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

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• 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

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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