Lunch Upcoming

It's one of my favorite places to eat lunch. It's not even so much where as much as how and what. But there's also a lot of stress that comes with this lunch. Eating Mongolian is a science.

When we first pull up to the place I immediately gauge the parking lot for a sense of what the crowd will be like. You always get there early. These places can pack out, especially if you opt for the place in Hillsboro. Those Intel bastards always flood the place... them and their stupid little Intel I.D. badges hanging from the very throats I'd love to get my hands around.

We walk in and the secondary crowd evaluation immediately kicks in. I will usually just walk out if it's too bad. But, by getting there early most crowds can be avoided. The host(ess) seats us. Seating location is important. Nobody wants to sit next to the line, but you also don't want to be at the opposite end of the grill. Who wants to walk through the entire place with everybody checking out your plate of creation? Although, done right, and a well made plate is like a badge of honor.

The host(ess) does the obligatory requests for beverages, type of soup, rice, and chopsticks. "Get out of my way! You're wasting resources here!" I think to myself. Water. Hot and sour. No rice (it's a filler to keep you away from the meat). Yes, no, I don't care! This becomes even more frantic when I see nobody in line, but then spot a herd of ditch diggers walking in. Those guys take forever. The line is clear. Let me go!

We're finally clear. Before I even get to the buffet I'm scanning for what meats are on what side during my approach. Lamb always gets first priority, then pork. Chicken will run third. In a perfect world, these places would know to keep the lamb, pork, and cilantro all on the same side. It never happens.

Two bowls... you always go two bowls. The first bowl is stuffed full of meats. You can go all one type, or mix it up for a variety. I never know what I'm going to do until I get there. While I love them, I have trained myself to skip the noodles to avoid excess carbs. But there really isn't anything like a good heap of noodles that the cook left on just a little too long and got a good burn to them. I'm not joking about that.

With the meat bowl stuffed full (remember to pad it down as you fill it), it's time to move on to the veggies, not to mention the finer establishments that also provide peanuts. I don't like the chopped peanuts you shake on. I want the whole nuts that get a good sear on the grill along with everything else. Broccoli, sprouts, spinach, green onion, celery, mushrooms (again, at the better places), cilantro, dried peppers, and squash.

The sauce line. This is where the novice Mongolian grazers hold everything up. They look at that damn flavor chart. Get rid of the damn flavor chart! If you don't know what sauce will do what, you have no business being at a Mongolian place. And if you must look, come in really early or really late to practice. Don't come in at peak lunch hours when the serious Mongolians are doing their business. Lots of hot and sesame oil. Lots! Teriyaki! Ginger! Garlic! Vinegar! Fish oil! Citrus! Hell, sometimes they even throw in a curry. Damn! Curry!

Now, this has been a perfect line. Get there late, and suffer the consequences. The idiots... they gaze at everything. They're so lost. Just grab something and MOVE! There's nothing worse than long lines. Back in the day I always had my two bowls, but never packed them past the top of the bowl. "It's all you can eat. I can just keep going back for more." No. Well, yes you can, but by the time you finish your first plate, the crowds have arrived and you have to deal with the lines. The never ending lines. Sometimes they are so long you have to just stand there with your bowls... waiting to set them on the counter to be grilled. Now, it's two stuffed bowls and one giant plate of food.

The final obstacle... timing your arrival to the cook just before he cleans the grill. At my closest location we have a cook who does not know how to clean the grill. As he scrapes and wipes, he always leaves big black hunks of charred whatever. I think he's half blind. If I get caught waiting for a clean grill, I watch and evaluate. You know exactly where your food must be placed to avoid the black gunk during the big stir. If he drops your food too close, that gunk will become part of your meal. Call me a sociopath, but I always get a bit of a giggle when I see the gunk land in a stack belonging to some Intel guy.

I prefer a higher heat grill where stuff really gets seared. The old blind guy at my regular spot tends to pull the meat off too soon, which always leaves a little salmonella scare in the back of my head. But once cooked, then comes the after saucing. Mine is always loaded up with the red heat and Hoisen. I avoid soy, but throw on a good dusting of pepper. And away we go.

As you may have guessed... I will be devouring a plate of Mongolian for lunch today. Oh yes. It's on my mind... already.

