Attn. panhandlers: Come to Minneapolis, they want you here!

I saw a news story on the telly last night that made me want to take a rubber mallet and bash my head with it repeatedly until I could forget about what I had just heard.

Just like in other large towns, here in Minneapolis we have a hearty population of panhandlers that stand at stoplights with cardboard signs that display messages such as "WILL WORK FOR FOOD" and "BOOZE FREE, NEED MONEY FOR FOOD". Let me tell you, there's nothing better than having the misfortune of driving the car that stops first at the red light right next to these outstanding humans. You sit there for what seems to be an eternity waiting for the light to turn green pretending you don't see them standing there. Sometimes the real good ones will walk down the line of cars attempting to make eye contact with the drivers.

9.9 out of ten times when you're walking down the street around here (or even standing at the gas pump), you get somebody walking up and asking you for change. When my band was loading out at First Avenue at 1am last month, one gentlemen went so far as to befriend us, telling us how good our band was and how he heard us from outside - all the while I was thinking to meself 'He's going to ask for money in 5...4...3....2......'. He insisted on helping Big Johnson load his bass cabinet into his car by basically jumping on top of it and lifting it before we could turn him down, and then held his hand out saying "Come on... help a brother out!" We helped him out by telling him thank you and to have a good night.

This is just the tip of the iceberg with transients and their panhandling techniques in the Twin Cities. And guess what? Here's how Minneapolis wants to fix it:

Minneapolis May Require License To Beg

Oh. My. Gawd.

Let me rephrase that headline: Minneapolis May Require License Which Gives People Full Permission To Be A Pain In The Ass For Something They Shouldn't Be Doing in the First Place.

So now when I'm at that red light on Lyndale and the I94 exit, I could potentially have panhandlers showing me their Beggar's License as even more incentive for me to hand over money I don't have because they've been given the green light to do so. If this becomes a reality and panhandlers end up using their license as a guilt trip when I'm walking down the sidewalk (which you can bet your arse will happen just like you can count on George Bush saying the word "nucular"), I want a city-issued license of my own for us non-beggars. I already have the perfect design in mind. It will be a large white badge you wear around your neck that says this:

NO!

I know life is hard for these people and am thankful I've never had to panhandle (although I've come close!), but it gets incredibly annoying when you're going for a walk, trying to buy gas, etc., and you're constantly being asked for change. A month ago I was getting out of my car to go into the house and before I even opened the car door, someone was approaching the Pinto and asking me for change. Being the generous soul I am, I declined as I usually do. Call me Scrooge, but remember the fact that I don't have a f*&king job! Not that I'd be handing out money if I were employed, but..

Minneapolis: if you make this license a reality, a license for something people shouldn't be doing in the first place, I would prefer that you take some other license ideas to heart.

• License to roll through stop signs
• License to shoplift from convenience stores
• License to not pay taxes anymore
• License for people who drive Pintos to get free gasoline
  
• License to steal cable television/internet service
• License to just take the free one in a "buy one get one free" offer
• License to slap whoever's idea this Beggar's License was every time I'm asked for change from now on

Please... make it stop.

Press release: Iced Ink drummer search is OVER

Over, finished, done, gone, out. Barry is the lad's name and our pickles are tickled to have him on board. More info and a special mp3 sample on http://www.icedink.net/main.htm

Yippy Skippy!

Hey you!

You with the hilarious fabricated lisp and white boots. You know who you are. Yeah, you with the new bike.

Just want to say thanks for everything. Seriously... you rule.

If you are a stranger who is reading this and coincidentally happens to have a hilarious fabricated lisp, white boots and a new bike, buzz off. You can't just go taking props, you've got to earn them.

Confessions of a Park High metalhead

I don't know why exactly I remembered this, but I was thinking back on all of the stupid shit we (my loser friends and I) did in high school and trying to figure out what the dumbest thing I ever did was... other than maybe taking 1 1/2 hour lunches for an entire semester (i.e. skipping Phy Ed and Health, therefore failing them and having to use my electives to take them the next year).

Thanks to my Bon Jovi hair and heavy metal flare on my KISS jean jacket, I was quite the ladies man back in 10th grade (ha ha!).. I would often receive notes from admirers - some anonymous, and some that I wish had remained anonymous. For those of you young pups reading this, before the age of email and cell phones, people would communicate with utensils called pen and paper. They would write their messages on the paper with the pen, fold it into a square or triangle, and then hand it off themselves, through a friend of theirs in your class, or slip it in your locker.

One particular subject who we referred to as "Rhombus" was very persistent with giving me notes. One day I received a note from her and it contained language which was of a romantic nature. Rhombus was in constant denial that her feelings for me were far from mutual.

I showed this note to my friend Tom and we laughed. We happened to be entering the lavatory with this note and it was empty (I'm guessing due to the fact that we were cutting class). Empty lavatory + love letter from Rhombus = recipe for fun. Tom produced a Bic lighter from his pocket and ignited the love letter as a token of his sympathy for me. The letter proved to be rather flammable - within seconds, the flames had eaten most of it and were fast approaching Tom's fingers.

Thankfully we were standing right next to the wall urinals which always contained a hearty supply of fresh water in the bowls, and Tom threw the burning testimonial of Rhombus' love for me into the water to extinguish it. The entire boys room was filled with smoke and there were still a few smoldering embers in the terlit. We wanted to ensure the safety of our fellow students and Park faculty, so we did what any responsible young men would do who set one-way love letters afire and throw them into wall urinals: we each peed on it. This thankfully managed to adequately douse the embers, leaving a mushy pile of smoldering black soot in the base of the once tidy, clean wall urinal.

Good times, good times. And perhaps there was some sort of unintentional witchcraft involved in this procedure, as I never received a love letter from Rhombus again.

This is just one of several stupid things I did in high school and we definitely had commited worse crimes, but for some reason this one sticks out the most. Now that I think about it, maybe I'll try this with any bills I get in the mail and see if bill collectors leave me alone after the burning/peeing ritual like Rhombus did.

That would be awesome.

Post Dated for you to say something stupid.

That's what my intent is here: For each and everyone who reads this to post something stupid. Why? Because I like stupid things. I have a hit counter on this page and know quite a few people stop by on a daily basis, so it will be fun to see how many of you participate. If nobody wants to, that's fine. I'll just sit here kicking my can all over the place. Fine, I don't care about you non-participators anyways. You and your attitudes... sheesh.

Here's how to play: see the little "comments" hyperlink below this post on the right hand side? I want to put it to work. Click on it and leave me a comment about anything. Or click on it to read the comments. If you don't have a blogger ID and want to remain anonymous, that's fine by me. Your comment doesn't necessarily have to be stupid; it can be about anything (although stupid and random is more entertaining if you can work it in somehow). I'm post dating this entry so it stays on the top of the page for a while, but will continue making new journal entries, so you'll have to scroll past this one for a week or so to get to the "new" stuff.

Let the random stupidity begin.. I'll do the first one to give you an example.

It's Slowing, not Fasting

This just occurred to me: Fasting should not be called fasting, because any time you starve yourself on purpose for days at a time, I would think the experience would be anything but fast.

I'm going to take this a step further. Next time I'm at a restaurant, I will refer to the time frame that I don't eat in between an appetizer and a main course a fast. "Sorry, that looks really good but I can't eat for another 3 minutes... I'm fasting."

Soft drinks with lime disease

Coke with lime. *sigh*

Why does this exist? Is there an underground society of Coke drinkers out there that are squeezing limes into their Cokes? It almost seems as if Coca Cola is creating these new flavors to generate curiosity amongst its consumers causing them to buy some just to see what it tastes like and move more product. But they wouldn't do that, would they? Naaaaah!

