Finally,

After years of reading the fam blog, I am making my first contribution. Though I think our blog has now been replaced by the "Post Wedding Events Apology" blog. How the fam can take a moral blunder and turn it into something reminiscent of a "New York, New York" fam dinner conversation, which usually leads to James Duffy telling Kean to f*** off. When that occurs, this facebook conversation of infidelity, homosexuality, and 3-ways will be complete, short of a banana's foster and Pat wondering why the hell we spend so much money on his mediocre food.

Well, the first year of the rest of my life has just ended. Within months I went from O-Money to Mr. Mooney, lead instructional leader of the Global Studies Department of ACORN Community High School. With a duffle bag of shoes, clothes, yankee hats, and a shitty notebook computer, I took the road less taken. To tell you all the truth, I'm happy to be doing it but ready to be done. These kids were cheated out an education. As hard as I try, its nearly impossible to 10 years of terrible education. New York and this job are amazing, but its not worth it without the company of good friends. Perhaps the most amazing city in the world, it simply doesn't match the fam. With that said, I'll be in Spokane all summer, studying my ass off. I hope we can all maybe meet in Portland, for a dinner and conversation at NYNY, and maybe a strip club.

Ah, Reunions.

Good times abound in San Fran last weekend. Strippers, forties, Guinness, cigars. Roland trying to apply his A- from social dance. Keanan's "date." But could you expect any less with The Fam all together in one place.

Another Reason to Love California

So by now, I'm sure I've made my point why California is the greatest state to live in. Great weather, great Governor, great women, etc... Today is when I can make my final point. How often is it that you meet a woman that is named after a sweet car that is not a stripper. I'll give you your Mercedes, Porches, Lexus' etc... All of those are stripper names hands down. Tonight was different. Tonight I met a great girl that was not a stripper, but was named after a sweet car. Possibly the the sweetest car of them all.

We all know her as Eleanor. Well, at least those that have seen "Gone in 60 Seconds." Shelby. Tonight, I was at a bar and I met a girl named "Shelby." Not only is that a name that I would proudly named my first daughter, but it is also a name that brings significance to the story. Not only was her dad a huge Ford Motor fan, but she was also in the middle of restoring a 1968 Shelby GT 500 Mustang. The first time I heard this I needed to change my pants. It was that perfect. Not only did her father have the American know it all to name her after a "more than classic" automobile, but she was car savy and in the process of rebuilding her namesake.

Where else but the great state of California would something like this happen? Not Oregon or Spokane, that's for Goddamn sure. Do you remember when Indiana Jones found the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail? This is what I felt like when I met this girl. My Ark/Holy Grail was found and it was the greatest moment of my life. Not only that but she was a bartender and served me free drinks all night. Hence the late night, drunk ass blog. Which I am very surprised is seldom used anymore.

Anyway, I wanted to tell everyone of the greatness of California and in turn wish everyone a great welcome as they come to the state for the "shitshow" known as Tex's wedding. I have no idea who will dare say a toast, but I hope it is similar to the "Old School" toast given by Luke Wilson.

In Scotch We Trust.

Ode to 1003

As the last stragglers have finally moved out of the house, I found it fitting to write an ode to the two years in the house. Actually, I was extremely bored at work and needed something to pass the time. Oh, and Dr. Seuss has nothing on me.

"Ode to 1003"

Two years spent on campus
We now would be free
To live at the house
Known as 10-03

Six guys and a girl
We just couldn't wait
It all came together
It must have been fate

We took trips to move in
And clear out the trash
Consumed lots of liquor
No worry where to crash

The house was soon christened
On Roland's birthday
All plates in the house
Smashed behind Safeway

The school year started
With a bang thanks to us
We partied and partied
No neighbors gave fuss

Whenever we wanted
To make some fast cash
We sent message to the kiddies
To come to our bash

Two kegs and some liquor
Was all that it took
The kids just kept coming
We could tell they were hooked

It wasn't just parties
We did other stuff too
Like beer pong and hookah
And call Brian a Jew

With much going on
The year ran by quickly
We lost a house member
And all felt so sickly

We somehow moved on
We drank and we drank
And further into alcoholism
We sank and we sank

The first year was over
So soon had it passed
One more yet to come
It would be our last

Our second year started
As soon as the first
Some things had changed
We still drank and we cursed

We had two new members
A mick and a guinnea
We treated them well
And yes I'm just kidding

The mick was just there
For a very short bit
He needed more room
To stretch out his shit

The guinnea he stayed
Where else would he go?
Stuck in Spokane
To work radio

Year two had less parties
We grew tired of that game
But when a party happened
We knew who to blame

Broken windows and fines
Were the problems we had
It seemed it was our goal
To make Ken very mad

No matter the party
No matter what was done
It was the members of the house
That made living there fun

The first floor had balance
One lazy one not
Politics and classes
They fought and they fought

A dad and a reverend
Were both on floor two
So slept the guinnea
And a bed-pisser too

The attic had one
The asshole in the house
His way got shit done
He wasn't a louse

Many memories we had
Many more did we make
Testicleeze and the Lancers
Are a few I will take

So as you move on
And further your career
Never forget 10-03
Remember it fore'er

Straight as an arrow

So I got my first taste of bartenderhood Saturday night, but not the way many of you heard through the grapevine.

