I rock climb a whole helluvalot. I find it amusing in a very healthy way. The same applies for my drinking habits. I love to work with my hands (carpentry, arts and crafts, shadow puppets, etc.) I'm really starting to get into photography and I like to cook yummy meals and then eat them.
Miles Davis on a heavy dose day, Nixon the day Watergate broke, Myself twenty years from now, A Republican who has a clue, A Democrat who has a chance, An Independent who has a job. Ella Fitzgerald after her first live scat performance, Jolie Holland, The old Noxzema girl with the curly brown hair, Jackie O. Jim Bridwell and Peter Croft on a sunny day in the Sierras circa 77 with a cold case of cheap beer and some prayer herbs.
S. (pronounced ess dot) Carter to the Grateful Dead and everything in between minus polka and vaudevillian acts.
okay. I did two. I was extremely broke, had a two hundred dollar a day crack habit, and yes.... I was curious.
As the late Matt Wurst once said.... My Reality Isn't On TV.
So I keep carrying this tattered old copy of Where The Red Fern Grows around with me. I go to cool chic cafes and stuff. I order Lattes, soy of course, and read my story. I just know that someday some beautiful hot chick will pick up on my eco friendly, soft side, cool guy literary vibe. Then her and I will go back to my alternatively powered bungalo via my ecoride and get organic. Translation: I am a poser who only reads mags on the shitter but I would be happy to meet some equally hot poser of the opposite sex and take her to my home under the overpass on the handlebars of my stolen ten speed, only to get drunk on wild irish rose, throw up on her and pass out half naked.
Two words y'all..... Art Garfunkel.