Bubbles the Magnificent

Not to shatter anyone's ego, but law is based on tricks. Not just any tricks, but cheap magic tricks. Ever been to a magic show with a really terrible children's magician with a name like Bubbles? Well, the majority of lawyers in the United States use these same campy tricks. People outside the law are usually shocked and horrified when faced with legal troubles. Due to the mafia-esque style of Bar Associations, regular people are basically prohibited solving these problems on their own. Who do they call? Bubbles the magician, err...I mean John Q. Lawyer, esq. Johnny Lawyer steps in and with a wave of the hand and a slip of the wrist, magic is done and the problem solved, or at least brought to a resolution. And where does this leave our regular people? Out 5 grand for some basic problem. Someone recently asked me how can you tell if your friends with a lawyer. My answer? If you have his cell number, your most likely friends. If you just have his office number, your just another mark.

As a student of this illustrious field I've experienced another aspect of the cheap magicians of this area of employment. I have worked for several cheap magicians, some good, some not so good, but one of the common threads among these people is their fear of sharing their secrets. Just like any magician on any end of the spectrum, most lawyers have an intense fear of losing their jobs or losing their clients, therefore you have to squeeze them for their card tricks. As a student, we are all seen as future competition, therefore, learning the law is incredibly difficult when trying to sit at the feet of different Houdinis.

The endgame is eventually you figure out how your master magician does his tricks and he slips from being Houdini to being Bubbles. The cycle starts anew and you as the student become Bubbles trying to fool the public into believing the coin really did dissappear into your hand.

Eastern Pandas

My apartment is a fucking wreck. Books everywhere, empty diet coke cans, and my sink is overflowing with dishes. I'm realizing that school is trying to kill me under an avalanche of shit that is piling up in my house. I have tons of crap due, papers, class work, applications, tests, bills and other miscellaneous garbage that is tugging at my pants leg like a little child wanting attention.

So today I was talking to a friend of mine who for the purposes of this blog, I will call Panda. So me and Panda are talking and discussing how we share the characteristic of being packrats. Panda has moved recently and decided not to take much in the way of personal belongings, preferring a minimalist existence in her new surroundings. I am very envious and have always wanted to eliminate some of the crap the permeates every area of my life. Ideally, I have a very Eastern view of how an apartment should look. Panda feels the same way. The difference between our views, however is in the area of air conditioning. Panda's new place of residence lacks air conditioning and her hippie leanings make that situation just fine. For this blogger, though, air conditioning is a must and no matter how much I do love the environment and saving the whales and all that other shit, I am a Mississippi boy and despise being hot.

I am always amazed when I talk to Panda. Free spirit does not get close to describing her. Her life is almost lived on a whim and she just goes with the flow. I consider myself a fan of having adventures and traveling, but Panda lives her life in the thick of adventures. When everything comes down to brass tacks, I am a planner and a homebody. Maybe being a planner and a homebody has enabled all this shit in my apartment to pile up. It might be time to get in the thick of some adventures before I drown.

Politically Incorrect: Femotalk

The other night I was hanging out at one of the local watering-holes. As I sat there, enjoying the King of Beers, something interesting dawned on me. Isn't it funny how whenever I'm at the bar something interesting dawns on me? Anywho, as I sat there sipping my drink I started to think about how the arts in Mississippi have been taken over by women. Being a social libertarian/anarcho-music critic/feminist/politico, I am very much a fan of equality and suffrage and all those other politically correct standards everyone needs to be behind, however, when exactly did men cease having a say in art? I guess that is sort of a broad statement, but as I sat at the bar, pondering this, in the midst of an "art like gala," I noticed that the people hosting were women, the people running the game were women, and basically the majority of people attending this thing were women. Now, I don't look gift horses in the mouth and I was happy to find myself knee deep in pu...women...but I just started thinking that where do men contribute to Mississippi art, in all its forms today? Sure, there are tons of male writers from Mississippi and lots of painters who are men from Mississippi and just about every bar has an all male group playing cover songs, but when you truly think about it, prominent men in Mississippi are drifting more and more to other fields, outside the arts. Additionally, women are firmly taking over the arts, especially in literature. Southern literature. Jill Connor Browne and her fellow women have spawned a new form of female literature from the south that I shall name right here, and now: I dub female literature from the south that has to do with divorce/self deprecating humor/women's issues/female empowerment----------Femotalk. Yes, Femotalk and its other artistic outreaches now have co-opted all art in the South. Maybe its always been this way and I'm just noticing, but I could sure do with another Bill Faulkner these days.

Hip-Hop

Ok, I haven't talked about music in a few days, so I thought I would. Whats my problem with Hip-Hop? Well the biggest problem I have with rap and Hip-Hop is that, today, there is a serious lack of social consciousness being sold. Sure, there are some great rappers out there who still talk about serious issues, such as Mos Def, but on the whole, Hip-Hop is just selling a lifestyle to the masses. Whether it be inner city poor youth who embrace the glamorous lifestyle of Bentleys and 22s, or the white suburbanite kids who despise conformity and find their outlet in P.Diddy, everyone seems duped into believing the hype. Here in Jackson, there are several local rappers who bill themselves as the real deal, however I still find it hard to believe. Just looking at some of their websites and Myspace pages makes me wonder about whether or not their is a real future for Hip-Hop. Not only are the kids being lured into buying into an unattainable lifestyle, but rappers just starting out buy into the same thing. Basically, Hip-Hop is now crushed into an "American Idol" type business structure. A million rappers try out and only 1 gets a shot. However, there is no Simon or Paula or even a Randy. There is no stop-gap to keep out the shit. In the end, local rappers play dress up and promote a lifestyle they don't even have. Who eats it in the end? The kids with disposable income.

I guess what I am trying to say is selling a lifestyle does not last. That is a short term gain, because the same kids who buy into the lifestyle at an early age, tire of it as they grow older and understand the truths of the world. Hopefully.

Be Quiet, Be Calm

Be quiet. Better yet, shut the fuck up. Lately, it seems like everything and everyone is shouting. Whether its Best Buy's color scheme and blasting advertisements from the television section or that idiot that was sitting next to me at the redlight while pumping some Drrty South hardcore rap. How about the dickface using the leaf blower outside my window at 7 in the morning. Goddammit!! My professor at school using shouting as emphasis and the girl at the bar who can't help but laugh every few minutes because she had too much cocaine and too many cranberry and vodkas.

Lately, silence and quiet time has become a rare commodity in my life. The street value of quiet time is skyrocketing in my world, passed crack and heroin. If I could buy quiet time from a dealer named Lobo, I would. In fact, I'd buy it by the kilo.

I'm going to be taking a short hiatus from blogging for a few days to settle some business that I have been putting off.

Be well, dear reader, I shall return.

Weekend Recap

Well, the parade this past weekend was pretty cool. Lots of people, lots of drunk ass 40 something year old women. Afterwards, I went home and did not really feel like going out that night. A day of drinking can really take it out of you. Oh yea, the winner of the aforementioned match between Happy O'Lucky and Shanks McFadden is Shanks. In a second round knock out, Shanks stabbed and ruthlessly beat Happy into the third row. Shanks then proceeded to stomp 4 people in the crowd, including an elderly gentlemen. Shanks' arraignment was scheduled for this morning and at press time, this news outlet had no information of his plea.


I stayed up very late last night talking to a friend. We have been trying to scheme a way into a cool line of work. No results yet. The old line of "anything you can think of, has already been done," is very true. So we are stuck, so far.

I have been trying to write more, fiction mostly. Slow but sure. For a very long time, I have had some good ideas for stories, and just now am I feeling confident enough to write something. I'm not sure how it will turn out. Stay tuned, maybe I'll post something.
Sitting here listening to my professor once again reaffirms my desire NOT to have children. LOL. I'm very bored and my class is very, very boring.

O'Lucky/McFadden: St. Paddy's Day Massacre

So the decadence of St. Paddy's is looming on all of Jackson. In a few days, downtown will be turned into one of the largest spectacles of in all of the Southeast. For those who don't know, Jackson has the fourth or fifth largest St. Paddy's day parade in the country. Here, unlike other places, St. Paddy's is a little different due to the Sweet Potato Queens. Many moons ago, one of my favorite bars, Hal and Mals, decided to celebrate St. Paddy's day by hosting a parade. Flash forward a bit, and this lady, Jill Connor Browne, created a sensation of a book entitled "The Sweet Potato Queen's Book of Love" and subsequent books after. Now I haven't read the books, but they are a celebration of campy female pride in dressing badly and about how fun trashiness can be. Ok, I really don't know what they are about, but I'm sure it has something to do with bad clothes and southern women. Anyway, these books were a hit, and now people come from all over to hang out with the Sweet Potato Queens, march in the parade in costumes and really get tanked before 3 pm. I'm planning to go the parade for the first time and I'm hoping to see the sheer spectacle it all is.

