WEEKEND, WE'LL MISS YA...

The weekend is over, and we're going back to the grind tomorrow. Flying back to Traverse City on Wednesday night, through Minneapolis. Too bad the layover in Minne wasn't longer, as it would be nice to slap Ryno around a bit.

Real Excited™ to get home.

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I'm not shittin' ya about the power of fresh socks. Pat "the eYe" Bridges, that skullduggered alpine warrior, is known to leave for the road with a fresh 12 pack, to return home with more stories and battle scars than dirty socks. The sonofabitch simply throws 'em out after one use. We take a little bit of issue with this, but then again, revel in the fact that a man of his calibre, and stature, should be able to enjoy such luxury.

So I bought nine pairs of new socks. Virgin white. Shift change. The old ones go to Goodwill, the new ones will get us through the "toughness of the days ahead."

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Something fun is happening here.
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God Bless yer web browser. Love it or click it.
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Bry Aleshire, husband to Tracey, father to little Eva and DDC Factory Floor Pro Team Lifetime Team Rider, graciously shared this yummy little shredder with us.
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Get those birthday cards ready.
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Nice type here, among other wonders.
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Fucking rad shit is happening in Minneapolis. I told you so, you motherscratchers. Look for the stuff by Aaron Horkey. Wow.
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INTERNATIONAL WISHES: Goo, if you are reading this, we sure do hope you are sweating over there in Thailand.

Late February List of “Things That Keep Us Going”

01. A call from mom.
02. A rainy day, followed by a sunny one.
03. A smooth plane ride. Make that a smooth “take off,” specifically.
04. Big calendars with big numbers.
05. A call from a friend in LA.
06. A call from a friend in New York.
07. A call from a friend in Minneapolis.
08. A call from a friend on the beach.
09. A smile from a young lady.
10. A warm bed, with clean sheets.
11. An episode of “American Chopper,” if you really want my opinion.
12. A DDC pillow/handwarmer/totebag from Bry Aleshire.
13. Guys like Hilton, Capozzi, McBride and Dinenna.
14. An email from Goo.
15. A night out with Goo and Zergebel.
16. Coals in the fire.
17. A bad haircut.
18. A full tank of gas in Big S.
19. A stocked fridge.
20. A hot shower and a clean towel.
21. New socks. One can’t argue with the power of new socks.
22. The new issue of Magnet.
23. A plane ticket back to Michigan, to see those parents.
24. A plane ticket to Chicago, to see the city and friends.
25. Documentaries. We love ‘em.
26. A tuned guitar.
27. A band called Milton Mapes.
28. Some Thai food.
29. A slick G5 rig, running smoothly.
30. A lunch out with coworkers.
31. Talkin' shit on iChat.
32. Walking to working and forgetting to look.
33. A massage from Julie “Strong Hands” Kahn.
34. Silver Sharpies™.
35. Magical Go-Go products.
36. An old hat you forgot about from the summer of ’96.
37. Alaskan Railroad memories.
38. A phone call from my sister Sarah.
39. A phone call from my sister Leah.
40. The last 30 minutes of “The Bridges of Madison County” on TBS.
41. A salad and piece of pizza from Vincente’s down the street.
42. Old jeans.
43. A Craftsman doublestack.
44. Cool drinking water.
45. A Black SS Rover on my wrist. So good.
46. The feeling of “coming up with something.”
47. Altoids Peppermint Strips.
48. A daily click at Boochakanan.
49. That big leather couch.
50. Clean Portland air.

FRIDAY AFTERNOON SENTIMENTS

We'd like to offer up a big, hairy "Fuck You" to none other than Evan Rose and Paul Brown. Just because.

GLAD TO BE BACK

We were right on the beach.

No shit. Just a little boardwalk separated the Nixons from the sand and surf. And man, that boardwalk was full of some colorful folks: Barnacle Bills with those big ol' whisky-pickled noses, sun goddess rollerbladers, "Whoa, dude, like, whoa" guys with long flowing hair peddling beach cruisers, geezers, and the occasional novelty act either completely outta their mind or looking for some well-earned change.

Nixon rented a Pacific Beach, SoCal (P.B., yo.) hacienda for a couple days for a big ol’ “meeting of the minds.” Much progress was made. Check yer local skateshop for updates. Buy a watch. Live in it. Tell time, tell a friend off, whatevs.

The plane ride down was smooth, as was the plane ride back north. “Draplin, it’s a game of statistics.” Is what Goo has to say when I get a little scared and feeble concerning air travel. It’s good for us to be with the Nixons from time to time, to get back on the same page. Those miles are hard to travel, but worth it. I find strength in things like a hug from Niki or a heart-to-heart update from Matt Capozzi, and believe it or not, a wink across a room from Chad Dinenna really keeps me going in the face of all that California. No shit. I could be starin’ down a whole company’s worth of squares, but quite frankly, that’s not the case here. These guys are good people.

Guys like Peter McBride. Tall and swift, coy and hyperlinked, he’s just plain good stock.

Tom “Faux” Kosha. (…as in focaccia bread.) One smiling nod from that guy is enough to give me another hour of gusto in the midst of some gnarly line review.

Chad Hilton. How many times to I have to remind the readers of this gazette: Blood is fuckin’ thicker than water. All American. A brother.

There is something to be said about “Enjoying those you are rolling the sleeves up with.” Like it or not, that’s how we feel about these Nixon folks.

“Five Generations Of An Unlocked Door…”

Spent my Friday night with Floyd, cruising around the Dekum/MLK area looking for Ubick’s band’s house party. It was like high school again, “searching for the bash.” Being the dipshits we are, we both forgot the directions, and well, came up empty handed. We rounded the night out with a stop off at a sketchy little Mexican restaurant for hamburguesas. Good conversation was shared, as well as some general shit-talking, which is always good to set things straight.

