I Met A Man
I just won Frank Black tickets off of Radio K. I’m so excited that I just can’t hide it. I know I know I know, uh, something something.
Happy Homecoming
Zach and I have done our best to make the “Wild Wild Midwest” themed homecoming maybe not so terrible. Since neither of us could bear to actually be on the homecoming committee we made our inputs via darkly sarcastic comments from the sidelines. Instead of some weird “celebration of Minnesota history” we got the cowboy and cowgirl theme that we so rightly deserve. Now if only we could enforce some Deadwood-style swearing and maybe some historic recreations of classic whorehouses we’d be fucking set.
No Potluck
The potluck got cancelled in favor of some sort of Day of the Dead festival thing. Sigh.
Developing and Printing
I did not have a photo assignment to turn in last week, so I printed some random stuff after the lecture.
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Potluck
My Mexican Folklore class is having a potluck on Wednesday. I’m thinking cochinita pibil, or some sort of mole — perhaps one of the seven from Oaxaca. You know you want my meat.
Oh, are you?
“I’m six kinds of trouble,” she said. I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m in the middle of a bad breakup,” she continued. Internally I guffawed. I laughed until I wept and then slept it off, all within a single beat of the dance music.
“Just give me your fucking number so I can never call you!” I shouted. Enough with the fucking around. Let’s get down to it! The world, with its tap dancing incestuous band lineups who are ex girlfriends of bass players of bands on whose singers I have crushes, just will not grow past my own udder.
At This Rate We’ll Be Here All Night
It could take a WEEK to transfer 30g+ of gallery images to the new server.
A WEEK.
Oh man.
Everything Wrong Ever
This was a conversation that someone and I had a while ago.
A gato viejo, ratón tierno
Man Man played the Seventh Street Entry the other night. I haven’t been to a show where I have screamed so much since the 2005 Pizza Luce Block Party. I lost my voice screaming for Har Mar to take off his pants. I’m not proud of that, but — okay, yes I am.