Monday, June 30, 2003

Bloggedy Blog Blog Blog

So here is the thing. I don't know much about internet ettiquette, what the hip folks, I am told, call "nettiquette." My internet question of the moment concerns the blog itself, the online journal, the livejournal, the blurty, etc. So I read a couple of other people's blogs and they tend to be pretty interesting. I discuss entries in my own and other peoples thingies with them through both online and real formats. Is it, however, considered okay for me to refer to other people's entries in my own entries.

This question comes up in response to Pete's blog, which I believe has an excellent discussion of Liz Phair today. I will add a link to it at some point here, ah, here we go I wish I could get that to show up as a link, but I probably can't. I would go off on my usual rant concerning artists selling out, but I have already done that on this page, see the first page.

I could never have produced the analysis which Pete does, largely because I don't know whether or not Liz Phair is a decent musician or not. But I can definately say a couple things:

1) Liz Phair is HOT-even when she is selling out in what one article correctly identified as a Maxim-esque cover pic, she is really really hot. I didnt realize she was 36, not that she is old or anything, but I thought maybe early 30s or even the twilight of the twenties. I wish she was my mommy, I would hang out with all my friends and be like, "Yeah dude, I sucked on Liz Phair's breasts. Pretty sweet, I agree." Then if the indie-kids were giving me shit I could be like, "Dude, my lips were on Liz Phair's nipples before she sold out."

2) The Matrix is a really good name for almost anything. Its just a badass word and anything it touches goes completely badass. The Matrix is a sweet movie, I would go to a club called the Matrix, I like it as a production team (especially as one which makes Avril songs), I would buy a cleaning product called the Matrix, in general The Matrix sounds so cool and futuristic and there is this great connotation, which admittedly the movie may have contributed to, of behind the scenes power and shit. If I was a good looking female pop musician with punk or indie rock tendencies (which notably I could never be, see my earlier discussion re: ugly woman) I would hire the Matrix.

3) Most indie rock critics suck ass. I mean, don't get me wrong, I understand that I know alot of people who are really pretentious about their music and some people who have even been occassional indie rock critics. Nonetheless, I read alot more indie rock music criticism today than I pretty much ever have. There were far far too many rips on Avril. Every mention of Avril Lavigne was degrading, absolutely ricockulous. Why would people assume that "sk8r boi" is something that shouldnt be modeled. That song is awesome, funny, and was number 1 on TRL. The record didn't sell badly either, and I know you aren't supposed to care about that in Indie Rock world but who is kidding who here.

Alright. I am going to drink beer now. My mom brought me a case of Summit when she and my sister stopped into town. Delicious Summit, so much better than all the shit they have out here.



Sunday, June 29, 2003

Things I Have Determined

1) I would be a very very ugly woman. Looking at all these prom and wedding pictures I realize how ridiculous all the shit that women do to make themselves look pretty are. I mean, don't get me wrong, I dig them. I like clean smooth shaven legs and make up and pretty hair and shit, they rock. I like frilly underthings and ridiculous dresses and push-up this and support-that and wonder-lat. Nonetheless, I wouldnt do any of it. I have had one "hairstyle" in the traditional sense of that term, and it was the laziest hairstyle in the entire world, it was dreadlocks. They weren't even dreadlocks that I went somewhere and got or something, I just didnt comb my hair for a while. I would not do all the girly shit involved in being an attractive woman. I don't shave my face and its like one one-thousandth the size of my legs. I would be the world's ugliest woman. At least I would have breasts. That would rock.

2) Katie likes weird food. Tuna Noodles. Not even tuna noodle hotdish. Its really weird. She actually likes it better with Velveeta. The shit isnt even real cheese. If "cheese flavor" was available at a grocery store I could make Velveeta myself, its just water and congealed vegetable oil. Yummy.

3) I was really bored at work today and Katie and I had an argument about the "Veganism Kritik" before I went back to work. I determined that a veganism kritik is actually really really offensive. I mean, be a vegan if you want, go ahead, its more meat for me. Doesn't bother me at all. Nonetheless, there are alot of people who aren't, don't want to be, or shouldn't be, vegans. I spent the rest of the day pretending I was writing answers to a veganism K and besides the obvious "NO FUCKING LINK" argument, I have a couple:

-its classist-takes alot of money to be a vegan, supplements, legumes, etc.
-some people really can't get the vitamins and stuff, it relegates them to sickness or death
-requires globalization: the resources to be a vegan in a tundra are not readily available, they have to be shipped in
-its kind of contradictory: animals eat other animals and we don't think them to be unethical, our decision that eating animals is wrong either requires that we condemn other animals (what about carnivores, who CANNOT digest vegetable proteins) or that we admit that we are in some respect "greater" than those animals, which seems to imply that its okay to eat them
-its alot like the logic of Christian denial of sex as Foucault describes it-though we have the same animalistic urges to eat meat, we should defy those to make ourselves better or more ethical people, read your Foucault impacts here

I have determined more things but, as always, my writing is being interrupted by food.



Friday, June 27, 2003

TLC Sucks Balls on Friday Night

So, Katie watches like years and years worth of TLC everyday. I mean, it is the channel she watches for the most part. I understand that she likes the wedding stories and baby stories and the Trading Spaces and stuff. Those things don't bother me at all. I am not a huge fan of the baby story, the wedding stories are okay. Trading Spaces is funny sometimes.