Yes, I begrudgingly missed Bobby's hotty McHot hot mom serving BBQ and beer Friday night in order to work at the Cheerful Tortoise, and that was the original plan Saturday night. Working at the Tortoise was pretty kickass. Hot servers, sports bar atmosphere, lots of beer. My kind of place. However, since I was technically still stuck on *intern* status I was not making money; just getting a reference for when I try and get a real job.

So as I prepared myself for another 6pm-3am shift Saturday afternoon, my phone rang. It was my bartending instructor calling to ask how the previous night went -- yet already knowing how things went by talking to the manager earlier in the day. His real purpose for calling: to offer me a paid opportunity. Apparently, I kicked enough ass that when he heard that a bartender was needed at the last minute, he thought of me. The job needed a younger guy, good looking, well dressed, and able to drive out near the airport. There had to be a catch, and -- indeed -- there was.

I was to be working at The Viewpoint, a popular strip club out on 82nd and Killingsworth in Ptown. The Viewpoint has two bars: 1) your typical female dance/male patron side, -AND- 2) a weekend all-male revue for female patrons. They wanted me to work the bar on the male dancer side.

I know what many of you are thinking... "Well, that finally answers all the questions we had about Keanan," etc. etc.

Truth be told, I never saw an ass or a guy's junk the entire night. I had more of a problem with the hundreds of Mrs. Robinson's hitting on me because they liked the booze a little too much. I worked approximately 5 hours, without much of a break, but made $200 dollars. And that, according to management, was on a low night with the women tipping poorly.

So it's possible I may have to work there again before my move out to Spokealoo. I dunno, I wouldn't be too excited to re-live that experience. However, the money is good, and I could get used to routinely putting in $200 untaxed dollars into my pocket every night. As the Rev put it best: "Becoming a bartender maybe was the smartest thing

Desert Paradise

After reading the last post about the shenanigans in Montana I thought, "Damn, I should go to Montana." I then proceded to hit myself in the head with a large bat. This was to make sure I never said anything that stupid again. Sure, Sean had a great time, and I'm sure I'd have a great time too. But Montana? I think I'll avoid it like a fat chick.

The following, however, depicts not only the greatest city in the world, but also a place that everyone wants to go. Vegas. Las Vegas. A city defined by an orgy of the senses. The booze, the gambling, the beautiful babies, the lights, the sounds. Everything.

I got into Vegas around 7:30 PM on Thursday after a nice, relaxing 3 1/2 drive through the desert wasteland that is eastern CA and western NV. I walked into the hotel (I would be staying at the Luxor) and the first thing to hit me was the sounds of slots. All the beeps and buzzers accurately depicted by the first casino scene in Swingers overwhelmed my ears. A flood of sheer happiness flooded over me as this was the first realization that I was in Vegas. The night ended in a flurry of scotch, manhattans, and beer (all comped due to my excessive gambling). This was only the beginning.

The next day started, late might I add, with me getting up just in time to make the lunch buffet. I figured, what better way to start the day than with a sandwich and a cocktail. The drinking day began at 1PM, and I was in utter paradise. More gambling would ensue until another group of friends arrived in Vegas around 7PM on Friday. The drinking games would then commence with me kicking ass in Chandeliers. 3 hours of pre-funking later, we decided to set out and hit the strip. The best part about this city, NO OPEN CONTAINOR LAW. This means that if I want to walk the strip with an open beer in each hand, and two more in my pockets, no one will say a damn word.

The plan is to walk the entire strip and hit every bar/casino along the way. The only stipulation; one must drink at least one entire drink before commencing to the next bar/casino. The well titled "Miracle Mile" goes off without a hitch as we leave the Luxor and head towards the Tropicana. I'm already pretty toasted from all the drinking games, but I decide a good drink to start the night with is a scotch on the rocks. Hard liquor after a shitload of beer? Sure, its Vegas baby. We begin to leave the Aladdin when we run into the second bar in the Tropicana. Rules are rules and we must have another drink. I bring it down a notch and grab a redbull/vodka. I figure it will keep me awake more than it will fuck me up. The pros beat the cons on this one.

