Seriously Major VANdalisms

Okay, setting the scene. McTubbins, Jawsdog, Jeff, and I are flying to New York City over the long memorial day weekend to pick up the van that TPC is buying, then drive it back to the Deuce Cities, having crazy adventures along the way. Here we are on the plane -- enjoying our time with bloody mary's, complimentary grilled cheese sandwiches (thanks Sun Country!), and cans of Budweiser.

 

Winged Migration.

 

In NYC, we take a cab to Manhattan to meet up with friends.

 

Our pals Joe, Steve, and Carrie take us to this sweet place called the Crocodile Lounge that gives you one free personal pizza with every beer you order! Holy crap. We take advantage. BTW, yes Steve does look like Jared Leto but they are not related.

 

Sweet-ass back smoking patio at the bar. One of the few places in NYC to have such a thing, we think.

 

Getting real. But not totally real yet.

 

Jawsdog and I smoke at a Subway station before we are told forcefully that that shit is totally not cool with the MTA. Our bad.

 

Steve takes us to a bar in Brooklyn called Barcade, which has about 20 vintage arcade games lining the walls. Total dude factory, but some awesome stuff written on the walls.

 

Totally intense bottle cap sculptures. It's like the modern version of hieroglyphics.

 

Look at how satisfied these assholes are.

 

Ditto here. Hey is that Jared Leto texting on his blackberry? FYI I hear he's a big fan of humanity.

 

Model poses.

 

Waiting for the train to crash at Steve's place (where will end up meeting too many cats named yoko), McTubbins looks like a destitute Mexican hobo.

 

Late night Subway riding, eerily empty in this car on the 6 train.

 

Steve shows us his dope ass platinum weed leaf watch. He tells us the story of how he showed it to famous rap crew backstage at a show once (who shall remain anonymous because I can't remember which rap crew) and they said "Is it real?" To which he responded "Dude, it feels real to me, that's all that matters. So its like, in a way, it really is real." The rappers were apparently blazed up on the chrondo so they simply nodded their heads and went "Right, I feel you."

 

Next morning after a night of Sparks and Molson XXX at Steve's, we catch the train to Manhattan so Jeff can register the van at the DMV and get tatted. McTubbins is not a fan of carrying around Jocelyn's pink computer back. Totally questioning his masculinity right now.

 

Jeff gets tatted by Myles, the same awesome dude who did mine. TPC played with Myles' band awhile back so they shoot the shit. Ink it up.

 

The bloody results.

 

Post-tat lunch and cocktails at a Mexican place on St. Mark's street.

 

Delicious margaritas.

 

You have to walk a lot in NYC to get around. We Midwesterners are not used to this. So, we stop off at TPC's new van to sit in the back for a bit. We rest, drink Sparks, refuel.

 

Exactly.

 

After the Sparks refuel, we are confident, strong, capable, ready to take anything on. Ambitiously, we decide to walk to across the Williamsburg Bridge to Jocelyn's sister's place.

 

In Williamsburg, we kick it on Jawsdog's sister's porch for a bit before meeting up with some friends back in Manhattan.

 

Beers at the Hi-Fi with our friends in the Hold Steady. In the background, Craig probably is telling a story about something involving drugs. And odds are that it is hilarious and spell-binding. Seriously. The Tecates go down like water, a little too fast cause Galen is bartending.

 

Mad billiards sessions.

 

Joe takes us back to Brooklyn for a late night cap.

 

Tat twins. So romantic right now.

 

A bar at 3AM, a few blocks from Joe and Carrie's place. They know the bartender. Drinking. More drinking. Endgame.

 

The next morning we head to Syd's in the Lower East Side to make the final van trade-off. Syd tears up, thinking of all the times Les Savy Fav totally farted in this van.

 

Pleasure doing business with you.

 

On the way out of town, we totally get stuck in some crappy Midtown traffic. New York is cool because you can learn about all sorts of exciting products and services, involuntarily, rammed down your throat by simply opening your eyes. Actually on second thought, that is kind of gay.

 

Peace out NYC, what up Jersey. I forgot to take photos of the raging party we had with Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen on our way through the Garden State. Richie Sambora was totally hitting on Patti Scalia.

 

On the way to Pittsburgh for the night, we murder thousands of helpless bugs.

 

Breakfast at King's family restaurant outside Pittsburgh. They have a "cyber" section, which is not as sexual as it sounds or as one would hope.

