J/K, though. J/K for real

Yo, yo, yo. Three times yo. Here's what's been going down in the upper-middle-west. Let's start at the latest Record Club in mid-February. This time its at McTubbins and Tall Bikes place (aka E.L.S.). I give Tall Bikes a hard time about not sporting his ketchup mustard outfit; he one ups me by showing me his new banana glove outfit. Keep em' comin' brother.

 

Holy shit! Limited edition chocolate poop swirl vinyl!

 

The record club crew, deep in discussion of Converge, Oneida and whatever crazy prog-shit from the 70's that Tubs and Tall Bikes make us listen to.

 

Thanks to long lens exposures, Portland Avenue turns into a hellish lake of fire.

 

Fast forward about a week. It snows a shit ton in the Deuce Cities. Like 35 inches in a few days. Schools and offices are closed. We take full advantage.

 

Our parking lot is plowed and now we have a huge snow pile next to our car. Totes sweetness. Jeff and I can't resist and we go outside to play "King of the Mountain" winter snow-styles. For perspective, I am on top of the snow hill looking down right now.

 

Beers are like babies and we have to protect them at all costs.

 

The next night is a Minneapolis sledding party with Blestos, 50's, Danny Tanner, me, and Jeff. Nicole bails even though this whole sledding thing was her idea, what a bitch. Total blog burn. J/K, though. J/K for real.

 

When we were kids we had hot cocoa breaks. Now its a different kind of stimulant.

 

2 sleds. 2 legs. One dude. Blestos is very brave.

 

50's goes Toboggan surfing. Our version of the Winter Olympics.

 

The snow crew. We're tired and cold and decide to head to 50's for cider and whiskeys.

 

50's fashions Jeff a Budweiser t-shirt in honor of his first love, beer. Very lifelike detail. Bueno, Bueno!

 

The King of Beers and the Prince of Peace.

 

Whiskey shots all around. Yeesh.

 

Fast forward to the next night, The Future CD release party! Besides having the best band name ever (ex: "I saw The Future last night and it was great"), these guys are masters of the fog machine and pink lights.

 

Rage.

 

Fast forward. Jeff spends most of his time studying for a grad school test called the GMAT and I'm left lonely and ignored. I decide to invest my time in making sweet puzzles and finish three in one weekend. Next step: gluing and varnishing; these puzzles will make sweet place mats. So crafty, so many ways.

 

March 14th, it's my guy Tubbs' 26th birthday! We all meet up at the VFW for cheap drinks and karoke.

 

Jawz makes these sweet red velvet cupcakes -- letters spell out HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON.

 

Tubbz is down and celebrates by eating his cupcake in one bite. I bet he gives amazing blowjobs. J/K, though. J/K for real.

 

New Russian Avant-Garde Books. Happy Birthday to you my weird-ass friend. What do you get for Christmas -- German futurist shit?

 

Carlson Brothers Bro Down. Owatonna awesomes.

 

Lazerbeak sports a new zip up sweater. Very worldly. 50's and Jeff stifle their laughter.

 

Tall Bikes and Tubs belt out some karaoke JAMS (capitalization intentional, intended to imply force and intensity). Not only is it Tubs' birthday, but its Tall Bikes going away party. He's leaving us all for a few months for a farming internship on a farm in Western Minnesota. Hopefully we can go rage with him in his farmhand shack some weekend this spring.

 

The next night, our good friend from Iowa, Will Whitmore, plays a packed show at the Triple Rock.

 

Johnny Law, Johnny Law, he ain't the smartest man you ever saw.

 

Fast forward to the next day, its St. Patty's Day! St. Paul has a high proportion of Irish in its population and loves its traditions, so the entire downtown is flooded with a ton of drunk people wearing green. Our friend, Greg, (aka G-Sax aka G-Money aka G-$$$$) is on the St. Paul Bouncing Team (previously discussed in the last blog) and is flipping chicks into the air with his team.

 

Families line the streets in green, drunks line the windows of the bars, watching safely inside while clutching pints of Guiness. There is a thin line between the onlookers and the parade. I wear red to be a bitch.

 

Green Party.

 

What goes into the mindset of someone who chooses to wear a full leprechaun outfit to the parade? Are they expecting to get laid? Very perplexing. A green shirt would have been fine.

 

G-$$$$, post-bouncing.

 

His fun meter is pretty high after the parade, but as you'll note, there's still room for improvement.

 

Here's how we improve it. Alary's (cop bar down the street) is a shithole the other 364 days out of every year, but St. Patty's Day sends the crazyness into a new stratosphere. A guy walks by as I take this photo and says, "Now that's just not right." Really? I thought he'd be into it.

 

Alary's is way too packed and this guy keeps almost throwing up on our shoes, so we head a few blocks down to Matty B's. It's hard to tell from this photo but we're actually in the lower-level of the adjacent parking ramp. It's been rented out by Matty B's and is packed to the gills with drunk St. Paulites, a really loud cover band, Vikings center Matt Birk walking around saying hi to everyone (he's the owner -- get it? "Matty B?"), and yes, but of course, a huge ice-sculpted beer bong.

 

Jesus. It's hard to tell, but this ice sculpture beer bong says "MB" for Matt Birk. Here, Jeff's brother (visiting from Boston) is shoveling beer down the ice chute into Jenn's mouth. Rage in the name of Irish culture: complete.

 

It is within 10 hours of this photo that I wake up and feel like death. Turns out I have the flu. I am sentenced to my bed for the next 72 hours. Two words: total bummer.