Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

April 9, 2018 Rough morning. Double vodka sodas may be less nourishing than previously imagined. Unsure if I should have eaten less fried chicken last night, or more. Only cure is more food. Fortunately, we have a pretty exciting lunch reservation today at Antoine's. Antoine's is one of the truly iconic New Orleans restaurants. It's been run by the same family since 1840, and the bio on the menu boasts of introducing the world to a number of iconic Creole dishes. The restaurant has no less than fifteen dining rooms, and has served celebrities and dignitaries for generations. That's cool and all, but frankly, I'm here for absurdly cheap cocktails and a three course meal. I am not disappointed, greeted by an interior dimly lit to perfection and an affable server more than happy to keep the twenty-five cent lemon drops flowing. I'm feeling better already. I bypass most of the menu and head straight for the lunch special . For $20.18, you get an appetizer,

The idea came, as grand ones often do, after the drinks began to take hold. My girlfriend and I were drinking what could fairly be described as an excessive amount of alcohol for a Monday night, while watching the extremely appropriately-titled WWE Monday Night Raw . We had been discussing the possibility of going on vacation soon, when serendipitously enough, a commercial advertising the upcoming WrestleMania event howled across our television screen. Held in New Orleans, a city we both had long desired to visit, could this event be the unlikely inspiration for our next adventure? Long story short, yes. The plan was simple: we would spend a week in the Big Easy, starting with WrestleMania and moving on to sight-seeing, exploring, drinking, eating, eating and eating over the course of the following days. And so, mere weeks later, we departed a gloomy, drizzly San Francisco and headed down south. Our flight was largely uneventful, save for the child behind us who found great amusem

         I awaken with a simple desire: to pick up where I left off in Final Fantasy III . I am finally getting around to playing the game, two years after its initial release, in the fallow period before I get my Nintendo 64 for Christmas. I am borrowing my friend's copy, as well as a gargantuan strategy guide he has downloaded from the primordial internet that is approximately the size of the FBI's file on the John F. Kennedy assassination. These few late autumn days off from school give me the precious time I need to take on this adventure that some say lasts upwards of a hundred hours. I have spent the last several wandering back and forth through a small patch of forest fighting dinosaurs.      I'm still adjusting to my environment. Just a few months ago, my family moved on up from our mobile home of ten years to a two-story townhouse on the other side of the city. Though I'm still rather annoyed that we never went back to retrieve the rest of my belongings as

I have spent the last few weeks tirelessly laboring on a thorough Yelp review for a local Popeye's Louisiana Kitchen. I feel my work is important enough that I would like to share it with my blog readers as well. However, since I know my readers are busy people, I've cut away all the fluff and excerpted the most salient material here. I apologize if some of you find this intensely disturbing. I should have known I was in for a rough time when I pull into the Popeye's parking lot. There are no parking spots within easy walking distance except for a single space directly in front of the restaurant. Now, normally this would be ideal, but the space is clearly marked "20 Minute Parking." So great, now I'm in a race against time! Asking me to divine the future and somehow predict how long I'm going to be at Popeye's is a fool's errand, so right from the beginning I'm acutely aware of the fact that I'm going to have to rush my meal and watch

This image I snagged off of Google has only a tangential relation to this article, but I liked it, so here it is. From time to time, certain events occur that are worthy of note but aren't exactly the intricate, complex sagas that people base great works of literature around. However, just because they are brief and relatively inconsequential does not mean that they are not worthy of record. Now, my memory isn't exactly the world's greatest , so I'm fairly certain that incidents fitting this description have occurred roughly 17,000 times in my life, and I have forgotten 16,997 of them. As such, before the last few melt away into a Memento -esque haze, I figured I would share them with you in blog form. Hopefully they entertain you as much as they have entertained the homeless drunks that hang out behind my local 7-11. 1. My friend, collaborator and secret lover Garrett Steel and I went to Jack in the Box on one of our typically unhealthy escapades, this time to s

     I recently posted the following on Facebook. Don't worry, it's not family photos:      During war time, bombs get dropped; such is the nature of war. Tragically often, said bombs cause damage far beyond their intended targets. Such was the case one time, with a certain McDonald's, a bastion of unhealthy comfort food in a volatile area. Errant ordnance reduced this greasy palace to smoldering ruins, and it was small comfort that the debris-laden air smelled like french fries for hours afterwards. They say if you visit this site in the middle of the night, you will find a lone man there. He is a chubby fellow clad in black and white, an outfit that recalls old-timey prison garb. He sifts, heartbroken, through the charred remains. "Rubble, rubble," he sobs mournfully. "Rubble, rubble."      On the surface, this seems to be merely a strange joke, perhaps a bit long-winded considering how slight the punchline is. Yet it is also indicative o

     One night, I was supposed to meet a friend of mine at a dingy but reasonably-priced local watering hole. As it happens, my friend ended up unable to meet me due to a family emergency...or so they said, anyway. Rather than immediately go home, where there was no beer, I decided to soak up some local color and hang around for a drink or two. As I sat at the bar fiddling around with my cell phone, an elderly gentleman wearing a shirt that looked like it should be covering a picnic table sat down next to me. After some small talk about the weather and whatnot, the man blindsided me with the following story, which I transcribe here word-for-word, more or less. Naturally, I don't believe a word of it. But  the look in that elderly gentleman's eyes told me that he did.      If I had known how much trouble it was gonna cause me, I never woulda shot Terry Merton. Now, don’t get me wrong, everybody knows old Terry had it coming. He was stealing from me left and right, and it