It's Coming

So, I just turned 42. We're days away from 2010. Thus, I am well beyond halfway to the average life expectancy of an American male and the world is reaching an age that was once referred to as science fiction. The only thing that makes sense is my failing body. Foot issues, Lasik eye surgery, etc... and now what have I done? After 42 years of problem free issues, I have thrown out my back. How did I do it? Grabbing pillows off my bed.

A couple weeks back I chuckled as Chris, the most fit person I know, threw his back out brushing his teeth. Now, I have done the same grabbing pillows. This can only happen once you've passed the age of 40, I'm sure of it.

I can feel the little bugger. An isolated pain in the small of my back. It feels like a knot just ready to pop.

I'm lucky, I suppose. I can still stand, lay down, walk, and all the normal stuff. It just hurts.

I remember when I was a kid I used to listen to adults talk about their sore this and their aching that and I thought they were just a bunch of whiners. How can so many people be bitching about things. My body was fine. They just can't handle anything and were a bunch of whiney babies. Now... I am a whiney baby.

I think I've always had a decent pain tolerance, and I still do... but why so much at the same time, now?

I'll give this a few days. That's all things need, right? A few days? I've never been to a chiropractor. I got to listen to Chris' adventures when he went last week... the crunching of the bones, the pops, and the groans of pain as he was personally twisted by the Marqis de Sade. That's never been my cup of tea. A few more days...

The 773rd Post

It's Christmas morning. As has usually been the case recently, I woke up far too early for a day off from work. I know I am growing more and more like my parents who wake up at 4:00 a.m. for no reason. It's like they think they've got eggs to collect and livestock to feed before sun up, when in reality they sit around and read the paper, clean the house, and dad waits anxiously for an appropriate hour when he can begin his series of phone calls for the day.

I am currently sitting at my desk burning CD's for dad's stocking stuffers. Speaking of which, last night at my brother's place... between my two nieces and Troy's girlfriend (Kerby, Abby, and Helen - respectively) they have three wiener dogs. One of the dogs is a full on humper. As the family sat around the living room watching the little wiener dog hump her very own mother, it became abundantly clear that this was... a stocking stuffer. Troy on the other hand opted to call out, "that bitch is a real mother fucker." Later, this same guy who uttered those words accused me of being distasteful for suggesting we replace the ear splitting church-like Christmas music with Flight of the Conchords' "Too Many Dicks On The Dancefloor".

I had one responsibility for the evening... bring mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes are generally considered one of the easiest of foods to prepare, nearly impossible to screw up. As always, I thought to myself, "I can make this bigger... I can make it better than just mashed potatoes." I had been cursed for years by being asked to bring the damn carrot coins. 2009 was all about breaking away from the carrot coins. I began to run possible recipes through my head, but couldn't come up with anything new and unique. I told a friend what I was up to and she suggested Bleu Cheese Mashed Potatoes. Genius! I sorted through a few online recipes to get an idea of what I'd be up against. Nothing fatal. I ran to the store, grabbed the key ingredients, and began peeling. Now, here's where the dilemma comes in. The recipe called for four potatoes. I knew our head count for the evening could be as many as twenty. I figured one potato for each person. I multiplied the recipe by five. But what I didn't figure was that the recipe was actually calling for four LARGE potatoes. And of course when you buy potatoes by the bag, you get medium to small sized potatoes. I whipped up the batch and found myself standing in front of a liquidy potato concoction. Taste = Delicious. Consistency = Soup. I presented the dish as Runny Tater Soup, and suggested that it be ladled over the turkey as nobody made gravy for the night. I mean who serves turkey without gravy? While traditionalists scoffed, I found it to be quite tasty and unique. So, to the nay sayers I say up your nose with a rubber hose.

Now, who's this Bleu Cheese Mashed Potato Suggesting Friend you ask? Ah, good question. Back when I was about ten years old a new kid walked into my school. She went by the name of, well... we'll withhold for now. Yeah, she was cute. All the boys thought she was cute and all the girls thought she was a threat. The girl stuck around until about the seventh grade when she just up and moved away. She was gone as quickly as she had come. I didn't think too much about it until one day I was browsing through Facebook and came across her name. Facebook was saying, "You might know..." I honestly can't remember if I friendvited her or she friendvited me, but we became Facebook friends. Immediately following, we began to chat a little. I quickly found that we had all this crazy stuff in common, the most significant being that we were both currently involved in long distance relationships. There was an odd attraction developing, so out of respect for the relationship I was in, I conveniently faded away.

