Why am I writing up a travelogue for what looks to be a routine trip back home to Memphis? Because, silly, I haven�t had a travelogue since last October, and this trip was anything but routine.

The weekend promised road trips, intoxicating tomfoolery with amigos and the wedding of my closest friend�s kid sister.

Then there�s my wedding, an arrest for public urination and llama races in Southaven.

(OK, I made those up. Just wanted to see if you were still awake. But don�t you want to call ESPN and demand llama races now?)

Wednesday, July 9, 2003

It�s always a good night at work when all goes right and there aren�t any mistakes to correct for overnight replay of the 11 p.m. shows. Thus, I was out of Atlanta before midnight and in Memphis by 5 a.m. central time.

A quick nap and I�m up in time to watch the Braves beat the Mets that afternoon. Good times. I need a T-shirt that says I (Heart) New York, except that the heart should be black and in two pieces. Me and the city of New York are like two co-workers who never really met, but when passing exchange dirty looks.

After New York was whipped, I hung out with Nana for a bit, then went with Sydney to a used book store scanning books for a friend in Belize who can�t find any good ones written in English. I should send her the three-volume work on the Civil War by Shelby Foote. That'll keep her busy for a year!

Sydney left empty-handed. I ended up buying an unabridged �Les Miserables� hardcover for seven bucks.

It is my favorite musical but no, I won�t ever read the novel. There aren't any pictures, and it's about the French! Nevertheless, it looks real fancy on the bookshelf, and showing off is all that matters. Am I right?

Thursday, July 10

Time to catch a flick, and I picked a good one in Pirates of the Caribbean. Hella fun movie and pure summer entertainment. Read more in the review.

Dinner was with Mom and Aunt Lynn, plus a chance to talk to Karla on the phone as she waited for hubby Mike to get back from Kuwait. Just a few days later she got her wish, so she and son Gavin can finally settle down a bit in their new home in Abilene, Kansas, just south of Ft. Riley.

After dinner it was time for that All-American pastime full of merriment and pain: Bowling!

Merriment refers to making fun of people�s gutter balls while sipping a beverage of choice and hoping the guy with those shoes before didn't have a rash. The pain refers to the soreness in my thighs from doing repetitions I�m not used to. Like walking.

Fellow gutter ballers were Steven and Jenny, her brother, Jim, and friend Stacy, all meeting at the Cordova lanes, where all cool people hang out.

My scores got progressively worse: 164 (my best ever), 121, and then 94, beating Steve the first two games, then not only losing to Steve in the third, but losing to Jenny by a pin as well. Oh, the horror! I almost had to launch myself down the lane and hang myself in the pin carriage.

Kidding, of course. No worries, Jenny, you can top me any time.

Although, I didn�t have any incentive like Steven and Jenny did. Let�s just say that for every split one picked up, there was fun to be had later. Jenny is the only one who picked up a split, but they both win.

My only motivation was to not look like an idiot. We passed that marker decades ago, so why care now?

Friday, July 11

Today is the when the weekend gets juiced. First off is a trek west to Little Rock, leaving at 7:30 a.m. to go get Kimberly, a.k.a. Superstar Diva�Extraordinaire!

After the 2 1/2 hour drive, I got lost only within the last 500 feet to Kimberly's house. She took care of a few errands dealing with highly classified national security issues and then we drove back to Memphis.

This represented only the second face-to-face meeting with Kimberly, so we had a lot of stuff to catch up on. You know, 20+ years worth. I think my life has been full of joviality, but hers is like a reality show, it�s that compelling, so you can tell I did all the listening.

This weekend was just one episode in the Kimberly World 2003 season, a skit we'll call the Jeff & Kim Variety Weekend. I'm sure she won't mind being second on the bill just this once.

Then again, I�m not even Sonny to her Cher. My contribution was when it was time to sing along with the Grease soundtrack in the tape deck. I only do what I can.

(�Summer days driftin' away, to uh-oh those summer nights��) I like to sing; I just don�t do it well.

For all the history between us, here's the link to mine and Steven's guestbooks, where we met and have flourished since.

