Out here in beautiful Vermont, absolutely filling my drawers over how “amazing it is in this neck of the woods.” Staying at the Lance Violette compound but a couple miles of Stowe. His spread overlooks Stowe mountain and the most amazing expanse of green one has ever seen. Very lucky man.

His gal Vanessa, whom he will “tie the knot” with this upcooming October, is a real catch. No shit. Lucky man.

Capozzi is running a good show out here, prob’ly due to his gal Leigh’s overall class and professionalism. If it was up to him, we’d be on the deck of some shoddy mini-ramp witnessing the exchange of celestial vows, or whatever the fuck you want to call them.

Had a chance to meet Capozzi’s inner circle last night over cold ones at the Sunset Grill. Lots of good chatter, an account from Adam about his time in Iraq as a journalist and hell, but a couple of “Fuck You, too’s” away from an all out brawl with a group of particulary nasty, ill-witted excavation “specialists.” Shit almost came to blows. It was the, “Oh, a bunch of college pretty boys, eh?”

“Hey ditch digger, who you callin’ pretty?”, almost escaped my lips. Yes, I am college-educated, but, pretty? That little shit. The story is as old as dirt: Bunch of local-yokels a couple sheets to the wind, challenging the new guys in town. Big whup.

My free time, aside from Capozzi wedding happenings, has been spent relaxing in the cool air, pounding the keys/clicking the mouse of my laptop and sleeping way in. Hell, I even have my own room with clean sheets and a dresser. And a little bedside lamp. And, a bathroom to wreck all my own. Heaven. Much appreciation to Lance and Vanessa for the Smuggler’s Notch-sized outpouring of hospitality.

In just a couple shakes of stick, I’m off to the offical “Pre-Wedding BBQ” where the familiy gets a chance to meet all of Leigh’s friends, as well as meet Matt’s asshole buddies, who are a complete group of animals, myself included.

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For mom: I’m okay out here, showering each day and eating square meals.
For dad: I’m gonna eat three platefulls at the BBQ, y’know, to get my money’s worth.
For Whitney: I miss ya real bad.
For God: Is there one?
For Country: Man, Vermont is “REAL GOOD™”.