This past summer, our mutual friend Lulu had organized a big get together to go check out the Air Guitar competition at Dante's. Everybody was to meet at the Thirsty Lion Pub beforehand. I was the first to arrive. One by one, a large group formed. Bleu Cheese Mashed Potato Suggesting Woman was one of the last to walk in. She was looking pretty hot. Luckily, she sat at the opposite end of the table. I politely said hello and gave her a wave. I sensed something though. My security felt off. I intentionally kept from looking her way. Eventually, we left and walked to the venue where the competition was being held. I tried to walk at a brisk pace ahead of the pack. But, Potato Girl quickly caught up to me and called out my name. I chatted with her, but really did my best to be stand offish. And that's how the rest of the night went. I felt bad, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

Flash forward a couple months later. I had put together a small reunion of people from my grade school. The meeting was small, but fun. The woman in question had arrived and sat next to me at the booth. I was able to hold it together, but I knew that there was a spark. We had a lot in common, and she laughed at nearly every attempt I made to be funny. But... I was still in my relationship and was happy with that relationship. I took what strength I had and kept everything very light that night.

Fast forward a few months later... The first Friday of December to be exact. I was single. The long distance relationship I had put all that work into had slowly faded and one day was gone. It was the weekend of the Winter Ale Festival. This was the annual day when Rick, Carrie, and I were at our finest. Except this year would be different. Carrie had been battling a concerning bug in her stomach and couldn't drink. Rick was battling the thing that Rick always battles... He said he didn't know if he was going to be able to get down there early. I am at the point in my life where I like to go to these things early in order to slip out when all the frat-type boys show up and make the event obnoxious. It's crowded enough. Once the showboating starts up, the whole thing just becomes not fun. I always take off half the day from work. Now I was in a panic. How was this going to happen. No Carrie. No Rick. I never go to these things alone. I began to convince myself I was going to miss the festival this year. But, I refused to go down without a fight. I got on Facebook to see if anybody was online. Who do you suppose was the first name that popped up? Yup. Josh Herborn. But Josh lived in Chicago, so I looked at the next name. Bleu Cheese Mashed Potato Girl. I shot her a quick instant message, "What are you doing?"

"Working."

"Can you get out early?"

"Maybe, why?" I went on to explain what was going on. She was into it and said she would check with her boss. It was a done deal. We made plans to meet in a little bit.

I'll cut through all the little details. Bleu Cheese showed up. We wandered in together. I honestly began this meeting as a friendly get together. I had no plans of anything. But, when she showed up I knew happy little thoughts were going to begin invading my head. We really didn't know each other that well, but as the minutes ticked away we found ourselves engaged in much conversation and a lot of laughs. This was long before the effects of the winter warmers could even begin to grab us. Within an hour I felt like I was with an old friend I had shared a lifetime with and we were just remembering the old times. Rick eventually showed up and found us.

From the Ale Fest we wandered to a deli for some food and then to the Lompoc to sit and relax with another beer. Rick guzzled his and was gone. He sensed something.

Somewhere during the evening, the friendly get together morphed into a mutual attraction, and as they often say, the rest is history. As it's only been a few weeks, we're both excitedly taking things slow... in a comfortably fast fashion. As I stated in an earlier post... my holiday letter to be exact... 2009 was a pretty crappy year all in all. But, December of 2009 was pretty great. I have little to complain about outside of the usual complaints I feel about most things in life. But right now I'm happy. I'm content.

As for Radio... he has no idea it's Christmas. He has no idea he gets to go for a ride in the car, run around my parents big yard, and will have a new refrigerator to pee on today.

Holiday Letter 2009

Under normal circumstances the day after Thanksgiving has a certain feel to it, and for many different reasons. Some people are dealing with the after effects of over indulgence from the prior day’s feast. Others are racing to the malls for Shop Wars. There are those who simply begin to feel the dread of holiday pressures. Of course, I imagine there are a select few who love this day. They ate responsibly, shop online, and embrace the holiday expectations. But in general, Thanksgiving is the signal that the holiday season is in full force.

Today is November 27th, 2009, the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t know if this is good or bad, but today hasn’t had an impact on me as I completely missed the Thanksgiving smorgasbord due to the rapid onset of a cold. I’m hoping that the cold, however, will be my sole illness of the season. No H1N1 for me please. I’ve been eating mass quantities of BBQ Smoke Pork in hopes it will appease the Gods of Swine.

