New Blog Feature! Quote of the Day!

Well, I know how some of you must feel. You wake up in the morning, you go to work, and you eagerly sign on to see what's new at the Cellar Door. And for everyone of you, I'm sure there's 4 or 5 people who wake up, go to work, and dread the moment when I tell them there's something new at the blog and they should check it out.

So now, even when I can't make a new blog post for a certain day, I will be updating the quote daily. You can find this spiffy little quote on the right side right above the tool bar of former blogs. For the first group, this will mean that your trip each morning will not be wasted. For the second group, it means that when I tell you there's something new up, you won't just get to read a new blog, but you'll be able to bring a cool quote into your day.

To the right, you will find the first quote. It's from Ayn Rand's Anthem, and I chose it to start because it's the quote I just got as my new tattoo. Cheers to all, and I hope you like the new feature, Quote of the Day.

Time is Moving Really Really Really Slow

It's a good thing this guy is out there stopping people from perpetrating crimes. But how does a police officer not know the side effects of certain drugs? Amazing. Thanks to Marc Nassiri for this one.

Lake House Debauchery!

Folks, it was, and ever shall be, the Lake House. Got up there Friday night and took it easy. Crew for this weekend was Chaz, Roomie, Sis, Cam, P, -ie, -y, Don PoPo, X, Tucker and Bella.

Saturday was a wakeboard/trash run/dinner day. I spend most of the afternoon updating and rearranging my iPod playlists, which I had neglected for far too long. We get much amusement out of the trashy people who have rented the home across the cove. There's a large group of them, chugging beers, playing cards and blasting music. We are officially no longer the loudest home in the cove. We went out late for the booze cruise, making it more of a nighttime/twilight cruise. On the way back across the cove, we stopped at the hotel that had a DJ and dancing. We watched from the boat.

Dinner Saturday night was homemade jalapeño poppers (P grills these after stuffing them with blue cheese and goat cheese), salad and steaks as big as X's head. Literally, a mountain of meat (don't miss some of the food/drink pictures below). Thankfully, due to P's bday, Cam has graced us with the infamous yellow cake/chocolate frosting. It almost never gets better than that. We continue drinking, and pass out quickly after the game of taps that we attempt to teach X. Pretty typical.

Sunday, after the early morning wakeboard run, we all decide that it'd be a great idea to get plastered. This begins with margaritas at 1, which we take on a swim cruise. By the time we get back to the house around 3, following two hours of swimming, smoking and sun, we're all delirious. We decide a good follow up to this kind of delirium is strawberry margaritas. Bonzai! We drink these while playing Kings. When we get to "Categories," I show just how much alcohol I've had when I try to pass off "Jack and Daniels" as a drink. While laughing hysterically, I point out that the turkey in the oven must be really uncomfortable, based on how hot it must be in there. They give me water to drink.

Dinner Sunday is turkey, sweet potatoes (thanks Ma!), Cesar salad, and string beans. Cam wraps up the meal with a homemade fresh berry pastry type dish with a crumb topping. Truly incredible. After the meal, we keep up the party for a little bit, but everyone is pretty beat at this point.

Recurring themes from this Lake Weekend:
1) X threatening to kill Chaz.
2) Chaz welcoming said threat.
3) Fuck you, pay me.
4) Boat Drinks!
5) Should we mix some more drinks?
6) I'm gonna roll up.
7) Juggling
8) Requests for more edibles
9) Did I say Boat Drinks?

The Colors and Foods of Summer

Summer is a beautiful time. A time of warmth, friends, parties, and especially food. In celebration of all of these, here are some pictures snapped at the lake house this weekend of food and the colors of summer. Home made jalapeño poppers, poppers in green, mountain of steaks, strawberry margaritas and Kings, and life through a peach bottle.

What a Clown!

Despite spending several summers at Camp Winnarainbow, I never learned how to juggle. I can stilt walk, sure, but juggling is essential to being a joker, which I clearly am. I've spent the last several days working on this art, and am proud to say I'm getting close. Here's a clip of me...clearly being a clown!

Lake's Away!!!

For some people, Memorial Day is just another reason to take Friday off, create a four day weekend and bury themselves in the substance of their choice. For the friends and family in my circle, Memorial Day means the beginning of the Lake House season. And Opening Day, is tonight.

