Catching Up on the Last Couple Months

I've realized that I'm way behind on posting photos since my birthday, so this is my catch-up post. I turned 28!

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Simon the Dog has been at our house so much that a neighbor asked me why he hadn't seen him lately, thinking he is actually our dog.

Jackson and Riley had a baby!

My birthday party was CRACKIN! as you can see by this wild picture below.

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Scott found his calling at Rock Band guitar.

Fabrizio looks like this 90% of the time.

We've been working a lot in the yard and I planted a Weeping Cherry. Not sure that's the scientific name.

My wife still looks great in the morning without any make-up, so nothing's wrong with the world... until she see's that I've posted this photo.

Tacoma, Step Your Morning Coffee Game WAY Up

Every man has a breaking point, and I've reached mine. I cannot get a good Americano served to me before 7 a.m. in Tacoma. It's ridiculous. File this story under "First World Problems" and "High Maintenance Espresso Consumer."

Over, oh, the past month or so, Amanda and I have sought to get an Americano from the many good coffee shops within a half-mile of our house. We live in Tacoma's "most concentrated neighborhood for java," according to the News Tribune. We probably have 10 easily-accessible coffee shops, not including Starbucks, within a 2-minute drive. The problem is that few of these are open before 7 a.m. Who are these lazy owners who don't open their shops when people need caffeine the most -- in the MORNING?! I want to punch all of them in the face.

Last week, we tried going to the new Bluebeard cafe. Thankfully, they were open early. The Americanos were excellent, but the service was S-L-O-W. If you want to take five minutes to crank out a double tall espresso on a Sunday at 11 a.m., fine. But if you take that long on a weekday morning at 6:30 a.m. to pull shots, you might as well throw a closed lane into my commute because I've missed my bus connection in Seattle by the time I've paid for the drink. Speed is an essential part of service in the weekday commuting hours, and I will sacrifice taste is it means I'm not late to where I need to be. It's not like I'm asking for a complex drink. Pull the shots, add the water and send me on my way in two minutes. I'll go back to Bluebeard, but only if I have time to watch the sunrise.

Before Bluebeard, we went to the the tried-and-true Starbucks drive-thru across from the middle school, but even THAT sucks in Tacoma. How is that possible? It's Starbucks, where I don't expect the best drink but at least good consistency. I ordered an Americano, and guess what I got back? A soy latte. WTF?! Thanks for the speed and price break on the more expensive drink, but it's not what I ordered. Where is the competency in pouring the right drink in the right cup? Now, I go to the Starbucks in Bellevue frequently. Then know my name. They know my order. The service is phenomenal. In Tacoma, they can't keep my simple drink straight.

I know it can't just be a workforce talent issue in Tacoma. My and Sergio's favorite coffee spot, Satellite, is excellent. They pull shots with the best of them in Seattle - Fiore and Vita - and serve beans from Stumptown. It's a great cup of coffee and a great experience all around. Of course, I confirmed today that they're not open before 7 a.m., so I have to wait for the weekend to get the best. Amanda suggested we head down the street to the coffee bar outside of Stadium Thriftway. OK, it's a Thriftway. There has to be a standard of coffee here consistent with the food product in the store.

Wrong. After a 15-minute wait to ensure the way-too-hot Americano didn't destroy the inside of my mouth, I gave it a taste and the shots were burnt. It totally ruined my morning. Not that drink in particular, but the notion that I can't get a worthwhile Americano in Tacoma from corporate, chain or local shops.

I bitched about how bad the Americano was for the better part of our commute to Seattle - 45 minutes - and suggested aloud a number of solutions to the problem, the best being the idea that anyone pulling shots in Washington State should be licensed to do so. The idea of getting bad coffee in this state is bad for tourism at the least and bad for our caffeinated economy. If hair stylists need licenses, it's not a stretch for baristas to take a day class and get licensed. Am I wrong?

Amanda kept quiet while I vented, but she didn't hesitate to communicate in other ways:

Wives are good at reminding their husbands that compromises are necessary, so I'll make this one. Tacoma coffee industry, I'll improve my outlook and attitude and you start opening earlier and pulling a decent shot!

I Am Man, Watch Me Build

Ok, so I didn't build an extension to myself or even a deck, but I built one hell of a raised planter box... from scratch... with my own plans. Boo-ya! I just looked online at similar planter boxes that retail for hundreds of dollars, and I think I spent $50 for all the supplies. That's how we do!

