Sell my clothes, I'm goin' to heaven!

Gather ‘round, chilluns, because we have a treat for you. It’s the First Ever (So Far As I Know) #1HS Giveaway Contest! Step inside for details.

"So what I'm doing is a project called '25 Sheep.'"

Presented here is my PowerPoint Presentation on Satanism (Via.)

How not to get caught trolling for a hooker

The Life and Death of Domino Harvey

NY the Burger King of Cities; my picks: Dumont and Paul's

Some days you are the dog, and some days you are the monkey. (Via)

The Hot Rollers - "Got Your Number"

Garage rock: there are those who claim it to be the ultimate expression of what rock & roll was meant to be. The rest of us just dig it ‘cuz it’s loud and horny, generally speaking.

Least Wanted, my new favorite photostream (Via.)

Worse Than Marijuana! How infant formula aids teh TERRISTS!

Nike to Dischord: We're sorry, kind of. (Thanks, Reeves)

Dispatches From the Front: Wired NextFest Opening

I don't really consider myself a "techie" (and in point of fact, I'm sure that marks the first time that I've ever used that word publicly. Kill me.), but when I was offered a chance last week to go to the Chicago Wired NextFest opening reception, I couldn't say no. Or I didn't at least.

It's hardly "homage" when you despise the party trying to pay you respect.

Need vs. Want

This sign was posted in my neighborhood.

This sounds like a fucking fascinating novel.

This scam makes the Brooklyn Chicken Massacre pale in comparison.

Geeksta rap

Message to the bourgeois bitch: He's gayer than a football bat!

Reading "The Wapshot Chronicle"

Mon Dieu, I have NO IDEA where those 30,000 books went.

Yaaaaar! Barbary apes!

How hummingbirds hover

In dreams, I pack with you

Last night I had a nonstop anxiety nightmare. It continued until 6 this morning. It involved having to pack up everything I've ever owned while the house it was stored in was being torn down. I could only find two boxes. And the one pair of shoes I wanted was missing.

Clearly this means I should drink more.

I wish Norman Mailer would just drop the fuck dead already.

Okie Noodling: The Movie

John Doe - "Forever Hasn't Happened Yet"

Back when I was a kid, Johnny Cash had a TV show. I haven’t seen any of the episodes since they first ran, so all I have to go on is some 35-year-old memories*. From what I recall, though, it was a really good program. It was pretty restrained for the television of its day. The late 60’s – early 70’s were the heyday of the variety show, which consisted of wacky “comedy” skits in between musical numbers by such cutting edge artists as Steve Lawrence and Edie Gorme. Some of you younger kids aren’t gonna recognize those names, so let me put it this way: you’ve heard of the time Elvis shot his TV set? Steve and Edie were what he was watching.

Klein's "Truth" Is Simply Sordid

Big As Life: The heartbreaking story of one man's struggle with morbid obesity

Vic, "The Get Down"

Check this out. This is my friend Vic, the only resident of Houston, TX, who doesn't drive an SUV. He knocks the socks off those 504 Boyz.

Bury my liver at Trader Vic's

Unsurprisingly, I spent the weekend consuming more fat and cholesterol than the average Inuit takes in in a month and more alcohol than Montgomery Clift drank in his lifetime (God rest his soul).

Donny Deutsch probably came up with this: The Polish Tourism Bureau's new mascot, the Polish Plumber

Baby owl monkey stolen by men wearing capes.

It's quite simple, actually: O + (N x S) + Cpm / T + He

Apparently today, June 24, is the happiest day of the year. Well, in the UK, anyhow. The formula doesn't take into account the Henman defeat at Wimbledon yesterday though.

I don't know if I feel especially happy today. Mostly I feel constipated after my dinner at Artisanal last night. My report: Although there is some conjecture about whether Restaurant Week is worth it, I feel pretty confident that we got our money's worth last night, at least with the prix fixe menu (the two bottles of wine--a Malbec and a Rioja--made it slightly less economical).

I hope that I'm able to flush the twelve pounds of cheese and hanger steak out of my system before Newley arrives in town--see, southern men believe that women poop magnolia blossoms and I don't want to ruin that for him. He's just in time for the Mermaid Parade and the sticky, hot weather. (Which oughtta make folding his 6'4 frame onto our leather couch in our unairconditioned living room A REAL FREAKING BLAST.)

Sigh. I feel like the cheese is holding teh funny hostage.

