Mom?

This was undoubtably the strangest conversation via text message that I've ever had. It doesn't need much prequel. All you have to know is that my parents were first asking me to go to Jimmy's on Sunday morning(awesome), then later that day, sending me real-time pictures/correspondence of their trip that they finally took to the Strip Club steak house that I bought them for Christmas last year.

Let the shit-olympics begin...

Shotty McHotty!

I've always said, if I bought a house, I'm getting a shotgun to go with it. As far as crime is concerned, I've always lived in pretty nice areas, so I can only attribute this desire to being a male child borne of 80's movies and television. This is most evident in the before and after photos of said Remington 870.

Before.



After!


I'm fully aware of how unnecessary this modification is. Perhaps it will make more sense when I'm done slapping shit onto it.

Whoa-ly WHAT?

Take a good, hard look at this crap sandwich...



I don't know if you're seeing this correctly, but that is a 16 oz probiotic coconut drink being sold at Lund's for $10.99.

That's ten dollars and 99 cents... American.

OK, I get it. Lund's is a nice, clean store that makes white people like myself feel special about themselves by offering flattering lighting, and the occasional short haired carpet(minus any stains). I go there, mostly because it's close, and they do have good(overpriced) produce.

That said, what in the holy fuck is this price point about? And the label? Not only does it apparently offer no special reason to purchase it, but it moves to the baffling side of the universal order when it declares that "Children Love the Taste"!!! This is Northeast Minneapolis, for christ's sake, not the Hamptons. I haven't seen anyone around these parts so flush with cash that they want to feed their walking garbage disposals something that costs $.60 an oz when they would be perfectly happy with some shitty juice concentrate.

Tomorrow, I shop at Rainbow. I'm sure I'll be late for work because of it.

I'm still alive

It's been a long time since I blogged. Whatever. I've been busy buying(and moving into) a house, and searching out this fucking Antelope head to stick on my wall. Suffice it to say, that's all the excuse I need.

I love my phone.

There, I said it. Not so much for the phone part of it. That's cool and all, but the camera is just becoming more fun than it should be. I'm starting to feel like I'm cheating on my girlfriend. I mean, I have a $5000 camera that is sitting there... and that's it. I mean, sure, I've shot a couple editorial things as of late with it. I also did some tabletop work with it. Great. Glad I can rely on it for that kind of stuff. I did it's job, and it did it admirably.

That said, when it comes to the pure fun of taking pictures, the fucking iPhone 4 camera is just out of hand. Actually, it's mostly the combination of the apps that I use that give it the quality I want, and the order and degree in which I use them, but still...

Anyway, here is some new work taken with it. And I don't use the term 'work' lightly. Mine and other's is woking it's way into portfolios everywhere.

Prick

Have you ever opened an app on your phone(think Wikipedia, Google, Shazaam, etc), and been completely and totally amused at what you were last searching information on? I spend a good deal of time talking shit at bars so trust me, it happens to me all the time.

This one stood tall amongst the rest for me, though...



I have to ask myself, what conversation was I in that this term even needed defining, and what led up to said conversation? Was I in an argument with an linguistically savy whoreson/cocksucker/SOB, and wanted to double-check my terminology before I whipped insults at him? Makes sense, because I can't think of many things more embarrassing than insulting someone, only to have them bitch-slap you with your own misused words.

I guess I'll never know...

Gaddafi

By the looks of it, dude, you're already dead.

Kickin' Ass for MS

Most people already know this, but I'm running in the Minnesota Mud Run for MS. Actually, there is a post below somewhere that explains what it is and why I'm doing it, if you really give a shit. The reason I'm writing this, though, is for a different reason. Check out this screenshot here...



This is the homepage of Minnesota's Mud Run. As you can see on the bottom right, I am speed-bagging the rest of Minnesota's competitors in the realm of fund raising. In fact, there is only one team of dumb, drunk chicks ahead of me*. The beauty of the position that I hold as #1 fund raiser in MN is that, unlike most who trail me, my contributions have come from many, and in small amounts. I'm the Barack Obama of fundraising, if you will. The dark horse, who's ability to fund raise can be measured in direct relation to how effective and persistent I am in the areas of peer-pressure and ambiguous, underhanded threats.

I'd like to take this time to say thank you, again, to the heros that have thus far come forth and pledged for MS. Unless, that is, you pledged to someone other than me... then you're a terrorist.


*I have no evidence to support the claim that these women are dumb. Or drunk. Or even women, actually. I just said that because it was funny.

Easter Suit

In what has become one of my favorite reoccuring Spring time rituals, the Leisure Suit once again made its Easter appearance.



