Friday was my birthday. Jordan took me to lunch at Lewis’ Cafeteria for the Inferno Club. I was excited to go for what is reputed to be the hottest burger in town.

Inferno Anticipation

Jordan sweated and cried just a little. I ate fast to get it all in before I could consider my actions.

What is an inferno burger, you ask?

A Burger infused with jabenero peppers, which would be be enough to knock your socks off, except that they top it off with a mound of seedy jalapenos smothered in pepperjack.

For actually eating the whole thing I got a free icecream, which I shared with Jordan because he was literally eyeing the french toast on the plate of the guy next to us in some delusional notion that french toast might ease his suffering.

He later confessed that he was sort of out of his head and honestly felt that to reach over and take the man’s french toast from under him was perfectly alright under the circumstances.

Red faced, sweat running down his neck, I thought he was going to snort my bowl of vanilla.

Aftermath

About 20 men were gathered for this event. Only 5 ordered Inferno items on this day. They have a facebook page I’m told for members of “the club”. Some who had conquered the burger in the past warned, “Tonight you will feel what you have wrought.”

For the rest of the day there was just something not right about my intestines. No pain, no worry really. Just something.

Jordan was thrown briefly to the ground Sunday morning, and I thought of curling up in the floor of the shower Sunday night.

Ok, that’s not true. There was a bit of latent to moderately suggestive cramping going on, but it was less than I supposed it would be.

I’m looking forward to returning for a more conventional burger accented with inferno bacon. That, I’m sure, could prove addicting.

5pm on the riverfront. We came in at noon for the very first band, Copesetic. Four bands later and Hosty Duo has been our favorite, rockin the park with songs like Chewbacca and The Married Man Song.

An electronica band is on stage now and I’m having flashbacks of a downstairs club in Manheim, 1993.

J Wail, from Denver. Anyway, good day, and earlier we got hit by a small cyclone which ruffled everything, went down the bank and out across the water. Very cool.

I returned Wednesday, but haven’t taken the time to write about the last two days in Eureka. At least not here.

Tuesday was great. Breakfast, then I wrote a little, then walked back to the shops since there were many I had not seen. Eureka is probably best suited for two target audiences: Artists and groups of women. 75% of the shops are giggledy trinket frillies and bead ring things. And hats.

I still enjoyed my brief hours on Spring Street, and I bought a few items. Thankfully the two antique store type places didn’t have any historical stuff I was interested in, so I didn’t do something stoopid.

“Dude, what is that on your porch?”
“You like it?”
“Uh…”
“That’s an antique wrought iron pedal-driven corn grinder in the approximate likeness of Lou Armistead.”
“Life size?”
“Yep.

Ok, I just made that up, but honestly… that would ROCK. Which I guess is my point. Glad the content was weak. There were a couple of gourmet coffee places. One that served house-made ice cream. I had strawberry shortcake and it was good. But I sorta viewed it like I do Golden Corral: If your mama didn’t cook for you as a child, you probably would love it. I’d put a fold-out table full of church folks’ home made ice cream tubs up against their “gourmet” ice cream any day.

I found the stopper to the tub Tuesday and took a nice tub bath. As I was sitting there reading a Stephen Hunter novel, trading texts with my little brother and hoping not to drop my iphone into the water, it occurred to me that I sorta miss the clawfoot mornings of my year in the Tilles house. You just don’t hurry a tub bath, that’s a fact.

Wednesday I had one last awesome breakfast, said goodbye to the kitty, loaded up the truck and then walked back downtown for final purchases in the stores and then lunch with Korey and Jacob at the New Delhi.

As it turns out there was more I hadn’t seen, but I didn’t really care to at that point. I headed back up to the highway where the newer motels are and went back to see the man I visited with about coffee and tourism and the U.S. Government stimulus package on Sunday afternoon when I arrived

Dennis offered the kind of practical wisdom that will never be present on the chamber floor.

“Barak Obama is spending that money all wrong. What he should have done is give 1 million dollars to every U.S. citizen 65 or older, with one stipulation: they have to spend it. Doesn’t matter what on, but they can’t bank it. You talk about infusing the economy. There’d be so much commerce taking place over night, and here’s the deal: that would cost less money than the way we’re doing it.”