Some of you newbies might wonder what the Lake House Season is. Well, the Lake House season means a speed boat, wakeboarding, tubing, swimming, sunning, running, reading, sports on tv in the sun, bbqs, booze cruises, fantastic meals, first run movies on opening weekends in empty theaters, more pot than you can shake a stick at and other sorts of general debauchery. It means friends, family and significant others. In short, it means the epitome of everything summer.

In celebration of the pending departure for the lake this evening, and everything it entails, I'm posting this and a few pictures from previous Lake House celebrations. Maybe some of you lucky punks will have a chance to experience the lake this summer. In the meantime, I'll have a few boat drinks for you.

Mind's Eye

I think I've woken up on the wrong side of a dream. Or fallen asleep on the wrong side of reality. Self portraits, May 2007.

From Purple to Black and White

I’m not a huge Prince fan, but the man is a living legend, a future Rock and Roll Hall of Famer, and he doesn’t tour all that much any more, so when I was offered a free ticket to go see him on Saturday night, there wasn’t any hesitation. Not to mention, who in their right mind turns down a free ticket with a face value of $225? Not this guy.

I head to Chow’s to meet up with my Mom, step dad and a friend of theirs before the concert. Their fourth friend bailed which is how I ended up with the ticket. I sip on some Hoegaardens as we discuss the political and religious climate. My step-dad has somehow come under the misguided perception that Bush is, despite his other flaws, a moral man. I make the argument that any version of morality ceases to be moral when it is forcefed to others who don’t believe in the same thing. This argument misses him.

We’re in the street looking for a cab, and I can tell I’m with some amateurs. They’re wandering up Market aimlessly, looking for cabs and complaining. I tell them to keep walking and let me worry about the cab. We go a few more blocks and the situation doesn’t look good. I have three inebriated adults complaining about walking, being late to the Prince show, and being a general nuisance. I give them a joint, which because he can’t block the wind to light, he actually steps into a restaurant to light, chucking to the wind every safety rule I use to keep myself out of jail while smoking pot in public.

I get on the phone and call Maurod. He’s five minutes out, I give him the cross streets and he tells me to wait. 4 minutes later, they’re bitching at me about where’s the cab and you said five minutes and what are we doing here. I tell them to relax a little bit and trust me. They seem unwilling to comply. 2 minutes later, Maurod and his bad ass towncar pull up. He’s got the hip hop going, the parents are comfortable in the back seat, and suddenly they ignore everything they had said and praise me as master of the universe.

We get to the show and the crowd is lively, drunk and ready to go. The old school tunes filtered through the sound system has everyone dancing in their seats. Or the aisles. The seat I have is amazing…it’s in the last row of the orchestra section, which makes it about 28 rows back from the stage. Let’s say close enough to see everything going on on the stage without squinting.

Then Prince comes out. White suit with a button up collared black silk shirt. And let me tell you, this guy is crazy. He’s got two saxophone players, a trumpet player, trombone, bass, keyboard and drummer up there with him. He starts off with a 15 minute gospelesque song about his various women, including one woman “I got a lady, she cross-eyed, she looks both ways at the same time. But I love her, because she’s fine.” Something about asking her for the salt and getting the pepper.

Over the course of the two hour set, he plays virtually every style of music known to mankind. He plays R&B, funk, old school classics, rock, jazz, salsa, pop. You name it, this guy plays it. Often exclaiming, “Y’all ain’t ready for me, I’ve got too much funk!” And he just might be right about that. Hell, at one point he leaves the stage, putting the music into the hands of the keyboardist and saxophone player to do a 10 minute instrumental duet.

The one problem I have is the manner in which he ends the show. He finishes the set, then comes back out for the encore. He plays a song, then leaves again. Then he comes back, plays another song, and leaves again. Each time making the crowd wait longer for his return. It’s a bit infuriating. Play your set, play a 5 song encore and go! Don’t do this back and forth shit the whole damn time. At the encore he changes into a red shirt and hat.

Of his pop songs, he plays Kiss, Let’s Go Crazy and Purple Rain, which he remarks at one point during the song, “I love this song.”

Fucking crazy concert. I haven’t seen one artist go for that long, with that intensity, over that kind of genre range in a concert before. My hat goes off to the purple one.

After the show finishes, I hitch a ride down to the Cat Club for Black v. White. The bouncer asks me if I’m looking for versus. I guess he doesn’t notice the all black attire and white hat I’m sporting. I get in the door and see Lina from the Carol (LC), who remarks that I’m all alone. I let her know that everyone else is coming, I’m just the first one here because I just saw motherfuckin Prince!

