OK, so these fine people did it. That means I must do it as well. Because I follow all the trends. But check back again tomorrow, too, for I might just set a new trend. You never know.

The 1970s.

I am living in a three-bedroom house with my parents, my five brothers and sisters, and my grandfather. When it comes to music, there is a policy of "equal time," meaning no one gets to dominate the hi-fi.

My parents listen to Charley Pride, Conway Twitty, and Loretta Lynn. My older sisters listen to "devil music" such as Nazareth, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath. The rest of my siblings listen to John Denver, England Dan & John Ford Coley, and other forms of pansy music. My grandfather only listens to the constantly droning AM radio in the kitchen. He sings along to "Mrs. Robinson" by Simon & Garfunkel. Sometimes we get to hear his old 78s played on the Victrola, which you have to wind up by hand. These are special times.

I like all of this music. But equal time in my case means I get to play my Cat in the Hat album, which is kind of scary to me at the time.

My older sisters get married and move out, and my youngest sister discovers disco. My brother buys a kick-ass system. They start throwing parties, and, to keep me out of the way, they always let me be the DJ. I like the song "Ring My Bell" by Anita Ward, and I play it all the time even though my mom gets mad because it's "dirty." This is my first experience with rock-n-roll rebellion. I play nothing but disco until some guy informs me that disco sucks. Then I become obsessed with The Cars and Blondie. Deborah Harry's heavy rouge excites me. I play "Another One Bites the Dust" and some stoner explains the "meaning" to me. I think that's cool.

The Early 1980s

MTV is everything. I discover Van Halen, which is better than anything I've ever heard. My sister takes me to see Purple Rain in the theater, and to see Joan Jett in concert. I like Motley Crue, but not as much as my classmates. I hate Boy George, but secretly not as much as I let on. Michael Jackson's "Thriller," Duran Duran's "The Reflex," John Cougar, etc. Madonna. Good lord, Madonna.

My brother gets heavily into making mix tapes -- both on cassette and reel-to-reel. His record and tape collection becomes huge. Sometimes he gives me money and tells me to go buy him a record; any record will do. One day my insane cousin shows up with a giant stack of records. They play them so loud that it is literally painful to be in the house. Of the artists they play, I am very impressed by The Ramones and Willie Nelson. I play the resulting Ramones tapes all the time, and my mom actually agrees that they are cool. They remind her of the '50s. This embarrasses me, but makes my life easier.

Eventually, all my siblings move out, and so does my grandfather. I get a boom box to fill in the void of my brother's awesome stereo. I go to his house and transfer my favorite albums to cassette -- Van Halen's "1984," Blondie's "Autoamerican," and Eddie Murphy's first stand-up album. I make a mix tape of my favorite 45s -- "Our House" by Madness, "Jack & Diane" by John Cougar, and "She Bop" by Cyndi Lauper.

Whenever there is a top 100 countdown on KZIO, I tape the songs I like. It pisses me off that there are snippets of DJ talk at the beginning and end of every song, but there's nothing I can do about that.

I hear Weird Al Yankovic's "Eat It" for the first time, and my mind is blown. It is a blend of my two favorite things -- music and comedy. I ask around at school and find out about the Dr. Demento radio show, which is on Sunday nights from 10-12. I begin listening and taping religiously. I meet Lundgren, who is into the same stuff. We comb Young at Heart Records and Carlson Book looking for novelty music. I gradually forsake normal, popular music and start listening to the likes of Tom Lehrer, Allan Sherman, Barnes & Barnes, and Cab Calloway. I join the Demento Society, and start exchanging letters and tapes with other kids interested in the same music (plus one guy in New York who's like 30).

Sometimes I dig out my grandpa's 78s, because they now fit my musical tastes. Billy Jones & Ernie Hare.
-"What are you kids doing in that apple tree?"
-"Well, we might be playin' marbles but we ain't."

The Mid/Late 80s

Junior High is a nightmare. I still like novelty music, but not exclusively. I see Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" video on MTV, and instantly become a Dylan fan.

When Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" comes out, everyone thinks it is the greatest song ever. Until MTV starts playing it every five minutes. Everyone loves "Parents Just Don't Understand" by DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince. For some reason, George Michael escapes being called a faggot, and it's OK to like him. I agree with all this, but not with everyone's obsession with the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, or the movie Top Gun, for that matter.

