Brazil vs. Canada

• 2 cans PBR - Donna & Kevin's
• 1 shot Conmemorativo anejo - home
• 1 can Bud Light - Patrick & Kamila's
• 2 caipirinhas - Patrick & Kamila's
• 3 bottles Corona - Qwest Field parking lot
• 1 pint Bud Light - Qwest Field

Brasssssiiiiiiil!

Schemin'

• 2 cans PBR - the Jeffs
  

- with a Mario Kart chaser!

Zoiks!

• 1 mug Manny's Ale - Zeek's Pizza
  

Bomb-Ass Specials

• 4 super pints PBR - Redline Music and Sports, West Seattle

$2 a pint x 4 = $8
$1 Cheese Blocks x 1 = $1
$1 Jalapeno Checkers x 1 = $1
$1 something else i can't remember = $1
$1.50 Big Buck Hunter Pro x 5 = $7.50

$18.50
Priceless

Tequila!

• 1 Herencia Mexicana reposado - home

Memorial Day

• 2 bottles Budwieser (The King Of Beers!) - home
• 1 mini-margarita - home
  

Rocky Mountain High

• 2 pints IPA (nitro) - Ken's & Laurie's
• 1 Jack Daniels rocks - Rock Bottom Brewery, Denver Airport

Today was my last day, so we took a leisurely drive around the Fort Collins area and up into the surrounding foothills. It's a beautiful area. While the area around Fort Collins is hilly, much of Colorado is flat, that is, until you get to the Rocky Mountains.

Ken and Laurie have three cats and two dogs, all more or less living together in a tolerable relationship - kind of like Ken, Michelle, and I....hahahahahaaha!

This is Showna and Bluema (my spelling is probably incorrect)

This is Chloe ("She's a bitch." says Ken.") I found her quite cuddly.

And I forget which one this is! But she was friendly.

And my favorite....Kazoo. I could never be in a sour mood around Kazoo. Her tongue always looks like this, her legs are half as short as a normal cat's legs, so her belly nearly drags the floor when she walks, and she has a round little rump. She is adorable.

This is me and Ken. He's a big Lebowski fan (pun intended), hence the shirt (which I bought him many years ago. Glad to see it doesn't have paint on it.)

And this is Laurie and Ken.

It was a great visit.

It has always bothered me that when I ask Ken what I thought was a simple yes or no question, he would never answer it that way. He gives me some roundabout answer that I never fully understand and I end up asking him other questions to fill in my blanks. He'd get frustrated because he thought that he did answer my questions, but I was still confused and I'd get angry and things would get bitter. This happened a few times during this trip, but then, in the middle of a conversation, I realized something. He's a lawyer. This is what he does. This is what he's good at. He doesn't do it on purpose; it's just the way he answers. And then I began to wonder, does he answer questions this way because he IS a lawyer, or did he become a lawyer because he answers questions this way? What I realized on this visit, however, is that it doesn't matter. What matters is that I now understand that, and so instead of getting frustrated and argumentative, I just smile and laugh and know that it's all good...whether I understand his answer or not. :)

Hanging at the House

• 1 pint IPA (nitro) - Odells Brewing
  
• 2 Imperial pints Albert Damm Bitter - Coopersmith's Pub and Brewing, Fort Collins, CO
• 1 pints IPA (nitro) - Ken & Laurie's home
  

Saturday we hung out at Ken & Laurie's house, which is a 1914(?) 4 Square shown below. It has a beautiful yard with a lot of room and character on the inside.

The back yard has lots of room for their two Border Collies, Bluema and Showna, to run around. The carriage house on the left is where hay and horses were kept (Clydesdales, perhaps?).

People in Fort Collins bike everywhere! Here I am fixing Ken's bike so that he and Laurie can join their fellow neighbors in keeping Fort Collins green and clean.

Ken has been orderly ever since he was a kid ("I can tell you moved that clock on my dresser!") but I had completely forgotten that when I went to visit. When I opened his refrigerator, I was immediately reminded.