 

In the van, Les Savy Fav left us a whole grip load of awesome shit, including Travel Scrabble. I taped my piece holder to the passenger door for ultimate secrecy.

 

A raging scrabble game ensues. We decide to play the cool way, where you can use the name of towns and companies that aren't really words. Totally po-mo (post modern).

 

They also leave us a bible? WTF? Syd's explanation: "In case you want to get spiritual."

BTW a lot of pages were torn out of the back, hmmm.

 

Cleaning bug guts.

 

Chicago! Consistently one of the awesomest cities in the country.

 

We head to the new place of our awesome friends Bob and Urs, and meet up with a whole grip load of old friends. This is the sweet view from one of their two decks. Chicago, like the Deuce Cities, has a wide variety of porches and decks to crush brews on.

 

Joel (aka Andy Koufax) is looking good in the wife beater and Cobain-glasses. Way to be, homie.

 

Dollar Bills, Bob, and Chuck from Indianapolis are also repping shit hard. Brews and Boca Burgers.

Bob and Bill tell us a little about their dad apparently he loves the champagne, Andre, the Beer of Champanges is his favorite. His wedding ring also doubles as a bottle opener.

 

This is the only picture I have of these awesome little kids who lived next door. They kept singing up to us "Feliz Navidad! I wanna wish you a merry Christmas!" Wish the picture was better.

 

We are heading to a kegger in a little bit a few blocks away, but the pre-party gathers on the deck for brews and circle- sittin'. Energy is building. We introduce Chicago to Sparks. Results are mixed. Brenda shows up!

 

As we're leaving to the kegger, Jeff implores everyone to kick this exercise ball as hard as they can while he sits on it. Whitney obliges.

Yeah Dun, Kick him in the ball!

 

On the way to the kegger.

 

Ian shows us how to properly drink a beer in Chicago: while wearing a logoless baseball hat, sporting muttonchop sideburns, and obscuring your head with a light.

 

Kegger. On the upstairs porch of this awesome guy Mike's house. Totally felt like being at a Minneapolis party.

 

Urs and I don't fuck around.

It's at this point in the night where I seriously start getting into shit. The phrase "Get Rich or Try Crying" comes into play

 

There is video karoke at this party. Jeff and Whitney wow the crowd with some Sir Mix A Lot. Joel gets down with Digital Underground.

 

The next morning, after sleeping on Bob and Urs' porch (totally awesome) we all make a huge breakfast. Their AC isn't working, so its totally hot. Someone remarks "it's like being in a third world country." Bob smartly replies "Except we have a shit ton of food to eat." Point taken.

 

Upside-down thumbs up!. Tubs is so pumped about the weekend he asks the question "If I pooped in a bag would you eat it?" this phrase he explains is a sign of pure joy.

 

Post breakfast deck smoke before we leave town.

 

Blue skies, white dudes.

 

The view from the porch into the neighbors yard.

 

The view from the porch continued.

 

Porch tiger coffee.

Chicago bulls.

 

Change the "a" in "flash" to an "e."

 

We are obviously not in the South Side.

Driving home, we run into a huge dinosaur who runs his own gas station. On the right, Jeff worships his almighty power.

 

In a mall in Rockford, IL, Jawsdog and McTubbins share some final moments together. We are dropping Jaws off to get picked up for her summer-long photo assisting gig that will take her all across the dirty campgrounds of the midwest. You won't see her face here for awhile, unfortunately. Hat friends for life.

 

Jeff and I buy Guitar Hero at the mall, and proceed to get totally addicted to it once we get home. The solos are the hardest part. We name our band "Flytard."

 

Married to the road.

The Calm Before the Storm

Tuesday night at Gabby's in Northeast. They have a sweet-ass patio right on the Mississippi that's so quintessentially Northeast -- bar food, meat raffles, bingo, a working-class Catholicism/Harley gang vibe.

 

Jawsdog shows us her brand new sunburn, courtesy of a long day of photo assisting someone who wanted to get some shots of lambs in rural Minnesota. Way to give up your body for the cause, J-Chizzle.

 

After dinner, we head to Jawsdog's for her famous haircuts. This is my hair.

 

The new cut, and a halo of hair. So hot right now.

 

On our way back to Shots Paul we stop at the studio, where art is happening, and some minor skateboarding action.

 

McTubbins is screen-printing the new Building Better Bombs 7" covers and E.T.C. is working on some crazy visuals for a rap video. Deuce Cities art and music scenes continue to get gay with each other. Isaac inspects the work.

