"...millions of our fellow Americans are out of work... millions more work harder for lower pay. The incumbent President Bush says unemployment always goes up a little before a recovery begins, but unemployment only has to go up by one more person before a real recovery can begin. And Mr. President, you are that man."
-Clinton '92
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
October Highway Men
moments ago in my bed...
11:45Am, Monday. I wake up, having called off work just a few hours ago. Finally, i feel like i actually slept. Let's start at the beginning:
------------------
11:00pm Friday: After leaving the bar, i go home, pack a sack, hit Meijer for some last minute cold weather gear and head to Jay-Fry's. We exchange mental high-fives and depart for the Detroit/Canada tunnel. Temperature: 50 degrees F.
11:45pm Friday: Fuck all this noise: Apparently motorcycles are forbid in the tunnel and because Detroit is a big face-punch full of highway closures and construction, no one (including the tunnel guy) knows exactly how to get to the bridge. We head south along the river knowing "it's down there somewhere."
2:30Am Saturday: London, Ontario. We're in a road-side trucker dinner and gas station. We are not, what you would call "comfortable" with the temperature. I'm using the exhaust headers to warm my legs and hands. A side effect is the smell of burning cow (gloves) coming from my bike every time i stop. Jay-Fry is burdened with protective and aerodynamic cowls that keep icy hands away from warm engine parts. He is left with the slightly less dignified option of urinating on his gloved hands.
At the dinner we drink hot chocolate, hot tea, hot coffee and think about warm places. Jay-Fry shares a moment outside with the waitress while they smoke some cigs. I suspect she's ready to warm him up the old fashioned way, but he seems oblivious to this. Plus, we're on a mission.
Note: I have no idea what the temperature is because the locals use an unbreakable cryptology to encode their temperature units. In an attempt to crow-bar the code, i make the general association that 5C = 5 layers of torso coverings.
View Larger Map
4:30Am Saturday: Hamilton, Ontario. We can go no further: the weather has won. We pull off on the first exit outside town that features a hotel. The simple physical reward of NOT travel 90mph against a frozen atmosphere is now more gratifying as any drug, woman or feeling i can imagine. Possessing all that we carry, we park the bikes on the room's porch.
I take a moment to grab a photo after parking the bikes:
5:00Am Saturday: Room temp set to 75 (why is it back to F here?) I crawl into bed. We briefly discuss the fact that we could have just as easily driven south been warmer... This notion is so profound that i refuse to incorporate it as truth and instead use the I-pod to drown the buzz of the engine in my head. I sleep.
11:00Am Saturday: Up by 9, showered, eaten, packed and ready to rock. Unfortunately the W is low on oil (half a quart after 4k miles? not bad...)
2:00Pm Saturday: Niagara, Ontario. The sun it out and we are happy. We drive by the falls, stop, and have a serious conversation about jumping the gap as a sure-fire way to avoid customs and lines. Niagara proves difficult to navigate when you're looking for a) the entrance to a USA-bound bridge or b) a gas station. We give up on b and focus on a, which will later prove problematic. I decide to stick to the now-proven portrait equation of holding the camera myself while Jay-Fry wanders oblivious in the background.
4:00Pm Saturday: Grand Island, NY. Fuck this island. I have traveled 40 miles since switching to the reserve tank and as far as we can tell there are no gas stations in New York. The toll taker gives us errant directions to one location and we extrapolate the location of a second. The first is never found and the second is closed. Things are desperate; we find ANOTHER closed (as in, out of business) gas station. (For some reason forget about having google maps on our phones as this point, probably because it would just point us to another empty building anyway) We rely on "ground intel" (read: local slack-jaws) to point us to a functioning pump, but even they seems little unsure of their directions. Eventually we find food and gas. I take the opportunity to get site-seeing recommendations from my NY people.
6:00Pm, Saturday: Rochester, NY. We have just arrived at the house of a woman neither of us knows. Surprisingly there was no welcoming committee awaiting our arrival in Rochester, probably because i forgot to call a head. We rode around downtown looking for a hotel and signs of life, but downtown proper was dead. And ghetto-y. We resorted to the "friends of friends" technique to ultimately hook up with the sister of Jay-fry's brother's ex-girlfriend. (yeah, awesome, i know) The photographer (as she is one) amazingly agreed to show us around town tonight, for she is hip to the hang outs.