This show, however, is awful. It is an evil evil program which I hate. Katie agrees with me on this question, as she would like noted, but because it is a special Legally Blonde edition of the show, she wishes to watch it. The show is called "What Not To Wear." The basic idea of the show is that these uber-stylish fashion fucks criticize the dressing of these normal people and make fun of them and then help them dress better. Admittedly, the people on this show don't dress their best. They could do some things better. It is not like they are wearing circus tents or anything, they just aren't extraordinarily fashionable.

The worst part about the show is that they seem to universally select really really nice people to criticize. This of course makes me feel extra bad, because these nice people are just like, I like my clothes, and the jerk ass designer people are like "Screw you you ugly whore."

I love reality television, I really do. But this show makes me almost not agree with the whole idea. I don't mind laughing at certain people and the things they do. I think its hilarious how everyone on Paradise Hotel is treating Phil Kerpen's brother. I like it when people who are jerks are attacked by jerks. Being mean to nice people is not entertainment.

Speaking of reality television, I have been watching The Amazing Race, a show I have never been into before, but now that it is in Survivor's place it entered my viewing rotation. Its a good show, I like all the challenges mixed in with the traveling to random places throughout the world. Last night one of these challenges was to ride on the spinny part of a windmill. So these folks were strapped to the blades and went around like 10 times. I wonder if you can go to Amsterdam (where they were yesterday) and do this as like a thrill ride or something.

You could go to Barney's Breakfast Bar and get absolutely wrecked then spin around on a windmill for half an hour or so. Get off the windmill, grab some clogs and a Heinekken, then toke up again before hopping back on the spin ride.

I would also like to note that the dude on this program just used the expression "over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder." I literally have not heard anyone say that since like the 5th grade. I believe it was used by Howie Mandel in Little Monsters. Any joke which was big in Little Monsters might be considered out of date. Pissing in a bully's apple juice for instance, its heroin style passe.



Thursday, June 26, 2003

Observations About Shit

Observation 1: Prom Dresses are Ugly: So all these chicas think the coolest thing they could do for a prom dress is get this little two piece get up that leaves their belly exposed. I use the term belly in the most literal sense possible, as these women tend to be stick skinny. Nonetheless, this shit is not a good look. It is certainly not a good formal look. I mean, I understand that high school women like to wear shiny and sparkly pink and brightly colored dresses to prom, its fun and happy and yay we are going to prom. Nonetheless, cover up your fucking belly button ring hippy. I will have none of it.

Observation 2: This sweet old guy came in today and he just reaked of weed. This dude was wrecked, I mean, he was like Sanjay when he was DJing a high school dance. Besides that he was like any other old dude you see on a daily basis. I mean, he brought in some pictures from his godson's wedding (he told me this) and got them done in an hour. He bought a box of Cheese Nips and a bag of Sam's Choice Peanut Butter Cookies (which are shockingly good, in all actuality) along with his photos and seriously, you could smell the dope off this dude from like 10 feet away. I think he must have been like Cheech and Chong style in his '92 Lincoln Continental, with a phat stogie-blunt, the clouds of smoke following him as he opened the door. Old dudes rock.

Observation 3: Naughty By Nature is Swe-to-the-e-to-the-at: What happened to all their props. Do they not deserve props. Nay, I say, they deserve of much props. Why then are they denied these props. What more do you want, they have given you OPP, Hip-Hop Hooray, Feel Me Flow. Is nothing good enough for you. I downloaded these and some other tunes this evening, alongside Kyrie by Mr. Mister, a song I would never have located without the ever faithful assistance of Peter, attorney at law and goatfucker extraordinaire.

Observation 4: The Supreme Court is Gay: Seriously, I think Sandra and Ms. Bader-Ginsburg are giving it to each other in the butt. The court has actually come down with two pretty impressively left leaning decisions in the past like week. This is especially surprising given the presence of only one real liberal on the bench and three flaming fucking nazi bastards. Getting rid of Bowers is sweet, I don't know how many actual people are assisted by it, but symbolically its nice that states are no longer allowed to make homosexual acts illegal. Furthermore, I would imagine that this sets the stage for some very solid challenges to rulings against same sex unions and marriages etc. I have a feeling that this is likely precipitated by the fact that the moderately conservative members of the court, Sandra D (won't go to bed till I'm legally wed...) especially, are realizing exactly how conservative the Bush administration really is and are scared of something like a challenge to Roe being actually considered. For all the heinous ideas this woman has, at least she is fairly pro-choice. None the less, anymore speculation then this about serious concerns of the USSC in an entry which has accused a prominent member of the Minneapolis legal community of bestiality seems out of place.

Observation 5: Way too many people are named Debbie. Way way too many. And Debbie Gibson even changed it to Debra. I wonder which came first...




Today was a long day at work. I don't know why that is, exactly, it just seemed fairly long. The Wal-Mart Photo Lab is a good summer gig,so far as summer gigs go, but you know, I am sick and tired of working summer jobs in retail and shit. The more I have a taste of actual jobs which don't lick sack the less I can tolerate Wal-Mart customers.

First off, I get to work today to discover that last night was Lockport's prom. This is weird for a number of reasons.

1) It is fucking June. It is fucking June 26th, for that matter. Prom is not supposed to be in June. It is supposed to be in early May. Late April is legit. Not June. Its so fucking hot in June, you don't want to go around in dresses and tuxes in June. Notably, it is likely that I will get married in June and I am quite certain that Katie's wedding dress will be a little heavier and hotter than a prom dress, but still. Its June.

