CELTICS IN TROUBLE...#1 SEED KNOCKED OFF?

The above picture is the root of my concern right now. In the loss to the Atlanta Hawks (which took the series to 2-2...really doe, the Atlanta Hawks?) KG got heated in a physical battle down low and ended up elbowing an official. What the? Whether purposefully or not, he did it. Now, he's facing possible suspension for what will be a pivotal Game 5. Lucky for the Celtics, we're going back to Boston, but missing those buckets and that defense against a fiesty (and terribly underrated Atlanta team) will make it challenging. This team is having this much trouble in the first round has got to leave Celtics fans (myself included) sleepless. It's possible that our dreams of returning to our championship form and establishing dominance over the NBA could be shorted. I mean, if we can't even make it past the first round as a #1 seed, do we really deserve it anyway?

Whatever. It's frustrating. But at least the Roundhouse jersey's getting positive reviews. We're close to production, but just need to lock down a few more players.

Found a new toy at the gym. The rowing machine. I thought I could do 20 minutes on that thing. Turns out I could only manage five minutes before by body locked down on me. Yeah, I'll need to condition myself up to 20 minutes. It ain't gon' happen overnight.

Zack, I didn't know you were DJing now. Do you have some samples?

YOU'RE NOT READY FOR THE NEW ROUNDHOUSE DESIGN, BUT BECAUSE I'M A JERK, I'M-A SHOW IT TO YOU ANYWAY

Look, this last week in Roundhouse's storied history was probably the weakest ever. We first come in limp against a Golden Light team that we severely underrated and we got our asses handed to us and then we go against the Aztecas, the number one team in the league, for our chance for redemption and we blow it too. We lost two games before we could even wipe our brow and I think we all know that Chuck wouldn't stand for it. I mean, I feared last night that I'd hear a knock at the door and it would be Chuck Norris asking me for both of my thumbs and one of my dogs and after I surrender both, he beats me with a 29-ounce Easton sitting in the garage only breaking for booze and business calls every 45 minutes.

For that reason (and because I never sleep unless there's a movie on), I woke up early this morning to work on the new look for the uniforms. I think you'll agree, this design represents the very finest in city league softball jerseys. I mean, I anytime you can get a Warriors reference, two femurs and 23 skulls on a softball jersey, you're heading in the right direction. You'll recognize the familiar Roundhouse font that has been tied to murders in seven different states, Chuck's initials on the Fury's ball cap and the immortal words from "Joseph's Coat" by Big Brother and the Holding Company across the bottom: "If you wanna feel like a man, act like a man."

Those words incite riots. So does this logo. Enjoy. Merchandise coming once I get the approval from the team to move forward. This is still a democracy...a democracy of terror.

Yeah, I get up at 5:00 on a Saturday morning. How late did you sleep in this morning, you lazy indolent animal? The days get shorter and the list gets longer. It's 6:15 and I'd mow the lawn if I could only see it.

HAPPY FRIDAY, HOMEGROWN...

Here's a little treat to brighten up yer morning...


Mow your lawn and bring those fake deer in. It's creeping out the neighborhood. Go listen to more De La Soul and know the ledge.

Roundhouse blew both games tonight and fall to 5-3. Dude, we lost to Golden Light. Say it unison, "Dude, we lost to Golden Light."

MY WIFE'S CHEATING ON ME AND A DISCUSSION OF EARTH DAY

Instead of celebrating Earth Day this year as I have in the past with crapping in a plastic bag, dousing it in gasoline and lighting it on fire, I did nothing. Yep, I did absolutely nothing. My lovely wife was bragging about these canvas shopping bags that she bought at the market that will keep her from using plastic and paper bags every time she goes to the store. I guess I did nothing because I participate in an "Earth Day initiative" everyday. I ride. I walk. And despite some occassional gas, I come with pretty low emissions.

Let's get it straight, though. I don't ride to save the Earth. I ride to save money. The fact that it's also good for the environment is just a bi-product. I suppose I also ride for my well-being. I mean, when I started walking back 2005 partially for my well-being. But I don't ride for Mother Earth and, let's get something else straight, I don't ride because I love doing it. I'm not this guy.

When I started riding this thing, I stripped ever decal and sticker off of the bike because I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. And up at work, I was getting people looking at me like I was coming out of some sort of social closet. Comments like, "Ah, you ride?" If you mean like, "I rode this to work today," then, yes, I ride. Believe it or not (and I know this is going to sound crazy), I actually ride for strictly transportation purposes. I ride because it's faster than walking. If riding a giraffe to work was faster, I'd probably do that instead. I don't ooze with love for my bike like many do.

