anniemosity.

I moved (with pictures!)

2009-06-11T12:39:00.006-05:00

One week ago on Monday, Jack and I moved into our brand new apartment.

I will preface this post: it's a beautiful apartment. It feels more like a home than any place I've lived so far. Everything was worth it.

That said, this was the most goddamn horrific move ever. Ever. I know I'm prone to hyperbole, but seriously, I have never wanted to kill myself or someone else so many times in the span of 48 hours.

This is how Damon decided to move -- he rented the largest moving truck known to man, and he got it the day before our deadline. We could have learned a lot from Damon.

Hey, at least I was labeling.

This is not a good job of labeling.

This is what our truck looked like at our noon deadline. Whoops.

Carissa bailed our asses out like crazy, tetris-ing the shit out of our moving truck. Head Bitch in Charge, for real.

Labeling becomes livejournal.

Full goddamn truck. Everything literally JUST fit.

Beers for breakfast at 1pm.

Bye bye, living room.

Bye bye, other side of the living room.

Bye bye, kitchen.

Adios, porch-slash-patio.

We transported the fish in a Blue Bunny ice cream bucket. One of thirteen survived. He is called Dazzler, and he is a fucking trooper. During the transportation, I only got fish water splashed on me about thrice, which is a very small number considering how long they sat on my lap.

EMPTY TRUCK. Thank you Jesus and Kyle Johnson, who may be the same person.

The other side of the new place. Sigh.

Oh yeah, I dropped a couch on my leg.

Close up, to accentuate the epic failure.

This fucking bookshelf deserves a blog post all to itself, and someday it may happen. Let's just say the moral of the story is: don't buy anything pre-assembled from Ikea if you're not sure whether or not it will fit in your vehicle. We disassembled the entire goddamn bookshelf in the parking ramp and had to reassemble it when we got it home. Son of a bitch.

Re-assembling this piece of Satan was almost as annoying as unassembling it. Trust me. (Also now it is brown and red, not that horrific white.)

All this said, I love my new place, I love my new neighborhood, and it was all fucking worth it.

I'm moving.

2009-05-30T18:54:00.007-05:00

Literally, like right now. I'm moving right now. I'm mid-packing, mid-cleaning, mid-nervous breakdowning, mid-sneezing, mid-organizing, mid-annoyance. In less than 24 hours, my stress will be completely gone and I'll be drinking a beer with BFF & Co., celebrating the one birthday that is louder (and longer) than mine. I'm holding on to that with all of my might. That shit is my reward.

I was making excellent progress. I've been doing shit non-stop since 7:30 this morning (with one small fifteen minute pizza break), not to mention the solid six hours we put in yesterday. We have lime green duct tape. We have boxes labeled in expletives and exhaustion. We have dust everywhere.

I was making excellent progress. I ran across a big folder full of cards that I had kept because a) I'm a fucking pack rat, and b) I'm a fucking pack rat. No more pack ratty-ness!! I only began going through them in order to make sure I had no loose cash in any of them. Naturally.

I started tearing up when I found a card from my father from my birthday a few years ago. It was a very simplistic card but for some reason, it hit me then, and it hit me now. Keep.

I threw away a bunch of other cards until I ran across a card from my late grandmother, the light of my life, my hero. As I studied her handwriting, remembering her smile, the tears started to come again. Keep.

I found a bunch of mix tapes I made in high school to people who once upon a time were very important to me. Blurred vision encouraged by melancholy memories. Keep.

I ran across a small card that I didn't recognize. The handwriting inside was familiar. The lines were not straight and the penmanship suffered, but the card came back to me immediately. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," it read. A goodbye, good luck, Jesus fucking Christ I don't want you to go card. As I read, the tears became unstoppable. I cried into the dusty silence and texted the BFF, reminding her that I fucking fiercely love her. Keep.

Thirty minutes later, I was still crying. I couldn't stop. I haven't had a really hard cry in a long time, and it was apparently due. Stress from moving, stress from work, stress from money, stress from family, stress from boys, stress from impending separation anxiety, stress stress stress, cry cry cry.

I'm growing up all of a sudden. I am a 24 year old independent woman with a bus pass and a bicycle and a job and bills and a desktop computer and a checklist and furniture that belongs to me. I am very different than I was when I was 22 and moved into this breathtakingly beautiful apartment with the oversized lavender Adirondack chair and the vine-covered walls and the picture-perfect deck and the yellow kitchen and the tiger wood shelving units and the long long long hallway and that lake... that lake.

Throw shit away, start new. Throw shit away, start new. Throw shit away. Start new.

Throw shit away.

Start new.

my life through the eyes of my blackberry pearl:

2009-05-11T12:35:00.004-05:00

The cloudbike and Jack.

Food art - exhibit a.

This is Electric Six, aka one of the best live bands ever. You must - must -- must --- must see them.

You just... had to be there.

Food art - exhibit b.

Once upon a time in Minneapolis, I found this on the side of a bar.

The Stealth Dogs. We love them.

Food art - exhibit c.

The bane of my existence.

We got new carts at work.

2009-04-30T00:03:00.002-05:00

That's literally the most exciting thing in the whole world. Sad? No -- that's just how awesome it is.

Let me back up. I need a cart for three & a half hours per shift. Okay, that's not entirely true -- I just need it for ten minutes at the beginning and ten minutes at the end, but, without exaggeration, it's completely crucial that I have it at those times, so I hide it for three & a half hours until I need it again. Necessary? Yes. Fair? Probably not.