Another triumph for Mugabe: 1.5M homeless now!

When mourning your murdered sister, choose your words wisely: "New York ate her like cotton candy."

Brooklyn Banks to reopen to skaters, official-like

American idiot

Through the wonders of technology, everyone in my office is able to share their iTunes musical selections via some .Mac network or something. It's a fascinating window into people's psyches. More important, it allows me to silently judge them using the only way I know how.

The web design department, predictably, have Radiohead and Mars Volta and Arcade Fire. Editorial has a lot of Holly Near. But who would've guessed that the Jehovah's Witness in Operations Management would be a huge Tupac fan?

Another coworker is really into powerlifting and Tom Clancy. This is a screengrab of his iTunes, in its entirety. I hope he doesn't start some kind of east coast-west coast beef with the Jehovah's Witness.

How to throw a nohitter on acid

"I know what I saw," said Sidoris. "I have 20/20 vision. She had those distinctive eyes. She looked like Marty Feldman's daughter."

The Charming Snakes, “Ammunition”

Any band with the word “Snakes” in its name better have some serious goddamned chops (viz. Hot Snakes), I thought snarkily as I hit play.

Liam Gallagher: "The answer is none. None more black." [via Popbitch]

Richard Hell, "Godlike"

I've heard tell that Richard Hell doesn't like talking about punk but it's hard to introduce him without appending some sort of paragraph-long epithet to his name. Hell is a punk auteur, poet, visionary. OK.

Brain cells "recognize" famous people

Bog girl dates to 650 BCE

If I can't get you here I'll swing by your house

I hope you're all reading Blottered. Don't front like you don't like to rubberneck.

Do not mess with the Italian wimmins.

Sleater-Kinney - "The Woods"

Artistically speaking, there’s not much worse than getting stuck in a rut. Stagnation is the enemy of art, and inevitably leads to ruin. Unless we’re talking about AC/DC, of course; in that case stagnation is their art, and inevitably leads to Angus Young running around in short pants and a school blazer. And him in his fifties! Otherwise, though, it’s a definite hazard for those few bands that make it past the five year/three album mark. Actually, I have a theory about that…

Terror skills "not a priority"

"We believe that gross as a concept will not go away."

I don't know, what is a monkey, but she is extremely cute... and pregnant!

Robolegs, an article about Cameron Clapp

Hey, battabattabatta suhWING batta!

It must be 5 o'clock somewhere in the world

My alma mater's most recent alumni magazine had a paean to the greatest bar in the world, Pinkie Master's,in Savannah, GA. Oddly enough, it mentions the old jukebox, now long gone, a loss I've lamented for years.

You know that when the Travel section of the Times catches onto a town, that signals the final death knell. (And hell, they mention Wall's BBQ, arguably one of the best restaurants in Savannah, but not The Crystal Beer Parlor? Did they even visit?) Not to mention, the best bars closed long ago, but still, I've got a soft place in my heart for Savannah, home of the alcoholic "to-go" cup and kamikaze gators.

Law and Order glitch fouls police radios.

Fetus cat toy

Big-ass moon: This week only!

Neal Pollack: "I was only kidding about the self-aggrandizing greasy douchebag persona!"

LIC: Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

Blottered launches.

Excellent interview with Fran Lebowitz at Ruminator

The Intro and the Outro

Okay. So today's the official "launch" of #1HS, inasmuch as it's possible to launch this sort of silliness.

Marty Thau - The #1HS Interview

What do the following artists have in common: ? and the Mysterians, Van Morrison, Blondie, 1910 Fruitgum Company, The New York Dolls, The Fleshtones, The Isley Brothers, John Cale, Richard Hell, Ohio Express, and Miriam Makeba?

Various Artists, "Marty Thau Presents 2 X 5"

Hey kids, it’s time to dust off the Wayback Machine again and go forward into the past! Let’s set the controls for the New York of 1980 and, um, yeah, let’s go ahead and bring that Glock, too. Can’t be too careful.

John McManus, "Bitter Milk"

I find it hard to read books in which the protagonist is a child. Too often, there's a level of startling insight that I don't think children are capable of; or, worse yet, there's a twee sort of innocence that makes for not only unreliable but annoying deductive reading.

Li'l Jon's highschool yearbook photo.

