by Tim Sampson

thursday, september 4

I wish whoever put the curse on me would make it go away. The other day -- actually, the day after getting my car out of the shop and spending roughly half of what I paid for the thing to make it operate properly -- I was driving down Union Avenue in rush-hour traffic. Boy, I thought, it's nice to have the old girl running smoothly again. About that moment, the car began to speed up all by itself, and before I knew it I was driving about, oh, 70 miles an hour and couldn't slow down. It seems that the accelerator was stuck. So I finally got the brakes mashed down enough to fly around a corner onto a side street, almost taking out a few other cars with me, throw the car into neutral -- which almost caused it to explode, as the engine was still racing at 70 mph -- and turned it off. Mind you, this is a car with a dashboard that talks. Fifty times a day I hear the smug computer tell me that I'm low on windshield-washer fluid, but do you think for a minute that it had the sense to tell me the accelerator was about to jam itself to the floorboard and send me racing down the busiest street in the city? No. Then I had to walk to a pay phone. No big deal -- except that I have an as-of-yet-untreated torn cartilage in my knee, so I have to hobble around like an old man. Fine. So I'm hobbling along as best as I can -- until I trip on a bump in the street, twist the knee, and can no longer take a step forward. I am now standing in the middle of an intersection unable to walk. It's roughly 100 degrees. Cars are whizzing past, and people are looking at me like I'm a bag lady. In fact, I feel like a bag lady. I'm convinced at this point that I'm going to die. My life starts flashing in front of me. Early memories from childhood, like the time my mother left the room for one minute and I decided to feed my three-day-old brother maraschino cherries. Like the time I tried to brush our chihuahua's teeth with glue and it bit me in the eye and my father shot it. Like the time my mother came home in hysterics because she had gone to a country-club dance in her fabulous new chartreuse cocktail dress and walked all the way across the ballroom in front of hundreds of people with a long strip of toilet tissue trailing behind her, caught on the rhinestones on the back. Then, I started wondering about all sorts of things, questions to which I would never know the answer. Like, if Lana Turner had been dyslexic, would she have spelled her name "Anal"? Did anyone ever really get it when Archie on All in the Family mispronounced the reverend's name and constantly referred to him as the "Reverend Felcher"? Did Marilyn Manson really have all of his ribs removed so he could perform fellatio on himself (a rumor told to me by a 10-year-old)? What was it like for Stella Stevens when she had to scream the line, "I know what to do with a suppository!!" in The Poseidon Adventure? Why did they stop making Quaaludes? Why don't they start making them again? Because at this point, I sure could use one. Anyway, I finally got out of the intersection and into a nearby dark bar. And so far, the only life-threatening thing that has happened since was eating a can of Congressional Bean Soup in my sleep. God only knows what will happen next. In the meantime, I'm sure you don't care about any of this -- I certainly don't -- so I guess it's time to get around to what's going on around town this week. Opening tonight on the Main Stage at Theatre Memphis is The Music Man. Or you could take in the Memphis College of Art Open House, with tours of the school, art demonstrations, and refreshments. Or you could go down and hear the North Mississippi All-Stars at Barristers. Or you could go to Blues City Cafe and hear Preston Shannon. Or to the Center for Southern Folklore to hear the Daddy Mack Blues Band.

friday, september 5

Lots of art openings tonight: at the U of M Art Museum for "A Return to Memphis: The Art of Samuel Hester Crone"; at Rhodes College's Clough-Hanson Gallery for Young Memphis Art Exhibit; and at Young Street Gallery for an "Equal Rites" group show. There's also live music tonight, and I mean live -- George Clinton & the P-Funk Allstars are giving a free concert on U of M's Southern Avenue parking lot. Also, Larkin Bryant and Andy Cohen are giving a dulcimer and guitar concert at First Congregational Church to benefit the YWCA's Abused Women's Services. And Willie Nelson is playing down at Sam's Town Casino in Tunica. And here's a new one: On the first Friday of each month, there's now The Freak Engine at TheatreWorks, a series of midnight performances that feature performance art, improv comedy, dance, music, and more; billed as a "variety show from hell," this one should be interesting.

saturday, september 6

Hmm. Not a whole lot going on today. It is day one of the two-day 26th Annual Germantown Festival at Morgan Woods/C.O. Franklin Park, with food, music, arts & crafts, stuff for the kids, and more. And there are a couple of really big shows downtown; none other than Carl Perkins is playing at Elvis Presley's Memphis, and at the New Daisy, there's a show by Triggerman Zero, the Fetish Room, Loudermilk, Peel, and Mortimer Dipthong. And that's about that.

sunday, september 7

One more art opening, this one at the Jewish Community Center for an exhibit of works by Michael Naranjo. And I hear that the art of the tea dance is coming back, with a late-afternoon beer bust at Amnesia, followed by a special show.

monday, september 8

After a few margaritas at Molly's, zip around the corner and check out the new Monday madness at Side Street Grill. Hmmmmm.

tuesday, september 9

311 is in concert at the Mud Island Amphitheatre tonight, with opening act Goldfinger.

wednesday, september 10

Helmet and the Melvins are in concert tonight at the New Daisy, with opening act Barkmarket. As you can see, I'm really sick of this, so I'm going to stop. And as you know, I really don't care what you do, because I don't even know you, and unless you can get Heather Locklear to come do a one-woman show at The Orpheum, then I'm sure I never want to go through the sheer torture of meeting you. Besides, it's time for me to blow this dump and go hobble around in the street some more. Maybe people will give me money and cigarettes.