"Hey, somebody get me a beer on the way back!"

Sister of 'The Destroyer' and a completely amazing kid. We had a great pre-bedtime dollhouse session last night. It's the little things...take your happiness where you can get it.

We're going for a little ride

On Saturday morning Jake and I will mount our Shetland ponies and head out to say howdy to Oakland's Master Blaster. They're headed north, we're headed south.

Sometimes you just need to take a picture of your feet

Afterall, they're your feet and you can do whatever you want with them.

Too stinked up for me

While Nelson over at COC was in his back lawn admiring his wife's garden, we were at the Sunday market admiring the goods of the farmers' gardens.

I love raw onions, as does Logan, our little dude, but I just can't take the bad breath that comes with them. And garlic breath...don't even get me started. I worked the front door of a real uppity, real big night spot back in NY and hot girls would come up to me with the batting eyes and the cleavage and all that trying to cut the line. Garlic breath from the Italian place around the corner got them a quick trip to the back of it. Ugh!



Upon the rare occasion that wife has bad garlic breath, she's kind enough to warn me it's coming in advance and I make my bed on the futon for the evening. She's very thoughtful like that.

The maintenance kid and the Knuckle

There's this kid who works at the gym I go to- he's kind of a squirly one, but there's something about him. I don't know the kid well, but I go out of my way to talk to him when we cross paths because everyone else doesn't. He's just the guy who fixes everything that breaks, right? No need to talk to that guy.

Anyway, I ride the 53 up the other day and go in to do my thing. "You ride a bike?" Yeah man. "What is it?" It's an old Harley. "Can you show it to me?" I sort of tripped on that one for a minute and just looked at him. Then the profoundness of it hit me; he was really interested and didn't have the knowledge to figure out the details himself, so he just asked. You don't get much of that these days.

Yeah, I'd be real happy to show you the bike, let's go take a look.

After looking the 53 over and answering his questions we chatted for a while. The kid told me his Grandfather rode a Knuckle as a young man, but when he went off to war his (the grandfather's) father sold the bike to support his drinking problem, thinking the son was going to die at war anyway and wouldn't need the bike. I choked.

Maintenance kid then pulled out a picture of his grandfather, and in that picture there was a gangly, aloof looking young guy standing beside a bone-stock Knuckle with bobbed fenders, no muffler, and no pogo seat stick.

How old was your grandpa here? "Nineteen, I think, this is just before he went to the war." How long did he ride the bike before his dad sold it? "He bought it when he was 14 and made it run. His dad sold it after he was gone for a year." Five years.

I can't and won't ask that kid for a copy of that picture, it's just too much his to share. It was as beautiful as the story was poignant though and it's pretty crazy that the kid carries the picture on him.

Don't tread on we

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