We finally get out of the Tropicana and right in front of us is the Hooters hotel. Like a sign from God we stumble towards the hotel in search of more drinks. With plenty of hot girls in Las Vegas, Hooters is at no loss for employees. Hefeweizen was on tap, and Hef is what I got. After staring at large Hooters and drinking my beer, it was decided that we leave the hotel and go in search of greener pastures. The MGM grand happened to be on our way back to the strip, so the MGM grand is where we go. Everyone grabs a drink and we drink next to the lion cage; God only knows why.

The MGM grand is full of smoke and too many damn people so we leave and walk across the street to the New York, New York. Funny thing was, as soon as I walked in the building, I thought I was in New York. It smelled exactly the same as the real city. A very funny, indescribable scent that lingered in the nostrils. We head to the Coyote Ugly for a drink and decide that its as good a time as any to do some harder stuff. Everyone grabs a shot of 151 and down the hatch it went. At the time, it sounded like a great idea. But as soon as the liquor hit the lips, I realized this was going to be a long ass night.

Feeling like I was back in Spokane with all the girls dancing on the bar, I decide that this was enough and another bar should be had. A little further down the strip is the Monte Carlo where our next drink begins. Now this is where the story gets a little fuzzy. The 151 is hitting a little harder than I remember it hitting, and according to some reports I antagonized the girl, but other reports say she antagonized me. The only thing I really remember is getting pissed off and deciding that I would drink twice as much as everyone else for the rest of the mile.

I decide it is time to get the show on the road, and we leave and head to the Aladdin. At this point in the night, I am no longer walking a straight line or making complete or understandable sentences. I can still, however, find my way to a bar and order drinks. Practice makes perfect never made more sense. I delight my friends by drinking a couple redneck summers (bud light with a lime) and we head to the next bar. I faintly remember urinating outside, but I'm not sure if it was on a wall, a parked car, or just out in the open. Either way, I am quite relieved and ready for more drinks.

We have reached our final destination at Paris, Paris and we couldn't be more pleased. It is not everyday that one walks the strip and has a drink at every casino/bar along the way, and does this successfully. I decide that I am back in Paris, and thus must have wine. This is not a good decision as I would later come to the conclusion and wine after beer and liquor is a horrible, horrible idea. Nonetheless, a few glasses of a nice Parisian red wine and its over. The walk back I think included a trip to Del Taco, cat-calling prostitues (or girls dressed like prostitutes), and puking all over the sidewalk. However, we somehow made in back to the hotel.

I don't remember walking through the hotel and going into our room. My next memory is waking up with a throbbing headache, not knowing where my pants were, and wondering why the hell I passed out on the floor when there is an empty bed right next to me. Now they say "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," but please. If stories like this didn't get told on a regular basis, no one would respect Vegas for what it really is. A city full of drunkenness and sexuality where everything goes and no one cares because EVERYONE IS DOING IT.

Viva Las Vegas my friends. Viva Las Vegas.

What are the odds?

So in the last month, two fellow Fam members have had their car (and most of their life) stolen from the hallowed 1003 E. Mission residence. Since it's pretty obvious that these were connected, it got me to thinking: Who's car will be stolen next?

I say we start a betting pool to find out. Here's my preliminary handicapping...

Rev - 3:1 ... Nice car, satellite radio, pretty much a given. It's his turn.

Jimborino - 7:2 ... Again, nice car, with the added value that it's extra shiney and the Spokies love cars that scream "redneck pimp" when looking at it. Doesn't always park at 1003, though, therefore odds slightly lower.

Tru - 20:1 ... His car isn't even in Spokane. But the likelihood a car he at some point drives is stolen because he lives in Cali is still a possibility.

Ro - 30:1 (because who steals a fucking K car?) *BUT* 2:1 his car is used as a roadside bomb.

O$ - 100:1 ... my personal choice, because the same guy who burned down the new apartment complex to get back at GU will steal Pargo's Dodge Magnum while O$ is picking up "breezies" on Hamilton.

Slinks - 1,000,000,000,000:1 ... Self-explanatory.

Ginny - 12:1 ... Because this kind of shit happens to me so often, it's bound to happen again.

Summer Before the Best Year of Our Lives

Knowing that this is the summer before our senior year at Gonzaga, and for some, our last year in Spokane, I have come to the conclusion that it is necessary to live out this summer to our best ability. With the 11 day bender done and over with, I think it is time for more one-up-manship to take place over the summer. We all remember the stories and the hilarity created by the 11 day bender, but I think we also all realize that the bender was just a pre-lim to the eventuality of our senior year.