In the past few years, a good friend and I have had a debate regarding St. Paddy's day. The traditional mascot is the Irish Leprechaun. Now, everyone loves leprechauns, but our debate has been, which leprechaun? There are two camps to this argument. On one side, you have the Disney friendly, Happy O'Lucky. Happy is the congenial, Irish wisdom leprechaun that is touted to young children. He is the leprechaun off the cereal commercials, in children's films and appears on lunchboxes. As my friend says, "Happy is the Gallic, jovial, lucky charms rendition." Now, on the other hand, there is another version. This is the more adult version. My friend calls him, "The surly, bar fighting, acerbic leprechaun." His name? Shanks McFadden. Shanks is the football mascot, the leprechaun from the movie "Leprechaun." You don't really know if Shanks has a pot of gold, but he does a broken beer bottle he is about to stab you with. This debate has raged for a while, with no satisfactory conclusion.

We invite everyone to weigh in.

Support Free Music

Saw the Arnold Lindsey Band last night. They are a pretty good blues band. I wished they would have played some more of their own stuff. They had one really great song called "My Name is The Blues." Very good lyrics, well put together. I've become a connoisseur of free music here in Jackson. My venue of choice lately has been Hal and Mals. They haven't had too many decent acts worth paying for, but their free music in the restaurant is plenty for me.

This comes to the point of this post. Regional music. The south has always traditionally had great music, but lately today, with corporate marketing and slick ad campaigns, regional music seems to have returned to its roots. I say this because with youth culture there is a backlash effect. The south, at least Mississippi, generally has stayed pretty removed from mass media and its push for the "it" bands. Because of the lack of large venues, Mississippi doesn't traditionally get big concerts or big names. Albeit, every now and then a big group passes through, but lately the biggest groups have been Jackyl and Motley Crue. Although, maybe Jackyl hasn't played yet. Its not as if I really pay attention. Willie Nelson isn't coming to Jackson, so what the fuck do I care who plays there? I don't. For me, I know with the spread of technology and the rise of popular music over the past so many decades, anyone can see a ton of great bands and great music without having to pay anything. Fenians has plenty of free music and so does Hal and Mals. So I go there and skip out on the 18+ show next door with its 10 dollar cover to hear a pretty weak emo band spit out some meaningless fluff.
Not to say that the only marketed and sold music in Jackson is emo, or goth, or some other garbage I don't care about. The 930 Blues Club price gouges on a daily basis and it is constantly packed. Good blues in Jackson is sold at a very high price, unless you know where to look. Sure, here in Jackson there a good many jukejoint blues clubs. However, I doubt I would head down Farrish Street to check them out. I don't like prostitutes and I don't like dope dealers. Yea, I said it. Farrish Street is packed with whore and crack; ergo, I'm not going to Birdland. A good idea for more blues in Jackson would be to get rid of Fire and Ice and put in a nice, well designed and cheaper blues club. A club to compete head to head with 930. It won't happen though, the 930 is the kingpin of blues here.

Back to my original point. Free music where its at. Vernon Brothers this week at Hal and Mals. Last hurrah before the debauchery that is St. Paddy's Day. Wednesday will be the last calm day at Hal and Mals. Free music will be over for about 5 or 6 days. Dammit.

Manzar, the White Indian

This might be the greatest show on television. "Barbarians" on the History channel is fucking awesome. This first episode I watched was about the Vikings. These people were the Klingons of their time. Or of any time, for that matter. This next episode is about The Franks. European barbarians roamed during the Dark Ages and frightened just about everyone and enslaved the rest. Oh yea, they burned Rome.

When I was at the movie theater the other day watching "300," among the dozen or so terrible previews of upcoming movies, one preview stuck out in my mind. This upcoming movie is called "Pathfinder." The beginning of the preview started off good, set around 1000 AD in Newfoundland, Native Americans are besieged by the oncoming horde of Viking barbarians. The Native Americans drive them out briefly and the Vikings vow to return. Now here is where I get a little pissy about this movie. The Vikings leave behind one of their babies, who the Native Americans raise as one of their own. Then when the Vikings return, this half-Viking/half-Native American, kicks ass and drive the horde out once again. Sounds like an interesting action/historical period piece, right? Wrong. Its just another excuse to let a white actor play a Native American role. Why the shit does a crappy white actor have to dress up in a loin cloth and play native? I'm sure there are some great Native American actors out there dying for a chance like this. Yea, I think Hollywood is racist. This movie is just another push, that has been going on since Fenimore-Cooper, of the image of a noble savage, and what is more palatable to the American public, but a white Native American.

