, and we have a running tab there. So we stopped in and he bought us not one but two beers and a shot of vodka & lime, and we chilled out and listened to Michael Meldrum and also the Little Mountain Band. Good stuff.

Then my boss wandered in, and I passed a note about the bitch at our parking lot. He said, you didn't pay her, right? I kind of gave him a look that said 'of course not' and punctuated it with the double-deuce . He seemed satisfied; I was pleased to have flipped off my boss. When we came back the signs were still up but she was gone, which was just as well. Once again: what the fuck?!

- Z

_______________
ps. Also I think we saw (e:jenks) in passing.

After being told that one of my pairs of jeans had an enormous hole in the ass, I bought a new pair that just came in the mail today. They are supposedly unique in that they are more durable than most jeans, but more unusual, these are manufactured in a medium-security state prison in Pendleton, OR.

I have been thinking about jail lately since I read some disturbing statistics regarding our prison system . The United States has more prisoners per capita than any other country in the world; we lead Russia [#2] by almost 50%. Furthermore, our prison population growth outstrips overall population growth by 200%.

Either Americans are the most poorly-behaved people in the world, and are only getting worse - or something is seriously fucked up. Reading this week's News of the Weird [items #1 and #6, in particular] it seems that the latter is more likely than the former.

At any rate, these jeans are made in America, by Americans, who make $8/hour - with 80% being withheld for restitution, room & board, &c., and the rest being either sent home to the inmate's family or kept in a savings account until they're released. They are competitively priced at $30/pair and come in my preferred size of 29x34. I feel pretty special with my jail jeans.

Also: good news today about al-Zarqawi; there is an interesting, though somewhat dated, article about him here: . Now, if the war had been 1500 miles east of where it is, it would have been his boss, and that would have been much better news. But, we take what we can get. Good job, guys- let's get this shit done so you can come home.

- Z

I will refrain from engaging in the tradition of posting porn on my 69th post, but I will send you to this that is SFW but probably shouldn't be.

Last night we moved Marjory to her new home in front of the garage rather than behind. I really don't know whether the inspector will go for it, but he did say his only concern was whether it met code - and that is one thing that it does.

Anyway, about the front yard- we have added a cute little brick pathway, expanded one garden, and created a raised bed, and filled them all with flowers. (e:dragonlady7) spent all yesterday finishing it up, and it looks fabulous. But I was very amused today when I came home from work to find-- well, it looks like the psycho cuntbag next door is trying to keep up with the Joneses. And the Joneses are, of all people - me and (e:dragonlady7) ! She had flats and flats of new flowers that she was planting in her front yard, and it is just driving her crazy that our front yard looks nicer than hers.

- Z. Jones

An actual email exchange that occurred between myself and our accountant-ish person. [Back story: the air conditioner in the back office barely works, and it vents into a closet rather than to the outside world. The closet has an external door, but it's deadbolted and very few people have a key.]

Hello all.

Now that the warm weather is here, please remember to close all the windows when you leave at night. Safety, security.

and... if you choose to turn on the A/C, please close all the windows, we don't need to cool the alley.

and lastly, please remember to turn OFF the A/C when you leave, we don't need to cool the back office from 6pm-9am either.

Thank you for being energy conscious.

And yet, if we only turn it on in the morning, the office does not cool off before 5pm.

Yes, but today... it's not even 70 degree's out... and your office is a refrigerator... people are wearing Wool Sweaters, and it's early June, what shall we do in the heat of July and August?

[Someone] suggested that venting the air conditioner back into the office is a less-than-efficient use of energy; if you or whoever has a key to the back door could remember to open it in the morning and close it at night, it would vent to the outside and that may be enough to boost its efficiency enough that it actually works. If it doesn't, I would hope that we can get the air conditioner serviced or replaced before the heat of July and August hits.

Hello All...

the A/C has been installed in back for about two weeks.

The Electric Bill for the Front office is $320 - about average... we only turned on our A/C last week.
the Electric bill for the back office is $787... over three times the average amount for that space. Generally it's about $230

Please turn the A/C off when you leave at night. The room should cool off in about an hour after you turn it on the morning As for the video office, I think you have a whole other A/C system rigged up.

In my office and [the publisher]'s office there is no A/C at all.

Thank you for your cooperation.

The air conditioner has been running on high for the last 28 hours straight; our office is now the same temperature as the unconditioned warehouse, making me wonder where our $800 is going. We can continue cc'ing the whole office on snarky emails and go nowhere, or we could be productive and get the air conditioner serviced or replaced before the weather starts getting really hot. It would lower both the temperature and the electric bill, and make everyone involved happy. With the numbers you quoted, the service would pay for itself in under two weeks. Or we could throw away $800 every month and sweat our collective balls off.

The publisher just called me and said we can get a key to open the back door.

- Z

(e:dragonlady7) ,

If you and (e:zobar) want to really get at the old bitch next door, I can bring over about 1500 pounds of grass clippings to add to your compost pile. Not sure if you remember the muppets other show, fraggle rock, and the all knowing trash heap, we could build one in your back yard. I can also get as much dirt as you may need to mix with the compost. All of this is free, of course. Also, if the town forces you to get rid of the compist pile, we could probably take care of that, too. [My other cousin] has a 1 acre swamp that we are in the process of filling in, and we could move the compost to the swamp, if it becomes necessary. I would love to see the look on the bitches face when I show up with a truck loaded with grass clippings!! By the way, I apologize if I butchered the spelling of your name.



- [My cousin]