I say, why wait until the end of August to begin senior year? Why not get the stories started as soon as possible (ie summertime)? I figure that this blog has been under-used and not reached its ultimate ability to spread the craziness that is our lives. With this in mind, I preview the following story with a warning. What happens in SoCal, stays in SoCal. God knows this kind of shit wouldn't happen to me anywhere else. I'm never gonna leave.

The story starts at my friends house in West Covina where we are shooting scenes for a show he is trying to produce for a competition put on by FX. The contest involves a 5 minute video of a TV show idea and the winner of the contest receives 50,000 to produce a pilot episode. I was asked to play a part in the video, so thats why I was at the house. The shooting went really well and we decided to drive down to Fullerton (near Cal State Fullerton) and hit up a sports bar for a celebratory drink. On the way there in the car, we decided that the girl that came with us was fair game and it would be every man for himself (game on so to speak).

We get to the bar and get our drinks. I get my pitcher of Bud Light and one glass and we sit around the bar and shoot the shit with the girl. All the guys are trying there best game with this girl and failing miserably. I decide to play the "act like you don't want the shit and get the shit for free" game and see if the saying really is true. I get in a few words to her here and there but never act like I give a shit about her.

We end up back at my friends house quite drunk by now (I think I was 3 pitchers in by this point). We then are amazed to find out what this girl does for a job. You might want to sit down for this and prepare yourself. She is a belly dancer. Swear to God. Not shitting you for a second. A straight up, Middle-Eastern style, belly dancer. I end up talking her into dancing for all of us (lucky for us she has her costume in her car).

The night goes by and I'm too drunk to drive home so I decide to crash at his house. Lucky for me she's also "too drunk" to drive home. Even luckier for me, my buddy has a guest room with two beds in it. We get to the room and are about to crash in the beds when my buddy starts telling us about the ghost that haunts his house. I'm thinking I just want him to leave so I can crash already, but little do I know this story sets up what comes next.

He leaves and she starts to play the "I'm scared and I don't want to sleep alone card." I in turn say, "well, there's plenty of room in my bed." What happened after that you wouldn't believe if it had happened to you. I'll end the story by saying that she never stopped moving those hips like a belly dancer. Best part of the story, she was gone when I woke up. I love my life.

So good luck to you sirs, as you begin this final summer of complete lack of responsibility and care for your body and soul. May the good times never end.

BREAKING NEWS: Keanan in Spokane next year?

Talked to Rev last evening, or today this morning, or who gives a fuck it was 1:30 AM...

I broke the news to him and figured I'd update everyone of the goings-on that is my wild and wacky life.

I'm not coming back to Idaho next year. It's really not mind kind of place. Sure there are things I like, for instance cheap booze and a WinCo a quarter-mile from campus. But the women here just aren't slutty enough for my liking, nor skinny enough, for me to willfully and soberly do anything to. Plus their basketball team just promoted an assistant coach that was part of a 4-25 season. Stupid asses.

Anywho, I'm going to broadcasting school to focus on getting into radio. Writing stuff is cool and all, but you have to go to school for four years, and only in your senior year do you actually learn anything. It's costing me $20,000+ a year to take ho hum math, golf, and weight training. That's not worth it. I have a couple options going the broadcasting route, which will only cost me at the most $10,000 for one year, and one of those routes possibly taking me to Spokane. Yes, I have other options like Portland, Phoenix, and Dallas (I'm serious here), but only in Portland and Spokane can I actually live affordably. As I told Rev, it's still very early in the planning stages and I won't know for sure where I'm going until June most likely, but wanted to give PLO and his residents ample time to prepare for the shit storm that could be forthcoming.

Take it easy guys, I'll be up FOR SURE on Friday April 28, the day after my 21st. Shenanigans, tomfoolery, and the usual can be expected.

The Pint Glass

This story is in dedication to a Mr. Charlie Shackelford. Mr. Shackelford had the wonderous (or not so wonderous) experience of having his girlfriend's 21st birthday the evening of last. Knowing the state that any man must be in to care for his sick girlfriend (namely: rediculously drunk), I attempt to coerce Charlie into joining me in such a state. We take a shot of bourbon before leaving for the bar, and Charlie makes quite the face. I ask him if he likes whiskey, he says "yeah of course." I think nothing of it. We go to the bar. A drink or two later, the point in the evening comes to have our meeting with the Three Wise Men. Charlie makes the comment how he doesnt see how this could taste any different from any other whiskey shot. I think nothing of it. We cheers the shot glasses and take down Jim, Jack, and John. I savor the subtle aftertaste of the Johnnie Walker and glance over at Mr. Schackelford, just in time to see him empty the contents of the shot, and the remainder of his stomach, into a pint glass sitting in front of him. I say, "I thought you liked whiskey." He answers, "Yeah, but I've only had one type of whiskey and I liked it." I ask him what type. "Southern Comfort."

Shenanigans.