A few months after my buddy Dave died we had a big party at his shop. 

I hired a bagpiper, a white guy named Tyrone, and didn't tell anybody. I told him to start playing off in the distance and walk up to the shop around 4:00. I knew by then we'd all have had a couple of drinks.

I heard the pipes first, of course, and waited for the reaction. Somebody swung open the large door and there was Tyrone, in full regalia, playing Scotland the Brave (Dave was proud of his Scottish heritage). He then played Amazing Grace and everybody was openly weeping. Dave's sudden absence had been a shock for so many people it was good to see so many other people felt the same way.  

Then, as I had requested, Tyrone played the most jaunty, bouncy jig he had. I saw Dave's dad singing along with some bawdy lyrics thru both smiles and tears. Tyrone then turned and walked off around the corner, playing the whole time. We all kept listening but you could never really tell when he stopped playing.   

It was a perfect send off to a great guy. It also helped pull me out of the darkest depression I ever went through. I decided I would dedicate my life to bagpipes. 

Tyrone gave me some X-rays of a Great Highland bagpipe and I set to work making crazy looking composite bagpipes. It took me years of work and contributed to both my wife leaving me and the failure of my boat business, but they are beautiful examples of Functional Art. They are perfectly functioning Great Highland bagpipes that could also be displayed in a museum. I'm very proud of them. Not because of the art or vision or any of that, but because of the countless hours I put into them.

THOUSANDS of hours to make pipes that 99% of the bagpiping community completely dismissed as stupid. I took them to many Highland Games and of the ten or so sets of bagpipes I made, I only sold one, the Guinness pipes but that was because I was desperate for money at one am and needed $500 now. I still regret it. 

But I'm done. I put my last set, the Green Marble pipes, up on Ebay for $4,000. It got over 1,500 views and nobody wanted them. So I raised the price to $20,000. 

​I would much rather have them not sell for $20,000 than not sell them for $4,000. That would just be embarrassing. 

Things got pretty slow with the Ducks so I figured I should take on some part-time work. I went back to the Ballard Landmark for a few weeks to fill in and help train a new driver but when that work ran out I asked my buddy if I could go to his store in Pioneer Square and sell Utilikilts. 

He offered me minimum wage and no benefits, but I knew that he keeps his fridge full of beer so I jumped on it. On Thursdays I bring a bunch of kilts to the store and enter them into inventory. On Fridays and Saturdays I hang out at the store and sell kilts. 

He started this company in 2000, selling kilts he made himself at the Fremont Market. He moved into a shop next to my boat business and met my buddy Dave before meeting me. Dave told me later that day about a dred-locked hippie who just moved into the neighborhood- "Stay away from that guy. He's crazy."

But then Dave died and I met Steven myself. And Dave was right. Steven was crazy. But it was a fun crazy and we became drinking buddies. Dave's death threw me into a pretty bad depression and there was something therapeutic about wrenching about on cars and motorcycles while drinking beer and blasting the Ramones. 

My Mom called me one day and said she and my Dad just saw something on CNN about some guy who was selling some kind of everyday kilt somewhere in Seattle and asked if I knew anything about it. 

"Yeah," I laughed. "That's Steven. He comes over and drinks my beer." We sent my Dad a Utilikilt but still, I thought they were stupid. Steven was convinced that he was gonna but men in skirts but I thought he was nuts. 

Then one day a local TV station came by to do a story about some bagpipes I was making. I told Steven I needed to borrow a kilt for the segment but he said, "No. No posers. You have to buy into it."

I thought he was just being a dick so I figured I'd just buy one and return it the next day, get my money back 'cause it didn't work. 

But as soon as I put it on something happened. I went to the beer store and instead of feeling like a dork in a skirt, I felt free. After the filming I met a bunch of friends up at a bar in Greenwood for the first time since Dave died. The waitress thought the Utilikilt was the coolest thing ever and if I wasn't married, I totally would have gone home with her. 

The wife, however, was completely unimpressed. I thought after several months of depression and various medications she might welcome my new lease on life. But when I threw my pants in the dumpster she saw that as the last straw and left me within a week. Utilikilts sells freedom.

And now I'm selling freedom. Thursdays through Saturdays, mostly. Stop by in the afternoon for a beer and let's see if I can get you out of those pants.