Dead Fish in a Box

The chronicles of a suburban fishpimp trying to keep it rural.

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Location: United States

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

Woke up to a grey & drizzly sky today, the kind of weather typical of Southeast Alaska summer. Dreary, but calm, soggy, but cozy like a glazed pumpkin cookie from Mabel G Smith's in Skagway.

The whole thing, combined with my current case of spring fever (AKA "the spell of the Yukon"), had me feeling a bit nostalgic for the Great White North. So I dialed up an old cohort from my bus-drivin' days, my brother-from-another-mother, Luke Thayer. See, back in "the day", when none of us had any responsibility (wives, mortgages, veggie gardens, etc.), we ruled the roads of the Alaska in 40', 17 ton motorcoaches of tourism fury. Witty & knowledgeable tour guides by day, hiking, biking, singing, Irish-carbomb-drinking, irresponsible, college grads by night, terrorizing the town of Skagway from May to September.

Now, we've all got "real" jobs. We can't just take off for six months at a time anymore.

Unless you're Darryl. But I digress.

These days Luke is in L.A. showing the people of SoCal how serious the comedy really is. Not only that, he's got a "totally rad" weblog over at He convinced me to start my own. So here we are.

I know what you all are saying: "What business does a fishpimp have on the internet?" I tell you this: The life of a protein expert is rife with action, adventure, and all the dead fish in a box you can handle! You will have a front row seat to to see the scintilating seafood scene of Seattle.

And by "scintilating" I mean completely banal.



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