I will be 24 on the 24th of June, folks. The big 2-4. Quarterlife. How did this happen? As any good student of the Post-Modern would do, I have decided to channel my neurotic energies into a blog. For the purposes of this post that should read: avoid work by typing quickly and appearing to be hard at it. As I look back on my short tenure in life, I am bewildered, which is apparently a popular state to be in. Since my friends have all grown weary of my obsessive and insistent dissection of the minutiae of my life, it seems I have nowhere to spew my addled ramblings but on the good citzens of cyberspace. So here is where I shall unload it all, my disappointment with dating and all things boy, my disillusionment with the "career" opportunities for myself and the other geniuses I have managed to befriend, and my utter disgust with the political and social climate of the American Experiment at this juncture.
This blog is not for the faint of heart. Abandon all hope, ye who continue reading....
So on monday night I went to Cash-a-Roake. For those of you in the Sin Cities (aka Minneapolis/St. Paul) this was held at Lee's Liquor Lounge, between downtown and north Minneapolis. It is a dive in the truest, most blessedly dingy sense of the word, with 3 dollar drinks and bad, brown paneling. Anyway, Cash-a-Roake is a live band playing only Johnny Cash songs which you can sing along with. Was there ever a better idea ever? I went alone (I literally called every single human being I know and couldn't get a single one of them to even pick up the damn phone), but the thing about something like Cash-a-Roake is that you have to work to not make new friends... or if not friends, at least drinking buddies. And really, is there an important distinction? I think not. Cash-a-Roake occurs every monday, and I do believe you'll be able to find me there, drinking my $4 whiskey and soda, singing along with the Man in Black.
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