I wasn't paying attention at the gas station the other day and accidentally grabbed a limed-up Coke thinking it was Coke flavored Coke. I got into the Pinto and a few miles later realized that the cap was green. "F*&K!! Limes were not part of the plan!" says I to myself. However, I needed sugary hydration something fierce and Hell if I was going to stop again when I already had $1.09 invested in sugary hydration, so I reluctantly twisted the green cap off and took a chug.

"Hmmm..." I thought to myself while smacking my tongue waiting for it to respond to this new blend of citrus and high fructose corn syrup. My tastebuds finally reacted and sent a strong jolt to the part of my brain that votes "Nope."

There have been other Coke enhancements that have proven to be successful such as Cherry Coke. Cherries? Okay. Fine. Diet? That's fine too.. not everyone wants more sugar muscle around the waistline or teeth that feel like sandpaper after you have a can. Caffeine free Coke? Hey, that's cool too... some people just can't do caffeine.

But that's not the case with Lime Coke. I have never heard of a person's diet requiring that they drink more shit with lime flavor in it.

There's also Vanilla Coke. And C2, which sounds like a tile found in the Periodic Table of Elements. And last but not least - Coke with lemon. I bought that by mistake also and thought that maybe someone at the bottling plant had replaced a vital Coke ingredient with Pledge furniture polish.

It's not just Coke. Pepsi is running quickly behind them trying to keep up. I was in the store buying milk this morning and spotted an endcap crammed full of "NEW! Pepsi with lime!" Three cheers to the Pepsi developers for coming up with such a clever, unique flavor sensation. Dr. Pepper is at it too, but they're going the kamikaze route and saying "Fuck it - let's just throw all of the flavors into one can!" I was at my parent's house and spotted a can of Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. I repeat: Diet. Cherry. Vanilla. Dr. Pepper. That's 11 syllables just to say the flavor of one can of soft drink. At that point you might as well turn the name into an acronym.

Enough of the citrus/fruit/vanilla thing. Here's a list of Coke enhancements that I think they should tackle next (and then Pepsi can follow their lead).

Extreme Coke All the goodness of Coke with twice the carbonation and Coke flavor. After burning your throat to a raw pulp, it will eat away at the lining of your stomach. Yum!
Iced Cocha Coke with espresso, chocolate and milk
Poke A 50/50 Pepsi and Coke mix
Coke with Chunks Just what it sounds like. Coke with Coke-flavored chunks.
Smoke-A-Cola Coke with refreshing hickory smoked flavoring added (could also spawn a new line of Coke-flavored cigarettes)
Breakfast Coke with sausage, maple syrup and egg flavoring
Croak This could be one of two ideas. Frog flavored Coke. Or - Coke laced with poison for those who want to commit suicide and enjoy a tasty beverage at the same time.

These are just some ideas. Hey, they're no more ridiculous than Crystal Cherry Diet Pepsi.

The Mystical Polyester B.O. Aroma Groove Thing

Yes Satriani fans, that there was a blatant ripoff of one of my favorite songs of his.

Now that's out of the way, I just smelled something that brought me back to my old marching band days with the high school band. The odor-bearing subject I speak of is my polyester Chuck Taylor hoodie. I've worn it over a wifebeater (the "A-shirt" as Hanes likes to call it) on many a chilly night now exposing it to my bare, hairy underarm regions. After repeated exposure to my pits, it seems to have adopted their musky funk, causing multiple odiferous flashbacks to my old marching band days in high school. It's weirding me out and opening cans of worms I wasn't aware my memory still contained.

Back in high school when we had to play parades, we were forced to wear the standard issue Park High marching band uniform. All 100% breathable (ha ha) polyester white and green eyesores that were about as comfortable as using sandpaper on your boompah after going number 2 in the potty. Not that I ever have... I'm just trying to use some imagery to get my point across.

These uniforms, no matter how many dry cleanings they'd endured, carried not only incredible lack of visual appeal, but also a rather subtle cloud of B.O. - even in the non-armpit/undercarriage areas. And it wasn't just my B.O. - oh no. These uniforms had been around a good 5-6 years prior to my tenure with the marching band which means they carried with them 5-6 years worth of other band student's odor-causing bacteria. When you would wear the uniform, it was not a constant odor... rather a cloud that would sporadically rise to the occasion at random times like when we were sitting on the bus waiting to be hauled to a gig, talking on a payphone to call mom to pick you up from said gig, and other peculiar meaningless moments. One second you'd be huffing good old clean natural air, and next thing you know you'd catch a cloud of dusty onions and get the creeps that you were taking in the body odor of someone your same size that had worn the uniform years before you.

Whoa.. I just got another whiff. Pardon me while I close my eyes and imagine I'm back standing next to Miss America 1989's convertible. There I am.. it's right before the parade and I'm emptying my sousaphone's spit valve. I'm talking with fellow sousaphonist Keith Klein and we're getting ready to crank out some serious quarter note power during Stray Cat Strut.

The one place left in the universe without a Starbucks or Caribou

Kimb and I embarked on a journey to good ol' historic Southern MN over the weekend which took place in Winona, MN. Have you ever been? I'm guessing that's most of you probably haven't, save for driving through it on your way to an actual destination. Dear homies in the Berkman clan: I'm hoping you will chuckle at this post rather than want to tar and feather me for making light of your lovely hometown.
Arrival: Saturday, 3pm.

There was an outdoor town festival taking place in Winona which is what brought us there in the first place. The festival consisted of a lot of wind accompanied by approximately 10-12 tables and a stage where some poor bloke was crooning his heart out behind an acoustic guitar to the delight of his five or six audience members (aka friends and family). I will share with you the major highlights of this festival:

1) Running across Main St. to get to the festival
2) Seeing a real live donkey at a Democratic activist table. As our backs were turned I reckon the donkey caused a bit of a ruckus because there was a bit of noise in that area, but by the time we turned our heads, the donkeymaster had his ass under control.

That would have been pretty cool if the donkey went nuts like you see elephants doing on those tv shows... taking the power back by biting a child, kicking a $1.50 styrofoam cup of lukewarm organic coffee out of some old lady's hand and sending the citizens of Winona all running amok and whatnot. But this ass seemed to have his shit together.

After we spent a good 5 or 6 minutes at the festival, it was time to move on and see what else the city had to offer.

After driving around for a half hour, I finally saw something breathtaking and spectacular: a really nice Fleet Farm. They have a river there, too. And don't let me forget the JC Penny, which is rated the #1 top shop in Winona on YAHOO!

The one thing that floored me is we did not see ONE Caribou or Starbucks. Winona is a college town - and where there is college, you can bet your life that there is a Caribou and/or Starbucks within stumbling distance of the campus. But not here. Nope - not a single one. Kudos to you, Winona. I thought both of those places had set up shop damn near everywhere, but they must have somehow looked past your town (maybe it doesn't show up on a lot of maps they look at).

After the drive and a stellar dining experience at the local Steak N Cake (guess what's on their menu?), we hit the local antique shop which for whatever reason I don't remember much of. But yup, they had some antiques.

And here's the "Maybe Not Such A Good Idea" portion of the trip. There was absolutely nothing to do, so we hit up the local cinema that night for a taste of Hollywood. There was nothing particularly appealing showing, but we figured maybe "The Amityville Horror" would liven things up a little bit. Oh, it did. Because after the movie, we suddenly remembered we were staying in a turn of the century house not unlike the one in the film.

Needless to say, a peaceful, relaxing night of rest was ahead. We stood like vibrating mannequins in the dead silent room with creepy wallpaper (like in the movie), a teddy bear (like in the movie), and lovely antique wrought iron heating duct vents (also just like in the movie). All lights were left on and doors open. I'll forever remember as I was trying to sleep the calmness and sedate feelings that overcame me staring up at that heating vent waiting for it to tell me to go kill people and then spitting out a million flies on my face.