Look at that Amish quality. I study them carefully when I'm in Indiana and the secret is the beard.

The Return to Pattison's West

Pattison's West is much more than the Federal Way, WA, skating rink where Apolo Ohno got his start. When I attended St. Vinnie's Catholic elementary and junior high, Pattison's West was the social refuge where I donned the silk shirt, roller blades and exorbitant amounts of cologne to get my game on. Social history was made and broken at this rink, so were Scott's teeth.

During one fateful night, Scott crashed and landed on his face, knocking out his two front teeth right there on the rink. He later had them replaced with porcelain teeth, which is why we called him "potty mouth" or "toilet teeth" for a period of time.

I don't know why Kenna chose this location for her 28th birthday, and especially during spring break, but I was nostalgically excited to return onFriday night. Amanda and I walked up to the ticket booth and the old guy at the counter only said, "I hope you like teenagers."

Only one thing has changed since I last stepped foot in Pattison's West 16 years ago -- I've gotten older. NOTHING has changed inside the place: same carpet, same stained-glass decor around the signage, same all-sugar menu. The hardwood rink hasn't changed either and is probably in the best shape of the whole facility. I wish my floors looked that good at my own house. Man, I am an old dude making a statement like that.

The place stunk with hormones of the hundreds of young teenagers who flooded the rink. There were really three sets of audiences at Pattison's West: young kids aged 10-13, their parents and Kenna's birthday party of late 20-somethings. Our group put on the old school rental skates and hit the floor with some hesitation. We had the advantage of towering over most everyone else in the rink, but we were also likely to make roadkill out of the many kids in our path.

I was a little rusty on the four wheels, having preferred inlines back in my heyday. In contrast, Kenna, Beard and Tyler looked like they were out of some disco music video, swerving in between groups, crossing over skates to take turns and even showing dance moves as they were skating. It was like watching a disco music video with those three. Kenna, I'm going to have to call you "Rollergirl" from here on out. It was a great party!

Tattoos Romanticized

Once again, the time has come for a new tattoo. (Catch up on tattoos 1 and 2, if need be). I reached a goal - earning the master's degree - so I'd like to mark it with ink.

Now this is the part where I describe the tattoo, you pass judgement and then I go and do it anyway.

I'm not the most diehard Husky sports fan, that's reserved for undergraduates, but I found this to be the perfect opportunity to merge my accomplishments with my love for geography. (Amanda just bought me a sweet map of Puget Sound for my birthday, btw).

I saw this New Era hat image months ago, which combines the outline of my home state (I've threatened to get the outline of it already for years) and that Husky W.

My vision for the tattoo is just that with some color tweaks to emphasize the state and minimize the color fill for the W. My Photoshop skills lead me to something like...

Now imagine that on my right shoulder. Wait, you don't have to! Photoshop skills again!

Now that I'm married, I did the responsible thing and discussed this action with my wife. I pitched her this Washington tattoo as well as ideas for a couple other future tattoos that may bloom on my skin in coming years.

I have a romantic notion about tattoos and broached the issue as such, even introducing to Amanda the idea of getting matching tattoos one day. She constantly identifies us a pair of owls, so I thought it'd be cool if we each got one. Just small, little tattoos. John Cusack-movie sweet, right?! Here's how I recall the conversation:

Me: "Hey Amanda, remember that image of the pair of owls on our wedding invitations? What if after this Washington tattoo we get matching owls for each other?"

Her: "Yeah, no. I'm not going to do that."

Me: "Why? That's a great idea! Very romantic."

Her: "I don't want a tattoo. When did I say I wanted a tattoo?"

Me: "Well, I just thought --"

Her: "Nope, but you have fun with coloring your arm up. I'll stick to scrapbooking."

So the romantic angle fell flat. I still think it's a good idea, and I'll have redress my request at a later date. After all, how many times did Tom Hanks get turned down at auditions before he became Forrest Gump and the guy who Saved Private Ryan? How many times did JK Rowling get rejected before Harry Potter got picked up by a publisher? How many times did Kendra have to sleep with Hugh Hefner before she got a reality TV show on E!? Rejection is just an opportunity to hone the pitch.

All that aside, we're still a go for the Washington tattoo. I took the "have fun coloring up your arm" as confirmation. It's something I'd like to do in the next few months. I'm really happy with the concept of having lineage and sport represented on my left shoulder and home and accomplishment on my right. I like to carry a lot of weight on my shoulders. It's time to show it.