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I worked late. Irfan picked me up at the office and we met Gil and Audra for the premiere of Ma femme est une Actrice (My Wife is an Actress). I loved this movie. It was great entertainment... very funny. I think some of the French drama between the main couple in the film was especially appreciated by me because Flavie was French (born and raised in Paris). After the movie, we went down tot he village to see some of their friends I had never met before. Since I'm into meeting people and making new friends, I was down for it despite my exhaustion. We were supposed to meet them at Two Rows (I hate that place). They weren't there yet. I went to eat at that little Italian Deli/Cafe next to Baker's St. and the parking garage... I forget the name. Anyhoo, excellent groceries. Afterwards, I went back for a brief introduction before heading home. They were all going to Timberwolf. I wasn't drinking tonight (other than a glass of wine with dinner), so I decided to come home. Ma femme est une Actrice rates up there in my book with Gazon Maudit, Le Dîner de Cons, Les Visiteurs, and Le Placard for some of my all time favorite French films. It's one I will see again.

This is hilarious. I'm such a geek.

oh yeah... something I forgot to mention about last night and The Big Easy. I love that bar... L-O-V-E that bar however, the urinals in the men's room are fucking ridiculously high. I can barely pee in them... even on tippy toes. Who designed this fucking bathroom? Basketball stars? Ridiculous. Also, I have mentioned this before, but I'll say it again. I hate it when guys leave the men's room without washing their hands [he bites tongue repeatedly to prevent long winded soapbox rant]. As for the "something strange" happening at the bar (which I had forgotten about until Miah mentioned it in a comment)... I got hit on. The fact that some girl walked up to me and hit on me is not the strange part... that happens often... the strange part is that my platonic friend who also happens to be a girl was sitting right there when it happened as a witness. The girl walks up, points at my friend and says loud enough for her to hear (I'm not sure she did), "Is that your girlfriend?"... so forth and so on. I think that's a little balzy (which is a good thing) and rude (which is a bad thing). I mean, I think a woman being a tastefully aggressive is sexy as hell, but practically interrupting a conversation to throw down the mack and cheese? I believe some cool points are lost in the process. I gave her a polite brush off and tried to be low key about it, but as soon as she walked away, my friend said, "You just got hit on. I can't believe that just happened. Why are you always getting hit on?" This statement made me uncomfortable. It implied that I have something to do with it or instigate in some way. I know she was kidding and I know that there is no confusion about our friendship, so it wasn't one of those comments, but still... it just was weird. Another strange situation was John. John introduced himself to me as "John the Asshole" as I recognized him from the Houston Blues Society Open Jam last week... he was the little old man walking around flipping everyone off and saying "yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh baby" repeatedly. That guy kills me. I am definitely looking for him next time I'm there... instant smile. Harlem Slim was playing a Dobro. I need one of those. I don't believe in putting up some kind of wish list like you see on a lot of blogournals (word stolen without permission from Melly), but if you're loaded with cash and are burning inside to buy something for a stranger. Clayton wants a Dobro. Just say it over and over and over...

His name was Dio and he dances on the sand...
There is quite a bit of construction going on across the street from my house. The workers start very early in the morning. Through some strange coincidence, the sound of a large construction vehicle backing up (the reverse beeps), after passing through the air, the fence, the trees, my bedroom wall, and reaching my ear, sound EXACTLY like my alarm clock. So the construction beeps stirred my trained ear in the wee hours of sunlight. I get up to turn off the alarm, but the alarm was not beeping. Clayton scratches head. What the hell is going on here? Construction vehicle has since moved in the forward direction and beeping stops. Did I mention EXACTLY like my alarm clock? So this goes on a couple of times since my brain is fuzzy from little sleep... until my actual alarm clock goes off. I turn it off and go back to bed. It goes off again... no, wait... it's the construction guys. Fuck. Eventually I submit and get up for work. Ho-hum. I had to take care of some personal business this morning, but once in the office it's been full on. Busy days are good because the time passes quickly, but after a night with little sleep they're a little hard to swallow. I had planned on seeing The Weary Boys tonight for something different (bluegrass... lol) at the Continental Club , but since I am a weary boy today and my friend that was going with me to the show decided to opt out, I'll probably just relax at home. Work work work work work work work work.