Up early the next morning and we got the Hell out of Dodge. It was actually a great time even though there was really nothing to do or see - sometimes the most simple, mundane experiences like that can be the most entertaining ones. The one thing we couldn't stop pondering on our way past the city limits was "What the HELL do people do in that town? Where do they work?" Certainly Fleet Farm and JC Penny can't be the sole backbone of Winona's economy.

I know what I'm gonna do: I'm opening up a Caribou in Winona. There will be lines wrapped around city blocks of people waiting to get in. I'll remember all of you when I'm at the top of the financial mountain counting my millions of dollars - and then remembering that I'm stuck in Winona and there isn't a single f*&king thing to do with all of that money.

Other than maybe pay the Winona Polish Museum a couple extra dollars to stay open past 2pm on weekends so's I can resolve any and all of my historic Polish curiosities and admire some sweet-ass ancient Polish artifacts. Because as the buzz phrase of the weekend stated, "there ain't nuthin' better to do here."

Is that my fat ass they're showing on TV?

I was watching the Today Show this morning and they did a segment on this completely ridiculous beauty makeover of the USDA's food pyramid plan. The original, as we all know, was just one food pyramid. Allegedly, they thought this confused people, so now there's 12 food pyramids. Gee, sounds perfectly logical to me. When something's confusing, it's always a good thing to increase the amount of confusing things by TWELVE. I sure wish when I started playing guitar that it had 18 strings instead of 6. Yeah, that would have been way more helpful... For those of you who want to end your sleepless nights over the chaos that once ensued over our now defunct single-food hierarchical graphic, you can visit http://www.mypyramid.gov. I'll touch more on this insanity in a few seconds... but for now I want to focus on the title of this post.

Whenever you see obesity segments on the telly-a-vision, you probably notice the stock footage of obese people they show thruout the clips. They never show faces - it's always from the neck down with the camera focused on the belly and/or ass. My question is this: do the people that don't know they're being filmed ever sit at home watching TV and suddenly spot their ass jiggling around down the street in a segment on how obese America is becoming? I can't imagine that to be the most flattering experience.. "Look ma - my ass is famous! It's right there on the Today Show! I know it's mine - I was carrying a shopping bag just like that and wearing shorts that were hiked up on the insides of my thighs!"

Also, you've got to remember some guy gets paid to go out and film random obese people from the neck down. How about that for a job? I never really thought about it before, but I guess there's probably a pretty steady amount of work for very short cameramen who are able to blend into crowds. And then people get paid to edit the footage, having to pick the best ass and belly shots out of the lot to use in the segment.

*sigh*

So anyways, back to the food pyramid. I'm not even going to attempt to read up on the 12 new pyramids. That's not precise enough for this monkey. I'm going to wait 5 or so years until the 12 are subdivided into 24 or 48 more pyramids, and then those pyramids will be subdivided into even more pyramids. I'm waiting for the "shaggy brown haired glasses wearing Ace Frehley tattooed musician who drives a Pinto" pyramid. Or I maybe I should just take a shortcut and design it myself.

Food Pyramid for shaggy brown haired glasses wearing Ace Frehley tattooed musician who drives a Pinto:

Fruits and vegetables: 1%
Tap Water: 5%
Ice cream: 5%
Fast food: 5%
Cheetos: 5%
caffeine: 9%
Sugary cold cereal: 10%
Meat of some sort and french fries with A1 sauce and a pickle spear: 20%
Diet Coke: 40%

Harry Palms

Just when you think things can't get any worse, you wake up naked and disoriented in an abandoned parking lot surrounded by policemen all pointing their guns at you.

Last I remember, I was enjoying dinner with a friend and went to use the Mens room because I felt another one of those strange headaches coming on and could hear everyone's conversations.. even those clear across the restaurant. I caught a glimpse of the kitchen out of the corner of my eye on the way to the biffy and one of the chefs was preparing raw meat of some sort. The fragrance was so intense that I began to salivate.

I made it to the Mens room and snarled at a man washing his hands. He gave me a strange look and quickly made his way out. I curled up in a stall writhing in pain, and now here I am lying down in this parking lot. It must be 5am now? Looks like I have some explaining to do. I sure hope that's dried ketchup on my hands..

Gawd, I'm so done with being a werewolf.

Wow, this band I like sucks!

I was listening to the radio in the Pinto and a band came on that made me cringe a little. I thought to myself "Man... this band sure sucks - they sound like a horrendous ripoff of The Breeders.."

I love The Breeders - have been a big fan since "Last Splash". There's something about the innocent sloppiness (I mean that in a good way) of their music that really tickles my brain along with the sexual chocolate-ness of Kim Deal's voice.

So anyways, I continued listening in hopes of finding out who this artist was. I started getting a little miffed at how much they were ripping off Breeders music and how much it sucked. Enter radio announcer: "And that last song was The Breeders..."

Hm. No wonder they sounded so much like The Breeders.. because.. it was.. The Breeders. Makes perfect sense to me.

I went home and dug the song out that I heard on the radio and put it on. Knowing that I was listening to the Breeders, it suddenly made everything I hated about the song okay. Sorry, Breeders - hope you can forgive me.

I only rinsed 1,999.6 body parts, a.k.a. the Overnight Flamethrower

Let this be a word of advice to any of you who bathe.

I showered yesterday as I like to do on an almost daily basis. I take pride in being a boy with a passion and appreciation for consistent hygiene.

I am currently using Lever 2000 soap - the soap that "Cleans all 2,000 of your body parts!" Well, I washed all 2,000 of my body parts, but woke up today and realized I must have been in a hurry and negelected to thoroughly rinse the Lever 2,000 cleansing agents off of all but a small area of one of those 2,000 body parts - the one located in the lower abdominal area. Today, that area is burning something fierce. A little rinsey-poo and a few hours of patience will remedy the situation, but damn. I've done this before - I sometimes am just too quick to hop out of the shower before I am fully rinsed of all soapy residues, yet I never seem to learn my lesson. I guess I see life as too short to waste on things like standing in a shower for too long.. that is unless you're in there soaping around with your signifigant other, but being the innocent angel I am, I don't participate in sinful tomfoolery such as that or any other behavior associated with it.

*cough*

I'm getting an hourglass with 4 minutes worth of sand in it (which I guess would make it a 4 Minute Glass). As soon as I'm done soaping up, you can bet your ass I'm flipping that 4 Minute Glass over and will not stop rinsing until the top half of it is empty. And then maybe I'll flip it over again.

Pardon me, do you have any Gold Bond?

Exercise when it's convenient for you.

Dear Oreo Thin Crisps®:

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for pointing out a great Healthy Living Tip to me. Located on the front of your packaging is an inspiring note which reads:

100 Healthy Living Tips
#7: Are you a morning person or an evening
person? The best time of day to exercise is
the time that best fits your schedule!

This brought to my attention the fact that all of these years I’ve been exercising at the wrong times, such as when I always did pushups in the mens room at McDonalds. But at least I always made sure to do it in a stall with a door so I could hide behind it and no one had to watch the goofy faces I made when I grunted! Sometimes while driving my car I’d attempt to do jumping jacks. When I worked in an office, in the middle of a meeting I couldn’t help myself – I’d get up out of my chair and start lifting it over my head and usually get about 20 reps in before getting kicked out. Tee Hee! I’m such a silly nilly! I would set my alarm for 3am to wake up and pop in my Sweatin’ To The Oldies tapes, work out, and then go back to bed for a few hours. I would wake up sore and fatigued wondering what I could possibly be doing wrong!

But now it all makes sense after reading Healthy Living Tip #7. So I am supposed to exercise at a time which is not inconvenient to me? I have seen the light and I thank you for being the ones to flick that switch from OFF to ON. Next thing you know I’ll have someone telling me I wouldn’t be so hot in the summer if I wasn’t wearing my cozy wool sweaters and snow suit.