For the last fifteen months, finding a cart at the beginning of the shift was difficult, to say the least. I had to be crafty. Bribing, bargaining, threatening, and just downright stealing had all been standard. "I'll bring it right back when I'm done!" I've promised countless times, knowing full well that I wouldn't. Hey, don't judge me -- the service industry is a cutthroat world. I gotta step on a few toes to get what I need.

As of late, I've been trying to be more understanding. Keeping my promises, for example, and bargaining without threats. Asking nicely. Thanking. Trying to build cart credit in order to cash it in when necessary. It's very hard for me to be nice when I'm so used to being a bitch, but the chef boys and other bartenders understand the hardship of the situation, so we growl at each other in the moment but exchange a look that says, "I get that this sucks and they are filthy jerks for not providing us with the equipment we need to do the jobs that they require."

Catering is another story. The restaurant's relationship with the catering staff is much like "West Side Story." I've actually used the phrase "What are you doing on my turf?" more than once. Not only do they appear when and where they are not wanted, but they take my things. Not only do they take my things, but they take my things without any warning. They are phantom thieves! They steal things without returning them, and nobody seems to see them do it, but it's them, we know it. This is not said without evidence, believe me.

So I see these kleptomaniacs with one of our precious few carts full of my glassware and I get mad. My cart. My things. On my cart. My things on my cart being pushed around my building by some morose chump in a Star Trek uniform. Do I sigh, annoyed, and attempt to find a different cart? Fuck no. Rage overtakes me and I devise plans to a) get back at them (revenge/winning is always first) and then b) Jedi that cart. What usually happens is a cat-and-mouse game of stalking and hiding, ending in me waiting for them to go into a closet to retrieve something and hurriedly emptying the cart, making off with it before they can come back to a pile of their things on the ground while they shake their fists at the heavens and rue the day that they crossed me. Listen, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. And anyway, they started it.

Lo and behold, after fifteen months of this bullshit, someone decided to do something proactive about repairing the relationships between those employees who require carts. I will say that life is a little less exciting with a few more carts in the mix, but my blood pressure seems to be better. Perhaps this gives me an opportunity to repair some of those burned bridges, but honestly, I probably won't. They still are my sworn work enemies. I mean, you have to have something to keep things interesting.

it just got worse.

2009-04-07T00:31:00.005-05:00

i'm officially a biking hipster in uptown.

signature (and right shoe) of the maker.

sigh. it's a beautiful cloudbike.

family photo. (josh, brandon, peter, anniemosity)

you just wait, minneapolis. i'm going to come speeding down your streets in the fake bike lanes, humming the theme to "mary tyler moore" with a snotty look on my face and a messenger bag fastened by a seat belt strap. watch out!

BS

2009-03-12T09:29:00.004-06:00

Writer's block manifests itself for many reasons. I am busy. I am popular. I am internet-popular. I'm way to witty for that post. Literally nothing in my life is exciting enough to make into an Anniemosity Anecdote. I'd like to, but my electric blanket just rocks too much. I'm in the middle of writing an epic one, but wait, I just got internet-distracted. Whatevs.

Something exciting will happen soon. Until then, read my links and trust that I'm perpetually mid-rap battle or dance party with Maria, as depicted above. It happens a lot, so it's a safe assumption.

When we were kings.

2009-02-17T12:56:00.001-06:00

What does a girl with too many thoughts do? She gets a blog and four years later still doesn't know how to express herself.

So she posts about the twelve albums that changed her life and hopes you'll sample the tracks, love the albums, and understand writer's block.

The Beatles - The White AlbumFor proving that the music my parents listen to can be good. To this day, this stands as my favorite Beatles album (barely). Thanks to my father for introducing me to this classic collection of songs.
Favorite track: "Happiness is a Warm Gun," "Sexy Sadie," "Honey Pie."

Jimmy Eat World - ClarityBecause someone had to understand me in high school. One of the first albums that I played obsessively, and one of the few albums from this time period I still occasionally listen to.
Favorite track: "Table For Glasses."

U2 - Achtung BabyFor being the first album that hit me really really hard. Also the first album to demonstrate that the track order of an album can be arranged to perfection. Track listing is crucial, case in point. If I had to pick my favorite album of all time, it would probably be this one.
Favorite track: "Until the End of the World," "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses," "Ultraviolet (Light My Way)," "Love Is Blindness."

John Frusciante - To Record Only Water for Ten DaysFor redefining how I thought about music in general. While it's not my favorite Frusciante album, it's definitely the gateway into the bizarre New Wave-psych rock-electronica world that would pave the way for some of his greatest works.
Favorite track: "Murderers."

Radiohead - Hail to the TheifFor introducing me to the concept of being completely and totally overwhelmed by music. I don't know how to put into words the extent of this album's influence on me better than that.
Favorite track: "Sit down. Stand up. (Snakes & Ladders.)," "I Will. (No man's Land.)"

Mos Def - Black on Both SidesFor introducing me to hip hop -- REAL hip hop. Thanks, Godsey.
Favorite track: "Speed Law."

Low - The Great DestroyerFor proving that you don't have to be a huge band to change everything. For blowing my mind wide open. For making me cry over and over and over again.
Favorite track: "Everybody's Song," "Cue the Strings," "When I Go Deaf," "Pissing."

Red Hot Chili Peppers - CalifornicationIt's hard to pick just one, to be honest, but this came first for me. Melodically, one of the best albums I've ever heard. I don't think I can accurately describe all of the reasons why I love this album, and you didn't really expect me to, did you?
Favorite track: "Easily."

Tom Waits - Small Change and Blue ValentineFor everything.
Favorite track: "Invitation to the Blues," "Pasties & a G-String," "The One That Got Away," "Small Change." / "Somewhere," "$29.00," "Wrong Side of the Road," "Whistlin' Past the Graveyard."