On the way back to the ranch, I took an available right, which took me over the Willamette river and into downtown. I parked and made my way into Dante’s to catch those Drive-By Truckers.

Good stuff. Sinister Southern smiles glaring, those rebels offered up a big ol’ slice of swampy tales of backwoods justice, firewater and loose women. The stuff has good a good sound to it. One part Skynrd, another part Lynyrd. They had a good time beltin’ out the tunes. Not being one for the encore thing, I left just as they were finishing up a rambling version of “Heathens.”

There is something about girl bassists that well, just plain ol', “Gets us.” We enjoy a Gigantic Crush™ on this little DBT southern belle. (The blonde one, to clarify.)

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Interesting things are posted at Ben Schneider's site. Ben's an old friend from Traverse City, living and working in Chicago as a graphic designer. Poke around, you'll be sure to find good music links and interesting thought. Ben and I have never shared one coarse word. He was always good to me, so he's got our backing in all matters, digital and otherwise.

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Songs about Michigan. Lots of pride is felt here.

Just buy the album, okay. Speculation is for those weak in spirit. Beautiful liner notes and artwork alone, are worth the purchase. Recorded in Petoskey.

From "Sleeping Bear, Sault Saint Marie"

"Oh Sleeping Bear!
Ran to the top and got scared
of what I could see."

I am from Michigan. My parents are from Michigan. I was born there and will die there. And well, like a cool breeze off Lake Michigan, that's just how it is.

DRIVE-BY's

Those Drive-By Truckers are coming to town tomorrow night. Might check it out.

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Rhajer Cameron and bride are also coming in from the East. They will be in town for a couple days at the Lego Portland BrickFest. Might join them for some Lego action.

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Tales of the Dice: That fuckin' Nakamoto, or, "Naka-no-dough," as I like to call him, was left behind by those of us who went to "out for lunch." Being the nice guy I am, I picked him up a burger, so he wouldn't have to fast through the afternoon. Said burger cost roughly 6 bucks. Upon arrival back into the CINCO, the option of "gambling his debt off" was thrown out at some point during our conversation. Sporting men we are, we got it on.

CINCO: Getting the good work done.

KURT WEEKEND 2004

We got a little play over at Kurthalsey.com. (Click the link, for all in attendence.)

It was so good to see our little buddy from Milwaukee. As cute as ever, the little sprinkle was a welcome addition to the DDC Factory Floor. As was his new girlfren, Loren of Detroit. She was strong in spirit, soft in voice and a "real breath of fresh air" in the normally musty, moldy DDC flat.

We spent a good day together. Went shopliftin' at the Diesel store ("Do these come in "Husky" sizes?), perused alternative comics at Reading Frenzy and ate like kings in the "You-are-lucky-if-you-can-choke-it-down" vegan hipness of the Vida cafe.

Kurt's show went off with a hitch at the Bink Gallery. There was a handful of illustrator types and a couple wide-eyed, pasty chickadees. The kid does pretty well for himself at these gigs. (Hell, he better be pulling down the big loot...considering the bite those two took outta that Diesel store. Phew.)

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Craig Thompson of "Blankets" graphic novel fame is doing well, with international plans taking him to France and Morocco and all points in between. His book is selling very well, with a hardcover edition hitting the shelf soon.

People are talking: "I thought it was moving, tender, beautifully drawn, painfully honest, and probably the most important graphic novel since JIMMY CORRIGAN." –Neil Gaiman

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We've been taking a little break from the freelance action. A couple little projects are opened, tinkered upon, saved and closed every couple nights. Otherwise, we've been spending a lot of time cleaning, sleeping in, eating out with friends, reading, cruising around town, crying ourselves to sleep, scorning past love, reviewing applications for the DDC Girlstuff Dept., record shopping, record listening, playing the guitar, watching tube, stamping out buttons, filling O-A-M card set orders (keep 'em coming) and counting the days down 'til our little venture back to that flat Midwest towards the end of the month.

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SPECIAL BONUS IMAGE: Matt Cooley, waitin' on a train.

Real glad it's Friday. Work is just less and less fun. Turning into a job.

I enjoyed a week of free weeknights, where we found ourselves on the couch, at the record store or on the phone with friends.

Getting excited to fly home in a couple weeks. Turns out Sarah is closing on her condo that weekend, so it looks like I'll be spending a couple days in Detroit with the family moving her in.

Kurt is coming out tonight. Little buddy has a show opening at the Bink Gallery tomorrow night. Good for him. The ladies will croon, the men will get sad. So it goes. We like to think of Kurt as the "precious moments" of counter-culture painting.

Finally got that ball rolling; concerning our rickety financial future.

That's right, time to buckle down. I plan on living a long, ugly stretch on this planet and well, I know any extra loot will help pad things later on. Each month, we're gonna set aside some 401k loot (and she sure does take a bite, don't she) in the hopes of growing ourselves a little nest egg for when our mousehand doesn't quite click anymore, or our spirits are just plain broken. Whichever predicament, it feels like the right thing to do.

CINCO is taking amazing care of me, and for that, I gotta say: "Hey, thanks."

Dad turned 61 today.

Wish more than anything I could have been there to spend it with him. Last year's 'Surprise 60th Birthday Bash' was the best.

The man is solid gold.

He has always been there for me.

I miss him, and well, the big ol' crocodile tears that fall from my eyes don't lie.

Happy 61st, dad...see you in a couple weeks.

(And listen up, all you cold-hearted pricks (as well as couple "easy on the eyes" young ladies) who read these sad words: Leave the man some birthday wishes in the comments section below. Don't let him down. He loves the press.)