Friday the 13th comes on a Friday this month

Kathleen and Eric are leaving town! For at least 10 months! This will cast a pall on the face of many a person. I guess we survived Kathleen's long sabbaticals in France, so we might be able to survive this. At least they've promised to keep a travel blog.

In other news, Paul is single again. (Man, I feel like I have to blog for all my friends who don't have blogs. Let's see, the cat next door had kittens…) I went out with him, Brent, and Chris to commiserate at the Missouri Lounge. It was the first time I'd been in a majority single-person gathering in hella months. Felt kind of feral, like one of us might leap off our barstool and start howling at the moon. Except Brent. He looked strangely content.

Have you been to the Missouri lately? It's undergone a retrofit or whatever they call it when the hipsters descend and the ho's and pimps move on to somewhere else. It's a pretty cool place, although on this night the DJ was spinning all country music. I have a low tolerance for country -- I dig some of the old, sad stuff, a bit of Willie Nelson, and more than a bit of the clever altcountry stuff, but I can't really take 3 straight hours of it. Not to mention that people were wearing cowboy hats. Someone said wearing them makes all girls at least 10 percent more attractive, but I think that goes for most hats. Throw in some line dancing and I started to retch. Could you get much whiter? Although, I hate when people start swing dancing in rock clubs too, so maybe I'm just anti-couples-learning-steps-in-dance class.

Bardot a Go Go is tomorrow at the Rickshaw. I've got tons of new French and Euro stuff to play and Johnnie and Alan made new decorations, so I'm pretty psyched. I wish, however, I wasn't sick. You know how they have those warnings on the cold medicine say "stop if causes sleeplessness"? Well, that's never happened to me -- until last night. I was frigging peeing every hour on the hour all night long. And not sleeping much in between. Merde.

While poking around, I came across a photo of an old Bardot, probably from around 1998 or 1999. It was at the long gone Cocodrie, with its all-ages afternoon metal shows and funky toilets and drug-dealing bartenders. Good times! And look at Tim's long hair!


Grumpy Guy will return when I'm less sick and grumpy.