Ok. Home early. Harlem Slim was good... had a chat with Steve the harp guy about harmonica mics and all the ins and outs. It was a little more than I needed to know, but damn it makes me proud to see a guy so passionate about what he does. I'm going to sleep now because I need to ride about 9 miles in the morning. I really had a good time tonight. Something strange happened, but I am too focused on my bed to describe it. Maybe tomorrow...

"No, it's just... I... You know, I just think, right now I have one key, you know, everything I own is in the car, and I just... I like that; you know, I mean, I just... if I get an apartment, that's two keys, if I get a job, you know, um, I might have to open or close, that's more keys..." - Graham (Sex, Lies, and Videotape)
I don't know why, but I think of my friend Greg when I read that quote. Not Greg here in Houston, but Greg in Indiana. The Greg I have known forever. The Greg that is going through a terrible divorce and custody battle right now. The Greg that used to eat pizza in the middle of the night with me and listen to my drunken singing. That Greg that knows all my whacky theories. That Greg that truly deserves happiness... and a new microwave. Hey Mr. Milkman! Keep those bottles quiiiiiiieettt! I ate lunch with Dwayne at the Park Shops today. He however, does not need a new microwave.

I overslept... not to the point of being late, but just long enough to ensure my arrival at work on time would only be secured by ringing my carpool buddy (Joe) on the tele... I hate it when that happens. I love this thing! There was a police convention in my front yard this morning. I opened the door was blinded by bubble gum machines on a cruiser and one of those Camero pursuit cars. There were 3 or 4 cops walking around plus 2 more inside a parked vehicle just off my lawn. I have no idea what that was all about... maybe my pastor neighbor is really the Columbian connection? I was supposed to have a belated birthday celebration for Greg last night, but he got stuck in the office and I was consumed by my couch, so we never hooked. I am really looking forward to my live music fix tonight... it is the heroin in my veins... too bad I'm sans heroine. I just left a horribly boring meeting. I sat next to this guy that had hair that reminded me of Monchichis. It was all I could do to contain my giggles. I had to stare away, keep my mouth full of coffee, and sing early 80's metal in my head keep out “Monchichi, monchichi, oh-so soft and cuddly…” . Ack! I think the building maintenance marauders have tinkered with the air conditioning on my floor. I have an analog dial A/C control by my window that has, in the past, done very well controlling the temperature of my office. It now has two temperature settings: "Hell" and "Ski Resort Slope Filler Snow Machine". So I am now a game of pong. I turn it slightly up until office supplies on my desk burst into flames... then slightly down until the water feeding the plants in my office freezes and I can see my breath. Back and forth... those fucktards. These are probably the same guys that are trying to replace the lights in my office. Florescent lighting... just say no. I'm hungry.

pee ess... I'm a drinker. I'm a geek. This guy is o'tay in my book.

I was sucked into the television this evening. I rarely watch television and couldn't even tell you what shows were on the air these days so when I do turn the TV on, I end up surfing from channel to channel. Reality television sucks. Info-commercials are as entertaining as wrestling (a.k.a. soap opera for Billy Joe Jim Bob and Jessie Ray) and I think the writers for most sit-coms these days ate urinal cakes and lead paint chips as children. Is there anything really good on television these days that's new? Oh well, it was just an hour or two of my life... I'm blaming it on my couch. Bastard.