I briefly believe that Michael Jackson sucks, until "Dirty Diana" comes out. This is something I can stand behind. Also, the "Bad" video is no "Thriller," but it is still good. I recite the opening dialogue along with everyone else. Even kids with nothing else in common enjoy the exchange, "Is that what they teach you at that little sissy school of yours?"

High school. The decline of western civilizaion: the metal years. At first, heavy metal is all I listen to. Mostly, I like classic metal such as Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. But Metallica is in there too -- I buy all the CDs. I see Metallica in concert. I am not above hair metal, and it figures prominently in my rotation. I watch Headbanger's Ball every weekend.

I pay a guy I know to steal CDs from Kmart. He gets busted on his second run.

Metal tapers off toward the end of high school. I hear Ministry's "A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste," and discover a whole new way to piss my parents off. I start admitting some things to myself that I never would before. I like U2, the B-52s, and REM. This is rough to admit, for some reason. Pink Floyd makes its first appearance in my collection, and it fits late adolescence perfectly.

The Early 90s

The whole Nirvana thing happens, of course. I see Tori Amos' "Silent All These Years" on MTV and start liking her as well. I go to college and meet people from Other Places who know Other Things. My soundtrack is Smashing Pumpkins, Jane's Addiction, Nine Inch Nails (Pretty Hate Machine), The Breeders, and Pink Floyd. I go to Lollapalooza II & IV, and see Ministry, The Breeders, Pearl Jam, Cypress Hill, A Tribe Called Quest, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, L7, Porno For Pyros, Smashing Pumpkins, Ice Cube, George Clinton, the Beastie Boys, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, et. al. On the drive down to Lollapalooza II, we have two tapes: the first Violent Femmes album, and a cassingle of "Jump Around" by House of Pain. This is just fine by us.

I get a summer job in a factory, where they play the radio all day. I hear the Chili Peppers' "Under the Bridge" approximately 10,000 times during those three months.

I am very poor. I wear clothes that I have found. I have one pair of jeans, which are hand-me-downs from my girlfriend. I joke about how I'm lucky that MY grunge period is coinciding with THE grunge period. This is funny.

At the end of college, I start going to bars. I go to RT Quinlan's every week for open mic night. There is not much live music in Duluth, but my favorite band to see is Puddle Wonderful, which is an early Hog Damage band.

The Mid 90s

Perhaps because I am too old for my years, I stop listening to popular music altogther. I do not have cable, so I do not have MTV. I am completely unaware of anything happening in music. Sometimes I ask people I know what is good now, and most of them say "nothing."

I start listening to jazz. My favorite is John Coltrane. I listen to Coltrane, drink a lot of coffee, and read fat Russian novels. I am unhappy. This is my life.

The Late 90s

Live music begins to take off in Duluth. The Norshor (the Stage Door Lounge) starts having live shows. The Brewhouse opens. Random Radio starts. The Northland Reader begins publication, followed by the Ripsaw. I write and draw for the Reader and start frequenting the Norshor and the Brewhouse regularly. I meet people who are Trying To Make Things Happen. My unhappy period ends.

Low is wonderful. I listen to "I Can Live in Hope" over and over. There is live music happening all the time, and I get in free to stuff most of the time.

I see Split Lip Rayfield at the Norshor and become infatuated with Bloodshot Records. I get into the Meat Purveyors, Trailer Bride, and the Sadies. I miss the Sadies' historic show at the Norshor, where only 4 or 5 people showed up, but I see them in their hometown of Toronto, where they blow away a packed house.

I intentionally start to get into the music I missed during my Coltrane period. I discover Portishead, and through them, trip hop. Suddenly all the music in my CD changer makes you want to have sex. Tricky, Mono, Air, and Alpha are my favorites.

The 00s

Two of the best shows I've seen locally happen around the Millenium. Low's "A Very Duluth Christmas" show -- when people actually danced to Low -- was the first. The Millenium party also rocked, simply because no one died.

I buy a computer, and eventually install a CD burner. I start downloading music illegally. I only have a dial-up connection, so I queue up about 15-20 songs every night before I go to bed, and in the morning I check to see if they worked. Eventually I give up downloading as I get tired of it.

I start borrowing CDs from people and burning them, and also buying CDs to trade in return. I acquire a lot of music this way. It turns out that I will listen to any kind of music. Music simply grabs me or it doesn't. I am not picky. I am not snobbish.

