Izzy/P77, Rauschenberg, Cornell and Basquiat.

Good shit.

11.28.08 (Buy Nothing Day)

Worked downtown today, distributing posters that encourage people to buy locally this holiday season. Considering it's "Black Friday" and the busiest (most annoying) shopping day of the entire year it was strange to have to go into so many retail stores without any intention of buying anything. Fittingly though it was "Buy Nothing Day" and Warren and I did just that, with some help from our downtown friends. For part of the day anyway.

We had a lunch delivery going here:

Brett at Superb offered us this in gratitude:

And this:

Afterwards we went here:

And Michelle gave us these:

It wasn't until we delivered some promotional materials out to a national chain restaurant in the mall that we broke down and actually bought something.

When it's happy hour at the end of a holiday Friday and the rare and delicious Anderson Valley Winter Solstice is on tap you just have to indulge.

Well, you don't have to, but we did and it was awesome.

Great way to end a good week, even if we had to pay for some of it.

Cheers to the Scugl Haus Rockerz for hosting turkey day again this year.

As usual, we had a wonderful evening. Thank you.

The family is spending tonite wishing Mom a happy birthday.

We gave her some gifts and ate some organic pasta and of course, it being her birthday an all, she worked all day and is battling the onset of a little cold and won't end up consuming the bottle of her favorite red we gave her. She just took a bath while the baby slept and now she's launching a few hours in the kitchen in preparation for tomorrow's turkey day festivities with the Schoolhouse Rockers. The girl never quits and that's one of the many reasons I love her. 

Happy Birthday E!

Love L + P.

Eggcellent

After further review: the Bears still suck.

Grant ran for a buck forty-five. 

Final score: Pack 37 - Bears 3.

Gramps being himself at his daughter's wedding, 1965.

My Grandfather died two months after Bukowski in 1994. I was 24 years old, drunk, living and (sometimes) working in San Francisco.

Both men lived raucous, unhealthy lives in their younger days and I was doing my part to carry on that grand tradition, one whiskey sour at a time. When they passed I was shaken up pretty good, a large chink in the armor of my self-diagnosed invincibility. How could I carry on drinking myself into oblivion if there was indeed, an actual oblivion? These two men I looked up to both left this world just as I was starting to think that I too could live as wet and decadent an existence and come out on the other end unscathed. No one ever does and I no longer think I will either, at least not for these few nights in the November cold. 

Bukowski's "Bluebird" as read by Harry Dean Stanton from the film Born Into This.

Some Fall Photos

WHEN IT RAIN$ IT POUR$

Late last week I received a tee-shirt in the mail from my favorite Canadian swill: Molsen, all I had to do was copy the code from inside the twelver of bottles into the website and they send you a free shirt. No choice in graphic, color or size (it's too big but hey).

Then came a $3 rebate from my favorite domestic brew: PBR. Only to be outdone today by the good state of Idaho with a whopping $1.74 tax refund. 

"I'll just sit an grin and the money will roll right in". 

I was never a daily coffee consumer until Chris and I started our messenger service. We whiled away many a lazy summer day gettin' caffeinated at the Flying M, praying for a run to come in. Fast forward three years later and I'm still killin' time in cafes, the phone rings frequently but between deliveries I always find myself shoppin for some liquid uppers. I've never had a sweet tooth really (Erin's got enough for the whole family!) but I like my caffeine coated in sugar: vanilla Lattes, BiBi Cafe's, Hazelnut creamer and packets of Splenda. I will even go so far as to crave the annual Eggnog Latte (and of course brandy eggnog and Tom & Jerry's on the steeper side of the spectrum).

Spending as much time at home as we do now, we've resorted to all forms of new-parenthood-adaptation like buying three pound bags of Costco coffee and grinding the beans in the bathroom so The Little Guy doesn't awaken. It's really difficult raising a child and at the same time really easy. He's only 10 weeks old but it feels like he's always been here with us and as ballistic is his crying fits get- all he has to do is break off a little smile and everything feels alright. Here's to the big vats of piping hot coffee and here's to the little tiny blue socks I always find in the dryer but mostly: here's to Uncle Tim on this, his 35th birthday! Liam and his jittery parents send their best.

In Carr's exploits he references plenty of Minneapolis haunts I frequented, just a few years after he did. We called it "Can't Stand up Frank's" and I heard others refer to it as "Fall Down Frank's". His description is on the money, about $8 in that joint and you forgot who you were. BJ's was a dingy dive of a strip joint but typically had a few attractive dancers and sold plenty of cheap beer in cans. When you finished there you could cross the street to Jug Liquors for a 40 of Colt 45 and some Karkov Vodka to go. Liquid layers were mandatory for the cold bike rides home. 

Hmph.

Mississippi river from the Lowry bridge, Nordeast Minneapolis.

My Dad's folks in Wisconsin, 1983.

Been reading David Carr's personal history of drug abuse titled The Night of the Gun. I saw him late one night being interviewed on PBS, all gravel-voiced and articulate.  I was #27 on the waiting list from the Boise Library, I was given 14 days to read it (or return it rather, I don't suppose anyone minds if I actually read it or not).  On page 148 he discusses his multitude of arrests and how bored the cops became with him, one even saying "Lemme guess, lurking with intent to mope right?".

That made me think of the time my Grandfather was visiting from Wisconsin when my family lived in upstate New York and the house across the street was for sale. Periodically cars would slow-roll by and try to get a load of the property. Grandpa was pretty quiet unless he was coughing, which was quite often from his many years of cigarettes and hard living. His stint as a bartender gave him the quick wit my Dad inherited and I myself have been known to wield on a good day. Anyway, after about the fifth car in five minutes he mumbled something like "Hmph, moping with intent to gawk."

I laughed really hard after he turned to me and smirked even though I was kinda confused by the statement. 

Mr. Carr's book (so far) centers around his experiences in Minneapolis, my favorite town.

I'm drawn to tales of the sordid side and stories about places I've lived or like. I figured I'd start writing my own descriptions of what's up with what's going down but I myself have settled down so the sordid side isn't so sordid anymore. Don't worry, I'll post pictures as well.