Journey - EvolutionFor writing timeless, epic songs that I will fist pump to until I am dead. For creating these bizarre butterflies in my stomach that crash against my ribcage every time I hear Steve Perry hit a seemingly impossible note. For proving that Journey is not a guilty pleasure or a novelty lover -- for constantly surprising me how great they actually are.
Favorite track: "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'," "When You're Alone (It Ain't Easy)," "Sweet and Simple."

Charles Mingus - The Black Saint and the Sinner LadyFor changing my mind about jazz. I always liked classic jazz (Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk) and big band jazz (Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington) but hated experimental jazz, jazz fusion, anything bizarre and free form-esque. Charles Mingus came along with a bass, a muted trumpet, and a hardcore baritone sax and totally rocked my face off. This shit is fucking brilliant.
Favorite track: "Track B — Duet Solo Dancers: 'Hearts' Beat and Shades in Physical Embraces.'"

(I realize I never posted a follow-up: I still have my job.)

Hello, Existential Crisis. How are you?

2009-01-22T13:56:00.004-06:00

It's been awhile, Crisis. I'm doing okay, thank you. I may lose my job tomorrow, but I'm trying not to panic. I'm relying on a few constants to keep me sane while I count the hours away (25 and counting).

O cruel universe! Why now, in the winter of my twenty-third year, have you allowed me to fall into a false sense of boredom and complacency, deciding to move on from my job because I wanted to, not because now I must?

Timing is important, however, and you have given me time to create a workout routine to keep me sane. You have given me The Empyrean just in time to be able to listen to it like a teenage girl. You've also given me the motivation to get my shit together, my ducks in a row, my "organizational confidence" boosted, which comes in many forms.

Ah, to be unafraid of the future. To be oblivious and cheerful, ignorant of financial woes, satisfied with the little things.

I know I usually lose my shit during the month of April (examples one and two), but maybe it's come early this year. I certainly don't want to go through this twice.

I momentarily have a handle on things thanks to these three songs:
John Frusciante - Dark Light
Heiruspecs - Guns and Knives
Dr. Dre - The Watcher

Chill out, Existential Crisis, and let me do the damn thing.

Love,
Anniemosity... Anne Velocity.

Dear David Schwimmer,

2009-01-07T10:18:00.002-06:00

I always liked you best.

While I knew that Chandler was the funny one and Matthew Perry was technically the best-looking one, I always liked you the best. Nerdy, awkward, passionate about dumb things, and easily excitable - does that sound familiar?

And, to be honest, aside from the possible exception of Mr. Perry, I always felt that I would like you in real life the best out of the six of you.

I wanted to tell you about this movie I saw last night. It's called "Run, Fatboy, Run." I loved it. I absolutely loved it. I laughed so hard. I cheered so hard. It was an excellent, excellent film experience.

When I saw your name in the credits as the director, I was completely stunned. You directed this? You did? Oh man, Dave... can I call you Dave? I think I'm going to call you Dave. Dave, I'm just going to say that this was one spectacular career choice on your part. Well done, sir. I'm encouraging everyone I know with a sense of humor to see this movie.

Yours,
Anniemosity

PS: Will you put in a good word with Simon Pegg for me? I know he's married, but it couldn't hurt, right? I am cute. I am also witty, and it's been said that my drollery is amusing.

Gross.

2008-12-26T11:10:00.005-06:00

I read Twilight. In less than twenty four hours.

DON'T JUDGE ME. DON'T JUDGE ME! DON'T JUDGE ME!!

OKAY --
Here's the thing.

So I was shopping with Pelowski, right? We're in a book store, lusting after books. Language books, photography books, sci-fi books (BOTH OF US, not just me), classics, everything. Book lust is intense. You know.

So I've got the Japanese books I went in for tucked safely under my arm, wandering aimlessly, simultaneously fighting and feeding the book lust.

And then we're sauntering through the young adult section. Beautiful, emotionally tortured teens stare at us from all the covers with their Posh Spice eyes.

And I see it - Robert Pattinson glaring at me from a paperback in the corner with his eyes Photoshopped into amber perfection. I reach for the book, as if in a trance.

"Twilight," I scoff mechanically, turning over the paperback. "What's the deal with this anyway?"

Pelowski stares at me, wide-eyed and serious. "Buy it. Read it. Do it." They are not suggestions.

I shrug and add the book to the collection under my arm. Shortly after, I realize I can't escape overhearing people talking about the book. I don't know if the act of purchasing the book heightened my awareness for the series, or if it's really just that popular and I didn't realize it, but let me tell you, it's everywhere.

The next day, Jack and I spend the entire day in the living room reading, drinking tea, and listening to music. In this short span of time, I devour the book.

And it's absurd. The writing, the story, everything about the book is absolutely absurd. I burst out laughing and read passages out loud to Jack, laughing my way through the teen angst and adolescent desire. OHHH EVERYTHING IS JUST SOOOOO INTENSE, ISN'T IT? SO IMPORTANT. OH, WHO WILL YOU GO WITH TO THE DANCE, BELLA SWAN? WHO, INDEED? Christ.

So I take a break and we play chess. (We've become snotty yuppie faux-intellectuals, I guess... faux-intellectuals who read Twilight. I get the irony.) And I lose badly because the entire time I'm thinking about the book and Edward Cullen and vampires and the rainy town of Forks and what happens when he goes into the sunlight and does he really love her or does he just want her blood? and how can their relationship be that intense when they're only seventeen? and how much I actually dislike Bella's character and on and on. (Well, I also lose badly because Jack is far superior to myself when it comes to games of strategy.)