I was speechless.

Which reminds me of the really nice scary man with the chicken-fried brain I met Tuesday. I was seated, talking to a drummer I’d met the day before when I saw his Zildian t-shirt. The permanently stoned hippie, about 55 or 60, came in smiling, sat at an adjacent table and with a grand gesture of royal demeanor, immediately addressed us in pure jibberish.

I smiled back. “Indeed!”

“I know, brother. But isn’t that right?” he said.

“You can say that again,” I replied. But he didn’t. I couldn’t place his face but he looked like someone who could have been famous forty years ago. He looked like an original member of a 70’s rock band, grown old.

The waitress approached and was detained. Deep Fried Man (DFM) had an artist’s tablet which he used as a quote book for anyone and everyone he met to write something in. Anything. About every fifth or sixth entry was in his writing, but there were dozens, maybe hundreds of participants he had gotten quotes from. After the waitress finally gave in and wrote a profanity (which was apparently an honest quote she’s known for), I asked for the pad.

I read them all and while he was giving me advice about how to write brilliant things, I wrote a piece of wisdom handed down by Douglas men for generations.

“It takes a mighty big horse to weigh a ton.”

He was mesmerized. He read it over and over aloud for more than two minutes, then finally said, “Wow, that is deep. And I love your star in front of it, that is well done, man.”

Suddenly Led Zeplin came on the speakers. He stood and began dancing a dance that can be accurately described as being like Daniel-son’s hand motions while practicing Karate on the beach, only with no lower body motion whatsoever. His hands were fluid, his hands were adders, his hands were gators, his hands were duck bills quacking for an end to fossil fuels and peace at Yasgur’s farm. His hands really needed sock puppets.

He aimed this dance at some people at the other nearest table. I watched. He nodded at them knowingly, as if to say, “uh-hu, that’s right, that’s what I thought.” The adders danced and swayed. The people left.

I turned back around and my new buddy’s seat was now occupied by the girlfriend I’d seen him resuscitating on the day before. He’d stepped away for something.

“This salsa was like mama’s,” I said a little too loudly, then I got up, bowed to the two ladies, patted chicken fried dancer, and said bye to the drummer.

I keep getting asked how much writing I got done. Not quite as much as I planned, but I wrote, I made some progress, and that felt good.

Most importantly, I got away for a while.

OK, at this point all I can say is, it hurts. My belly, that is. The jeans I wore for casual Friday at work last week were washed and came with me. Tonight I almost could not button them before dinner. SRSLY.

Since Jordan called me and said he and Susan are reading my posts, I’ll keep writing. Ok, maybe not Susan.

Morning Writing

So the last post was breakfast. I don’t even usually eat breakfast. It was excellent. That’s french toast with berries and bacon on the top back there. The hostess was a baker on a cruise line for years. She had a name for it that I feel silly saying.

Breakfast highlights: Butting into a conversation when I couldn’t stand it anymore because one guy said to another, “It was a really cool rainbow. I mean, I’m not sure but it may have been a double rainbow.”

and

Convincing the cook to go bring her Cornish Rex kitty down from upstairs so I could play with her.

Then I came back up to my room and got comfy on the porch looking across the valley and toward the mountain where the Christ of the Ozarks stands.

I wrote outside, on the porch, in the breeze until about 11:30. Only then was it starting to be too warm. Tomorrow I’m going to start even earlier for FULL ON DOUBLE PRODUCTIVITY that may be so awesome it will knock me down with awesome create-stuff rays.

I went to lunch, some things happened and more things, and my back hurts so I got a massage and an eye massage, and I met some hippies and ate some more and found some books and bought a new journal and ate some more while writing.

I ended up sitting in an icecream shoppe eating homemade strawberry shortcake icecream and drinking fresh roasted coffee, but as I was eating… something awesome began.

A guy walks in with a cd in hand. Another guy says “What ya got, Bill?” He says, “Some girl down in the park playing and singing. She’s real good.”