While on my way to work the other day, I happened along another person riding a bike. I wouldn't go so far as to call them anything other than that, but some might have recognized him as a "cyclist." I catch up with him at a light and, wanting so desperately to be left alone, I hide about eight feet behind him and, damn it, he hears me pull up and whips around to see me.

"What a great morning to ride, huh?"

I sit there wondering what he means. I mean, it's morning. A great morning to ride? Just to be polite, I reply, "Yeah."

But that "yeah," was really a "yeah?" Like, "Yeah? I wouldn't know because I don't ride, I only mount this thing and turn the pedals for about a mile and a half to my day job. And then I ride home. Is this a morning? Yeah. Is it greater than any other morning? I don't know. Would I ever be able to recognize this as a great morning to ride? Probably not. Better question: do you really know it as a great morning to ride? Or is that just simply small-talk between cyclist and you fooled me for one?"

Instead, I just replied with, "Yeah."

I don't ride because I love it. I don't ride for the Earth. I don't ride for political reasons. I don't ride for comradery or a belonging. I ride because it gets me from Point A to Point B four times as fast as walking. And, for the record, I find walking to be much more therapeutic. Even with the chance run-ins with bums or people screaming "Asshole!" from passing automobiles.

Speaking of dudes my lovely wife is cheating on me with, there's this cat named David Cook on "American Idol" (or "Idol" as I think they're calling it these days). He's trying to ruin my marriage and I want it to stop. Last night, my lovely wife was sitting on the couch destressed because she thought she missed David sing. It was Andrew Lloyd Webber night (I thought that dude died some thirty years ago from natural causes at the age of 150--turns out he's still alive and probably only 60 years old. What the?!). Turns out that the show slotted David for last on the show because, well, we all know that he's the real draw. I mean, I realize this kid's a threat to my marriage ever since I saw him sing "Billie Jean." He's good. He's too good, actually. He plays a guitar, he walks around the stage making love to the crowd, he does all these cool rock poses. He's after my wife. When he looks into the camera, I swear he's attempting to broadcast his adultering love signals to my lovely wife. I've even found myself screaming at the screen, "Stay away from my wife, you prick! I'm not going to let you ruin my marriage!"

He sang "Music of the Night" last night. Crap. I'll never get her back from him. I mean, "Music of the Night" is that song that just gets the women to weep, flee from their marriage and forget about everything. I haven't felt this kinda heat since Chris Daughtry was on the show. I mean, it's like when Curly Justin was on the show.

More later. But here's a picture of David just in case he comes up missing in a few weeks. My lovely wife told me this wasn't a good picture to use for The Root Down. What the?! Here he is. And, yes, I think he's gay. Actually, I'm just hoping he's gay. It's the only way I'll win my lovely wife back.That new Atmosphere record came out yesterday, When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold. A different record indeed. Most of the record finds Slug and Ant incorporating more live instrumentation. And, while I was becoming the biggest fan of Ant's production and was hoping to hear more of his beatmaking, the record is a beast. Slug is in prime form and, after two intense listens, it appears that Slug and Ant have finally made that record that will establish them as the best in hip hop. Of course, I'm a sucka and, even if it was a crap record, I'd swear it's best piece of music ever recorded so don't listen to me. Just pick it up yourself. Also, if you get your hands on the deluxe packaging, it's well worth it. It comes beautifully packaged with bonus DVD of live performances, a 36-page lyric/storybook and comes bound and spined like a book--all for $15.99 at your local Hastings. Bargain! Guess all those lies that distribution companies feed us about premium packages being so expensive to manufacture is just a bunch of garbage because Rhymesayers did it and did it for cheap. Heaping portions of kudos to Rhymesayers for, once again, leading the pack.

Sox are rolling with six straight wins. Guess those "Baltimore leading the East" comments were short-lived as the Sox have posted the best record in the league. Down to Texas on Saturday 2-3 and won 5-3. Sunday, we were down 0-5 and won 6-5. Tuesday, we were down to the Angels 1-5 and won 7-6. Pedroia's hitting .364, Youkilis is hitting .354, Ellsbury (Johnny Damon replacement) is batting .308, Ramirez is at .342 and Papi's climbing out of the cellar with a .181 average.

And, I'm not saying anything, but the Cubbies are looking pretty good too. They've won five in a row and are 14-5 overall. Bro Bro, since there's no way you can jinx or curse the Cubs and Sox, I'm going to call a Cubs/Sox series right now. Let's do it.

Go buy that Atmosphere record, sucka. Yep, that means you, Danny.

ROUNDHOUSE GIVETH, ROUNDHOUSE TAKETH AWAY: WE'RE 5-1, BABY.

You know, we some ballas.

42 degrees, wet with a 15-20 MPH northern wind gust and two games to play.

