There is little of me...

that can reach the water
steady cold hand
on the midnight clear
balanced this coarse vein
of clever vengeance
upon the midst of colloquial
synapse
there is little of me
that can hear the morning
like dry dust of Whistler's white
folding upon your wings
of faded glory
in truth were never laid to rest

facebook status fads...

...are like a bad hangover.

Doppelganger week was quite revealing about some people's illusion of self-perception, especially when the celeb looks nothing like them or is 100-200 lbs lighter. Heres a tip: be yourself.

ipad ipad ipad...

..yadda yadda yadda.

I'm getting into rhythm with the writing. Thinking about changing the front page a bit when I have more time this week.

Since our coupling drifted on the last southern-bound barge, the girlfriend insisted on a date night. Krista's a Wisconsin a native, so while she was screaming at my sorry ass over the Vikings game she's never once seen the Ice Palace, the ice sculptures, or even met a Vulcan. We made our way downtown only to be trapped in a parade. I was screaming out my window while little twerps were packing into the St. Paul. Kris enjoyed the gay festivities...I might have been a little teary eyed myself if I had chugged a pint of Salmari 20 minutes prior. The lights and screaming, freezing children never appealed to my palet. I struggled to remain afloat until dinner.

2 hours later I was seated in a stout by Mancini's, the lady was appalled by the food by the cuisine but the alcohol was enough so I could stand her. As my colleagues remarked outside a Shanghai massage parlour, that was happy ending.

I love St. Paul.

-JKG

mm, Canadian...

...Club.

Storytime, kids. Sit down.

*sip*

There's an old drinking buddy that I've known for some time, we'll name him Dave. Dave's a sort of lucky guy: he's gotten away with a shitty job, above par looks, and simpleton personality by the longest degree. Here's the problem that plagues guys like him, he never attracts the men and women that are attractive to him. No, all day he gets to be advanced by the crazy bitches, the fat chicks, and the misanthropes. The most hilarious moments, though, are with the gays and the cougars.

One of my young male co-workers saw Dave while boozing on Seven Corners. I never batted an eye at his flirtatious inquiry, ignorantly suggesting to my sub-concious that Dave might have looked familiar. The pair chatted. Upon leaving I over heard my gay co-worker smugly remarking, "Oh we'll turn him." Fuck me sideways, but that's what it is to gays, its like big buck hunting for them. While no one should question their flamboyant sexuality but straight men are always the option. Poor Dave, I saw the horrified look on his face when he opened a Nordstrom bag of Armani fragrance. It was his favorite, but the gesture was too much to accept; one sniff and he'd probably be bending over.

*sip*

The most recent situation was with what the media refer to as a Cougar. I nearly spit up my mojito Dave with the other night. She was a co-worker from a different department. Obviously older but still containing her inner beauty, the two flirted awkwardly before turning to us for introductions.

See, everyone thinks that the woman, of an obviously higher sense of self-sexuality and experience, would be the one taking advantage of the lowly innocent boy. After I saw those two I beg to differ. Who says that men in our day don't like the independent, smarter, and much more self-aware. Perhaps we are sick of the constant need to explain, to cling, to be needy. We want a mature female, not these gut-wrenching, classless slobs who drink themselves to even refer to selves and equal parts as "Bitches". No, I think Dave was after her. She may have been, but I was too tipsy to tell.

*sip* Out, Bitches.

-JKG

Sheppard Rd Blues

The rat race decided that I would spend the past seven days working on a collaboration project with another site. In short, there was plenty of stress, confusion, and cold calling to the Atlanta site.

Cold calling is always a load of fun, emphasis on cold...and fun:

"Hi, this is Jorgen...I from the Minnesota office."

"Um...hi."

"Yea, I need to know the old 1999 specifications for XX program."

"Wait, who's this?"

Friday night was spent still at my desk, by the time I came home it was 2am with still a powerpoint to finish for a group meeting tomorrow. In short, by the time I was ready to show some Madisonite friends a night out I was cracked up on 5-hour energy and chocolate milk. We chose alcohol at Tom Reids, bowling at Airport Bowl, and relaxing back at the cribs. By the time we stumbled back, I was barely keeping my eyes open. Krista annoyingly insisted we bake brownies while I passed out for the night.

Sunday

The hangover was unbearable. We made our way to Pannekoeken Huis in St. Louis Park for morning grub. Not wanting to be the social type when the inevitable end occurred, I curled up on the couch and watched Farve smirk his way out of the Superbowl. I hope this isn't a sign for the rest of the week.

Out.

Weekend Beer Run...

..in St. Paul.

There are many ways a young Twin City-ian chooses to spend a weekend night, somehow I managed to glimpse into most of it. I was supposed to meet up with an old college-high friend who moved into the deep south, I stopped out near the Fairgrounds to get rid of some trash and came across a bustling strip mall comics store called Source. Having never been into anything close save Hub Hobby or the Library, I gave it a taste...

There were more D & D dice than literature. There seemed to be many different factions, the card players were the younger, teen- types; huddled over the magic cards yelling incoherently to each other. The college types were in comics section, split between the anime and graphic novels. The old folks were in the games. War games, sci fi games, medieval games; suddenly I realized that nerds were really closet militarists. A chill went up my spine. One of these geeks could be the next Hitler.

I bolted, grabbed the friend and made out to Cathedral Hill. My experience in St. Paul's drinking scene has been limited, so we cruised into the Happy Gnome and filled up on Sierra Nevada Ale and Murphy's Irish Stout in prissy glasses. Across the bar I started up a conversation with a wanna-be drifter. We talked hitchhiking and backcountry living, so I invited him to get a table. The firehouse was cozy, surrounded by 40 somethings on date night. Not our favorite atmosphere. In a bit of irony we dashed out again before we got too tipsy and made our way to the world famous Mickey's. Never did a bowl of chili, grilled cheese and bacon sandwich, and a banana chocolate milkshake taste so good.

The rest of night was a blur. Our companion, Wade, invited us to his Franklin bordello and we kicked a few PBRs, chatted advanced computer systems and property rights, and called it a night. I woke up late Sunday, watched the Cowboys got trampled, texted my friend home to the bayou.

What a weekend...

-JKG

Lassi covered hills...

...is a Norwegian's dream.

My back is the most sore. It was two short climbs into it that I suddenly knew that getting the old pair of Fischer's out of the garage was a miscalculated idea. It has been too long since Ive used them proficiently, and the slipping slush of melting ice and snow made a hearty combination for soreness two long hours later. I really need to get in shape. Too much eating over the holidays, too little walking outside.

Everyone is talking about Haiti earthquake, it really makes lugging my fat ass around on two flat sticks seem insignificant. There is a benefit concert at the Nomad that I will definitely try to go to next week.

ouch.

-JKG