My Ma has been here visiting for the last week. It's been great. She loves being in Portland and is a great help with The Lads.

Today, while we were driving around, she got a call from my sister that was kind of strange. Sis was on her way to lunch and saw an old man in bib overalls and a long white beard, riding down the street on an ancient, rickety bicycle.

Odd enough, I guess, to see anyone on a bike in my podunk Idaho home town, let alone my stepdad.

He has a couple of really beautiful motorcycles and a nice old truck, but Mom figures he's gone crazy, or doesn't want to buy gas anymore, or doesn't want to risk a DUI on the way home from the bar.

His biker buddies are going to freak the fuck out.

Sis is mortally embarrassed, but I'm really proud of him.

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The cherry blossoms are out, and the gutters are full of pink snow.

Let us revisit.

I haven't brought home any beer in over a week.

This was supposed to say "I haven't had any beer at all in a week", but I found out the hard way that switching to just whiskey makes me want to punch the whole goddamn world's fucking lights out, and that wine is expensive and makes me sleepy.

So, I had some beers at the Victory. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?