Somehow I missed quite the spectacular event this past weekend: Seems a group of folks got together, donned lumberjack apparel, and proceed on a Colfax pub crawl in said garb. How I was not aware of this is beyond me, and I am actually quite upset I missed it on a number of levels. The first being the fact that the female contingent that dressed up were gorgeous. And a girl in lumberjack gear? Be still the ticker. The second reason, I want to meet some new people. So, I have decided to take charge and plan the next epic crawl, complete with new theme and route.
I’m officially announcing the Momentum Yacht Club Pub Crawl. If you’ve read any of my musings here, you know I have a sick affinity for all things boat shoes, topsiders, and nautical-themed decor. It seems though that everyone is doing this Colfax route, which means I need to find another path to take. If I could get Sperry to sponsor this thing, maybe throw a new pair of Topsiders my way even though I did snag a pair of Camper Mocs yesterday for $15 new, the night would be spectacular. We have a few sea-loving bars around town so there’s that option. Stay tuned for updates. Also, throw a comment down there if you’re into partaking in this. And a quick side note: I recently found out Colorado actually has a Yacht Club…the highest Yacht Club in the nation, as a matter of fact.
- Will
If there ever was a cheerleader to champion the finer points Denver has to offer, I would gladly be that bugle boy. I am already dead-set on never leaving here save for some plans to travel and see a bit more of the world here and there. I’ve never been to Tokyo or the UK or even Nashville for that matter. Of these places, it would seem that, after this past weekend, the country music capital is the next place to scratch off the list. I know I’ve got a trip to Portland planned as well, but what’s another few hundred for a ticket to Nashville? Not only would I have a quite stylish tour guide (thanks, Jeremy, for the introduction), I could cruise into 
Among my favorite activities when visiting another city is stopping into the one of a kind shops and outfitters native to the area. Yes, it’s always fun to stop into Urban Outfitters and H&M’s in other places, but I prefer cruising the side streets, finding little shops and curios to patronize. Like in Costa Rica four years ago, had I not been in a dusty alley looking for this rumored pizza joint, I wouldn’t have been offered what I am sure was the finest cocaine around. Unfortunately all my money was promised to the pizza and beer…or is it “fortunately”?
I was chatting with my little brother the other day about what he would like for Christmas and what he planned on getting the rest of the family. My family is an interesting bunch. We’re all very close, but we’re also, in our own rights, extremely difficult to shop for. My mom buys anything she wants, as does my older brother, and Lord knows my little sister doesn’t need another toy. My dad is complacent with what he already has, and my little brother doesn’t really lead on as to what he would like. That was until our recent conversation to which I already referred. When I asked him, flat out, what he’d like, he responded with minimal hesitation: 
Him wanting Hulk Hands, though, is very apropos, as they are the last things he actually needs. When I call him my “little” brother, I have to clarify said moniker with the fact that he is anything but. The kid is a 6′2″, 210lbs wall of muscle, cut from wood, and strong as an ox. His hands, compared to mine, already are hulkish. Adding to his already stunning physique would be like putting a lift kit on Gravedigger. If a sudden influx of funds comes my way between now and the First Noel, I would rather see him opening my gift and tearing the 
Friday couldn’t have come soon enough. This week was a beast wrapped in nails, razorblades, and barbed wire then dipped in acid and deep fried in viper venom. If you have ever had to physically call the customer support staff at Craigslist, you will know that this is not an understatement. I am continually flabbergasted by the responses I get when I sell stuff on that site. “Your ad says $400/firm. Would you take $250? And can you deliver?” Really? Get bent. How about that? Apparently the intelligence of the 95% of the responses I get is mirrored in the attitudes of the folks answering the phones at the CL headquarters. BTW, if you’re looking to kill a good hour or so of time, check out the 
To deviate slightly, and I know I have alluded to this before, but girls in bow ties might just be my new weakness. To clarify, not just a bow tie is going to get me going. The whole outfit has to work. The cuter the better, obviously. Say, you’re donning the 
