an decline: August 2008

my friend ryan hastings lives in seattle now. he is really rad.
a week and a half ago, i went to seattle to climb with mikey.
he is also my friend, and a rad one at that.
filmer flew in sunday morning.
another rad friend of mine.
honestly, i only like having rad friends; fucking a, ya know.

anyhow, heres the scoop:

friday night.
i left work and drove to seattle.
my sister was performing 80's confidential.
its a burlesque show; come on now, no nudity, its my sis.
so the show starts at 10 and i get there at 9:55.
mikey and my mom and i had reserved a VIP table, front and center.
we're talkin like - okay, here, lemme draw a picture.
nah, nevermind, too much work to draw a picture.
basically, our table was at stage level, and im sitting on the outside.
might as well be part of the performance, cause im sitting there on stage.
anyhow, here comes my sister and her friends i have known for years.
they're dancing all kinds of awesome hilarity to rad as fuck 80s songs.
they're taking off their clothes with precision accuracy to the tunes.
i focused on my beer when my sister was up there.
i focused on the female form and the other dancers are when she wasnt.
since i was in the front, i got lots of eye contact from the performers.
they have on their smiley faces and open mouths and innocent looks.
they have on their fuck-me faces and lip licking and naughty looks, too.
its all part of the show.
i could feel my moms eyes watching me in this situation.
p.s. i am wearing black cowboy boots, havent showered since thursday morning.
also, i'm rockin this wolf and moon shirt, which was covered in mildew.
moral of part 1 of the story, dont go to a burlesque show...
...featuring your sister and her friends you know...
...with your mom and one of your best rad friends...
...and dont sit right up front.. ..looking like a dirtbag (well i cant help that).

next morning, mike and i go climbing - we head for exit 38.
tortillas filled with bananas and peanut butter for breakfast.
oh yeah then i illegally parked in a bank parking lot for an hour.
while i got yet another fucking blackberry.
internet and email services hadnt worked since sasquatch.
no icicles, in other words.
that makes 4 blackberries in like 7 months - all free.
exit 38 is just past north bend, washington, on interstate 90.
driving there i phone my mom and ask her to buy me some new boxer shorts.
i hiked in cowboy boots, my usual pathfinder tricks took us off trail for shortcuts.
i forgot my backpack and carried a fuckload of climbing gear in a duffel bag.
we get to interstate rocks, i sit to put my climbing shoes on.
i knock a big ass rock on my foot, it dents my cowboy boots and cracks my toenail.
my toenail is already turning black and my other toes are smashed as fuck.
we climb anyways.
mikey and i both lead some sport routes, and have some fun.
after a few hours, i couldnt really walk anymore, let alone climb.
so i belay mikey down as he retrieves the quick-draws.
after he unclips the last bolt, i hobble off, nothing more i can do for him.
i hear a huge commotion - snapping twigs, thuds, scrapes, that kind of shit.
mikey fell down the hill, i guess is what happened.
i hobble over, and ask, hey, did you tear your shirt?
his shirt is clearly ripped in half, but he didnt know it.
moral of part 2 of the story, if youre going climbing...
...bring some shoes to hike in...
...bring a backpack to carry your 50 pounds of rope and gear...
...and dont climb if you fuck your foot up before you start.

we get back to town.
eat pizza cooked in 90 seconds with my mom.
then we go meet up with kudo and ryan and steve.
i used to work with them in chicago.
i was so excited to see my old friends.
i loved seeing them, and i think they liked seeing me too.

anyhow, im still wearing the boots, the wolf/moon, the sturgis bandana.
my hair is greasy, my boot is dented, ive got a limp.
i smell like a badger or a wolverine or anything fucked up.
its saturday night and i havent been clean since thursday.
ive been wearing the same clothes and climbing and sleeping in that shit.
we go to belltown, the yaletown of seattle - you know, hi rollers.
i guess i like being out of place, you know?
we have some drinks.
a cute blonde hands ryan a note and walks off.
'my friend thinks youre cute'
i want to walk over there and ask..
..hey does anyone think im cute?
but i dont.

