Devil in the Details

After wandering around Berkely for a few hours and losing a good portion of my mind in Comic Relief, the largest comic book store that these eyes have ever seen, we went to the Giants game. It was pretty sweet. Jordan, Death Cab's manager is a season ticket holder and he happened to be out of town wakeboarding in fiji or base jumping in tobago or whatever it is that hot shot music managers get up to in their spare time. Regardless, I picked up his pair of tickets, and they just happened to be the 23rd row along the 3rd base line. Nice work. I don't so much follow the season, but I really like going to games, often blissfully unaware of how poorly the team is doing.














Oh, garden of earthly delights you taunt me so. It's hard to deny some garlic fries, bratwurst and some good sf beer. I still feel about 17 pounds heavier than I should be. Not unlike dragging a baby rhino around with me that stinks of beer and garlic.














Barry Bonds put in another yawner even though he is just 10 home runs away from Hank Aaron's record. Didn't want to wear himself out. There's always next season, pal. I'm going to see Jello Biafra at Great American tomorrow night. I'm pretty into it. I saw his spoken word hoorah at NYU about ten years ago. It seems at bit more crucial these days. I can't help think of the snake pit comic when Jello Biafra comes into the shop that he's working in. He's totally in awe, but in re-telling the story can only recall his huge belly and the fact that he's been wearing the same belt buckle for 20 years.

Progress