God I hate Hollywood.

Living a Century to Get Punched in the Face

Ok, I time travelled today. What the fuck? I woke up and its an hour later. Because I don't really pay attention too well, I forgot about the damn time change. Shit. I totally lost an hour today and I won't get it back until November! Damn you daylight savings!!

On to more pressing news. I awake on this beautiful saturday and I turn on MSNBC, as I am want to do. What do I see? A mugger in New York beat up a 101 year old lady in her apartment foyer. He punched her several times and stole her purse which had 38 dollars in it. Where is Sonny Corleone when you need him? I am so infuriated. This cocksucking, low-life, prick mugged an old woman. Now, I know I'm just a simple country boy from a backwater state, but New York is packed with young, rich assholes who would probably loved to get mugged, just for the story of it. What would make a guy mug an extremely old lady? Is this mugger that much of a pussy that he has to go after people who are knocking on heaven's door? Last year, this same kind of attack happened here in the Capitol City and I was outraged then. I just can't get over it. The news reported that this attacker in New York has been targeting old women in one neighborhood. I say get in touch with a good many of the old ladies in this neighborhood and give them Tasers. Then, after one of them zaps his all, call up some hard pipe hittin' boys and go to work on the homes. Marsellus Wallace style.

Long Live the West

First of all, I'd like to encourage everyone to go see Frank Miller's "300." A bit slow in parts, but overall an excellent film. I don't need to go into the details of the movie, for many, many reasons, chief being some of the people who read this blog have yet to see the movie, and I'm not one to ruin it. What I would like to talk about is the underlying story that exists, not only in this movie, but in the real story of Sparta and the rest of the Greeks. Obviously, this movie portrays the Persians as a godless horde, bent of domination. Perhaps this is the true story. True, the Persians were an expansionist empire, and true, the Persians decimated countless cultures, but they also were scientifically ahead of the rest of the world by many leaps and bounds. However, what "300" got me thinking about was how over several centuries, the Greeks and other cultures on the edge of Europe held back this invading army, thus preserving the future. Really and truly, the 300 Spartans represent the dividing line between the East and the West. In the end, the West held the line and Rome arrived, France and England flourished and later the New World was born. Would I be sitting here blogging if Sparta and the Greeks had not held the line? I don't know, but somehow I doubt it. I am glad the Greeks held it and kept back the invaders. Now, I don't buy into some of the lofty notions portrayed by the movie about Spartan values, but I do buy into the idea of what was accomplished. Therefore, I say, "Long Live the West."

Icons and Archetypes Never Die

Well, my blogging cohorts have both posted entries recently regarding the death of Captain America. I have been debating about whether or not to post something regarding the ramifications of the death of an American fictional icon. As the only person in our little blogging circle to actually be qualified to speak on the subject of comic books, I do feel somewhat obligated to post a little about the passing of Steve Rodgers. Bottom line: he'll be back. Iconic comic book characters never die, but its always refreshing to kill them off once in a while in order to boost sales and get Marvel or DC on CNN. He'll be back, obviously.

What do I think about Cap? I've never been so much of a collector of comics, as just a fan of great stories, writers and artists. The sad thing for Cap is, he never really has had any of these things. He has always been a pretty unrealistic character, even in the realm of make-believe. However, that doesn't dismiss the fact that I do own a few good back issues.

The result of Cap's death comes on the heels of "Civil War," an on going crossover in the Marvel universe. This "Civil War" revolved around the United States government cracking down on super hero's, by forcing them to register. Obviously, as Marvel has always been quick to do, modern political and cultural upheaval is injected into characters and stories. The X-Men are about civil rights, the Avengers are about diversity, Red Skull is a Nazi, Cap is Mr. America, Spidey's line is "with great power comes great responsibility." In the Marvel universe, everything and everyone is an archetype. Cap's death is no exception; Mr. America dies as a result of a terrorist act.


