Because you're sweet and lovely, girl I love you

I am typing this from my parents' basement in Wisconsin.

During my oddesey with Northworst Airlines today, I listened to the following song about 25 times on my iPod:



It's such a sweet song.

But before I get going on today, let me back it up and tell you about yesterday.



Yesterday, I went snowboarding at Big Sky with my buddy, Dr. Matt. As I have mentioned, we have been enjoying a prolific storm cycle. A shitload of snow has fallen.



Dr. Matt and I timed it perfectly. It takes two chairlifts and a tram to get to the tippy-top of Lone Peak. We were on the fifth chair that was let up the mountain on the second one, and we were on the first tram up to the summit.



For you non-skiers, it's a pretty huge, coveted buzz to get "first tracks" on a run anywhere on a powder day, particularly from a place like the tram at Big Sky. It services pretty much all double black diamonds and the slopes have a 35 to 40 degree pitch. The snow was waist deep.



Again, for you non-skiers, that's fucking sick. First tracks off the tram, in waist-deep snow?

I had to time my breathing, because each time I carved a turn, the snow hit me in the face and went over my whole body.

The snow in Montana is known for having a low water content, at times as low as 3%. They call it "cold smoke." For example, there can be a foot of new snow, and you could still hit rocks underneath it. It is that light.



Literally, I was choking on the snow I was inhaling, and had to time my breaths and turns.

One more time, for the non-skiers, that may not sound very appealing,but let me assure you, it is the best feeling in the world.

Here are a couple videos from lower on the mountain in the afternoon. I was afraid to take a video off the tram, and besides, it would have just been all white, punctuated by me yelling, "WOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!!"



It's hard to tell from the video, but in this next one, I am hauling some serious ass:



Anywho, it turns out Dr. Matt payed bass in a band that toured all over Arizona in the mid-90's. He likes Nirvana, the Beatles, ACDC, Pearl Jam, Radiohead, the Stones and Pink Floyd. Hmmm. The Mitten doesn't have a bass player. I play a little bass sometimes; and sometimes Bells does, but we need him behind the drum kit, kickin' it old school.

(BTW- Big Bells, little bro's nuts are fine. He came through the procedure fine, but he said he cannot have an orgasm for 28 days, so the worst is yet to come. No pun intended. That's a lie. Totally intended. 28 days, though. Wow.)

So we're gonna have Matt out for a jam with us and Omar and see what comes of it. It's already pretty good and a bass player could put it over the top.

Back to today...

I got a phone call from Tony (T-Rex), K-Top's real brother and my surrogate brother. He and Alison had a baby boy this morning, Jackson Alexander.

Welcome to the world, little man. I can't wait to meet you tomorrow morning.

(Aside- Tony and Alison had their son Vaughn the same day I flew in a couple years ago. I told Tony that either I have to stop coming back to the Dam or he has to have a vasectomy.)

All kidding aside, congrats, Tony and Alison. I love you guys and I am happy for you.

My Dad and Curt picked me up from the airport in Madison. We rolled to Magnus, a restaurant, and met (Uncle) K-Top, UJ and Carmela.

We had some oysters, and then most of us had the special, which was a Kobe beef tenderloin. Sweet baby Jesus, was that good. We hung out for a couple hours, told stories and laughed.

K-Top, Curt, the Dude and the Dad who begat the Dude all went to the Wisconsin Badger basketball game after dinner.

I forgot my freakin' camera in the car for the restaurant and the game. We took some phone pics, except I am an idiot and don't know how to get pictures from my phone to the computer. I tried putting a pat of butter on my phone and rubbing it on the computer screen, but that didn't work. (BTW, in that last sentence, I made the following typo, "I tried putting a pat of butter on my phoner." Yeah. Freud, Brando, whatever.)

K-top just emailed me this:


We sat in the third row, center court. Not too shabby. The Badgers put a beating on Northwestern.

Tomorrow the Dad and the Dude go to Lambeau Field.



Before we leave, we're gonna stop by the hospital, see Mr. Jackson Alexander and get my elbow drained real quick. I hit a tree snowboarding about 5 or 6 weeks ago, and I have this sack of fluid hanging off my elbow like a tit without a nipple, and only slightly less appealing.



It's supposed to be colder than a well-digger's ass



My life sucks.

I think I need to go on Paxil.