The trend continues, however, as my next computer has a huge hard drive, for the specific purpose of being my home jukebox. I install iTunes and plug into my stereo. I purchase an iPod, and inject this entire musical history directly into my brain.

Life is good.
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Posted by Barrett at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

People Behind Me | This is my #1 hate. It's OK if the person behind me is someone I know. And it's OK if there are a lot of people behind me. But having a few people behind me makes me utterly uncomfortable. The place where it bothers me most is in the movie theater. Once again -- it's OK if the theater is packed, but if there are seats everywhere and someone chooses to sit right behind me, I have to move. One time someone behind me at the theater spilled a jumbo Coke all over the place, which might be where this hatred originated.

At one of my former jobs, my office was arranged so that my desk faced the wall opposite the door. I'd be working or screwing around or whatever, and people would come into my office and suddenly be right behind me. I'd wheel around with a coffee mug clenched in my fist, ready to defend my life. Worst. Feng Shui. Ever.

Plastic Shopping Carts | This is a sound issue. Regular metal shopping carts are fine. In fact, the sound they make is kind of pleasant. But plastic shopping carts like the ones at Target, Kmart, etc. make me want to pull out my own eyelashes. I have no idea why this is.

The Voices Of Some 4-Year-Old Girls | Another sound issue, which when combined with plastic carts, can make me flee Wal-Mart in a blind panic (which is ideally how one should always flee Wal-Mart). Again, I'm not talking about ALL 4-year-old girls -- not by a long shot. And to give them credit, they always grow out of this phase and become normal children, and eventually normal adults. But there are certain kids who for a certain period of their lives speak in a voice that is amazingly loud, screechy, and repetitive. Yes, Skyler, we know that your doll pisses herself. Now just be quiet for a time while I collect my eardrums from the floor.
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Posted by Barrett at 11:05 AM | Permalink

Ok, so a few weeks ago, I wrote about how I found this bike, and was bringing it home when the owners accosted me and demanded it back. Well, the day after that happened, I found the bike again, leaning against a tree, with a bike chain around it.

I didn't think much about it, until the next day, when I saw it there again. And the day after that. And the day after that. Then I went up and inspected the chain. There was no lock -- it was just draped around the bike to make it appear as though it was locked to the tree. Meanwhile, it was sitting out in the rain and elements, on public property, unused.

A week went by, and there it stood. I was very tempted to just take it. It was, through my way of thinking, abandoned. But the chain declared dibsies. Brain aneurysm!

You should be able to predict where this is going. Wednesday night I made up my mind to go take the damn thing. But then, well, I got a bit drunk and just went home to bed. The next morning, I walked by the place where it had been standing for two weeks and, of course, it was gone.

So let this be a lesson to you kids out there. When you have the chance to steal something, don't hem and haw about the morality of it. Just hork it.
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Posted by Barrett at 10:02 AM | Permalink

Yesterday I had the pleasure of seeing Bridget Riversmith's art show -- "Out There" -- at the Norshor. It was terrific. Her art really grabs you in a visceral way when you see it. Of particular note was a series of paintings depicting women outdoors in hospital gowns, with vacant expressions on their faces. I overheard lots of people commenting on one of these, in which the woman's tears were turning into birds.

Anyway, this art influenced my dreams last night, and I dreamed that Bridget and her husband Edgewood brought me home. Ca-chee, Starfire, and Nick were outside my house, and we all stood around talking. I mentioned that it would be cool to take pictures of this gigantic, run-down mansion in the woods a block from my house. (There is no such mansion in real life, nor are there woods.) They were reluctant, but I forced them.

The mansion was huge, about five stories tall. There was white paint peeling off the clapboards, and all the windows were gone. Suddenly, these incredibly beautiful young men and women came out of the house -- maybe six or seven of them. Somehow, something was very, very wrong with them.

Instantly I knew what was going on. These people were brothers and sisters, and would do anything their father told them to. They belonged to a bizarre religion where if anyone who wasn't a member of that religion got close to them, they'd kill that person. At that moment, they saw us and came after us. The old man, who was upstairs in the house, saw us too and started shooting out the window.

The scene changed at that time to a dark room where people were eating unhealthy food. The only thing I could think of was how I badly needed a haircut. Someone said they knew of a way I could get a haircut for free. I said sure.

