The Waste Land

Fighting a cold, but gonna come out on top, unlike my battle with the Belster over Black Swan, I'll eke a decision there, but it won't be until the eleventh round and the exhumation of Tennessee Williams.

Good Super Bowl last night, my first in twelve years. Alternated between sudafed and Papa John's pizza. Subjected to far too many putrid commercials.

Drank and partied to some pub rock Friday night. I was somewhat flat, but the energy in the room was good. Corwin needed to get out of town the next day and given that I never get out of town I emerged from the hideaway and accompanied him west on 66. First we went to Target to get some masking tape for his new tattoo. I impulsively bought a 12 pack of Irish Spring and a creme cleanser that subsequently turned my face into The Waste Land.

Spare a minute to talk about facial cosmetics? Winter here is cruel to be kind on my skin. I am desperate for lip balm. I tried to do right with this clearance cleanser I got at Target and it is horrendous, no wonder it was on clearance.

We drove to Williams, a first for me and him, less weird for me since he's from Phoenix (he played the boy in Poltergeist). We ate lunch at Jessica's Greek Family Restaurant. I was reminded of Destroyer's Song for America, which we listened to on the way. “Wrote a song for America they told me it was clever, Jessica's on vacation to the dark side of town forever.”

It was just me and him at a booth in the restaurant and some member of Jessica's family that was not Jessica because I asked if she was Jessica and she said no Jessica is in Chicago. We both drank ice tea. I ordered a hot meatloaf sandwich covered in gravy. It was alright, though I can't imagine ever getting a craving for it again. Alright back to T.s. Eliot's She Wolves of the Waste Land.