It gets better...

And the freezer...

I love it!

We finished the day by going to another brewery, Coopersmiths, where I had some delicious British Bitter. It was as if I was in England.

Beer, Beer, Beer

• 1 glass Bud Light Lime - Anheuser-Busch Brewery, Fort Collins, CO
• 1 glass Budweiser Select - ABB
• 1 glass Budweiser - ABB
• 30 ounces various taster - Odell Brewing, Fort Collins, CO
• 32 ounces various taster - New Belgium Brewing, FC, CO
• 2 glasses 7 Deadly Zins Zinfandel - Bisetti's, Fort Collins
• 1 bottle PBR - Vault, Fort Collins

I arrived in Denver last night at 10:30. After Ken and I drove the hour to his home in Fort Collins and toured his house, I didn't get to sleep until 2 am this morning. We were up by 8 however (the promise of beer!) and drove down the freeway a few miles to the Anheuser-Busch Brewery(!) which is pictured below. It's one of the 12 Anheuser-Busch Breweries in America, and only one of five that allow tours. Lucky us!

The Can Filler. This whizzing wonder can fill 30 cans a second.

The Lager Cellar. These giants were meant to ferment. There are about 30 containers this size housed in this cellar.

This is Darth. He's a genuine Clydesdale and is used for hauling cases of Bud to neighboring communities through the Colorado snow. Recently Darth delivered Bud Light Lime to victims of the tornado. What a horse.

After our fill of sub-par beer, we headed to the New Belgium Brewery, a model of renewable brewing practices, not to mention tasty suds. You'll notice right away that it's a much different building from the A-B plant. Also, it's a mile down the road from where Ken lives. That's Ken in the lower left hand corner trying to get away from the tourist in me.

This is Ken. He's flashing a pretty healthy smile. Maybe it's because he's standing next to the fermenting tanks and the smell of hops is in the air.

Because two breweries just isn't enough in a day, we hopped on over to Odell Brewing which is right down the street from New Belgium. Fort Collins means "heaven" in Coloradian.

These are the Odell flights. Unfortunately Ken couldn't drink any, but an older brother is always willing to help out the younger.

Sitting on the deck at Odells.

After a day of brewery tours and samples, we ended it with wine and dinner at Bisetti's and then a stop at a dim and dirty bar, The Vault, for some PBR and Photo Match. The Vault used to be a bank, back in the day. Seriously.

Thursday

• 1 bottle Kona Longboard Lager - home
• 1 Jack Daniels rocks - Chili's SeaTac

To Tally or Not To Tally?

• 1 bottle O'Doul's (I feel like I should count this because of it's beer-like taste and it's beer-like bottle and it's beer-like label. What do you all think?) - home
• 1 bottle Kona Longboard Lager - home
  

Heineken!? Fuck that shit!

• 1 pint Pabst Blue Ribbon - Corner Pocket
  

O'Douls

• 1 bottle O'Doul's - home
  

This stuff ain't bad, really.

Into the Wild

• 1 bottle Kona Longboard lager - home

One of the reasons I enjoyed mountain biking so much was that I was removed from the city and most everything about it. I loved riding on the trail; surrounded solely by nature. The quiet sounds of the forest, pure and organic, were comforting. My wheels returned to me the sounds of crackling twigs, the suck of mud, the grinding of dry pebble-grit, and the hush of pine needles. My chain tapping the frame and the hub bearings clicking were the only reminders from the city.

I often rode alone. I loved riding out near Mt. Rainier, where there is spectacular views and challenging singletrack. I would think about how I might be the only person out there, surrounded by not one thing that was human-made; and I liked those thoughts. Everything was natural. Returning to the car to load up after a ride, I was slowly re-introduced to humanity; the steel car, the paved road, the concrete retaining wall. And as I drove further away from Rainier and closer to Seattle, more engineering emerged; the freeways, the billboards, the malls, the skyscrapers; the explicit structure of everything. It just seemed, well, unnatural.

