September 5, 2004
Just got back from a wonderful trip up to the cool pines of Flagstaff (7,000 feet). Place jammed with Labor Day flatlanders like us. Shortcutted it across the NAU campus and landed downtown at Martan’s where we met Tomcat, Deena and Mike and Robert Chenal and his girlfriend for huevos rancheros and coffee. That was at about 1:30.
While Kathy and Tomas went shopping at Good Will for stuff he needs for his apartment, I went to said apartment and read and took a nap. On Friday night we met Wonderful Russ and Wonderful Wendy for dinner at Fosters in Scottsdale (split dinner bill, $62 house account). Russ gave me a new book he is high on. He bought 13 on Amazon and gave one each to his staff. I took the book with me and enjoyed staying in and reading.
As we were dressing for dinner, Tom mentioned he had a perfect Napoleon Dynamite outfit he was saving for Halloween. I dared him to wear it to dinner and, being my son, he quickly dressed up as Napoleon Dynamite. Unbelievable. So nerdy, so completely dork-able. Took a few photos. He borrowed my glasses and looked darn good (if you consider Napoleon Dynamite good). T. Bell also told me there are shirts cropping up on campus that say “Vote for Pedro,” which is a plotpoint in the indie phenom. Amazing.
At seven we met Deena and her boyfriend at Dacha Thai on South San Francisco St. (just south of the tracks, trains rumbling through every fifteen minutes. Sounds like they’re going through the kitchen.). Several people in the restaurant did doubletakes when he walked in. I’m telling you, he’s dead on as the Nap Man. It was Mike’s birthday (24) and his pick. We had a bunch of fun, took some pictures, stole a Soporo beer label off a big ol’ bottle (Tomcat peeled it off and I put it in my pocket for Gus and I to use for a t-shirt design, see Texas Ranger scratchboard).
After dinner the old people went home while the kids went out clubbing. Deena and Mike hit Malonie’s on the north of the tracks, while Napoleon, I mean Tommy went across the street to the 111 (pronounced one eleven. He says the club has some new name every other week, with new owners, but everyone just calls it by the address. Interesting branding, eh?). The joint was featuring 20 bands in 12 hours, starting at two in the afternoon and ending at two in the morning. Tom says everyone was waiting for the headliner, “I Hate It When You Are Pregnant.” That’s not the name of the band, there is no band. It’s the name of Phil Bunkman, a Jewish Punk-Hip-Hoppin’ Hamster-ham from Flag who everyone absolutely loves, according to Tom. One of his techno hits is “Peter Frampton Must Die,” which is kind of catchy when you hear it (T downloaded it off the internet for his old man to hear).
Got up at seven this morning and read some more of the branding book. Got up at eight and taught Tomcat how to make BBB pancakes (he wanted to learn, so I passed on the spatula). His female roommate joined us for a big farm breakfast feed.
We hung paintings (too many BBBs, but hey they are free) all over his living room, dining room and down the hall and even in the bathroom.
Kathy and I left at 11 but we didn’t get far. I saw a sign for the Coconino County Fair and we pulled off and into line ($2 for parking, $6 each, $12 for tickets to see the best hamsters, swine and bovines in the north country (and this was just in line getting in). Bought a five pound bag of roasted green chiles from Hatch ($6, I asked the guy how the fair was treating him and he said “Okay, but people don’t know what to do with them.” Ha. Well, I do! Making green chile mole even as you read this).
“The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side.”
—Hunter S. Thompson
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