View Larger Map
8:00Pm Saturday: Rochester, NY, "The South Wedge District." After food and beers at the first bar, we're sitting in a coffee shop that also sells the liquor. The shop features works of local artists, one of which i recognize as this guy's work. is that him...? in the corner? I'm having an Irish coffee with a Redbull chaser. The caffeine and alcohol are slugging it out in my system. As it is early, we discuss the possibility of a pre-party nap, as most of the bars won't be in effect for another couple hours. This idea is quickly dismissed as "tasting like quitter."
note: this is where things get fuzzy. We'll file it under the hours between 9pm and 3-ish am. There is no possible way i can logically retell the events in a linear and coherent manner; not because i don't remember any of it, just because science does not allow it. But i can tell you this: It involved Whiskey. (it's an ideas drink, after all) It also involved folk music, 80's punk and Christian Ska. There was a banjo demonstration that led to several hours of banjo jokes. (if you don't know, the banjo features a "G-string" and is also a slang word for girl parts). There was an attempt to recall the name Cat Stevens adopted when he converted religions, more booze, more jokes, a dissertation on why Neil Diamond is the world's greatest singer song writer, making fun of social networking sites, complaints about the opposite sex and at some point everything just reset back to zero. I sleep.
At some point in the night, Rochester claims ownership of this button:
8:00Am Sunday: I wake up on a stranger's couch in a strange city. There are house guests. The world is foggy and i'm cold AGAIN. I relocate somewhere more peaceful.
10:00Am Sunday: I wake again. (There's a cat here. Hello cat.) I remember the mission and try to throw myself into at day but my body resists. I muster a shower but decline the delicious smelling breakfast the photographer has cooked for us and her roommates. (Her hospitality seems to know no bounds) Some friends are at the house and they're discussing possible routes we should take home to maximize the nature exposure. I make my way to the front porch where things always make sense:
From the porch i see this and old OAR songs start to play in my head:
At that sight the fog lifts and mission becomes clear again: we ride. It's decided that we B-line for home. Jay-fry needs to be at work Monday and given the near state of hypothermia we find ourselves when arriving at a destination, it is better perhaps if we stay away from the lakes and seclusion... for this trip.
11:45Am Sunday: Rochester, NY. We re-tell the adventures of the night and say our goodbyes. For reasons i cannot fully understand it feels AMAZING to be back on the bike; the sun is shining and the weather is fair. I've hardly slept and my body is choking on caffeine, b-12 and alcohol but I feel awake, alive and healthy. The first 30 or so minutes on the road are the best of the weekend and i'm feeling on top of the world. We ride fast.
The trip home: Amazing; NY is fast and Canada is slow. We fill up in Niagara and decide to run the tanks dry before we stop, putting us right back on London, ON again, where we see the friendly waitresses. We enjoy the weekend's first healthy meal (soup and salad) while the sun and the temperature both drop faster than we'd like. The last 100 miles are hard. Its cold. Real cold. Plus there's construction and i'm sore. But somehow that all melts away when you see the bridge to America. Waiting in customs, we discuss the magic feeling when you're getting close to home after a long road trip.
The tally: Rochester, MI to Rochester, NY and back: 700+ miles
The time: 47hours from idea conception to arriving home
Song during final credits: OAR "Revolution"
Special thanks: Here's to the photographer; the hero of the story and our new digital-internet friend
11:45Am, Monday. I wake up, having called off work just a few hours ago. Finally, i feel like i actually slept. Let's start at the beginning:
11:00pm Friday: After leaving the bar, i go home, pack a sack, hit Meijer for some last minute cold weather gear and head to Jay-Fry's. We exchange mental high-fives and depart for the Detroit/Canada tunnel. Temperature: 50 degrees F.
11:45pm Friday: Fuck all this noise: Apparently motorcycles are forbid in the tunnel and because Detroit is a big face-punch full of highway closures and construction, no one (including the tunnel guy) knows exactly how to get to the bridge. We head south along the river knowing "it's down there somewhere."
2:30Am Saturday: London, Ontario. We're in a road-side trucker dinner and gas station. We are not, what you would call "comfortable" with the temperature. I'm using the exhaust headers to warm my legs and hands. A side effect is the smell of burning cow (gloves) coming from my bike every time i stop. Jay-Fry is burdened with protective and aerodynamic cowls that keep icy hands away from warm engine parts. He is left with the slightly less dignified option of urinating on his gloved hands.