I get a drink, learning that the male bartender there will always charge 7, and the female 8. Mental note to self. Don’t use female bartender at Cat Club. I head back doorside to talk to LC because she’s one of the only people in the place it’s so empty. I run into Glasses and her friend Suzanne, and we head outside for a toke and a smoke. We’re heading back in so they can go upstairs and check out the burlesque show when X, her brother, Gid and McButter show up.

It’s drinks, dancing and delirious behavior. Xena and E show up, Za, T, etc. It’s your standard crowd, with an interesting set of subplots between all of them (Za and McButter, myself and X, Glasses and Gid, etc).

This is when my night turns to shit. X is ready to go, so they head outside. I’m waiting for Gid. I go outside and tell her that I’m getting her and will be right back. Back inside, Gid pulls the best move I’ve ever seen in my life, and certainly one that gains her all the stripes in my book. She asks me where Glasses is, I point to her, she walks through the crowd, obviously on a mission, walks straight up to her and starts making out with her. I almost fall out of my chair. Gid has finally stepped to the plate, and god damn, I’m jealous of her determination.

I get back outside, attempt to put my arms around X and get a shoulder cold enough to freeze the tropics.
I end up back in my car, which I drive expertly and soberly home, then reverting back to my semi-stupefied state the minute my feet hit pavement in my garage. I don’t know how I do it, but when I’m behind the wheel of a car, I’m sober, no matter what’s happened previously.

I end my evening dancing around my apartment with my iPod on, smoking a joint and feeling inexplicably happy with the joy that is my life.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

De la Hoya v. Mayweather 2

You know what man? Fuck Mayweather! That's right! Fuck that guy! He didn't beat me. That wuss just dodged my punches all damn fight. You said you wanted to beat the shit out of me Mayweather, you didn't even try to knock my ass down you sombrero wearing punk. If I ever see you again, you're going down. You're hitting the canvas so hard, you're gonna fall through the floor! You're gonna be seeing stars, like me, Golden Boy, and the rest of my A-list celebrity guest list, horizontal and sideways as you lay on your stomach thinking about how you're gonna take a piss next week, let alone get up in the next ten seconds. Mayweather, you want a fuckin' rematch? You got it. Golden Boy don't take no shit from no one!

Cocktail Stages of a Wedding

My roomie asks me to accompany her to a wedding on Saturday. A friend's older sister's wedding. In Atherton. Who am I to possibly say no? We show up at a lovely home on at least 15,000 square feet of lot, probably more, and as we walk to the backyard we find a wonderful set up of tables, heat lamps, four bars, a large lawn area and a dancefloor with a dj.

One of the best features of any wedding is when they serve cocktails before the start of the vows. This was one of those types of weddings. In the cocktail numbers below, every one was a vodka/7up.

#1. I find my place on the lawn where there are a few chairs for the older of the guests, but it's mainly standing room with an aisle made of flower petals. I meet a few of Roomie's friends, her family and get a general outlook on the scene. It'll be a nice one.

#2. I manage to get my second and find my way back to Roomie. Things are sunny, bright and promising. Then I see two people who I never thought I'd see again in my life...my freshman year roommate's ex girlfriend and another girl from our dorm who I knew only as the standard sorority bitch who thinks she's better than everyone else because of how she looks. Now I'm just as into beautiful women as the next person who likes women, but the minute anyone allows that hotness to translate into a bitchy or better than you attitude, I have no more use for them. This is that girl. And yes, she looks amazing.

I finish my second cocktail and go for a third, but there's someone at the bar shooing people away because the ceremony is about to start. Probably for the best.

The Ceremony: Presided over by a friend who got certified for the day. He's casual, emotional, and funny. He drops the rings and exclaims to the bride as he hands them to her, "Look what I found." He has a small mic and whispers to the bride and groom (Matt and Mia) during the service. Some of these you can hear. Including, as he hands the bride's ring to the groom, "Nice watch!"

It's obvious that the two are very attached and well in love. They both tear up while reading their self-made vows, and there's not many dry eyes in the congregation. Except one guy. He looked like he had had his tear ducts surgically removed for unknown reasons. He doesn't get teary.

Then it's over. Short, sweet, and on to....