Watching Into The Wild tonight made me think of my riding days and how relaxing it felt being among dirt and trees and streams. I was never in search of anything deeper than a temporary escape, but Christopher McCandless was, and I thought that was cool. I think we all like to dream about doing something complete like he did. I know I do.

Things...

• 2 margaritas - home
• 1 can mhl - home
• 1 can mhl - J & D's house
• 1 can bud light - J & D's house

Cruisin'

• 1 Cazadores blanco with lime - Cactus
• 2 mojitos - Cactus
• 1 Corona - T & M's

...push...left...swerve...in...right...stand...speed!...down...up...swoop...miss...
...ring...turn...up...bob...right...down...sit...move!...lean...brake...slowwww...push...more...

I love riding my cruiser on Alki, especially when the sky is clear and blue and the sun is hot. When it's crowded, I love weaving in and out of the obstacles, whether it be people, pets, bikes, boards, blades, curbs, cars or concrete; it's all exciting. When it's deserted, I love easing back and forth across the path, taking my time, feeling the wind, watching the water. I love riding with one hand on the handlebar and the other on my leg, in the air, behind my back, holding my phone, spinning my iPod, indicating my turn.

I could ride for hours....

Thursday

• 1 bottle modelo especial - home
• 1 margarita - home
  

One Can High Life

• 1 can high life
  

Trivia

• 2 bottles Rolling Rock - a house in Des Moines
• 1 Imperial pint Guinness - Celtic Swell

"What word means 'using few words?'"

Click here.

Monday

• 0 drinks
  

Yvonne Patricia Wisemiller

• 1 bottle Sierra Nevada Pale Ale - home
• 1 bottle Belgium Ale - home
• 1 pint Scotch Ale - Elliott Bay Brewery

My mom loved to talk. A lot. She would get on a roll and never shut up! (some might say I take after her) It would get to the point where Michelle, Ken, and I would tune her out and add our "Yes"es, "Oh"s, and "Ummm, I can't remember."s whenever there was a pause in the "conversation." Sometimes she would catch on and she'd say "You're not listening are you?" in a somewhat irritated way, and then she'd get really quiet.

One story I love sharing with Ken and Michelle is the time that mom and I road-tripped to Yosemite National Park to do some camping. She had "just wanted to get out of the house", and thought it would be nice to do some hiking and sight seeing in Yosemite for a few days. I was in my early 20's, so I was past the age where being with your mother was an embarrassment, (for the most part), and we hadn't been to Yosemite in a long time, so it seemed like a perfect getaway. We drove the six hours up to her sister's house in Oakdale, CA (where the other Hershey's plant is located!), stayed overnight and then drove the few hours into Yosemite the next morning. Mom pretty much talked the entire time! I had planned to do some reading on the drive and had a book open and ready in my lap, but whenever I would begin to read it, she would start talking! I would listen intently and wait for her to take a break and after a few minutes of silence, I would think it was safe for me to try again, but no! As soon as I brought the book up and read a few sentences, she would start talking again! I really think she was doing this on purpose! It was like this for most of the drive into Yosemite - silence, "read", talk....silence, "read", talk...silence, "read", talk.

Talking was one of my mom's most memorable qualities; but driving was her most infamous. (Her brother-in-law even reminisced of her "speeding up and down the dusty back roads of fruit orchards as a teenager" at her funeral.) Driving up the twisty two-lane mountain roads to Yosemite, mom was tailgating a tour bus with the anger usually reserved for hornets. "WHY DOESN'T THIS BUS GO ANY FASTER!" "WHY DOESN'T IT PULL OVER!?" "CAN'T IT SEE THAT I'M RIGHT BEHIND IT!" These were blasted in between her bits of conversation directed toward interrupting my reading. At one point I got frustrated and said, "Why don't you just slow down? You're not going to pass and it's going the speed limit anyway." And she spurted, "I CAN'T slow down….this car doesn't GO any slower! If I don’t keep the pedal at this position the car will STOP!" She had a way of saying the most ridiculous and unbelievable things. I can't even remember if we ever got past that bus.