At the dinner we drink hot chocolate, hot tea, hot coffee and think about warm places. Jay-Fry shares a moment outside with the waitress while they smoke some cigs. I suspect she's ready to warm him up the old fashioned way, but he seems oblivious to this. Plus, we're on a mission.
Note: I have no idea what the temperature is because the locals use an unbreakable cryptology to encode their temperature units. In an attempt to crow-bar the code, i make the general association that 5C = 5 layers of torso coverings.
View Larger Map
4:30Am Saturday: Hamilton, Ontario. We can go no further: the weather has won. We pull off on the first exit outside town that features a hotel. The simple physical reward of NOT travel 90mph against a frozen atmosphere is now more gratifying as any drug, woman or feeling i can imagine. Possessing all that we carry, we park the bikes on the room's porch.
I take a moment to grab a photo after parking the bikes:
5:00Am Saturday: Room temp set to 75 (why is it back to F here?) I crawl into bed. We briefly discuss the fact that we could have just as easily driven south been warmer... This notion is so profound that i refuse to incorporate it as truth and instead use the I-pod to drown the buzz of the engine in my head. I sleep.
11:00Am Saturday: Up by 9, showered, eaten, packed and ready to rock. Unfortunately the W is low on oil (half a quart after 4k miles? not bad...)
2:00Pm Saturday: Niagara, Ontario. The sun it out and we are happy. We drive by the falls, stop, and have a serious conversation about jumping the gap as a sure-fire way to avoid customs and lines. Niagara proves difficult to navigate when you're looking for a) the entrance to a USA-bound bridge or b) a gas station. We give up on b and focus on a, which will later prove problematic. I decide to stick to the now-proven portrait equation of holding the camera myself while Jay-Fry wanders oblivious in the background.
4:00Pm Saturday: Grand Island, NY. Fuck this island. I have traveled 40 miles since switching to the reserve tank and as far as we can tell there are no gas stations in New York. The toll taker gives us errant directions to one location and we extrapolate the location of a second. The first is never found and the second is closed. Things are desperate; we find ANOTHER closed (as in, out of business) gas station. (For some reason forget about having google maps on our phones as this point, probably because it would just point us to another empty building anyway) We rely on "ground intel" (read: local slack-jaws) to point us to a functioning pump, but even they seems little unsure of their directions. Eventually we find food and gas. I take the opportunity to get site-seeing recommendations from my NY people.
6:00Pm, Saturday: Rochester, NY. We have just arrived at the house of a woman neither of us knows. Surprisingly there was no welcoming committee awaiting our arrival in Rochester, probably because i forgot to call a head. We rode around downtown looking for a hotel and signs of life, but downtown proper was dead. And ghetto-y. We resorted to the "friends of friends" technique to ultimately hook up with the sister of Jay-fry's brother's ex-girlfriend. (yeah, awesome, i know) The photographer (as she is one) amazingly agreed to show us around town tonight, for she is hip to the hang outs.
View Larger Map
8:00Pm Saturday: Rochester, NY, "The South Wedge District." After food and beers at the first bar, we're sitting in a coffee shop that also sells the liquor. The shop features works of local artists, one of which i recognize as this guy's work. is that him...? in the corner? I'm having an Irish coffee with a Redbull chaser. The caffeine and alcohol are slugging it out in my system. As it is early, we discuss the possibility of a pre-party nap, as most of the bars won't be in effect for another couple hours. This idea is quickly dismissed as "tasting like quitter."
note: this is where things get fuzzy. We'll file it under the hours between 9pm and 3-ish am. There is no possible way i can logically retell the events in a linear and coherent manner; not because i don't remember any of it, just because science does not allow it. But i can tell you this: It involved Whiskey. (it's an ideas drink, after all) It also involved folk music, 80's punk and Christian Ska. There was a banjo demonstration that led to several hours of banjo jokes. (if you don't know, the banjo features a "G-string" and is also a slang word for girl parts). There was an attempt to recall the name Cat Stevens adopted when he converted religions, more booze, more jokes, a dissertation on why Neil Diamond is the world's greatest singer song writer, making fun of social networking sites, complaints about the opposite sex and at some point everything just reset back to zero. I sleep.
At some point in the night, Rochester claims ownership of this button:
8:00Am Sunday: I wake up on a stranger's couch in a strange city. There are house guests. The world is foggy and i'm cold AGAIN. I relocate somewhere more peaceful.
