I fought that guy one time outside the "Twisted Spoke" in Pendleton. I don't remember who won, but we toasted our display of masculinity with an Irish Car Bomb. We woke in the spooning position. My only saving grace is that I was the big spoon...
psychologically troubling at best. the photographer, sitting in the portapotty, clearly in the crapping position, taking a self portrait. "Portrait of the artist as a middleaged defecateur"? "Portrait of the artist as a soon to be well past his prime 10k runner"? "Portrait of a middleaged guy with shingles scars on his nose"?
We'll have to wait 'til his estate donates it to the Corcoran to know.