Quite possibly the most insipid article ever run in the Sunday Styles

The Polaroid-o-nizer

Marcus Wesson convicted on all counts

Crucified nun dies in exorcism

The Konks, "The Konks"

There’s a lot to be said for our modern, a-go-go world. While it’s true that we don’t have the flying cars or the vacation homes on the moon we’d been promised when I was a kid, this computer I’m typing on is pretty cool, for one thing. And, y’know, heart transplants and velcro and Altoids and such, they’re all very good. Especially the Altoids.

Drunken man tries to ride lawn mower to grocery store

"Companies could make use of a sweaty, lovely looking girl playing on the ground, with the rainy weather."

Questions, Bitterness and Exile for Queens Girl in Terror Case

Cobra Verde, "Copycat Killers"

I have this romantic idea of what Cleveland is like, right? It’s easy to believe that some fantastic scene is playing in NYC or LA or Detroit, because those cities have their own reputation. But Cleveland is a bit like the brainy girl in the John Hughes movie, the one that no one realizes is actually a babe until she takes off her glasses and shakes her hair down. (Which is also to say that, just as the brainy girl was always beautiful, of course Cleveland has had an excellent music scene for years and years…and more’s the pity that I never noticed.)

Do you promise not to tell?

Hey, notice anything different around here? Why yes, I did just get my hair done. But...did you notice anything else?

Welcome to the revamped #1HS. As you can see, it still has the same "because it is bitter, and because it is my ass" stylings here on the left. But look right! There's the obligatory Links column, the perfect format for posting those open directories of infantilism porn I know you're all so fond of. And then, even farther right, you'll notice something else: a new section that will feature reviews and interviews. As the Brits say, I'm well chuffed at this addition.

Thanks (and Happy Birthday!) to Michael Condouris for all his hard work--he built this baby!

And see that naughty little logo up there? It was designed by Bossman Graphics. I'm honored that he took the time from his busy schedule to create it--it was well worth the beaver shot trade.

Anyhow, stay tuned for Monday, when we'll have worked out all the kinks and have actual content.

Scary giant rabbits.

Are we allowed to take knitting needles on the plane or not?

Is Restaurant Week really worth it?

An order of Rock Out With Your Cock Out w/ a side of Balls to the Wall

Guess who's playing tomorrow night? The Live Ones. With the Ghetto Ways, The Tough and Lovely, and The Demands (who I'm sure are very good, but might want to change their name to something more google-friendly, like The Online Pharmacy Texas Hold'em Experience). At Trash, the bar I love to hate.

Tangentially, please note that the Live Ones have a MySpace page now, which is cool and all because you can listen to their songs. I hear the MySpace is all the rage with the kids these days. So I signed up for an account, and out of curiosity I decided to do a little search on my alma mater. I've learned a couple things: a) MySpace is populated by retards and b) most of these people went to school with me. (Seriously, if you're supposedly an "Interactive Media Producer," you should know better than to add a Windows Media video that automatically downloads when I click on your profile. And also it should not be a dancing cat.) I've also learned that the people I expected to be straight are gay and the people I was convinced were gay are actually straight.

More tangentially: I've had a couple exboyfriends visiting #1HS lately. How can I tell? Because they come in and they search for their names. Here's a confidential to those gentlemen: If we dated for three months ten years ago, chances are you don't merit a mention. I mean, how often do you think about me? To you, I'm probably just "that girl I dated a long time ago with the great record collection" or "that girl I dated a long time ago who gave me syphillis." Let's move on with our lives.

And also, if you have found Jesus, I really don't want to hear from you.

Marry me.

The Spoonbender on Neighborhoodies:

There's probably a good reason to exclaim to passers-by that you're a gentrifying hipster, and you and your intern friend successfully chased an Ecuadorian family of six out of your sweet two bedroom apartment with your daddy-subsidized rent checks. There's no doubt that a two-word phrase is much more pithy than telling everyone within shouting distance that you're an irritating whore who claims that Geek Love is her favorite book, which is true only so far as it's the only book she's read since A Tale of Two Cities in eighth grade.

Tamika Huston

Anyone with any information about this case should call 864-596-2035/2036

See this woman? She's been missing from her home in Spartanburg, SC, for over a year now. Have you heard about it? Probably not. I hadn't heard about it until this morning when I read this article:

FBI statistics show that men are slightly more likely than women to be reported as missing, and that blacks make up a disproportionately large segment of the victims. As of May 1, there were 25,389 men in the FBI's database of active missing persons cases, and 22,200 cases of women. Blacks accounted for 13,860 cases, vs. 29,383 whites.