For 7 of the last 8 Easters, this suit has made Minneapolis a better place to have fun. A better place to raise children. A better place to call home. If you were lucky enough to witness it this year, then you're welcome. If not, it'll be out next year, and it's up to you if you want to bathe in it's glorious rays of lime-green sunshine.

Someone squish it!

I don't pay attention to the Royal Family. They embarrass me, and I'm not English. But still, a guy with internet access couldn't help but know what just went down, and even a little about it.

I guess I thought I knew enough. Now I'm not so sure. This photo changed everything.



Look, I get it. They're called Blue Bloods for a reason. Over the years, there has been a lot of tolerance to making sex with members of their own family. This causes problems, health and otherwise. And, when I say otherwise, I mean the miniature troll on the right flank of the former Miss Middleton. Oh my god is she ugly. She looks like she was squeezed out of a tube. I know that flowery halo thing is for decoration and all, but I'm imagining that it is a magic head-collar that is the only thing that keeps her from changing back into her natural state of full-fledged werewolf.

Post #200!

Jesus. I was surprised enough to just have the fortitude to make it to 100 posts, but 200? This might get in the way of my aspirations of becoming a lazy ass bitch.

I know that I haven't posted shit lately, but nothing exciting has happened in my life and I respect the 4 people who will read this enough that I didn't want to bore them by jabbering on with a bunch of crap that wasn't in the least bit interesting. It was my slow season, after all, as it seemingly was for the rest of Minneapolis' residents. I guess I could have posted photos of me reading the paper and watching The Price Is Right at Jimmy's, but that kind of thing is usually better experienced.

I did take this photo on a job a few weeks ago.



I don't know. I thought it was funny.

Hair, did.

For whatever reason, our kitchen has become the surrogate place to get your hair cut/colored when you can't make it in to see Nell at her place of work. Which works great for me, because I love cleaning hair off my cutting boards.

I've turned into that guy!

I remember a day(not that far gone by) that I would see people on the street, arm extended out in front of their body, cell phone in hand. They were taking a photograph, and I would watch with my usual scorn. "That isn't a flipping camera", or "Another photo that will never make it off the LCD panel". You get my drift.

Now I have to look at myself, assuming the same damn position, loving it.







If you want to see more, there is now a whole damn portfolio on my website dedicated to these greazy things. I'm torn over this...

Mud Run, here comes me.

http://main.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR/General/MNMGeneralEvents?px=9009294&pg=personal&fr_id=17063

This is the dirty link to what promises to be a dirty, dirty time for me. Along with some of the people that I kettlebell with, I am signed up for the MS Mud Run in September. It's for science, Multiple Sclerosis to be exact. You, and anyone you know, can pledge money to me via the link and help me reach my very modest goal of $400.

Actually, if you really want to help, you could just run the shit for me, because it is no joke. I've talked to 3 people who have ran it already(2 of them ex-Marines), and they have been mentally planning for the run since it kicked their ass last year. These are people in much better shape than myself. It's time to get to work.





Oh, that looks nice...

More frickin' storms.

I'm haven't been too hot on winter or snow since I was a downhill skier, and that's been a while. Think florescent clothes and those stupid hats that have ear flaps dangly things coming from the ears and top... that long.

Anyway, if it's coming down, you might as well try and enjoy it.

V-Day in the Castle!

I almost couldn't believe when my special lady told me the news. "I got us a reservation at White Castle for Valentine's Day." she said somewhat sheepishly. "Is that OK?"

Is it?!? I've wanted to go to that place on Valentine's Day since I found out they were doing said day's celebration, and I found out about it LONG before I had any business going out with a woman on Valentine's Day.







In the past month, I've found that many people weren't aware of White Castle's decades old Valentine's Day hoopla. Allow me. They close the restaurant's eat-in area for those without reservations(which, btw, fill up about 2 months ahead of time). They break out the white linen table cloths, candles, candies, and shitty(but appropriate) decorations. They even have a hostess and servers, though I still chose to get up and fill up my own mini ketchup cups.

The menu is unchanged, as is the look on my face when I eat more than 2 or 3 of those things, not to mention the onion chips and whatever that fish sandwich was that made it onto our tray by accident.

G-Ma hits 94!

I don't want to brag or anything, but I have the best Grandma in the world. She is the complete and total shit. I mean, I don't intend to sound overly dramatic, but my Grandma could beat up your Grandma. Seriously. She is 100% Polish. Do you even know what that means? It means get the hell out of the way because this place is crap, and she's here to pick up the pieces.



We did some of the usual on our tour of Northeast today. The Modern, Surdyk's, Reddy Meats. I threw a new one in there for her, though, Rewind. She loved it. She always does. See, my Grammy is probably the ultimate tour guide when it comes to this area. Not only does she know where all the iconic places are, she has some dirt on the families that actually started the businesses. Christ, she slapped ol' man Mayslack in the face as well as tell ol' man Jax to go to hell(in Polish) to fend off their advances. It's totally understandable, though, as she was completely stunning in her 20's.



