Actual events from this morning:

WIFE: Peter, can you give Franklin more water before you go?

HUSBAND: Sure.

*HUSBAND stands carefully above Franklin’s water dish, spits into it, and walks away.*

WIFE: Peter!

Once again, my marital instincts have failed me. Everything I’ve read in the Book of Proverbs was wrong!

Before any of you slack-jawed dullards complains to me about my irregular posting, I’d like to fill you in with a few details on my life at the moment:

-I am hard at work on a research project that will complete the coursework needed for my long-awaited Master’s degree. My partner and I are studying the effects of varying curricular styles on scores for the Minnesota Comprehensive Assessments reading exam. This process is exactly as thrilling as it sounds.

-We have no internet access at home, so in order to write these things I have to drag my dumpy behind over to my local public library. There, I’m forced to find available seating and talk to people. Libraries are miserable places, like medeival dungeons with flourescent lighting and ample parking.

-In my spare time, I am tutoring a few students on American history. This required a bit of brushing up on everybody’s favorite era of U.S. history, the Gilded Age, and the splendid presidencies of Chet Arthur, James Garfield, and the fat-mouthed, Progressive bastard William Howard Taft.

-I have also taken a spunky, sarcastic young boy with an adorable haircut under my tutelage. His sass and street sense combined with my straight-laced routines and weary eye-rolls should make for a hilarious pairing you are sure to love. Look for our hijinks to appear this fall on ABC’s “Don’t Say That, Phillip!”

This morning I took our beloved Ben Franklin in to the animal hospital to be declawed. He meowed sadly the whole way there, as if he already knew that his precious talons were about to be torn asunder.

I feel kinda bad for the guy, I have to admit. He has to wait around in that little box for a couple hours until they put him under and literally pull the ends of his fingers off. It’s like I took him to Dr. Mengele’s veterinary clinic or something. I also don’t envy how he’ll feel afterwards - that post-surgery haze, where the nausea and discomfort combine to make you feel like you just leg-wrestled a ‘roided-up gorilla in a firepit. To take the analogy uncomfortably further, it was also as if the leg-wrestling match were officiated by briar-gnome, known for their dispassionate wisdom and ticklish whiskers. The briar-gnome (Clovis) officiated a fair match between you and the unethical gorilla, but in the end, ruled in favor of the gorilla to the dismay of you and your tough-as-nails coach. The gorilla then moved on to the regional semifinals, to be aired on FOX Sports Net. (Clovis the Briar-gnome, for his part, continued to eat his own excrement, a traditional custom in his culture.)

So anyway, the cat is having his fingernails surgically pulled off. Just like the real Ben Franklin did.

After a hectic week, I’ve got a big weekend in front of me. Tomorrow, we’re shooting a new Rock TV (the concept: breaking the bones of toddlers). After that, I’ve got to hurry home to meet up with my wife and my father in law, who is staying with us over the weekend. His actual legal name is Bronco, which is perhaps the greatest fact in the history of everything.

There is really no more perfect name for my father-in-law than Bronco. He is short, but muscular (from years of working in the mines of northern Minnesota), with a bushy mustache and the loudest voice imaginable. The man literally shouts his way through everything. Attending a funeral with him would be something akin to letting a pregnant donkey loose on the stage of a fine ballet.

Fortunately, his voice overamplifies some genuinely cool stories. From tales of his service in Vietnam to hot rodding in the early 60’s (think American Graffiti starring Regis Philbin on speed).

Here’s a picture of Bronco:

(And yes, if you must know, that is my wife that I thoughtlessly cropped out of the picture, what of it? It’s not like this was from some memorable occasion or something.)

Anyway, I’m looking forward to a fun time with my loud, opinionated father-in-law, as usual. Perhaps in a quiet restaurant I will ask him to opine on immigration from Mexico or abortion. This will bring great pleasure to me, and probably Bridgette too, I assume.

Here’s wishing all of you a boisterous, politically incorrect weekend!

In November, 2004, my friend Jon Gilmore and I released an acoustic EP called “Good Times & Pumpkin Pie”. I’m as proud of it as I am of anything creative I’ve ever done. It was catchy and strange, in some ways like a musical version of the John Larroquette Project.

As of last weekend, we’ve officially sold out of physical copies of the disk, which is pretty cool. Rather than spending the time and money to produce another run of them, I figure it’d be more fun to just release the mp3’s online for free. Here are the songs, with my comments and reflections:

1. Here I Go Again : This was written with another old friend of mine, Niles Randolph. It’s the least silly of all the songs on the album, but it was always the most enjoyable for Jon and I to perform. It’s a fun look into the mind of a man wondering whether to approach a woman he’s interested in.

2. The Viscount & the Mistress : This was mostly written by Niles, and I added in the “fly, fly, buttress fly” chorus. If you pay attention to the lyrics, it’s a pretty twisted story of clergical corruption in medieval France. Mostly though, it’s just strange.

3. Ballad of the Sasquatch Waterslide : This was co-written by Jon and I, after we determined that it would be a good idea to write a song about how much Sasquatch loved going to the waterslides. Jon sang lead and added the bit about the SWAT team, and I tossed in the “just some hairy guy” ending. The last 30 seconds of this song is probably my favorite part of this EP.

4. The Bee Song : This song has been available on my blog for a while, and it’s been written about enough already. I’ll just add that it was utterly exhausting to perform live and it completely alienated coffee shop audiences.

5. These the Presidents Be : I don’t know how well this recording really works. We were going for a Country Time lemonade kind of feel, but I don’t know if it was the right direction. My favorite part about this song are Jon’s additions, which sound like a retarded boy sitting on the porch next to the singer.

6. El Matador : This was the first song that Jon and I ever co-wrote, probably back in 2000 or 2001. I like it because it reminds me of how fun it was to just goof around together and toss out strange ideas. Also, it was a blast to record the dissonant breakdown at the end of the song. The song was recorded in one take, as Jon was running out of time before he had to go to work. If you can listen carefully, at the end he says, “All right, I’ve got to go”. Good way to end the EP.

Thanks to our friends Jake McAlpine and Craig Larson for their help with production and vocals, respectively.

Enjoy - and pass them along to your friends!

Sorry for the inconsistant posting. My summer travels will lead me to and fro like a dragon on meth. As such, I won’t always have the time, opportunity, or mental capacity to fire out the blog entries you so cravenly desire.

Having said that, I would like to tell you about what I witnessed on Saturday.

Two years ago, I attended a parade of such evil and depravity I could scarcely endure. This fiendish procession was highlighted by the hyena-like shrieks and flamethrowing theatrics of the Iron Range Shriners.

Over the weekend, I encountered those motorcycle-riding bastards once again.

Look at that last Shriner. See how his forearms flex grotesquely? See how his mustache flutters in the wind like the wings of a falcon? Tell me you can look at him without wanting to send an arrow into his ribs with a compound bow. It’s things like this that have me seriously considering a move to Mexico.

Once again, they zoomed about the street, strutting their wares and summoning hot magma from their hands. They also threw Tootsie Rolls.

Joining the Shriners this year was another group that made the Nazi leaders look like Archie and the gang - clowns.


A clown band, to be more specific. Filled with malice, these clown musicians marched down the street without discipline, terrifying children and biting the heads off of ravens without remorse. Their ragtag, minor-key melodies filled the summer air with dread and dissonant tones while their pike-wielding goons battered horrified onlookers to death. It was literally worse than the battle of Antietam.

We did see a guy driving a port-a-potty though, so it wasn’t a total loss.