Foodz

A sweaty hormone palmy, what-are-all-these-people-doing-on-the-road-at-the-same-time, existential, narcissistic angst ended in a squat to pee outside tent city, which goes endless in blue and green along the highway. Snoqualmie Pass was soft, beautiful. After, in Cle Elum, at Caboose, where we'd grown accustomed to side stories over mules. This scene: poker, prime rib, sibling arguments and the bulbous outlines of youth wrestling on every screen, with a drippy Icicle brewing co. IPA and a continued hormonal itch as I peruse adult acne in the yellow bathroom light. Mustang & Steph come in covered in the glistening white Falcor fur of that same mountain beast now grown. Sudden desire for pantlessness, shoelessness. Leaving our car at the bottom of the mountain, they courier us up; the now icy lanes of plow-excavation.

Red had packed thickly cut steaks from the meat shop. Onion, fig and seed crackers with brie and goat, our glugging wine. Thickly crusted bread slices, an assortment of cold pastas & grains. We played poker, re-integrating ourselves to the malice while listening to New Orleans influenced bands we hope to see. Rest in the plaid with the mountain and tree-top views. Snow slowly gathering on the rims of everything. Mustang & Steph left us for a dinner party, and we slept & watched #GuardiansoftheGalaxy & slept & played angry sets of foosball and ping pong & yoga, before our cle-elum-cation ended Sunday morning. We hiked a couple miles down, past the Mormon church, headed home.

Aquarius Al was celebrated in Aslan, a rare occasion where the word "busy" didn't escape someone's mouth. Friends back from Hawaii, from Echoland, Tabanan, Bali, from New Orleans, the swimming pool; everyone back from something. We're talking female health. Dating. Injury. Recovery. Do I even like this Aslan beer? Home-owned training pools with underwater treadmills and how it's actually a thing where people try to poop on other people's poop to see how high it can get. It's really special to show someone you love them as you love them and for everyone to say Yes when they can, because you never know how long, not only, we'll live, but how long we'll live like this.

Then, there's a Superbowl I go to in my mind that's hard to beat. Denver: the level of dropped pants, combined-birthday, chocolate & marshmallow bananas wrapped in foil & baked in the oven, thick phallic chocolate cake, sleeping in the highest of lofts, Mads J. - all hard to beat. This Superbowl the Morrison's hosted, with their gorgeous televisions, flag running pups, seahawks themed chocolate almonds and finger foods you can't stop fingering.

A different day, John of Olé had driven from Portland to taste wines alongside Red & had a sleepover with us. He's chill at the table, rubbing his wrists on the perfume folds of magazines, constructing a menu, grocery shopping for specs like smoked paprika and treats us, with the accompaniment of Red's sous-ness, to polenta adorned in slightly blackened broccolini, caramelized corn kernels & goat cheese, also: grilled asparagus and sliced filet mignon.