Wow.

NE Kettlebellin'

Over the last 4 months, some of you may have noticed some things about me. My predisposition to wince and whine when touched, my increased tendency to limp, the difficulty I may have negotiating stairs, as well as my occasional inability to bend over. It's no coincidence that that is almost precisely the amount of time that I have been working out at NE Kettlebells.

Now, I'm not new to working out. In fact, I was on a steady diet of push-ups and pull-ups(as well as busy-season style work) before I came to my first class. I've been a member of a few clubs in my time, all of which were a total waste of time and money. Anyway, I thought I would assimilate into this whole training thing without much of a glitch.

I've come to appreciate being enlightened as to just how fucking stupid that I can be. This was one of those times, and these are some of the people that have had the pleasure of watching me in what can sometimes be described as torture... that I pay $85/month for.



Even as I sit here with sore quads(again), I can honestly say that, physically, I feel better now than I can ever remember. This is a hard-style studio, and the sweat/callouses/pain/soreness are all just avenues to a back that has NO pain, and shoulders that struggle not. I would recommend this training to anyone, though not like it's done at Lifetime or LA fitness or wherever.

Go here.

www.NEKettlebells.com

1029 at Cristmas

According to the manager I talked to, it takes 8 of their employees 6 hours to decorate this place for the holidays. Thats 48 man hours according to my shitty Columbia Heights math. The place is best described as the result of Christmas vomiting all over the place.



Speaking of puke, here's Cory in his usual holiday garb, holding it down for the rest of us sinners.

Clubbing

I am now in a league at the St. Paul Curling Club. What does this mean? It means I'm a card-carrying member of said club. A club member, or a 'Club Man' you might say. Time to amend my wardrobe and make shitty my attitude so I can look the part. If you see a dude in a tweed sportcoat driving a Honda Fit while smoking a pipe and looking for real estate in the Kenwood neighborhood, say hi! Actually, don't say anything... I don't fraternize with your type.

Pit Bull?

I guess the only thing more absurd than a friend buying me a 40oz is that there is a company out there actually producing this particular variety of 40oz.



This would be even more funny than it already is if I didn't think that this company was dead serious. It just so damn corny! I mean, the fucking Pit Bull is wearing a fat gold chain with a diamond-encrusted 'PB'!. And, he's behind a chain-link fence to boot! And what the hell is 'High Gravity Ice Malt Liquor' anyway? In my mind, that means that in order to construct a malt liquor that is this kick-ass(and enables you to kick ass), that the scientists behind the Pit Bull brand had to come up with a special machine that defies our conventional form of gravity. Only within the bowels of this 'High Gravity' supermachine will you discover the utopian conditions necessary to deliver a product worthy of this label. I think I'll save it for Christmas day.

On a side note, that is indeed a piece of Spam in a ziplock bag on the left. It's the supreme food pairing with Pit Bull. I'll probably need more of that on Christmas as well.

Architectural Perfection

What we have here is a near perfect graham cracker rendition of the Greatest Place in the World.



Now, I can visit said place any time I want without the dishonor of putting on pants!

42 seconds.

What is the relevance of 42 seconds, you ask? That's how long you have to hang with this video from the starting point to see a squirrel get some justice.



Hey, it's winter. The little bastards are all hiding, so I have to explore different avenues to feed my bloodlust.

NE/331 rant

This deserved some deliberation...



Obviously, the most stunning part of this letter is it is proof that someone actually does read my blog. I'm guessing they're bored. The author of the letter raises a legitimate question, though, and I will attempt to answer it as sensibly as possible. They want to know why I despise the 331 Bar as much as I do?

The author describes theirself as 'a former nordeaster'(a statement that I'll touch on later), as they lived a couple of blocks from the bar and, presumably, they frequented the place. Fine. I understand that proximity to things tends to alter perception. I'm far enough away from the fucking place thankfully, so allow me to interject some objectivity into this shitty mix.

I could go on for some time about the things I hate about the 331, but I'll focus on two things. The staff, and their complete disregard of tradition.

Look, I like bartenders. Bartenders tend to like me. I get that I'm not the most important thing in their lives, and I appreciate the reasons for surliness, and the quality thereof. There is a difference between being surly because you've earned it over the years and it has become part of you, and being surly because you are in NE and you think it's fashionable. That is just being a fuck-face. That has always been my experience at the 331. And really, Mr. Bartender, how well do you think you're pulling off the surly-guy mode with your stereotypical hipster outfit and a half of a fucking can of hairspray on your goddamn head? You look like a dick, and you tend bar for shit. Now go listen to 89.3, work on your mustache, and fuck off.