 

Flash forward to Wednesday night, the night before we leave for our NYC road trip and the night of the season finale of Lost. Beak and Cam prepare "island" themed foods, which basically means there was mango involved.

 

Airplane booze bottles. Get it? It's like being in a crashed airplane. The themed drink for the night is Tequila and Tonic (just like anna lucia.)

 

The crew was huge, at least 12 peeps, all discussing plot twists, hidden messages, character preferences (everyone is down with Sayeed), etc.

btw check out that bookshelf in the background, doesn't it appear to be tilting a little bit?

 

Oh Shit! Right in the middle of some of the most tense parts of the episode when everyone is on edge, poor Beak's huge record shelf collapses under the weight of his thousands of records. Shitty.

 

The whole crew chips in to help safe the valuable sampling fodder. Poor Beak.

 

Dude has a lot of records.

 

After Lost, we head to Jawsdog's where a full-scale rager is taking place on her front porch, complete with this Clockwork Orange dude.

 

McTubbins can't handle it. Tomorrow we leave for NYC. Get your rest, little warrior. You're gonna need it.

Vision Quest Reunions

I believe in literary speak they call this a "preface." I don't know if this photo really needs an introduction though. I do think I can be as bold as to say that we "flipped it" and then we "worked it" this past weekend on our St. Cloud to Duluth mini-tour.

 

We car pool to St. Cloud, and it is indeed a race. Building Better Bombs in their SUV vs. TPC in Jordan's mom's van. TPC wins.

 

Up in the Shots Cloud (320, bitches) we stop at a liquor store near the venue to load-up. 50's and Beak catch up with their old buddy Dan Gladden. The years following the 1991 World Series have not been kind to this mulleted prince.

 

Following the strict-rule set for the weekend that the lowest price per ounce ratio would be pursued in booze consumption, we buy two cases of Old Milwaukee cans for $11.99 a piece.

 

The venue is Cheap Thrills, a crazy awesome local co-op/thrift store/punk rock show space run by some cool kids from Shots Cloud. It's located in a fairly vacant frontage road development and thus provides awesome levels of secludedness for quasi-public drinking before, during, and after the show. Here, TPC and BBB crush brews.

 

Cheap Thrills is also located within 50 feet of a small power station that may or may not be currently generating thousands of ohms of deadly radiation, depending on who you talk to.

 

Murder Death Ball is invented by Shane and David. A basketball is tied in a next connected to a string, held by the main dude. All the other dudes try to run past the main dude without getting totally hit by the murder death ball.

 

A car parked next to the power station. On the hood, a bloody skull. On the doors, someone's myspace account address. Now THAT's marketing.

 

BBB rock the Shots Cloud kids, complete with completely ridiculous looking guitar for Steph.

 

Isaac (aka Iceberg) gets pissed.

 

A huge green dude watches the show.

 

Evidence of our secret drinking spot.

 

TPC rocks it, fueled by Sparks.

 

Stef enjoying McDonald's.

 

Iceberg doing an Egyptian dance through a smoke maze. These are the kind of things that happen in Shots Cloud.

 

This is also the type of thing that happens in Shots Cloud -- afterparties. We head to our old friend Alberto's house (aka Berto, aka the Puerto Rican Love God, aka PRLG) for a rager.

Also, it should be noted... we ran into some high school girls at the party. Apparently they were from St. Louis Park High and their ride had just left them in St. Cloud to go get totally high on this drug called "salvia." Supposedly it's a form of incense that gets you fucked when you smoke it. They say it makes you see monkies.

 

50's lends a helping hand.

 

General hysteria involving a wool ax, a bandana, an eye patch, bunny ears, size frisbees, and a miniature coffee mug.

 

Princes of the porch. Things that were mentioned on this porch include "Chocolate stain Blain, and the he Blaided off," "Give him the Knuckle puck dude," "The whiz was actually Diana Ross," & "Yeah man, Dying."

 

Beak is sad that we drank all the beers. He mourns.

 

Jordan celebrates the finished beers, considers it a monumental achievement.

 

The next morning, we all wake up tired, hungry, hung-over. One of us also wakes up Puerto Rican. But then again, he always does that.

Alberto tells us about an old Brooklyn Puerto Rican Gang called the "sunset bachelors." He also informs us that High school kids are really into cutting and sex parties, as upposed to Grunge and Plaid as when we were kids.

