Dude Barn B-Day and Karaoke Bonanza

It was April 30th, a Friday and the eve of one Brandon Nemire's 30th birthday. Coincidence? I think so. A small gathering was held at the Dude Barn, his place of residence. You knew where the party was because of the high ollie contest going on in the street out front (see below). Also, flat bars in the street, ramps in the back yard. And once it got dark, Dave lit up the fire. The BBQ was Q'in, when suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, and I heard someone mutter, "The cops are here." That's right. 8:45 p.m. and the cops were already at the front door. Kinda funny. I guess everyone was legal ’cause no one scrambled over the back fence or anything.

Steve, not makin' it.

Saw these crackers out front. The birthday boy is the one on the right.

Lovejoy's ninja stance on the front smith.

Still life, fire pit and shoe.

We split momentarily and headed to the Copper Rooster. Now, as long as I've known Lance, I've never witnessed him singing karaoke. He's more of a quiet fellow. Keeps to himself etc. But. Just when you think you know someone....they turn The Doors' "When the Music's Over" into such a maelstrom of Satanic incest ad-lib mumbo jumbo and other stoner-rock-isms that the entire bar, complete with the table full of 70 year olds behind us, just stares slack jawed, too astonished to move. I can't believe he didn't get kicked out. It was both awesome and remarkable.

Here he is, not paying any attention to the lyrics at all.

April Lifestyle

The sun is rapidly setting on April. Holy fuck, how did that happen? Fast, is how. For about ten years I wrongly believed that I dislike spring. It might’ve had something to do with the devastating mud season that constitutes spring in Colorado. The raw gray days like a sink full of dirty dishwater. The ugly yellow grass matted with dog poop that was once suspended in the snowbanks. And then, just when you thought things were on the mend … Another. Foot. Of. Snow. Curses!

But I live in Oregon, now. Yay for life in the Northwest.

We spent a stormy evening at the Nike warehouse. The clouds broke up for a second, the building was all backlit, and Derek noseslid through graceful squares of sun.

This park is in the old warehouse district near the river and has premium views of downtown. And as you can see from the photo, it rained and was sunny and then thundered and blew, all at once.

In other news, it was Eric Attleson's birthday the other night, and so I went down to the Red Flag and bought him a shot of Old Crow. Above is what his arm currently looks like. I tried in vain to get a portrait of him and his bionic arm on birthday night, but I forgot my camera and no, friends, I don't have an iPhone. Suffice it to say that this contraption is disgusting, as is the story about how Eric's tendons snapped and let a bone from his wrist slowly cut off the circulation to his hand. Eww. At least he can carry his arm like a lunch box now. Get better soon man!!

Also big news, a new computer! 12-inch Macbook Pro. Good stuff. It's shiny.

And sometimes, just sometimes, a sunny spring Sunday means doing nothing at all. It means laying around squinting. It means baking a black bean shepard's pie. It means reading in the garden and listening to the bees humming in the rosemary. Sometimes, that's what it's all about.

Bend-ing: photos and a bonus video

Our household took a trip to a remote town in central Oregon called Bend. Sure, it meant sitting in a car for three hours each way, but while we were there we lived it up—fishing with live bait, feasting on Lebonese food (we didn’t catch a single fish), skating the new indoor park, soaking up the sun, and generally exploring.

A fierce guard dog, fangs slashing a stuffed donkey. So scary.

Why Bend? Because that’s where Ben and Tasha live temporarily in a super nice condo that makes them feel like they’re on vacation. And since we actually were on vacation, it all worked out perfectly. With that said, Bend’s got strange vibes right now—the town feels kinda … empty. So much shiny new housing, so many granite counter tops and nouveau Santa Fe motif decore, and no one to enjoy it. See, Bend was booming a few years ago and it got hit hard with the mortgage crisis. And you can tell. There’re only two other occupants in the little community where Ben and Tasha live, with a vacant dirt lot across the street full of crickets and tumbleweeds. But hey, that was cool by us—more parking, less traffic, and more air to breathe.

Truck Stop, the indoor park that Ben just helped create.

Me in the back-room bowl. Kickturning's awesome.

Attention pyros: go here to see the above feature burn to the ground in a "welding accident" during park construction.

Tasha's a premium cook, and so this was the breakfast that awaited us Friday morning.

If ever there was a failed fishing mission, this was it. Not a bite, not even a nibble. Considering I didn't even know how to cast, though, I ain't worried.

Dinner at Kebaba—a bonanza of hummus and falafel.

The way home. Decidedly not spring.

A Review: Pirate Radio

Pirate Radio: It’s like a crooked, colorful paper airplane. You don’t really care where it falls, but it’s nice to watch, you know? Sweet jamz, great actors (philip seymour hoffman etc, witty dialogue, but … nothing much interesting happens, you’re not captivated, there’s no end all be alls. Plus, the end’s a large chunk of sap. And yet. Generally speaking, I liked it. My favorite scene? When father and sun swim for their lives through a submerged compartment on a sinking ship, while records float around them like bits of confetti and the aptly named Cat Stevens song transcends all. It’s nice, right?

Slammer party and good-bye Jardine

Les Ettes had a party at the Slammer last week. This company is cool in my book. A rad group of international chicks headed up by the lovely Carmela Fleury. They make sustainable scents for ladies on the go, or something. I’m all about Sol-Ette. “Light notes of vanilla and sugar cane.” Tasty. Anyway, they are cooler still because my friend Jardine works for them, and truth be told, their party happen to fall on her last night in town. All the usual suspects were there, from the infamous Neir to Jesse Grandkoski and Mike of Grease Not Gas fame. Lots of, “What have you been up to?” Which must be the worst question ever invented. It’s one of those compulsory questions that there’s no good answer for, but I usually aim at something somewhere between “everything” and “nothing.”

Me and Jardine. We retook the photo because the first one (above) made us look like we were about to make out. Spicy!

Pat Stanton and The Neir. Go here to read about Neir's recent operation, and … Warning: it's not suitable for children.

Lance showed up in a zip-hoody with no shirt on underneath. What's not to love?!