A few things about my friends . . . Kev.

Kev used to have the shittiest luck of anyone I've ever known. His car caught fire on the way back from VA Beach, and once the flames were extinguished he was left standing with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. No one had a light.

I believe his camera and some photo albums were stolen from the back of his charred Escort that night after he had it towed 101 miles to behind his apartment in Richmond, VA.

He's an incredible photographer. Shit luck.

Kev once pissed off the garage roof of the home I grew up in. I had already snuck back in through the window. Kev first peed onto a metal trashcan lid as I whispered, frantically, through the cracked window, "SHUT UP, man . . . you're gonna wake up my parents!" Our basset hound, Jessie, came to the garage's edge to see what was up, and Kev inevitably pissed on her too.

I was laughing aloud to myself yesterday thinking of something that Kev used to do that drove me nuts and embarassed me a bit. When buying something, after the clerk would ring it up and tell Kev the price, he would pause for a second, consider carefully, then exclaim something to the extent of, "Ok! I'll take it. It's a deal."

I texted him about this today, and he replied that he had just done it again this AM. It's a crack up.

Kev's ex-wife makes his brother vomit. She makes us all vomit. Kev's a trooper.

Kev has the most bizarre dreams of anyone i've ever known. I'm pretty sure he told me once of how his entire dream was in reverse.

Kev's a great guy, and I can't think of anyone who knows him that would disagree.

A few more recent pics from Carbondale, CO.

Some shots from hiking Sopris . . .

We didn't quite make it to the summit, but I think we got pretty close. The path was under a good deal of snow near the top, and my trail-running shoes weren't cutting it.

I'll be honest . . . my fear of heights as I attempted hiking along a snowy cliff edge wasn't quite cutting it either. That was the ultimate turning-around point.

Self portrait at 31 . . .

From the roof.

Carwash. Carwash, yeah.

If you ever call AAA because you've locked your keys in your car, and they want to open your door with a pump gizmo and try to talk you out of their using a Slim Jim (or whatever it is) . . . DON'T DO IT!

I watched the locksmith bend my door with that little balooning tool and mentioned, as I watched and heard my cardoor bending outwards, "That doesn't seem good."

"Oh no, it's fine."

Now, whenever I drive down the highway the wind whistles through the door. Whenever I go through a carwash or a heavy rain, it pours inside.

No big deal, but now you've been warned.

Happy Birthday Nicole, and me (about a month late) . . .

Not Nicole.
Not Nicole.
Not Nicole.
Not Nicole, either.
Nicole.

Not Nicole.

Thanks Kev for bending an ear to my birthday histrionics. I didn't lose my job in fact.

Kev tells me I was crying (literally) over the certainty that my career was doomed the next day and was pretty much perseverating on, "My fucking co-workers!".

I was surprised. I hardly ever say 'fuck'. Only when I hit my head, generally.

I actualy woke feeling fine - probably on account of going to bed before 9:30 pm.

I went there intent of having two beers. The ride home was foggy, at best.