Real estate is the porn of your thirties

I can't tell if there's actually some nesting action going on inside of me or if it's just that I've run out of bookmarked free twink thumbnail sites, but I find myself browsing upstate New York real estate listings. It's just too damned funny, the idea of having a cesspool, a dug well, and a sump pump again. I did that the first 18 years of my life for free--why would I voluntarily enslave myself to an FDIC-insured institution for 30 years for the privelege?

On the plus side, though, I found this guy. He and his dogs speak German, French & Swahili, for your convenience. As a friend put it, "This guy's got a crawlspace under his house, and it is all full up."

I've also found a number of unintentionally hilarious listings, such as this one (Use CAUTION viewing structure--a mere $125K).

Then there's this house, which, when I saw the listing last night, I thought I hallucinated (This WON'T last!!!, LITERALLY. A wonderful home for the right person!, like, say, Ed Gein. A steal at 84K).

Is there some way to freebase Xanax? I'm just curious.

Maybe I'm just too demanding

Being cretins of the finest pedigree, N and I put off getting an air conditioner until the hottest day of the year (so far). At lunch yesterday we wandered over to the swindlers appliance megastore on 14th Street, where the vibe was not unlike a Miami police auction. I wasn't prepared to buy anything just then, because parting with any amount of money--unless it's for booze--is very difficult for me and involves some crying and dryheaving. I wrote down some model numbers and was determined to find better prices for them online so that I could force those hustlers into honoring their pledge to "beat anyone's prices."

By the time we returned that evening, the store--which, in retrospect, seemed downright placid earlier that day--was like a scene from The Year of Living Dangerously and the salespeople were shouting "WHO CAN I HELP NEXT?" and desperate customers would wave their hands frantically and shout "ME! ME!" which is really funny, actually, because New Yorkers hate being helped.

Of course, they'd already sold out of the air conditioner model that I was prepared to make them give us for $30 less than their advertised price. We rushed over to our second-choice model and were told there were only a couple left, which other customers were eyeing hungrily. Naturally, we purchased that one immediately.

Back at our apartment, N grunted and cursed and howled as he struggled to assemble the air conditioner. (Did you know that A/C units require assembly? The accordion-type thingies that flank both sides of the unit must be painstakingly affixed in 43 different places using screws that are less than a millimeter long.)

I drank a Pimm's Cup.

When it came time to mount the A/C in the window, however, we realized we had a problem--no wooden blocks to keep it from tilting at a dangerous angle. We struggled with what to use instead. Styrofoam wouldn't endure. Same with cardboard.

We ended up taping together A Man in Full and some Anne Rice novel. Oh, and an old Paris Review. They weren't difficult sacrifices to make. Infinite Jest would have been ideal, but I remembered I was already using it to prop up one of my bureaus.

William Gass better hope we don't need another A/C for the living room.

Frighten the horses

There's a nice profile in this week's Times magazine of Scott & Scott, who are probably the only gay-romance-writing-duo (well, with the possible exception of certain contributors to Boyd McDonald's Straight to Hell, and also S&S don't talk so much about tearooms and glory holes).

I'm thrilled that Warner's picked up their latest book, Hot Sauce, and less thrilled that Warner's eschewed the fabulous Michael Breyette's artwork for what appears to be the gay male equivalent of a pink cover with a pair of high-heeled sandals and a martini glass. Still, if you want to sell it in Dubuque, this is probably the preferred medium.

The funny thing about the Times piece is that it never addresses what I'd guess would be a sizeable portion of S&S's readership: lesbians and female slash fiction writers.

[this is good]

The Annotated "Losing My Edge."

This is like the schadenfreude ultrarare picture disk UK import for me

I can't tell you how delighted I was to read about Kim's employees gettin' busted for piracy. It's not because I'm necessarily antipiracy. And it's not because I find Kim's merchandise lacking--quite the opposite. It's because everyone who works at Kim's is an enormous fucking asshole. I know, it's practically a sterotype--the snobby record/video store clerk. But at Kim's, the behavior seems to be encouraged. I actually go there only as a last resort simply because as an attractive young woman I am unaccustomed to receiving sub-par customer service.

It's hard to pinpoint which part of this article is my favorite. There's this gem:

Then, all of the 20 or so clerks, managers and other employees who were working in the three-floor store, which sells DVD's, CD's, books and production equipment, were told to line up on the ground floor.