A little while back, I traded my brother, strait up, his pair of Super sunglasses for my classic, black Ray-Bans, ala Marty McFly trying to blend in circa 1950. Do I regret this decision? Not whatsoever, as I look damn handsome in the crystal-indigo frames. Do I wish I still had my Ray-Bans, though? Lord knows that’s for sure. That’s why, perhaps, while on one of my frequent mall visits yesterday, I was stoked to see that J. Crew at Cherry Creek is now carrying their 
Speaking of the 1950s, though, if I had a friend I knew was traveling back in time, I would try to jot down a list of things for him to buy me while on his voyage. Side note: did Marty McFly have any friends besides Jennifer? He seemed like he was a pretty popular kid at school, what with the principal coming down on him all the time and having that bitchin truck. Plus he could skateboard. Where were all his friends? Would anyone have missed him if he never came back? If one of my cohorts had access to a Delorean, I would be their friend stat. And I wouldn’t be happy if he never returned from the 1950s, especially if I had given him a list that may or may not include 
Among my favorite of road trips is the drive from Denver to the Grand Canyon. I’ve expressed this before, but I feel the urge to reiterate my like of said trip. I don’t know why, to be honest. It’s pretty boring. There is a lot of desert-esque type landscape as you drive through the Four Corners. I think it stems from the memories I have of doing the drive with an old girlfriend and passing through the area at just the right time of night: dusk. The moon was rising, and the sun was setting. The cacti were casting the last shadows of the day, the air was warm with a slight bite of crispness, the radio was off, and the two of us had our arms out the window. It was one of those, “I’m at complete peace with everything and happier than I have ever been,” moments.
One of my favorite shirts comes from the bird-brand itself, Modern Amusement. It’s a striped, long-sleeve button-up, and it fits juuuuust right. If I could I would wear it everyday of my life. That’s a total lie. Sorry. I have lots of shirts I would like to wear in my lifetime. Anyway, the reason I don’t/can’t wear it more is because whenever I do, someone points out the tiny bird stitched into the left shoulder. This is detrimental to a wardrobe as a characteristic like that being pointed out nulls the shirt of being worn for at least another month or so, unless you don’t mind hearing, “Oh it’s the bird shirt again!” Yeah, it is. Do I point out that weird blanket/drug rug/ratty mess you call a shawl when you wear it? No. Get back to work. I could just imagine the, “Oh, Will’s getting creepy, guffaw guffaw,” I would get if I wore 
While some actually consider skulls a manly accessory, I’ve never subscribed to that mentality. Sure, pirates were sort of cool, but not so much anymore, as the days of Jolly Rogers, swordplay, and Davy Jones Locker have been traded for the modern-day shoot-em-up with machine guns, sea thugs. But I still see the crossbones on the backs of F-150 and Dodge Rams, prompting me to think, “Okay, so some dudes find these symbols manly. It appears to be the same guys that want to beat my ass when I walk into biker bars ala ‘Wild Hogs’…tremendous flick, by the way.” The closest I will come to chest bumping, playing Russian Roulette and doing that thing with a knife when you try not to stab your hand is reading 
Thanks to a friend of mine and a somewhat lengthy and sporadic chat yesterday, new feelings of inspiration filled my afternoon prompting a night of preparation of plans of attack as to how to go about my future. When the five o’clock whistle blew, I headed out with a coworker for a beer after a long day dealing with oh-so-supportive (italics indicate sarcasm) customer service agents at Craigslist. The normal conversation took place: What a day. Glad it’s over. Tomorrow’s already Wednesday. Who gives a crap about this World Series? Etc. We settled up and I made my way home. Deciding I would be more productive to work on my future goal program in a social setting, I, for reasons I do not know, walked down to 
After getting most of what I wanted to get accomplished done, I was in no mood to return directly home and opted instead to check out Soul Haus’s new location. Good thing, too, as I scored an 
I’d sleep with it…and the girl who wears that sleepwear. Storm, the brand, for the win. The phone? Not so much. Get your act together RIM.
