Freedom For All

Freedom Is Not Free. 

I have this tattooed on my arm. I live it. I believe it. I also believe that freedom for some is not freedom for all. This country was founded on the simple idea that all are created equal and we all have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. 

This has led me down some “Catch-22” situations. What if someone else’s pursuit makes me uncomfortable? What if I don’t agree with it? They have the right to their own opinions, right?

Not if it hurts others. And that’s the rub. I’ve never been able to effectively express that concept. Luckily I don’t have to anymore. A friend of mine, Wayne, wrote a short essay on this very topic, with the Chick-Fil-A controversy as the basis. You can read it on his website here: http://www.owldolatrous.com/?p=288

I urge you to take a moment and read it. You may believe in the words, you may not. That is up to you. As far as I’m concerned though, it’s way past time to stop the hate.

Grumpy

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Almost Famous

First off let me thank you all for the kind thoughts about the loss of our friend Gar. Beth, who was a part of Gar’s life from the beginning, took the event rather hard. To be honest, for me it solidified just how much I love this woman. Her compassion and empathy towards animals are one of the reasons why I fell in love with her and remain one of the reasons why I love her more than I am sometimes able to express.

Which leads me to the the reason for this post. Beth and I just finished watching “Almost Famous.” It’s a story about a 15 yr. old kid who goes on the road with a rock band to write a story for Rolling Stone magazine in the early ’70s. Aside from being a totally enjoyable flick, it reminded me of why I fell in love with the written word at an early age. Continue reading

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Getting Older

“Don’t let aging get you down. It’s too hard to get back up.”

John Wagner

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Biker Bros

My bro Dave from back in Ohio posted this and I felt it needed posting here. I’ve added and deleted a couple of lines but the meaning still rings true.

To all my bros, both Biker and Non-Riding ones: Continue reading

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Elliott Bay Pizza & Pub: A Delicious Delivery

Friday nights are usually pizza night at the Gregor household. Neither one of us really feels like going out to dinner and we sure as heck don’t feel like cooking. This past Friday, Beth, who was getting sick of the same ol’ cardboard cookie-cutter pizza, decided to do a little online research. Her search formula was simple but brilliant; “Pizza for Delivery in Mill Creek WA.” We like pizza, but on Fridays we are as lazy as sloths on ‘ludes, so delivery was a must have.

What came up was Elliott Bay Pizza & Pub. Let me say that one more time, because I’m sure I will be writing more about this place. Elliott Bay Pizza & Pub. In a world of rabbit pellet sausage and tomato sauce made in China, this place is a culinary breath of fresh air. Let’s get right to the particulars. Continue reading

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Let’s Get This Straight

Okay, look. I don’t know who said that wisdom comes with age, but they lied. The only thing that came when I got older was gray hair and the inability to sleep more than 6 hours in a row without getting up to pee.

I’ve decided to deal with this aging nonsense by keeping a record of my thoughts. Random, grumpy, aching-knee thoughts. It is going to be me being grumpy about getting old. As the hair continues to fall, so will the words.

So renew your AARP card and I’ll meet you at Denny’s where we’ll gripe about kids with more hardware in their ears than a Sears store.

Oh, and get off my lawn!

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Who Killed Folk Music?

We pull off the road, exhilarated from the ride and parched. Mouths drier than a Brit’s wit. I’m talking dry here. Kelly, Brian and I have not been on the road long, but it’s been busy. A lot of blind, off-camber turns and traffic have taken a little bit of a toll. A cold Coors is calling my name and I feel the need to heed the call.

We stop and pull into a small little dive. The vibe from the place screams “LOCALS ONLY” as we enter the cool interior. Patrons glance our way hoping to see a familiar face and seeing none, return to their beers. I order a $3.50 draft and hand the bartender a 5 spot, telling her to keep the change. I’m “in” now. Oh yeah, so in.

I make my way to the back patio. Biker heaven folks. Porta potty, tables, beer and smokes. Like I said, heaven. Crap! Smokes! I forgot my smokes on my scoot. I now have to walk back out through the bar to get my cigs. Through the stares. The questions. The stale spilt beer. Continue reading

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Death Takes a Holiday Rambler

I’ve just wolfed down a killer Klondike Bar, dark chocolate mind you, that is sitting rather heavy on the 4 extra dry martinis I made for myself tonight. Look, don’t let the headline scare you, I’m just experimenting tonight. I’ve spent the last couple of months writing pablum for the masses. Headlines and short snippets designed to get folks to click on a story. Don’t get me wrong, it is good work and I love that an uneducated biker dude like me was given the chance. It’s just not me, you know? I love to write. I love to express my thoughts in ways I hope that help people understand who I am. That’s immortality, right? It’s what we all look for, no?

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The Northwest Vibe

Ed note: This was written in 2011, and now in 2019 is still rings true.

Okay, before I start hearing choruses of “We’ve heard this” “It’s not always about Nirvana” and other comments, let me just say this: this ain’t your Entertainment Tonight version of the vibe. Shall we continue?

I’ll be the first one to admit it, when we first moved out here and I could wear my flannel and vests and not feel like an outcast, I was one happy camper. I felt at home here. For one thing, people looked like me! Longish hair, beards, jeans and flannel shirts. Christ, this was me going back to grade school! And yeah, I had a beard in 3rd grade. Sue me. Bottom line, I felt like I belonged, and I was one happy flannel covered camper.

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Giving Thanks

Man, hard to believe another year has rolled around and it’s time for Thanksgiving again. Turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, brussels sprouts in bacon fat and vinegar, freshly baked rolls, pumpkin pie… I love it all. I also love how while there are “standards”, every family has their own culinary tricks, favorites and traditions.

Not only a time for honoring old traditions, Thanksgiving can also be an opportunity for creating new ones. While our individual situations may put our old, familiar traditions on hold, we can create new ones. The old ones never go away of course. They just sit dormant, waiting for their chance to bloom again.

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