I intend on purchasing and consuming your product until I have collected and been educated by the other 99 Healthy Living Tips that I look so forward to reading. I will take each and every one of them to heart and clip them out to paste into my Healthy Living Tips scrapbook which I will share with all of my other unhealthy friends and loved ones. If you were only on tip #7 and I found it to me that awakening of an experience, I can only imagine how intensely wonderful the tips get from there!

Thanks again. I know that I am on my way to a brand new me thanks to Oreo Thin Crisps®.

Regards,

Micycle

Give me 1 fruit bat, a centipede, and a basement bug

I've got some time to kill before a lunch date and have to get something off of my chest in regards to a cat food commercial I saw this morning. Very important things to talk about, as usual.

The commercial was for a new "Indoor Formula" cat food. Whatever happened to just plain old cat food? What makes this different from regular cat food? Is there an "outdoor formula" cat food? If so, am I supposed to feed it to my cat prior to letting him out? Will it lower his risk of airborne feline viruses and disease? Is there an "indoor/outdoor" formula for people who occasionally let their cats out?

I want to know why an indoor formula cat food is really necessary. To me it seems like just another choice you have to make. Have you seen how many goddamn cat food formulas there are in existence already? It's like trying to pick out feminine hygiene products. Not that I have (because I am a boy and didn't come with those parts), but I've been in the aisle and have seen the vast array of flavors available. Ladies, you have my condolences.

How did I get from cat food to tampons? Umm.. anyways -

Really though. Indoor Formula cat food.

Maybe when you open the bag it's full of live bats, insects, birds, mice, and other prey that cats pursue while they're outside. This would be a very good way to ensure that your cat is fulfilling his/her natural instincts and not getting bored just eating brown crunchy pellets that just lay there. If Indoor Formula cat food did actually consist of live "cat bait" like that, it would all probably come flying and crawling out of the bag when you cracked it open.

In that case, it might be a good idea to have a quick release spout on the bag as to not let too much food escape at once. "Oops - I let 2 centipedes, a basement bug and a hummingbird out - get the net!" Or better yet, "Oops - I put the Indoor Formula cat food on the bottom of the grocery bag and accidentally crushed it by putting a 5 lb bag of sugar on top of it. Looks like we'll have to get the blender out and make Fluffy a smoothie. Hope the leftovers can be frozen."

And on the back of the bag, perhaps there's a coupon where you save 10 upc symbols and mail in for free shots for your cat which they'd obviously need after eating all of that shit.

Just an idea. I don't recall seeing bugs and bats in a bowl on the commercial, but you never know. Maybe I'll go into Petsmart and crack a bag open... I'll be sure to have a tennis racket and a can of Raid on hand just in case anything comes flying out at me.

Whose arm is that?!

Take a gander at this picture (courtesy of David Slam @ Area 52 - more pics and a show review located here).

That is me playing my guitar at Iced Ink's "Boner Voyage, VomitGod and Scara!" show in March. That's Sara T in the background.. or as I like to call her, "The Jimi Hendrix of the Cowbell".

Anyways, One thing that caught my attention in this photo other than remembering feeling like I was going to drop dead during that set is the arm that is extended on the middle right hand side of the photo. It appears to be pointing out something. But what?

If you are the person that is attached to that arm, do tell. If anyone has any ideas of what might have been going through the mind of the owner of the arm, feel free to post a response with a caption. My best guess is: "Look - his guitar is actually plugged in!"

This was a phenominal show. It was sad to say goodbye to Iced Ink version 1.0 (2.0 is on its way). Sara and VomitGod were two of the finest musicians I've ever had the fortune to play with and will not be forgotten anytime soon. Well.. I give it a few more days. HA HA! Just kidding. As VomitGod has mentioned, I'm sure we'll be doing some long distance collaboration thanks to the internet. If Tim McGraw and Nelly can do it, anyone can (complete with cheesy music video).

Anyways, good times were had by all. We played some great shows and made some great muzak together over the last few years. Kudos VomitGod, Scara, Berkman, & Big Johnson!

A Setting worth Forgetting

Date/time: Saturday, April 16 - 11:43am.
Place: Coffee shop that isn't Starbucks or Caribou
Reason for this journal entry: None.

I am sitting at a small table with a laptop on it, an iced mocha, and lid to said iced mocha. I am next to a big window. There is a ledge along the bottom inside area of the window which my backpack and a straw wrapper are resting on. It is raining. Outside across the street there is a mysterious white van parked at the curb (as opposed to parked on the street, I guess).

I am wearing brown corduroy pants, a pair of old beat up Hurley shoes, and a blue hoodie with red stripes on it. My hair is messy, but under control. I am having an 'average' hair day.

My tummy is a little full from eating all of those chocolate chip cookies. Yeeeow - I need to lay off of those things!

Did I forget to put deodarent on? Hm... it's almost tempting to run to the restroom and give me pits a sniff or two, but I don't want to leave the laptop sitting here. Someone could walk up and start reading this absolutely pointless journal entry that you're reading right now because you're probably waiting for me to write something amusing. But I don't plan on it. Or perhaps you are being amused by this absolutely pointless journal entry, because it can be rather entertaining sometimes to catch a glimpse of completely random drivel pouring out of somebody's head. If you are one of those people that is reading this and being slightly amused right now, good for you. If you're one of those people waiting for something to happen here, I apologize. You can pretend I'm getting up right now and screaming "Holy tube socks, I wet my elbows!" and everyone in the shop is staring at me. That's not really happening, but it sure would be interesting, wouldn't it?

Yeah.

My grandma used to knit a lot. She made afghans. I remember one was orange, brown and tan and sort of reminded me of A&W Root Beer.

I sure could go for some bacon right now. Bacon is so delicious, but it takes so darn long to cook.

I'm trying to keep this meaningless post meaningless, but it's starting to mean something to me because I'm talking about things I care about like Grandma, afghnas, and root beer. I need to stop caring so much about what I'm typing and write about things I don't care about so much, like Anne Murray... or cloudy lukewarm water. If you think about it, Anne Murray and lukewarm water are 2 very similar things. Rice cakes sort of fall into that category too. If I had to pick from the three, I'd probably go with rice cakes.

I made fried chicken yesterday, it turned out pretty good. Well, guess I should mosey. What do you think I do, sit here and write about nothing all day?

Gravy...

Blogger's spel chack featchure doesnt no the worrd "blog"

Every time I rite a jurnal entrie, I run the blogger spelcheck to catch any words I mispelld. But every time I do this and the word "blog" apeers in my entrie, it sees it as a mispelled word. It sugjests replasing it with words like bluff, blue, blouse, block, etc.

Wierd, dont you think? Blogger scripts ritten for Blogger, the iron horse of online jurnals, doesnt seam to no that the word "blog" exists. THats like asking a persin who doesnt eat any meet if their a vegitarian and then being told "No.. and what kind of word is 'vegitarian'? I have never herd of such a thing!"

So, as a tribbute too Blogger's spel check feetchir knot being abil to recignize its own word, Ill skip the spel chek for this entrie and save myself (and blogger's spel chekc) some extra work and confuzhion.

The Boss had better lay off the chicken wings

Lisa, my darling Bruce Springsteen-loving sister, this one's for you. I was going to email you about this dream I had but I know you visit this blog thingy of mine quite regularly, so figured hey - why not share it with the whole world as well?

I had a strange dream the other night... We were in the Park High School auditorium (Park = me and my sibling's scholastic prison cell from grades 9-12). When I say "we", I have no recollection of who I was actually with in this particular dream, but I assume it was my sister. Why? My sister is a longtime fan of The Bruce Springsteen and I went to a Bruce concert with her once. He had the E. Street Band in tow and might I say they provided nearly 3 straight hours of ass kicking rock and roll bliss.

