west, vol. 7

friday
-one of those mornings where you don't wake up, but instead slowly climb some dank, steep stairs out of a fetid basement of unconsciousness. mouth felt like someone's sock had been there, and knowing how many dudes i was surrounded with...that was a distinct & realistic possibility.

-all the dudes roused, minus ben (unmoving next to the papazon chair) and chris (worked till like 8am), and after i downed several glasses of water, we headed out into a sun that pierced my level of consciousness. yowch.

-it was andy's weekend, so we walked down the hill towards a local krispy kreme. the only knowledge that existed in my brain at the moment was, "a doughnut would be a bad idea in my current condition." besides, have you looked at a krispy kreme doughnut conveyor line? i did, and it was being flushed with a clear liquid that i would assume was water, but that seemed foul nonetheless. big ole watery doughnut, no thank you, sir!

-tyler & i went next door, to jack-in-the-box (j-in-the-b), a fast food chain slowly infiltrating the midwest. shamefully, i got some greasy breakfast combo and coffee, in hopes of making it through the day. their ordering cashiers had been recently replaced with self-service machines, which i navigated, empathizing with whatever low-level, visored employee had lost their job to a gentrified U-scan machine. on the other hand...machines don't make mistakes, and they count out change at a remarkable rate.


J-in-the-B: way creepier than the King.
-from here, a quick walk up the sooty and exhaust-filled northern strip of aurora ave. to...k-mart. stepping in was akin to time-jumping back to 1993, which was likely the last year the carpet or wall-decoration or 50% of the stock was changed. the mission here were cheap swim trunks for andy & tyler; and (like the married couple they are) they soon picked out matching suits. standing outside next to the quarter-powered carousel (just like the one in kokomo, it seemed); i could've been 5 years old again. oh, except for that raging hangover, coffee-in-hand, and whiskey-clogged pores. still, coming back out into the sun, unflaggingly strong over the mountain range...it was like being born.

-walked back uphill to the apartment, where we roused ben, and set to getting cleaned up, re-packing, and setting off. luckily, 8 males can accomplish this task with the least amount of vocalization necessary. after the jet fumes, whiskey, sleep-sweat, and morning sheen had been washed off, ben retrieved from the distant shores of unconsciousness, and i filled 2 grocery bags with my belongings, with a sleeping mat to complete my hobo accessory set; we finally set out, well past noon, heading northwards.

-traffic was heavy, and i failed to provide good tunes despite accepting the shotgun position in chris's car, ben & andy riding in the rear. luckily, chris had a copy of watch the throne, which was dutifully spun a couple times. or was it kanye's solo record? brain-cramp. ben was "baby-mousing" it while we wove through heavy traffic, getting to mt. baker highway before turning off at the local bellingham costcutter, which after a pre-emptive investigation, looked swell enough to stock the larder from. randy's crew was way behind, having stopped already for food & liquor. so, we left ben asleep in a grassy parking-lot median, and trudged across a few acres of asphalt to round table pizza. filled bellies with hot pizza & even convinced andy to spot me double-digits worth of croutons from the salad bar. what a gentleman.


A better motto would be, "Hella better than Pizza Hut," though that is less Arthur-ian sounding. And I think my crouton obsession dates back to accompanying my little brother and parents to the rare Outback Steakhouse excursion, during which we would beg and/or pilfer some croutons from their salad. Large, square, full of dried cheese and sodium, and more dusty than a desert boot...I can still taste them.

-the other car having arrived (and ben having not yet been arrested for vagrancy; though he was victim of an attempt to lure him & his valid ID into a criminal scheme of returning merchandise to a local chain store...), we stocked the grocery cart with eggs, bacon, butter, bread, bratwurst, baked beans, salad, bing cherries, chips, potatoes, onions, bottled water, apples, bananas, milk, various condiments, and beer. lots of beer. and some various challenge foods for andy to eat (tomatoes; funky smoked european semi-soft cheese; aforementioned cherries). had we filled another bag...we couldn't have fit it all in both cars. and that included any & all lap storage.