The point is, I couldn't stop thinking about the book and ended up finishing it by the next morning. And I watched the trailer for the movie twice. Okay, four times.

I sit here, incredulous that I am chronicling my engrossment in a TWEEN NOVEL. I am not above tween music -- I've been known to admit my tween-like musical guilty pleasures. I always thought I was above tween literature, but this swiftly proves that I am anything but above it. Gross.

PS: I'm starting the next book when I return to Minneapolis.

wwjd?

2008-12-20T14:28:00.001-06:00

-I hate the plowing system in Minneapolis. We get an inch of snow and they plow the fuck out of the streets. We're in a goddamn blizzard? Nothing. No plows. Do you know many times Krista and I almost died this afternoon while attempting to brave Washington? Or, terror of terrors, Hennepin? PLOW MY CITY, JERKS.

-The older generations are scared, literally to the point of petrification, of change. Oh no, we have a new sauvignon blanc? THE END IS NEAR!!! The most prevalent example is the new way of doing things in the restaurant during the matinees. It's actually really cool. But do the older people like it? No. Not even a little bit. My favorite post-matinee past-time is to sit in the office and read the comment cards with Michael. "I've been coming here for every show for the last twenty years and I've come to depend on my soup and sandwich before the show. I will not return until you re-instate the old menu. PS: The food was cold." First of all, depending on a soup and sandwich combo is probably not really good for your health, mental or physical. Second, the food is always eight hundred degrees. There is something wrong with you.

-Everyone is a gossip. There is not one person in this entire world who is capable of keeping information to themselves, myself included. Information is currency, and baby, I'm rich.

-Jack and I have fish that are freaks of nature. Bartlett has mutated beyond recognition. I'm pretty sure that his eyes are going to fall out. We've got freak fish. Just sayin'.

-You know what I hate? Spiders. Douchebag men; on the upside of this story, I got kissed by a good-looking man, but it's really quite a douche-filled story. Being cold. Bob the Plumber, who refuses to fix our shower.

-You know what I love? Green tea with lemon, re-discovering Alanis Morissette for the zillionth time, facebook stalking people I knew for 4 seconds, fried egg sandwiches with avocado, secretly listening that stupid Jason Mraz song multiple times in a row, FreQuency, instant Netflix, and having the apartment to myself.

-Guess what? "Lost" starts soon. Now look here, Abrams, I really need to love Locke again, and I'm sick of Kate playing mommy to Aaron when we all know perfectly well that Claire is... well, I don't know how to finish that. Anyway. Let's make this season a good one, not another Season Three.

-I know some of the most interesting people ever. I swear to god. I want someone with really good writing skills (mine are epically failing these days) to do character studies on some of my pals.

To recap:
-PLOW MY CITY, JERKS.
-Get hip to the times.
-blahblahblahblahblah
-Seriously intense fish.
-I hate things.
-I love things.
-January 21.
-Weirdos.

This is not about you.

2008-11-04T14:30:00.004-06:00

There's something so incredible about voting.

Here's the thing. It's a long thing, but it's the thing. I was contemplating not voting this year.

I didn't tell anyone because I knew the barrage of counter-arguments I was going to get in return. I couldn't believe that I was thinking it, considering how politically active I was four (well, even two) years ago. The truth is I had completely lost my faith in America when I woke up that horrible rainy day when Kerry conceded to Bush. I'd worked so hard to make a difference, and instead of looking at the smaller picture (me, and the direct impact I had on my district having the highest voter turnout in the nation), I saw the gigantic loss and felt my time and efforts had been completely wasted.

This time around, I had a spark of faith until the time that the Republican National Convention was held here. The Palin Circus had just begun, and, as I'm sure you picked up on, I was incredibly disgusted with everything and decided I just wasn't going to be a part of it. A heavy sense of apathy mixed with depression clung to my conversations and attitude. Even up through Sunday.

There was one person who managed to bring it back to home for me. Sean Daley, Slug, Atmosphere, made me feel like I could do it. Just like last time. I went to the Atmosphere show on Sunday night to see him blow the doors off First Ave (and he did) and he changed my mind. His unbridled passion for MAKING YOUR VOICE HEARD hit me hard, in my brain, in my gut.

So I went to the polls this afternoon. I registered, I hunched, and I fought through the hand cramp through all of the judges on the back of the ballot. And I headed across the street to Starbucks.

As I left the polls, I realized something. It feels so indescribable to vote for someone as opposed to voting against someone... something I'd never done before. It feels so great to be apart of a voice that is crying out for change, a voice that is screaming that we don't want more of the same, a voice that doesn't agree with what our government is doing. I felt almost euphoric.

So I almost didn't vote. But I did. And this year I'm proudly sporting my bright red sticker to show people that I care, that I want my voice to be heard. Whether or not the outcome is what I want doesn't matter until tomorrow. Today -- I voted. I decided to try to make a change. And it feels really fucking great.

So much to come.

2008-10-22T14:37:00.005-05:00

A sneak peek:

But wait! Patience. Compiling, buffering, planning, developing is occurring, so let me tide you over in the normal fashion.

1. What was the last picture you sketched?
Remember in "Sesame Street," that guy who was on the cup in the cupboard who moved around the kitchen in his cup? Remember? I drew him on a plastic cup last night.

