I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I was writing a couple of reviews for Paste Magazine about skateboarding books. If you ever skateboarded (I know, chances are slim with this audience), you'll find old friends in a newly published book about skateboard stickers. In what can only be the fruit of sublime inspiration flashing forth like a thunderbolt, the authors creatively titled the book Skateboard Stickers. Names aside, there are some stickers herein that really take me back -- back to the days of Vernon Courtland Johnson's Powell-Peralta deck designs, and to Jim Phillips' Santa Cruz Skates art.

You know what's funny? I remember seeing those Powell decks and thinking that they were so cool, but that I was too afraid to ride around suburban Alabama with skulls and fangs on my deck. I myself rode a Hosoi Hammerhead, the better to pose with, my dear. But I covered that thing in the coolest stickers my cheap-o allowance (no insult intended, parents) would buy. What a poser! I never even managed to ride a half-pipe.

Finally, after many moons of searching, I found and was able to try one of the great domestic stouts, Victory Brewing Company's Storm King Stout. This beer consistently sits in the top 10 or so at Beer Advocate's Best Beers list, and it's notably one of the only non-Belgians to do so.

Now, for me, stouts are kind of a dangerous proposition, because I've had some wonderful stuff, and I've had stuff that tasted like it was made from recycled tire rubber. But either way, you end up full, which means that you don't have nearly as much room for sampling other brewed tasties. So I'm a bit on the skittish side. I know several stouts I'd recommend: Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout, Young's Double Chocolate Stout, and even Guinness. Beyond that, though, I'm not likely to wander too far. I usually prefer hopped-up I.P.A.s when available.

So imagine my surprise when the first flavor that hit me from the Storm King was hops, and by the bucketful. Turns out this brew brings together big malt and big hops in a smooth, complex way. Wow! It's definitely at the top of the stout list for me, and ahead of almost all of my other favorites (and yes, that includes Chimay). Trouble is, the Victory Brewing Company is based in Downingtown, PA, and they don't export this far south. I can get it in Chicagoland, though -- saw it in a grocery store there recently. Woo hoo!

The southern burbs from the air, just before landing in Chicago. Lake Michigan in the distance.

Sunset on the tarmac, Chicago-Midway, just prior to takeoff.

Despite the trouble Shel and I have had with the child thing, I think that we can all agree that kids can be a great thing. I really like hanging out with my godkids, and our friends PM and TM have the cutest little girls -- with golden curly hair. And yet I have the most respect for the moms. I've been watching our friends CH and WH as they have been handling their pregnancy, and just recently learned that WH had to give up running until the baby comes. I guess it really hits home when it starts making your back hurt. I can't count the number of times I've seen women in this pose:



But I should add that it looks kinda stupid on guys.

Everyone, I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to Monkeyboy's latest: he's started his very own blog. Fortunately for him, he started his after the recent relaunch of Blogger, which means that he was able to take advantage of some snazzy templates right from the get-go. I really like the way he's set up his sidebar items; as you'll notice, I've begun to make a few edits to my page here, based partly on what I like about the template MB chose.

But don't take my word for it. Head on over yourself! To see his blog, go ahead and touch my monkey.

So Shel and I are bummed, because we bought tickets to go see Rufus Wainwright at the Ravinia Festival in Chicago for this Friday, and we can't make it up there for the show. Or, rather, we could make it there, but we're dog tired from the past two weeks. Last week was a beeyatch, and this week is nearly as bad. I think I'm simultaneously training and/or supporting four different groups of faculty right now. I don't think either of us has been to bed before 2 in the past week.

Shel is killing herself to get the Paste edits done for the next issue, which goes to the printer this Friday. On top of that she's got to write a couple of book reviews herself. I'm responsible for two articles in that issue: one on Hong Kong cinema and Kill Bill, and a combined review of two books on skateboarding. In other words, adolescent Randall is in full effect.

Ye gods, what a week. I traveled to Pensacola this past week, to do some training for faculty at the University of West Florida. I trained them Monday through Wednesday, and by Wednesday my voice was starting to go. Nice folks, and I really liked working with them. The drive was a killer, though. I decided to drive, because Shel and I hadn't seen our new godson yet. That's Townes in my previous post below, in the diaper.

Pensacola has very little to recommend it, BTW. One thing it does have is a goofy Irish pub called McGuire's where they brew their own beer in various varieties and make some excellent steaks. I had the steak and mushroom pie, which came in a puff pastry shell. And, of course, I tried several of their beers: the Irish Red Ale (not worth drinking), the Porter (closer to fine), and their own barleywine, called "What the Gent on the Floor is Having." I'd go back for this beer. My UWF faculty tell me that they also have great bagpiping many evenings. I had to wonder how great any bagpiping could be in an enclosed space with hard floors, but maybe that's just me.

I did get to eat at Tenda Chick in Auburn, though, on my way back to Atlanta from Pensacola Wednesday night. I wanted to eat somewhere on College Street, but I tell you, that town just doesn't have much to recommend it. I expected to feel a sense of nostalgia, being back, but I didn't. Just kind of nonplussed.

That is, until I made my way to Tenda Chick. As King Arthur said, when Percival handed him the Grail and he drank, "I did not realize how empty was my soul, until it was filled." There's just no better chicken finger sold anywhere, folks. Zaxby's takes a distinct second to this one-of-a-kind place. And they still don't take credit cards.

Oh, here are some great pics of our visit with the young'uns.

The doorman welcomes us.
Ah, the great american game: Keep Away.
I know this picture's blurry, but I still love it!
Ty hanging on
Shel under assault!
Jack dominating on Triple Play 2001

I was told not to upload this one, but I think it's pretty sweet, and it expresses a certain something about leavetaking. Sorry La!

Shel visited La and Monkeyboy this week while I was training folks in Pensacola. Here we are just before leaving to come home.

Weekend with the godkids. Check out Jack's new specs! 

Godson #3: Townes Washington Purdy, in full effect!

Yes, it's true, life is tumultuous these days, what with moving to another state on the horizon and having to settle in, not to mention picking up the responsibilities of a new role. Sometimes you come home from a day on the job, or a day spent dealing with inspectors and moving companies, and you just can't remember your name.

(Cue home-on-the-range music and soothing announcer's voice)

And for times like that, there are Angel Biscuits. Yes, Angel Biscuits, with their diminutive diameter and fluffy feel: so light they make you want to float away, so delicious you must indulge again and again...there's no treat like an Angel Biscuit. Lovingly prepared by the master bakers at Wunder Farms, they're chock-a-block with comfort. Try one today, and you'll say: