Today I got to work and itunes played me a song that hit me in the right spot. It went like this:

“Did you ever have one of these days? This is a day like any other day. You are free to wake up and shave. Soapy hands fumbling on the porcelain. Hot, good coffee, and a good, good book. Bicycle! Bicycle! Breathing easier now. Tear the roof of your day. No one’s coming over. It ain’t written so don’t try to read it. Smell the hot rain on the street. Could be love. Could be alcohol. Cup my hands around your face. A little frame. A lot of pain. I can tell the tears from the rain. One tastes sweet, the other plain. And who am I to think I could hang such a precious life on a clever line? You’re in all the books I read. A hundred pages out of reach. And so I throw myself… hit the street. It’ll take some time to learn the lesson of the fall and begin another climb.”

– Penned by Blake Schwarzenbach

So I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’m going to be moving into an Uptown Minneapolis Universe and into an apartment complex that is made up of some seriously slipped individuals, the majority of which believe they are in some open casting call for Melrose Place. The Den Leader, a 30 something lady, has delusions of grandeur that she is in fact running some sort of sorority house and that everyone should act accordingly. She’s either been watching way to much of that MTV show on sorority living, or sadder yet, I suspect she is just stuck trying to relive her loose, and conforming years of being a Delta at the University of Minnesota. Her new proclivity is to post daily scripted notes about such silly topics as music volumes, door slamming, and the mysterious disappearance of round candles in the hallway that when hit by stumbling drunkards at 3 in the morning make a loud “thump” and then roll like little wax bowling balls the rest of the length of carpet, coming to rest at the bottom steps that lead to the basement. I will be sure to post some of the notes as I get my hands on them.

Joining her in the cast of characters is the young militant jew, whose passion for all things jewish is only rivaled by his passion for all music that is techno and played at Ibiza dance floor volumes. He is planning to attack Palestinians with huge amounts of Bass and Low-End Theory. His music has resulted in a few of the Queen Bee’s literary stingers that hang on the wall. I should also note at this time that the Queen Bee has a thing for fake, deadly fake flowers and takes every opportunity to spread these plastic pleasures all around her palace. It’s almost as if they are growing.