On a bike ride

I just got back from a long bike ride on a beautiful Minneapolis day. I took my new singlespeed over to Minnehaha Creek, down the parkway to Minnehaha Falls and back, around Lake Harriet, then around Lake Calhoun. I don't know exactly how far it was, but I would say somewhere around 10-15 miles. Here are a few thoughts:

• My new bike is a million times better than my clunky old 10-speed. It's lighter, more efficient, and a hell of a lot faster. Seriously, going 10 miles on this bike feels the same as going 4 miles on my old bike. I should have upgraded long ago.
  

• I always feel a little guilty when I pass someone with all of the serious cycling gear. I mean, you spend two thousand plus dollars on the bike, the shoes, the full spandex getup, the low resistance helmet, and then some out of shape kid on an $80 bike whizzes by you. Seems like it would be a little embarrassing.
  

• There's a sea monster in Lake Harriet. There was a plaque that said it has been there since 2007, but this was the first time I'd ever seen it.
  

 

 

• Minnehaha Creek is gone. It's just a gulch of rocks and sand now. The drought this summer has been absolutely ridiculous.

•  There is no greater feeling than getting a second wind.

• I can't wait to go biking again.
  

On a few things

Dear Reader,
Please consider the following items:

• I got a new bike! Finally. It's a nice little Trek singlespeed that I bought from my friend Curtis. It's no fixie, but hopefully the fact that it is singlespeed will significantly add to my Uptown hipster cred. Now I just need to buy a $200 pair of skinny jeans, some sort of neon yellow t-shirt, a keffiyeh, a pair of white sunglasses, and a Chrome bag. See you at the Urban Bean!
  

• At some point every year I get the misguided impression that it's a good idea to experiment with facial hair (see last summer's ghastly attempt at an ironic hipster mustache here). This year I just went for a full-bore beard, grown for the past three weeks. Here is a poor quality photo taken from a dramatic angle:
  

Despite the fact that I got nearly two (TWO!) compliments on it's luster and raw sex appeal, I realized that it was a horrible mistake and shaved it all away. Except, of course, for my everpresent sideburns. I have had sideburns in one form or another ever since I was first able to grow them in my junior year of high school when Joe Mauer first made them cool in Minnesota.

• There is a new Octavius and Constance commercial. It's not online yet, but as soon as it is I will continue the saga.
  

• Pig's Eye Lean is terrible.
  

• The Minnesota Twins are killing me.

• I have a few more projects in the works.
  

Happy Birthday

And I don't even know if I want to get into that. But, okay, so you know that feeling when you get a really sharp and sudden itch, like on your arm maybe, and you're just sitting at a table and you lay your arm flat on the table so that you can really scratch it, and it's such a burning itch that you just start scratching it as hard as you can, really just digging in, and it's so satisfying, and you close your eyes and just keep scratching because it feels so great, and then you realize that it doesn't feel great, and you have been scratching too long and it's actually pain that you're feeling and not relief, but for some reason you just can't stop scratching, and then you open your eyes and there's blood, oh god there's so much blood, it's splashing everywhere, and you look down at your hand and you realize that you have been holding a knife the entire time, a crazy big butcher's knife, and you don't even know where the knife came from or how it got into your hand but the entire time you thought you were scratching an itch you were really cutting through your arm, and even now you still can't stop yourself, you're just watching yourself chopping your own arm off, you have no control over your muscles at all, and then it finally hits you, it's not even your hand holding the knife, it's someone else's hand, someone is cutting your arm off and you don't know why, and you're not even that upset by this, it's more of an annoyance than anything, you've already had a pretty rough day as it is, and this is just one more thing you have to deal with, it just figures that after all this some random dude would just start amputating your arm, because really, fuck it, why the hell not, and you sort of sigh and roll your eyes, just waiting for it to be over, and then you look even closer and holy shit, it's not even your arm, it's someone else's arm and somehow that makes it even worse, and you're horrified and disgusted now, because why are you being forced to watch this anyway, and you start screaming, shouting "why are you doing this, for fuck's sake stop cutting, Jesus you're going to hit an artery and he's going to die," and you're shouting and screaming this at the top of your lungs, and suddenly the hand with the knife stops cutting through the mystery arm, and then you realize it's not even an arm, it's just a turkey that was being carved, and what you thought was blood was really just gravy, and it's not splashing everywhere, it's just sitting in a gravy boat, and you look up and around and all your relatives are there, sitting at the table with you, and you realize that it's Thanksgiving, and everybody is staring at you because you have been yelling and screaming, and you feel yourself blushing, and you're really embarrassed now, and to break the silence you reach down for a piece of the turkey and pop it in your mouth, thinking maybe you can make a joke out of it, and you start chewing and it tastes horrible, it's sweet for some reason, sweet and spongy and chocolatey, and you start to gag because no turkey should taste like that, and you look at your fingers and there's frosting on them, chocolate frosting, and you look at the turkey, and it's not a turkey, it was a cake all along, and it's a birthday cake, your birthday cake, because it's your birthday, and you start to laugh, because man, what next, and you look to see if any of your family is laughing too, and your laugh suddenly just dies in your throat, and you start to scream again, really scream this time, scream like you've never screamed before, because sitting at the table with you is not your family but A BUNCH OF SKELETONS?

