January 8, 2003

Today is the day to listen to "Velvet Goldmine."

A few plugs, first:

Yours truly will be appearing in Austin at the end of the month for So New Media's Bookhouse Rock. Come for Ben Brown, stay for Neal Pollack, and enjoy!

Some F.O.Z. (that's friends of Zulkey, to you, which is more of an insult than anything else) have started a new website called Black Table. They're fun guys with good writing skillz and I think you would enjoy it.

30

Of course, George had taken the one, good, pure thing in his life and ruined it.

He and his brother Tom were sitting on couches for the thirteenth consecutive hour, watching a huge plasma screen television. They were bot stoned and three sheets to the wind (or is it four? It's a confusing saying) and watching a television show wherein several unattractive, crunchy-haired, big-nosed girls threw themselves at some young gentlemen who, unbeknownst to them, would reward the winner at the end of the show with a bouquet of roses and a punch in the face.

Tom was supposed to be at work, but George had convinced him to take off. It didn't take very much convincing. After an entire weekend of being stoned and watching television, it had worn thin on the industrial, non-procrastinating Tom. But then George had the brilliant idea of, instead of hanging out at Tom's modest apartment, of renting out a suite at the Four Seasons.

Actually, in fact, the entire Shell Gas Station was closed for teh day, as Tom couldn't help but tell his co-workers what he was doing with himself, and they all ran downtown as soon as they could before the minibar ran out.

"George, this is great, but I have to get back to work tomorrow, man," Tom said.

George felt slightly annoyed. Why was everybody always trying to ruin his good time?

He was about to throw a handful of Fritos at Tom when he looked at him. Tom, with his bleary red eyes and three day old beard, had a desperate, pleading look of absolute earnestness. Something along the lines of "If you love me, set me free," only more like, "Dude, you have to stop plying me with drugs and booze and everything or else I'm going to lose my freaking job."

George smiled and threw the Fritos at him anyway. "All right, Tommy," he said. "I'll be out of here tomorrow."

"Hey--" said Tommy.

"Wait," said George. "He's about to pick the losers for the week.

Tommy waited patiently for the commercial to try again.

"Hey, George," he said. "It seems like you came here to ask me something. I mean, it's not really like you come out here to visit me that much."

Even now, after the revelation of how much he loved his brother, George underestimated him.

George opened his mouth. Tom smiled as if he knew something.

He had Fritos in his teeth.

"No, nothing," said George. "Nothing at all."

George settled back onto the catch and started flipping the channels. He never felt close to his family before, but he had also never seriously questioned his livelihood before, either.

Suddenly, he was distracted, though, as one of the mechanics performed a spectacular display of igniting one of his own emissions.