Bangover

Softball Season

Going on season two as right fielder for The Slammer Tavern. Every Sunday for the next twelve weeks it will be a full day of crushing cold golds, dropping fly balls, telling shitty jokes, then going back to the Slammer and tearing the roof off. Can't fucking wait.

To both the people that read this:

Been a while since I put anything new up. Sorry. It's just been too nice out to feel good about staring at a computer. I am going to try to be better this week, I promise. Besides the weather, ain't nothing new. Gotta go, today is the first softball game of the season. Man, this post is boring.

Thinking About Summer

Growing up in the northwest I am pretty numb to the winter months. The rain, the grey—they don't get to me. In fact, I kind of welcome them. I like to not feel bad about lying around for a day or two, working on my bed sores and my TV tan without feeling guilty for wasting a few days. But this winter really kicked me right in the ball-bag. I couldn't tell you why. Just did. So the last few day of sun have been welcomed with open arms. Spent most of the day yesterday just lying in the park soaking up the U.V.'s.
I can't wait to bitch about how hot it is. Bring on the melanomas!

The Poet

Great hat, better man. The hat says "Don't cry girls, I'll be right back." The man under it, is the one and only Ken Blankenstien.

My 'Pendix Almost 'Sploded!

Woke up Thursday morning feeling like a baby alien was going to rip through my stomach. After a failed attempt at puking and poopin' I crawled back into bed for an hour of moaning and shivering. Maureen came over and drug me to the hospital where, after seven hours, they ripped my appendix out. Twenty-four hours, a catheter, some crappy food and a shitload of morphine later, they told me to hit the bricks. Spent the last few days relaxing, but I wanted to throw a couple phone photos from the excursion. (Photos: Maureen Pandos)

The Tap

This Is Were The Good Stuff Comes From

Every Ten Minutes!

Them Euros Got It Right

For over a year my car (that I call "Ferrari Red") sat in the exact same spot in front of the house. Just kickin' it. I liked to think of it as my own personal weather channel. If I looked out the window and it was wet I knew it was raining. If it was dry, it wasn't. You get the point. She was always there, a spare "doughnut" tire on the back, one flat in the front, moss growing out of the windshield wipers and a square of random wind-blown trash and leaves around it from where the street sweeper couldn't reach—then those assholes stole Maureen's truck.
I had to get her back on the road, so I charged up the battery, fixed the tires, scraped off the moss and Ferrari Red was back on the road. Maureen's truck was found a week later, but Red is still on the road. Why? 'Cause it is become novelty. After getting everywhere via bicycle for a year it's nice to go somewhere without showing up soaking wet or freezing. Oh—and I am lazy as hell. Did I mention that? But I gotta get back on that steel horse, I think the only thing inflating faster than the gas prices is my waist line. I don't know what this has to do with the photo, or the title for that matter. Maybe 'cause I took the photo in Europe and it's of bikes... I need to ride mine... Wrap it up Chris, wrap it up...