Back in the Bluff City, we ate at Chili's around the corner from Steve & Jenny's abode for lunch, then over to their home for an afternoon dip in the pool.

However, the Russell foursome was out of pocket, taking care of errands for themselves and for Kristi's wedding.

Who needs the homeowners actually home for recreation? Kimberly and me walked into the backyard, changed under a thick tree by a fence and hopped in the pool.

I hope that tree offered sufficient protection, but just to warn of any disturbing sights on the Internet, yes it�s all real, and yes I�ve been working out.

The Russells never returned after nearly two hours, so we shared a towel and drove damply over to brothers Wally & Brent's apartment where Kimberly was staying.

Back to Nana's for a quick shower and to field a clandestine call on the hotline to meet at my old stomping grounds, WMC Ch. 5. It�s also Steven, Wally and Brent�s current stomping grounds.

Wally's girlfriend, Julie, lives next door to the station so I met them there, left my Jeep in the parking lot and we went into downtown and awaited our flocks to join us.

Luckily the local press had been alerted to our presence but left us alone. I wasn't in the mood to answer all the questions about how cool I was, and I doubt Kimberly was ready for the barrage of "how do you look so good in those jeans" queries.

Dinner was at Joe's Crab Shack overlooking the Mighty Miss'ippi, where Kimberly set the night's events into motion dancing with the Crab Shack wait staff, as they do once a half-hour or so. She could dance with the Lollipop Guild and it would be enticing.

After the seafood feast, we went down the street to an independent music bazaar, Mpact Memphis, at a warehouse in a new trendy loft district of downtown. The music ranged from soulful to punk rock and light alternative between. Specifically, the reason we went is because Julie works for a music distributor and was manning the event.

We listened to a few bands, enjoyed the variety, wandered in and outside as the heat inside forced us out, then the mosquitoes inside forced us in.

There was some artwork and the like on sale by local artists as well, not to mention literature. Among an �open-minded� crowd, one of the �cookbooks� instructed on making recipes using marijuana. Another was an �art� book of nudes. Surprisingly, there were no books on how Republicans are Nazis and the world is going to implode because of oil.

Blech, who needs politics at such a time? I was enjoying goofing off with Kimberly, which included taking pictures around the port-a-potties, even both getting in the bigger handicapped one. I�m sure you�re thinking, �Why didn�t I ever think of that�? Because you�re not me or Kimberly, silly.

The best part, though, was coming out together of the handicapped john with a guy gaping with a look of awe and amusement, clearly thinking there had been hanky-panky going on. Who was I to dissuade him from ruminating on such ideas?!

Our group also began to grow by this point. A few friends of Julie and Wally joined the party. Ashley and Cathy grew up with Julie at Harding Academy and through college, and former WMC employee Bert seemed to know everybody there. When we went down the street about 11 to a bar called the Blue Monkey, we were united with WMC reporter George and his girlfriend, Catherine, a new WMC photographer, Tim, and producer, Danielle.

We grabbed a big table, sat down and enjoyed drinks.

I had a drink, too.

(*Jaws drop, folks wonder if Jeff lost it*).

Yes, I even gave into peer pressure and had a Foster's. OK, so I drank only a third of it - sipped is more like it - spilled another third, and confirmed that beer tastes like what I imagine camel spit does. But the comraderie was why I was there.

Some time at the bazaar, Kimberly became convinced that Ashley fancied me. I wouldn�t have minded, but in no way were things as Kimberly hoped. Ashley and I chit-chatted and laughed at the bazaar, sure, sat across from each other at the bar and I certainly enjoyed the company.

Kimberly swore up and down she was interested, but just because a girl talks and laughs with you and says "you�re awesome" doesn�t mean dating is what she has in mind.

As you may have noticed, I am perhaps the most arrogant and happy-go-lucky person you�ve ever met with low self-confidence in the dating department.

Then again, Cathy was talking to a guy at the bar for an hour and couldn�t believe that he never asked for her number, even as a guy next to them was making fun of him for not doing so. So maybe I should learn from this, to never ever be the 40-year-old still too afraid to take the next step. Yes, Dad, I hear you nodding.

