Last night I was walking along the street at about 10 o'clock and a car full of high school- or college-aged dudes drove buy. One of them leaned out the passenger window and screamed: "Get a job!"
This is what it's like in Minnesota in the summer. When the weather is warm, we all want to lean out our car windows and shout things. But winters are so long here, our upbringings rooted so deeply in stoic religions, our heritage so very very very white, that we are crap at shouting things from passing cars. Our excitement exceeds our ability and experience. We roll down the window, fill our lungs with air and... we lock up.
What should we shout? Oh, crap, what should we shout? The car is moving by so quick and we can't think of a damn thing to say. We look like fools, hanging out the window of a 93 Ford Explorer that our friend's mom bought him for graduation, not saying anything, just staring. We've got to shout something! Anything!
"Get a job!"
Then we fall back inside the car and laugh because, thank God, absurdist humor works up here.
Celebrity sighting: I found myself sitting right next to Pam Borton Saturday at Solera (our shoulders were touching), but I can offer no salacious details. My wife and I were busy making fun of the skinny girls that kept walking past a pack of guys, solely to get attention.
Sunday was my six-year anniversary. I don't have any real commentary on that fact, I just thought I'd point it out. I've been having sex with the same woman for six years. Nonstop.
This is kind of cool: Products of all sort made out of burned carpet.
"Still, if anyone can handle Mags, it's Luke -- he's a better man than I. Well, that's not true, but he's a pretty good guy."