Everyone should punch me in the nuts when I do stupid things, like right now. Tomorrow will be too late, except for Paul, who got a raincheck.
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- 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 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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Despite a rambling and agitated email, I really am fine. I’m not at work any more, so table your requests to Radio K, or just send them directly to me. Okay, no one has any requests, and my rambling and agitated email probably just pissed off the recipient, so now the friendship that I had been trying to brew when it got interrupted by non-dateness is probably ruined too. Of course all my friends are like “she’s fucking crazy!”
Like I can point any fingers on that account.
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Could be raining
I guess that either Stan or Lisa will be attending Brendan Benson with me, especially since I don’t know anyone else who stole my copy of One Mississippi and played it over and over again in their car.
Or maybe I will go by myself. I need a wingman.
As good ol’ Doc Venture said:
I can no longer deny the world my super greatness!
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Hey, remember when I got arrested?
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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.
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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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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When Lisa and Stan left, Noah started crying very hard and then crawled into my arms. I hadn’t held him like that since he was just a few months old and we would take naps together. Eventually he stopped crying, mostly because I outlined my four point plan for the evening:
- Bed… and Mom and Dad would come home
It turned out to take too long to make the pizza, so we didn’t go swim at the park, even though it was the kind of day that commands a person to go lie down in chlorinated water while three year olds splash you. How is that not an hour of heaven?
We did go to the park, but I had to carry Noah up the hill. He was being extra cute as we passed a house where five women were seated around a patio table drinking. I sensed their heads swiveling to face me even though all I could see were shadows. A light flashed, which was either a picture being taken of Noah and I, or the sound and fury of five women simultaneously ovulating.
Ladies, please. Last night I went to a trashy movie by myself at 10:30 at night with macaroni and cheese on the shirt that I had worn to sleep the night before. Well, it was just the cheese, but whatever.
Later, as we were walking back down the hill, Noah wanted to run, but tripped, tumbled, and bumped his head a little. Immediate, giant tears poured out of his eyes and he wanted to be held right away so he could scream closer to my ear. I settled him down again and we sniffled our way down the hill. Again the invisible eyes tracked us, and I distinctly heard an “aww” as the last glow of twilight glinted in a tear rolling down Noah’s cheek.
If I ever become completely evil I will just go ahead and use Noah to get dates. Oh yeah, my dad used to do that with me.
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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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