So ANYWAYS, back to my dream. We were anxiously awaiting the band to take the stage, and they did - minus Bruce. The band broke into song and created an intensity like none other as the crowd anticipated a Blues Brothers style entry of Bruce.

Eventually he popped out onto the stage with his trademark Fender Telecaster strapped on. The crowd went crazy, but I couldn't participate because I noticed something terribly different about him that no one else seemed to. He was wearing his usual tight jeans, shit-kickers, and button-up shirt - I remember it was a black and red flannel. But the one different thing about him was that he looked like he weighed 500 pounds. Bruce was bouncing all over the place and freaking me out something fierce, because last I remember seeing him, he was of an average build. Now he looked like Fat Bastard from the Austin Powers film - he also bore an uncanny resemblance to Weird Al in the "Fat" video.

I kept looking at everyone with a "hey - do you notice anything...um...different??" look on my face, but no one seemed to be aware that Bruce had tripled in size. I guess you had to be there to get the full effect of seeing him rock out with his Teli behind his back, holding his mic stand and belting out "Born To Run" in my high school auditorium. I don't remember anything after that other than waking up very confused at 4am. I have not seen or heard anything about Bruce in months, yet I just had a dream about him like that. Man, brains are freaky things sometimes.

Here's where it gets a little Twilight Zoney - I talked to my sister today for the first time in a few days and guess what she mentioned? The fact that Bruce Springsteen is coming to town (insert "Psycho" violin shrieks here)

If it ends up that Bruce comes to town and does indeed weigh 500 pounds, this means my dreams posses the ability to predict some pretty random, crazy-ass shit. It also means I will likely initiate a steady intake of sleeping pills and try ever so hard to dream about me finding a guitar case with a 57 goldtop Les Paul in it cushioned by ten million dollars in cash money with a note on it that says this:

To: Mike. From: Santa.

Thou shalt not covet thy loved one's stereophonic nostrils

I know I'm not the only one this happens to, because I've asked others.

When I have a cold (like I do now), why is it that when my nose is stuffed, it's only on one side and it has a tendency to switch from one nostril to the other a few times a day? One nostril is shut off like I have a bullet lodged up in there like in the "Strange Brew" courtroom scene, and the other is as clean and clear as can be. They suddenly both will open up and I can breathe freely, or as I should say as a devoted KISS fan, "Frehley", and suddenly 30 seconds later the other nostril is plugged. It's a big tease - I think I can breathe in stereo again but nope... it's just the other nostril stepping up to take its turn.

They can perform pitch correction miracles in the studio with people like Britney Spears and Paula Abdul, but they can't invent a cure for the common cold. Maybe Eventide should start making nose correction pills (sorry, a little musician studio humor there..)

Back to my box of incredibly abrasive generic booger paper for now. As an added bonus, when you pull a tissue out of a box of generic brand booger paper, you usually get 2 or 3 because they're stuck together.

I thought that was only supposed to happen after you use them.

If animals had wheels instead of legs

Whenever a doggy or kitty get up on their hind legs and stand like a person, I refer to that as "doing a wheelie". When I said that last night, my mind wandered for a bit. What if animals did have wheels instead of feet? I drew a cartoon some years ago called "Wheel-a-saurus" which displayed the site of an archaeological dig. Above ground were the diggers, and below the Earth's surface were the giant remains of a Brontosaurus-looking creature with wheels instead of legs. So.. what about other animals?

If cats had wheels, when they'd jump up onto your lap to curl up and take a nap, they'd roll right off. I'm quite fond of having my cat Devo sit on my lap, and would likely have to install wheel locks on his legs.. er.. wheels to ensure he'd remain safely on my lap. Or maybe I'd replace his front wheels with the bottom halves of crutches so at least he'd have a little stability.

Snakes don't have feet, but if they had wheels, I've got to admit that would look pretty damned cool. A regular pet snake is a pretty useless thing, but a pet snake with wheels? Hell yes. It would be fun to watch it chase after the little mice with wheel feet that you'd have to feed them.

Kimb brought up a very good point that if animals had wheels, when running around the house they wouldn't be able to stop and would end up wiping out a lot - think of the damage that ones living quarters would sustain with that problem alone. Lots and lots of holes in the walls from being rammed into head first.

Fish with wheels... now that would be a site. An all-terrain fish. They'd be zooming along underwater and if they weren't paying close enough attention, would swim too close towards the shore. Once those wheels hit the bottom of the lake, momentum would cause the fish to zoom up onto the beach and die. Fishing as we know it would come to an end - it would just consist of a bunch of dudes sitting on the shorelines slamming nets over the immobile beached fish. Then once they cleaned them, they could use the wheels for projects like building remote control cars or something.

A giraffe with wheels. Actually, in the Uptown area we have a bunch of dirty punk rockers who modify bicycles to make them ridiculously tall and ride them around.. they sort of resemble giraffes with wheels (although I have a feeling that the giraffes probably smell better). Last year a girl was riding one of those over a bridge and the wind caught her off guard. Punk rock girl went head over teakettle right off the bridge and crossed over to that mighty bike trail in the sky. True story!

If elephants had wheels, I imagine they'd be doubled up sort of like the ones on semi truck trailers. If they blew a tire, they'd have backup. No one would hear a herd of elephants coming either - it would just be a bunch of smooth rolling and all of a sudden villagers would look up in surprise wondering where the f*&k all those elephants came from.

Back to the domesticated animals for a second. Think of how ugly things could get on stairways. Yeowch.. I'm envisioning something like the scene in "The Untouchables" when the baby carriage goes wrecklessly bouncing down the stairs, only a dog on the wheels instead of a baby carriage. I guess all you could do is leave a mattress against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and hope for the best.

Now that I think about it, it's probably a good thing that animals don't have wheels...

7/8 is my 4/4

So, Iced Ink is in the process of auditioning drummers at this point and in case you haven't heard, the music is a little on the weird side. Non-musicians reading this: sorry to bore you with a bunch of musical quantum physics.

After an inquiry about our song "There's A Bee In Here" from a phenomenal drummer we're trying out named Barry, I took it upon myself yesterday to actually map out a rather complex 10 second long clusterfuck of notes that is the intro of the tune.. figuring that riff out by ear has been known to make musicians spontaneously combust. Not wanting Barry to burst into flames like that, I sat down and called my good friend Steven Hawking - we put our 2.5 heads together and came up with this explanation:

Recipe for "There's A Bee In Here" main riff:

Intro: "OW" sample, 4 beat countoff, pickup notes on the "4" and "&" of the countoff. Then this:

12/8, 11/8, 12/8, 6/8, 11/8 (repeat 2X)

For those of you with no experience in music theory (bless your little hearts), when you turn on your radios and listen to whatever they're playing, chances are it's in 4/4 time. This means you can count along to the beat of it like this: "1,2,3,4 1,2,3,4, 1,2,3,4" etc. You know how before every Ramones song starts it usually begins with someone yelling "1! 2! 3! 4!"? That's a 4 beat countoff. 4/4 time. And it's safe to assume the rest of the song is in 4/4. The "Bee" riff explained above is only 10 seconds of the song... there's a whole extra 3 minutes to it that have yet to be mapped out and who knows if it ever will.. I certainly don't have the patience for it!

I've asked myself time and time again why it feels so natural for my brain to manufacture music like this. I by no means set out with the intention of writing a 10 second guitar riff with 5 different time signatures, it just sort of happened that way.

Some day I hope to start cranking out "normal" 4/4 ideas that are a little more digestible and marketable. I tried as best as I could with guitar parts for She Might Be A Spy.. and sort of succeeded, I guess - but now that I think of it a lot of those parts are in 7/8 yet they still feel natural... and people seemed to dig 'em.