This whole “revamping my lifestyle” thing has been a very smooth and quite pleasant undertaking, purging closets, meeting new people, staying focused, eyes on the prize, etc. Lately, in an attempt to meet even more new people, I have been going to a plethora of happy hours around Denver. Realizing, yes, that I would have a better chance meeting the next misses in the produce section at the grocery or by joining a yacht club, I still enjoy the specials, the banter, the sports on TV, and the atmosphere altogether. Last night, I trekked up to the Snug for a few libations and the hope to spark up conversation with someone. Yeah, I planned on being that creepy dude who goes to the bar alone. Anyway, turns out I wasn’t the creepiest guy there afterall. The bloke on the trivia machine trying to find the differences between the pictures of naked ladies was that guy. Score.
I was, however, the kid who brought mailorder catalogs with him. And I’m glad I did, as it prevented me from having to talk to anyone but the (striking) barmaid. Aside from the fact that there wasn’t anyone to talk to, the stint at the bar allowed me some nice quiet time (quiet is relative) as I thumbed through the pages of the J. Crew and West Elm publications I brought. I wish though when I came across the 
Added bonus and what I have come to regard as somewhat shocking news? Shopping the kids section of JCrew.com resulted in me finding out the clothier carries the 
Wearing bow ties to the office is always a crap shoot. Depending on who I see during the work day directly relates to how much guff I will take for my neck wear. The guys in accounting love nothing more than commenting on it. Sarcastic “Nice bow tie,” and “Oh aren’t you cute” jeers often come my way, which I am fine with as I can hold my own. I don’t expect the guys in the office to get it. The older ladies, though? They go nuts. I think I might remind them of their son. Meaning, I get my cheeks pinched a whole hell of a lot. Now that I enjoy. Nothing like gleefully being told you’re absolutely adorable.
Back to the sarcasm, right quick, though. I’ve compiled a short list of the best responses I’ve used when asked, “What’s with the bow tie, Will?”
The thing I dig most about my Concept is that I haven’t gone overboard like so many of the fixed-gear kids I see around town. Seriously, what’s with some of these colorways I see impeding traffic? That neon yellow frame with one pink, one green deep V’s, a purple saddle, ridiculously chopped risers donned with blue grips is neither pleasant to the eyes nor “cool.” I don’t mean to judge, but some of the choices these kids are making are, for lack of better word, just wrong. I suppose, though, it could act as a theft deterrent. I know I wouldn’t want to steal something that atrocious for two reasons: A) Whoever owns said bicycle or one of their would recognize it almost immediately prompting me to get my ass kicked by the tight-knit bike community in Denver, and B) I wouldn’t be caught dead riding it. I don’t know why this subject makes me so judgmental, but it does. That said, I wouldn’t have too many special requests for Republic as only one or two colors would be used. Keep it classy, San Diego.
It must’ve been when I was, oh, about 10 or 11 years old, but I can remember vividly wanting nothing but a robe for Christmas. I probably saw it on TV or in a magazine or something; That part I don’t remember. But when I woke up on that cold December 25th morning, ran downstairs, delighted in the plethora of gifts exploding from under the decorated pine tree, I was about to be the happiest boy in the world. It was almost instinctual that I chose the gift-wrapped box containing the object of my desire first. After I stole the robe out from its packaging, I promptly excused myself to put it on. I mean, how else was I going to enjoy the rest of the present opening? Robeless? I think not.
