what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

A couple weeks ago beer from the kegerator was pouring extra foamy and a bit warm & flat. So I checked the thermostat and the CO2 and the heft of the keg and then drank it anyway. Denial.  The next day I poured one for my old lady and it was the same tepid foamy flat froth. She was a bit more skeptical. I wanted to drink it anyway but it sucked. 

I checked on the kegerator again and it was humming a weak sound but nowhere near cold, barely hanging on. It was not a beer issue but a refrigeration issue. Like Georgetown prints right at the top of their cans “please refrigerate. warm beer sucks” 

It was like a beloved family pet, a trusty companion, always there to greet me at the door. After 12 years, it’s hard to let go. They say the first stage in the grief process is denial. And I agree with that as I’m slowly moving through the stages and processing it all.  

The first couple years were all Elysian. Pony kegs schlepped on a bike trailer just up a hill to the CD.  Full kegs from friend’s cars. Then...

Conk photo

my family went to Coeur d’Alene 

and all I got 

was this T-shirt tan 

and COVID 

but this too shall pass

in & out of Idaho

I will refrain from talking too much shit about Eastern Washington / Northern Idaho. I grew up there in the heart of the Inland Empire, which entitles me to a bit of shit talking. But I haven’t spent any real time there for 35 years.  This recent visit was an eye opener in a suburban sprawl way as one incorporated “city” has glommed into the next in a continuous monumental ode to the automobile with a particular emphasis on big big trucks, vans, suburbans and SUVs.  With plenty of parking for everyone. Plenty of parking. 

34 years ago a little amusement park opened on a 400 acre plot in Athol and it has grown and grown and grown. Fast forward to last week and that Big Amusement Park was the reason for our little visit. Here there’s a strong correlation with contracting COVID 2.5 years into this whole virus thing. But that’s another story. 

day 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

what day is it? 

is that all there is? 

oh no     no

there’s more 

where that came from 

until further notice 

never came

that was what 

six feet looked like

you must have 

been mistaken

you must have

confused me 

with someone 

who gives a shit

you must have 

has   had

been being be

am is are 

was  were

will  would 

can could this too 

shall should pass

Sitting at a red light on the Burke-Gilman crossing the Ave staring into space waiting expectorating anticipating more waiting when this sticker on a signpost caught my eye just enough for me to pluck it off and take a closer look. 

I ride a Bullitt around the U-district all day schlepping amazon packages their final fifty fucking feet.  

But what if you rode a Bullitt around the U-district all day with a single super sized silicone spermatozoon strapped to the cargo bed with see through cellophane straps? Its long tail slithering in the seat stays subconsciously suggesting motility and more marketing mumbo jumbo. Wearing a snazy sperm bank uniform and matching helmet. Toting a satchel full of promotional items, aka plastic crap to distribute: key chains, bottle openers, pens, pencil toppers, chapstick, QR coded silicone sperm stress balls, beanies, face masks, hand sanitizers, carabiners, tire levers, water bottles, fidget toys, rubber duckies, slap bracelets and sunglasses. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

He’s the guy waiting in a hotel room in Bozeman, waiting for the OEM parts to arrive from Germany so the local shop can fix his BMW. 

I’m the guy that shimmed it out with a beer can and rode away yesterday. 

There are only two shirts like this in the world. As we speak, I’m wearing one and the other one is in the mail, on its way to PDX. Both shirts still smell like thriftstore because they are Costco castoffs from the original owner repurposed recycled redirected regurgitated. 

Hella  Hella  

Messing around on old thriftstore shirts inspires inspiration. The next hella hella shirts will be vertical instead of horizontal in a horticultural agricultural sculptural way, recognizable to a select few. You know. 

Those in the know, know that Steve is the OG Hella Corndog and he's the reason I burned the Hella screen for a Corndog Classic in whatever broken-sternum year that was, 20ish years ago…  …and that’s why that shirt is on its way to PDX for one of the guys down at DANK bags. I don’t have any photos from that Hella Corndog but visualize Monorail Kevin and then ask Kittleson. 

There may be a few of those original T-shirts still kicking. When I say kicking I mean hermetically sealed in a safety deposit box at 701 5th. Squirrel’s kid may or may not be wearing one right now, I’m told. But the silk...

slap dash

pell mell

glycogen stores

closed until

further notice

stand by 

hurry up 

and wait 

high fructose 

corn syrup

nonfat decaf

milquetoast latte

tax deductible

wealthy donor

athletic supporter

jock itch

long covid

lung butter

well placed

snot rocket

post nasal

drip dripping

left sleeve

slug trail

glistening in

morning light

members only

order operations

Herbert Walker

Bush League

inside job

controlled demolition

hip dysplasia

inbred purebred 

resistance is 

futile bro

don’t take

it personally

barking up

wrong tree

misdirected energy

Hella Hella 

clockwork like

like clockwork 

golden ratio

just so

these shoes

rule <-> suck

protected bikelane

placebo effect

single use

throw away

chuck down

dental pick

swisher sweet

throw back

not not

my backyard

cable actuated

class clown

cherry pick

gold brick

authentic handbuilt 

retrofit replica

verisimilitude dude

front butt

acid reflux

blue tooth

whiter whites

fresh breath

phantom nostalgia

psychosomatic syndrome

ass pocket

U lock

ass   out

you  me

keep frown

upside down

final fifty

fucking feet...

Todd Gallaher photo bro