2) These kiditos graduate on Saturday. You heard me right bucko. Saturday. They have prom last night, they graduate on Saturday. What the fuck, you arent supposed to have two major events at the end of high school within like three days. What about all the kids who were getting drunk and laid last night. They are supposed to recover from that party and prepare for the graduation parties with only like 2 nights off. This is not fair, I mean, these kids are amateurs. They haven't partied like rock stars their whole lives. I mean, they aren't even like high school kids in somewhere cool. Its a rural esque suburb of Buffalo, it may be physically impossible to get more lame. Weak.

3) Last night was WEDNESDAY. These poor fucks had their prom on WEDNESDAY!!! You do not have your prom on WEDNESDAY. Prom is on Saturday. I mean, I guess you can make the argument that Prom should be on Friday, or at least can legitimately be on Friday. Who has prom in the middle of the week. Yes, shit is cheaper, ballrooms and limos and so forth. But come on, its Prom, not a K-Mart Danceathon. Its supposed to be this extra-special experience that simulates a classy affair though the kids are still in high school. Suck it up and kick out the extra 200 bucks to book the Marriot ballroom on a weekend. The Amherst KCs can just use the Community Center.

Regardless, the day after prom people bring in assloads of pictures. There are so many pictures for a number of reasons. The largest reason is that everyone takes them. By that I mean everyone and their parents. Before the prom you have the pictures of the whole group, the individual couples, the individual members of those couples. The women doing their hair, the women pulling up their dresses to show off their garters. Ususally everyone standing along a staircase. Blah blah blah. Then at least one of the women in the party brings a camera with them. Hence, there is at least a roll of film in the limo. Then you get to the whole prom thing and they hand you a crappy disposable camera in your glittery silver favor bag and people take pictures of their girlfriends with their bowties on and all their friends smacking their own butts to Sir Mixalot.

So I developed like 200 rolls of prom film today, and I have many observations about the whole activity of prom. I will get to them soon, but the pizza is here now. Thank you Papa Leo. Thank you.



Monday, June 23, 2003


I shit you not about this word. This word exists, somehow, in some very very odd way, this word has existed for my entire life and simply gone unnoticed. Over the course of my 23 plus years, no one has ever informed me about this word, though it would obviously be the best word ever.

I feel that some preparation is required before I actually reveal to you this word. I suppose I could be wrong and this word may be in common usage. Like, who knows, I found this word when Katie was reading me this article out of a wedding magazine. Maybe those of you who are married or engaged have heard the word many times.

Let me emphasize, that if you have heard this word and do not find the situation to be humorous something is wrong with you. Very very wrong with you.

The word, I cannot explain this enough to you, is real. I'm desperately butt-fuckingly serious about this. The word exists, you people must believe me. Luckily, if you are haters, who doubt and hate and hate and doubt, you can check it out in this month's issue of Modern Bride. The article about flowers. Its near the end somewhere, its talking about the flowers you might give to your mother.

A small bouquet of flowers is called, a NOSEGAY!!! Seriously. Nose, like the fucking thing on your face, and gay, like the idea of doing it with other people who share your anatomy. Nosegay.

"Why Rosemary, what a wonderful nosegay you were carrying at the wedding this afternoon."

"Why thank you Hilda, my daughter selected this beautiful nosegay."

"I simply adore it. I think it is the most fabulous nosegay I have ever encountered."

"I understand. My daughter has quite an eye. She can select a nosegay with the best of them."

"Well, I simply must be going. Give my regards to your daughter regarding the magnificent nosegays."

A nosegay. I cannot believe it. A fucking nosegay. Best word ever.



Sunday, June 22, 2003

Balls, Chains, and Andy Kemp

So Katie gets home last night and we go to sleep pretty early. In all honesty, Katie was tired, I had been at work all day, we hung around for a couple hours and both pretty much passed out around 12 or 12:30. My sister and my mom had been here for the past couple days and I did more on my Thursday off than I have done, well, pretty much ever.

The point is, we were asleep. So around 2:45 my phone rings. I slap my hand all over the various debate tubs whioh serve as my bedside table. I locate the phone and in my sleeping stupor I look at the Caller ID. Rather than indicating "Bio-sis" (Andy's Biological Sister) or "Andy Kemp" or "Andy RW" or "Andy Kansas" or "Andy J" (which is only when Andy Kemp uses Andy J's cell phone to call me at 3 in the fucking morning) the phone informs me that I am receiving a call from the cellular telephone of a Mr. Peter Nikolai.

This perplexes my now slightly more awakened brain. Why, I wonder, would Pete be calling me at this time of night. Why would Pete even be up this late. I think about whether or not I know any other Pete's and why they would be calling me. My phone stops ringing. After I have been asleep for a couple hours I lose my ability to wake up until I have gotten at least 5-6 hours. So I went back to sleep. I heard my phone beep to announce I had a message. My normal assumption at this time of the night is that if anyone really needs me then they will call me back. The secondary assumption involved in this is that no matter what name shows up on my caller ID at three in the morning the person on the other line is always Andy Kemp. Its shocking how many times this has proven true. Some especially notable instances:

-Katie is at CEDA nationals, I had talked to her earlier and she indicated that she was going to sleep, she called at three in the morning. I answered, it was Andy. It turns out Katie let him into her room with some hoochie momma from Northwestern and he stole her phone and called me after Katie went back to sleep. He made me talk to this random chica from Evanston for like 10 minutes.