Now, before everyone goes off the handle and thinks of me as being just a little too cynical about this, I'm not. I'm just a critical person and as someone who has read comics for 20 years, I know what I'm talking about. Cap will be back, just like Wolverine eventually got his adamantium back, just like the Fantastic Four returned, just like Superman being reborn and just like any other great and profitable character being killed off and coming back.

I could keep writing about comics for a good while, but I think I have dug my nerd hole deep enough for the time being.

I Hate Politics and the Media

I guess I would call myself a social libertarian. I was thinking the other day about all the different political classifications I have tried to squeeze myself into. Too many to count. I have major problems with organized groups. Frats, religions, wine clubs, and school functions. I've always been a loner, Dotty. A Rebel! LOL. Thats from "Pee Wee's Big Adventure." I've just never been able to get behind anything with a hundred percent. I guess that would make me a flake, but I really don't give a shit.

Lately, my biggest problem has been with political thinking, left of center. Not necessarily left leaning groups, but more, left thinking people. You know those people. They remind me of small minded rednecks, as strange as that sounds, extreme left thinking people cannot see past their own noses to what the rest of the world is. Many of them are history revisionists and apologists and it drives me fucking nuts. They are very good at patting each other on the back and hurling accusations at the rest of the political spectrum, because they feel entitled to be correct. Here in the south, extreme left thinking people seem to have some hard core self guilt about factors about themselves that cannot be changed, such as their birth, but they continue to bitch about it. For extreme left thinking people, everything boils down to race, gender or "being the victim" which they love to do.

I cannot help but keeping up with politics here in Jackson and the different bickering sides. Its in my nature. I'm a political animal, even though I desperately despise politics and I especially despise the media.

I think I'll go read the new Jackson Free Press and watch some MSNBC.

Sex, Lies and Pardons

Scooter Libby was convicted today. He said he was a fall guy, the jurors said he was a fall guy, and everyone who DOESN'T live in the White House has been saying he is a fall guy. Ok, now the fireworks begin. Will Bush pardon him? I hope so. That would be some great political capital to spend on a little weasel covering for some bigger weasels. I guess I just love seeing the crazy drama spewing out of Washington these days. In other news, a District of Columbia madam, who was recently busted for pandering or whoring or something, has said she will name names. Oh I can't wait. I love when people name names. Everything is fun and friendships when money is changing hands for sex or lies, but the second the shit hits the fan, someone gets a special on the E! channel. I'm so anxious. The suspense is killing me. I hope it lasts. Ok, I can't claim that last line. That was Gene Wilder from the original film version of "Willy Wonka."

Is it raining, is it pouring, is a hurricane a'blowing?

I just love anarchy on television that comes from these kangaroo courts and Washington madams.

Rebel Without A Cause

Oh Lord. Where is football when you really need it? As we all wait in anticipation for the tease that is the NFL Draft, I can't get my mind off college football. Ole Miss messageboards are now going into overdrive as spring practice breaks and a new quarterback controversy takes over everyone's mind. I don't know why the spring gets me excited about Ole Miss football, but I think it has to do with the fact that basketball is soon to be over, baseball has really gotten swinging yet and Ole Miss really doesn't have too many other exciting sports. I mean, tennis is here, but come on.


As I sit here in one of my classes, I am numb to anything that is being said. Something about taxation, something about valuation. Somehow the judiciary fits in. All that runs through my mind is who will be taking snaps in October? I'm sure there are plenty of people out there feel the same way as me. Football in the south is wonderful thing, where disputes are settled (or created) and the sins of the world are battled on the gridiron. I pity anyone who cannot appreciate SEC football and what it means to this region.

Despite Ole Miss letting me down many times in the past, I miss Rebel football so much right now.

Writing, Writing, Writing

Given over to the better angels of my nature, I have decided to do a post that has nothing to do with jobs, school, the baby boomer generation or Jackson. Sing the praises on high, I'm not bitching too much today. The question was raise today, in a somewhat indirect way, of why I blog. Sure, I blog to bitch and moan so my friends, who I am certain are the only people who read this, can get their fill of my bullshit when I'm not around. However, surprise, surprise, I have another reason to blog: I like to write. As surprising as that may sound, I do like to write. No, I am not, nor have I ever been, much of creative person. I have always wanted to play an instrument and I have always wanted to paint, but despite my efforts, I just cannot. My brain does not function that way. I know real artists and they have some brain chemical or genetic structure I lack. Therefore, to get my creative fix, I write and I enjoy it. My writing may not be too good and my writing may lack a clear cohesiveness, but its a release for me. I am not good at grammar, but I don't give a fuck. Additionally, I write because I can and I can do this with impunity. No one cares what I write and I like things that way.