The way I could get a haircut for free was to be part of this bizarre re-enactment of a murder, where a guy was killed with an axe while getting his hair cut. The axe was a big, brutal thing unlike any axe I've ever seen. I had to sit in this dark room, a woman cutting my hair, and the axe man would come in and do his thing. The worst part, I was told, was that there would be only one person watching -- a southern man sitting at a table in the room. His voice, I was told, was "real." I asked what that meant, but no one would say. They did tell me that other people who had done this re-enactment were scarred for life by his voice.

I also found out that this was the exact room where it happened and that was the real axe. After the re-enactment, the axe would be sold to the highest bidder.

Somehow I escaped from there, and ran outside to the ocean. There was ice on the ocean for a few hundred yards. It looked like it was about 1/4 inch thick, but I didn't care. I ran out across the ice to a small, rocky island. When I got there, I just looked out at the sea and realized there was no way I could go any further.

Then I woke up.
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Posted by Barrett at 9:44 AM | Permalink

1. 115
2. 90
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Posted by Barrett at 11:31 PM | Permalink

I have the day off today, and so far, it's shaping up to be one of those amazingly great days. I woke up early, drank a lot of strong coffee, and read blogs and e-mails. Then I mowed the lawn, and then I had a great lunch at Beaner's (Peter Piper wrap and terrific harvest grain soup).

The rest of the day has been spent on the garden. This garden is HUGE. I've divided it into several sections, which go as follows:

1. The Partially Shaded Section | This section is closest to the house and has lighter crops such as lettuce (which did not sprout -- I've reseeded), spinach, parsnips and radishes. I mixed carrot seeds in with the radishes, because I understand that's a smart thing to do.

2. Peppers, Onions and Peas | There's no actual reason for these to go next to each other -- they just are. I'm hoping that planting the onions next to the peas, etc. will help keep the rabbits out. But I'm not holding my breath. Basil also makes an appearance in this section.

3. Tomatoes | These have not gone in yet since I'm waiting for a shipment of seedlings from Ca-chee's friend Pamela, who grows 'em good.

4. The "Experimental" Section | This is my favorite section. It contains stuff that I've never seen growing in northern Minnesota. Eggplant and leeks appear in this section. I put rosemary in here, too, because whenever I've tried to grow it, it has died. Acorn squash is there, too, but that's just a matter of space.

This is just the vegetable garden. There is another huge flower garden in the front of the house (mainly perennials), along with about 7-9 tractor-tire gardens full of flowers. Plus rose bushes and a few more random flower zones throughout the yard. The people who lived here before were garden maniacs.

I'm trying not to become one myself.
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Posted by Barrett at 3:49 PM | Permalink

Someone in Brazil found this site by searching for "BITCHES CARTOONS BLOGS". Yeah, that's pretty much what barrettchase.com is all about, baby.
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Posted by Barrett at 7:48 PM | Permalink

What? Where did the blogs go? Perfect Duluth Day ... it's not there. Cannot find server, my ass. Where is it? ...

My blog? Gone, too! Holy cripes! Ok, ok. Don't panic. This is temporary. Maybe PDD is back online. Uh! (grasps midsection to quell intense longing) Where IS IT?

Oh, God. What if I'm the only one who can't see it? What if other people are posting and commenting right now? What if there's a huge, interesting conversation happening and I can't participate ... I CAN'T EVEN LURK! Oh, no. Where's the phone? I gotta make some calls.

Dammit, why isn't anyone answering. It's 10am, for chrissake. GET OUT OF BED! GET OFF THE CAN! This is an emergency!

Ok. Calm down. Think. Ok. The Homegrown site has the same host. Ugh, that one's down, too. And, um, Slim Goodbuzz. Down. Ok. So this is the host's problem. Ok.

God. Where are these servers again? Um, Vancouver. Yeah, I'm pretty sure they're in Vancouver. Shit! What if there's been a natural disaster in Vancouver. Uhhhhhhhhh. Check ... CNN. Yeah. CNN. Ok, Bush .. Shrek ... boy born from 21 year old sperm ... floods in the Carribean? Are the servers in the Carribean? Oh, God.

Ok. Just relax. Take a shower. You need to take a shower anyway. Then come back and everything will be fine. But check one more time to see if they're back.

Oh, wow. There they are. All intact. Come to poppa.
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Posted by Barrett at 10:02 AM | Permalink

I don't think I'll be doing this very often, as I suspect there are many people who do not want me to do it, but last night I configured my computer to broadcast Internet radio. So if you want to listen to what I'm listening to, I'll be broadcasting this morning from 10-1.