Roundhouse traveled to Martin Road last night to take on Big Stix in the first of a doubleheader. With an 8:30 game time, we knew our discomfort would only worsen. Big Stix proved to be anything but out of the gate while we jumped to a pretty healthy lead.

Scary moment early in the game when, when fielding a ball at third base, I came up firing to first where Steve who is a pretty big dude. The ball pulled him across the front of the bag and this kid who was running down the line at full speed (and was about a quarter the size of Steve) smacks right into Steve. Their heads collided with the runners's jaw hitting the top of Steve's head and this kid's glasses col' get crushed. Steve's a gamer. We still had our healthy lead.

But, c'mon, this is city league softball.

As the visiting team, we managed to take the game to a comfortable lead at 16-8 when time expired. All we had to do is make sure they didn't score 8 runs. Pretty easy task, yes.

But we couldn't do it.

They scored 8 runs to tie up the ball game. It's a pretty classic Roundhouse move. So it's 16-16 and time has expired. We'll go extra innings until it's settled and, in extra, you only get one pitch. If it's bad, watch it and walk. If it's good (or anywhere near good), lock in and let 'er fly. In an epic clash, we took that game to nine full innings before we'd hang up seven runs and drive the score up to 23-16 and would end up securing the win by locking them down in the bottom of the inning. Roundhouse giveth. Roundhouse taketh away.

And that was just our first game.

We duck behind the dugout and shotgun a beer and then take the field for our second game versus New Breed II (I suppose the "II" suggests that there were improvements made to the first model). Now, New Breed had forfeited our first contest by a failure to draw one person to the ball field so we were kinda hoping the same would happen in this game so we could go home and call it a night. But they showed up--all nine of them. Now, rules state that if you don't field a team of ten players, the ten-hole in the lineup is an automatic out. Crucial to know that.

New Breed (or New Beer'd) apparently made good use of our extra innings in the first game because the whole left side of the infield were half in the bag by the time the game started and this Jason Bateman-lookin' muddah had a hard time keeping his pipe closed. Also, crucial to know.

Overall, these dudes were a pretty decent team, but too bad they couldn't keep their drinking in check because they're pupils. As home team, we would have last at-bat which usually provides you with pretty good comfort going into the game because we play to win.

We'd go back and forth in the opening and then, in the top of the third inning, they hit two homeruns and, in a league that restricts teams to only hitting one homerun a game, the second was an automatic out and, everytime that kid came up to bat, he was out. So, if you're counting at home, they have two automatic outs in their lineup. We knew it'd be hard for them to mount any sort of comeback given the fact that our defense had been locking it down all night and they had two automatic outs in their lineup. I guess this didn't fit well with them because then it descended into a dark and embarrassing display of drunkeness and dirty play. It started when Kool Aid, who can't stop running, came trucking into third base and got tangled up with the third baseman and then shoulders and elbows started swinging.

The dugout almost emptied out onto the field. But we vets of this muddah. We built this league and we ain't going out like that. So we just kept running. The umps clearly warned against foul language. Not a problem for me, but always a problem for Angry Tim and the word "shit".

We took a pretty nice lead and, from there, the game just began to descend into an embarrassing and uncomfortable growl of poor sportsmanship and drunkeness (not at all on our part, mind you). Of course, realizing an opportunity when we saw it, we just kept hitting line shots to the drunk shortstop until he would just give up. We kept up with our automatic outs and just kept hitting and running because, at this point, these dudes weren't taking this seriously at all and it was miserable out there.

Turns out that, being home team, all we had to do is run the time out by stalling out one minute with one out on the board. Basically, step out of the batter's box after every pitch and make him pitch perfect pitches. Chances are, with only one out, he'll be lucky to get ten good pitches over the plate in that time. Just pitch the bat on your shoulder and make that pitcher work. We had a runner on first and, whaddya know, we just can't stop swinging and on the second pitch, David takes a hack and sends a fly ball into left field along the line. It hugs the line and the third baseman, in foul territory, makes an attempt at the fly ball and it drops in fair territory. He rifles it into second base for a force out on the runner at first and then they continue to throw it to first where there's only a first baseman waiting on the throw and David's making his way back to the batter's box. Double play?

Well, technically, no. Since it was touched in foul territory and then, off of his glove, went fair, it's a foul ball in the same way that if you touch a ball in fair territory and then it goes foul, it's fair. At this point, the game has ended (and I continue to wonder why in the hell we can't just cooly run the time out in those circumstances). Their entire team comes alive with a fury of obscenities and hollered comments at the field umps wondering why the don't get credit for the double play and, in turn, don't get to go another inning in hopes to mount an 8-run comeback with two automatic outs in their lineup. These dudes had to all be drunk to think they could do so on The Roundhouse. Dude, this ain't a game to us.

