This road used to be the entrance to the chicken farm my great grandfather owned and lost in the early 20th century. It is in Southwick, Mass. and we went there last Sunday.
Here are my ladies at Stanley Park in Westfield, Mass. last Sunday.
Elsie, last Tuesday. A rock god is born.
Helpful hint: take a picture of a menu. That way you have it at all times and can order ahead etc.
Also: this is my second Fathers Day. It is a Hallmark holiday, so to me it's just Sunday.
I am tired of seeing and hearing all of these ads for the day concerning dads and what 'real american men' want on this day.
Most have these themes:
Grilling.
Sports.
Hardware stores/ fixing things.
Golf.
Cigars.
It's a sad state of affairs when one gets compartmentalized by ad buffoons.
What the living hell!?
I want to spend tomorrow with my ladies, enjoying a few laughs and some affection and maybe a little more iced cream than i usually ration my self.
It's supposed to be my day i guess, so i don't need to supplicate to the norm and expect some golf, then home to install gutters while listening to 'the game' and then i'll sweat over a grill while smoking some nasty thing that looks like a turd and tastes like a burning tire.
Oh well.
Such is the lather, rinse, repeat mentality of typical 'men' in this american culture.
Next.
Now watching: Star Trek-Voyager. The Man From Earth.
Now listening: Godflesh. Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Swans. Napalm Death. Flipper.
