Northern Wisconsin

 

Bauer's Dam Resort

when they cut me loose

 

"I can't say it out loud like I used to

My mouth moves faster than my hands can write

Maybe it's the weed or maybe I'm a mess

Hey man hey man hey man I'm just doing my best

Somebody turn the lights down low in the living room
And I'll grab a chair
I'm making friends with the ghosts of my youth
And my old bleached hair
Still resting on a bruise to remember how it felt
When they cut the noose
Still resting on a bruise to remember how it felt
When they cut me loose

I traded patiencе for a double threat
Neck tattoos and a lit cigarеtte
I will never forget
I don't know who I am, I don't know who I am
When it's all left unsaid
Hey Man Hey Man Hey Man I'm just doing my best

Somebody turn the lights down low in the living room
And I'll grab a chair
I'm making friends with the ghosts of my youth
And my old bleached hair
Still resting on a bruise to remember how it felt
When they cut the noose
Still resting on a bruise to remember how it felt
When they cut me loose
When they cut me loose"

Cigarettes @ sunset

"Old Bleached Hair"

Possum Rock (2026)

This One's for Zack Novak

 

This one's for Zack Novak.

For Stu Douglass, Jordan Morgan, and John Beilein. 

For Juwan, Jalen, C-Web, Jimmy King, and Ray Jackson.

This one's for Graham Brown, Courtney Sims, Lester Abram, and Robert Tractor Traylor. For Maurice Bullock and Steve Fisher.

For Mo Wagner, Charles Matthews, Muhammad-Ali Abdur-Rahman, Duncan Robinson, Jordan Poole, and Zavier Simpson. For Derrick Walton, David Merritt, and Zak Irvin. 

For Caris LeVert, Spike Albrecht, Nik Stauskas, Mitch McGary, and Glenn Robinson III. 

For Trey Burke. 

For Darius Morris. Tim Hardaway Jr., Jon Horford, Evan Smotrycz, and Matt Vogrich. 

For DeShawn Sims and Manny Harris. For Dion Harris, Daniel Horton, Tommy Amaker, and Brian Ellerbe. For Maceo Baston, Danny Wolf, and Vlad Goldin. 

For the Maize Ragers of the late nineties and the 2000's. For those who cheered on the Wolverines in the 2004 NIT Championship.

No Pasaran!

 

My Last Night in Michigan

 Last night I dreamt about the girl I once loved from Petoskey. How fucked up is that? I haven't seen her in fifteen years, yet she still haunts me like a ghost. 

a sight to stir the dullest blood

 

Quebec City

"It was in January. A light, sticky snow had fallen irresolutely, at intervals, all day. Toward evening the weather changed; the sun emerged, just sinking over the great pine forest to the west, hung there, an angry ball, and all the snow-covered rock blazed in orange fire. The sun became a half-circle, then a mere red eyebrow, then dropped behind the forest, leaving the air clear blue, and much colder, with a pale lemon moon riding high overhead. There was no wind, it was a night of still moonlight, and within an hour after sunset the wet snow had frozen fast over roofs and spires and trees. Everything on the rock was sheathed in glittering white ice. It was a sight to stir the dullest blood."

Willa Cather

Shadows on the Rock

A Long December

Since the days leading up to Thanksgiving, the Twin Cities have resembled a rugged winter scene reminiscent of Jack London's Klondike stories, with mountainous snowbanks created by plow trucks, smokestacks on the river waving endless puffs of thick gray ice cream scoop clouds, icicles as long as hockey sticks, treacherous driving conditions, and, most recently, wicked subzero temperatures. One blizzard after another made the month drag, making it feel more like January or February than early December. Driving to work this past Thursday morning, it actually rained despite below-freezing temperatures; the dashboard in my Jeep read 13 degrees, in fact. How could that be? Upon hitting the windshield, the rain froze, obscuring my vision and forcing me to blast the defroster at max capacity for the duration of my commute. It was already that kind of winter, the kind in which you saw things you'd ever seen before. Then, of course, the Sherrone Moore scandal blew up, bringing on a cycle of emotions that repeated for 48 hours, draining me. All I really have to say about the whole thing is I'm heartbroken, but what the fuck am I supposed to do about it? I'm tired of being embarrassed by my alma mater and the various scandals associated with it. All I want to do is cheer for my team. The prospect of ending my relationship with the team is a ship that sailed decades ago, probably sometime during the Lloyd Carr era, so onward, because I'm stuck with it, like a mole or wart. It's been a damn long December, but perhaps -- as the Counting Crows once suggested -- perhaps there's justification for thinking next year will be better than the last one. We've got Dusty May, after all.