The way she talked was also comedy. She went through a stage where she over-enunciated every letter, especially 't's and 's's. She would say "fajitas" as "fa-hee-TAZ". Ken, Michelle, and I mimicked her by creating this phrase: "I have eaten (ea-TEN) fajitas (fa-hee-TAZ) in Santa Ana." (SAN-TAH Ana.) While she was busy over-enunciating some letters, she was busy dropping others altogether, such as the "g" from most verbs. "C'mon, let's get movin'!" or "Look at those guys over there...they're cruisin'. Yep, that's what they're doin'; cruisin'." or "Why are they ridin' in the middle of the street? They shouldn't be ridin' in the middle; this is HUN-TING-Ton!"

My mom had many ridiculous and unbelievable quotes, but some of my favorites are:

• When Michelle - California-tanned, blonde, and runner-thin - failed to get a loading-dock worker's attention when the three of us pulled up to the dock, mom sent her back telling her, "GET UP THERE AND SHOW SOME LEG!!"
  

• The time she let Ken, Michelle, and I know that since she'd gotten braces, Jim was a little nervous in, uh, bed.

• The perfect example of how two of her qualities crossed paths: We were driving back from LA one night and she's in the carpool lane cruisin' at about 80 mph and she's tailgatin' the car in front of us like it's Mark Harmon (one of her faves) and says seriously, "Yeah, I have nightblindness.....I can't see very well at night. Everything's real fuzzy..…..I don't need glasses, you know; because it's a night thing……I can see fine during the day, but.…....like right now, I can't see very well……I'm nightblind…..it's just real hard to see at night." and this goes on for about fifteen minutes; she's still doin' 80, she's still tailgatin'. I'm pushed as far back into my seat as I can go - foot stomped into the floor trying to hit that imaginary brake hoping we don't die.

The quality I admire most in my mom, however (other than her absolute love of all things chocolate), is her independence. It was she that drove alone through Kentucky, Tennessee, and Ohio in search of a graduate school that she could attend to get her teaching degree. She had always wanted to be a teacher. It was she that initiated the divorce and took two of her children and moved to Columbus, Ohio; a place she'd only been once. It was she that flew alone to Italy for her first time in Europe to meet a friend, only to miss her connection in New York and have to catch the next flight; all her luggage was lost and she had to borrow and buy clothes in Italy for a six-week trip. It was she that loaded up Ken and Michelle in March of one year to drive a barely-running Volvo station wagon from Columbus to Atlanta to visit me over spring break, only to have to turn around in Cincinnati because of snow. It was she that wanted to drive the U-Haul from Orange County to Tacoma when I moved here in 1994. I followed in my Tercel.

And it was she that suggested the trip to Yosemite. We had been to Yosemite several times and she had been many times as a child, but this was the first time it was just the two of us. We decided to day-hike one of the trails that would take us to one of the falls. We hiked together most of the way and when we reached the falls, I decided to continue on to the top of Half-Dome and she decided to go in a different direction towards another falls. Later that night after finding each other back at camp, she told me that she had met another solo woman hiker on the way and they had reached the falls; higher than she'd ever climbed and a falls she'd always wanted to see.

I still remember the joy she had in her voice when she told me.

Happy Mother's Day, mom.

Mother To Son

• 2 pints Rainier - Poggie Tavern

There's a hilarious scene in Napoleon Dynamite where Napoleon performs Bette Midler's "The Rose" as a member of the Helping Hands team. It's tender, it's funny, it's endearing. It was a great song choice for the movie and I laughed so hard during that scene. But whenever I hear "The Rose", it reminds me of my parent's divorce. It was the song that came on the radio right after Michelle and I told Ken that my mom and dad were ending their marriage of 13 years, and I've never forgotten that moment. Ken thought Michelle and I were playing a joke on him and to this day it pains me that he thought that this was in the league of the jokes we did play on him. He started crying and I don't remember what happened after that. Ken had just turned 10 years old, Michelle had been 8 for a couple of months, and I would be 13 in about four months. I know I was the first to be told about the divorce and Michelle was second. I'm not sure why Ken was third and I'm not sure why it was me and Michelle that told him.

