Sometimes, the direct ledes are the best ones. Like, say, this: It’s time for the Tenth Annual Uncle Crappy NCAA Final Four Challenge (Brought to you by Bocktown). Ten. TEN. TEN YEARS. I can barely remember to put on underwear these days, so I’m going to assume that you, like me, can use a refresher… Read More ten years of wasted time.
My brain has been occupied by two things today. 1) A text conversation with Mrs. Crappy that ended with us concluding that a Florida trip — our first financially feasible one in years — is in order later this year. E: How do we go about inviting ourselves to Naples this summer? 2) Another text… Read More torn.
You thought there wasn’t going to be a Tenth Annual Uncle Crappy NCAA Final Four Challenge (Brought To You By Bocktown)? Heh. That’s funny.
Getting our Crappy selves to Chicago for the Dead/Trey shows isn’t happening, but we’re looking at a pretty good musical run in the coming weeks nonetheless. And that’s a good thing — I know I can really use the break. What’s coming? I’m so glad you asked: Sunday: moe., at Mr. Small’s. They’re pretty much… Read More music for months.
There’s no reason at all why I can’t post here once a day. I mean really — how much work is it?
Groomed granular isn’t the ideal thing you want to read on a ski conditions report. But when you haven’t skied for more than two years — and you’re heading to Seven Springs tomorrow — it’s good enough.
Uncle Crappy 