#3. I'm on top of this one as soon as the service ends. They start bringing out appetizers (shrimp cocktail, crab cakes, cheeses and meats. I remark to my roomie that they better serve dinner soon, or I might be in considerable trouble.
---------portion, Joint 1------------
#4. I grab this one as dinner is being served. I drink through dinner, eating a steak, risotto and a salad because I know I better. We listen to the wedding party give speeches about times past with the bride and groom. The bride's father goes into an ill-advised but well intentioned part of the speech attempting to compare the newlyweds in some way to poor people. Nothing about the surroundings, the food, the alcohol or the manner of the party implies any sort of knowledge, let alone understanding of poverty. He moves on quickly, but not before getting a few very strange looks.

#5. Middle of dinner. Speeches, speeches, more speeches. I'm feeling fuzzy and trying to keep my table entertained. I'm also trying to avoid any sort of eye contact or recognition with the ex roomie's ex girlfriend and her bitchy friend from school. The table is taking pictures of J and I, and are amazed to hear that we're indeed not dating. They apologize for taking pictures. In some sick joke, the bride has seated us at a table of all married or engaged people.
------------portion, Joint 1----------------
#6. Dinner has ended and people are standing around, eyeing the dance floor. We stand in groups talking about the dinner, the happy couple, the setting and the speeches. Everyone is still talking about the poor speech.

I head to the bathroom to be assaulted by an older woman. "Who are you?" "Why I'm A___ C____, who are you?" She introduces herself and asks how I came to be at the wedding. I tell her about my connection to the roomie and she says, "Oh you're the handsome man J___ brought!" I later hear that she asks my roommate if I can come and play pool boy for her. I consider a change of jobs.

#7. On this one, what I've been avoiding all evening has happened...crazy ex has noticed me and wants to catch up. This is fine. I talk with her, making small talk, exclaiming on the fact that we both never heard from that roommate again. But then, in comes the mean one. She wants to know why she doesn't remember me from school. I tell her that it's because I didn't really hang out on the row much. She asks if I helped her move her stuff in the dorms, to which I tell her no. "But I asked all the 4th floor boys to help me." And I say, "yes, but that's probably the exact reason why I wouldn't have helped you."

She looks confused. People aren't usually so short with her. Or so mean. And I can see she's a little weirded out that I'm not flirting with her. She's used to that. I tell her it's good to see her again, and move off to mingle.
-----------end, Joint 1----------
The dancing begins in earnest. The bride is on the floor now and everyone else is getting in on the action. I need the name of the DJ because he's playing some of the sickest mash ups I've ever heard. He mixes Don't Stop Believing with a hip-hop background. He does some other things that I need to hear repeated. Somehow I've managed to get Roomie on the dance floor, which she swore she wouldn't do, but it might be because her mom is sauced as all hell and flirting with me. She refers to her mom as a cougar.
-----------portion, Joint 2-------
At this point, the dance floor is like a drunken orgy, minus the sex. Everyone is getting their freak on. The bride, the groom, the grandparents, the parents and the better than most drunk ass post-college students who still know how to attack a party.

#8. As I'm walking to the bar for a new drink, I'm attacked. Literally, beelined for, cornered and jumped on...it takes me a few minutes to realize what's going on, but it's the bitchy chick from SC. She's coming at me, "hey, I wanted to talk to you...I couldn't get over the feeling earlier that you didn't like me or something."

I'm confused. I mean, I don't like her, but why does this girl care? It's not in the nature of hot girls who are bitchy to care who likes them or not. "I'm sorry you got that impression, I thought our conversations tonight had been pleasant." (this is true, I had gone out of my way to be exceedingly pleasant, if a bit abrupt.)

"It's just, I've never felt like someone was so condescending to me."

It takes every muscle in my body to stifle the hilarious laugh I'd like to let out of me right now. I'm a bit touched by the fact that I was able to have such a long lasting impression on someone, just by virtue of being standoffishly polite. It's quite apparent in her face and tone that this is something that has bothered her throughout the course of the evening. The way she approached me swiftly, quickly and quietly showed that she had been waiting for a chance to have this conversation.

I'm drunk at this point, obviously, and not really in any mood to fight. I don't even have the urge to try and turn this conversation to my advantage. All I want is another drink and the dancefloor. Later, the roomie tells me that this conversation went on for about 20 minutes.

It ends when I tell her, "I'm sure you're a great girl, I don't really know anything about you, and I've enjoyed our conversations tonight. Whatever happened in college is long in the past, let's just have a good time!"

Tears well up in her eyes. "But I don't understand why you're being so mean to me."

"I'm not being mean, I just want to dance. Really, it was nice talking to you again."