But then there's this part:

The employees charged with counterfeiting were identified as Theo Frimpong, 39, of the Bronx; Diana Kinscherf, 19, of Queens; Donald Stahl, 26, and Charles Bettis, 29, both of Brooklyn; and Craig Willingham, 32, of Manhattan.

And I bet that she's also the only one not currently living with her mother.

Neener.

I was yours for seven years

You know, I'd just about gotten over the fact that I didn't get to see the Wedding Present when they toured earlier this spring until I read that they performed "Dalliance." This sucks, and I will cut myself if I find out they played "My Favorite Dress" as well.

I'm in love with modern moonlight

In my "if it bleeds it leads" haste I nearly forgot to mention something fun that's happening tonight:
Dallas Hudgens and Stephen Elliott are reading at 7:30 at Lolita. I have also heard tell someone there tonight is having a birthday. That may be just a rumor, but perhaps you should buy her a Mai-Tai just in case.

The Harder They Come

You know, I actually worried that I'd be at a loss about what to write about this morning--this always happens on Thursdays, I don't know why. But hey, I have an embarassment of riches for you, multimedia stylee! (Consider this my tryout for Krucoff's crimeblog.)

Just to recap: Still no word on the woman DANGLING FROM THE BRIDGE. Still no one apprehended in the G train rape, but now we know why it happened so easily: There were no cops manning the station like they're supposed to. How ya like them apples? Since 9/11, the NYPD has placed police booths in all subway stations near waterbodies. This station's near the East River and the Newtown Creek. Apparently the police don't feel that the threat of pirates invading via the Newtown Creek is enough reason to endure "noxious odors" in the station. (I'm going to assume that the odors are at least in part due to the panoply of deposited human waste, which--for the sake of argument--means that if the cops would actually sit in the box once in a while, there'd be fewer noxious odors. But that's just Monday-morning quarterbacking on my part.)

See, this is funny because I think about the stories of my Uncle Nick who lived near the Gowanus and during the Cuban Missile Crisis decided to arm himself to the teeth in preparation for his own Special Cuban Invasion. The Gowanus is +/- 1,200 miles from Cuba. I say: would it be considered profligate on the part of the NYPD to make sure that pirates don't come down the Newtown Creek? I vote no. And when they're not saving the good people of North Brooklyn and Western Queens from pirates, the NYPD could perhaps STOP RAPES every once in a while.

Anyhow, see that picture? That was the scene a block from our apartment this morning. Oh, there was just all sorts of blood everywhere. At first it was just a few droplets, but then the blood formed spiral patterns that went down the sidewalk, over to the payphone, and then onto the wall of the DEP building (see photo), where the droplets turned into giant, gloppy smears that culminated in a nice big puddle of coagulated blood.

Lovely. I decided to snap a photo of the crime scene so that I would have proof that some sort of crime had actually occurred. (I felt a bit like Candy Jernigan though the only crack vials I've ever brought home were inadvertently wedged into the treads of my boots.) Hey, I'll keep you posted if this incident makes it into the news!

There I go, there I go, there I go again

Now that it is suddenly 90 degrees out (this happens every year...why are we always so surprised when it does?) the sartorial trends in the city have reached terrifying new lows that lead me to wonder who on MTV is responsible THIS time.*

I thought trucker caps were dopey, but, as a brilliant man once said, We've Got a Bigger Problem Now. There is a new horrifying trend--I noticed it last summer, but it's returned.

Slow News Day

No, there's still no news on the Mystery of Pulaski Bridge but today the news reported that a woman was raped in my local G train station.

[Sidenote: It's shocking that the loss of the West Side Stadium hasn't rendered every asshole in the five boroughs impotent, but I guess that's neither here nor there.]

Ugh. The 21st/Van Alst G station is desolate and creepy. The token booth clerks are more often than not sleeping or absorbed in prayer [!!!] and once you make it out of the station, there's not much in the immediate area. When I read this news report, the first thing that crossed my mind was Jesus, the victim could live in my building. And then my second thought was Fuck, so could her attacker.

Here is my best look of surprise

Tests designed to uncover discrimination found that nearly half the real estate agencies in New York City's northern suburbs treated blacks and Hispanics unfairly, an equal-housing group alleged Monday.

Racism and discrimination in Westchester? Well I never!

I think it was Jesus who said "Have some compassion, assholes."

A friend of mine just spent a harrowing couple of days covering the trial of the century and now she's back with some really bizarre photos.