Jason Bateman made a comment on his way back to the bar he crawled out of like, "No offense, guys, I just know the rules and those umps don't." Nah, bro, you're the only one that doesn't know the rules and you should stick to something your good at like losing and public intoxication. Dude must have thought this was intramural league.

Anyhow, we were victorious and move to 5-1. For those who don't follow sports at all that would mean we have five wins and one loss.

A photo surfaced this last week that had Mayhem, Angry Tim and I a little shocked and puzzled. I mean, we knew Harley was a bit of a punk-ass, but we really had no clue it was this bad back in the day. Harley was a straight up Slim Shady cat--flipping the bird, sagging the drawers, posing in front of red vehicles. Yeah, Harley, yous'a sucka, but we still love ya, homie. Eat some food--you look like you're starvin'.

AND NOW I PROUDLY PRESENT UNCLE DONOVAN

Yeah, some dudes are just so good at what they do that they make you want to quit trying--forever. Donovan's a beast on the bass. I'm not sure where this performance is from, but it was sent over from my darling Grandma. Check it out. Donovan's a virtuoso, he is. Glad he's family.

Know the ledge, kiddo.

DAMN RIGHT...BASEBALL'S BACK

Papi's struggling. Manny's not. Youks is killin' it with a .375 average out of the gate. Both Manny and Youks are on my fantasy team. Papi is not. Thank God. Angry Tim hates Youks. I'm not really sure why, but he alluded to his batting stance and style. Angry Tim's just hard to please. I'm not convinced this hate doesn't come from the same place that his hate for teams that enjoy any level of consistent success.

Meanwhile, a construction worker from Boston buried a David Ortiz jersey in concrete being laid at the new Yankee Stadium hoping to curse the new stadium. And since most Red Sox fans just can't keep their mouths shut, people found out. What's funnier is that while the Yankees organization could've simply laughed it off and then brag about their 26 championships, they called for it to be removed. So, on a Sunday, a handful of guys with jackhammers began breaking away about two feet of concrete so they could remove the jersey. It's not like anyone's superstitious. The whole event prompted a few mouths on ESPN Radio to claim that the rivalry has reached ridiculous levels. Let's not mistaken the rivalry with over-reactive news coverage. That story would've been a blip on the radar until it hit the front page of the New York Post. Then, you couldn't avoid it.

It's like when a girl named Alexis Rodriguez was taking a tour of Fenway, a hawk that had nested above he luxury boxes swooped down and took a chunk out of Alexis head. A funny story, yes. But it's not much more than that.

I just can't believe that I'm getting to enjoy the Sox on television four times in six days. Last night, Manny hit a two-run blast in the 9th to put the Sox over the Indians. Before that, the Sox took two of three in the first matchup against the Yankees. Wednesday, we play the Yanks again in New York for a two-game stand.

Yep, baseball is back. And that's not to forget that the Celtics are playoff bound, in fact, they got homecourt advantage throughout the playoffs. Should be interesting. They got the Hawks first round.

Atmosphere and Portishead coming this month. Geez, my head's about to explode. Beth Gibbons isn't as hot as she used to be. She's kinda grandmotherly. I suppose that's what you get for taking ten years off between records. Here's to their return.

SKI VIDEOS COMING, BUT UNTIL THEN...

Here's to Fridays and Danger Mahan getting off his ass and getting the cord necessary to providing The Root Down readers with vivid video visuals of the ski trip. Holla.

Meanwhile, just play this treat over and over again. It's snow and people having fun in the snow--much like us in Wolf. Except none of us bit it like holmes here.

Thanks, bro, for the link.

R.I.P. FROSTY FREEZE

You know, when this whole hip hop ish is dead and gone and they pack it up in a little shoebox and bury it deep in the ground under twenty feet of sediment, there will be Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa, Crazy Legs, Seen, Zepher and Frosty Freeze. Dude was a pioneer of the step, one of the original breakers. Dude's freezes blew the game wide open and his creativity and passion helped represent the foundation which the empire was built upon. He died last week in NYC. The footage below is just a fragment of footage from the classic Style Wars (dope) featuring Frosty and crew.

Pay your respects, kid. This short history lesson has been paid for and provided by Rock Steady.

IT'S A WEDNESDAY FREAKOUT...

APRIL FOOLED AND STEPPING ON A DEAD SQUIRREL

So, on April 1st, my lovely wife achieved greatness (she does everyday, but never with me as the butt of it). My lovely wife pulled the ol' Dogs-Are-Not-in-the-Backyard trick on me. I received a call at work after 5PM.

She says, "Babe, where are you at?!"

"I'm still at work. Why?"

"The dogs aren't here. They're gone. They got out sometime today."

"Uh, okay." I begin to walk around nervously and I develop a lump in my throat. "I'm leaving right now."

Now, this is where, as a prankster, you have to make the call--do you let it go forward and risk something worse happening in a panic or call it quits before it gets out of hand. Well, to her credit, my lovely wife took the high road and called off the panic after only 20 seconds.

After I washed my soiled pants, I went back to my desk and tried to concentrate on my work--futile by this point. April Fools' Day is like Valentine's Day to married couples, to me. I celebrate April Fools' day in small increments every day. That's why I'm so exposed to a bad prank because I'll never see it coming. I guess my lovely wife was teaching me the lesson that I should've learned about 12 years ago when I made my mother cry with the j3's-Never-Made-It-to-Work trick that I played on her. She freaked and started to go look for my overturned car on the highway. Yeah, I deserved it. And if I couldn't name a specific reason, I probably still deserved it.

Well, the dogs were in the backyard. In fact, Tux took up singing. Check this illness.

Ah, hound ownership.

The other day, I was walking across the street on the way to work in my Gump way. A car turned the corner and began making its way toward me. I spot the car out of my peripherals and, then turn my head toward the car just to measure up its location and speed. Then I feel something roll under my left foot. I look over my left shoulder to see a half-flattened squirrel lifeless in the road with my footprint across the top of it. It felt like gelatin with rocks in it. It was disgusting.

But as my dad would say: you can probably guarantee that your day will only improve from there.

Step on a squirrel today and enjoy your Tuesday.

BARF, CRAP AND OCCASSIONAL BRILLIANCE: WOLF CREEK 2008

You've waited patiently. Hopefully this is a suitable reward for your idle. I'll go ahead and tell you up front, for those who wanted to see video, there is none. Danger Mahan is col' slipping. Dude's the first one down the mountain, but the last one to do anything else. Whaddya gon' do?




We managed to leave town on Thursday without any drama. Small crew, but it's easier with a small crew. Less stomachs to fill, less bladders to empty. There's Danger Mahan (foreground), Harley and vet Angry Tim. I took the photo, dumbass.





Well, all was smooth until about Santa Rosa when I received a call from my uncle regarding the cabin outside of San Luis. Apparently, some cat named Jeffrey said he had a key to the place, however, when he arrived at the property, he discovered that the keys he had did not work. So we're about three hours from home and three hours from the cabin and we find out our accomodations are, well, non-existent. Danger Mahan and I discuss possible breaking in a window or shouldering open the front door, but I'm thinking that damage to their property is not really what my family had in mind when they allowed us to use their cabin. We arrive in Santa Fe and give Pagosa a call looking for a room. Meanwhile, we spot this bad boy in northern Santa Fe. Look at the back tires on this piece. I didn't know the First United Methodist Church of Santa Fe got down like that.

We stopped at what appeared to be the only restaurant in northern Santa Fe--a Burger King staffed by handful of nincompoops who kept screwing up Angry Tim's order. For a dude who is so picky with his food, it's unfortunate that his always seems to be the order that gets screwed up. I was just amazed that tartar sauce was more plentiful than ketchup. Maybe they know something I don't.

I hadn't had Burger King in ages, yo. It was tasty, but I don't think my system was ready for it because I didn't crap for the next three days. Too much information is better than not enough.





With a plan in place, a room in Pagosa and stereo's blasting Hey Diddle Diddle and Danzig, we headed north out of Santa Fe. I would drift from time to time about owning a trailer in the middle of nowhere enjoying views like this. For some reason, I think convincing the wife might be a problem. Danger Mahan played air guitar and air drums. I think there was actually an air harmonica in there too. He's a beast. We began making our way into the higher elevation and snow was everywhere. This territory received so much snow this year. It was incredible. It's late March and their still sitting on top of about 150 inches of snow. It's why I travel so freaking far to ski. I know I could go somewhere closer, but if you're talking about a minimum drive of five hours, I'd rather drive two more and get the best.



Fox News has just lost all credibility because three of the four people on the set said they don't know who Flava Flav is.


When we arrive in Pagosa, we crack open a few beers, catch up on some basketball and smoke some celebratory cigars. Ah, the high life. Hot news story in the San Luis Valley is there were multiple cases of salmonella from drinking tap water.


The reports were coming from Alamosa and we were a ways from Alamosa, but we wouldn't had been had we stayed in our cabin in the valley. Not only that, but the television signal is pretty weak in that cabin. So, not only would we be exposed to salmonella, but we wouldn't even know it. But all is good in Pagosa so drink up. Oh, just as a side note, it's still not safe to drink the water in Alamosa because the chlorine content is five times that required to keep a swimming pool clean from little boys urinating in the deep end.