My Thanksgiving consisted of some of the aforementioned pork, mac & cheese, and broccoli. Because it was the holiday, I made sure to go all out and ensure the mac & cheese was Kraft. None of that generic crap for me. I’m shelling out the whole $.79 for this one. I watched football, played some guitar, and worked my way through season 1 of Six Feet Under. Essentially my Thanksgiving was like any Sunday, making today feel like any other Monday even though it’s really Friday.

I, for one, feel there should be a law that Christmas music and decorations should be banned until this day. I don’t mean this in any “Bah Humbug” manner. I simply think it’s misleading to walk into Costco in August and see the first aisle of Christmas decorations out and for sale, or to be sitting in a Chinese buffet and hearing Bing Crosby belt out Little Drummer Boy with David Bowie when it’s still the first week of November. Although, I have to admit hearing that song in a Chinese buffet any time of the year is odd.

2009… Wow! What to say… perhaps the worst year to date. Without going into mass detail I’ll just sum it up by saying unemployment, burglary, death, health scares, foot problems, unemployment (yes I said it twice), Rick Emerson went off the air, re-employment, and a break up. There’s really just too much to talk about in detail, so I won’t. It was just a bad year for this guy and his family. But… I still have my dog, my house, a job, friends and family, and I finally saw The Pogues in concert. So it wasn’t all bad. Oh, and I learned a lot about food carts.

Now I know many of you were expecting to open up this envelope and find a letter from Radio. He and I discussed the matter and he just felt it was time to take a break. He sends his regards. And honestly, I don’t know what he would even talk about. He still hates squirrels and cats, still pees on the refrigerator from time to time, sheds like a Wookie, and howls at me while trying to watch tv or talk on the phone.

I have enjoyed a chunk of the year exploring deeper into Portland’s food and beverage scene in order to keep my blog up to date. From the ever rotating selection of seasonal beers and the rise of the food cart scene, Portland is as exciting as ever. Throw in roller derby, soapbox derby, a velvet painting museum, and other general madness about town, who couldn’t love this city.

That’s all for now. I hope your holiday is exactly how you wish it to be, and 2010 is a bit more forgiving for all of us.

It's The Great Freeze Charlie Brown... NOT!

It's not even officially winter yet and the news people did their best to convince the end of the world was coming for the weekend. Arctic Death Blast 2009 version 1.0 was certain to doom us all this past weekend. And after last year's rare week long rendition of living on Hoth, they thought they could scare the frozen piss right out of us.

I do recall for about 15 minutes catching a slight sparkle on the ground. It was far more pretty than dangerous. By the time I had reached my destination it had all melted back into the big wet.

The following morning in my area all was clear. I was told the east side of Portland woke up to a nice white frost. And then it was all gone.

We have roughly three more months of potential bad weather. The news guys are just getting started. I wonder what would happen if weather reporters were paid like athletes. The better you perform, the more money you make. Keep dropping the ball and you'll be cut. Being a television meteorologist has got to be the easiest job in the world. What other job allows you to be wrong so much?

One Ringy Dingy

For most people in my social circle and those a bit older...

I remember growing up in a time where the phone would actually ring. It wasn't a "tone". Back then when you bought a phone it phone would generally outlive everybody in the house. I'm not even going so far back to the days of the rotary dials. While those phones were durable as well, rotary dialing was the worst for those of us with attention deficit issues. That little rotary thing could not possibly rotate back to the start position fast enough.

I'm talking about the simple push button phone. I don't remember ever having to replace those. We had the same outdated color throughout the house the day I moved out because they lasted forever unless you bought it for a monkey with an anger problem. When you used one of those phones the sound was crystal clear and the phone was actually large enough for the earpiece to reach your ear while the mouth part actually reached your mouth.... all at the same time.

At some point in time phone manufacturers used their Jedi mind tricks and convinced us digital phones were the way of the future. Not only did they look sleek, but you'd have to replace it about every two or three years, and the sound was beautifully garbled with each call.

Now with wireless phones you're lucky if you can get your phone to last more than a year. That old $10 push button desk phone that lasted a lifetime has now been replaced by a tiny piece of crap that will run you anywhere from $25-300 dollars every time you need to replace or upgrade your phone. And make sure you don't drop your new piece of high tech machinery or you're done for.

"Hellro beez bo drrrr."

"Hey, what's hrpning bo dee."