Free-spending monkeys

There's an interesting article in the Times magazine this weekend about biologists and economists teaching Capuchin monkeys to spend money. (This, of course, will be the first step in their fiendishly clever plot to take over the world.)

If you go to the Freakonomics site, you can watch movies of monkey free-trade in action.

Speaking of monkeys trapped in cages, today I'm having my annual performance review. [Gah! Postponed until tomorrow. Shite and onions.] I've already assembled some bank boxes in the advent that I get shitcanned. I know I joke about this every year, but I'm confident that this is the year. Light your candles, say your novenas.

Lipstick on your dipstick.

Frank has filled me in (heh heh) on a new YA book called The Rainbow Party.

It's about teens experimenting with this newfangled thing called "oral sex." Apparently, Ruditis' editor came up with the idea for the book. It's meant to teach teens that oral sex is, in fact, sex, redolent with all the same consequences as actual intercourse. It should also please the "cum-covered Lolita" crowd that seems to find me (and fellow bloggers) via Google.

(Welcome, cum-covered Lolita fans!)

That Michelle Malkin harpy has issued a fatwa on Ruditis, sending her flying monkeys to pan the book on every online book retailer's site. Way to go!

Anyhow, I know I would've wanted to read this book when I was a kid. (Though the excerpt posted on Amazon is pretty lame. Is this what passes for YA these days? Whither Anastasia Krupnik?) I feel as though it would have pretty neutral effect on kids. I remember reading Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex but Were Afraid to Ask when I was 12--didn't fuck me up none! Plus, that fall, I was able to edify all the girls at my lunch table about how gay men put it in other men's butts. Whoo-hoo!

Are there really a lot of young teens experimenting with oral sex? Or is it just a media meme, like shark attacks and kids dying in hot cars? And, more important, there's all this talk of juvenile blowjobs, but none of reciprocation on the boys' side.

QUID FUCKING PRO QUO, Clarice.

I asked my love to take a walk

Weird things happen a lot in my neighborhood, and yet, and YET, they don't make it into the papers.

The latest strangeness unfolded last Monday, May 23. My girlfriend A, who drives to work early in the morning over the Pulaski Bridge, filled me in.

That particular morning, the police had closed off the southbound side of the bridge, and four units were parked on the bridge, near the bridgekeeper's tower.

A couple hours later, the story partially trickled out: A woman had hanged herself from the bridge.

I checked the news for mention of the story. I didn't find any, but I thought, Oh, perhaps the papers aren't mentioning it because it's a suicide. (Though the media generally covers suicides in public places--moreover, hanging from the Pulaski Bridge is a pretty exceptional way to off yourself.) Anyhow, nada.

A day or so after that, a little more of the story came out: It wasn't suicide, it was murder. Ooooooh. This from a neighbor who can see the bridge from his apartment. Oh, I thought, This will definitely make the news. It's got RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES written all over it.

A resounding NOTHING from the media. I began to question the veracity of the story. I mean, ladies hanging from bridges? That's crazytalk.

The only thing (and I'm trying to find a nonspecific way to phrase this) is that there exists video footage of the body. And yeah, that is a little creepy, and yeah, of course I wanna see it.

Remember the Brooklyn Strangler? Six women were murdered, and the media couldn't have cared less (three guesses why, and the first two don't count). My hairdresser (assuming that hallowed role of gossipmonger) was the one who told me all the lurid details months before they caught the guy. All of my female friends were freaked right the fuck out. The coverage only began after the police found the sixth body.

Oh, well thank goodness it was only crackwhores, the newspapers said.

So what's going on with this case, exactly?

He's a car salesman on Long Island, you're crazier than a shithouse rat: Clearly, a match made in heaven.

"He says he has nothing to hide, but he changed his email password, twice!"

All They Will Find Is My Beer and My Shirt

Here is a cameraphone picture of Murph's.

The highlight of our trip to St. Augustine was spending Saturday night at Murph's Bar (which, if you're heading that way, is next to a laundromat in a strip mall on A1A in Crescent Beach--there's usually a couple Harleys out front; you can't miss it) getting drunk and listening to the most amazing band.

They were tuning up as we walked in. In my experience, that's rarely an auspicious sign, especially when all you really wanna do is hang out, drink whiskey, and chat with local felons. But I recalled that Murph had pretty decent taste in music and then I noticed a guy tuning up a mandolin and I thought, Well hell yeah.