Saturday-night sun-poisoning blogging

Tonight, just outside the plate glass at work, a glittering procession of rhythmically throbbing automobiles inched west on Union, making its way downtown to destinations that surely involved a lot of heavy drinking. It's the Southern Heritage Classic weekend -- a time when the school-spirited flock to Memphis to root their teams on toward victory, and afterward, head downtown to revel in their triumph or drown their sorrows in booze. Every year it's the same basic deal, and at least one of the people I work with delight in thinking of moneymaking schemes involving the line of captive consumers practically sitting still in the street just in front of our office. This year, we decided we should have printed up commemorative front pages for the game, and sat out front, selling them to the happy game-goers and giving away tiny little CA flashlights. I suggested that we also offer framing and matting services, because who wants a commemorative newspaper if it ain't framed?

It's been a busy weekend here in town.

Today Phil, Jamie, and I ate at El Mezcal for lunch, where they served me a SPINACH enchilada instead of the cheese one I had ordered. Because they want me to die. After we stuffed ourselves, we headed down to the Cooper-Young Festival and perused the booths. I like the C-Y Fest, but both times I've been I haven't been able to fully enjoy it because a) I never have enough money to buy all the cool shit I see and b) I always have to cut my time short and go to work. Seems like if I am going to work, I would have money to spend at the festival. Funny how that doesn't quite work out.

Anyway, as we crisped in the sun (seriously, I managed to get sunburn through my white shirt), I collected various pieces of leftist propaganda: A NOW brochure from the Memphis Women's Action Coalition (they're trying to start up a local chapter, which I'm totally excited about); some Marxist rag that I didn't realize was a Marxist rag until later, at which point I felt really dirty; another feminist tract; some anti-war pamphlets; a yard sign, bumper sticker, and window sign urging people to vote NO on the state marriage amendment. Etc. I got scolded by some bitchy artist for trying to take a picture of one of her paintings. It was a nice painting, but as soon as she leaned in and stuck her hand in my face and said, "Um, no, uh-uh" like she was blocking the paparazzi from yet another cooter shot of Lindsay Lohan (can't wait to see the hits I get from typing that, suckers!), I instantly started hating it. It's a fucking street fair, lady, not the frigging MOMA. And even the MOMA lets you take pictures if you don't use the flash.

If I'd had any money at all, I would have come home with a whole slew of funky jewelry made by the extremely talented locals. I swear, what people can do with little metal hooks and some polished stones makes my head ache. Oh no, wait, that was the sun. Anyway, there were some other things that caught my attention: Some multi-colored glass suncatchers and coasters (of the non-corny variety, of course), some wooden figurines in the shape of pigs (which phascinated Phil, oddly), a cat outfit that would have looked so adorably ridiculous on Howey, a bunch of Robert E. Lee books that I'm betting my dad might actually not own. Much more I've forgotten already.

Maybe when I upload some photos it'll rejigger my memory.