I just got a haircut. It's short.
Carley Manning skips town next Thursday and heads back to the NKY (that's Northern Kentucky to you uneducated folk). Before moving to Chicago, I hunted her down at the Southgate House in Newport during one of her bazillion visits back home to inform her that we would be hanging out when I moved. We did. She stuck around for three years, and now she's rolling back. She will be sorely missed. That's my girl right there.
This is the last blog post you will see in this format. Shit is getting overhauled very soon courtesy of Adam McIver's brain. Soak in my novice, uneducated layout and design while you still can.
I haven't blogged in like a month. I really have nothing to blame for this. I often convince myself that I'm busier than I actually am. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I generally dislike sitting down, so I keep myself "busy" even while I'm hanging around my apartment. This often consists of doing random sets of pushups, cleaning my bike, listening to records while dusting, or fiddling around in my garage space.
I have too many modes of transportation and too little money. Something's gotta give soon (and I have a feeling it's going to start with a "mo" and end with a "ped").
Running is my therapy, and I've been doing it an obscene amount recently. That's not to say I'm depressed by any means. I've just felt the need to run more and more recently. Interpret that however you want. Actually, I can't wait to go running tomorrow because my hair's short again. Here's to not feeling like my flowing locks are creating a stupid amount of wind resistance and holding me back from reaching lightning speed.
Right arm half-sleeve-ish tattoo on its way. June 19th as a matter of fact. Better late than never (my motto always and forever).
Michael Short and Kenneth Roa are homeowners. I went back to Cincinnati over Memorial Day weekend to confirm. It's true. Each has bought a westside home with windows and working plumbing. My heart is swelling with pride and joy. All I want now is to see each of them cutting the lawn in a wifebeater, cut-off jean shorts, and flip-flops while sipping on a can of Budweiser. I can't imagine anything more majestic.
This blog post has no real theme, and I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm so okay with it that I just mentioned it. You know, like right HERE. Nothing better than a good ramble.
Ken Griffey, Jr. retired. It makes me sad that he never made it as a Red. It makes me sad that he was a walking injury. It makes me sad that the team crippled itself for years because of his contract. But in spite of it all, it makes me sad that he's not going to be playing anymore. Yeah, I'm blind and ignorant, but I don't give a fuck. I was and will always be a fan of Junior. So, check out Justin's blog post on Griffey and help him choose the right point of view concerning the Kid's legacy (if you know what's good for you, lean towards the sentiment I just expressed).
I've begun a quest to become somewhat of a beer connoisseur/snob. I expect to be good at it but never great.
Justin Bragg moves up here this weekend, and Heidi Bragg follows shortly thereafter. It's surreal to see this string of events come to fruition. It's literally been a year since these plans were lightly discussed and even joked about. Who knew that they'd actually materialize? My goal is to make them love this city, even though it wants to slap you around here and there.
Chicago summers rule and negate the winters completely and totally. Justin and Heidi will soon understand.
After two years of riding somewhat illegally, I finally procured my motorcycle license. It was a banner day in the Warwick household.
Don't look now, but the Reds are actually worth a shit (even though they're losing to the Giants as I'm typing this). It's painful that I haven't been to a game this season and even more painful that I'm not able to revel in the optimism and buzz enshrouding the city of Cincinnati at the moment. Baseball hullabaloo far exceeds football hullabaloo.
I'll be going on vacation in early August. I'm thinking Pacific northwest.