2. Does your mother have a sister, if so, what's her name?
She does have a sister. Her name begins with a J.

3. Do you have a fox den in your area?
I should hope not. Uptown foxes!

4. Does your pet sleep on your bed?
I have no pets. YET.

5. Have you ever had a hamster?
Yes I did. His name was Rocky.

6. Have you been watching the Tudors?
I have the most ridiculously basic cable available. So no.

7. Who is your favorite character in Beauty and the Beast?
Crazy Old Maurice.

8. Have you ever had a possessive boyfriend?
Nope.

9. What was the last book you bought?
I bought a book on C. S. Lewis.

10. Do you like cheese and crackers?
Cheese is a very important part of my diet. Crackers... are fine.

11. What are the coolest pair of earrings you own?
I own a good number of pretty cool earrings.

12. What is your weirdest habit?
I'm relatively OCD about a multitude of things.

13. What was the last thing you bought online?
Three shirts from threadless about twenty minutes ago, actually.

14. Name something important that happened to you in 2004?
I decided not to be a blond anymore.

15. Do you hate survey questions that ask about 'crushes'?
Generally.

16. Or 'school' when you don't even go to school?
I guess.

17. What was your last moment of insecurity about?
Whether or not the new guy at work hates me. (He doesn't.)

18. Do you fidget when you're nervous?
Oh yes.

19. Have you ever told someone you didn't like their present?
I've never disliked a present.

20. Did you ever collect beanie babies?
Sixth grade was a big beanie baby year for the entirety of Mrs. Swanson's class.

21. Do you hate sports?
No. I'm pretty indifferent towards sports, except tennis and the occasional hockey season.

22. Do you know your IQ?
Yes.

23. Why is everyone obsessing over the Twilight books?
Vampires are badass, and tweens run the world.

24. How many times have you been out of state?
Many, many, many times.

25. How many of the Saw movies have you seen?
NONE. Ever.

26. Do you find piercings & tattoos attractive?
I find tattoos attractive depending on the meaning behind them and the lame factor of them. If someone has a really cool one with a cool meaning, I like it a lot and kind of get obsessed. I'm a creeper.

27. Ever seen the Wizard Of Oz?
Obvs.

28. Who was your favorite character on that movie?
The Wicked Witch.

29. Do you prefer scary movies or comedies?
Comedies.

30. Ever been to Kentucky?
I drove through Kentucky once.

31. What was your favorite television show as a child?
Batman and X-men. Animaniacs. Freakazoid!. Basically WB cartoons.

32. Have you ever watched the religious channels on television?
I did once with Pat. That was a good time.

33. Is Jim Carey your idol?
My idol? No. I had a sex dream about him once though.

34. How many friends do you have on MySpace?
166.

35. What's your favorite flavor of gum?
I don't really chew gum.

36. Do you own a digital camera or a standard one?
Two digitals, one standard.

37. Do you use LimeWire?
Nope.
Seriously, I don't.

38. Do you think movies such as Napoleon Dynamite are stupid?
No.

39. How many cousins do you have?
Eight.

40. What do you think of your hair?
I just got a pretty rad haircut, so I like it a lot.

41. When were you last frustrated?
I'm frequently frustrated.

42. How many true friends do you know you'll always have?
I've got a good crop of friends and I know that a lot of them will hang in there with me.

43. Can you imagine life without the internet?
My knee-jerk reaction was NO WAY but I've cut down my internet access a lot in the last few weeks, so I think if I fazed it out, I'd eventually be okay.

44. How old is the nearest framed photograph to you?
Two years old.

45. Do you own anything real from Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Chanel, etc?
No. I have a knockoff Louis Vuitton wallet three or four years ago from Ms. Pelowski and I still use it.

Snap. Stay tuned.

The funk of forty thousand years.

2008-10-06T16:40:00.003-05:00

Sundays are the most important days at work. There is no manager on duty, nor is there an executive chef. The supervisors are in charge of both restaurants, so they're in and out, and both of them are the bomb.

However, Sundays are very very slow. In order not to go crazy, T and I have come up with a few weekly traditions to keep ourselves amused. Some Sundays we celebrate our apathy with Nihilism, and some Sundays we completely lose our shit and, being as politically incorrect as we possibly can be, call it Stroke Sundays.

But every Sunday is what we call Thriller Sunday. Some time before or after the shift, every single Sunday, T and I watch the entire "Thriller" music video, or some variation thereof. (The Lego one is particularly impressive.) Yesterday I was lucky enough to stumble across the best version of all time, and what could quite possibly be THE BEST YOUTUBE VIDEO I'VE EVER SEEN. I can't believe how fucking great it is. Please:

Self-inflicted.

2008-10-04T08:20:00.002-05:00

I am broke.

A wise man once told me that all I need to do to see where my priorities lie is to look at my bank account. Well I did, and apparently I've officially made the transition into complete Minneapolis hipster, because I'm seeing a shitload of concerts in the next two months. No joke. Here are the highlights:

-Hanson (yes, again)
-Low (with Sims, Vampire Hands, and Dosh)
-Citizen Cope
-Stereolab
-Atmosphere
-Jack's Mannequin
-Loudon Wainwright III

That shit adds up. (Also, fuck Ticketmaster and their stupid fees.)

So here I sit, eating macaroni & cheese and drinking tap water, watching movies at home because I'm too broke to do anything else, anxiously awaiting each concert for that one moment that happens when the lights go down before the screaming starts, where my heart skips a beat in anticipation.

Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

ATTACK!

2008-09-17T13:35:00.005-05:00

Jack and I were lounging. We both have a day off and decided to spend it like we spend every simultaneous day off -- watching a marathon of TV on DVD in our pajamas. Our cozy, sun-drenched, witty afternoon was abruptly interrupted when we realized there were FOUR MOTHERFUCKING WASPS gathered on the ceiling, plotting a sneak attack on our apartment. It was a goddamn coup.

