Ahhhhh Nyquil.

Well I'm back at my desk this morning, one ear plugged, feeling all loopy-like thanks to Nyquil and I was yelled at by an old lady this morning. I am feeling much better and am enjoying the loopy-like feeling as it makes walking feel more like floating. I haven't opened my emails yet but I already can't wait to see what loopy responses I'll come up with.

My walking route to work includes the route from the Franklin Ave. bridge down the River Road to Harvard St. There is a walking path and a bike path. I walked on the bike path because the walking path is too close to the edge of the embankment and is so windy that it probably comes out to about twice as long of a route as the bike path. I wanted to float along the straightest line I could so I took the bike path. This old woman bikes up behind me and starts yelling "BEHIND YOU! BEHIND YOU!!!". This outburst was supposed to spur me on to move off of the path so that she could keep her wheels in line and continue in a forward motion instead of veering slightly to her left to go around me. I was already as far to the right as I could get without walking in dirt. My lack of movement off of the pavement caused her to yell "JESUS!" as she biked past me. I said "Oh shut up!" and then she flipped me the bird. Let the record show that I did not chase her down and did not push her off of her bike. I think my mean streak may be lessening.

I'm sick of old women pushing me around. My grade school teacher died last week and my mom wants me to give an interview to a Star Trib writer for a little memorial article. Here's the thing; I didn't like her. I didn't like her at all. My mom really liked her. My mom thinks that I should like her therefore I do like her. I don't like her. Even now that she's dead I still don't like her. My mom should give the interview, not me. That's what I'm going to tell the other old lady who called yesterday while I was in a coma to get permission to give my number to the Star Trib. They should all feel lucky that I'm not going to push them down.

I accompanied Anj Olsen Monday night while she got her back tattoo. It's a very nice piece. The artist did a good job with the shading. It's going to look like a piece of bronze. It was a marathon three-hour session and Anj was a trooper. Seriously, three hours of tattooing across an area of your body that becomes red and irritated after the first fifteen minutes is not easy to sustain. In fact, it's torture. Imagine getting sunburned and then laying that sunburned area of your body across a BBQ grill and then taking an ice pick to it. That's what it's like each time the artist goes back to a previous area to do some more shading or whatever. So why get one? Because it's the whole "walking through fire" thing to get that one original mark on your body that no one else will have. I suppose you could try some novocaine in the area before hand or try a combo of different drugs to ease the pain, but then there's no sense of accomplishment. There's no pride in what you're walking around with. Someone may has well have taken a Sharpie and drew on you instead. Going through that much pain makes you more aware of what you're capable of but it also makes you reconsider how you evaluate others. If you used to think someone was a pansy for not making it through such-and-such, you'll probably change your mind because everyone deals with pain in different ways. It's quite an enlightening experience.

I was hoping to get to Six Ring Circus last night to see Jenzie perform, but I was out cold. I woke up at 9:16pm realizing I had missed everything. She's one brave motherfucker for doing that and I mean that with the utmost respect.

Okay, I have a million emails to get to and probably dozens of urgent issues to address according to the people initiating them. At least it's a nice day and everything is blooming right now. If you get a chance, drive down 32nd st. in S. Mpls. between Minnehaha Ave. and 36th Ave. Both sides of the street are lined with crab apple trees and they're in bloom right now. It smells wonderful.