There is a bigger reason for why I hate the place, though. About a year or so after they opened, a good friend of mine went in for one of their $5 Bloody Marys one morning. Fair price, indeed. He asked for a beer chaser, and this is where the whole the low shit and high shit systems combined to make a giant fucking shiticane.

They charged him $1 for the snit.

This goes against everything our forefathers have built for us here, and everything that we stand for now. And not just locally, but the entire fucking Midwest. You'll notice that anywhere you go in this country, if you ask for one with your bloody, that there is a good chance that the bartender will guess what part of the country that you're from. THAT'S BECAUSE EVERY BAR IN THE FUCKING MIDWEST GIVES YOU THE CHASER. It's 3 ounces of shitty beer, for christ's sake, and somehow the 331 decides that they are so fucking awesome that that tradition shouldn't apply to them? Unbelievable. Maybe someone has talked some sense into them by now and they realized the error of their ways, but I'm no longer interested. That is a fuck-up so egregious that I could never go back. I can only hope that it gets closed down, but until dudes stop cramming their junk into women's pants and shitty music stops being popular, I don't see that happening anytime soon.

Oh, and about that former statement. It's innocent enough now, but know this readers... no actual Northeasters refer to themselves as 'Nordeasters'. That is actually a racist slur that people used to call the Polish immigrants, like my Grammy, who were new to Northeast Minneapolis in the early 1900's. The English language is a motherfucker, and pronouncing things like 'north' is ofter taken for granted. Polish people couldn't easily do it, and their lack of linguistic dexterity was used against them.

Captain Americat!

HOLY SHIT!



I have a cat running around here somewhere that is scared of nearly goddamn EVERYTHING. If you move too fast, it fucking hides underneath the table. It won't even kill spiders! It just pats them on the back a few times as if to say "Hey little buddy, you're doing a great job with your 8 legs! Keep 'er up!" In the meantime, those alligators are dinosaurs designed to eat that fucking cat and he holds the line without even thinking of retreat.

From now on, I'm having cats around here imported from these swamps. Apparently, they're raising some hard-core felines down there that won't take shit from anyone or anything. I will have a new partner in the battle to get control of the goddamn block back from the squirrels.

***On a side note, I noticed that this cat's escapade of Iron Will was too huge to properly fit into the format of my blog and that it ran off into the sidebar. So be it, Mr. Tuffy, I'm far too intimidated by you to take it down now.

Dashboard Baby

Yesterday's snow can suck it. Besides the light it shined upon my bald tires and their need for replacement, it also committed the deleterious act of keeping Dashboard Baby in the dark and without a proper view of the sky(which he/she has become accustomed to).



Where could I ever start with Dashboard Baby? He/She has been with me for over a year and a half now. He/She never complains. He/She always stays on His/Her post. He/She has maintained for me the cleanest dashboard that I've ever seen on a consistent basis, and all he/she asks is that I whip a shitty once and a while.

What's wrong with this?

I'm going through my busy season as of late, so I haven't rapped about shit because I don't exactly enjoy sitting down for a typing session at my cpu unless it's about squirrels that I've purified. This, though, had to be considered...



Can anyone tell me why in the fuck a dude might need a resealable bag for the 3-pack of tank tops that he just bought for 6 bucks? What am I going to do, wear one for 6 months until it wears out, toss it, and then break out my reserve $2 tank that I've been storing in a moth-resilient form of cryostasis located in my underground clothing bunker? FUCK!

Garden Terrorist Meets Tomato-Eating, American Justice.

I've said it before, my landlord has gone to great lengths to make one of the most lavish gardens in the neighborhood. Since I have been given the proverbial green light to take food from it, I intend to protect it.

So far this year, these shit-monkeys have kept to their nuts and the trash or whatever. However, I caught this dick doing what they do worst, eating one bite out of a tomato and then discarding the rest.



I'm not going to let some diseased rodent keep me from eating local!

Summers last go.

RUTABAGA FEST!!! I've only heard the stories of this Cumberland, WI super-extravaganza, but this is the first time I got an opportunity to experience it.

Predictably, we ended up just drinking beer on the dock and going to the bar together...

Has the whole world gone crazy?

When I heard about this... this campaign... this shitty, shitty advertising campaign... I guess I hoped it was some kind of disgusting and inappropriate joke. It isn't...

http://www.savingsquirrels.com/



This is a website used to promote car shit from a service station that I will NEVER set foot in. If I find out that one of my friends give them money, it's going to be a long, uphill climb before I think that said friend and I could ever really hang out again. Please, I implore you, go somewhere else.