Dirty Boots


Yes, those are my ancient Docs standing guard over a Tecate disguised in a Pabst Blue Ribbon glass. A few stories here. First, the Docs: they have reached their end. It is sad, and I would have kept them on my feet but it was insisted that I replace them with new ones. Insisted. As in, throw them away. They’ve been around since the early 90’s and they’ve seen a lot. Many Lollapaloozas and certainly many grunge-era shows. Too many Pearl Jam shows to count, but also those heady days at Lounge Ax and Metro, when there seemed to be a great show every week, every night, somewhere. But I was still wearing them to the end, just a few holes here and there, what’s the big deal?

So, they have been replaced. Pretty much the same exact shoe, so it’s like they never left. The PBR glass was a gift this year, and a nice one indeed. And while I often turn my nose up at the beer, I found myself drinking it Wednesday night at Liar’s Club, because, well, it was free. Band beer. Cans. What the hell?

No, it did not treat me any better than it normally does, the PBR, but I got through it, and it saved me some dough. At home though, I can put whatever I want into that glass, and it looks just perfect. I am a strange kind of beer snob: I don’t like the shitty beers but I also don’t very much like the fancy schmancy ones either. Not big on microbrews and can’t stand the Goose Islands and Sam Adams. I don’t know. I love Mexican beer. And Belgian beer. And Guinness. Hey, man, what can I tell you? It’s a mystery. And it’s become more about avoiding the hangover now, now more than ever! Damn this alcohol…


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