You should be able to hear it by clicking here and choosing 'open.' It works best with Winamp, but I think you can use other types of software to listen as well--it just won't work as well. Only a handful of people can listen at a time.

Anyhow, let me know in the comments what you think, how it works, and how I might possibly put this to use.

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Posted by Barrett at 9:29 AM | Permalink

Apparantly, the deceased Andy Kaufman has started his own blog. The blog is pretty boring, actually, but a good idea. Someone also issued a press release which was picked up by Yahoo News. Of course longtime followers of this blog may remember me talking about how Yahoo News reported that there were trees that could grow meat.

Snopes.com has neatly debunked the whole thing for us.

And somewhere out there, Andy is practically pissing his pants.
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Posted by Barrett at 10:30 AM | Permalink

This is one of those things where ... you had to be there. For the whole. Fucken. Thing. More pictures are available here. Not that it will do you any good, if you weren't there 'til the bitter end.
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Posted by Barrett at 2:13 AM | Permalink

Well, today I found this in my mailbox.
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Posted by Barrett at 8:56 PM | Permalink

1. When you feel the cold coming on at 9pm Sunday, do not hesitate to go to bed. Stay in bed, no matter what, until 1pm the next day.

2. Get out of bed, put on clothes, go to work. Convince your supervisor after 1 hour that your services are actually not needed. Go home.

3. When you get home, once again, go immediately to bed. Sleep for hours and hours. Awake only to grudgingly answer phone calls, and to watch TV for a couple hours in the evening.

4. Wake up at 6am on Tuesday. It helps to have Tuesday off. Drink lots of coffee, and ravenously eat a huge breakfast. Spend the morning playing around on the Internet, and drinking about four or five quarts of water.

5. Discover it is really nice outside. Head out into the yard and halfheartedly dig up dandelions. Bask in the sun.

6. Go to Lucé and fuck around with your iPod over the sound system. Drink the free vodka gimlets they ply you with for doing such a thing (these are medicinal, trust me). Eat free pizza.

7. Go home. Watch this before turning in early.

In the morning, you will feel terrific.
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Posted by Barrett at 9:05 AM | Permalink

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Posted by Barrett at 7:03 AM | Permalink

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Posted by Barrett at 8:49 PM | Permalink

Even though I thoroughly enjoy throwing things away, I could totally become one of those people who hoards stuff. See, I enjoy throwing used items away. New, unopened items, on the other hand, I crave.

Sometimes I am plagued with the idea, "it doesn't spoil." Underwear, for example, doesn't spoil, nor does it go out of style, for the most part. I think most people have about 10-15 pairs of skivvies at any given time, and I'm no different. However, why purchase underwear only when you need to? And why purchase underwear in reasonable quantities? There is no reason why you shouldn't buy like, a hundred pairs of undies all at once. They'd last forever, because you'd only wear them something like three or four times a year. And laundry day would be hilarious -- ALL UNDIES. Awesome.

Likewise, toothbrushes don't go bad. I like to use a nice, new, soft-bristled toothbrush. Why not have a couple hundred on hand, so you never have to use a worn-out brush? Plus, when people get drunk and fall asleep at your house, they will be so grateful in the morning to be able to brush their teeth with a new, unused toothbrush instead of with their finger.

There are so many things that fall into this category -- soap, shampoo, shaving cream, toilet paper, etc. Hell, if I were getting a tax return this year, I know what I'd be spending it on.

Socks.

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Posted by Barrett at 1:30 PM | Permalink

This morning while walking to work, I noticed a pretty nifty '70s-era Columbia Tourist laying in pieces in the parking lot of my workplace. I see abandoned bikes all the time, but they're usually rusty old Huffys that have been run over by semi-trucks. This bike was cool, and in good condition except for the fact that the back wheel had come off and some of the pieces were missing.

Anyway, when I got off work, it was still there. So I put the back wheel on well enough to walk with it, and started to take it home. Halfway to my house, a beat-up van pulled up next to me and a frantic, older woman with a thick Appalachian accent yelled, "SIR! THAT'S AR BIKE!" I thought it was a put-on at first, but after talking to her and her husband for a few mintues, I realized that no, this was their bike. That it fell apart while the guy was riding it. And, from what it looked like, they live in their van.

