Throwing a post-Thanksgiving party in Phoenix is like a box of chocolates....


I'm singing at this couple's wedding in February.


Me loves some catfish.

Check out these "echoes:"





These are all photos I've taken and I just fucked with them with the photoshop program. I actually had a lot of fun doing this.

Rocky Mountain High, Colorado.

Rande and I tried to go fishing up in the mountains, and we ended up going a little too far. The beaver pond we planned on fishing was half frozen over...and it was really cold outside. So we sat in the car for awhile and drove back.

On the way home I really had to pee so we pulled over at an all purpose new age/coffee shop in the suburbs. We found this charming little chess board and stayed and played a game.

A moment of peace found lying on my back on a bench in the park staring at the sky though the limbs of the trees.

A withered heart in the road.

Friday was nothing less than a spiral of shame. So, tonight will be spent on the couch with Colfax. It started out innocently enough at the Pearl Street Grill where I met some Law Review folks for happy-hour. Then to the Candlelight where and I and my ex-sorority girl Texan companions just got drunk. It should have ended there but Wise-up and I went to the Stadium. He left me there with some undergrad friends of mine, and Beam is always on special at the Stadium. Then I was off to an after-party at some dude's house who had a bunch of porn mags on his coffee table. So I know I was sober enough to discuss the jurisditional pecularities of the new marijuana initiative, and sober enough to find the fence outside to relieve myself on, but I was apparently not sober enough to notice that my glasses fell of my face...somewhere. I slept on a bare matress in someone's basement under a coat with a fur collar.

Religion was a sore subject for Molson and me. Even though we only dated 3 and a half months we had conversations about whether we would raise our hypothetical children "in" the church. And that would be the Lutheran church. My position was, "fine with me as long as I don't have to go." Not the answer she was looking for.

This simple blue Pocket-T may represent the turning point in our relationship. I picked up Molson at the airport after a trip she took over Memorial Day, or Labor Day -- whichever one is in September. When we got back to her house we layed down on the couch and were working up to a make-out session when she told me she hated this shirt -- and she meant it. I thought at first that maybe she was joking, nope. She wanted me to never wear the shirt again. "But it's just a blue shirt and it doesn't have any stains," I pleaded. "I don't care," she said. "I hate it."

Damn we're good looking -- apparently that's not enough. Maybe we just peaked out early, and literally. What compares to a romance sparked at 12,000 feet in the Rockies, drunk as shit on cheap Bourbon, immersed in the 100 plus degree waters of a natural spring, and surrounded by naked hippies with great bodies? No really, tell me...that wasn't rhetorial. Fucking beat it. (Oh and thank you to A. Kamp for loaning me the title to your award winning blog.) Molson always made it clear that she preffered A Year in Pictures over Which Echoes.