 

Beak and Jeff discover gayism.

 

PRLG takes us to an awesome Shots Cloud spot called Pete's Place, where they serve breakfast, lunch, dinner, and cribbage tournaments. Seriously, there were like 15 people playing cribbage while we were there.

 

Smoking while you eat! Stearns County has a more enlightened thought process on smoking than the Deuce Cities.

 

Outside the restaurant was this crazy locked garage that had all sorts of exercise equipment from the 1970's in it, a portal to LOST perhaps? . WTF? The crew says goodbye, and we head onto to Duluth.

 

Duluth! We meet up with Colezone's and head to the Air-Conditioned city. Seriously, Duluth is awesome. We always have total rage fests whenever we come here, and sometimes they turn into vision quests. Here we are at Pizza Luce's on Superior Street -- infinitely more awesome than any of the original Pizza Luce's in the Deuce Cities.

 

Pabst Palace.

Beak and Woff discuss a movie they once saw in high school about communism where a Dr. was imprissoned in Russia, then all the other Dr's in Russia die or something so this guy in the prison is the only one that can deliver the baby. Somehow he eats a ton of bread and water and explodes before getting a chance to deliver the baby therefore communism in Russia = Total Boner Kill.

 

We still have some time before the show, so we walk down to the rocky shores of Lake Superior. One of the midwest's 5 mini-oceans.

 

Holy shit! These birds can smell our leftover pizza. They start hovering over us like crazy, squeaking angrily, barking orders to each other about how they're going to get the pizza, how to kill us with a minimum of bloodshed, etc. It was like that one movie by Alfred Hitchcock. Psycho.

 

We finally relent and throw the pizza to them. They totally freak out and drag the pizza into the water like its a fresh kill. I've outlined in red the huge pizza slice dangling from the bird's beak.

 

They get the second piece. Crazy birds.

 

Lighthouse on the shore.

 

Back at Luce's before the show for my beers and ridiculous discussions. We decide that the new phrase for smoking meth is "burning a diamond." Like "Hey brah, you wanna go burn a diamond real quick?" 50's, Jeff, and Beak show us how they imagine this would be done. First, 50's examines the meth crystal that Jeff is holding. Second, 50's approves the crystals quality and ability to get you totally cranked out. Third, you put down your welding mask to protect your eyes. Fourth, you turn up the heat level on your blow torch. Fifth, you spray the meth crystal with blazing blow torch heat. Finally, you awkwardly suck in the chemical crank smoke created from the blow torch burn and waft into your open mouth.

 

TPC rocks it, fueled by the diamond they just burned.

 

Our good friend Mark Shaw (middle) is in town, coincidentally, for his sister's wedding. What are the odds? He comes to the show with his awesome sister and brother in law (left) in tow. He has had roughly twelve Jameson and 7's at this point. Hilariously awesome.

 

After-rager at our old friend Chunk's house. Colezone's starts getting really real. A lot of times when she reaches this point, she will tell you that "you don't even really know" her.

 

Weights on the bathroom scale.

 

Our quest for the cheapest price per ounce has brought us to the glimmering waters of Milwaukee's Best Ice, also know as "Major Boner Idea."

 

At this point, I'm pretty sure that I don't even know Coles.

 

No, you.

 

This is me, I was just down from heaven for the weekend. BTW Never Forget Rosa Sparks

Graduated Cylinders of Beer

Congratulations to J-Chase (aka Jawsdog) on graduating from college! To celebrate, we buy her a balloon that says "Reach for the Stars." On the right, Colezone's gives us a hint of the rageful graduation party kegger that follows shortly thereafter. BTW check out her holster of PBR tallboys. Noice.

 

Pre-kegger dinner at the Bulldog. Between the gradually warming weather, the delicious beers, the comraderie, and the fact that our friend J-Chizzle graduated earlier in the day, this night is shaping up to be epic and powerful.

 

Graduation pre-party, J-Chizzle retreats to the porch while her mom (visiting from Dixon, Illinois) sets up veggie trays in the other room.

 

Colezones is a stoic nature observer, calmly awaiting the impending keg rage.

 

McTubbins and a dad of one of the kids who graduated. The intermingling of twenty-somethings, their friends, and their parents in social situations can be interesting. You've reached that age where you're all like "Fuck it, I don't care if my friend's Dad knows that I like to get wasted."