One thing's fo sho: if I keep this weird time signature thing up, I probably won't have any chance of ever having my music played in regular rotation on the radio. And hearing what kind of poot is in regular rotation on the radio around here (minus our new station The Current which RULES!), I can only say thank Gawd for that.

It's not a CD.. it's an experience.

I picked up the new Fantomas CD "Suspended Animation" on Friday. When I say "picked up", I mean I bought it. Picking it up was indeed part of the purchasing process, but please also include taking it to the store counter and paying some money for it so it was mine into the words "picked up"... and that's what I'm talking about.

Needless to say, Fantomas have outdone themselves once again. It's not a traditional CD package - with this release, they made a really keen CD-sized calendar crammed full of really cool artwork and a theme song to go with each page. It is noisy, abstract, incredibly grating at times, and an incredibly, dare I say "beautiful" artistic endeavor altogether.

It is by no means music you'd put on in the background while doing chores or having Grandma over for lasagna.. the music on this CD, like most Fantomas music, is a bunch of puzzles for your ears to unlock. It requires you to sit down and focus on it from CD start to CD finish in order to get what is really going on and hear the song structure, otherwise it probably just sounds like a bunch of annoying crap. And for many of you out there, no matter how hard you listen it would still sound like a bunch of annoying crap.. and that's fine. That just means there will be one less meathead crowding the club when I go see them play (ha ha!)

Speaking of, they're playing one of my favorite venues, the Fine Line, on April 20, and you can bet your arse I'm going to be there watching my anti-guitar hero guitar hero, Fantomas (and Melvins) geetarist Buzz Ozborne play weird, simple, yet complicated, twisted things on his Les Paul like no one else can. While I'm on the topic of Buzz, it's a little known fact that the title song on my band's CD "There's A Bee In Here" is a tribute to him. I wrote it with him in mind.. his name is Buzz, the CD title has the word "Bee" in it, the song contains a bunch of time signature twists and a slow Melvins-style sludgy section in the middle... I'll let you do the rest of the math. Me = big fan of song title encryption. Now that this secret is out, just don't go thinking I'm not afraid of bees. I almost wet my pants today thinking one was on my arm (even though it's only April 9)

Anyways, I'm sure this will prove to be an amazing show. Watching them pull this stuff off live is incredibly intense - there's lots of musical hiccups, burps, bleeps, farts, brick walls, and other things that require all 4 members to constantly watch each other to set themselves up for the next move, and it makes for an entertaining experience unlike any other. And what they're playing is so weird sometimes that you'll catch them doing weird things to their instruments to get the noises out of them. Case and point: where else would you ever see drummer Dave Lombardo of Slayer fame stand up and hold one of his cymbals in midair for 10 seconds of silence and then abruptly throw it flat on the floor in front of the band members to get it to go "ssLLURP!" Or singer Mike Patton making face noises into a zillion different microphones, one of which is mounted inside of a gas mask he holds over his face?

Good, wholesome family entertainment, I tells ya.

In order to save money, I go shopping.

When it comes to shopping for clothes, here's how it works: when I have no money to spend, I see a million things I want to buy. When I have some money to spare, I can't find a damn thing I like. It's probably for the better in the long run because I save money not buying anything, but it sure is frustrating. When you live with a lady that can walk into nearly any store and pick out something that always looks good and is inexpensive, which she always does, you start to wonder if clothing designers are playing some sort of sick joke on the boys out there.

So today I hit ye olde Mall-O-America in hopes of executing one simple mission: buying a new pair of shoes. Sneakers. Tennies. Whatever you want to call them. I was also on the lookout for a simple pair of brown corduroy pants. Did I accomplish my mission? No. I ended up leaving the mall with only a Darth Vader wallet and an iced mocha. Why? Because if you're me, every last item you see on men's clothing racks and shelves makes you want to bash your head into the wall wondering where all of the good stuff is at.

I. If ya Shoes, ya lose.
Have you looked in shoe stores lately? Have you seen the horseshit that they call "footwear" and expect me to actually pay top dollar to put on my feet and go out into public? I give you Exhibit A:


Pardon my love of using the word fuck, but I can't help looking at that turd disguised as a shoe and thinking to me-self "What the fuck is this??" Are there giant blue ducks bred somewhere in a factory where once they're big enough, they cut off their beaks and fashion them into shoes? Aye. It puts a massive hurt on my psyche just thinking about myself walking down the street in a pair of these, much less knowing that people actually buy this stuff and wear it. Worse yet, these kinds of shoes come in a vast array of colors.. one for each day of the week. The most painful variation of this shoe I saw looked like it was made out of tinfoil. If you're Ace Frehley, that's cool... but if you're a honkey-ass hippety hopper from the burbs, let me warn you - you're at high risk of seeing yourself in a photograph 5 years from now wearing those shoes wishing someone had slapped some sense into you.

Hurley used to make a knockoff of the classic Chuck Taylor canvas shoe (which is what I wear 99% of the time), but they were built much better than Chucks and were way more comfy. I was a huge fan of this particular shoe make/model, and guess what happened? They stopped making them. Fuckers! Looks like it's back to the paper-thin Chucks for now. Hello, aching soles.

Walk into Foot Locker and find something in the men's shoe section that doesn't look completely futuristic and ridiculous. I dare you. Shoes are not shoes anymore... they all have such complex aesthetic designs that it looks like you're wearing electronic tacos on your feet. I don't care how comfy they are, I refuse to wear electronic tacos. Where did the simple designs go?


II. Clothing: The wrapping paper of our lives
Duuuuuude, don't even get me started on clothing. One of my favorite Billy Joel lyrics that always hits close to home is "Ya can't dress trashy till you spend a lot of money!" Brother knew what he was talking about! Anything my eyes are instantly drawn to usually has a price tag that forbids me from buying any of it, and I've learned for the most part ot stay away from those places. I know I'm already taking one step up and two steps back looking for apparel at a mall, but I was desperate... you'd think a brown pair of cords wouldn't be that hard to find, yes? Think again.

Malls are where boys that I call "Chads" furnish their closets and drawers.

Recipe for a Chad
1 plaid shirt (with buttons, not snaps)
expensive bluejeans
baseball cap with the bill severely bent into a horseshoe shape
highlighted blond hair
necklace with tiny seashells strung on it,
and flip flops.

It's warm out now and the flip flop is the official warm weather shoe of the Chad. Otherwise it's safe to assume you'll see them in things like the duckbill disaster pictured up above. There's a good chance that you will find an Eminem CD in a Chad's collection as well (see it? It's right next to his Nas CD). My apologies if your name is Chad and you're a cool dude, but I've known 3 Chads, all bearing an uncanny resemblance to one another - hence the stereotype.

I digress.. I am what some have referred to as an "aging hipster". That phrase makes me laugh, because if you are a hipster and you aren't aging, that means you're most likely dead (or you use a lot of Oil Of Olay). I'm about as far as you can get from a "Chad", and that makes it very hard to find clothing I feel represents my unique, high caliber (ha ha!) tastes. This is why for the most part I end up wearing jeans and a tee-shirt with something dumb written on it. Because I've given up on finding male clothing out there that won't make me look like A) the all American Hooters Boy, and/or B) Like I just stepped out of a sandy beach house.

So here I sit with my new Darth Vader wallet (which by the way is quite bitchin'), 3 year old pair of Levis, and tee-shirt with a dumb thing written on it (today's shirt reads "California: 'The Really Long State'"). I'm contemplating going to Ragstock and a few other thrift stores in hopes of finding a buried treasure at a fraction of the cost of an article of Chad clothing. And better yet, none of the Chads next to me thumbing through the mass produced clothing designed to make its buyers feel "different; just like everyone else."