Last week I watched "The Squid and the Whale" and I really enjoyed it, even though it was depressing. It was real, and that's what I liked about it. The parents separated and had joint custody of their kids. My parents never had joint custody. My mom took Michelle and Ken and moved to Columbus, Ohio where she went to OSU for her teaching degree. I stayed with my dad in Lawrenceville, Georgia until we sold the house and moved to Stone Mountain, Georgia. Ken, Michelle and I really had no choice about who we were going to live with. My mom wanted all three of us, but my dad wanted me to stay with him. The whole situation was fucked, really. My mom was left with so little and now looking back at it I realize how unfair it was to her. I always felt guilty visiting them because they were on food stamps and had to really watch their money, while my dad, not well off by any standards, seemed to at least have some freedom financially.

Even though money was tight, Ken, Michelle, and I used to have so much fun during the summers when I would visit. My mom worked at OSU and we would sometimes go visit her on campus. During the day we would play around the apartment complex, go swimming, create our own adventures, and go to the nearby grocery store and eat the free samples. One summer we wanted to start a business, and I thought the best way would be to deliver food and drinks to the various apartments. Even though Coke is my cola of choice, Pepsi was cheaper to buy, so I hand-wrote "Ice cold Pepsi delivered to your apt." on numerous index cards and dropped them into the mail slots of the neighboring buildings. Not one person responded, to my bewilderment; I thought it was a for sure tactic! Ken and Michelle still to this day laugh and yell at me, "ICE COLD PEPSI DELIVERED TO YOUR APT." They love that I abbreviated apartment and they love pronouncing it "apt". And they love even more that I didn't get one damn customer.

When I think of my parent's divorce, I hate (and that's not a strong enough word right now) that those six years I spent living separately from Ken, Michelle, and my mom, I will never, ever get back. That time was stolen from me. It was stolen from my brother, my sister, and my mom and there is nothing I can do about it. It's gone and I feel cheated out of my time with them. When my mom died I felt that I never had enough time with her. I was 31, she was 54 and there were so many things we could have done, could have experienced, could have shared. But I know this is always the case, no matter how old it is when someone dies. ...... The ironic piece is (and I just realized this in the past week) that if my parents hadn't gotten divorced, I wouldn't have the pictures and letters from my mom that I have now. Would I rather have had those six years, or the pictures and letters and notes and cards that will live eternally?

The first Christmas after the divorce was final, my mom gave me a copy of The Way, a Catholic Bible. On the first page she copied the below poem for me and I have never failed to read it without tears, but it has never failed to give me strength. "Well, son, I'll tell you:"

the non-shower baby-shower

• 1 Tres Generaciones Anejo w/rlj - home
• 1 shot Sauza - M & T's
• 1 shot Jack Daniels - M & T's
• 2 margaritas -M & T's
• 4-5 cans mhl - M & T's

Thirst-day

• 2 pints Rainier - West 5
• 2 red wines - Capers
• 1 champagne - Clementine

Art Walk: 'Nuff Said.

-----

• 0 drinks
  

SUCK films

• 1 shot Jim Beam - Rendezvous
• 2 pints PBR - Rendezvous
• 1 Dark Side (Ketel 1 vodka & grenadine) - Rendezvous

The Phantom Menace was made less bad; but it was still bad.