I wore that robe until the stitching gave out, the sleeves got raggedy, and the belt frayed in two. Since, I haven’t had the desire to own another. Call it a passing fancy, but that’s pretty much how my tastes go. Last year, I snagged myself a 
Dammit all to hell. Ya know? I mean, really. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I do this every year. I put off buying a good pair of boots, or whatever it may be this year that I am in need of, until the first snow hits and finds me totally unprepared. The last two days digging my car out of ice and snow while pouring massive amounts of sidewalk salt under my tires proved to be the demise of my BR desert boots. They served me well, and if I actually cared enough about them, I suppose I could send them to 
However, maybe that service is the catalyst I’ve been looking for in this hunt for new boots, ya know? Now that I got salt all over my old ones and don’t want to trek around the wet weather in the suede Johnston & Murphy’s, and seeing as how most of my money is to tied up to afford a pair of Red Wings, the 
Well it took a whole helluva lot of flooring, but I was able to get out of my parallel parking space this morning. You just have to love the smell of burning rubber before 6:30am, don’t ya? I’m still a bit woozy from it, to be honest. At any rate, the reason I was up so early was due to the fact that my friend hasn’t finished making my costume, and I was looking for an impromptu one for the office party today. Not finding really anything aside from rolling up the legs of a pair of pink Polo pants, donning some sandals and an open silk shirt and saying I am “Will: upon retirement in the Bahamas,” I ended up wearing my normal garb. So, now, I have dubbed my costume, “Will: At the end of his five year plan.” I still have my hair, wearing bow ties, healthy, happy, and successful. And wouldn’t you know it? Today, I wasn’t the only one in the office with the neckwear.
Yessir, coworker of mine is sporting the 
And since it wouldn’t be right not sharing a new tie with the lot of you interested, I came across this 
I pride myself, like I’ve said time and time again, on not blindly promoting products. Sure, a few here and there sometimes make their presence known on the site, but for the most part, I have had some interaction with what goes on Momentum. For instance, my Bonobos cords. I left work an hour early to skip out on snow packed traffic to come home and stay in the warmth. And what did I throw on almost immediately? My 
While I still need to go visit my man Keith in Vegas to get my cords tailored, it is tempting to take a few of the dollars I’ve saved for the trip after getting this in my inbox this morning: We noticed that you’ve bought a pair of our amazing cords and thought you might enjoy picking up another pair as winter approaches. For a limited time only, get the 
Sequels, much like follow-up albums, walk a very fine line of having the ability to enhance the original installment, or completely ruin the franchise all together. For instance, 28 Days later was great. The sequel, 28 Weeks Later? Eh, not so good. I always think about The Postal Service and them not releasing a second record, save for a few remixes, b-sides, etc. That one album they did was perfect cover to cover. Releasing another attempt could have ruined the band’s reputation. I was afraid of this happening, too, to Vampire Weekend. However, upon hearing their new single, I have put those fears to rest. I can’t say the same for 
Denver has the uncanny ability to surprise me with its weather. As the saying goes: Don’t like the weather? Wait five minutes. Amd blammo! Usually it will change. And that’s what I was expecting upon waking up this morning after yesterday’s blizzard. I was expecting a massive melt followed by sunshine and birds chirping. What actually awaited me was more snow. Not that I don’t love the cold weather and getting to wear 
The problem I face now is how in the hell am I going to get to the grocery store? See, I prided myself this year on taking the reigns with the office holiday parties. The Halloween edition is tomorrow, and I’ve promised some delicious treats and spiked punch. Car’s stuck, 
I don’t know if you’ve been reading about this or not, but I have. It seems some 
As the snow continues to fall in Denver, my anticipation to leave the office grows, as does my nervousness of getting on the snow-packed roads with the condition my car is currently in. It’s going to be a sketchy drive to say the least. All I want is to be home, on my new couch, reading Outliers and considering purchasing 
I’ll selfishly admit that unless it has to do only with me, myself, and I, I am terrible at remember dates. Friends’ birthdays, anniversaries, when your plane lands: I really have a hard time keeping track of it. However, I am very apologetic when and if I miss said occasions. I’ve got forty things going through my brain at any one time, so, I am sorry, and I mean this, that I did not wish you a happy birthday last week. There is, on occasion, those dates I do remember and purposely shrug the responsibility of wishing my best towards someone. Ex-girlfriends don’t deserve that luxury from me anymore anyway. HIGH FIVE, BRO!