instead i make a hangman game on a napkin.
it was pure art, i even added grass to the hill and a wooden frame.
i had seen the two blondes when we first arrived.
in fact, at that time, the one was picking shit out of the others teeth.
so, we walk over there, and i notice theres two dudes sitting with them.
oh well, i liked my plan, and wanted to execute, fuck the double-date.
i make them play hangman.
i have to add fucking fingers cause they cant figure it out.
the word is 'SWEET'
as in 'my friend thinks you are cute' --> sweet!
we walk off.

a bit later, a drink shows up for ryan.
he sends one back, whatever, everyone from chicago leaves.
now its just me and mikey and ryan.
its getting near last call so i order another heineken.
i drink ryans beer too, cause he doesnt drink.
i had secret shots of wild turkey at the bar so im doing well.
the girls and their dates show up at our table.
ryan appeases me and mikey with more wild turkey, a shot for us 3.
we talk, they get interested, they like canadians, so i play that angle.
they think ryans lookin good.
hes got new grey all stars.
hes got a new suit.
hes got a shave.
a haircut, too.

turns out the two dudes with the blondes are on a date themselves.
now, some bar guy comes to remove our drinks, its 2 am, theyre closing.
i drink every last drop and hold the bottle above my head.
drip - drip - drip, ive got power over you bud, i payed for it let me drink it...
...finally, he snatches it from me and kicks us out.
where to? you can come to our downtown condo.
so we do.
they only had 4 rolling rocks, i drank mine in like negative 1 second.
i really wish we had more beer, but the stores are closed.
im smoking lots of marlboros this nite, btw.
hey, is that pool down there i see off the balcony.
now were going swimming with cute girls in white t-shirts and underwear...
...well yeah and the two gay guys.
anyhow, fuckin a, we've got two cute drunk girls hanging on us in a pool.
oh yeah, the pools closed, and theres no lights.
im launching them into the air over my head.
we're treading water in the deep end near the heater.
one girl on each leg.
for warmth.

time to go upstairs; i let everyone go first.
i collect my boots, my bandana, my necklace, my scummy clothes.
as i follow those nice looking ladies in white t-shirts into the light..
..most guys would be up close and checkin out the babes.
after all.. ..white tshirts.. ..water.. ...whatever.
but i lag behind cause i spy something in a poolside tree planter.
turns out, its a half a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
i love PBR, what the fuck, my life is a dream world.

so i miss the elevator ride with the wet t-shirts.
but goddamn, i bring the beer!
when we were down and out, no beer left...
...the dirtbag comes through with a magical half case of PBR.
i was a hero, but mostly only to myself.
nobody else much wanted more beer.
so we leave, ive got a can of beer in each pocket.
thats four beers. well okay, maybe mikey and ryan are carrying one.
i remember those girls calling me rambo.
must have been the bandana, black boots and jeans, no shirt.
i find an onion on the street walking back, a whole fucking onion.
so i threw it as high as i could and it came down on a car.

there is no moral to part 3 of this story.
except, maybe, you only live once.

its five a.m. when mikey and i get home.
hes gotta work at 10, ive gotta pick up filmer at 10:30.
i stumble out of mikeys towards chevron at 9:45.
i almost get hit by a car in the parking lot.
its my mom.
'you look like shit'
'thanks mom'
'heres some boxer shorts, jeans, and t-shrits'
'thanks mom'

i go to pick up filmer at the airport.
i gotta wait for like an hour.
im blasting shangri-las with my windows down.
im fucked up; hung over.
filmer had to wait for my guitar, he checked it.
hard case.
when we leave, i weave through the orange construction barrels.
i was making poor decisions.
filmers being covered in some kind of mist.
one of my PBR's broke open on the spare u-bolts on my passenger floorboard.
i pick it up and throw it out his window, at speed.
it was great.

sincerely,

andrew jackson klein