We got up in the morning with little issue except that the pillows were like a sock and a dryer sheet. Our necks hurt like hell. Danger Mahan was being pretty quiet. Not his normal self. After some waffles, we headed on up and arrived at the mountain at exactly 8:30. After two runs, Danger Mahan's telling me on the way up that he feels like throwing up. In fact, he looks like he's going to barf all over me. I tell him to hang in there until we make it to the top of the lift. Not only will it save my jacket and pants, but the view is spectacular. I mean, you can't ask for a better view when you puke than this.

We threw him in the Harley's truck and told him to rest up and get some water, try to eat something. This mess won't be tolerated on the mountain. He politely obliged. In fact, he spent almost all day down in that truck. Not sure what got him, but dude col' goes off. He pulled off a trail on the backside and just sat down where no one could see him and just started barfing. Tried as I did to catch this on tape, I was unsuccessful. Dude even puked in the parking lot near where family from Alabama.

Harley, Angry Tim and I hit the backside of the mountain like mad that day and got plenty of good video. Harley took some nice spills including one that took him about 50 to 60 feet down the mountain on his chin. That's a man, right there.I felt better than ever. Legs were working right, back was staying cool and not tightening up on me. Pretty good for a rickety 31 year-old. My confidence, the next day, would be rocked to the core.

Danger Mahan joined us later in the afternoon and Harley and Angry Tim split off and Danger Mahan and I hammed up the backside of the mountain. The backside of Wolf Creek is really not any defined trails, but rather just a series of drains and tree routes that you basically negotiate yourself. Fun as hell, a little dicey in places, but worth the afternoon. Danger Mahan was like White Fang back there. I just spent the day following his trails until he took a wipeout that popped his head off the snow. It didn't look too bad on video, but it was bad enough on top of the nausea to set him spinning so we went down to the front. I did a couple more runs and we called it a day.That evening, whatever Danger Mahan was experiencing apparently moved over to Harley and now duke was feeling a little off balance. Now we have potentially two men down. Fantastic. We headed to some place where we had been before to watch some basketball and eat. Danger Mahan (who had long since become not-so "dangerous") now had his head down on the table and was largely unresponsive as was Harley. Angry Tim was angry and I was getting there as I watched a local band, Ralph Dinosaur, set up in front of the wall-sized projection screen that I was watching the basketball game on. These dudes were bringing in enough equipment to play to the entire Four Corners area. I thought there equipment was a bit excessive and, really, how good can a band named Ralph Dinosaur really be? We spent time heckling the band while polishing off our food. I had the Reuben and it was fantastic. We booked before they started playing. I'm sure they rocked the socks off of Pagosa Springs. You know you made it when you dress up in a women's clothing and play covers on the Pagosa-Durango circuit.

Life's too short to listen to cover band with "dinosaur" in the name at a bar in Pagosa Springs. We found that sleep would be more entertaining and rewarding so that's where we went...to sleep.

Next day, we reported to the mountain a little later than the day before, but also found out that the mountain would be open until 5:00PM because of the time change that provided for longer sunlight. Excellent. This was going to be a long day. Hopped up on coffee and sunflower seeds, we hit that mountain like champs. Even Harley, who was still a little under the weather the night before was coasting this morning and looked sharp and ready.

We hit it all day. Danger Mahan was back to his self and was ready to run the Waterfall Area which I had never done, but was able and willing to give it a go. The back side of that mountain, I'll go ahead and say it, is what I love about skiing. On Saturday, there was maybe about 50 people on the back, the wait at the lift was on you and the snow was softened by the clear skies and warm sun--perfect. We split off somewhere from Angry Tim and Harley, Danger Mahan and I were working our way through the log yard when I decided to get out the video camera to get some motion footage.

We came to this gully that was a narrow and fairly steep chute that gave me a little trouble earlier. I kept the camera out and rolling. Danger Mahan dropped his board down it and disappeared in the distance. I lined my skis up and let 'er fly with my poles in my left hand and the camera in the right. At the end of the zip decent, I find myself going about 20 MPH and speeding directly towards a tree. With only fractions of a second to react, I quickly turn my skis away from the tree and then, unexpectedly, hit a relatively small bump as I'm turning and, as a result, I take flight and rotate 180 degrees--now with my back to the mountain...and a another tree. As I had seen the tree in my path before spinning in the wrong direction, I brace for impact with only seconds to spare and hold the video camera as far out away from the impact as possible and then...

