37 thoughts on “June 30, 2023: New Rules”

      1. Thanks all. What makes it especially tough is that Penny was Elaine's dog. She was one of the very few tangible things remaining after 9 years.

        1. Please don't go all John Wick on whatever constitutes the St. Paul mafia

          *My wife is convinced that the Russian tea house next to the Wendy's at University and Fairview is a front.

        2. That's really rough. We just marked the 9th year since my sister passed, and I was recalling how you had gone through earily similiar experiences with Elaine just prior to that. Hard to believe how much time has passed. You're in our prayers.

    6. I'm sorry to hear this. We'll be thinking of you.

      Ours are 13 and 15.

      We adopted the 15 year old when she was 8. It was right after Sano's rookie year and I was convinced he'd be a star. We needed the dog Sano. Seven years later and she's somehow outlived Miguel's career.

  2. Got a crazy email from my realtor last night. Seems the buyers of our house are upset because I made a mistake on the date of our termite contract's expiration. Yeah, I put off paying the 90 dollars for the contract because the house was on the market and I legitimately thought the contract expired in August. Well, the invoice that I shredded a month ago noted that the contract expired in May. Okay, my bad. The buyers used language like 'misrepresentation' and 'duty' and 'remedy' which pissed me off something fierce. 90 dollars. ninety. dollars. I really, really, truly wanted to see what would happen if I said pound sand, but then I remembered that I really don't want anything to do with that house. Here, have an additional 90 bucks. Now kindly eff off.

    Had I been in the same situation I would have paid the invoice and chalked it up to homeownership. Oh, and what does that contract get you? Nothing really. A wee cajun man comes over and crawls around under your house looking for evidence of active termites and then sprays some poison around your house and calls it a day. There are three types of houses in the swamp. Those that had termites, those that have termites, and those that will have termites. Fact of life.

    1. On a semi-related note, I am unable to view the tweet on twitter.com without signing in, so I'm finally completely free from that cursed place.

      1. Since Elon, you can't really differentiate Twitter from every other agenda-driven vanity website out there.

  4. TIL that there is a portion of the intestines called the "jejunum." Its signature characteristic is that it is always found to be empty after death.

    1. I once sat on a jury for a 3-week medical malpractice case that involved a jejunoscopy. By the end of the trial, I was pretty convinced that I could assist on the procedure, if not perform it myself.

  5. Tomorrow morning we take off for the homelands*, with an overnight stop in Maple Grove -- sorry zooomie, don't think we can stop this time through. We're spending a week at my mom's, and hobnobbing with family and friends during the county fair. Oh, and cooler weather!

    *we have to rent a car as well as pet-friendly hotel each direction because we couldn't come up with anyone to watch the granddog. as free's post reminds me, enjoy 'em while they're with us. you've got our sympathies, free

    2. ...because we couldn't come up with anyone to watch the granddog.

      Dude, I know a guy you know.

      1. ha! well, too hands-on, unfortunately. She's going on 16yrs, has lost a lot of hearing and has other issues, and in the long run this is the "easiest" option

  6. I hope we see a better version of the Twins tonight. But it was refreshing how they found a way not to lose yesterday.

  8. My friend James Wrayge, with whom I shared an art studio for the past 30 years, passed away two weeks ago today. He was 74 years old. Jimmy had been battling esophageal cancer for the last three years. Sadly, cancer finally won.

    I’d like to tell you a little bit about Jim, because he was something else. First of all, he was a wonderful painter, and all the other painters knew it. He was as intelligent a person as you would ever want to meet on a wide assortment of subjects. Art History, Jazz, Film (he turned me onto so many great old movies, a of them B&W), Classical music, Dylan, baseball, cooking, food, wine, and literature, to name but a few. He would finish a Friday crossword in less than 20 minutes. He was also a perceptive listener who could offer helpful advice. He had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh. (And man, did we laugh.) He could also be caustic and grumpy, as well. He didn’t suffer fools gladly. I always knew it was a defense mechanism that tried to hide what a softhearted guy he actually was. Unsuccessfully, I might add.

    I met Jim when he was a bartender at Eli’s in downtown Minneapolis. Someone told him I’d gone to art school. That first conversation revealed that we both studied fine art at the Uof MN, albeit 10 years apart. We both gushed about the same 3 professors. We also both hated the same one. A bond was formed. He bartended for 40 years in the TC, and man, did he have stories. He drank with Billy Martin and Calvin Griffith, for Pete’s sake. When Jim was the bartender at Eli’s, the place was always jumping. Not packed, just full of life. Jimmy playing something cool over the system. Before he retired to paint full when he was 60, Eli’s became the goto place for local and visiting rock and rollers to hang out, and he was main reason. On any given night you could find a couple of Jayhawks, maybe a couple of guys from Soul Asylum, perhaps dudes from Semisonic, even musicians from the Minnesota Orchestra, all bellied up to the bar. And they would talk his ear off.
    I’ll share one last memory, when Fargo was shooting in town Steve Buscemi came into the bar and hung around for a couple hours. Said he was a really sweet guy. “Call me if he comes in again!”, I said. A few days later, my phone rings. It’s Jim. “Buscemi just walked in.” I raced down there and the place was packed. Jimmy caught my eye and waved me to the far end the bar where a lone barstool stood empty, and half a glass of ginger ale sat with a bar nap over the top. I asked Jim if someone was sitting there. He swiped away the drink and said, “Nope. That was a beard, dummy.” Soon a beer appeared and Jim said, “Hey Steve, you should meet my friend Matt.” I then spent the next two hours drinking beer and eating French fries while talking baseball and movies with Steve Buscemi.

    I’d be lying if I said was taking this well. When I’m not feeling sad, I feel numb. But today I remembered that Buscemi story and it made me realize how many great memories I can still call up. This is a good thing. And I hope my first step towards acceptance, that so far elusive and final stage of grief.

Comments are closed.