"The Bounty of Snoqualmie": photo by A. S. Maxson. This would last through Night One. Yes, that is a bottle of Old Overholt Rye Whiskey peeking from the back of the pile. Also invisible was a case of Modelo Especial, and more notably, a Deschutes Black Butte XXI. Curated by the photographer, our collection also featured, from right, Lagunitas IPA, Maui Coconut Porter, a nod to the classic Rainier, Oskar Blues Dale's Pale Ale, Deschutes Green Lakes Organic Ale, Oskar Blues Mama's Little Yella Pils, Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale, Alaskan White Ale, and Goose Island Matilda. To justify the last choice...Ben does live in Hawaii...has to get his Goose Island fix when he can.

-the scenic mt. baker highway has to be one of the most beautiful drives in the country. from the sea-level bay in bellingham, straight into the foothills of the Cascade mountain range, the road rolls through hills, farms, ranches, begins to narrow and pass through more conifer stands, eventually criss-crossing and following the glacier-fed Nooksack River. other than the occasional real estate sign, and coffee shops advertising wireless, there was scant indication of development. it all seemed fairly restrained, and not over-commercialized. the foothills eventually became sheer spires, coated in the green grass of late summer, carpeted in trees save for where some clear-cutting had buzzed them to the scalp.

-anticipation was building, overriding the hangover for the first time in the day. we stopped at a small gas station in the town of glacier to retrieve the housekeys, and drove another mile or so to a small, gated neighborhood, sparsely populated with modest homes, single-wide trailers, and thick groves of trees. our cabin was a-frame-esque, though it had a curve like the hull of a ship. two-stories, the insides gleamed with timbers, and had a gas stove, big kitchen, and dining room that doubled as a sunroom, protruding in glass-windowed-walls from the rear of the house. did i mention there was a hot tub? oh yes. most crucial hot tub.


Photo by R. Hawkins. Piling in to the ol' cabin. I was currently failing to operate the key in the sliding door. I blame the mountain moisture. Chris soon schooled me on lock operations, but graciously allowed me to remain indoors for the duration of the trip.

-beds were claimed (i ended up in the "master" with the bachelor, himself); drawers were opened, the hot tub was turned up, and the septic system was thoroughly tested. the fridge filled up and i busted out the Deschutes XXI Reserve, poured everyone 2.5oz, and we toasted Andy. Unfortunately, the grill was charcoal, so we settled for oven-broiled brats, but not before andy attempted to impose his will on the booze-weakened masses, watching the owen wilson/eddie murphy awesome/awful I Spy.

-having dinner loosened up the livers, and in no time verbal gauntlets were being thrown, cigars were cut, and the hot tub cover thrown into the weeds. oh yeah...we forgot to turn the temperature down to a reasonable level. steam was rolling off the water, and if you remained in for 5 minutes, the sweat poured off of any exposed skin. that said, once you braved the burning, it felt like my muscles were being liquified, the summer's stress and previous evening's self-abuse evaporating into the Cascadian starlit night. drink of choice for a 150-degree hot tub...modelo especial. the night ended prior to midnight, nary a person electing to play a round of Mousetrap that had been assembled during dinner.


Photo by R. Hawkins. Andy demonstrating the veritable cojones needed to brave the hot tub on Night One. Possibly the best picture of the weekend...makes me wish for a time-machine. I'd go back in a second.

west, vol. 5

this day was epic, and deserved its own post.

thursday
-woke up to yet another beautiful day. showered, then basked in the sun on randy's balcony. ben & tyler were up shortly, and we headed out again on the 5, aiming for the international district...chinatown. goal: to feast on barbecue. while waiting at the stop, discussion turned towards the different shades and colors of...yams. ben was resistant toward the idea of asian purple yams, saying that he hated anything that was purple out of principle. a woman waiting under the shelter (who happened to be wearing an ostentatious, sequined, royal purple blouse) commented, "well, do you hate me then?" oh, bus-stop talk...
-made it to kau kau, well in time for the lunch special; a mere 5 bones for bbq pork, pork fried rice, hot-n-sour soup, and your choice of things like grilled prawns, duck breast, spare ribs...you get the idea. tyler went for the duck breast, i had the spare rib, and ben, ever the wildcard, got some lamb curry. bone-in, of course. all this and a large pot of hot tea resulted in a serious glow/buzz...not unlike muncie's history NY House (now the might savage's). good thing, too, for upon exiting, clouds had descended upon washington for the first time past noon during my visit.

