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I haven't got a whole lot to say. Rarely, perhaps never, has a work of great historical importance begun this way; let's see if this 12 minute blogpost is the exception. I am not counting on it.

But I have been tired and depressed and just generally beat up and beat down and sometimes writing something, even something shitty, makes me feel better. Sorry that you have to be involved in this process.

I've actually had a few good ideas for posts over the last week or so, but I forgot 'em. Oh well.

I went to Italy last week for two days. Two days traveling and two days vacationing. I guess you could call it four days. It was fun there. I took a mess of pictures. Here are three I sorta like.

My friend has another I like in which I look kind of European, like Toni Kukoc's fat mooching cousin or something. I'll get it and post it soon.

Now I am just going to say some random stuff.

Good people of Minnesota, I know you have a shitty baseball stadium -- I once allegedly kissed another man there when our pictures came up on the DiamondVision (almost certainly not true, but I am taking credit for it anyway) -- but how is it possible that only 18,000 of you showed up the other night to watch your overachieving baseball team clinch a postseason berth? What else were you doing that night?

Paul Westerberg and Tommy Stinson. Rocking out for the kids. Er.

I seem to be on another Minnesota rant, so let me continue. Prolific and consistently excellent midwestern blogdude Moncrief has alerted me to the presence of something that I guarantee will at least make you chuckle out loud once if you read 'em all. Ten Genius points to you if you can honestly tell me you didn't.

Why did nobody tell me that it's completely lame to part your hair on the side? Do I need to start putting stuff in my hair and trying to look cool? I won't do it. I have always secretly theorized that the reason I still have a thick head of hair is that I don't put shit in it. I'd rather keep looking like Tom Ridge. I may grow a moustache though. Tom Ridge should, too.

I was going to make a list but I ain't got the time. So here's part of a list.

Irresponsible or just plain bizarre things my parents did that make me think they might have been continuously drunk throughout my childhood. (no order)

1. Left me (age 2) and my sister age (age 5) alone outside a casino in Monte Carlo so they could go inside and gamble.

2. Allowed my friend and I (both age 10) to hitchhike alone.

3. Allowed me (age 17) to miss a week of high school so I could attend Spring Break in Daytona Beach with all the college kids.

4. Fed me (ages 12-15) Nachos for dinner approximately four times a week.

5. Managed to remain unaware that my friends and I (age 11) were constructing homemade explosive devices in our apartment; even escorted us to Chinatown to help us purchase explosives. Didn't reprimand us when one of our experiments went awry and exploded in the kitchen.

6. Sent me to I.S. 70 (ages 11-13).

7. Dropped me (age 13) at the airport in Paris and allowed me to figure out gate, flight, etc. and find my way back to NYC even though I spoke no French. Did not give me any contact info in case I got lost (which I did).

There are like eighty more but I forgot 'em. Ten points for every marvelously stoopid thing your parents did or allowed you to do when you were a kid, and five each for other things you can remember about my parents.

I feel better now. Thanks.