10:00Am Sunday: I wake again. (There's a cat here. Hello cat.) I remember the mission and try to throw myself into at day but my body resists. I muster a shower but decline the delicious smelling breakfast the photographer has cooked for us and her roommates. (Her hospitality seems to know no bounds) Some friends are at the house and they're discussing possible routes we should take home to maximize the nature exposure. I make my way to the front porch where things always make sense:
From the porch i see this and old OAR songs start to play in my head:
At that sight the fog lifts and mission becomes clear again: we ride. It's decided that we B-line for home. Jay-fry needs to be at work Monday and given the near state of hypothermia we find ourselves when arriving at a destination, it is better perhaps if we stay away from the lakes and seclusion... for this trip.
11:45Am Sunday: Rochester, NY. We re-tell the adventures of the night and say our goodbyes. For reasons i cannot fully understand it feels AMAZING to be back on the bike; the sun is shining and the weather is fair. I've hardly slept and my body is choking on caffeine, b-12 and alcohol but I feel awake, alive and healthy. The first 30 or so minutes on the road are the best of the weekend and i'm feeling on top of the world. We ride fast.
The trip home: Amazing; NY is fast and Canada is slow. We fill up in Niagara and decide to run the tanks dry before we stop, putting us right back on London, ON again, where we see the friendly waitresses. We enjoy the weekend's first healthy meal (soup and salad) while the sun and the temperature both drop faster than we'd like. The last 100 miles are hard. Its cold. Real cold. Plus there's construction and i'm sore. But somehow that all melts away when you see the bridge to America. Waiting in customs, we discuss the magic feeling when you're getting close to home after a long road trip.
The tally: Rochester, MI to Rochester, NY and back: 700+ miles
The time: 47hours from idea conception to arriving home
Song during final credits: OAR "Revolution"
Special thanks: Here's to the photographer; the hero of the story and our new digital-internet friend
Friday, October 17, 2008
moments ago in bar...
Around 9pm
"Sure it'd be a great motorcycle trip and the colors would be amazing but you're running short on time. I mean, shit, you'd have to do it like... this weekend. Heh, that's pretty funny because i have NO plans for this weekend."
{ominous music}
9:30
{i finish my guiness}
"Bar tender- bring me a Jameson on the rocks... I need to stay warm"
"I'm not sure we could even make it through Canada tonight, but i suppose we could stop when our fingers go numb... We doing this?"
"alright, you're riding the Duc? We ride light; leave from your place at 11:00."
"Sure it'd be a great motorcycle trip and the colors would be amazing but you're running short on time. I mean, shit, you'd have to do it like... this weekend. Heh, that's pretty funny because i have NO plans for this weekend."
{ominous music}
9:30
{i finish my guiness}
"Bar tender- bring me a Jameson on the rocks... I need to stay warm"
"I'm not sure we could even make it through Canada tonight, but i suppose we could stop when our fingers go numb... We doing this?"
"alright, you're riding the Duc? We ride light; leave from your place at 11:00."
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Sub 10 minute miles
i am the champion. (of putting blisters on my feet)
in other news:
I'm gonna kick some ass with my own pipe wrench!
(pipe wrench fight!)
in other news:
I'm gonna kick some ass with my own pipe wrench!
(pipe wrench fight!)
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Well fuck
Here comes Halloween: The weekend full of techno and booze, ridiculous outfits, and every girl you know is dressed like a. total. slut. (mom? what are you doing in that maid outfit?)
Yes,
Sexy cops
Sexy witches
Sexy devils
Sexy angels
Sexy meter Maids
Sexy scientists (a close second)
Sexy prostitutes
Sexy cartoon characters
Sexy dead people
Sexy people having sex
And of course, my personal favorite, Sexy nurses. (head explodes)
Yes Halloween, it is truly a love/hate scenario to be tempted with so much fruit. Remember boys and girls: Most of that fruit requires too much effort to harvest (wait- i have to become Christian to pick these apples?) some of it's rotten, and you'll probably just order too aggressively and fall asleep before you finish the cup cakes.
(What the fuck were we talking about?)
Right: Sex. And Halloween. The two are like peanut butter and genitals. In case you run out of ideas, you can find here links to the map of fetishes and map of sex which both should provide a wealth of costume ideas that would get you arrested on any other night of the week. (According to the authors, one begot the other, but i think they're both god damn liars if they weren't inspired by the map of the internet by XKCD.) Anyway, point is, if you don't learn something new from each of those maps, i want to party with you this weekend. And seriously, why the fuck is anal bead corner surrounded on two sides by body modification?? SOMEBODY is bring SOMEBODY's property value down!!
