Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Monocle Man

I'm bummed about Monocle Man. He's everywhere.

The bummerest part is that I might be mistaken for He.

Except that I Work in my Workwear. Or used to, at least.

Now just fetishised and fading artifacts from my life in sawdust.




Monday, March 29, 2010


Play them all at the same time.

Compost Bag

If it's 70 degrees and all of the trees that looked dead a few days ago are lurid, be sure to ride the bike to work like you always do and with

keys wallet ipod phone clogs work-shirt drink-chits all in ruck. Sing merrily the way. The sun warming your crotch. Fuck, stop for a beer because you have time but you know

already and I don't have to warn you if you live here that the wind will start at nine; blow all of the umbrellas down the street and up on the roof. Then the rain. And rain.


There's always a compost bag somewhere to keep the important parts dry.

Thanks Shayne for the photo.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Jacques Magazine

This goes out to the old boys. You know who you are.

If you're at work, you might want to wait until you get home to watch these.

Good, old fashioned Smut of the highest order. There's something really pure about this. Sexy without the gross is hard to come by (unintentional pun) in this world.

It's easy with bicycles and cars-- Not so much with goils.

Is it just me, or is the world getting kind of better?

Jacques: The Sports Issue Trailer, 'Squash' from Jacques Magazine on Vimeo.

Jacques Magazine presents Tori from Jacques Magazine on Vimeo.

Monday, March 22, 2010


So many long nights together. I been on your wavelength, girl.

See you, baby.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

beer, pig.


Big Star meant so much to me. Thank you Alex. And K for telling me to buy #1 Record.

Friday, March 19, 2010

4:51 am.

Thursday, March 18, 2010







Sunday, March 7, 2010

I'm in love with your eyes.

I'm 38 years old and moving house. Always moving. It's been a good winter. Not rained and all the cheery blossoms are out.

I'm dragging out the last of my things. it's after 2 in the morning and I have to pick up the truck at nine. 62 hours on the mats this week and I feel like a little kid.

I don't want you to expect anything from me. You remember what happened last summer when I kind of fell off the end for a little bit. It could easy happen again. You know how it works.

I got friends. Don't worry. They been coming by and dropping off things. I'm paying back my dad and the guys at work bought me and the wife a night downtown. The other wives are going to sit with our boys.

We'll go out to dinner and to The Clyde for drinks. Maybe we'll both get a minute of silence. I don't know.
I wonder if my sons would like to row out on the river. We were talking about having fat bastard kids, or Lacrosse boys, or Crew boys. The loneliness of a long-distance runner boys.

I've been wild enough for all of us and look where we landed. I want them to know how to sharpen a knife, keep the fingernails clean, lap in a valve. Play push hands. Run a mile all ruddy and blonde.
Dance the way they do now without giving two shits what anybody thinks about it.

Some things don't have to exclude the others.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Before Work, I

Ate Bunk.


Worked on fucking goddamn fucking car.


And picked up my new ruck.




Tuesday, March 2, 2010



Wife contemplates meat/cheese/fish box.


Decides to begin with soup.


Heart you, Broder.