If 
The Nuggets 
And given it’s supposed to snow 12 more inches throughout today/tonight, it’s probably a better evening for 
“‘Loves to rough house with other dogs’,” a friend of mine said, “Means it is mean to other dogs. And ‘rambunctious’ means it likes to chew on shoes.” I listened via the Net as she read the Craigslist posting I sent her way. I found, what I though would be the perfect little companion for me in my life right now and for years to come. A 1 1/2 year old bull terrier, resembling the likes of Spuds MacKenzie. And wouldn’t you know it? After writing to the current owners, I actually heard back. The only email response I’ve received from the ten I’ve sent in the past two weeks. Excitement loomed. That was until I was informed that said breed of canine falls under the Pit Bull Ban Denver county put in place a few years back (Sec 8-55 in the Denver municipal code). Damn. Damn it to heck fire. That ban never really meant anything to me until now. I was already dreaming of the pup getting reprimanded for chewing on my 
Hey, big thanks to the new OS for my Blackberry Storm. The new interface is admittedly nice and runs a whole helluva lot smoother, but wouldn’t it just be par for the “iPhone killer” to now be unable to run more than half the apps I was able to use with the prior system? Yes. Yes, it would. I’ve searched the forums, hit Google, and tweeted my issues. I’ve done everything short of going to Verizon and going, “Dude WTF? PC Load Letter?” It’s just frustrating. As much as I defend my phone to the iPhoners out there, this is the first time I’ve actually bad-mouthed it. I am sure it’s a simple fix, but I’m not a tech-tard so it can’t be as easy as I think.
If third party apps aren’t able to run on the new 5.0 system even when reinstalled, redownloaded, re-everythinged, it could spell trouble for other compatible devices. Say I had the 
Especially in this economy, right? Especially. That’s right. I was invited to attend the sneak peek of 
It’s funny what you remember or can subconsciously recall even when you don’t know exactly how you made it to bed. Not to drag on too much regarding the unfortunate black out events of this past Saturday, but, well, here goes. Regrettably I don’t remember splitting my head open or how I bruised my body, now can I retrace my steps on how I made it under my covers…What my old cranium did remember though was watching Zack and the gang on stage as the 
To shy away from the infamous night, one of the greatest parts of SBTB had to be the wardrobes…on top of the absurd situations constantly confront the courageous clan of cohorts. Albert Clifford’s elastic-waisted jeans, Lisa’s “fashionable” matching two pieces, Kelly’s denim (Kapowski still is the dream), and Screech’s, well, everything. That tool. And Zack. Oh, Mr. Morris. In all your 
Oh if it isn’t just par for the course that this past weekend I put myself in a few forms of peril, risking health and well-being to save a few measly dollars. Judd and Jeremy joined me for a housewarming party a good 6 or 7 miles from where I live. Getting there was easy, as we were offered a ride. The night itself, the party and the company and lively banter was beyond amazing. In fact, a few professional connections were established, business cards exchanged, and absinthe was shared. That was possibly my undoing. Towards the end of the party, when maintaining balance was in nobody’s best interest, I got the bright idea to not call a cab and opt to walk home…in the rain…6 miles. I tend to do inane things like that. 