"Oh, jussssss tee dong heee."

"Coolbrrrrrrrr."

It's as if somebody has turned our phone conversation into a Kanye West song using Autotune. And somehow we all quietly accept these great advances in technology.

Darth Vader - Tough Guy?

Topping every list of most villainous characters in celluloid history (or digital in George Lucas' case), Darth Vader has been an iconic piece of pop culture. From the first moment we saw his shadowy figure walk onto the screen in Star Wars there was no explanation needed that this was the bad guy. Other than the Devil himself, there has been little question as to who is the most evil being in the galaxy.

As the story goes, Darth Vader was once the chosen one who was to restore order to the galaxy as the most powerful Jedi. But, the Dark Side took over as Anakin Skywalker’s mind was over come by anger, jealousy, and the manipulation of Darth Sidious, thus completing the transformation from Jedi warrior and protector of peace, to a dark member of the Sith and potential ruler of the galaxy.

Imperial Officers would tremble at the mere thought of having to answer to Vader. Hide secrets, and you’d get a choke hold. Mouth off and you’d get the Force choke out. Sneak in to his Death Star and you get cut down by his light saber. But just how powerful was Darth Vader.

In Star Wars IV we see him as the ultimate presence of evil. He kills anything in his path and he takes no crap. In Episode V we learn that Darth actually has somebody he answers to. And, we learn he actually bred at one time. In Episode VI he is taken down by his own son, gives up his will to rule the galaxy, and destroys his boss, Darth Sidious (aka Emperor Palpatine). In the end we see him as a feeble old man lying in the arms of Luke Skywalker.

Eventually the Star Wars fan base is given the prequel trilogy. Episode I depicts young Anakin Skywalker as a small child with potential as he stumbles his way through destroying enemy ships. In Episode II Anakin has matured. He is now a Jedi in training. But, he’s whiney, mouthy, and basically a little bitch. He eventually meets a hottie and it’s clear that he is not going to be able to handle the strict code of the Jedi. Jedi’s are basically Catholic priests… no sex, marriage, or intimate relationships. And we all know how that ends up. It’s clear that Anakin is no different as he ends up married with a pregnant wife in Episode III. His mother dies and he rages on some Sand People.

Darth Sidious plays a series of mind games, promising Anakin he can train him to become the most powerful being ever with the aid of the Dark Side of the Force. And in the prequel trilogy we see hints of how powerful Anakin can become. He’s flinging things around with his brain. He gets into light saber battles where you would think he was part of Cirque du Soleil, flipping and twisting all over the place. The guy can literally leap tall buildings with a single bound. But, in the end he is taken down by Obi Wan Kenobi. Once he is given the name Darth Vader, everything goes to Anakin’s head. He loses control and Obi Wan slices him up like Spam leaving him to die in flames.

As episode III winds down, we see what’s left of the human side of Anakin/Vader converted into the black mechanical monstrosity we all know as Darth Vader carrying around the asthmatic inhaler of all inhalers. Had Episode III actually been released in chronological order and not been a prequel, we would have expected something much greater than the Darth Vader we actually were given. This is where George Lucas fails with consistency. In the prequels we see something much more powerful than what the original trilogy presents.

It’s all relative based on the chronological presentation of the series. But if you watch both trilogies in chronological order, Darth Vader is actually a bit of a weenie when it comes to expectations of the Sith. Episode I’s Darth Maul could have kicked Episode IV Darth Vader’s ass. Darth Vader essentially becomes a one trick pony. He’s got the force choke hold. He is a stiff when it comes to light saber battles. He never did learn how to stop somebody from dying as promised. I’m sure most Imperial Officers had developed quite a few inside jokes about their boss, “Uh oh… looks like somebody will be getting choked out today… bwah ha ha ha!” By Episode VI Darth Vader is nothing more than a WWE professional wrestler with their one finishing move. Vader might as well be Hulk Hogan with the big leg drop.

The prequel trilogy presented multiple members of the Sith. All of them had incredible battle skills. They could throw two tons of steel at you. They had lightning shooting from their hands. And they could Force push you across a warehouse. Darth Vader just walks around cutting off your airway. Even the Undertaker has at least two finishing moves when he gets in the ring. You may get choke slammed or be the victim of a Tombstone.
This is George Lucas’ ultimate failure in story development. Had he truly thought this out, Anakin would have developed much slower. Vader would have been a much bigger, badder badass. But in the end, he’s nothing more than Randy “Macho Man” Savage hurling himself off the ring post with a flying elbow.

