introducing THE PALMS WEEK.

THIS SUNDAY WILL BE OUR FIRST TIME DJING SUNDAY NIGHTS at Saints & Sinners. Sunday nights at Paints & Thinners has traditionally been Jorge's domain, so Sum and I are not sure why the BatPhone rang yesterday requesting our special brand of services on the day of rest, but we have graciously accepted the offer extended to us. Hitherto, the Palms Weekend has been three days a week, a phenomenon teetering Wile E. Coyote-esque on the brink of monopolizing the majority of our nights in a week, but still managing to keep one furry toe gnarled around the edge of annihilation. No more. The cartoon beast has been flung off the side of the fucking canyon and is hurtling headfirst toward hard, cracked desert- or, in my case, hard, concrete Saints floor. Just pour the rest of my rum & coke on me if there's any left. These clothes aren't as expensive as they look, and I heard the pores in your skin can actually absorb a little alcohol. At least, mine can.

Hey, I'm single. I'm just the idiot for this job. It's Sum I'm worried about. He's pretty good about keeping the drinky-drinky in check, but marriages require quality time to flourish. But again, my concern is probably unnecessary; he's pulled the Get To Saints Late Free Card many a time in the name of marital harmony. Matter of fact, he won't be at Saints today for our set at all, as it's NZINGA'S BIRTHDAY (so next time you see her, by her a drink - and don't let her talk you out of it) and they're celebrating at World on Wheels. If that sounds like fun to anyone, meet me at Saints a little before ten and bring an automobile, preferably your own. I will not be in a driving state, and I can't let Nzinga down. She will have no fun without me. My usual chauffeur (hi Franky) will be busy watching some team called the Lakers play basketball (sp?). I'll even buy you a drink. But only one. You have to drive.

As for Sunday's musical direction, my first thought was oldies, and Sum's first thought was boogie, which apparently is the name for the genre situated at the taint between the onion ring of disco and the beanbag of old-school hip-hop - the Blondie, the Malcolm McClaren, the Incredible Bongo Band, et al. And this, coming off the heels of Heavy Metal Sundays. So we'll see how it goes. On drinks will be the venerable Cooper, whom fate seems to have sent us into a cosmic alcoholic alliance with, as we now do our jobs together three nights weekly. And why not? We do it well. Bravo fate. See you Sunday...