Wednesday night, rounding off three busy-ass days. Phew. Overwhelmed, underwhelmed, Garywhelmed.

Just been tearing into the projects. Some big city New York shit, as well as some headwear, a crack at bindings, even some goggle literature. Real busy and mean. Like, seriously, man.

Gary is doing pretty darn good.

I�ll have rough moments here and there, and will have this complete feeling of inadequacy and defeat, usually when in the heat of the moment catching little Gary piss on the spare futon or leave a little tootsie roll on the dining room rug. I fight to be understanding, firm and loving towards the little man.

He�s growing on me. Our best moments are in the morning. I�ll wake up, roust the little fucker with an unlatching of his crate door and he�ll jump up into the sleeping quarters for some snuggling. He likes it best, uh, �doggy style� where he burrows under the big white quilt and settles up against a leg or kneecap. He�s like a furry little heater, but with dog breath.

We share and compare our morning breath, discuss, and start our day with a cold piss out on the lawn. Sometimes he�ll make it to outside and have this serene look of relief, other times, he�ll lose it just before we hit the door. We�re working on this.

With all this late night working, well, it wears Gary right out. He�ll usually wind down around midnight, and do a little wobbling until he finds my old Carhartt jacket in which to roll up on. He�s like a little cinnamon roll.

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Union was down here for a couple days of catching up. Bring on the summer. Brong on the bindings. It was good to see Martino and George for some discussion. My Italian brother and my Pagosa brother.

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Matt �Fast Talk, No Pause� Kass has been kicking the living shit out of Portland, buying whatever isn�t nailed down, making big plans, making friends, making moves, smelling like maple syrup, organizing the troops, courting the little lady, putting offers in on joints, etc. The kid�s got a lot of energy. Lots of good treasures have been rescued for the Grenade archives.

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John �Dicks To Face� Holley is in town too, and well, Portland just got that much uglier. We are in the midst of planning our world tour for the band we still haven�t started. Not that anyone cares. Don�t go back to Mammoth, my brother.

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Tiny Type: Jen �Write To Live/Live To Write� Sherowski is on the hunt. Houses, hunks and happiness.

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The new Son Volt album was leaked some two months before its official release. It�s been on constant rotation, with bouts where the volume goes up and the amps gets turned on. Working on my chops just in case they need some rhythm guitar backup for their West Coast tour. Another amazing album, chock full of that weathered �open road� sound. This time around, Farrar gets a little personal with the politics. Lots of Bush reference. A bit sad to have to be reminded of that fucker, but, interesting to see Jay�s handling of such a dicey guy.

For the goddamn record, the Draplindustries Design Co offers absolutely no support for George Bush. Bite me.