THUD

I slam into the tree with my left arm, my poles go flying in one direction and I in the other and I land with a monstrous umph and my head kicks back so hard on impact, the whiplash was immediate and clearly evident. I sat there for only a few seconds and then it dawned on me that I hit a tree and lived. You can hear me on the tape laughing in amazement that I didn't break anything, "Dude, I totally busted off that tree. I don't have a ski. I hit that tree, man!" My ski was wedged into the ground right at the base of the tree and the bindings were twisted and mangled. It's possible that the ski going deep into the snow right at the base of the tree and then tugging on my boot before detaching was just enough to slow me down so I didn't hit the tree at full speed. Could've been worse. I guess someone's looking over me and my ig'nant ass.

That afternoon, Danger Mahan and I roamed that mountain without break. We hit the Waterfall Area a few more times and got in your kicks on the back side and then ventured back toward the front/front-middle to meet up with Harley and Angry Tim. We decided we'll pitch it on top of the Treasure Lift and take in some of the beautiful view from up there (formerly on the banner). Danger Mahan unbuckles from the board (now just "Mahan") and hikes up to this overlook. I pop out of my skis to join him when he starts walking back toward me and says, "Dude, there's an old man taking a dump by that tree over there." I don't know what the code is on the mountain about dropping turds on a mountain. I know it's okay to piss on the mountain so long as you're off the trail, but it would seem to me that defecating on the mountain is closer to an outlawed activity. I mean, there are Porto's on the mountain that one could use in the case they need a place to sit. This dude is just gonna hike to a scenic overlook, drop his bib to the ground and take a dump and then urinate on it. He didn't get away cleanly though (considering the fact that there was no toilet paper at the scene). Here he is in the red and black jacket. You dirty dog...
And since I wasn't born with alot of restraint, I took the photo op by the horns and posed over by his turd which had now begun to melt its way into the snow. Mahan caught this picture just before it completely disappeared.

That night, my legs felt abused, my back was tangled up. But I had a long, rewarding day on the mountain. Never pass up the opportunity to enjoy that kinda snow. We hit this local spot that apparently served cheap tap beer (and had Pabst on tap--what what) and I called my lovely wife to inform her that we were most likely going to skip on Taos on Sunday only because I got such a hard day in on Saturday. I had an elk burger. They said it didn't taste too "gamey." I guess I'm just too accustomed to eating cattle because I had a hard time getting my hands around the word "gamey." Angry Tim educated me though.

Sunday morning began with a cup of coffee, a waffle topped with peanut butter and drenched in sizzurp. We left shortly thereafter and booked it for the Yellow.

Damage in Clines Corner

The dogs were waiting on my arrival. That or they were checking out the new lawn ornaments that my moron neighbor was putting out. When I arrived, I find out that Tucker the Terrible had found himself some chocolate off the coffee table and probably ingested about 7-10 small chocolate Easter eggs.

So, with my help, my lovely wife and I go to work and attempt to induce vomiting through pouring hydrogen peroxide down his throat--a stomach pump really. He throws up a little outside, but not much. He seemed alright, though. A little lethargic, but otherwise okay.

We're chilling on the bed about thirty or forty minutes later and he's sitting down by my side as I'm laying there petting him. Then, out of nowhere he unloads about a salsa jar of vomit onto my stomach and all over the bed. Love you too, homie.

I managed to avoid the vomit all weekend until I get home and my dog barfs on my stomach. That nasty sumuvabitch.

Wolf was ill. That new Black Keys record, Attack and Release, is collosal. Duke, you'd be proud. Y'boys represented hard.

SOME DAYS YOU'RE JUST A MIDGET WRESTLER GETTIN' COL' KICKED

AN ODE TO THE DODGE NEON

In your squatty frame and failed profile, you represent the very worst of the 86-octane American nightmare. You are rolling litter--a turd on four wheels and sometimes those wheels shine like dusty diamonds like there still might be a way of compensating for such a pitied lack of horsepower, style and your driver's 4th grade reading level. We can throw a fin on the back to give you the dimension of power and force, but under the hood is your lowly 4-cylinder crap pile.