Last semester the fact dawned on me that I had many good ideas and I should start putting them down. Ideas like writing fiction. An interesting writer I met through the internet encouraged me to do so and on his creative writing website he listed one essential rule to writing. This rule is called "Butt in Chair." The essence of this rule is, if you want to write, you have to sit your fucking ass in a chair and write. All the great writers had to start somewhere and the place they start is with their ass in a chair.

Taking this wisdom, I also discovered that any great writer, writes alot. He doesn't sit around just thinking about writing something great, but he flexes his creative brain muscle and churns out a volume of words. For me, this exercise is blogging. I force myself to blog all the time, either coherently or incoherently, but at the very least I'm writing. So there is my answer. For me, blogging is the equivalent of doing 100 mental pushups.

True Crime

Ok, there was another murder in this city. What the hell is going on? The damn newspapers are not reporting the fact that we already have a good many murders for this to only be March. The mayor is in jail, the city council is drowning in red tape, no one is running the city, businesses are leaving, and when the fuck was the last time the damn police department actually solved a case? The cops need like 300 more officers and the fire department has an interim chief. The police chief doesn't have a plan to fight crime and there is real organized crime in this city. The potholes are mounting, drugs are sold in impunity, and muggings and home invasion is a real possibility if you live in the city limits. That's why I don't fucking live there. Certain media outlets in this area love to talk about all the "white flight" and how its so terrible. Well, there are a hell of alot of black people leaving Jackson too. Who the fuck wants to have to worry that their damn kid is going to sit on a crack pipe when they go to the local playground? Or worry about some homeless guy begging for a quarter? Or how about getting caught in the crossfire of some jerk-off, useless thugs battling it out on Wood Street for control of "turf?" No one. Black, white, whatever, its universal to want to be safe and for your children to be safe. So this is what I say to everyone who is thinking about moving out of Jackson. Fucking do it. Get the hell out and move to Rankin County or Madison County or wherever. Its going to get worse in Jackson and its time to head to high ground.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

God I hate when Saturday is over. Sunday is just such a tease of a day, shaking its sexy ass all around your life, then at the end of it, your super pissed because its over. Damn you Sunday, you bitch!! Well last night was the Friendship Ball at Hal and Mals. I ended up there late, after my trip to Oxford and a stop over at Martins to see some people. Yea, great. Ok, so then I go to the Friendship Ball. The jazz band was great, but the crowd was so weird. My night went from a high to a low, so I had to retreat to Hal and Mals. Just when I was settling down and enjoying the music, I started to notice who came to the Friendship Ball. Some older people, lots of pretentious wanna be writers, so called activists and the smattering of politicians. Despite the music making me feel a little better, the people at this thing were frustrating me a little. Who the hell are these people? This is my bar. I'm a regular. These people are treating this place like a novelty, a place they show up to once or twice a year to feel better about "race" relations in Jackson. They drive in from Madison, botox their faces and mingle with themselves. They might as well be at Schimmels. In fact, that's a great point. They should have the Friendship Ball at Schimmels. At least, then, the pretentiousness of the crowd would match the pretentiousness of the place.

Trick Daddy: Live on the Square!

I'm sitting right now, up at Square Books in Oxford, enjoying creation as it unfolds under the watchful eye of Lafayette county's capitalism. In the short time that I have been away from Oxford, I am never amazed at the frenzy to build and and create new things for the masses in this small corner of the world. Now I'm not one of these old fogeys who sits around talking about how great things were back in my day, but it just seems to me in the last few years, Oxford ha s been on a rampage to expand and grow. Is it that the powers that be finally realized the volume of disposable income that Ole Miss students have to throw around? Or maybe its the fact that people just see something special about Oxford and this area? Maybe its both. Whatever it is, its nice to sit here and enjoy people walking around. I'm a people watcher. On the Square, people watching could be a competitive sport. Students, old alumni trying to remember how to navigate the Square, old women, wanna be authors, wanna be musicians, real authors, real musicians, hell everyone is here. I'm so sentimental. Of course, what has to break the peace whilst I sit here? Trick Daddy blasting out of some extremely white and extremely redneck rich asshole's SUV. I'm on a very short vacation here and I could do without Trick Daddy.