Whatever. I may have begun this work with a point in mind. That point has been filed to a dull nub by images of the weekends to come. Looks like i need to stock up on orange juice and power bars!
(Moe is hooked up to a lie detector)
Eddie: Did you hold a grudge against Mr. Burns?
Moe: no. (false)
Moe: Aright! Maybe I did, but I didn't shoot him. (true)
Eddie: Checks out. Okay, sir, your free to go.
Moe: Good, cause I have a hot date tonight. (false)
Moe: a date. (false)
Moe: Dinner with friends. (false)
Moe: Dinner alone. (false)
Moe: Watching TV alone. (false)
Moe: Aright. I'm going to sit at home and ogle the girls
in the Victorian Secret Catalogue. (false)
Moe: Sears Catalogue. (true)
Moe: Now would you unhook this already, please? I don't
deserve this kind of shabby treatment! (false)
update: it's funnier if i just include a damn clip of what i'm talking about!
FALSE!
Yes,
Sexy cops
Sexy witches
Sexy devils
Sexy angels
Sexy meter Maids
Sexy scientists (a close second)
Sexy prostitutes
Sexy cartoon characters
Sexy dead people
Sexy people having sex
And of course, my personal favorite, Sexy nurses. (head explodes)
Yes Halloween, it is truly a love/hate scenario to be tempted with so much fruit. Remember boys and girls: Most of that fruit requires too much effort to harvest (wait- i have to become Christian to pick these apples?) some of it's rotten, and you'll probably just order too aggressively and fall asleep before you finish the cup cakes.
(What the fuck were we talking about?)
Right: Sex. And Halloween. The two are like peanut butter and genitals. In case you run out of ideas, you can find here links to the map of fetishes and map of sex which both should provide a wealth of costume ideas that would get you arrested on any other night of the week. (According to the authors, one begot the other, but i think they're both god damn liars if they weren't inspired by the map of the internet by XKCD.) Anyway, point is, if you don't learn something new from each of those maps, i want to party with you this weekend. And seriously, why the fuck is anal bead corner surrounded on two sides by body modification?? SOMEBODY is bring SOMEBODY's property value down!!
Whatever. I may have begun this work with a point in mind. That point has been filed to a dull nub by images of the weekends to come. Looks like i need to stock up on orange juice and power bars!
(Moe is hooked up to a lie detector)
Eddie: Did you hold a grudge against Mr. Burns?
Moe: no. (false)
Moe: Aright! Maybe I did, but I didn't shoot him. (true)
Eddie: Checks out. Okay, sir, your free to go.
Moe: Good, cause I have a hot date tonight. (false)
Moe: a date. (false)
Moe: Dinner with friends. (false)
Moe: Dinner alone. (false)
Moe: Watching TV alone. (false)
Moe: Aright. I'm going to sit at home and ogle the girls
in the Victorian Secret Catalogue. (false)
Moe: Sears Catalogue. (true)
Moe: Now would you unhook this already, please? I don't
deserve this kind of shabby treatment! (false)
update: it's funnier if i just include a damn clip of what i'm talking about!
FALSE!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
see, it's imaginary, so it can involve ANYthing...
XKCD for the WIN:
I'm a little disappointed he didn't address the square root of (-1) because it's imaginary and there's a lot of potential there. But whatever.
Few quick points:
This is bad, mmm-kay? The problem is, when you're on the terrorist watch list (other than, you now, being on it for life) is that you would never know you were on it, unless, you know, you got lucky and someone told you.
Second, it seems Twisted Sister is now willing to take it. This is bad news for 80s hair rock enthusiasts everywhere.
Finally, clean coal: It comes up a lot. There is no such thing. It's like the fucking easter bunny, okay? Coal is dirty. There's dirty coal and dirty coal that has had it's dirtiness collected and distributed somewhere else.
That is all. Remember you're training and you will survive.
Monday, October 06, 2008
a round up
The weekend: beers, dance clubs, girly cigars, observing from above failed attempts at the human mating ritual, Jameson on the ice, bar bands and feats of strength. I trumped a week of hard times with 48 action packed hours of country-home/punk-rock lifestyle. I'm glad i didn't sleep through it.