 

The Chase clan.

 

Cam and Beak arrive, gin drinks in hand. The party vibe is starting to gain momentum. More people arriving, the volume on the I-Pod gradually inching higher.

 

Beak shows us his new Doomtree credit card. It's official, rappers make more money than dumb rock bands.

 

McTubbins shows us a t-shirt that explains what he'll be doing with the rest of his summer

 

Me. At my finest. Gin and Juice, just like the rappers say.

 

McTubbins wears an 80's-era Bill Cosby sweater with smug confidence.

 

Hanging out at crowded keg parties requires very little in the way of physical activity. Usually its just a lot of people standing in a semblance of a circle, occasionally lifting their beers from their hand to their mouth and back down again. But somehow you always feel like you ran a marathon or did ab-crunches for 10 hours the next morning.

 

dam arrives, crazy fucked-up hat in tow.

 

Willonius, aka Tall Bikes, is visiting from Iowa City and falls asleep briefly as the party rages around him. Party foul.

 

Julie freaks out. Peter does not.

 

Snapshots 1. Colezones has clearly made the best decision of the evening by going with PBR Tallboys. Everyone else is jealous.

 

Snapshots 2. Cam and I pose and take photos of each other in a stair way. Luke and Beak reconnect.

 

The night ends with The Gamut, two-man noise duo, playing upstairs. This is an interesting trend, noise bands playing at house parties full of drunk people. I may be out of the loop, but do punk bands still do this?

The next day we go the Bandbox for lunch. Adam is working and wearing a shift with the Tommy Hilfiger logo that says "Bosnia Peacekeeping Mission." Yes.

 

Turkey sandwich with american fries.

 

Tuesday night I didn't have my normal blogging machine with me, and my smaller one didn't have any batteries in it. But I did manage to get this one photo of us down at the river in St. Paul with Brent and Nicole.

Wednesday night TV night at Beak and Cam's. On the plate: NBA basketball and the new episode of Lost, which it seems like everyone in the Deuce Cities got addicted to at the same time. Well, at least the people that I know.

 

Cam reps her Chicago hood hard.

 

50's Dad is very intrigued by Sayeed and Jack's plot. Beers help lubricate the intrigue.

 

Seriously look at the size of this TV. Plasma, dudes.

 

50's and Cam kneel at the altar. Eventually 50's crosses a line when he blows Claire a kiss and accidentally touches the TV. Cam tells him "don't get your greasy fingers on that screen."

 

Beak and Jeff hold hands, enraptured by the Mavs-Spurs game.

 

Jeff implores Dallas to call a timeout.

 

50's and me.

 

After the game, we head over to Jawsdog's porch to meet up for a night cap.

 

McTubbins has a few things to tell you about cheese. Especially cheese left over from the graduation party. Do you have a problem with that? Let's hope not, for your sake.

St. Paul & MPLS

It's at this point in the blog that the needle fly's off the record.. Ereeh. St. Paul photos, WTF?

 

Jeff and I decide to walk down to the river and hang out. To our surprise our normal hanging area was covered in water.
Rain + River = No where to sit and drink beers.

 

Snapshots: Jeff investigates water levels.

 

The Robert Street bridge is awesome. I'm knighting it one of the coolest bridges in the deucecities.

 

This photo is for Jeff and his overwhelming love of transportation, especially trains. St. Paul has vast forms of transportation including it's own airport. Beat that Minneapolis.

 

The water rises...

 

Barges are pretty awesome too. This picture reminds me of the houseboat trip that Jeff, Nicole, Ripplechip and myself are going to take down the river. We're gonna have to steer clear of these huge vessels for sure.

 

We find a place to drink our leftover beers. Sitting by the river is one of the best things this lonely city has to offer.

 

These are old loading docks. They look pretty fucking sweet. I can only assume that high school photo class kids love taking pictures of this shit.

 

This is where Tsunami and Whittier go to the vet.

 

This is our house, not the firestone but the building behind it. We like to call it the mossimo building.

 

Wednesday is a killer, we all decide that we feel like bank tellers, too much working 9-5, eating and sleeping. We decide to fight back and end up at the bulldog eating quesadillas and drinking cold PBR's.

 

Bring Sunglasses.

 

Jeff lays out the plan for the evening. First we pay the tab, then we buy a bottle of wine and some beer, then we go to the woods near hidden beach and hang out.