The look on her face as I walk away gives the impression that someone had hit her in the back of the head with a brick. I start to feel sorry for her when I realize that really, in the way she treats people and tries to let her looks get her everything she wants, one person being slightly short with her shouldn't be too bad in the end. Trust me, I was tempted to go all out on her, but for the sake of the party and my own sanity, and my true desire not to blatantly make someone cry, I took it easy.
--------portion, Joint 2---------
#9. Last drink of the evening. My sis is on her way to pick us up (big props to the DD), and I'm slamming one for the road. A caterer walks up and starts talking to me. I vaguely recognize some of the words as English. I can see a bit of an outline of her face. I try to make some logical sense out of what she's saying, but the idea of forming words into sentences at this point is an idea that's a bit out of my grasp.

I remember portions of the car ride home, I roll a joint when I get in, and wake up in bed the next morning, not really sure how I got there, but positive that I didn't smoke the joint.

I. Love. Weddings.

Thank You for Not Thinking

Wow. It never ceases to amaze me...the depths to which the public, and more specifically the policy makers, believe they can control thought, action and decision making based on often loosely related criteria. A few weeks ago, I blogged about a movie called This Film Is Not Yet Rated, and in that blog looked at the often vague and contradictory actions taken by the MPAA when rating movies.

Today, I turn to CNN for my daily dose of the world's most overhyped news (always centered around America, of course), and found the following article on the new MPAA regulations regarding the smoking of cigarettes in movies.

And let me tell you something: I'm smoking at the mouth! You'd think by this point in human evolution we'd understand that people, especially growing children, are going to do what they want to do, when they want to do it, and nothing you yell at them or hide them from seeing is going to stop them. Ok, you want to shield them from the ills of cigarettes by aggressively rating movies for excessive smoking. You're overlooking the fact that it's more than likely someone in their peer group smokes, and highly likely that if they want to try it, they will.

I heard a cuss word from a friend when I was a kid long before I heard one in a movie, and started using them then, simply because I could.

I think the DARE program is a great example of this. In most cases, the tying of marijuana to other drugs, and the necessary conclusion that all drugs are bad clearly oversimplifies the role of drugs in our culture and in the lives of children. Sure, I knew some kids that never tried a drug because of the DARE program. I also know many who, despite the fear and lessons imparted by the program, still went on to smoke or try other drugs.

Scaring kids, telling kids not to do something, hiding it from them with tv guidelines, radio censorship and movie ratings, is not going to stop anything.

When are parents going to learn (and amazing that I can say this without being a parent), but when will they learn that the best protection they can offer their kids is direct and honest conversation that addresses the issue at hand and teaches them the value of thinking for themselves and evaluating decisions before they take action?

A kid won't not smoke just because it's not in a movie or their parents told them it was wrong. If their friend says it's good, they'll try it. However, a kid might not smoke if the parents speak with the kid about the dangers associated with smoking from a social and medical aspect, present them the facts, and arm them with the ability to think for themselves that might actually help them when a friend offers them something that they know they don't want to try, not because parents or teachers say it's bad, but rather because they've thought of the consequences and have decided for themselves. We often give children and especially adolescents too little credit when it comes to the ability to look at points in an argument and understand them, if not always making the right choice in the end.

My point is this: let's stop lying, hiding, misrepresenting and sweeping under the rug those things that might be less than desirable for a child to see in our society. Instead, let's focus on honesty, direct communication and thoughtful conversation on the subjects that we wish to protect our children from. Because, in the end, do we want a generation of people who hide their heads in the sand over moral issues that they've been force fed throughout their life, or perhaps a generation able to rationalize, produce and think for themselves based on available information and the truth?

In the end, we won't be able to congratulate people and say, "thank you for not smoking." Instead, we're going to be patting them on the head as they go around lambasting things they've never tried and say to them, "thank you for not thinking."

Hooray for Whole Foods!

So I remembered sandwiches past, grabbed hastily from the Westwood Whole Foods in LA as a substitute for In-n-Out or the sleezy shacks. But coming back to the bay, even though we have several Whole Foods, the thought was never really crossing my mind. Started showing a rental unit last week that included a drive past Whole Foods, and I've been hooked. A list below of the items I particularly enjoy (and what's not to enjoy when you feel like you're eating healthier then maybe you ever have?):

- Lemon Cappelini
- Mom's Macaroni Salad
- Salmon Pasta
- Smoked Mozzarella Pasta
- my sandwiches from here are made up of: Dutch crunch bread with roast beef, tomatoes, cheddar, swiss, mayo, mustard, garlic aioli spread and gorgonzola spread.