With all of the sadness in this cruel, war-ravaged world, your irony and prose offers humor and witting satire for which is more reliable than our Japanese engineering because we can always know there's some prick who will rush to each light with a blurred vision of glory and victory that can only occur behind your wheel when no one else is looking or expecting and you have a rolling 20 MPH headstart that will propell the driver only faster to the next light, but no further in life and in happiness. Downhill, even, I have found your speed to be blistering. I wonder what it is that your driver runs from. I would probably drive at the speed of a sprinting giraffe too if I drove you. And I'd always make sure I had you dressed up in a limo tint.
And what kind of a name is "Neon" anyway? I guess because "Aspire" was already taken, it only made perfect sense to name you the hue of shamelessness and blinding ig'nance. You're the "girl push-up" of the automotive industry--like all short-cuts were unabashedly accepted in the name of affordable and poorly-assembled machinery. And because no one would buy a car called, "Stump," you will be "Neon." Such a bright name for a car with such a dim existence.
Lucky for you, accessories are easy to come by because otherwise, "improvement" would be impossible. And while, certainly, some of your accessories make very little sense, there's celebration for the makers of such products have built homes and put grandchildren through college in the industry of making you look "better" and more like a Civic. If Detroit made a Mr. Potato Head...
Even more of a delight, is the sound of someone who has decided that the purr of your sensual mechanics weren't loud enough, they've tricked you with glass packs so your driver can toot their failure loudly for entire neighborhoods to enjoy while they're taking in an, otherwise, solid night of sleep before going to their steady job with good coffee and free long-distance. Why must so many Neon fanatics find it necessary to accessories with the "tribal art" decaling? Fitting for a model that saw its peak the year it arrived and became less savory ever year since. It was fun while it lasted--taking ten years to still get it wrong. I'm almost left with a little hole in my heart--the actual size of a Dodge Neon, but I know your legacy will live on with vitality and fervor because there's a jerkoff on every block that will defend your beauty and unmatched quality until Detroit finds another way to pinch off another substandard midget bowel movement in the shape of a Neon.

I've included one of my favorite videos so you can join in the reflection with me as one of your truest of fans helps celebrate your model by just really saying, "Just look at it! It's a Neon!" You would swear you were the Millennium Falcon by some of the angles and close-ups.

NEIGHBORHOOD ASSOCIATIONS EXIST BECAUSE...

F'real. This is on some straight ig'nant ish right here. I was driving down the block in the Hub this weekend with my lovely wife and the above happened. Really. Some prick thought these actually looked good in front of his otherwise humble 1000 square foot abode. Whatta jerkoff.


I don't understand things like this. I mean, everyone around this cat must just have no assertiveness at all. I'd col' crush them with a sledgehammer and then chunk canned goods at the homeowner. I mean, at least our neighbor picks somewhat indigenous animals, but freaking vampire lions? I think a general rule for ornaments like this is 1) your house has to have an upstairs and a downstairs, 2) you have a rounded driveway and 3) you have a lawn that's green all year round. You should also make sure you're hung like a horse and can kill with your bare hands because you better be ready to defend your ig'nance. And, yes, I believe you're right--those are lights at the feet of the vampire lions. This punk ass actually lights them up at night like no one can see two huge white vampire lions.

You're gonna have to wait another day for the ski post because I can't seem to get much momentum on it. I'm working on it only at 6:00 to 6:40 in the morning. NOT ANOTHER DAY! Speaking of "Not Another Day," the Atmosphere Sad Clown Bad Spring EP has hit online and it's dope as all hell. "Not Another Day" is some of the greatest production I've heard from Ant ever. Dude's got his a game on like crazy. Ya'll ain't ready for this new record. I promise you, you ain't ready for 4/22.

Also on the music front, I heard some group called Howlin Rain today and it's dope dope dope. Dude's are on that Allman-Airplane-Country-Joe-Holding-Company steez and it works beautifully. The album is like summer camp. You just don't want it to end.

When you front on Howlin Rain, you're just playin' y'self. Straighten up and stay in school. Don't listen to them old folks--they don't know real music anymore.

MOUSTACHE MARCH...YOU KNOW YOU LIKE IT...

Going into the last Monday in March, I knew I had the makings of a perfect copstache. Of course, it would mean that I would have to buzzsaw off the beard I had grown and then get in and do the due detail around the lip area which I'm not so used to. And, as part of just wearing such a hideous stache, I would have to then walk all the way to work. I had agreed to just wear it for a half a day because I didn't want it to be too distractive to progress.

A few obvservations from behind the fur of a good moustache. People will find you trusting. I got offered a ride just out of the blew on my way to work. A man waived and then asked, "Hey, man. You need a ride somewhere?" I guess the moustache says, "stranded" while the beard says, "poor life decisions." Also, I found that it was difficult to hold respect in the workplace with a moustache. No one would look me in the eye and if they did, they would be overwhelmed by hilarity and would begin laughing. Lastly, while I already have difficulty with personal style, there's nothing that really goes with a moustache except for uniforms. You can't just pull off a plaid shirt and New Balances with a stache. They just don't jive.

I didn't make any arrest, but I probably deserved to be arrested. My lovely wife slept in so she could avoid me yesterday morning.

On another note, I guess my neighbor reads The Root Down because out of sheer spite, he put up two pink flamingos in his front yard between the windmill and the water well, just adjacent to the POW flag. Yeah, he's onto me and now he's just rubbing it in my face. I'm planning my rebuttal. I'm thinking about cutting the heads off of every animal in the yard. Remember, I'll have do it between the zoo's hours of 8AM and 6:30PM. This could be tricky.