Last night I´m sitting at the irish pub, Johnny and June were singing "Jackson," the Seahawks were really giving it to Favre amid a pleasantly snowing holiday backdrop, and I was sharing a cerveza grande with a guy, himself a pleasant mixture of Brian Urlacher and Jim Morrison.... Wha?! no really. The guy was built like a bear, grew up on this indian reservation in Montana to majorly hippie parents and had the hair and the whole man jewelry thing going on, a self-described "Open Alpha Male." (When he told me this, I, of course, asked the obvious -- and oblivious -- question, "So you´re gay?" Yeah, it kind of killed his I´m-in-touch-with-my-sensitive-side moment.) ... so he´s telling me about fighting fires and chopping down trees all over the country, and starts a story on Yellowpine, Idaho. Seriously?! Was I seriously sitting in a bar in PERU talking to someone who had been to YellowpinefrigginIdaho, population 20, home to our (oft-discussed, rarely visited) family cabin for almost a century? Bizarro...
In other news, decided not to hang out with the israeli guy (mentioned in a previous post) and go 4-wheeling in the mountains after all. He had never heard of the concept of global warming, or the Panama Canal (which I brought up only because he said he was going to Panama in a couple weeks) and also because he asked me if I wanted to try some meth that he bought on Gringo Alley. Which means he was probably smoking crystallized laundry detergent. So I didn´t really feel like sitting on the back of the bike anymore.
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