-my dad had been going back and forth between MPLS and Green Bay because my Grandmother was not in good shape-so I get a call from my parents house and assume that something bad has happened. Again, near three in the morning-this too was Andy. I have no idea, to this day, how he called me from my parents house. I assume he was there with my bro or something, but he was so wasted that I actually could not communicate with him. He just kept screaming and talking about Nikki's anatomy.

I am sure there are others. Regardless, my unspoken assumption turned out to be right again in this case. I got another call from Pete's house and this time woke up enough to realize that it was Saturday, the night of Pete's bachelor party, and hence it likely was Andy Kemp calling me on Pete's phone, as he is want to do.

I flipped my pillow over, put my phone on silent, and went back to the sack. I don't know how many more times he called, but there were two messages this morning. The first one reminded me of many an Andy style message, it was random, mainly incomprehensible, included references to my lack of masculinity, his own endowment, how many intoxicants had been consumed, various Richter-ian orifices, and the like. I laughed and deleted the message.

The next one however, I kept. I have listened to it like three times, and it is hilarious. Its a combination of true Andy Kemp rare form and some increasingly rare, Pete Nikolai rare form. Among the elements which made this message truly stand out were:

-the creation of, what to me at least, is entirely new vaginal slang: pooter-patter

-call back to the "ATV-ass transport vehicle"-which I had not remembered for many years

-new variations on Baxter including "Back-stair"

-dialogue with Andy about Groven and such

This message officially enters the greatest message ever hall of fame, which contains several other notables. Number one and two will be briefly detailed:

1) "Chicken Noodle Rape" -Kevin Roverud: I would have released this as a single in Europe if I had the opportunity. It was a combination of Kevin and a computer which Kevin had programmed repeating the words "chicken noodle rape" in various orders. It lasted at least two minutes. I fell over laughing the first time I heard it. The best portion was the 20 second "noodle" solo which was simply Kevin and the computer saying "noodle" in harmony over and over again.

2) "Auld Lang Queer"-Andy Kemp: Andy is very close to number one with this call. If it had been a little more rehearsed it would easily have the one spot, and as time goes by this call may overtake Kevin's most brilliant moment. This call was, of course, made around 3 in the morning and I listened to it after I taught the next morning. Laughed very very openly standing outside Clemmens Hall. The message was Andy's version of Auld Lang Syne, which amounts simply to the melody of Auld Lang Syne and slang words for "homosexual" and then various terms like "pooter patter" (ie: male or female genitalia) subsituted in.

Anyway. I think Katie and I are going to go see Alex and Emma. More later.



Friday, June 20, 2003


They did it. I will write more on the accomplishment involved in Josh and Meiches run for the National Forensic League National Championship and the work and skill both those boys and Katie have demonstrated over the year.

I still can't believe it. The Josher and the Me-ach won the National Tournament. Katie coached a National Champion. At one point, I coached the team who Katie has now taken to the National Championship.

What a fucking weak. Congratulations to all involved. You Rock!

Let me also give a quick shout out, which will be expounded upon later, to the rest of the Southern MN contingent. Edina came in third and the RHS love goes out to AC/DC who finished 6th. Fuck, 3 of the top 6. That is off the hook. Edina represented all around, Nick Green finishing 3rd in LD. Some speech people did well, good for them. Props also out to the coaches of those schools: Pete, Cort, Joe, Bietz, and the others who rolled hardcore in Hotlanta.



Thursday, June 19, 2003

Dobsing the Law! Dobsing the Law! Dobsing the Law DOBSING the LAW!

The title obviously refers to some Judas Priest style shit. The capitalized words at the end are intended to connote the parts where Rob stretches the last Br-eaking the La-w. A tribute both to one of the greatest thoroughly gay metal bands of the 80s and the Dobs, one of the oldest of my friends to currently be on an interstate crime spree.

So admittedly, I have none of this information first hand. I do however, have several thigns confirmed from various sources. Here are the things I know for certain:

1) The Dobs has written more than a few bad checks
2) The Dobs has a new car
3) The Dobs is selling golf clubs to finance a trip which has taken him at least to somewhere in New Jersey.

Everything outside of this is somewhat speculation and probably may be contested by someone out there, most likely the Dobs himself. Let the speculation begin:

The Dobs obtained a checkbook through semi-illegit means, these have been reported to be anything from stealing his dad's to finding an old one of his which is no longer operable. The Dobs then began writing a series of bad checks, to people, to places, so on and so forth. At least one of these checks went to the Reut Dawg, which amounted to about 700 dollars. This check, because it was from the Dobs, bounced. Hence, Reuter's bank account is very very negative.

Apparently the new Saab which the Dobs has obtained was acheived by writing a check for a down payment on this bad checking account. The place quickly realized this and called the Dobs to say, deuce, we need some money and shit. The Dobs wanted to make some sort of wire transfer. They couldnt do this, so they said they would do it on Monday instead. The Dobs proceeded to lose all the money which could have made this wire tranfer. To the best of our knowledge the Dobs does not have any money to pay this, but he does have an expensive, virtually stolen car.

Estimates range in the 3-5 thousand dollar range and are anywhere from "the Dobs accidentally got himself 3 gs in debt" to "the Dobs committed 5 gs of check fraud." We shall see where this lands.