Take that Safeway!

Best Seat Upgrade Ever

Topher Grace and I made our way late to the ballgame. No worries, we see enough games. We take our time so he can get his Bonds pin from the last home run game he went to. We finally come into the game, and as we're taking our first few steps up the ramp, two girls ask him, "Do you two have good seats?"

TG says no. "We do. Here."

They hand us first base side seats, 10 rows up. We get there in time to see the Giants put together their 9 run inning. 2 home runs for Bengie Molina. How did we get these seats again?

Trolls de Mayo!

Damn what a crazy weekend! I don't know where to begin, but I'm told that in such situations, the beginning usually works, so I'll try that. (keep in mind also that names may look strangely spelled, or not be a person's real name. I'm not drunk or stoned, I'm just trying to maintain the same level of privacy for others that I have created for myself in this blog)

My weekend begins at 5pm with free margaritas at a title company for "Cuatro de Mayo" I walk in, professionally shake hands with people, unprofessionally down three margaritas as fast as humanly possible (almost losing my eye to implosion due to brain freeze), and leave.

I jet to the city where I meet up with BX (roommates, obviously) and we head out. We meet up with T (not yet Tito) and Windy and head out to the bars in the Castro. Before that, a drunk Windy and myself decide that the mandarin oranges on the table would be great for Windy to show me how to juggle. Subsequently, they're all eventually mush.

When we leave the apt, they tell me we're going to Transfer, which confuses me a little bit, as I can't figure out why four girls would want to go to a gay bar. I mean, I've already been, no biggie, but why now?

When we get there, I understand. It's CockBlock, a women's party. Now, I must say, that this is the most interesting party I've been to lately. Not because it's a women's party, not because of anything cool or unusual that happens there, but because the last time I was at this venue, it was an all guy's night, and this time it was an all girl's night. Probably one of the cooler perspectives I've had at an SF bar, seeing the same venue twice for opposite events.

I wake up hung over and naked. Thankfully, I'm not in a gutter. I shower, put on clothes and go to the Giants game where I watch Barry Bonds rake the first pitch he sees into deep center field.

I leave the game and have my tattoo consult. It goes well. Appointment set up for Friday.

Thankfully, Xena gives me permission to shower at her place before the Cinco de Mayo party, which saves me an hour roundtrip back to my apartment. I feel clean and cute once more, even though that second one is largely debatable by the masses.

That's when the real fun begins. Tito shows up mixing famous margaritas, Chef Sexy brings her A-game with carne asada, crema, salsa and other munchables, and Xena, Za and I agree to throw down to buy the De la Hoya v. Mayweather fight, which I'd been thinking about all week after watching 24/7. The usual suspects all show up as the night wears on, although the fight leaves many disappointed because they're rooting for Oscar, I personally just wanted to see a good fight and definitely feel that's what we got.

The drinks keep flowing, the smoke keeps blowing, and people keep showing. Lina from Carol has the sleek preppy golf course look going on, and Za and I get into a ten minute conversation that centers around being proud of being a troll. You know what?! We are fucking trolls, and proud of it!!

The night ends early, as Xena's parties typically tend to do, but not before I've met Tito and Julio, and gotten another good conversation in with Jackie. In celebration and commemoration of Cinco de Mayo, find attached pictures of trolls in various modes of party.

Wall Art for the Masses

While I'm still in the process of formulating, coherently writing and publishing (with pictures) the events of this weekend, here's some wall art I found out by the ballpark this weekend to brighten your day. Viva Graffiti!

Everybody Loves Baseball!

Spring has come, my friends. The baseball season is in full swing, and my season tickets are bringing me glee, joy and other forms of happiness. One of those forms is the sharing of games with friends and family...On Monday, I got out to the game with the Big Boss, the Boarder and Phillipe (it was brought to my attention recently that some people probably don't want their names associated, so I'm coming up with fun and creative (depending on your point of view) aliases for the people in my life.

We met up there with Za and Ti (not T, Ti) who were there with my tickets after I got some from Big Boss. We got to see a win.

Didn't go Tuesday, but Wednesday with Coach, his fiancee Erica (that's her real name!), and Za, we got to see not only a win, but a Bonds home run as well! Boom!

In the spirit of the games, and the fun of being at the games, and the good company that has blessed me at these games and all those sure to join me at some point in the season at a game, here's to you!