Wish me luck.. this is a frustrated Micycle, over and out.

Acadia Cafe, part II

There is a guy sitting directly behind me eating extremely crunchy potato chips very slowly with his mouth open.

It is becoming increasingly difficult not to turn around and smack him in the face; I best pack this laptop up and leave before things get ugly..

Hey... that sounds strangely familiar..!

I'm sitting in Acadia Cafe on Nicollet Ave. sipping on an iced mocha and noticed a vaguely familiar song coming out of the speakers hanging all over the ceilings here.
Wait.. I know this song.. this guy's not too bad!

It took a few seconds before it dawned on me that it was me I was hearing coming out of those speakers. It's a weird (but great) feeling when this happens. I donated a CD of my solo acoustic guitar music *cough* to the owner quite some time ago and it's good to know they're putting it to good use (this happened once before when we went to a show in the theater next to the cafe - we walked in and lo and behold, I was cranked through the PA). There's about 12 people sitting in here and it's dead silent other than the CD playing.. it's tempting to walk over to someone and say "Hear this music? I know this guy. He's currently undergoing transgender surgery and having his face redone to look more like Elvis... let's hope he stops wearing those tacky miniskirts when he plays... at least for a while."

Thanks for the free publicity, Acadia!

Emo Philips

Good stuff!! http://www.emophilips.com/by/117

Woodpecker Awareness

This is something I pondered at band practice a few weeks ago when woodpeckers came up in a conversation.. I was reminded of this yesterday when I saw a woodpecker ramming his beak into a tree like a jackhammer as tiny tree shavings were falling to the ground like snow.

Do woodpeckers ever get headaches? If you think you ever have a bad day at the office with a migraine, just be thankful you're not a woodpecker with a headache and a long day of work ahead of you. Damn that would suck!

I am now genuinely concerned for the well being of woodpeckers. I am going to concoct a special blend food for them by going to Walgreens and buying a huge bottle of Excedrin (tablets). If you recall, Excedrin is The Headache Medicine. I will crush the tablets into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle, mix it in with a bunch of bird seed, and leave it outside for them to consume.

It will be just a matter of time before woodpecker productivity skyrockets and soon the entire neighborhood will contain only tree trunks and giant piles of sawdust.. which might piss people off, but at least the woodpeckers will feel better about themselves with all of the work they're getting done.

I want a pet sloth.

After living with my animal compainion/best 4 legged friend Devo for 5 years now, I’ve done some thinking. Devo is a very active little bugger with a pension for aggressively hunting and attacking food that is not his. He has a bowl of brown crunchy cat food pellets which is at his disposal at all times, with a bowl of fresh water by its side to boot.

But is that good enough for Devo? No. Sunday night we made cookies (“made cookies” = removed premade dough loaded with hard to pronouce preservatives and chemicals from a tube-shaped plastic wrapper and eating 1/3 of the dough prior to baking it). As always, Devo felt inclined to help. By “helping”, I mean sitting by the cookie dough wrapper and licking it when I had my back turned. He also made a feverish attempt to steel one off of the sheet after I had taken them out of the oven to cool down. He also helped by attempting to slap a cookie out of my hand. Remember the game “Hungry Hungry Hippo”? Yeah, just like that. And did I mention he knocked the trash over to take one last stab at that cookie dough wrapper? That’s my boy.

Anyhoo, anyone who knows me well or has been reading these journal entries for any length of time knows of my ongoing battle with a people-food obsessed cat. He’s a quick little bastard – I was making chicken for dinner last night and only a second after my back was turned, he had hopped on the counter and was gnawing away on one of the pieces of chicken (don’t worry Kimb, I ate the one with Devo germs. Or did I?)

“That’s enough,” says I to myself as I locked him on the porch for a time out. “I’m trading him in for a sloth.” A pet sloth… yes! That would be very cool. I’d name him Doolie. Not after my old neighbor’s pug, but the crunchy little cracker tubes called “Doolies” from the late 80s/early 90s that looked like gears and were filled with “cheese”.. sort of like those filled pretzel tubes you see in gas stations these days called um... damn - what are those things called again?

I’m not sure if sloths would be decent companions in a domestic situation and it would probably be illegal, but you hear about people harboring illegal “pet” tigers, alligators, monkeys, snakes, etc. and the owners usually end up getting killed or severely mamed by them. Not with an illegal pet sloth. If you think about it, they’re so damned slow it wouldn’t really matter. I read that they're so slow that it can take sloths up to 3 days to mate (that is awesome.. THREE DAYS. No further comments). I guess if I had a pet sloth it could in theory crawl on me when I was sleeping and maybe bite my nose off, but that’s nothing in comparison to what happened to Roy Horn.

I could make 3 pans of fried chicken, eat it, do the dishes, and the sloth would only be about halfway up to the countertop before it realized there's no chicken up there frying anymore. That might make the sloth mad after awhile, but it sure would kick ass. I know sloths are herbivores, but seeing that I have a cat that likes things cats don’t usually like (peas, tomatoes, asparagus), with my luck I’d end up with a sloth that had a fondness for meat.

Would I have to worry about my pet sloth running out the front door when I opened it? Doubt it. Would I have to worry about my pet sloth peeing on the bathroom rug or in the laundry basket? Doubt it. Would my pet sloth meow at all hours of the night? Butt in front of me at the bathroom sink to drink from it before I brushed my teeth? Nope. It would just sit there like… like a sloth.

Devo, you had better watch your back and start behaving. Otherwise I’m going to look into this pet sloth thing. It would be a lot less work for me to do simple things such as eating a bowl of cereal without fear of having you sneak up on me, dipping your paw in it, and knocking the spoon out of the bowl when you take your paw out to lick the milk off of it. And better yet, sloths come equipped with pouches in which I could store things like guitar picks and quarters for laundry. Very handy if I do say so myself.

If it’s too much trouble to get a sloth, maybe I’ll just start feeding Devo morphine to mellow him out and have a plastic surgeon affix a storage pouch onto his tummy. I sort of like the idea of having a pet that doubles as a pocket.

The Pope is dead, go see his well preserved corpse for a limited time!

If I had money, I'd buy me a plane ticket to St. Peter's Basilica right this very minute and wait in line with the other million people to hopefully walk by and catch a glimpse of the Pope's cadaver. In my left pocket I would be harboring a Sharpie and 1 cigarette. In my right pocket, I would be carrying a mouse.

Just as it was my turn to walk past the Pope display, I would ever so gently reach into my right pocket, grab the mouse, and let him loose. A major ruckus would ensue, as does happen when a mouse is on the loose. And as the ruckus was ensuing and all eyes/ears of the thousands there (security guards included) were on the mouse, I would reach into my left pocket and grab my Sharpie and cancer stick.

I would look in all directions to make sure the mouse panic was in full force, carefully remove the cap from the Sharpie and draw a nice pencil-thin John Waters moustache on the Pope's upper lip. I would then gently pry his bottom lip down with my right hand thumb and index finger and slip the cigarette in his mouth.

That would be awesome.

Why did they just make the Pope lay there like that while he's on display? I mean, I've been to a few taxidermy offices in my day and they manage to put life back into dead things. Wolves frozen in time snarling with their eyes open, giant bears standing upright with their mighty claws exposed and ready to kill.... why not do something like that with the Pope? Put him at a ping pong table holding a paddle and playing against a wax replica of Forrest Gump. Strap a guitar on him and position him in a manner in which he would appear to be rocking out. Or they could have taken a more subtle route by still having him lay down, but on one hand bend his index, ring and pinky fingers in so he'd be flipping the birdie to the world.