Every report I have heard outside of the Dobs' own personal report indicates that he is stealing and reselling golf clubs to finance his trip. The cops were called on him at one point somewhere in Illinois but he seems to have talked his way out of that shit. None the less, this cannot go on forever. No one really knows what the Dobs is doing, what the status of this car is, what the status of his funds are, when/if he is coming home, etc.

As of yet his story doesnt quite match up to that of the Siznanj, but it is approaching. It almost makes me forget that Andy apparently has warrants out for his arrest in Kansas. No word on that shit recently.

No more friends on crime sprees. No more talkie.



Wednesday, June 18, 2003

White Oot

I will admit that I am more than slightly neurotic. I dig routine. There are so few things to hold onto in life that if I establish certain stupid paterns and the like it makes all the uncontrollable stupid shit seem less chaotic. Katie has learned that many of these patterns are stupid.

I park in specific spots in the parking lot.
I cannot leave the kitchen light on when I am not in the kitchen.
When one drinks a bottle of soda, one should return the fucking cap to the bottle of soda from which it came after a drink. Just take it off when you want to drink again. Its not a fucking ornament.
I set my alarm for only odd numbers.

I could go on further but I feel that I am dangerously close to locking and unlocking the door a certain number of times a la As Good As it Gets. So here is the deal. Now that I have to go to this computer desk in order to check my emizzle and such, I have noticed that Katie has an absurd amount of white out. Its sitting in this little organizer box thing that is right next to the monitor and there are like four fucking bottles of it.

First of all, who the fuck uses white out. I havent whited anything out since like the 8th grade when I used to type up my Science outlines on my mom's electric typewriter. The fact that we had an electric typewriter is absolutely absurd. The usefulness for such a device escapes me. Electric typewriter, mind you, does not simply refer to a typewriter which uses electricity to power the paper striking mechanism, what I like to call the typedy-do, but rather a word processor with a built in printer. The printer, however, instead of being one of those sweet little numbers (I believe they are called "dot-matrix" which should demonstrate to everyone which computer generation I find myself most at home in, since I would refer to other printers as "the really fast ones like they have in libraries" or "the shitty fucking squirty one my parents gave me that I can shoot up with more ink like in that infomercial") that my Apple 2E had is instead like a typewriting ball (like the fucking thing that pounds out MTV NEWS on the screen and is all spinning style) that just goes by itself. You had to print something like four times because at least once every time you tried the stupid machine would like punch a hole in the paper and jam up. While it did not require you to apply the necessary force to actually stamp the letter onto the paper, it still ate nut. It was a computer on which I could not play lemonade stand. Lemonade stand was a sweet game wherein you ran a lemonade stand and monitored its growth by purchasing more sugar and lemons, advertising, this kind of shit. The absurd thing about the game lemonade stand was that even though there were only four graphics involved (a lemonade stand on a sunny day, a lemonade stand on a cloudy day, a lemonade stand on a rainy day, and an abandoned lemonade stand, for when you lost) the game took up two of those big ass floppy disks. The type which are actually floppy, you know the gig. Not these motherfuckers we got now, all firm and shit like Angela Lansbury on ecstasy.

Second, how does one end up with four bottles of white out. If I had wanted to white something out, for reasons I cannot yet imagine, it would have taken me years to find a bottle. I am sure there is probably one in my box of office shit, which, since Katie has reorganized the office/random shit/empty box room, I am unable to locate, but that would have taken a while. White out is something that one only has for like an hour or maybe a day. After that its like, "I know I had some white out yesterday. What the fuck did I do with that white out. Fuck! I need to turn this paper in and though I could print another copy of this page, I would prefer to indicate that an error was previously here and has been disguised by a mound of white paint. This seems only rational." Having, like being able to find, or even fucking have at hand FOUR BOTTLES of white out seems like a Hurculean effort to me.

Now however, this is pissing me off. There is so much fucking white out in this thing that it is pushing other useful stuff out of the organizer and generally being all assy. I am sure that I could just like throw 2-3 bottles away and no one would care, since its not like anyone has ever used an entire bottle of white out. Or I could create some elaborate funnel method and combine them. Thank god that I discovered this late on the night before I go back to work. If this would have attracted my attention like Sunday night, we would only have two bottles of white out right now. On the downside, it would probably also appear that there had been many fixed typing errors in my bathroom sink.



Tuesday, June 17, 2003

Broke and Employed

So in general I am not inexperienced at the idea of being broke. I have spent many weeks without any money to speak of, scamming food from school functions and buying gas a gallon at a time. I can handle being broke. But it seems to me that there should be a connection between being broke and being unemployed. If I don't do anything which would legitimately pay me any money at all then I entirely understand the idea of not having any money. Obviously, what have I done which would result in the arrival of such funds.

However, I have spent all but 2 weeks of the past year entirely employed. Admittedly, maybe those two weeks came at an inconvenient time, but altogether they were not a significant amount of time. For fuck's sake, UB was actually still paying me during that time, they gave me my last check like only a week ago. Nonetheless, here I am, alone in my Lockport apartment on my day off unable to even run to the chinese buffet. I mean, there might be a way that I could swing it, but endangering the whole enterprise which our money is currently tied up in is not with a couple plates of General Tso if you know what I am sayin.

Its like, I need one of a couple things to occur for me to not feel bored on a day where I have nothing formal to do.