Economy: shat upon
I tried to explain what it was like to be from south east Michigan, the collective area that we'll call Detroit. The motorcity. I think i was drunk and they may have been as well, but the points were valid: unity through despair. An entire metropolis that's spent the last 20... fuck 40 years being beat down. Constantly ranked last in quality of life poles, Detroit has made it every list from most overweight to most STDS per capita. My generation has never known a "good time" in the auto industry. Crime, unemployment, destitution and racism are the standard.
And yet, it seems to breed a heartiness that i couldn't quite explain when drunk at a noisy festival and can't quite explain here. Its a blue-collar fortitude that always manages to carry on and i think it's at the heart of my love/hate relationship with this place. Or it could just be Stockholm syndrome. Whatever. The point is, the people i work with and I are all on the brink of unemployment and no one seems to really care. It's more like a joke as the weaker of the herd is slowly eliminated via termination or relocation. So it goes.
I lean to the left but in a "meh" kind of way. It's fine. It's feels better over here, but just a little bit. But i will confess: i am hyped up the the Barack-Star. It's not even that i think he's going to make MY life better. It just, he HAS to be better than the alternative... right?
(if only the election was in March...)
Conclusion: I've had a solid month to consider the lay of the land, you know, with the metaphysical and the retrospective kind of what nots. And what I figure is, baring an uncharacteristically bad roll of the dice, everyone gets about 50 good, free independent years. It's not a particularly earth-shattering revelation, just a nice way of boxing up what it is we're all working with.
Well, that, and those 50 years are mostly like assembling a puzzle. Except you don't start with any pieces but instead collect them as you go. Oh, and there's no corner pieces; Just beers and bears and caves, shaky jobs and ladders, Ducatis and strangers that become un-strangers and then go back to being strangers. Yup. A September of collecting my thoughts and that's what i came up with.
Here's to the pieces that fit and the pieces that don't: Knowing the score and rolling the dice. {Insert bumper-sticker catchphrase here}
Speaking of which, mark your calenders:
Oct 23: Chesto and I vs. Madison the Wisconsin
¡Tag team battle royal!™
The search for puzzle pieces goes on forever!
T.I. it would seem, subscribes to traditional sociological and economic gender roles. Does that mean every mare in the stable gets a Bentley convt.?
Life is complicated and confusing.
Economy: shat upon
I tried to explain what it was like to be from south east Michigan, the collective area that we'll call Detroit. The motorcity. I think i was drunk and they may have been as well, but the points were valid: unity through despair. An entire metropolis that's spent the last 20... fuck 40 years being beat down. Constantly ranked last in quality of life poles, Detroit has made it every list from most overweight to most STDS per capita. My generation has never known a "good time" in the auto industry. Crime, unemployment, destitution and racism are the standard.
And yet, it seems to breed a heartiness that i couldn't quite explain when drunk at a noisy festival and can't quite explain here. Its a blue-collar fortitude that always manages to carry on and i think it's at the heart of my love/hate relationship with this place. Or it could just be Stockholm syndrome. Whatever. The point is, the people i work with and I are all on the brink of unemployment and no one seems to really care. It's more like a joke as the weaker of the herd is slowly eliminated via termination or relocation. So it goes.
I lean to the left but in a "meh" kind of way. It's fine. It's feels better over here, but just a little bit. But i will confess: i am hyped up the the Barack-Star. It's not even that i think he's going to make MY life better. It just, he HAS to be better than the alternative... right?
(if only the election was in March...)
Conclusion: I've had a solid month to consider the lay of the land, you know, with the metaphysical and the retrospective kind of what nots. And what I figure is, baring an uncharacteristically bad roll of the dice, everyone gets about 50 good, free independent years. It's not a particularly earth-shattering revelation, just a nice way of boxing up what it is we're all working with.
Well, that, and those 50 years are mostly like assembling a puzzle. Except you don't start with any pieces but instead collect them as you go. Oh, and there's no corner pieces; Just beers and bears and caves, shaky jobs and ladders, Ducatis and strangers that become un-strangers and then go back to being strangers. Yup. A September of collecting my thoughts and that's what i came up with.
Here's to the pieces that fit and the pieces that don't: Knowing the score and rolling the dice. {Insert bumper-sticker catchphrase here}
Speaking of which, mark your calenders:
Oct 23: Chesto and I vs. Madison the Wisconsin
¡Tag team battle royal!™
The search for puzzle pieces goes on forever!
T.I. it would seem, subscribes to traditional sociological and economic gender roles. Does that mean every mare in the stable gets a Bentley convt.?
Life is complicated and confusing.
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