I tell you, it's a weird feeling.

More on the Secret Project

So hey, remember back in early March when I mentioned that my friend Jake and I were trying to write a screenplay? No? Whaddaya mean, no? How could you have forgotten?

Well, I just thought I would give an update. We're just about done with the first draft, we just have to put the last couple scenes down on the page. It's at about 110 pages right now, and it's probably going to wind up just around 120 which I guess is the standard for a feature length script.

It really feels like we've been working on this thing for goddamn ever. I expected it would, as I have no previous experience writing screenplays and Jake has never written anything this long before. We've also been getting together to work on it for a few hours every week or two, and most of that time has been spent goofing around rather than actually writing. It's also pretty hard to write something as a team. Jake is the only one with a copy of the screenwriting program, so while he can work on it in his free time I have to meet with him to add anything. It's been a slow process.

What's weird is that it seems like everytime I read an interview with a screenwriter, they're saying something like "I wrote it in a single draft in four days." I suppose it's possible, but I'm always a little skeptical. I mean, Jake and I are just writing a silly comedy, and it took weeks and weeks to figure out a cohesive plot. We only just now figured out how it's going to end. I can't imagine writing something that long in a matter of days, let alone something that's good.

Our plans for the script are still pretty limited. I don't really have any expectations of selling it or having it made into an actual movie. I wouldn't know what to do if I did. We still plan on submitting it to the screenwriting fellowship thing put on by IFP and the McKnight Foundation, but a close look at the rules revealed a slight hitch. In order for a screenplay to be considered, the author(s) need to meet the criteria. They need to either (a) have already had a feature-length screenplay optioned for production, (b) have at least three feature-length screenplays copyrighted or registered with the Writers Guild of America, or (c) have a degree in screenwriting from an accredited institution. Jake has the screenwriting degree, but I currently have none of these.

The easiest way for me to meet the criteria would be to hammer out three quick screenplays (a la the writers who can write one in 4 days) and register them with the WGA. It costs $20 to register something, so that's $60 dropped on junk that I would just crap out as quickly as possible. In the face of a $25,000 prize that's nothing, but I do not have super high hopes for winning (I don't even know if they would consider a comedy in any esteem). The other option would be to have Jake submit it by himself. He would still split the money with me if we won, but I would receive no credit for my work. I think I'd rather pay the $60 to register three quick screenplays.

The application deadline isn't until February, so we still have a lot of time to work on the second draft and figure out how we will apply. And who knows, maybe we can figure out some improbable way to sell it to someone for a big pile of cash.

Popsicle Weather

It was a nice day, good and hot, real popsicle weather. The ice cream truck had just passed through, and I was out in the street doing my trick for some of the kids in the neighborhood as they sat on the curb with their melting hands, you know the trick where I sort of hover a little bit off the ground.

I was maybe five or six inches off the ground, just enough to draw a few wow!s, I didn't want to strain myself. But it was such a nice day. The sky was so nice and blue, and there was just one nice cloud, a nice big white puffball floating in circles, so close I wanted to touch it, to take it home and put a collar on it. Idon'tknowwhy, but I really had my eye on that cloud, and off I went.

One little boy screamed as I started floating higher, making another little boy giggle. One of my favorites, Hunter, and his terrible sister, Heidi, heard the little boy's scream and made a funny game of crying and bellowing like they had never seen me do my trick before, sending all the other kids into similar fits of mock terror and laughter. I too laughed along with all of their yelp!s and squeal!s as I rose, deciding to take it slowly, really building the suspense as I ascended to the sky. My toes were tingling from the effort, but I wiggled them back to life.