Cinco de Mayo

• 1 shot Aha Toro blanco w/lime - Matatdor
• 1 pint Dos Equis - Matador
• 1 Herradura Margarita - Matador
  

Sunday

• 1 bottle Pacifico - Casa Feliz (Alki)
  

Saturdaze

• 1 can High Life - home
• 2 bottles Rainier - Admiral Pub
  

The Squid and the Whale

• 2 bottles Corona - HRS4B

Susan and I watched The Squid and the Whale tonight. I'm going to write about this later in the week, I'm sure, but it was a collision of memories for a few reasons: divorce and separation. Separation specifically meaning the separateness of myself from Ken, Michelle, and my mom. I was in Atlanta, Georgia and they were in Columbus, Ohio. One of the ways we kept in touch was

writing.

I have every letter my mom sent me during that time and I have every letter that Ken and Michelle sent me during that time. E-mail didn't exist and phone calls were expensive, so, we wrote. And I'm glad we did, because it's the best thing my mom left with me. I have her thoughts and experiences that were written exclusively to me. It was a journal of her life at that time and it's the most personal thing she could ever leave me. I also have her tiny, green Holly Hobbie plan book from 1966 - a year before I was born. She was at Fresno State and many of her notes relate to college. I sometimes feel like I'm intruding when I read it, although there was nothing she would be embarrassed about.

Later, when e-mail was popular and phone calls were less expensive, I resorted to this type of communication. Fortunately I printed out some of my mom's e-mails and I have those. Michelle and I would e-mail a lot, and most of those e-mails were so hilarious - Michelle is pure comedy! - that I kept them. And I'm glad I did. They're still on my online mail folder and the earliest one I have is from April 26th, 1998 - just over ten years to the day.

So, even though my hook is "How much is that guy drinking?", the most important aspect is that I'm getting my thoughts down. And I'm glad I am. I think I'm gonna start that baby blog after all...

~ ~ SUN! ~ ~

• 3 pints Olympia - Ballard Loft
• 1 pint PBR - Hattie's Hat

The Spring Break journal - they're really more like notes - was one of the the first journals that I ever kept. I'm not sure what provoked me to write about my trip, but I'm glad I did. Reading about my experiences and thoughts that I had back then is a bit embarrassing, a bit funny, and a bit sad. I thought it was funny that on the two or three occasions that I described girls, I wrote awesome girls, (underlined awesome). Like, they were so awesome that I even have to underline it to make that point! That I used the word "awesome" in the first place was even funnier. I still use the word awesome though. How dull is that?!

Although I don't journal regularly - stop>>Wait! But this is a journal. Well, I suppose so. I don't have the patience for handwriting, nor the strength to do it for long periods of time (I'm serious!), but I've always enjoyed typing. It was one of the skills I had in high school. 2 things: I used to type my friend Ted's typing homework for $2 lesson (waaaay undercharged him), and I represented my school in a typing championship. I didn't win. Anyway, maybe part of the reason I didn't journal regularly was because of the handwriting handicap. I think that I was just waiting for the technology to catch up. :) So, although I don't journal regularly, I've kept notes, journals, and writings for many trips and vacations. They're stashed in the basement and I've recently found them, along with a lot of other writing that I have. I even found a children's poem that I wrote in 1989; I'm thinking about framing it for the kid's room.

Christopher has kept journals his whole life. They are all handwritten and I know he has filled up dozens of journals. He first talked about them when I met him over 20 years ago and he still refers to them now on occasion. I can't imagine journaling that consistently, but I would love to have the opportunity to go back and read about my life.

I have a baby due in mid-August. Some friends have recommended that I keep a journal of my thoughts about the baby and the preparation and other things. "Hmmm....I think I'll call it 'Baby-Blog'...." j/k. This is something I would like to do, however I'm not sure how I'm going to go about it. Do I write in a book? (hate handwriting). Do I blog? (don't want to make those thoughts public. could make it a private blog tho'. I'm already overwhelmed with the blogs I have!) Do I type it in Word and save it on the computer? (probably what I'll end up doing, but I tend to write more (ugh) when I'm set free on the keyboard.)

And so with that; I'm out.