1) Someone to hang out with. Boredom for me is not really a problem if there is someone else around. We can talk about shit, we could play cards or trivial pursuit, we could have dinner together. We could joke or drink or whatever. Alone-ity (the condiditon of being alone) does not allow for these possibilities. I have tried to play poker alone a couple times, which is simply not very interesting. Trivial Pursuit alone does not work at all. I can only play so much PS2 with the 2 games I possess though once I have the 50 bucks to obtain Enter The Maitrix I will be in better place. Hopefully I can pull that off before Katie leaves for Wyoming, otherwise that could be a very very sad 2 weeks.

2) Some money to spend. The money doesnt even really have to be spent on something enormously entertaining. Going to a movie, getting food...thats about it really, going to a movie or buying food. I love to eat, it is definatively my favorite form of entertainment and the rest of the day seems really to fall into place once I have gone out for a nice mid-afternoon meal. I really enjoy going out for like a din-unch at around 3:30 or 4:00. Everyone will give you the dinner specials and serve you full dinner size shit (so you don't have to worry about getting jacked by fucking lunchtime portions, which are so incredibly weak, why doesnt this country understand the need for a true power lunch, one which has appetizers and dessert and at least two entrees sandwiched in between....oh, and a sandwich too) but there isnt anyone in the place yet. Even most of the old people are still at home doing old people shit or something. I was going to use a watching Matlock line or shit like that, but I don't think Matlock is on in the afternoon, I am not really sure. Matlock sucks a dick.

3) An immediate expectation. For instance, the expectation that someone was coming to see me or to hang out or something, these would all be resaonable thigns to keep me going. Lets say that I am leaving tomororw to go home or to Boston or something, then a day with nothing to do will be simply delightful.

Unfortunately, none of these conditions are met. I am very bored. Sherman's pack squad is now 7-0 in their second season. There is a good chance I will be able to sign Peerless Price. I don't remember if that is actually how one spells Peerless, but it is how I like to spell it-so suck it.



Monday, June 16, 2003

Fucking Jeter...What an Assmunch...

So check this out, Derek Jeter has like 2 commercials that are on TV alot right now. One of them is the Visa ad with Steinbrenner, and it is actually kind of funny. I kinda like Jeter, especially considering that he is a fucking Yankee bastard and shit. The other one starts off looking like a pretty decent commerical. Its like his dad and some people teaching him about baseball and the whole thing is a real obvious analogy between learning about baseball and learning about life. So the commerical ends with Jeter being like "silly me, the whole time I thought they were teaching me about baseball."

Its a good commercial, it would rock for like a "spend time with your kids" psa or something. Instead they turn it into one of these talk to your kids about drugs ads or "baseball is derek jeter's anti-drug." It pisses me off that the message always has to be against drugs, can't people just fucking love their kids and take care of them. I mean fuck, is every action one takes supposed to be directed against a joint!?!

How much fun and love can you convey to your children if you're like "lets go play baseball son/daughter, its so much better than drugs." I honestly don't give a fuck if my children use drugs if they learn the lessons that most of these anti-drug ads are trying to teach them. If they were intelligent and responsible and loving people, why does it matter if they get high when they are just hanging out anyway.

I understand very much that drugs can be a hindrance to people's lives. I mean, I have friends, certainly, who would have been in very different places absent their drug use, at least I would imagine so. Nonetheless, I have many other examples of people who can be the type of human being they should while maintaining recreational drug use.

Alright, that is all, no more rants about Jeter. Fucking yank.



Welcome Pete!!! (and potentially others)

Pete marks the offical second entry into the world of people who have read this. I admittedly have not been thoroughly attempting to gain followers, but none the less, very sweet.

So I am at home alone again this week, Katie being in Hotlanta. We had an interesting discussion at the airport about the selection of this year's national theme song. Last year we obviously had Petey Pablo's smash hit "North Carolina (Raise Up!)" which propelled the kids to a decent finish, winning a debate in the run off round and shit. Not the world's best tournament, but decent for a sophomore and a junior. My first thought was that this year's song had to be something by Ludakris. I figure that "Area Codes" would have been my pick. He does after all, have so many different hoes in so many different area codes.

My only significant complaint with Ludakris is that he of course does not mention 612 651 952 or even 763. I think the ommission of Minneapolis when fucking Denver and Milwaukee are both on the list is absolutely ricockulous. Its EROTIC FUCKING CITY!!! Thats not a title I gave it or something, its from Prince. What the fuck!? I have been to Milwaukee, it has exactly one advantage on Minneapolis, the booze is much cheaper. You can also get beer on Sundays, but in Minneapolis you only have to drive like an hour to do that. Plus, if you aren't Will Hailer you can just make sure you have enough shit on hand to last you the weekend. It did used to have an extra advantage which was the 2 am closing time for bars of course, thankfully the Minnesota legislature has remedied that.

I am even a fan of Wisconsin, at least more so than the average Minnesota fellow. Packers fan, obviously, and the whole dairy industry thing doesnt hurt either. I don't like the Brewers or the basketball-Bucs. Leaving the TC out of a list of the country's best cities and including Milwaukee is painful. I'm no Rubben Studdard, but I understand the representing one's area code thing, I have mad love for the six-five-wizzle. I like in the godforsaken land of 716 but I refuse to give up my phone number. I will keep it in the 651 until I die, or at least until I have to switch cell phone providers, and I don't really know why I would have to do such a thing. 22 of the 24 students I had this spring had cellular phones themselves, and the only even halfway decent argument I have heard about having a local phone number is so my students can call me. Fuck that, I'm decent with email and ya'll can just suck it up and pay the 11 cents it would cost to call me. You're gonna turn your paper in late anyway, cheating little fucks.