By the way, by now you�re a little confused and wondering about me and Kimberly since you apparently hoped we�d hit it off and elope in Vegas this weekend. Sorry, alas, not going to happen. I burst into Friend mode with Kimberly before giving myself any consideration that Steve and Wally introduced us with a wink towards a possible love connection.

I don't allow myself a chance, for fear of rejection. When I walk into a room and girls say "Hey, Jeff!" I hear, "Move over, that guy behind you is hot!"

At the risk of sounding wishy-washy, we�re natural friends on different paths in life and in looking for relationships. No problem; she�s a hoot and I will always look forward to hanging out. You�ll especially see why in a second.

Kimberly is one of those people who light up a room just by walking in. Whether it's her height, blond hair, laugh, smile, et al., she quickly becomes the center of attention, and it is nice to be part of the scene.

I know, I talk about Kimberly as if I'm Patrick Dempsey in Can't Buy Me Love, and I've paid her so that I can be part of the cool group. Of course, in the end, Dempsey gets the girl.

Our table was next to one packed with biker dudes and chicks. One in particular had our attention, because he had big guns and tight buns, although the Confederate bandana was odd in that "Dude, we lost the War" way.

Kimberly was behind him and kept getting brushed up against and doing the brushing. Not that I blamed her, since even for a guy he was impressive. She eventually let him in on her mini-crush and got a hug, and thankfully all the biker chicks were amused and didn't kill us all.

The rest of the night was what happens when people get tipsy.

Ashley and Kimberly are like two missile submarine keys. By themselves harmless, but turn them together and nuclear weapons soar into the stratosphere.

For example, Ashley didn't so much as bet Kim to hit on this guy at the bar wearing a long sleeve shirt, orange shorts and shoes with no socks, as she challenged her to hit on him. Apparently Ashley saw him acting like a jerk earlier in the evening.

Up to the task, Kimberly had him in a conversation within ten seconds and reeled him in to her net. She even got a card from him before departing, leaving him staring at her from across the room the rest of the time we were there. It turns out he's either a shrink or works for one. Wonder what he'd have thought of the psychology of being used in a bet?

About 1 a.m. we left the Blue Monkey and headed to midtown and this club called Wild Bill�s. I was expecting a traditional dance club, since everyone wanted to boogie (�us� being me, Wally, Julie, Kimberly, Ashley and Cathy). But I was misinformed by the rest, but in a good way, sort of. It was actually a club made up of 95% African-Americans and a few whites, with our group doubling the Caucasian count.

There was live music from a soul-blues band, and dancing in a tight space at the front of the little establishment (there were four rows of long tables for people to sit at and imbibe the sweet nectar of alcohol).

I kept thinking of one line from Animal House: �Do you mind if we dance with your dates?�

Why? Because Kimberly and Ashley � two peas in a partying pod � went up there together and ended up the ends of a reversed-Oreo sandwich. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

When there wasn't a black guy leaning into Kimberly's fine birthin' hips, one of two drunk white guys made their moves, and the one who far too eerily resembled my brother even tried the forbidden dance!

Wally and Julie joined in, while me and Cathy sat at the end of row of table talking. I was trapped in the corner. No, really, I was! You�re not buying it, are you? OK, so that�s a lame excuse not to have gotten up there � let�s just say that I was a little intimidated with the population and the tiny dance area. I was that dumb honky, and I am a wus.

Making up for my feelings of inadequacy, it was time to needle Wally as he tried desperately to avoid what Kimberly terms the "white man's overbite." It's hard enough for white guys to look good below the neck when dancing, let alone how foolish their faces are, too! Thanks for adding to the paranoia!

I dared not take any pictures, though, so I apologiez, thinking it might not have sent the correct message. "Look at that white boy, snapping photos as if he's never been around black people!"

We left at 3 a.m., but might have lasted longer if not for the next day�s plans. It�s not clear if I would have ever gotten on the dance floor and impressed the ladies with my moves, wooing them all.

The lesson, as always, I'm an idiot.