We trapped the bitches in the living room and plotted our counter-attack, eventually settling on acquiring some of the most goddamn potent insect killer on the market. Kill them! Kill them hard! I didn't want them to just die, I wanted them to die with all the forces of hazardous chemicals shot from a very intimidating-looking can from up to twenty-two feet away.

So Jack, my knight in shining armor, braved asphyxiation and horrific bee stings that I can only imagine to be quarter-sized and saved me from certain rash and swell. She also managed to take three hostages and trap those scary motherfuckers between the window panes. Take that, assholes!

But today was the day of invasion, my friends. Today was the day that those bitch wasps stormed my house, uninvited. Today shall live in infamy as the day the war began: Anniemosity and Jack vs. The Wasps. And we'll win. Oh yes -- we will prevail until the frosty cold blast of Minnesota winters freeze their creepy little abdomens right off. Those douchebags made a big mistake.

Things that have happened since the Republicans left:

2008-09-12T12:25:00.002-05:00

-Bizarre mixology. The chefs have decided to challenge me by giving me one ingredient from the kitchen for me to make a cocktail with. (I think they just want the free booze.)

DRINK ONE! Special Ingredient: Grapes.
Take five grapes, muddle with a bit of simple syrup. Fill shaker with ice, add a little Drambuie, fill with Citron. Shake and strain, top with champagne. Thank your lucky stars you read my blog.

DRINK TWO! Special Ingredient: Avocado.
There's not really much that you can do with an avocado and the limited kinds of liquor available at my restaurant. Slice the avocado, muddle with a touch of Tabasco, salt, and pepper. Squeeze in three slices of lime. Fill with vodka. Shake and strain, garnish with a lime. Serve with chips.

-The Gay 90s, aka Molli's Going-Away Party. Don't ask me about this.

-My next-door neighbor took up playing the trumpet in the afternoons. I have mixed feelings about this. I love the trumpet. I'm all for having another artist in the building. I'm glad that he plays in the afternoons, as opposed to mornings or evenings. However, he's not great. He's squeaky and sometimes frantic. One of my favorite sounds in the whole world is a muted trumpet, however, and he's been rocking that shit lately. I don't know. I just... I just don't know.

-"Charlie Wilson's War." See this movie.

-I got scolded for not voting in the primaries, further fueling my increasingly jaded attitude towards all things politics.

-Does It Offend You, Yeah? Awesome band. Ridiculously fun show. Attractive British band members. Yesterday was the second time I've been lucky enough to see them. I'd do it on the weekly if I could.

-Finding cheap-slash-free things to do in Minneapolis. This requires creative drinking, knowing the right people, and being willing to a) run, b) be cold, and c) have another idea ready.

-Purchasing tickets to a) Atmosphere at First Ave, b) Loudon Wainwright III at the Guthrie (I'm finding discounts and loopholes all over the place), c) Jack's Mannequin at the Varsity (yes, I am going, okay?), and d) Mason Jennings at the Orpheum. Only one of these things has happened so far, but I'm planning on attending all four of these concerts in the next three months.

-I've become horrible at long-distance communication. If your name is Marisa, Megan, or Tim, I severely owe you a phone call. It's coming. I promise.

-I'm officially over that trumpet. He just can't fucking hit that note.

Circus.

2008-09-04T14:01:00.005-05:00

I don't want to talk about politics, so stop asking me. I'm depressed, to be honest, thanks to the state of the union. Watching everything unfold this week has sent me to a very dark place. Palin's speech last night? Offensive and ridiculous. Gustav? Heartbreaking and disgusting. The RNC in St. Paul/Minneapolis? Annoying, no doubt. Truth be told, though, it's the public that is pushing me into my depression. The way that the liberals (who I align myself with) are treating the RNC is horrifying and depressing. True enough, I'd rather not have them here either. I certainly would rather not have my cities represented by the RNC, but they're here, and that's that. America is about freedom - "Just because your ideals are different from mine doesn't mean I'm wrong." That's the message that the liberals of this city are screaming at the suits on the street, but they don't seem to be listening to themselves. They yell that violence doesn't bring peace, and then they smash in car windows and start riots. If you want peace, be peaceful. If you want respect, be respectful. So fuck you, Rage Against the Machine, for encouraging rioting and protesting. Fuck you, liberal assholes who have lost sight of what your political party stands for. Fuck you, conservative fucks who are too busy trying to throw the other guy under the bus than address the actual issues. Everyone in this country wants change. Everyone in this country wants peace. Neither of these things are achieved through hypocrisy and violence.

That's all I have to say.

Vinyl II.

2008-09-01T14:49:00.004-05:00

Warning: excessive use of the word "fucking" as an adjective.

After spending another hour and a half in the basement of Cheapo, I emerged with six more albums to add to my stellar collection.

JOURNEY: FRONTIERS.

I love Journey so fucking much that it's hard to put it into a tangible phrase. When I saw a bunch of Journey albums in the bargain bin at Cheapo, I limited myself to buying just one, so I picked Frontiers. Why? Well... honestly, the art on the sleeve. Five individual shots of the guys ready to go skydiving. Fucking cheesy-ass eighties. I love it. So the album, right? It's good, for sure. Journey (well, Steve Perry's Journey, anyway) doesn't make bad albums. What am I trying to say? Okay. Every time I listen to it, I wish I was listening to Evolution. Don't get me wrong, I like the album. "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" is a killer song, and... well, "Faithfully" knocks it out of the park every time. It's an enjoyable time, no doubt. Frontiers is great, but Evolution is just... fucking awesome. God I love Steve Perry.

