19 June 2008


Matt Cadd's calendar said it was Emancipation Day.

He gassed up his 1959 Roman Red Corvette and steered slowly out of the city and into the wide open spaces.

The engine yowled when he stomped on the accelerator. The wind howled past his open windows.

Now we're livin', he thought.

50 mph in 2nd gear

18 June 2008


Friday we go a-southing. We hit "the Five" as they say in SoCal, and after a few stops and visits along the way we fly to Mexico. Our ultimate destination, after some timely R & R in Baja, is the high city of OAXACA. Ten Pound Press will be on holiday until the middle of July. I am looking forward to being "disconnected" for a few weeks. Not that I can't get the all-consuming "access." Mexico is a modern country, after all. But I want to spend time with my eyes and ears, using pencil and paper, on happy feet with an open heart. No more "monitor tans." I'm going to get the real thing, or at least the pink version my Irish blood limits me to.

Tomorrow I'll post the LAST Matt Cadd mini-saga: number fifty! Then "adios" to all my loyal readers. Check back later--I will return.


15 June 2008


Hard times. No clients.

Matt Cadd had to investigate claims for Western Sun Insurance. Dull work but good pay.

They made him carry a badge. A cheap, shiny rectangle of thin metal with a solar logo and a number. FIRST MIDDLE LAST in all capitals.

It made his wallet bulge.

Element No. 50

14 June 2008


"You can look but you can't touch ain't no fun for me, doll."

"Oh, Matt," Honey, exasperated, whined, "it's just a party."

"Not when your're liquored up in a little black dress. Fuhgettaboutit. Wait for Roger what's-his-name to get home."




"Sorry, doll, boring's all I got left."

If Bo's a 10, Honey's a 50.

11 June 2008

Proud Sponsor

That's right, folks, TPP has entered the world of sponsorships. My brewing blog, French Street Brewery, took the first plunge. FSB sponsored Brad Hennessey's page on Baseball-Reference. Now Brad, the Giants #1 pick in 2001, struggled this season and got demoted to AAA. He was replaced by young William Henry Sadler IV. So I went ahead and sponsored Billy's page on B-R as well. It set me back a fiver! Big spender, eh? The more famous and/or accomplished ballplayers cost a lot more, so I'm sticking my financial neck out for these marginal guys. When they get to be stars I'll have to switch allegiances to a new crop of rookies! I just hope they stay Giants for the duration of my sponsorship (1 year, expiring in June 2009). When you need to look something up, remember Baseball-Reference. There are no more arguments in the internet age--the facts are mere mouse-clicks away.

08 June 2008


Mrs. Chan called Matt Cadd when her place was burgled. She sat in the kitchen. Housecoat. Slippers. Sipping a screwdriver.

"I see him again, I shoot him," she said.

"Don't," he said. "Makes a mess."

She smiled, reached in a pocket, handed over two quarters.

"You get me a paper."

50¢ in the slot.

07 June 2008

"Pulpy gobbets fanned out from the wound . . . "

Yeah. That's yer man, there.

More raves for Out of the Gutter 4, this time from UT Austin. We made the newspaper, The Daily Texan, in the Life & Arts section from June the 5th. Dylan Miracle's piece is Indie journal gets its readers' minds 'Out of the Gutter' and my story gets a plug. M.C. gets quoted!

I can't get Navin R. Johnson, Steve Martin's Jerk, out of my head. You know the scene--delirious joy when "the new phone book's here," declaring "this is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people. I'm in print! Things are going to start happening to me now."

Summer vacation is finally here. TPP will be cooking for the next two weeks and then go on 'holiday hiatus' until mid-July. We are southbound this year: Mexico. I'm not bringing a phone or a computer, and will avoid contact with both. Going to put the pencil to paper for the duration of the journey. We'll see what comes out.


"Chile? Alone? No."

Matt Cadd took April Day to breakfast. Her work year was over.

"I'm a big girl. And I speak Spanish. Con fluidez. And I didn't ask permission. And I need a holiday."

He sighed. "Call me daily."

She laughed. "How about weekly?"

He drank his coffee.


Días cincuenta sobre la carretera (Fifty days on the road).

05 June 2008

The Big Fellow

I was down at me local pub, thirsting for a new whiskey, when lo and behold I spy a strange looking bottle. It has a picture of the famous Irish patriot: Michael Collins, aka "The Big Fellow." It was labeled as a single malt. I says to Davey, "pour me some of that, eh?"

Michael Collins Single Malt Irish Whiskey is a product of the Cooley Distillery (they have a blend version as well), who can take credit for much of the revitalization of the Emerald Isle's spirits industry. Before the World Wars, Americans drank their own whiskey and Irish whiskey. Prohibition brought a flood of Canadian whisky into the States, and GIs came home from overseas duty with a taste for Scotch. Irish whiskeys have never recovered their "market share" in this country, and the lack of national investment by the Irish Republic in their homegrown stuff made sure it would lose international prominence to Scotland's malts. Take a trip to Scotland sometime--they know how to show off their treasures. But this is the 21st century, and a new interest in quality spirits is changing the face of the whiskey world. Single malt scotches are no longer the only things connoisseurs want. High-end bourbons, ryes, single barrels of all stripes--these are crowding the shelves. Whiskey drinkers like yer man M.C. are in hog-fookin'-heaven! And speaking of M.C., how can you NOT like a whiskey called "M.C."? In fact, initials aside, it is delicious stuff. Michael Collins has a clean, dry, fresh nose that belies its rich maltiness. And it has a touch of peat! Cooley has a whiskey called Connemara, lovely stuff that could give an Islay malt a run for its money in the smoky-phenolic department. M.C. is not like that, the peat is subtler and nicely balanced with the sweetness of the malt. I think I'll be askin' Davey to pour me a few more of this one.

01 June 2008


It was a postcard. The stamp had some guy wearing a fez.

Dear Matt,

Having a wonderful time. You wouldn't like it here. No booze. Chaperoned dates. I'm so sore I can hardly walk, just dance. Don't know when I'll see you, but I doubt you'll miss me.



(one hundred and) fifty degrees of separation