So I think, I wonder how much further down this hill of a town that is, cause I’d like to hear a girl singing in the park but man my stomach hurts and my back hurts because my stomach hurts. Maybe I should purge, I think to myself.

So I step outside and I can hear her. The park is nearby.

Now, last night I went to somewhere seedy to hear the only band playing, a bluegrass band that I really enjoyed: Springbilly.

Springbilly

But this voice in the park… This girl took my breath away.
Korey Mattox, solo with her mandolin.

I visited with her and her fiance, Jacob, a while afterward. Here is Korey’s MySpace page, where one example of her voice can be heard in “Sunshine”.

Playing on the street. From Korey's MySpace. I was too busy getting video for the sound to think to take a photo!

I don’t think anything can match this as the highlight of my stay!

Time to write.

Church a.m. with sis and family, then off to Eureka.

I’ve done too much in my first half day here to write, which causes me to grow weary of attempting to. Met several people and played mind games on a napkin at the balcony restaurant, saw a ton of artwork, caught a bluegrass band, ate 4 meals, and more.

3pm Sat, Hog Haus Brewing Co.

Galore on 64 was hot hot hot. Most of it was crapola.

Met up with Carrie and Brian at their booth and got to help shuttle puppies back from the house.

I went up to A to Z Sporting Goods then headed north. At Winslow I pulled over to use my phone to find mom and dad a cafeteria in Birmingham. While on the shoulder typing a crying woman walked up and my next hour or so was spent shuttling a stranger for gas, etc. This event warrants more detail but I’m on my iPhone so maybe later.

Just finished a great Mushroom burger at Hog Haus, now I go to the best bookstore in Arkansas !!!

In Perfect Harmony

In yet another /bow to Jordans Martin: e-harmony weekly mails continue. They give you article topics as hooks, but no content. This week’s headliner article made me wonder, but without an active account I had to write my own content.

5 Bad Habits That Tank First Dates.

1. Shoving her to get the preferred side of the booth.
2. “This isn’t the menu you’re looking for,” while wiggling your fingers in her face.
3. Asking her for a 6 letter word that starts with q and ends in g while you struggle over your next “Words With Friends” move on your i-phone.
4. Riverdancing your way to the bathroom because THAT’S FUNNY.
5. Telling her how all the girls you meet on Eharmony are higher quality than the ones on ho-match.com.

Thoughts on Quotes

“The disesteem into which moralists have fallen is due at bottom to their failure to see that in an age like this one the function of the moralist is not to exhort men to be good but to elucidate what the good is. The problem of sanctions is secondary. ”

- Walter Lippmann

It’s the same in writing history. No matter the dispicable, low-down duplicity of the individuals involved, professional historians are to paint the picture but not to interpret. A quality portrait speaks for itself.

Why? Because few listen to the unsolicited exhortations of a moralist. Words and witness is about capital wisely spent.

“The indispensable first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.”
- Ben Stein

Poignant in light of last week’s question from the VP, “The question, Justin, is what do you want to do?”

I want to be a published author and a renowned drummer. I’m going to work on those.

Justin Douglas
Diary
Day 13,855

This morning there was this small but very fat bird on the wire outside behind my house, facing away from me. I whistled at him. He didn’t move. I whistled again. He looked to his left. I whistled again, he looked to his right. I began laughing. I whistled a third time and he leaned his little head down between his legs and looked under himself at me. Now THAT is an awesome way to start a morning. I told him I liked him and if he ever wanted to come inside I’d open a window.

Arriving at work, I was reminded of a corporate email distributed yesterday announcing a new office ritual — I now have a theory that no one can spell calisthenics right until their company starts doing them. If all the people who are threatening to wear sweatbands and leg warmers tomorrow do so, I’m going to sing some Olivia Newton John.

Let’s get physical.

In a sense, knowledge shrinks as wisdom grows: for details are swallowed up in principles.

— Alfred North Whitehead

At the Pearl, Mississippi Holiday Inn. Cool view from my room of Trustmark Park, home of minor league Mississippi Braves.