beard papa's...best gorton's fisherman look-a-like/sailor sellin' cream puffs in any metro seattle food court. i mean, i trust this man.
-wandered around the international district, including passing by the seattle pinball museum. alas, it was not open, so we peered through the dusty windows onto the game machines. well...i did need my quarters for the bus. we eventually passed into uwajimaya, a market on steroids, packed with a bookstore, full grocery, food court, housewares, toys, and enough strange food and drink to spend the better part of an hour staring at. purple yam ice cream? got some ginger candy and a coconut chocolate bar for amelia, and stared at the cream puffs from the aforementioned beard papa.
-upon leaving uwajimaya, and finding an orca card machine (if that is an LOTR reference, excellent work); we headed towards the bay. wandered through pioneer square, and happened upon waterfall garden, an interesting oasis, though admittedly not a place you can really sit and talk. unless you enjoy yelling at your friends...so, bostonians...anyhow. made it to the bay, where people-watching was done, and tyler couldn't resist the siren call of the artisan pump organ outside ye olde curiosity shop. for $.50, i didn't expect such a bone-rattling blast of sheer organ. whoa.

one of those sights that you observer for a second, and then walk away to reduce imminent embarrassment. playing it is like exclaiming, "t-t-t-tourists over here!" but...how can you resist trying out those pipes? i must've been an organ-grinder's monkey in a past evolutionary cycle.
-made it to the owl n thistle, a darkened, lived-in yet tidy hovel of a bar currently in somewhat of a construction alley. if only i'd had the stomach room for a $4 happy hour burger, but i opted instead for a ninkasi ipa. at some point, ben sneezed so loud that every person in the bar turned around to bless him. i could dig the daytime vibe of this place, so dark and wooden that i forgot it was cloudy outside.
-not sure if it was the 4pm buzz, or the emerging sun, but leaving the owl, i felt like a flag unfurled. in hindsight, this was good; the day was just beginning. we headed back to pike place market to fruit up. while tyler investigated some art prints, ben & i kicked it in the park again, people-watching & chewing the fat. after snagging some peaches (again; too good to resist), we headed for the bus stop.
-stopped to procure cabin necessities: cigars. tyler chose well with some stinky rejects for $4 a pop---cheapest in the humidor. though ben was supposed to purchase wigs to impersonate andy's ex-es, and despite pausing to plan our next move, and finding ourselves directly in-front of a wig shop, we went wigless, as he cowed under the pressure of finding an empty shop with 1,000 empty-eyed heads staring at him. alas!
-took the bus back to randy's, and waited in the orange-glistening 5pm sunlight on the benches outside the apartment complex, watching the fountain burble and briefly petting a dog named...stinkbone? randy arrived, and we chilled out for awhile before heading back out...the night-of-dudes was ever-approaching.
-headed out towards fremont with good intentions. snagged gyros and falafel at a walk-up called sinbad's---though the best feature of the place were the wasted foursome who got in a good amount of groping, as well as walking to the counter, waving a hand full of bills, only to be told repeatedly that they'd already gotten & paid for their food. it was almost more embarrassing than funny, due to it being 9pm and not even dark yet. who knew that we'd catch up...

