It's gonna be a big month, much moving and change-of-life kind of stuff going on for Monsieur Jimmy Legs. At least I hope so. We're supposed to close on the house this month, but the title agency is dicking around. I'm still sure we'll close this month, but I was kind of hoping that by the time the calendar moved into October that we'd have a firm date set.

Regardless, I'm going ahead and making arrangements for movers. I swore when I moved into my current house (over 5 years ago!) that I'd never move myself again. So I'm hiring movers no matter the cost! Well, a little matter. I'm just getting the 'pickers' not the 'packers' so we still have to put everything in boxes and get it ready to go. This is tiresome but it gives me a chance to go through all my belongings and throw some crap out finally. Why did I keep all those birthday cards? Why have I held on so long to my collection of VHS tapes containing movies taped off HBO when I was 15? Why do I have a copy of Phantom of the Mall? Everywhere I look I see piles of stuff I've saved for no good reason. Sadly, I feel my current attempt at an austerity program still won't yield the minimalist lifestyle I profess to crave. Sometimes it's just more work to throw stuff out.

As if the house wasn't enough, my office moves to its uptown location on Thursday night, so I guess my first day there will be on Friday. The new office is on Lexington around 53rd Street. I'm not super optimistic about that area, but at least it's a block from a subway. Currently I have to hike clear across the island to get to my office in the World Financial Center (built upon land that didn't even exist before the building of the (First) World Trade Center Towers.

So not only am I becoming a homeowner, moving to a new neighborhood on a new subway line, I'm commuting to a foreign land, wherein I will actually have to sit with my coworkers instead of sequestered on the far side of the building. This means I have to show up on time and actually stay there for the full length of the day. In other words, I have to act like an adult. But only during the weekdays.

Remember the Parents' Music Resource Center? Kids, it was a group of concerned busybodies back in the 80's (lead by Al Gore's wife, Tipper) who really kicked the 'save the children' crap into high gear. Thanks to them, impressionable children no longer had to ask around for explicit lyrics and offensive content, because their "Parental Warning" label would direct them right to the damaging material they craved. Was there any actual restriction related to these warnings? Did any record store ever refuse to sell a kid his own copy of "O.P.P."?

Anyway, what I didn't know about the PMRC is they released a list of the songs they found most objectionable. They called it "The Filthy Fifteen:"

I'm beginning to think Tipper was on the RIAA's payroll. They made a case that Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It" was offensive because of its 'violent' content?? The closest thing to a violent image is the line "We'll fight/You'll see!" The song actually contains the line, "You gall is never-ending." Is it too late for Morrissey to cover it?

How many records did Dee Snyder sell from getting on this list? And what's the result? Did anybody live a better life because he was spared from hearing "Darling Nikki"? (Eh, possibly. "Let's Pretend We're Married" is a better song, anyway.) They was unable to stop the torrent of filth from saturating the country, and that's why George Bush is President and Howard Stern is on satellite radio. So ultimately I guess all the PMRC achieved is coming up with one sweet songlist for a totally rad mix-tape!

Oh, and they brought to our attention a little-known novelty band known as The Mentors. Thanks, Tip!

Okay, I admit it: I've never snorted coke off a toilet tank in a seedy bar. Nor have I entered a cramped men's room for a clandestine romp with a lady. So you'll forgive my ignorance, but somebody tell me, what the hell is the allure of either of these activities?

I'm a live-and-let-live kinda guy. Other people's behaviors are no big whoop to me. But when I really have to pee and there's 20 other people in front of me in line to the bathroom, my generosity puckers to the size of a urethra. When I see two people exiting a bathroom meant for single usage, I rarely believe that they're saving time by peeing in the sink.

I don't know how often sex is going on in these small spaces, but come on, people, can't you wait? Even if you have a roommate and paper-thin walls, you'll probably do a better job at home. I know, I know, it's a real thrill to diddle some drunk teenybopper over a backed-up toilet, and maybe somehow this thrill extends to seeing how many people you can back up outside the door.

The vast majority of toilet couplings is probably the drug-doin' variety. I honestly don' t know how long it takes to snort of couple of lines apiece, but whatever it is, it's taking too long! I have nothing against cocaine, empirically. I wouldn't do it myself as I'm sure it would turn me into the supreme asshole I barely contain while sober. But I cannot abide its presence when it stands in between me and my urgency.

What is the deal with this practice? There's this fetishistic connection between coke and bathrooms. Like people saw some movie from the 80's and decided that any time they're out on the town, they simply must do the snorting away from prying eyes. Gimme a break, folks. Let's get a little creative, shall we?

If you just can't make it through the end of the band's set without a bump, here's an idea: dry out an old bottle of nasal spray decongestant and fill it up with yer bing. Then, at the appropriate time, whip it out and suck it up like that guy who momentarily makes Bill Murray jealous in Ghostbusters. If your friend wants some too, pass it over. Wow! Instead of taking 10 minutes and irritating a multitude of people (before you even have the chance to do it yourself with your charming coked-up personality), it now takes 10 seconds!

Once, at Royal Oak Bar, I don't know why I was there, some dude sidled up to our booth and slid in unannounced. He put his finger to his lips and mouthed "Shhhh." He then produced a small amount of cocaine, which he honked up swiftly. And then he was off. Think of how many people he spared through his industrious action. Let's all take a page from this hero's book.