Home Decorating for Young Couples

On Thursday I tried to put out two of my knick-knacks in our new apartment. The two pieces (which I am pretty sure are a set) were a Ricky Jackson action figure, and a Jack-a-lope bank. (A jackalope is the product of a jackrabbit and an antelope having sex. It looks like a jackrabbit with horns). Here is a picture.

jackalope.jpg

Also, here is a painting of Ricky Jackson

rickey.jpg

These two additions to our dining room lasted until Saturday, when my wifeypoo took them down, and hid them from me. Now she wont tell me where they are, and I’m pretty sure that’s why the Saints lost yesterday. How can they be expected to win when my personal totem is in a drawer or box or something?

Also I was watching a hunting show on Sunday morning and they killed a bunch of deer, which I assume has something to do with the missing Jackalope. Darn it.

Please help convince my wife that these two items have a significant value in the overall consmos, as well as tying our dining room together. My other option is to take back all her birthday presents.

Greg Dulli is 400 Pounds

I went to see The Twilight Singers last night. I really liked their last album, despite what others say. So I’m at the show, and I’m swapping stories with others about how the lead singer Greg Dulli always used to be too drunk to play when his old band, the Afghan Whigs, came to New Orleans, and the shows would be lousy. One of them had seen him recently in Italy or some other European place, and said the show was “tight”. He said that Greg had kicked the booze. Good for him.

So Chelsey and I go out to smoke a cigarette before the show, because you can’t smoke in bars anymore here. (Which is a dumb idea for a place like Omaha, where you can literally freeze to death and die). While we are outside this girl is in the circle of smokers and talking to one of Chelsey’s friends, and she points out that Greg Dulli is emerging from his great big touring RV. As he steps out I realize that he is huge. Which is very disappointing to me, because I have seen pictures of this guy, and he doesn’t look that fat. (I like my lead singers to not be so fat). So I turn to the afore mentioned girl and say “Oh no. He’s huge.” And she defends him, saying that he’s kicked all his habits or something. And I’m right in the middle of some crass remark about how he should never choose sobriety over weight loss, when Greg walks right up to her and gives a big hug. I guess she was the welcoming committee when he got in town, and she’s all palsie-walsie with Greg. Which made me realize that Greg Dulli is just like anyone else. He’s probably not happy about how big he’s gotten, and he’s a human being too. From here on out I am never saying mean things about well-known people. Just because I know who they are doesn’t mean I can talk about how fat they’ve gotten. It’s not right. And it might get back to them and hurt their feelings.

For the record – Greg Dulli put on a very nice show, and his voice is really great still. He also smoked in the no-smoking establishment, which I thought was sassy. And even though he wasn’t drunk (good for him), he was very sassy. He said “motherfucker” many times. My favorite of these times was when someone asked him for one of his cigarettes, and he said “Give me some money, motherfucker” and threw a lit cigarette in their general direction. First class!

Not Fair

I’m in this fantasy football league, and no one will do any trades with me.  I know it’s not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, but I still think it’s not fair.  I am going to a pumpkin patch tonight to drown my sorrows in hot cider and rum.  I hope I pass out on top of some kids.  

Saints Win + New Car = Good Day

Hell On Wheels

I picked up this sweet baby the same day that the Saints beat the shit out of the Atlanta Falcons.  The only thing that would have topped this would have been if I had driven my car to the game, and broken my hand/voice with Kent, Dave and Marnie.  For the record, I would have parked on top of the Superdome, and shot lasers out of the headlights, so as to avoid the Poydras congestion. 

 

My Car is Dead!

Now that I have a wife, I no longer need a car.  So say the Gods of Universal Justice.  The engine of my once trusty Escort Wagon is now exploded.  Too expensive to fix.  No car for Brent.  Learning to drive Chelsey’s Plymouth Breeze.  It’s a stick shift.  Will I be able to pull it off?  Probably, but I will no doubt un-learn some other ability.  Like cursive.