My dearest friend Ghey, the Operatic Italian Spectacular!, has finally returned to my life and I'm absolutely euphoric about it. In the last few days, we've been attempting to fill each other in on everything and it's been surprising how much we've both changed in forty days.

It got me thinking about my friends who I haven't talked to forever and how different I've felt in the last six months. I guess the whole point of living is to change and evolve and grow into the next phase of one's life. It's always a surprise when you realize how far along you've come in the amount of time you've done it in.

Let me introduce you to me where I am today.


I swear way too much. I don't spend enough time by myself. I'm borderline-OCD. The only secrets I don't keep are my own. I like limericks. When I get overwhelmed with life, I listen to the crap music I listened to in high school at terrifying volumes. I find myself far more amusing than anyone else does. I wish I was as cool as my dad. I change my nail color once a week, but I only have four colors. I over-romanticize my memories. I fucking hate white wine. I miss Duluth something fierce. My pride gets in the way of a lot of things. "Storms" by Fleetwood Mac makes me cry every time I hear it. My best friend calls me "The Scandal Maker" for a really good reason. I don't think I will ever make enough money and I'm not nearly as worried about that as I should be. I secretly listen to a lot of Damien Rice. I walk around Minneapolis by myself a lot. I spend a good amount of time with my brother. I have a lot of friends in bands and boy, do I live vicariously through them. I am going to be in a wedding in nineteen days and I have no idea what I'm going to wear.

And I'm pretty fucking cool.

Sometimes you just need to be inundated with the thing that you love the most. And I kind of have the feeling that you need it too, so here are some Red Hot Chili Peppers songs you may not know and probably shouldn't go much longer without knowing.

Quixoticelixer ("Californication" b-side)
Gong Li ("Scar Tissue" b-side, 1999)
Bunker Hill ("Fortune Faded" b-side, 1999)
How Strong ("Otherside" b-side, 1999, and the first song that ever got me into this band. How grateful I am.)
Eskimo ("Fortune Faded" b-side, 2002)

Here's three you may know, but should probably listen to a little more often than you currently do.

Right On Time (Californication)
Tear (By The Way)
Make You Feel Better (Stadium Arcadium: Mars)

After going so long without listening to them, it's like hearing them again for the first time. O sweet rejuvenation! Kiedis, Frusciante, Balzary, Smith! Thou hath brought my creativity back to life.
I never should have doubted you.

I went to a punk show last night with a few buddies, who apparently are connoisseurs, and caught the last two bands. The first band was loud as all fuck, but it was major enjoyment. They did a song called "Tina" by Quincy Punx with quite the catchy chorus ("Oh Tina if you really love me, you'll let me eat your brain") and another one about having sex in horror movies. Awesome.

The second band was the one that I had gone to see and... well, the drummer was awesome and the bass player, of course, was great and had fantastic showmanship. They did songs with the same kind of subject matter with some catchy hooks but for some reason, it was just not as good. It sounded like... noise. Just a lot of loud noise.

I think the main issue was the singer. Drunk and rowdy, he just kind of hollered into the mic. That sounds like punk, right? Yeah. But he was way less awesome than the first dude. Far sloppier and much less punchy and just kind of stupid. Even my Punk Connoisseur Buddies were put off by him. That's weird to me because I've heard plenty of punk bands that these dudes love, and most of the singers sound just like him. What's the difference?

I guess I feel like the whole genre is subjective. I mean, if Iggy fucken Pop emptied his beer all over me, it would be fucking rock, but this drunk douchebag did (yeah, he fucking did) and it was just bad form and pissed everyone off and I ended up standing outside for the majority of the show in the spirit of sheer protest. What's the difference???

Isn't the spirit of punk rock an enormous FUCK OFF directed at everyone? If so, why does the delivery matter? Does it really boil down to actual musical abilities and cohesiveness, like any other genre? Do you really have to bring it musically, lyrically, and theatrically, and pull it all off like you don't give a fuck about any of those things? It just seems like the most complicated, abstract genre ever.

I don't think I'll ever understand it.

I won't spoil anything, I swear to god, but if you are a human being with a soul, a heart, a mind, or even a pulse, you have to go see "The Dark Knight" as soon as humanly possible. It was a goddamn religious experience for me and I'm not joking. (No pun intended.)

Also if you received a text from me this morning at three a.m. pleading with you to go see the movie, I refuse to apologize. A Batman high is comparable to none other. You'll know what I mean in time.

I washed a port glass last night for the first time since The Incident.


If you are unaware, port glasses are very small, very thin tulip-shaped glasses. The ones that we stock have long stems that are incredibly delicate and have haunted me in my sleep for about two months.