They offered to sell me the bike for $12, but I didn't have any money on me, so they insisted that I hand it over. I did. Now I kind of wish that I had bought it. It was a bit of a rattle-trap, and it would have been a bit impractical, but it looked cool.
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Posted by Barrett at 4:23 PM | Permalink

1. 111
2. 133
3. 122

It should be noted that the third game might have been better, but we only had 20 minutes so it was "speed bowling." Also, I believe I was the overall winner, but that was due to the absence of Disaster Small.
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Posted by Barrett at 11:15 PM | Permalink

I love coincidences. To me, a really good coincidence can brighten up my whole week. These are very rare. The more mundane coincidences, however, produce a brief rush -- they're the crack cocaine of weirdo excitement.

The telephone is always a great source of coincidences. Most people have experienced the phenomenon where you pick up the phone to call someone, only to find them already magically on the line. A couple of times I have received wrong-number phone calls from people I vaguely know or know of. Once I got one from my old guidance counselor. Yesterday, former mayoral candidate Charlie Bell called here looking for someone named Nicole.

A lot of times at work, I will be thinking about something, only to suddenly see a reference to it on a piece of mail. For example, maybe I'll be fantasizing about robots taking over the earth, and suddenly there's a Popular Mechanics magazine and ... oh, jezus my job is boring.

I've discovered that coincidences are elusive, however. I've tried actively searching for them, and this by its very nature doesn't work. Still, putting yourself into a position for weirdness is always good.
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Posted by Barrett at 11:04 AM | Permalink

I'm glad people are beginning to talk about the fact that this Sunday, it will be 20 years to the day since the death of Andy Kaufman. You see, it is said that even before his diagnosis of cancer, Andy plotted what he called, "the greatest put-on of all time." Namely, that he might fake his own death, and return exactly 20 years later to make the wildest performance in the history of comedy.

Sunday May 16, the House of Blues in LA will host "Andy Kaufman — Dead or Alive?" featuring Tony Clifton and the Cliftones, Jerry "The King" Lawler, and others.

Check out this article in the LA Weekly for details.

[via Secret Farm & Cheek]

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Posted by Barrett at 10:04 AM | Permalink

Whoa! Weird yellow light ... wicked clouds ... constant thunder ... damaging hail ...

I'm preparing for the coming of Gozer the Gozerian (aka the Destructor).
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Posted by Barrett at 8:28 PM | Permalink

About a week ago, one of my associates was talking about a role-playing game based on the movie and TV series Stargate. Of course, I immediately thought, how about a role-playing game based on Stargate, the Superior, Wisconsin nightclub? Maybe you'd role 4d10 to determine your bra size.

Better yet, a role-playing game based on Süptown itself. You could have nonplayer characters like cops, bouncers, bartenders, and the like. I'm not sure what the point of the campaign would be, other than wandering up and down Tower Avenue getting 'faced. The best part is you'd get to say things like "I'm a third-level skank," or "I'm proficient in Bacardi."

I get to be Rod Stewart.
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Posted by Barrett at 11:20 AM | Permalink

I been here for years/rockin' my peers and puttin' suckas in fear/makin' the tears rain down like a monsoon/listen to the bass go boom

That is right, ladies and gentlemen. Watch for the return of Occam's Razor comics to the Ripsaw in the June issue. In living color.
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Posted by Barrett at 9:16 AM | Permalink

As promised in the comments, the bruise.
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Posted by Barrett at 8:49 PM | Permalink

My sap is seriously rising, and I have some goals for this summer. I feel so optimistic I could scream. In fact I will. [pause] Ok, here we go:

1. I want to make out on the ferris wheel at The Mighty Thomas Carnival Shows. This might be a tall order, because the Thomas Shows are kind of, well, gross. But I would be willing to settle for any of the area ferris wheels. The Head of the Lakes Fair is a very close second, especially on demolition derby night. If my partner's mouth tastes like cotton candy, that would be extra special. If at any point my partner informs me that I'm feeling her goldfish baggie, not her boob, that would be extra, extra special.

2. I want to shoot off a veritable buttload of bottle rockets. Bottle rockets, I think, are my favorite form of fireworks. A couple of years ago I launched about a million of them into the stratosphere, and I want nothing more than to do it again.

3. I want to host a game of ghetto horseshoes. I live near Duluth's second-worst park, Keene Creek Park. This is a park beneath the freeway overpass, where everything is either broken or covered with graffiti. It would be awesome some Sunday to have couple games of horeshoes in the weed-covered horseshoe pit, with some beer and maybe a grill. This will happen very soon, and anyone seriously interested should contact me immediately. Anyone mildly interested should watch Perfect Duluth Day for a more general invitation.