 

I coordinate with a green sweatshirt and a matching trucker hat thanks to ripplechip. The shades are courtesy of Colez.

 

Jeff almost gets killed by a falling tree branch he darts out of the way and is able to save the beers. A true hero.

 

We run into a formation of rocks and some weird chant scripture penned by birdgirl. This is obviously the spot we should hang out at.

 

Jeff claims birdgirl's rock.

 

Nicole puts on her cape and gets ready for the seance.

 

Weird shit happens at this MPLS version of stonehenge. Ripplechip begins to leave trails.

 

The crew.

Fires Squared

My tribute to Jawsdog. This is the wallpaper in the stairway of Julie and Fingertap's apartment building. Totally dark and mysterious 1800's mansion style. We start here on the Friday night of a weekend dedicated to campfires.

 

Dinner at the CC Club. Ripplechip and Jeff wait for their food patiently, and without a shred of excitement. What a bunch of joyless assholes.

 

After the CC we head back to Julie's and hang out with her cat named LeBron. The cat is a female and white, but they named it after a famous African-American male basketball player. Talk about po-mo (post-modern).

 

Further inside the apartment, Julie and Blestos crush brews with a shit ton of crazy paintings looming over them in the background. The best is the Star Trek princess girl painting, found in an alley last summer and immediately made the centerpiece of the whole room, naturally.

 

Next, we move a block over to Blestos backyard, which is where we spend most of the next 36 hours. Blestos shows us how to really host a party -- complete with a firepit, frozen pizza, coffee mugs filled with vodka concoctions, and some really fucking weird hand-signal-open mouth camera poses.

 

Big Time Fuller. "Hey, what can I say? I'm drinking Leinie's in a can. You caught me.".

 

The next afternoon is totally warm and sunny, perfect for an early dinner at the Bulldog patio. McTubbins gets totally real with a bloddy mary.

 

It doesn't take long for us to wind up in Blestos backyard again. Cam arrives decked out in her finest pearls, ready to get into it.

 

Nicole and I are trying to quit smoking. FYI don't make the mistake of buying a pack of gross Marlboro Medium 100's with the intention that they would be too disgusting to smoke, cause you'll smoke them anyways.

 

Nicole and I buy Marlboro Reds, two bottles of cheap red wine, a 6 pack of Bud Light and a Twins coozie to keep the beers cold. Eventually we get wasted and have to go home.

 

Smoke from the campfire is mad aggro towards Coles. She fights back with awkward hand movements.

 

Now the smoke from the fire is getting outright brazen with its attacks.

 

Brenda, once again, is not into this shit.

 

Late night drive back to St. Paul, Jeff and I decide that we need some food. We accidentally order an entire Crave Case instead of just the usual. There is no way we are going to finish these dudes.

 

Next afternoon at the Bandbox. Randall explains loudly to us all that this is "the best NBA playoffs ever!" while he's suppose to be cooking our food.

 

Steve Nash is totally having a heart attack in this photo. Good thing he's Canadian -- they have universal health care so finding a doctor shouldn't be a problem. Score! Seriously look at his face.

 

Breakfast.

 

The receipts say "Weed, Grub, Fucktodd, Pay Up." Nice.

 

It's Sunday, which means that Minnesota is a dry zone. Apparently, our lawmakers, in all their wisdom, have decided that its totes sacrelig' to enjoy a sip of Modelo on the Sabbath. Thanks assholes. But living in St. Paul does have its perks -- we're only 20 minutes from the Wisconsin border, where they have a more progressive mindset. We drive across the mighty St. Croix River to Hudson, a little river town who's economy is built on recreational boating and the Sunday booze needs of bored Deuce Citians.

 

You know when you're trying to decide what to drink with your friends, and everyone's all like "I dunno I guess we could PBR or maybe a Sparks." Then someone has a bolt of inspiration, an instant of holding the hand of God, and they're all like "Dude, we could have margheritas!" And everyone is so blown away by the sheer audacity, the simple NEWNESS of this idea, the breaking of the shackles of the status quo, the removing of self-created borders and restrictions, that you all at once go "YES!" This is what happened on the way to Wisconsin.

 

A leisurely afternoon.

 

We watch Jay Z's "Fade to Black." The best part is when he hears the beat for "Dirt of Your Shoulder" for the first time and gets a wide-eyed serious look on his face cause he knows that Timbaland has just given him the true gift of a flaming hot lava fire burner. I'm a hustla homie, you a customer cronie.