Introduction: Spokanistan, You Truly are the King of Kings
La Rev commenter A&T and I got picked up at the airport on Thursday and dropped off at our buddy’s downtown office. He’s got this kick-ass view of the city and the mountains (and Chicken n’ More). He has two computers, a name plate, a pool table and coffee machine down the hall, and a little plastic desk for his little daughter to play on when she comes over to hang out. Talk about a recurring theme for the weekend. Here we were, A&T and I, ready to get started with a weekend filled with the same jokes we told in college at the same bars we drank at in college with all the same people we hung out in college, and we’re sitting in the office of a friend with a real life.
I won’t be able to fit everything that happened over the weekend into just one post, so I’m taking a page out of the old dime store magazines and serializing this thing over a few days. You’ll get all the gory details (including the time I punched a kangaroo–just wait, it’s an awesome story) filled with some pictures, some dreams of Erin Andrews, and a few trips to Jack and Dan’s (pink margaritas included) thrown in for good measure. It’s all about living in the past here at La Rev, in case you hadn’t noticed.
But then, that’s what every trip back to Spokane is. Every time, it’s like a journey through the past, where your best friends are there and all you do is make fun of each other, listen to each other snore all night, and generally act like fools simply because you can. Then, when you inevitably go back to your old life, you find yourself, like one of Fitzgerald’s boats, smashing around against the current, trying to get back to that past. It’s sad, really. I’m looking for a green light at the other side of the harbor, thinking about how I might or might not get shot in my own pool.
Hey, pansy, are you going to cry now? Suck it up so we can go get drunk!
Check please.