See?

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I know what I’m doing next week

Minnesota Fringe

Finally, this year I am GOING.

So, aside from all the shows with nudity warnings, what should I go see?
Adventures in Mating was recommended by a friend of Marsha’s

I think that Cake Woman recommended the Scrimshaw brothers, but I only got four hours of couch sleep last night, so don’t believe anything that comes out of my mouth. Or my fingers.

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My smoke alarm is confused

I’m not on fire, I’m just really hot. Maybe I should put some pants on.

I definitely did not get enough sleep.

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Hooray!

img 1813

I just proved that Santa is NP-Complete!

I NEED TO GO TO BED.

Notice that I am shouting.

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Random Notes

  • The P is for POWER
  • Why are the flags at half mast today at the U?
  • I do not want to do my CSci 4011 homework
  • Tonight is National Night Out, so I should go home
  • Tonight is happy hour for a departed coworker, so I should go out
  • Friday Dallas Orbiter plays at the Varsity
  • Saturday I go do the College Drunk Fest thing at Paul’s parent’s house in Saint Cloud
  • I steal all my humor from Penny Arcade wholesale

Argh. Okay, so I go home, change, go out, don’t drink too much, then go home and stay up all night to do this homework. OR I stay here in the nerd room and swear a lot because this is the most tedious homework ever.

Plan A it is! See you later, G!

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Brendan Benson

Brendan Benson MOTHER FUCKING ROCKED THE MOTHER FUCKING 400 BAR!

So there I was at the 400, where they do not serve Summit for some inexplicable reason. WHAT THE FUCK. Anyway, I was pointing at the James Page tapper and the bartender asked if I wanted the Smithwicks. Whaaa? Irish ale? The irish parts of me hollered loudly and I pointed at that tap instead.

“Okay, you sold me, give me that!” I practically shouted. This may have been after I bought Stan and myself Maker’s Mark in honor of the Hawaii kids (not as good neat). The bartender looked at me quizzically and asked if I wanted to try a sample. I threw a slug in my mouth and swished it around before draining the finger or two that he had pulled into the plastic cup.

“I think he likes it,” said a cute woman standing right there at the bar. I honestly had no idea what to say because I wanted more ale more than I wanted that cute woman to talk to me. I think that I said something like “MORE, FUCKER, MORE GODDAMN ALE NOW BEFORE I KILL EVERYONE!”

Actually, I think that I said, “I’d some more of that, please,” before turning to the cute woman and saying with great aplomb, “how are YOU tonight?” I’m pretty sure that I had already had bourbon, because I was being my extra loud self. The woman closed her eyes and turned away in disgust. Stan just looked at me like I was nuts. During the show she stood behind us, then in front of us, and I imagined however briefly that she thought that I was cute and was doing what I used to do at concerts - stand next to a cute member of the opposite sex and pretend to not be interested. Nowadays I just don’t give a shit anymore, because honestly, who meets someone at a concert besides that chick who was dressed up like a schoolgirl for Halloween at First Ave that one time and let me finger her in her car a few nights later.

The opening band (Robbers on High Street) was spectacularly awesome. Stan and I shouted to each other about how tight the band was, and how much we appreciated the cheesy fake ass piano. Later, Stan commented that he thought that the opener was better than Brendan. Sacrilege! I bought their CD from some random cute woman before they were even done playing.

Brendan played only a few songs from One Mississippi, but one of them was “Sitting Pretty.” I screamed more than usual, danced, sang along, and almost knocked over a table. It was glorious. I think that I saw Blue. You’re my boy, Blue!

By the way, if you feel the urge to read EIGHTEEN pages of my blog you should at least say HELLO. Honestly. FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

Oh yeah, it’s my job to fix web shit. I really want to help you, but I feel like an asshole. Thanks!

Paul: I got reasonably drunk, but nothing like Saturday will be. You’re the fucking best!

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Before I forget

This morning I attended the United Church of Delicious Fucking Breakfast at the Uptown Diner in… uh… Uptown. Later I finally got a new lens cap for my digital SLR so I can start stuffing it into my bag again and taking more pictures. Paul will surely stop visiting my blog if there aren’t any pictures. : (

I made it back to Penn Cycle on Lyndale. They had gotten in the Giant OCR1 in size small for me to try. It was light and generally acceptable but somehow didn’t seem as fast as the Trek. Ooh, ratios, so I don’t forget: 12-26T and 30/42/52T. Compare that to the Trek 1000 with 12-26T and 30/42/52T. Wait a minute, why did the Trek feel faster? Hrm. That doesn’t make any damn sense. Maybe I didn’t actually get the rear into the top gear. Anyway, when I got back from my test ride (up the bike trail thing just north of Lake Street) Shawn was helping a couple other customers and took a phone call.

Of course, I randomly stopped into the Varsity bike shop in Dinkytown where I had gotten my blue nutbuster a few years ago. They had a Fuji Ace in 50cm in stock. It was reasonably comfortable, but the web site reveals an 8 speed rear end, which according to my limited internet research is a liability for upgradeability. I didn’t ride it for long, though, since I had forgotten my ID at Penn Cycle and had to head back before five. Ugh. It was way too hot to be driving in circles, but strangely, not to hot to be on a bicycle. I don’t get it either.

devMap output
Tonight I rolled out the new google maps powered developer map and moved bharat’s dot to NYC. Only three weeks until my dot is there too.

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If I were any more naked I’d be impossible

Anyone who is confused by my life raise your hand now.

In Minnesota the saying is to dress in layers. Well, I made a phone call and then took off some layers. I took off some more layers. I took off layers that I wasn’t even wearing, but still heat pressed down on me with a giant monkey hand, pressing me into a sleep full of very strange dreams, almost like hallucinations. According to my window thermometer it is 78 degrees outside and 86 in my room. Ugh.

Depending on your imagination, I may or may not be wearing any pants right now. I suggest that you decide which state is more appealing and only imagine that one. If that state is the state of pantslessness, maybe we should talk.

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Why don’t you go ahead and sweat some more?

Today I went back to the MInnehaha Hub to try out the Bianchi Volpe ($849.99) and Castro Valley ($799.99). They were all right, but the gear ratios in the rear were fucking RIDICULOUS. The Castro Valley seemed like a neutered Volpe, having just one 42 tooth chainring in the front instead of three (28/38/48T) on the Volpe. I honestly did not like the STI shifters a whole lot. Overall, still a contender, but only in Volpe form, since I can add fenders and a rack to it and have a much more comfortable bike. I wish that I could take five of the rear speeds out and throw them away. The lady who helped me first had a name that started with a C, but I didn’t write it down. I tried a 52 and a 49, and somehow they both seemed largish — I thought that there was supposed to be some space in between the frame and one’s nuts. Maybe the 49 was okay, and would be better without the sort of knobby tires. Shock mounted seat = silly.

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Since I’m already sweaty

Stan and I rode bicycles to Mill City Coffee (or whatever the hell it’s called these days) and back. I was towing Noah in the Burly. It’s only 2.6 miles each way, but it felt like 26. When we put the bikes back in the garage, I noticed that Noah had thrown the boat anchor out the back. I guess that explains the load grinding noise. Note to self: I hate flat handlebars.

Then, I mowed the lawn, which is always strangely relaxing. Tonight I babysit Noah so that Lisa and Stan can go out and pretend to not be grown ups for a while. I’m either 13 now or 43.

After some discussion with my financiers I think that I might still be able to get a bike, so I think that I will drive to some bike shops and get measured. Or, I could just go get that $50 mountain bike at Target and swear a lot when I ride. Nothin’ wrong with that. I enjoy swearing. It’s a fine art.

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