I was maybe 25 feet off the ground, and I decided to stop and take a breather. I closed my eyes and crossed my legs, stretched my arms out, letting my head and hands go slack, Jesus on the Cross. I heard one of the kids shout in anger, then opened my eyes to see him running to his house. He came back out a moment later with his mom, pointing. I knew the kid, Barry. Little Barry Rutger. Fairy Barry, they called him. His mom always made poundcake for 4th of July and passed out leaflets at Easter. One of the older kids came outside with a B.B. gun, so went up a bit higher. 30 feet now. Easily in range, but there was a bit of a breeze, so.

I could see into backyards now, sprinklers and grease fires and laundry lines. Back behind 4314 I could see Velvet Ann clothespinning a big yellow sheet while sipping on a can of beer. She was wearing blue blue denims rolled up to her knees and a red red blouse, cinched up just below her breasts. I floated higher still as I watched her take another big yellow sheet from her basket. If only I could zoom down to her, if I could grab her and take her with me, but I wasn't asking for trouble. My puffball cloud couldn't wait. A quick glance upwards showed that my cloud had darkened, frowning at me now, and was raining even, hard down on Fairy Barry and his mother, the kids in the street, everything below.

A man came out Velvet Ann's back door, handsome in overalls dark and greasy, I looked at the front yard to see the car he had been working on up on blocks. She didn't notice him until he crept up, slow and pinched her. She dropped her beer and the sheet slipped, quick to the ground. The man laughed, a free bouncing chuckle, a good summer laugh. Velvet Ann pushed him, hard to the ground. She stepped forward, stood over him, one hand on one hip. She waited, the man propped up on his elbows and looking at her. His mouth moved, but I couldn't hear. Velvet Ann uncinched her red red blouse, pulled it off and let it fall, slow to the ground.

I was almost 50 feet up now, having drifted unconsciously. Small crack!s and pop!s from the B.B. guns cut through the whistling of the elevated breeze. I looked up for my round little cloud, my perfect summer prize. In the meantime it had drifted apart, dissolving into five separate shapes, a cherry, a wink, an ice cream cone, a puzzle peice, an Idon'tknowwhat. I brought my heels together, straightened my back, one hand before me, the other stretched to the clouds, Jesus on the Mount. I floated higher and higher until the ground mixed and blurred.

On American traditions and British bands

HI EVERYBODY!!!!!!!! HI HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hope you all had a safe and relaxing 4th of July weekend. And when I say safe and relaxing, I obviously mean that I hope you blew up as much crap as possible using dangerous illegal fireworks. Because that's what it's all about, really. Buying a whole bunch of explosives that are made in China and given aggressively patriotic names like BOSTON TEA PARTY and VETERANS SALUTE. Even better are the fireworks given military names. Honestly, what goes through the minds of the Chinese factory workers as they afix the labels to SPECIAL FORCES ASSAULT and WAR BIRDS?

"These powerful names truly represent the awesome power of the American military complex, so we had better stay away from Taiwan or risk the sight of a U.S. Navy battlegroup once more patrolling our coast!"

Yeah, that's probably how it goes. U-S-A! U-S-A!

But really, I had very nice 4th. I went up to my cabin where there was a big family gathering, including one of my mom's distant cousins who flew in with her family all the way from Norway. And yes, we blew stuff up.

On an unrelated topic, I went to see The Heavy play at the Fine Line Cafe last night and it was awesome. They played two full sets, basically their entire first album and a ton of songs from the new one coming out in October. Great value for an $8 ticket.

But as fantastic as the show was (it was great), the most fun part might have been talking to the band about videogames and soccer on the patio between sets. According to the bass player, Pro Evolution Soccer games are much better than FIFA games. I disagree, mostly just because I like having authentic player names, but he's certainly entitled to his opinion. They invited my friends and I to have a drink with them after the show, but then afterwards it turned out they were more interested in having a drink with a bunch of very attractive ladies. Fair enough, Heavy.

On yet another engagement

Hey everybody! Great news! The other day my sister got engaged to her longtime boyfriend! I'm super excited for them, they're great kids.

I anticipate the wedding looking something like this.

I wrote something back in February about how everyone I know seems to be getting married these days. It's like a freakin' epidemic around me now! And it's spreading! My status as a hopeless bachelor is keeping me immune, but the CDC has confirmed that I am a carrier and is recommending total quarantine until they can identify patient zero. Stay back or it'll get you too!

But really, I'm all for it. I want as many chances as I can get to use my "thank god I own a suit what with these weddings all the time" tag.