We Likes The Meat

So many wonderful early-twenties memories of waking up on someone else's couch, and hearing:

"Who's ready for breakfast meat?"

... or maybe it was "Who wants a big plate o' meat?"

I'll concede it isn't an exact quote, but my Dogg Brain had suffered heavy damage on those nights prior to the morning "meat's up" cry.

Anywho, there are certain carnivorous members of the Pak (Hezzah? Zingger?) who will appreciate:

Breakfast Cake

(it's a sausage, bacon, and cheese quiche with Bisquick to make cake and gravy frosting)

I haven't had the pleasure of meeting these people... The post mentions Issaquah, so I'll assume they reside east of Seattle, WA.

Yes, he is double-fisting beer and coffee.

Is it any wonder I love the Pacific Northwest.

IS THAT "ROCK BAND" EQUIPMENT I SPY?!

Ummm, I'm trying to relocate in a northerly direction... You guys need a roommate?

Origin of a Canid

This blog is not a personal diary or therapeutic inner-monologue.

The world and people around me are far more intriguing and worthy of perlustration.

However, as this little record of those amazing Others gains quiet momentum, I receive more and more inquiries as to the source of my name, Ravedogg.

Yes, to me, it truly is my name, bestowed with humor and oft-repeated in friendship, the endearment magnified by its decade-long endurance.

You won't find me at Burning Man or any illegal warehouse parties downtown.

And if you ever catch me in fluffy neon-colored vests, big hats, and oversized plastic jewelry, you have my permission to perform a mercy killing.

No... Here's where I began:

One fall evening on a college campus along California's south coast, a heavy metal enthusiast found herself blessed with an empty dorm room.

The Gates of Hell had made another trip home for the weekend, and I was flying high on supreme command of the stereo.

[The Gates involve repeated post-shower, full-frontal encounters with lots of Victoria's Secret body lotion... Please don't ask me to relive that in detail.]

I opened a window, flipped on the blacklights, and cranked Pantera up to 'ear bleed'.

Little did I know, down on the sidewalk leading into the building, stood a girl who would become a life-altering inspiration and dear friend.

She looked up at the window and said, "A real Ravedogg must live there."
And once you've piqued her curiosity - it's on.

So there you have it. One seemingly mundane moment setting a lifetime precedent, creating a new identity.

Thank you, Hezzah, for taking the first step in turning a sow's ear into a black leather purse... with lots of surly silver studs.