Death is no laughing matter, but that doesn't mean you can't have fun with it. When it's my time to go by all means, draw a moustache on me or write "BOOBIES" on my forehead. Prop a cigar in my mouth and carry me around to parties like they did with that guy in Weekend At Bernie's. I insist.

2 davenports and 1 bucket of dog poo

Riddle me this:

Q: What do you call someone who is not fond at all of manual labor but suddenly finds the energy to dump 2 sofas and a bucket of dog poo near your place of residence?

Give up? I'm not letting you off that easy. Think harder.

Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?

A: Hilarious!

It's not every day you get to look outside your back window and catch your old neighbor dumping 2 old couches and a bucket of dog poo in the parking spaces located behind your building.

This, my friends, is what happened to us last night, and I found it rather amusing. Long story short, worse turned to worse with the caretaking situation at our last residence and it was time to move on and move out. So we did.

Last night at the new place I happened to glance outside the window while talking/gawking to Kimb only to discover our former neighbor's monster truck outside at the building's parking spaces. Former neighbor had an accomplice, and to thank us for moving out, they chose to secretly unload two old beat up sofas that were on the porch of the old place for quite some time and a white bucket which contained dog poo and some dried foliage from last autumn. Once the cargo was successfully transferred from the monster truck to the parking spaces, the dynamic duo clapped the dust off of their hands, got back into the monster truck, and drove off into the moonlight.

It was a very kind farewell gesture if I do say so myself! Not only did the couches get removed from our now vacant cave we once inhabited, but they cleaned the dog poo from the boulevard as well. We did not have a second to take care of the sofas and dog poo whilst moving out because things were so hectic and busy.. so as you can imagine, we were very surprised to see them get dumped off at our new property. Better yet, just a few feet away from the trash! We didn't have to lift a finger for what otherwise would have been a tedious, laborious chore indeed.

With this in mind, allow me to explain a few things. The monster truck driving neighbor who we shared the house with possessed an extreme lack of motivation to ever take care of anything such as shoveling the walk, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, and other various chores one needs to execute in a cooperative living situation. Once our refrigerator started leaking Freon and urinating stinky refrigerator liquid, we called to have it fixed or replaced (as anyone in a rental property that needs to eat would do). Apparently in the eyes of our landlord, which she happened to be (we were subleasing), having a refrigerator that leaks substantial amounts of odiferous Freon, contaminates ones perishable foodstuffs and stops working altogether did not warrant immediate replacement of the non-working unit with a functional one. You know - one that keeps food cold and doesn't smell like rotting tires.

So there we were with a dead rotting carcass that once was a refrigerator, a kitchen sink that drained about as well as a cereal bowl strains pasta, no oven or stovetop, a toilet that ran for 30 minutes after you flushed it, freezing cold air all the time, and various other conditions that were not to the benefit of anyone wishing to live even a semi-healthy life at the very least. We decided it was time to move out.

This made said neighbor unhappy. It was not convenient for said neighbor for a few personal reasons I will spare you from at this time (mostly financial). Neighbor has been known to have a bit of a hot temper, so we just kept our distance, found a new place, and moved out quietly.

As you may recall me mentioning, neighbor has never been fond of physical labor. Many would refer to neighbor's work ethic as "almost dead". Neighbor is also some 35 years old, but proved to us last night that just because you're 35 doesn't mean you are smart and able to make respectable decisions.

So to get us back for moving out of what we found to be a completely illegal and unlivable efficiency space, neighbor tried to upset us by actually removing herself from the lengthy permanent dent in her couch that is the shape of her body to lift a few heavy sofas and pick up dog poo with her accomplice, place it all in her monster truck, find out where we now live, and leave it there as if it were a big FUCK YOU FOR MOVING OUT!! That's a lot of work, and she probably thought it would make her feel better at the time (which I'm sure it didn't'), but I'm sure she has no idea that we find this all quite humorous. As mentioned, it was all placed just feet from the trash, so all we had to do was slide it over, end of story.

It was a very funny ending to an otherwise less desirable tenure in that house with that neighbor - it wouldn't have been as funny sans the dog shit, but picturing her actually getting off her duff, going out to harvest the poo from the lawn and putting it in a bucket to deliver with 2 sofas is just too funny. "I'm gonna make them really mad by going out and picking up dog poop that I am not responsible for so I can leave it in their parking space! I'LL SHOW THEM!"

Pardon if you find this story to be a bit confusing, mainly because it was a rather confusing situation, but I hope you found it entertaining. Life is good now. We have windows. Lots of 'em. Hardwood floors. A door that locks. A shower. A kitchen sink that drains. A refrigerator that works. A cool landlord. Sunlight. WOO HAA!

One last thing.. if anyone knows the neighbor I'm talking about, if you'd be kind enough to go over and ask her if she'd drop off any mail of ours that might still be there, we'd really appreciate it. You can tell her to just leave it outside by the sofas that she was kind enough to dispose of for us.

Three cheers for brother Mitch

I am SO bummed out.

One of my very few non music-related heroes/influences, Minnesota comedian Mitch Hedberg, died on Wednesday. Since I first saw him in the mid 90s, I've always thought of him as an unorthodox comic genius. The very first thing I heard him say was "I wrote a script and gave it to my agent and he said I need to rewrite it.. I said 'fuck that, I'll just make a copy.'" I laughed my arse off and from that moment on was permanently fished into the brain of Mitch Hedberg.

When I was a kid, I not only listened to music obsessively, but I also listened to as much comedy as I could get my ears on and I loved it. Steven Wright (one of the best in my humble opinion), SCTV, SNL, Steve Martin, Weird Al, Jake Johannsen, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor, Billy Crystal who was actually really funny back in the day, and Cheech and Chong were amongst my favorites. When I grew up I wanted to do one of two things: be a standup comic or a musician. Had I taken the standup comic route, I'd like to think I would have grown up to be like Mitch - sans the all-too-early death.

99.9999% of comedians out there bore me to tears with jokes about stupid people, fat people, men leaving the toilet seat up, jerking off, airports, and all of that other overdone mundane material - but not Mitch. He never attacked anyone personally; he always just talked about stuff. He talked mostly about food and inanimate objects like vending machines ("I like vending machines because food tastes better when it falls.. sometimes when I buy a candy bar I will drop it so it achieves its maximum flavor potential"). His delivery was just as funny as the jokes themselves - just standing there like a space case with his eyes closed, hair hanging down, talking like a beat poet and stressing his syllables in weird places.

Even though I've probably seen him perform a good 2 dozen times now, it was never enough and after every show I couldn't wait until the next one.. on Monday I checked his website and saw he was performing in St. Peter next month and was actually considering making the 1.5 hour drive to go see him. ACK!

The last show he did here at the Orpheum last Fall was one of his best; he asked the crowd if he opened a comedy club in Minnesota if we'd come. Hells YEAH we would! I hope one opens in his honor. He has 2 cds out and I highly recommend them both - I'm pretty sure they're available on his site (link below) and/or amazon.com. And I certainly hope there's a bevy of other shows he's recorded that we'll get to see and/or hear someday.

We've lost a comic genius folks - put your heads down and hang your hair in your face in a moment of silence for Mitch.

"I was going to get my teeth whitened but then I said 'fuck that, I'll just get a tan instead..'"
"I think foosball is a combination of soccer and shishkabobs."
"...and then at the end of the letter I like to write "P.S. - this is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were eliminated."
People teach their dogs to sit, it's a trick. I've been sitting my whole life, and a dog has never looked at me as though he thought I was tricky."
"So, I sit at the hotel at night and I think of something that's funny. Or, If the pen is too far away, I have to convince myself that what I thought of wasn't funny."

Links:

Pioneer Press article with a ton of great Mitch quotes: http://www.thedotdotdot.com/humor/hedberg.html

Official site: http://www.mitchhedberg.net