First off, I've got to say that I'm worried about Chuck. I know it's in vogue to write about him via D-land so I'll try to stay away from the topic, but let's just say I'm not pleased.

I feel guilty about being delinquent in updating this because of the Survivor thing. You've got to understand, I've been moving. Perhaps as penance for ignoring this, the new house has been attacking me.

Our living room furniture mauled me (Or rather the shrapnel-like wire hanging out of it did.) Unlike our cat "pipe bomb" our furniture does not like to be picked up. Our front porch also creamed my elbow a good one too. Strangest off all, I have small fingerprint shaped bruises on my arm. I don't remember anyone grabbing my arm with enough force at any time to have caused that (and if they had I would have smacked them a good one (I know I just used the same expression twice in this paragraph, but dammit there is just not a more appropriate phrase to talk about hitting my elbow/other people)).

Past weekend's adventures: Drive to Hattiesburg, MS to see lots of hardcore goodness. The show was at a community center that only "looked like a church", and honestly they would have a hard time convincing me it wasn't - what with the pew-like benches, vaulted ceiling, rectory kitchen, and *nativity scene complete with an animatronic baby jesus.

Anyhoot, Downplay was the first band, and all I can say is that we drove to Exxon and took a really long time deciding on a juicy beverage. We got back in time for them to give one more completely predictable punk rock jump (*woo! we can defy gravity therefore there is something interesting about our live show!).

The guitarist for Eyes Upon Separation (A very cuddly 6'3" 230 lbs) was playing a guitar that was completely disproportional to his frame. It looked like Marlon Brando (when he got sort of fat (not really fat, just sort of (like Godfather Brando))) playing a ukulele. As for the next band...I'm not one to usually make jokes about Crustie Punks, (How do you starve a Crusty? Hide his food stamps under a bar of soap.) but honestly when I stood downwind of the band Tragedy (and I don't even know how that was possible indoors) I could smell them. Their book distrobution did not stink however, and I bought mucho *leftest pinko bastard literature. Pure Fire Project finished off the night. The highlight of their set was Richard and I explaining between every song to them that their drummer was so "off the hook" that we don't even see how there could ever have been a hook in the first place.

After the music, my group of travelers got invited over to local girl Victoria's house. We walked blocks to a 24 hour Walgreens where we saw an amazingly eerie lifelike plush rotweiler dog. When we got back Richard and I drew a diagram for the plan to steal the chocolate peanut butter pie. First, Tiffany runs to the living room and flashes the boys as distraction. Then I, Ginger (*long experienced in the subtle art of fan-movage), move the floor fan to block the kitchen door. Richard runs out the back door with the pie and my car keys. I'm not sure at what point I was actually supposed to meet up with Richard and get some of the pie for myself. Hmm, maybe that plan needed more work.

The next day we drove 4 hours home and there is nothing interesting about that (except the fact that a certain laser triggered toilet in South Jackson flushed 3 times a piece for Tiffany and I. That's just wrong). Did I mention that we passed signs that said "Homegirl Glamourama" and "Eat more Rabbit!"? No sarcasm there.

I'll update with some more homely subject matter tomorrow.

*Denotes sarcasm and poor writing skills