Since Pete reads this, at least has read this, I will now describe to him the dream I had Saturday night. Katie had left that day and I didnt have to work, I had played like 4 games in my NFL franchise (Pack is 3-0 in the second season under Sherman, no big new acquisitions but I have everyone crucial for at least another three years) and was getting very bored. I decided that I would try to do something productive, but I was not in the mood to read Kant. Instead, I read The Knot Wedding Guide to MSP for like a couple hours and made a good deal of mental notes. That night I went to sleep fairly early, maybe 11:30 or so, and dreamed that we had hired this videographer person. I didnt want one, but Katie used this article in the magazine to convince me that we needed one. So one of the suggestions in this magazine was to make sure you convey your personality to the video people so they know what they should shoot. THeir suggestion was like, if you are funny, make sure they know that it is appropriate to include humor at certain times.

So we do this and we get the video back and its just like a wedding sitcom. I was horrified because I thought Katie was going to kill me, but she was laughing, so we just watched it. It was a series of my friends doing like mini standup routines, like Comic Remix or something, and there was a laughtrack set to all the serious things that happended in the wedding. At one point I was very confused because there was a distinct moment at which I saw something occur on the tape that I was certain did not actually take place.

Regardless, I no longer wish to be sitting at the old fashioned desk computer. I miss my laptop. I also miss my music on my laptop, for instance my avril, josie, britney, christina, and (newly added) lucy playlists.

Back to celebrity look alikes.



Wednesday, June 11, 2003

Stupid Fucking Science

So here is the deal. Science has legitimately pulled off some shit that I am very happy about. You know, cures for all these diseases and stuff, air conditioning, tivo, double-stuf oreos, etc. There is however, a very important issue that no one even seems to be researching. How is it, that with all these advances in technology and the like we have not discovered a smokable substance which doesn't kill you.

I understand that the very act of inhaling things into your lungs can be damaging, but why cant we just find a substance which, when burned, creates smoke that doesnt hurt me. Come on science, get with it.



Monday, June 09, 2003


That is how difficult it is to determine a wedding song. Like a first song sort of thing. The problem really isnt even that Katie and I have different tastes in music. The problem is that most songs which are about 2 people who totally love each other and there are no problems suck.

I mean, think about it, who writes music about shit going really well and being really really in love with someone who loves you back. Even most pop songs aren't about that. The ones we have found are even kind of difficult. Katie's parents used Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are" which is a great song, but means that we probably shouldn't. Regardless, it is, at this point, definatively the best that we have found. We also don't want one which is too long or anything. I thought Purple Rain would be cool and I suppose that it still would, but even the abbreviated version of the song is like 5 minutes and is, fundamentally, not a truly happy song, more about an unrequited love.

We tried to work something out with Stevie Wonder, but Katie doesn't tend to like the songs I like. I think we will move in the direction of some other classics. Katie also rejected Tom Waits, which isn't a big surprise, but I think it would have been sweet to have a Tom Waits song as a first dance. We are looking into Willie Nelson at the moment. This was spurred by the CMA's releasing of the 100 Best Country Songs of all time, a list which, at least in my relatively uninformed country-music opinion, is ridiculous.

The Gambler, which I think is definatively the best song the genre has ever produced, was ranked 26. It was also the top Kenny Rogers song. Kenny Rogers top song is at number 26!! Seems ridiculous to me. I also would have put The Devil Went Down to Georgia in the top 10, probably higher. Surprisingly absent to me was Garth Brooks' The Thunder Rolls, what I would have selected as his top song. Garth appeared on the list only twice, for The Dance and Friends in Low Places, both good songs. Friends in Low Places however, was number 6, which may be a little high. Johnny Cash had a good amount of hits and Ring of Fire was 4th I think, fairly respectable. If I had to generate my own list I think I would have:

1) The Gambler
2) The Devil Went Down to Georgia
3) Ring of Fire
4) The Thunder Rolls
5) Mommas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

The CMA had these songs at 26, 69 (heh heh), 4, unranked, and 10 respectively. You can see that me and people who listen to country music differ slightly. I might work in some Dolly Parton up there, she rocks.

There were a number of songs which I never would have considered country music until I read them on this list. Passionate Kisses, Desperado, anything by Ray Charles! I have to imagine that he is the only black person on this list, though I don't know that for sure, Katie thinks a couple other dudes may be, but we are not certain.

I can't believe I actually spent this much time talking about country music, which I haven't listened to in any serious capacity since like 8th grade when me and Maroney were big into the "Thank God for You." I wonder if there are similar lists for any other genres, has any respectable agency actually made a 100 Best Songs in rock and roll. MTV does the 100 Best Videos, but that obviously excludes a majority of the Rock Music made before like 1984. Notably also, I dont think anyone would contend seriously that either GNR's November Rain or Metallica's Enter Sandman are the best couple rock songs ever written. They are, however, legitimate contenders for best video ever made.

MTV tends to redo that list every couple years, all of them later than 1995 or so, after all of these songs came out at least, and none the less, each of these editions has included a different video at number one. At various times I have seen Thriller, November Rain, Enter Sandman, Jeremy, and Smells Like Teen Spirit listed as the best video ever. For all of them except the Nirvana song there is a legitimate argument. While the heroin boys from Seattle were no doubt extraordinarily influential on the world of music and maybe will fulfill all the predictions that Nirvana will be to the next generation what the Beatles are to ours, their videos were cool, but not to the level of the others listed there. November Rain for its spectacle, Enter Sandman for its filmic attributes, Thriller for the length and choreography of a short film, and Jeremy for the emotion, surprise, and avant-garde videography that was really non existant at the time it was introduced.

