I know the feeling...

I grew up on a small farm out in the woods in Northern Minnesota, were dirt was my friends. I also had good pals in tadpoles and piles of cow dung. It was fun to chase the chickens with a stick, then when you caught them, hold them close and kiss them till they pooped on you. When I was a kid, I played with poop, dead animals, rotten food, stray cats, and swamp puddles. It's no wonder then that once in a while I'd get some warts on me. You know, planter's warts on your palm or the heel of your toe. From mowing the lawn barefoot or hoeing the vegetable patch. I'm not kidding! Sometimes the warts come back and I got one on my knuckle right now. So I'm treating it with the old downhome remedy. You take a tiny slice of potato and put it under the bandaid. Change out the piece o potato twice a day and hot diggity the wart will go away. I'm not kidding! I just want you to know that I have a piece of potato taped to my thumb right now.

Last night while folding laundry a boy called me up and asked me on a date (I hope he's not reading about my wart)! This has like, never happened to me. He has his thingy pierced--what do you call it? His chin or whatever. I think we'll have coffee.

I am still finding my sea legs.

alan sparhawk of low is battling depression, prompting the band to cancel their tour; bob saget is a filthy man (but i have more respect for him); golden girls uncensored; minnesota is sick of the gays; the science behind weird rains; "great new album," "brooklyn's best band," yes, it's the hold steady on the cover of the village voice.