"Bad poets borrow, good poets steal." - T.S. Eliot
I have been songwriting a bit recently. I carry a little book around in my back pocket that I jot poetry in when it happens upon me. Often, a good song is just poetry without the music, so I have been convincing myself that the things I write are songs and not poetry. It's a informal commitment to myself to go back and write the music at some future date... or at least that's what me tells me. I have been getting some pretty cool emails recently from readers of this mind spillage. I really do appreciate the comments. I was going to post some of the letters and answer them here, but I stopped myself as I realized that by doing that I would be changing what this site was/is to me. I completely love that people visit and leave comments and actually read... especially when it's my own little clayton-dialect. I don't understand how anyone appreciates that... but since a lot of my 3D friends don't actually come here and I know the ones that do can't be clicking up that many hits, apparently someone does... so, that being said, thank you. I'll maybe someday post a page with email/correspondence from readers, but I can't see it being here. For the recent emails that were questions, you answers were clicked out this afternoon. For the person with the weird number for your email address: yes, someone already informed me that my big lips, beer gut, and earrings are falling from the charts. It was meant to be a joke to begin with, so I won't shed too many tears over it. Maybe I'll become a cam girl and make every other link on my page a FUCK ME NOW link to boost my ratings, eh? Sounds like a plan. As for the tat question... I could say dig through the archives since there are not too many, but instead I'll just post another pic here... besides, it gives me an excuse to use this little digital camera I got my hands on. My pets are starting to get freaked out that I'm following them around the house talking baby talk and snapping away. They're so effin cute. Ok, back to reality... tomorrow night I'm going out for a blues booster shot. I loves me some muthafukkin blues. I'm thinking Harlem Slim at the The Big Easy. I dig that bar. I may have mentioned it before, but basically the joint looks like it burst into flames and they just kinda put them out and kept rolling with the business. It's dark, it's smokey, it's got soul... plus that old guy selling bar-b-que out front cooks a mean Meatasaurus meal when you have been appetizing on liquid bread all night. It seems the rain has passed (key word: seems), so I'll be back on my normal commute tomorrow morning. I've missed it.

"The truth is cool but unknowable."

Los charolastras, los protagonistas, tienen un manifiesto de 10 puntos.... que son mandamientos:
1. No hay honor más grande que ser un charolastra.
2. Cada cual puede hacer de su culo un papalote.
3. Pop mata poesía.
4. Un "toque" al día... la llave de la alegría.
5. No te tirarás a la vieja de otro charolastra.
6. Puto el que le vaya al América.
7. Que muera la moral y que viva la chaqueta.
8. Prohibido casarse con una virgen.
9. Puto el que le vaya al América (se repite).
10. La "neta" es chida pero inalcanzable.

I am still smiling with movie satisfaction. This film reminded me so much of Cinema Paradiso (by Giuseppe Tornatore)... one of my all time favorites. It's an Italian film about a famous director returning home (after decades away) to see people and places from his childhood... bringing back memories from his past. Without writing a full review, I can say that Cinema Paradiso covers the range of human emotion and is a film about the human spirit and our interaction with one another. Y Tu Mama Tambien shares this genre. I read a while back that Miramax is re-releasing Cinema Paradiso... gawd I hope they don't fuck it up with poor choice of "never before seen footage" (you must read that in that guy's voice that does all the movie trailers these days... you know who I'm talking about). At least it's Giuseppe's original work and not a remake... I mean, come on, it's Miramax. I'm sure it'll be Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, you know? They put 'em in a bunch of movies.

I just got home from seeing Y Tu Mama Tabien. Fucking excellent film. I have a list of favorite scenes and dialog, but I'm not going to write about them because you should just go see it yourself. My eyes are scratchy... I think my contacts grew claws. How is this weekend over already? My lawn is looking like a jungle now. My theory about my SWAT team lawn boys was correct. They are obviously pissed about non-payment and have stopped mowing my lawn long enough to plot my assassination. I would pay the little mutherfuckers if they ever left a number or just came by when I was home. For months, they just came every other Saturday and worked their mojo on my yard... always when I am not home and never leaving a way to reach them. I don't know the gang leader's name and I have no address or number for payment. I kept thinking they would come looking for their $2 like that crazy kid in Better Off Dead, but nooooo... they just mow, edge, weedwhack, rake, bag, etc. like clockwork. In and out like professionals... wham, bam, thank you non-payin-gringo. By my rough estimate, I figure I owe them around 3 or 4 hundred dollars. That's a lot of lawn mowing. So, like I said, my lawn is like a jungle now. I'm going to miss my sister a little when she leaves tomorrow. It'll be nice to have my life back to the not-playing-host-24/7 mode again, but it was nice to have her around. She makes me out to be someone I'm not... there's a lot of pressure associated with filling those shoes, so I'm sure there will be a little relief when that's gone. I need a new amp. I need a winning lotto ticket. I need massage therapy and few weeks off work. I dig this blogging in bed gig... laptops and remote connections are the bees knees. I think I'll sleep now.

I am so fucking bored. I want one of these but with flame throwers and rocket launchers on it. This is kooky shit... the on-going saga of a guy trying to break into the pr0n industry. La la la la la la la la la...

Lazy day. It started raining. Hard. The nose knows.

Less filling.

Tastes great.