Enough, bored and hungry now.



Sunday, June 01, 2003

Andy Esta Un Fuck Loco

So the continuation of the story about us moving, more specifically, the story of Friday afternoon. So the day started off with an anti-bang, really really on the wrong foot. We got up late, things weren't going well in general. We roll to the first U-Haul place to pick up our gift certificates and of course, the pre-Memorial Day weekend lines meant that took like 25 minutes. Having accomplished that we picked up our trailer at the Roseville U-Haul. This was also a disaster because the dude at this joint had a computer which was, literally, a phone with a keyboard plugged into it. Surprisingly, he could not get the gift certificates to work, so that took us like an hour. So we finally get the trailer and realize that it is significantly smaller than we had imagined.

It becomes obvious very quickly that the trailer will not support both couches and all of Katie's stuff. We had to get rid of the couches regardless, so Karly and I moved the couches downstairs, one being gigantic and stuffed with a giant bed, the other being very light and easy to work with. We took the big one to la casa de mi padres. The little one we gambled on. So we get back to Katie's apartamento and begin what is at first an extermely arduous process of carrying fucking butt and dickloads of boxes down the stairs to load into the trailer. By the pure grace of the Lord Andy K and the Diznobs both showed up to help me out. We carried shit downstairs, we put the couch in, we actually got alot of shit packed in there. Dobs came strong, like hella strong, in the packing department. We have explicitly demonstrated the necessity of Dobs existence. We can prove why, for instance, the Dobs has more reason to exist than Jan's girlfriend. Andy lugged some good shit, it was also impressive.

Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon Andy decided that it would be a good idea to start drinking Tanqueray directly from the bottle. I encouraged him, notably, but I figured (very very stupidly) that he might be able to keep it under control. He wasn't drinking gin and tonic mind you. It must have tasted fucking awful, he was drinking straight room temperature gin without a twist or anything. But it is Andy. We smoked a little bit of the old diznope with Andrea, since she got a new pipe and all. It was a cute little number from St. Sabrina's. The pipe was certainly a rip off, as everything is at St. Sabrina's, but still a nice color changing thingy.

About 4 o'clock we decide to get some food and some cigarettes. We go outside to have a smoke before we go anywhere else. Andy starts babbling, I mean Andy style crazy incoherent babbling. It takes like 3 hours before we are actually able to leave to get some food. Dobs and Andy had a showdown regarding coming down to the car. Andy gave in finally and we rolled to Arby's. We decided to go through the drive-through even though I suggested otherwise and this was the root of the problem. Dobs begins the normal ordering process, Andy interrupts in order to butcher Jack Black's drive-through bit. He fucks around with the throw away the chicken nuggets thing, the losing some of the weight line, it becomes too much and we have to pull away from the drive through window. So we no longer have decent food as an option and roll to Grampa Murphy's, a little pizza joint down the street.

We get inside and I have only recently realized exactly how fucking wasted Andy is. It is rickoculous. He drank about a quarter of a 1.75 of gin and that had really taken its effect. The first thing that occurs upon our entrance to this otherwise quiet neighborhood restaurant is Andy badgering the waitress regarding smoking options in the store. He offers her a dollar to create a smoking section and proceeds to continue uppping his ante ultimately reaching 5 G-spots before we sit his ass down. I talk to Katie and AJ on the phone while Andy babbles and gambles and argues with the waitress about getting a beer. They ultimately figure it out as I sit down at the table. It hadnt hit me how fucked up this situation was yet. Not until Andy attempted to order a Ham and Cheese sandwich. This place served its ham and cheese open-faced which in the mind of most people is fairly reasonable. They roll the thing in the oven and melt the cheese on there, its solid. Andy cannot grasp this concept however, so an argument about the difference between open faced and closed faced sandwiches ensues. This lasted, I shit you not, at least 5 minutes. Dobs had already ordered at this point, for most of the conversation we simply stared down into our drinks. Eventually I intervened and explained to the waitress to just bring him the sandwich and we would take care of it.

When the woman next returned she became very patronizing towards Andy, speaking very slowly and deliberately every time she addressed him. It quickly became obvious that she believed Andy to be retarded. Literally, she thought Andy was mentally handicapped and he gave her no reason to believe otherwise. In retrospect I can think that he did show her a drivers license, which a handicapped person would not likely have, but she didnt consider that any more than I did, it appears.

I laughed my ass off and gave her Andy's 20 bucks as a tip, she deserved it for having dealt with him that afternoon. I don't know that it made her feel any better, it was an exceedingly awkward forty minutes in that place.

We got back to Katie's after Andy had screamed "Hey Old Dude, SUCK MY DICK!!" out of Dobs' car window. Andy then jumped from the car upon hearing that if he attacked me without pants on I would shove the pepsi bottle I was holding up his ass, he tried, I responded in kind. He then decided to drop his pants completely and run around the corner of Snelling and Palace at about 5 on a Friday afternoon. Rush hour traffic mind you, on the busiest fucking street in St. Paul on the Friday before Memorial Day. He got honked at more than once and I remain amazed that no one called the cops that afternoon.

He was more in control after Dobs got him back from the tya-tya bar. But still, quite a day for that boy.

Anyway, maybe more some other time.