d.b. cooper...i think his drink had egg in it, which was the deal-breaker. i'll eat an over-easy egg, or fresh mayo, but something about stirring a white or yolk into liquid and not scrambling it turns the corners of my stomach.
-a quick jaunt across the street brought us to 9 million in unmarked bills, local whiskey-bar/small-plates restaurant. unfortunately, that's not a d.b. cooper reference (dude only asked for $200K, which would've made an equally good name)...and thus i passed on the non-themed-man's drink for an old fashioned with maker's mark. what can i say? i felt the midwest calling. the other dudes also ordered drinks full of muddled fruits, cinnamon sticks, and various zests that required the bartender to wield a metal tool that peeled an orange as easy as butter. may have to invest in one of these. hung out around a barrel to toast the future arrival of the rest of the party, then moved over to watch tyler kick an inordinate amount of ass on the free ms. pac-man game, which sat lonely in the bottleneck between bar & dining area, ignored by the masses of better-dressed-than-i yuppies and college-crowd. not that i'm judging...but eating ghosts is a old-fashioned pleasure that never ceases to satisfy, and i'm not too cool to watch it being done right.
-headed up the street to randy-described dive bar, the dubliner. hailing from indiana, when i hear the word "dive" i think of bars layered with the plastic nascar flags, the glow of a tube television barely piercing through an ashy blanket of stolid cigarette smoke, and the taste of a corn or rice-powered lager cold-coating my throat. in case i hadn't delineated, the pac-nw is different. this dive was clear-aired (still jealous of every-city-except-indianapolis), dim-but-clean, full of empty tables, tattoos, and flat-screens with soccer. oh, and unlike midwest dives, they sported at least 10 taps. we split a pitcher or two before randy headed for the airport, at which point we decided to have another beer, then head back for the apartment via bus. when i went to buy the round of 3 skulls wit, the bartendress informed me that a pitcher was just as cheap...and here-in lies the beginning of the end. we polished off the pitcher, and, now full of pomp and feeling great about friends, dudes, the dubliner, and the world in general (even current affairs couldn't harsh this mellow); we made a bee-line towards the bus-stop, with plans to stop off somewhere along the route for a nightcap.

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during a brief wait at said bus-stop, ben scaled the wall to relieve himself out-of-sight. tyler then followed suit, only to suffer what would be referenced as "vine-burns" for the rest of the weekend.
-after a rousing bus-ride with only a couple other passengers, we disembarked close to 85th street, with ideas of returning to the great tap-list at naked city. we figured randy and the crew wouldn't be at the apartment before 1am, so we could have a nightcap, then catch the final northwards bus. alas, it was just before midnight, and naked city was closing. across the street, the glowing sign of Baranof beckoned us, despite its apparently dim interior. passing through a closed dining room, we made it into the red-and-black hued, vinyl-booth-coated, besparkled bar of Baranof. the bar was empty; the 3 of us filled half of it, and immediately produced out-of-state ID's before settling into another IPA. here the fog sets in, not of war, but drunk, musky brotherhood; the music waxing to fill available earspace while the universe narrows to a bright, pinprick tunnel that is warm and smells of familiar comforts, booze, aftershave.
-eventually, and there is photo evidence of this fact, the rest of the jet-lagged dudes arrived with randy to the bar. things were now truly rolling. hugs were exchanged as we doubled the population of the bar just before closing hour. perhaps pints were ordered, but soon enough, last call came, and moments later tyler was handing out the obligatory whiskey shots. if toasts were uttered, i remember them not, but perhaps they were not in vain, and someone can later correct my version which has become somewhat of a rosetta stone, a joyfully-jagged edged memory. i do remember (or, perhaps, hope i remember) thinking, "oh wow...we are all alive in this one place...this is most fantastic."

photo by honorable a.s. maxson. while not the best picture of the night, clearly the most representative of the blur that was the evening.
-randy left to drive the other dudes back to the apartment, while tyler, ben, and i strode northwards on the sidewalks, with a promised return ride once the first carload was emptied. at some point, a small man in a zip-up sweater emerged from a sidestreet. facts were exchanged; of those that i remember, his name was Esteban, and he was Brazilian and spoke with an accent. i stammered out a vague invitation/talked up our mountain cabin, in parts unknown and towards Canada. most peculiar though, was his clear preference of Ben, who later kissed the top of the small man's head, after which Esteban remarked about his soft lips. while they walked ahead arm-in-arm, tyler & i trailed perhaps 10 feet back, supporting each other while weeping with laughter at the strange two-some in-front of us. at some point, he melted off again onto yet another side-street, leaving us in gales of laughter when randy pulled up to expedite us back to the apartment.
-ever seen 8 dudes bed down in a 2-bdrm. apartment? we tried, and failed, to order late night pizza, i managed to spill most of randy's DVD rack, and eventually made it to my sleeping mat. yes.