The moment the wrinkled woman ordered the port, I cringed, knowing that in the next two hours I'd have to wash that glass. I've been avoiding it. Every time a ticket for port has come up, I've sent the aggravated servers to the other bar. Am I a baby? No! My scars, both physical and emotional, are still far too close to the surface.

I considered making an attempt at offering her something else but thought better of it. Eventually, I'd have to face this moment. Get it over with. Do it now. I took a deep breath and poured the sweet sweet port into my inanimate nemesis, sneering down into it. After handing it off, I glanced at the teardrop-shaped scar on my knuckle and sighed. The rest of the night I watched the bar, waiting for the glass to come back. The easy part was over -- pouring the port was not the hurdle that required jumping.

Seven thirty, the restaurant closed. The bar had been cleared, save one tiny tulip-shaped glass. I stood with my arms folded, facing off, staring it down for a full minute. It's you and me, glass, I thought, daring it to make a move. Realizing how ridiculous it must have looked to a passer-by, I grabbed it and headed for the sink. I switched on the spinning scrubbers in the sink and stared into the swirling water. Just do it. So I washed the port glass, faltering but for a moment. I steadied myself and held the base tightly as the scrubbers whirled around and around. I set it on the dry deck and flipped it off. Fuck off, port glass.

I looked again at my scar, but this time, with a newfound sense of pride. Anniemosity - 1. Port glass - well, 1. We're tied now, motherfucker.

-One of the reasons that my BFF and I get along so well is that we like the internet and are not ashamed to talk about internet-related things in real life. For the past few weeks, we've been watching our newest favorite blog, Overheard in Minneapolis, and we've been assuming that we, or someone we know, will end up on it at some point or another. I didn't think it would happen this soon, but to my surprise, I absolutely one hundred percent know who this is. If you know me, you can probably figure it out pretty quickly.

-Badassery, Part I: ZOMBIES IN UPTOWN! For an upcoming photo shoot, in an attempt to step out of the smooth-ass box I've put myself in, my chef-like friend and I are creating a full-out zombie explosion. Every idea I have for this shoot, he comes up with something that goes balls-to-the-wall over the top trumping it. Beam.

-batman soon batman soon batman soon batman soon batman soon batman soon batman soon

-I've had "This Is How We Do It" by Montell Jordan stuck in my head for about four days now. The song was brought to my attention for the first time since I was in the fifth grade when Pat's big damn band started covering it a few months back, and it was such a trip because I remembered every single word. Now it plays incessantly in my head, complete with syncopation and voice inflections. Ugh.

-Badassery, Part II: I'm celebrating my first Bastille Day on Sunday afternoon. I am not French in any way, but there are some pretty cool festivities going on in my neck of Minneapolis that I feel almost obligated to make an appearance. There are some kind of hula hooping activities going on, and I'm not sure how it ties in to the French Revolution, but I'll be damned if I miss out on that kind of celebration.

-Tomato blue cheese bisque? I need to eat it every day. Thanks, Peter.

The strobe light explodes white as I step on the floor
The barkeep knows the code so he throws me a Strohs

Weak MCs decompose 'cause they know I can flow
Like Wesell comma Zam through Coruscant corridors

Humidors filled with stoges filled with 'dro
Like 90210 is filled with the word bro

Fuck the lexicon of octagons, I'm all about go
These amateurs got catheters, I'm all about pros

I'm lit like a Branch Davidian
Or what's left of the lithium in Cobain's cranium

I fill Wembley Stadium
Once bitten, twice shy, call it "Pyromania"

When I roll up in Kashyyyk, I roll three Jedis deep
The fleet of peeps that I creep all got vests underneath

There's no need to believe in the heat that I keep
Or the swears that I *bleep* or the heiresses I freak

It's embarrassing to me, I'm like kerosene it seems
Or D-R-E-W B with incendiary schemes

Blowin' up, makin' cream
I am just like Howard Dean
When I scream, I get red, I get mean

Can't believe you be buying what I be shucking and jiving
Fuck it if I am the next big thing with promotional tie-ins

I am just a cartoon making rapper, you think that I'm lying
Everybody bust a move like it is that rave in Zion
-mc chris

Do you have a best friend? I sure do. I hope yours is someone that you can call when you make decisions that are in the ethically gray-but-closer-to-black area, like mine is. Sure, she'll laugh at me for a few weeks, but she always says, "Bitch, you know I understand. Remember that one time that I...?" Someday when the books are written, we'll be referred to as The Freak and The Scandal Maker.

On a separate yet related note, I must admit I'm enjoying this whole "Duluth-in-Minneapolis" phase that seems to be happening.


Chin - Fat - me - Fuller - Staab - BFF
It's almost as if we're grown up people who are acting like children, but I think, more accurately, we're children pretending to be grown-ups. I like it better that way, actually.