A week of triumphs, a week of completion.

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The hour is late. George Bush is dreaming of dropping bombs. Dick Cheney is dreaming of oil fields. Colin Powell is having that ugly, reoccuring dream where he sobers up to the fact people say his name like “colon.” Ha.

Like a good American, I’m doing my part. I’m watching Red Dawn right now. (Well, listening to it and every now and again, catching a glance of exciting shoot-‘em-to-hell scenes.) Y’know, getting fired up for war and shit. I remember seeing it when I was a young kid, with the “Red Threat” still this gigantic threat, wondering what it would be like if the Commies invaded Central Lake, Michigan.

I had all sorts of plans worked out. One part Rambo, one part Goonies.
I knew the woods real well up behind the high school. That was an option.
I was 11 years old when it came out.

“One way or another, for one reason or another…it’s all gone. We’re all gone.” –the Dad behind the fence.

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The week was good and mellow at Cinco. (For the most part.) The new Nixon ads are looking “S-I-C-K, sick.” So good. Beautiful portraits, good type=simple yet bold. A Double-Dog-Dare set of Gravis catalogs are finished being printed, and are currently in the long, tedious, grueling process of being bound by proud Americans. Once again, much thanks to the team. What a roster: Dean, Jered, Chris , Capozzi and I… the “Fab Five.”

Speaking of action sports, and it being winter and all, Goo and I are are heading down to Las Veg-ass for a couple days of loitering at the SIA Tradeshow. For all you fucks outside of the snowsportz industry, (and Rose, there is a life after the “X-sport” shit), the SIA tradeshow is the annual gathering of the Ski +Snowboard Industry of America ranks. I won’t go into detail. Lots of lurkers, lots of hope, lots of guys in deep conversation with wandering eyes on the hunt for more lucrative* chats.

(*Hmmm, what is that guy gonna do for me?)

This year I’m hoping to get sponsored. Just kidding.

I like seeing all the graphics. All the new boards, catalogs, t-shirts and shit. Lots of cool stuff to look at.

My shortlist for ass-kickings: Chief (you are like, SO dead.), Rose, Bridges, Floyd (and hell, any Nemo cretin for that matter), Coyle, Embry, Sherowski, Violette, Dabica, Morpheus, Baker and whoever else looks at me the wrong way. It’ll be a busy couple days. Lots of jaws to knock.

We fly out on Sunday afternoon.

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Melissa calls each day. Let just say this much, to clarify for all you wonderers and cacklin’ chickens: “We’ve got a bad case of the Melissa’s.”

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Big deals from the freelance front: The COAL catalog is hot off the presses! Hell, the ink is still wet! The piece came out well, considering the pinch of a predicament we were in. Sean’s book is 20 pages from being wrapped up. Once that fucker is done, man, I’m gonna use those weekends for proper activities like junk shoppin’, relaxin’ and drinkin’.

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Things are going well. Funds are stable and we’re enjoying being “out of the red.” The pad is tidy. The laundry done. The freelance almost licked. “All in a week’s work.”