BILLY JOEL: 52ND STREET.

I fucking love this album. It's unlike anything I expected it to be (with the exception of "My Life," which I actually dislike). On one rotation I zoned out and thought I was listening to Steely Dan during "Zanzibar." I'm starting to realize that Billy Joel is one of those musicians that if you take his singles out of the context of the album, he becomes a completely different artist. Fuck. Get this album.

THE POLICE: SYNCHRONICITY.

Oh shit. Remember when Sting was motherfucking punk rock? Their foray into synth and electronica is fucking classic. My two favorite Police songs are credited to this album ("Synchronicity I" and "Murder By Numbers"), along with one of the weirdest songs ever that has nothing to do with Primus but sounds like it should ("Mother"). I was pretty bummed out when I got it home and found out that "Murder By Numbers" was not included in the original LP. I was also unaware how many times Sting uses the "Do I have to tell the story of a thousand rainy days since we first met..." lyric. A lot. But even so, it serves its purpose. Brilliant, brilliant album. I forgot how much I fucking love The Police.

U2: THE JOSHUA TREE.

I don't know what can actually be said about this album. If you didn't know, I am a fucking huge U2 fan. Judge me for it. This album is so, so good. It was so awesome to hear "Running To Stand Still" blaring through my speakers. Jesus. Anytime I get a little annoyed with U2 (yes, it happens, even to the biggest fan), I go to Achtung Baby (which I'm going to buy when I find one in the right condition) and The Joshua Tree and it immediately reminds me why I'm such a big fan. This shit is incredible.

CHARLES MINGUS: JAZZ PORTRIATS - CHARLES MINGUS JAZZ WORKSHOP.

I'm just a baby when it comes to being a Charles Mingus fan. I discovered The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady and I felt born again. I was keen on getting some Mingus on vinyl, and I picked this one because "Alice in Wonderland" is on there, which is one of my very favorite jazz tunes. It's so... sweet. Melodic. Beautiful. Some jazz can kind of wear on me, but everything I've heard by Mingus has been exceptional. To be honest, I have not listened to it yet (seriously stuck on 52nd Street) but I'm pretty damn excited to get there. I need the right atmosphere. [edit:] Well I've listened to it now and feel like an idiot, because it's not "Alice in Wonderland." It's "Alice's Wonderland." Two completely different songs. Wow. I was waiting for that hook, and it never came. Balls. It's still a stellar album, and I can actually say that with all certainty this time.

TOM WAITS: ALICE.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Tom Waits. On vinyl. Alice on vinyl. Alice by Tom Waits. On vinyl. Oh my god it's perfect. PERFECT. I don't know what else to say.

ALBUM NOT PURCHASED, BUT CONSIDERED FOR LONGER THAN NECESSARY:

I spent way more money this time around because both the Mingus and Waits albums were brand new and full price, but so so so worth every penny. Why the fuck would you buy a CD when you can get vinyl? I'll never, ever, ever buy a CD ever again.

(I don't think I really planned on it anyway, but.. you know.)

An Ode to Wednesday.

2008-08-29T21:31:00.000-05:00

Adventures are really all about the little things that add up to the big picture.

Let's start with a fourteen-block urban hike. An amazing meal of seasoned chicken, avocados, yellow peppers, and cheese (of course), prepared by Chef BFF. I rationalize with the cat while she puts on earrings that have traveled many miles.

We'll meet Dan and Jason at the Bryant Lake Bowl. I like your glasses. I slam a Newcastle during a conversation that is only awkward to me, myself, and I (well, and one other person). The faucet is fucked up in the men's room, but not the women's (thanks, vagina, for allowing me to work the faucets at the BLB). Holy crap I'm about to see Low for the first time in years. Jittery.

First Class hand stamps. Hipsters. Couples. Hipster couples. "Do you see..." I begin to ask. "Don't say his name out loud," BFF hisses at me. Recognizing someone from Duluth has a calming effect. Dosh. Let's move. It's not so warm over here. Stupid-ass silver gladiator shoes are following us around. BFF frantically throws herself on to me, and I know it can only mean one thing. OH MY GOD THERE'S AL SPARHAWK. OH MY GOD. THERE IS AL SPARHAWK. AL SPARHAWK IS RIGHT THERE. And catches me staring at him four times. Al Sparhawk. Right there. I clearly have not grown up at all in the last three years.

Low. "Murderer" is my fucking favorite song. New bass player -- nice smile, cute guy, but I don't like how he fits in. A douchebag screams to hear his own voice. I miss Livingston a little. "Sandinista." Cameras everywhere. Al wants to know if anyone has a bright idea on how to save the world. Moronic answers from morons. "Violent Past." I like the upright bass. Holy crap, are they playing "Lordy?" Oh my god they are. "Last Snowstorm of the Year." Epic. Let's get our asses outside.

Torrential downpour. Running in the rain. Have to make it back before P.O.S. "You're doing funny things with your arms," she yells. "I'm running!" I respond. Shady characters ask to draw our pictures. Fuck this excursion, pleased to return to the venue.

Obama airhead. Do you understand your own message? Idiot. We are annoyed, offended, muddled.

P.O.S. Paper Tiger. Heavy beats. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome. Too tired to put up with much more. Have to leave. Rain's let up. We change the world on the way to the car.

$1.07? Let's get some fucking food. Hold up. Torrential downpour again. Can't see. Buttfuck territory. It stuck to the window! Scream through the drive-thru. Gotta time that shit just right. Terrifying trip between the cities. Aeroplaning? Hydroplaning.

Did I miss anything?

I didn't write this.

