Boots of Chinese Plastic
They're not. They're leather. But I'm out of Whiskeytown songs to reference. The Pretenders are Americana, right? Sure. Chrissie Hynde is a regular George Jones.
These were my first shoes. Size: baby. Just look at the stitching. And the inlays. Pretty impressive for a cowpoke. Damn well put all subsequent pairs to shame.
But you gotta start off strong. Perhaps it's no coincidence that I've yet to own a pair of Crocs. Nor have I ever praised their arid construction and avant-garde design.
Thank you, baby boots.
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Uploaded on Jul 16, 2009
8 comments
Step Inside this House
Not to bore you with shop talk, but this was taken at a full-second exposure. Handheld. And for a camera that weighs over five pounds, it's an impressive feat.
That it's a photo of my hat is inconsequential. Actually, I think it's showmanship.
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Uploaded on Jul 16, 2009
7 comments
Once Upon a Time in The West
Back in day, my dad and I would shoot pool together pretty frequently. Frankly, he’s the only person I really enjoy playing billiards with because I’m stunningly terrible and he’s not judging.
I kid you not. On dates, I’d cringe when girls would suggest a round or two of eight-ball. And I’m not speaking figuratively. Though I wish I was.
What about darts? Shuffleboard? Bocce Ball? Can’t I just buy you some jewelry, dammit?!
So we kept it a guys night out kinda thing. And that was just fine with me. Because I still can’t afford jewelry.
One night in particular stands out in my mind.
My pops and I were crammed into the back room of the Fox ‘n Hound in good ol’ San Antone. As usual, I was doing my best to bring shame upon our family by shooting with the wrong end of the cue or something. As my dad stepped away for a pit stop, our waitress moseyed over to see if we needed refreshments.
Yes. Yes, I definitely wanted a refreshment. However, I was very much on the wrong end of the legal drinking age. And although I may have been the designated beer-buyer for my friends, my dad and I had yet to crack open two cold ones together.
Well now was as good a time as any. As I ordered our brews I felt the surging rush of adrenaline that, yes, this is the right thing to do, this is AMERICA and we are men and we didn’t shave today and we drive with one hand on the wheel and sometimes I swear under my breath at people in authority and I hardly ever put the toilet seat down after using it! LET THERE BE BEER DAMMIT!
This feeling was quickly replaced by the cold rush of fear and consequence, as I zeroed in on my dad walking back toward our table. With two amber lagers by my side, I waited for a double-take. Or at least a cockeyed look of “what the…”
To my surprise, my dad looks at the beer, looks at me, and then looks back at the beer. After a brief inquiry to find out if I had ordered them, he says:
“I don’t see anything wrong with a father sharing a beer with his son”.
Success! And relief. But mostly success.
While rummaging through old photos this weekend, Alex and I stumbled on small, tightly folded piece of paper packed deep into a box filled with Polaroid’s and 4x6’s. It was the receipt from our bar tab that night. In my dad’s handwriting, “A good day” is signed on the back.
What a guy. He even picked up the tab.
Locals.
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Uploaded on Jul 7, 2009
25 comments
My Share of Mine
And now sweet Caroline, I don't guess I'll ever find
Another woman put together like you are
With your wiggle and your walkin', and your big city talkin'
Your brand new shiny Plymouth rag-top car
That pretty much sums it up. Thank you, Billy Joe Shaver.
Locals.
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Uploaded on Jul 6, 2009
10 comments
She Wears a Red Bandana
From the archives, good friend and rabble rouser, Megan.
No excuse why I didn't post this sooner. Really, no excuse.
Locals.
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Uploaded on Jul 6, 2009
8 comments
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