Vinter Vunderland

I knew it was getting colder, but I didn't expect the 22 degree blast that came shooting through the door this morning when I went to let Radio outside to pee. Apparently our low was 13 degrees??? Ok, I just wasn't expecting it so soon.

Yes, Thanksgiving came and went already. I, of course, spent it at home sick and alone. It was by choice. I could have forced myself to attend the family feast, but now is not a good time to risk exposing others to catching whatever it was that was bogging me down. At press time, I am simply congested and on the recovery end of things. All is well, if you enjoy constantly clearing your throat.

This past Thursday evening was spent doing all I could to not kick holes in the walls of my house while watching the Civil War between the Oregon Ducks and the OS Beavers. Apparently the Beavers have given up calling themselves a university and have dropped the U from their name. Now they are just Beavers from the state of Oregon. What their students do on their own time is their business. So, long story short... the Ducks ended up with the best time/clock management, squeaked out a win, and will be heading to the Rose Bowl to face the Ohio State Buckeyes. Oregon fans number one priority now... find out what the Hell is a buckeye. There's no hidden agenda in being a Duck.

Friday night was supposed to start Friday day. Ricky had committed to taking half a day off. Carrie had committed to taking Friday off. I had secured my half day off position with work. It was the annual Holiday Ale Festival... the one time of year when Portlanders venture into the cold and stand around drinking beers that, on average, are twice as potent as your standard brew. These beers are also packed with a lot more flavors like chocolate, coffee, juniper, cloves, and all those other holiday scents.

Carrie provided an acceptable excuse as she's been battling a bad stomach issue. Rick, on the other hand, was Rick. He didn't bail out of work like he said he would. I had to get down there early. Trying to get into that place at 5:00 is a nightmare. Navigating the beer lines is even worse. I hopped on Facebook to see who was online and would be interested in going. At my age most people are married, have kids, or can't/don't drink beer for a reason of their choice. This was going to be tough. I found Mindy. I explained what was going on and before I knew it, she was all clear to meet me down there.

I was a tad early getting down there as you never know how traffic and parking will go. The line to get in had been surging and easing as I was waiting. Mindy showed up right on time and we made our way in. It was packed. We began collecting samples and chatting away. About an hour later, Rick had appeared from nowhere and walked right into us. We collected more beers. Just as we were contemplating places to go eat we met up with a tall, slender guy. He stood about 6'7", had short spiky white blonde hair, wore a long trench coat, balanced on one crutch, and hid behind sunglasses in the already dim tent. He was something from a Tim Burton movie. The man was clearly on the prowl, and had a game. He had loaded his mouth full of lies... stories of massive wealth and name dropping that were clearly designed for those of the bimbo lifestyle. By the end of our encounter with the man he was showing us porno shots of his "girlfriends" on his new Droid phone. We left.

We ate and continued chatting the night away, eventually landing at the Lompoc. Rick bailed early as he announced he was unexpectedly flying to L.A. the next day for a short vacation. Mindy and I continued sharing stories at the speed of light. We had only met up a couple times recently in group situations. For those who don't know, we went to grade school together. So, it was fun reconnecting with somebody from the old neighborhood, so to speak. The evening had been salvaged. A new friend was made. And that's all I have to say about that.

Saturday was the big holiday work party with my co-workers. After a year of planning, fundraising, and stressing... we pulled it off. We had a DJ, caterer, bartender, and even Santa showed up for the family friendly event. Other than some forgotten garlic bread that made the place a tad smokey, the night went off without any problems. Once the party took over itself, Erin and I were able to relax and enjoy what we had created. This is another way of saying I probably had half a beer too many, but it was all safe and good. Chris kept his wits and was our driver for the evening.

On the way back, we made a stop at a bar where Erin's friend was having a 40th birthday party. From there we stopped at Shari's for a late night stomach coating. Other than the throbbing headache the next morning, I'm pretty sure those hashbrowns saved me from an unpleasant night.

Sunday was spent couch bound watching football, catching up on my DVR, and working my way through the Six Feet Under series. Next up... do I or don't I grab tickets to Spoon and Black Joe Lewis at the Crystal Ballroom? And Saturday is another Sex&Drugs/Decemberists (not the band) party at my brother's place. Don't be fooled by the S&D title. They are merely words.