Every picture tells a story, don't it?

This is a long one.

You may want to settle in.

It's the story of my weekend, in its entirety. With a prologue and a plug.

Spent some time feelin' inferior
Standing in front of my mirror
Combed my hair in a thousand ways
But I came out looking just the same

Prolouge:

My friend P. reminded me that I left you hanging with the story of how T-Rex/Tony and I almost got killed on our way home from Bells' house last Sunday.

(I'm just going to call him Tony from now on. I mean, the cat is kind of out of the bag when you drop trou and pose on a toilet for a photo, knowing it would be posted on the internet for everyone to see.)



I mean, really.

Hi, Tony!

So we were driving home from Bells' house.

The road we took was a two-lane frontage road that parallels Interstate 90.

We were just getting rolling, and I was looking for a cd to play for the ride home.

I was looking for the song with the lyrics that are interspersed through this post.

I was looking at the cd instead of the road, and I started to go off to the road to the right.

(I'm an excellent driver. My dad let me drive his car in the driveway. I'm an excellent driver.)

Tony said, "Joe!"

I steered back onto the road.

Whew!

Alert co-pilot saves the day.

Scared, I slowed to 50 mph.

A couple minutes later, lights appeared in the rear-view mirror.

It was one of those 2 Fast 2 Furious dudes in a Subaru with one of those huge-ass fins on the trunk.

He pulled out to pass.

Except there was a car coming in the oncoming lane.

Right there, too close.

I braked and drifted to the right, partly on the shoulder.

Vin Deisel locked up the brakes on the Subaru and skidded to the left.

The oncoming car drifted into the center of the road, and passed between me and the Subaru, not making contact with either of us.

The subaru skidded out on the road, and was fine.

The smell of burning rubber filled my car, eve though we were well past the Subaru, also fine.

Um.

Holy shit.

That was a close one.

Daddy said, "Son, you better see the world
I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave
But remember one thing don't lose your head
to a woman that'll spend your bread"
So I got out

Plug:

Quagmire is coming for a visit this winter to go snowboarding.



You should check his blog.

Friday:

India and I went to Livingston to the "gallery walk" and to have dinner.

(We take the term "amicable" very, very seriously here at The Dude Abides.)

Once a month, through the summer, Livingston has a gallery walk.

All the art galleries in town (maybe 30?) open up, serve wine and food, and everybody walks around town, checking out the art, some of which was very cool.

We ate a Mexican place.

Good times, good times.

Paris was a place you could hide away
if you felt you didn't fit in
French police wouldn't give me no peace
They claimed I was a nasty person

Saturday:

I gave my house a much-needed cleaning.

I even dusted.

Dude.

For serious.

I fuckin' dusted.

I vaccuumed.

I chased down tumbleweeds of Puck and Barney hair.

I wiped counters.

I Swiffered.

Yeah, man.

Down along the Left Bank minding my own
Was knocked down by a human stampede
Got arrested for inciting a peacful riot
When all I wanted was a cup of tea

I was accused
Of the things I did
I moved on

Later on I went out with some friends.

I'm having some difficulty figuring how to write about this, since I live in a small town and people in this small town read this blog.

These people may or may not know the friends with whom I went out.

Well, dude, we just don't know if they know.

And these friends of mine don't know about this blog.

This, dude, we know.

It's not like anything crazy happened.

I would prefer to describe them for you, to really tie the room together.

But if I did that, and did it well, the people who live in this town might, for instance, figure out who I was describing.

And they might see my friends sometime and say, for example, "Hey, man, I read about you on this dude's website."

My friends would say, "WTF?"

And the people might respond, "Yeah, this dude. You know him. You went out with him Saturday. He's got this website. And you're on it."

That would be really awkward for me.

Despite my somewhat foolish propensity to share pieces of my life with a couple hundred strangers a day on a website, doing nothing to conceal my identity, I don't walk around and say to people I meet, "Hey, I have a website on which I foolishly share pieces of my life with a couple hundred strangers a day."

This one time... at band camp....

So it's a conundrum.

But one of these guys had some crazy stories from his former career as an undercover DEA agent, living in LA in the early 90's, driving a Porsche, setting up controlled buys, wearing wires and busting dudes.

Like Crockett and Tubbs, except in L.A.



And hopefully without the pants.

Because of that conundrum I mentioned, and because he swore me in Saturday as a Deputy Secret Agent, I can't really talk about it much more.

Like Fight Club.

Down in Rome I wasn't getting enough
Of the things that keeps a young man alive
My body stunk but I kept my funk
At a time when I was right out of luck

Getting desperate indeed I was
Looking like a tourist attraction
Oh my dear I better get out of here
For the Vatican don't give no sanction
I wasn't ready for that, no no

Sunday:

I took a hike up in Hyalite, to the top of Mt. Blackmore. It was a long 'un.



But it had a pretty good payoff.





I moved right out east yeah!
On the Peking ferry I was feeling merry
Sailing on my way back here
I fell in love with a slit eyed lady
By the light of an eastern moon

Shangai Lil never used the pill
She claimed that it just ain't natural
She took me up on deck and bit my neck
Oh people I was glad I found her
Oh yeah I was glad I found her







I firmly believe that I didn't need anyone but me
I sincerely thought I was so complete
Look how wrong you can be

The women I've known I wouldn't let tie my shoe
They wouldn't give you the time of day
But the slit eyed lady knocked me off my feet
God I was glad I found her





And if they had the words I could tell to you
to help you on the way down the road
I couldn't quote you no Dickens, Shelley or Keats
Cause it's all been said before
Make the best out of the bad just laugh it off
You didn't have to come here anyway



I hiked with a friend.

Not the Victoria's Secret Agent guy, or the other friend from Saturday.

A completely different guy.

After the hike, I went over to this friend's house.

Again, it's the same damned conundrum from before.

I can't say much about him, since I am still An Undercover Deputy Secret Agent.



And I can't tell you about his wife, whom I met at their house.

But I'm not giving away State Secrets by saying they live in a really big, really fancy house.

Nor am I violating my Deputy Secret Agent oaths by telling you my friend's wife has fake boobs.

And I'm not giving away the store when I tell you we watched the Emmys and at a Papa Murphy's pizza.

Because that could be anybody, really.

Fake boobs, beautiful house, the Emmys, pizza.

Could be anybody.

They are, by the way.

You know, fake.

The boobs.

I'm talking about her boobs.

She told me they were fake.

During the emmys, while we were having pizza.

So did my friend, but he told me earlier, on the hike.

Not that either of them needed to tell me.

Because I knew.

I'm sort of a visionary that way.

I could tell you more, but I'd have to kill you.

This message will self-destruct in ten seconds.

So remember, every picture tells a story don't it?



Every picture tells a story don't it?
Every picture tells a story don't it?
Every picture tells a story don't it?