The bottom photo was taken last weekend at a friends wedding. Growing up, young Francis always seemed to sneak up from behind to outdo me. While my grades were always far superior, he always beat me with the number of friends in high school, taste in music (his Clash vs. my London Suede on the car radio), toxic intake (phenomenally, he managed to graduate from a National University - Penn State), musical ability (punk drums vs. uneducated jazz clarinet) and he’s one of the funniest people I know. Recently he scored a hat-trick with the mortgage, dog and salary.

Now he looks poised to beat me to the altar.

The situation suggests that I myself should get a haircut, in spite of the recent compliments from friends (for lack of a better word, it’s looking Strokes-ish, the longest and most unruly it’s ever been in my life). I actually tried to get it cut a few weeks ago at Rudy’s but the pretty girl refused to cut it.

I’ve learned that it’s best not to argue with a pretty girl. Unless her name is Ann Coulter.

I kid, tho Francis would have done better with that joke.