2008-08-28T01:07:00.002-05:00

People ask me all the time "what kind of music I'm into." I hate this question because what they're really asking is, "Are you as cool as me?" I can answer right now. No. No I'm not. No, I'm not into that twee British act you read about it in Gravesitter or Thunderfuck or Quiznuts or whatever obscure music magazine you read. No, I didn't go to the Bohemian Shithead concert the other night in Williamsburg. No, I've never heard of them, and no I don't want you to burn me a CD of their "amazing new album."

What's on my iPod? Your dick.

Asking somebody what kind of music they're into is exactly the same as asking them what their sign is, an attempt to discern something meaningful from the meaningless. What possible difference does it make? What are you going to learn from me if I tell you I like U2? That I'm into debt relief?

And there's just no good answer. Turning the situation around, if I ask somebody the same question, here's what I'm thinking based on their answer:

Jazz – douchebag
Classical – douchebag
Metal – douchebag
Country – douchebag
Rap – douchebag
Pop – douchebag
Classic Rock – douchebag
Christian Rock – douchebag
Alternative Rock – JUST LIKE ME!!!

Not that people generally answer in genres. They don't. People just tell you whatever band they're mildly interested in who they think you will think is cool. So they'll say, "I'm really into Feist right now," when what they're really listening to is that kickin' new Jonas Brothers jam.

Or else they'll say, "I'm really eclectic?" For some reason, this sentence always ends in a question mark. "Eclectic?" And then, without prompting, they'll tell you all the "eclectic" music they listen to, "I like Frank Sinatra and the Clash," in a tone that suggests "Can you believe how CRAZY I am???" Douchebag.

And yet, I like Frank Sinatra. I like The Clash. I like jazz. I like pretty much all of the music I just made fun of other people for liking. Liking music does not a douchebag make. Being "into" music does. If you're much older than an adolescent and you're still keeping up with what's going on in the Bristol scene or wherever the fuck, then you're a douchebag. If you even know that Bristol has a scene then you're one, too. If you are older than twenty years old and any part of your disposable income is going towards concert t-shirts, then you are a douchebag. Or even if you find yourself referring to any rock band's "early work," you're treading on some very thin, very douchy ice.

When people ask me that question, I just tell them I don't listen to music. If they ask me why I tell them I hate it because music killed my dad. That usually ends the conversation. But if they persist in asking how music can kill somebody, I just say that my dad was Amadeus. Then they understand.

-Michael Ian Black

Rationality vs. Jack's Mannequin.

2008-08-20T11:34:00.003-05:00

I've been feeling kind of blue in the last three days. What would the appropriate action be? Oh -- listen to music that fuels the emo monster in me, mostly involving Andrew McMahon. Ugh. I am fucking twenty-three years old and am acting like a whiny-ass fifteen-year-old whose math teacher doesn't understand her. Someone please dump a bucket of butt rock over me so I can get over this.

After listening to Everything In Transit (I know, I know) two times through (and the spoken monologue during "I'm Ready" three times by itself), I just couldn't take it anymore. The weight of all the things that I'm worried about -- money I don't have, jobs I'm trying to catch, boys and the subsequent problems that stem from them -- were starting to pile up. I felt mopey, misunderstood, lonely, and thoroughly Sad Whiny Bastard.

So I turned on my favorite groove: "Outstanding" by the Gap Band. I felt better almost instantly. I'm currently lacing up my running shoes and feeling like I can actually crawl out of the cave that I've locked myself in since Sunday. Jesus.

"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?" -Rob Gordon, High Fidelity.

slarson.

2008-08-17T22:41:00.004-05:00

#400 - The Dude Abides, Peaces Out.

2008-08-15T11:32:00.002-05:00

I'm taking a vacation this weekend. Granted, it's to a town roughly seventy miles away with a population of 9700... but it's not Minneapolis, I get to be drunk in a dress all weekend, and, most importantly, I get to reunite with Chantelle and Matz (and of course Kecia and the Bombard) for a grand celebration.

Speaking of celebratory weekends, I did an experiment last Friday. Seeing as I was born during the blustery month, I decided that I wanted to try out a summer birthday. The results were pretty spectacular.

And finally, here's some music that I've been listening to lately. Dig, as I do.

Wakey!Wakey! - Say It Ain't So
KRS-One - I Can't Wake Up
The Beatles - Till There Was You
Kate Nash - Fluorescent Adolescent
Andrew Bird - Skin Is, My

Peace out, Metropolis.

Sometimes I write things that I really like.

2008-08-09T13:31:00.004-05:00

April 21, 2007:
Niandra LaDes. Usually Just A T-Shirt.

It rides the fence between being genius and being a complete mess. What the fuck is going on? Rhythmically unstable, lyrically complex and cryptic, full of bullshit and epiphanies, while the harmonies disintegrate into white noise and back again. It never can decide what it wants to be, melodic or abrasive, meticulous or unhinged. Everything is on the brink of complete dissolution but it never quite gets there. Sometimes you can recognize the one thing that is keeping it all from implosion, but if you think too hard about what doesn't work, you lose track of what does work. It sounds like it can save the world at the same time it sounds like the apocalypse.

Why do I bother? Because I should? What's the fun in that? I should take part because I enjoy it not because I should. I want to skip the tracks and play something familiar but part of me is convinced that I will gain something from it... some kind of deeper appreciation for something that I'm taking for granted. It's hard to do it sometimes, because it can seem mundane in the way that everything sounds the same, but one of these times, I'm going to get something really amazing out of it. I'm going to look at it and say "I'm glad I stuck it out because this was worth it."

Sometimes I surprise myself with my own insight. I guess I just have the right muse.