A dolphin has to stay awake all the time, so half of its brain sleeps while the other half runs the ship.

I


've been reading parts of a book called Secrets of Sleep. I think it belongs to Deya. Sleep is such a seemingly useless part of life, yet all animals (even invertebrates!) require it. A dolphin has to stay awake all the time, so half of its brain sleeps while the other half runs the ship. If I could only master that technique, my night job at Comet would no longer have any drawbacks.

The day was so hot that I couldn't even nap with a fan blowing full throttle on my completely naked body. The upstairs of Kappa Mutha Fucka tends to be hot since it invades the attic.

P


eggy and Zach came by at around 7pm and we (Matthew Hart, Leah and I) joined them on a swimming expedition out to the rock quarry in Louisa (30 miles out onto the Piedmont to the east). Zach did the driving, and the car was the blue station wagon, a recently gift of Peggy's mother. Zach drove with remarkable restraint. Maybe the conservative life-affirming hormones of imminent paternity have begun to kick in.
Peggy weighs about 150 pounds now; she's due in September.

There were a few people we knew at the quarry, including Ray Roebuck's lunatic older brother Troy. There were also a number of friendly youthful redneck types, one of whom had a beautiful black Chow dog with a purple tongue and readily apparent balls. The dog marked his territory obsessively and, whimpering at his limitations, steered clear of the cliffs.

Almost all women who have given birth to children border on obesity, and the children themselves appear to be headed down the same track.

Around the quarry at the beach area, several redneck families had parked their macho four wheel drive pickups and then waddled into the water. Leah and I discussed the peculiar tendency rednecks have for driving everywhere, even out to the end of short trailer park driveways to pick up their mail. The consequences of their lethargic lifestyle are apparent: almost all women who have given birth to children border on obesity, and the children themselves appear to be headed down the same track. Meanwhile the men suffer from clogged arteries and bowel complaints. I heard one of the little redneck girls telling Mommy that she wanted Daddy to jump off the rocks like Matthew and Zach were doing. Mommy's response, "Daddy's got a job and he needs to keep it."
Matthew has a job and needs to keep it, but I'm sure his job wasn't in his mind at all as he fearlessly jumped.
These days Zach is still unemployed.
(oh...and Peggy occasionally serves as an artistic model.)

There's something about the random and completely egalitarian nature of lightening death that terrifies me.

A


  huge storm was brewing to the northwest. Big slate coloured clouds raced in menacingly, thunder roared and lightening smashed orange spiderwebs in the sky. It unnerved me and I retreated back to the car. It's important to note that I have an irrational fear of lightening. There's something about the random and completely egalitarian nature of lightening death that terrifies me.
I was certain that the others consider big scary thunderstorms to be trivial nuisances and that I would be regarded as a wimp for my fears. But not long after I made it back to the car, Zach appeared. Then the others. Rain pelted down in huge drops as we burrowed through the storm back to Charlottesville.
I bought everyone except Peggy beers of Zach's choice (22 oz. bottles of Bud Ice & Natural Ice) when we stopped for gas.
The clouds were really fucked up, like black and white scenes from the planet Jupiter. Matthew and I thought we saw a tornado but now I have my doubts that we did. Still, the clouds did have some kind of vertical structure that I've never seen before.

B


ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka Zach and Peggy left for home and Matthew Hart tried unsuccessfully to make wheat-based tortilla chips without a recipe. When Matthew is unsuccessful at something, he often becomes enraged. There was a period this evening when he was just better left alone. He, Leah and I were drinking Coronas with limes. Corona is a popular hot-weather beer. I guess the idea is that if anyone should know how to make a hot-weather beer, it would be those damn sombrero-wearing, taco-crunching, wetback-toiling, cucaracha-dancing, chihuahua-petting, peso-spending, burro-riding, siesta-taking Mexicans. Morgan Anarchy is famous for drinking Coronas in hot weather.

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