4. I want to go to Tulsa. We have talked about it, plotted and schemed many times. Now Erin Lady Byrne has seriously extended the invitation. The D-T Express WILL ship out in the near future, travelling across the Midwest like an effing funnel cloud.

We're all gonna die.
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Posted by Barrett at 10:24 AM | Permalink

Fig. 1

So last night, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and got into a serious rumble (see fig. 1) with my bedroom. (see fig. 2)

I got out of bed, and, just as I do every night, whacked my thigh on the footboard. But unlike the other five or six times a week I do this, I hit it hard enough not only to leave the usual purple and green bruise, but a big bloody scrape as well. This knocked me off balance substantially, so when I lurched ahead and stepped on Ca-chee's silky robe, that was enough to catapult me headfirst into the bedroom door, where I sustained the injury pictured above.

Fig. 2

I've come to the realization that most of the injuries I've received in my life are the result of some such stupid story. The most painful injury I've ever had, a terribly wrenched back, happened while I was performing the incredibly dangerous task of towel-drying my hair.

I just know that some day I'm going to accidentally kill myself while attempting to eat soup.
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Posted by Barrett at 10:08 AM | Permalink

On Boredom | Any boring situation can be improved tremendously by simply imagining all the wacky trouble that would insue if suddenly the Harlem Globetrotters showed up.

On Automobiles | There's nothing cooler than a beat-up 1974 Cadillac with a tennis trophy for a hood ornament.

On Movies | There will always be a hole in American cinema until they decide to finally make a Leprechaun movie in 3-D. I mean, sure there was Leprechaun in Space, and Leprechaun in the Hood, but did they really need to send him Back 2 tha Hood? (I know, I know. Of course they did.) In general, there needs to be more 3-D technology employed in Hollywood, and don't even get me started on Odorama.

On Sports | Recently I discovered that the best sport, hands down, is one-on-none basketball. It's as addictive as computer solitaire, especially when accompanied by an iPod loaded with Roth-era Van Halen.

On Bill Cosby | Generally I think he's a putz, but I can't thank him enough for introducing the phrase "shoot you in the face with a bazooka" into my vocabulary.

On TV Commercials | The one for Charmin where the cartoon bear is frolicking in the meadows because his asshole feels so terrific, that one makes me physically ill. I'm considering placing a puke bucket near the couch just in case that commercial comes on and I can't find the remote fast enough.

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Posted by Barrett at 12:44 PM | Permalink

I, like any other sane person in the world, routinely gamble my entire sanity on the D-Fens Fantasy. Oh, what's that? You've never heard of the D-Fens Fantasy? Read on.

The name "D-Fens Fantasy" was inspired by Michael Douglas' character in Falling Down, who was referred to only by his vanity license plate, D-Fens. In the movie, Douglas walks around in his suit and tie, beating the living snot out of people, sometimes shooting them, for doing the little things that piss him off, like charging 85 cents for a can of soda instead of 50.

Anyway, it's a lot fun to imagine the most innappropriate and extreme responses to things that are mildly irritating. Jerry Seinfeld once decribed such a fantasy when he talked about wanting to just stand up in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner and launch the turkey through the window. Of course, you wouldn't really do that, but it's fun to imagine your family's reaction.

Sometimes my D-Fens Fantasies are just for fun. Like when I'm bowling and miss a difficult split, I imagine blasting the last pin into splinters with a shotgun.

The place where I have the most D-Fens Fantasies is on the corner of Central Avenue and Bristol Street when I'm walking to and from work every day. First of all, no one on that corner ever seems to go straight. They're all turning. Second, they don't seem to realize you're supposed to come to a stop before doing the whole right-on-red thing. Third, almost no one yields to pedestrians. The result is that sometimes you will not be able to cross the street on the first light change, even if you have the walk signal.

Through trial and error, I've found that the best mental weapon to employ in this situation is the crowbar. It provides immediate, satisfying results, especially when that windshield shatters and falls like a jellyfish onto the driver's lap. They're sitting there, dazed and terrified, probably not even knowing what they did wrong, and that's the time to grab their cell phone out of their hand and drop some witty one-liner on the person on the other end.

Of course, when I'm standing there trying to come up with such a line, and imagining all the details, the light has turned red again.

Bastards.
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Posted by Barrett at 1:43 AM | Permalink