It’s a drink with a friend after work tonight, and call it what you will, but I am calling it a date for no other reason than I’ve been excited about this for the entire week. To not get my hopes up and have them be inevitably crushed, I should probably refer to this happy hour as nothing more than a beer with a chum that happens to be a ridiculously beautiful girl. I saw her for a bit towards the end of 2008 then things sorta fizzled out…mainly due to some personal crap I put myself though and dissociating myself with the likes of mankind in general. I took solace in my TV on DVD characters. Anyway, when I was seeing her, I remember one night her being impressed by my buddy who could/can open beer bottles with his teeth. While I have yet to still perfect that art, maybe if I were to don 
This all of course revolves around my being able to convince her that, “No. Instead of the bar, we should kick it at my place and watch bad movies. I just got Rudy used from Amazon for $0.79. You in?” And because I like themes, as well as keeping my hands dry, my beer cool, and my friends impressed and inspired. What better way than to open said brew-dog, raise an eyebrow, nod towards my guest, and slide the bottle into their very own 
I made no secret of my nervousness of giving my first best man speech this past weekend at my buddies wedding in Lawrence, KS. In fact, when all was said and done and I spoke in front of a room of strangers at Tellers, I sent a few tweets expressing the relief I felt of having gotten through it. As I stood outside soaking in some fresh air after feeling stuffed in confining and gripping atmosphere, I noticed something. Maybe it was the leers and jeers and snickers and giggles and points and “Dude, check out the fag,” but I wager I was the only bloke wearing a 
Wow, though. One thing about that town? They take their Jayhawks effing seriously. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a KU souvenir shop. At first it’s endearing: It’s awesome to see a town unified like that, all cheering for the same team, etc. Then it becomes a little annoying as you try to walk down the street and get looks for not wearing team colors/garb. We don’t much have that in Denver or Boulder or even Fort Collins for that matter. Next time I find myself in a college town, I should think about sporting their 
More than ever, I’ve been posting up items that I have put on my wishlist for when I get my canine companion. The dream of pup-ownership has taken a hold of me so much so, in fact, that this week I wrote five emails to folks on Craigslist inquiring as to the transfer of ownership from them to me. Sure, it is probably a better idea to head to a shelter, have a consultation with the dog, see if we’re a match, then take the critter home after he’she’s been fixed and microchipped. But I am looking for something in particular. I need a hound that will be okay at home during the day while I toil away at the office. I need one that will enjoy going to the mountains on the weekend. I need one that will get along with the family lab, as I see her quite often too. It is due to these reasons that Craigslist has become so integral as I rely on the current owner to fully describe the dog’s mannerisms.
Aside from the crippling loneliness I currently feel, equipping Phillip (name pending) with a 
What is the meaning of life? No answer? Oh, that’s okay. I’ve got my own theories on that anyway. See, I think the meaning of life is simple: Find what you love doing and figure out a way to make money doing it. No, money is not the route of all evil. If you do actually believe that it is, you don’t have any. I’m sorry. That’s a pretty stubborn-headed thing to say, but it’s sort of true. Was it “Liar, Liar” with Jim Carrey? It has that line between Max and his dad, Fletcher Reede, aptly played by Mr. Carrey:
One of the best purchases I have made as of late is, maybe, the multi-DVD Amazon order consisting of Beerfest, Saved by the Bell College Years (yes it is good, leave me alone), Sexdrive, and The Simpsons First Season. These were purchases by all means. However, if you know anything about me, my movie collection, and how near and dear to me I hold pretty much everything under my roof, you would know I consider these flicks “investments in entertainment.” And, as I’ve said before, any purchase one makes for the good of his/her night’s sleep is, too, and investment. I snagged a comforter by RL a little over a year ago, and while it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, the bears in PJs allover print was too much for me not to get it. I mean, come on! They’re bears! And they’re wearing pajamas! That’s like a forklift carrying a crate of forks! It’s so literal. (Ahem, M. Hedberg.) Like a tie with 
Speaking of another area you shouldn’t skimp as you will be kicking yourself for cheaping out if you do: a pair of quality boots. When you find yourself in the Arapahoe National Forest, as I do many times during the Winter months, there is no worse feeling than having improper footwear, soaking your footsies and eventually catching hypothermia and dying, you’ll think that the $300 price tag for
