Let's have a mind and raise flowers. » Nostalgia

True Minnesota Tales n Yarns: Don’t Make ‘em Quite Like We Did

Ryan McGivern — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 11:21:05 +0000

Back when we was young in Minnesota, life was was in every which way bigger. To the west, North and South Dakota was just One Goddamned Dakota and Canada had several orbital moons. There wasn’t a size long-john any less than an XXL and they came pre-stained with the blood of mammoths. We drank milk from rain gutters since our cows stood at ‘low cloud height’ and sure enough we was all giants and when we was bad we hadda go pull a Tappin’ Tree for our mommas to beat us with. Shucks, the beatin’ wasn’t all that bad really. But pickin’ your Tappin’ Tree was awful. I of course always tried to pick the skinniest tree and it wasn’t until I was older that I figured out that a skinny tree only hurts all the more. I went through lotsa birch to learn that. When we’d plucked all the trees outta the land our elders took to using Beatin’ Lakes where they’d make us pick a lake and they’d scoop it up and slap the water across our bare bellies. Nowadays our kids might be a little bit smaller but they ain’t one whit better behaved and the like might be said about those two Dakotas.

True Minnesota Tales n Yarns: We Was Poor, Sure.

Ryan McGivern — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 11:17:52 +0000

When we was younger we didn’t have no fancy spoons. That stuff was for rich folk. We had to use our hands mostly. Course, since we didn’t have forks either we had to handle all our hot BBQ and we mostly had burnt up hands all the time. Sometimes if somebody got enough BBQ sauce on their hands we’d all just pass their hands around the table and eat ‘em up to the wrists ‘til either we or them caught on that we were splintering ulna and radius between our not-so-pearly-whites. Having no spoons of course when we made soup we’d pour it from mouth to mouth, the cook to the oldest kid and them to the next oldest all the way down to me, the youngest of our litter. Course, my older brothers were hungry something awful all the time and they’d have ate up all that soup long before it every got to me and all I’d get was a mouthful of acid reflux, gingivitis, and belched air. Yeah, we was poor and there wasn’t no shame in it because we was pretty stupid to boot. We just figured everybody burned their outhouse gleanings for warmth and showered in the nearby bakery’s air exchange fan. We weren’t the warmest or cleanest kids on the street but on the good side we smelled heavily of rye bread–and what kid doesn’t love the smell of rye bread? Course on the bad side, we’d all get giant cysts on our faces and legs that burst forth yeast and frosting. We was poor! And we’d all look for extra work to help out the family. Even as young kids we’d be doing our share. That’s the way it was back then–everybody lending a helping hand. If you couldn’t or wouldn’t get a job or steal your fair share we’d tap your arm in your sleep and sell your blood to the Satanist church. A pint could get ‘ya four dollars! That sounds like good money but most of it would go straight into the monthly costs of exorcisms and crucifix tattoos. We was poor alright. I once got hired on by our neighbors the Bjornson’s to dig a hole to bury their horse in. Being poor of course I didn’t have a shovel but I had always been raised to believe that a little elbow grease and a lot of sebum will get any job done and so I said to myself this here hole will be dug come hell or high water! As it turned out, that was the summer of the Great Moose Flood, when a fast moving moose rammed into the dam above town. But sure enough as soon as that water was drank up by the Jorgensenson family dairy cows and the ground came back I got to that hole. To get to the Bjornson’s place, it was a fifty odd mile trek up Shit Creek and of course I hadn’t got no paddle so it took me near until breakfast to get there each morning which is why I would leave at sundown two days early but that wasn’t all too often I had to do that because for the most part I just slept there in a deer bed I found in a stand of pine trees. Anaway with no shovel to my name I just ate my way into that hole but of course as you can imagine by the time I got the hole finished my soil-bloated body filled the hole completely. When winter came around the Bjornsons poured tar over me and sealed me in pitch and all-weather wood sealant. This kept me warm for the most part though I had to put up with animals stumbling into my tar pits and then the wolves coming in and getting stuck when they’d come checkin’ on all death screams of dairy cows going on. When spring came along and then the next couple years’ worth of freezing and thawing I got loose enough to get dug up with a skid loader. By the time I’d wriggled loose that ol’ horse had been given to the elementary school’s Stew Night Fund Raiser and I never did see any money as a payment for my troubles but that was the best job I ever did have. Like they say, its all about the people you work with and I find my company well suitable to my liking. I haven’t got much work since then save the few times I’ve been hired on as a fishing guide. In the winter I’ll drive ‘em out to a flat field where I’ve got a retrofitted outhouse I tell ‘em is an ice fishing shed and tell ‘em they’re on Eagle Lake and I leave ‘em there for a weekend. I don’t get much money to speak of since I work for tips and the bottom of my tip jar’s rusted out and most my clients are too frostbit to reach for change but heck I don’t mind being poor ‘cuz as a Minnesotan I was raised to value the simple things in life: perennial drunkenness and the ability to equally distrust and envy the middle class.

True Minnesota Tales n Yarns: Yup, We Got Some Lakes

Ryan McGivern — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 11:10:07 +0000

Yeah, some folk do call Minnesota the Land O Ten Thousand Lakes. You know who those people are? Wisconsiners and the Jealous, though that is a bit redundant. We got on hand more than ten million lakes and including the water of our sweaty palmed hands, we got well nigh into the billions. We’re natural born swimmers we are. Most of us are born directly into a lake or at least into the live bait box. Don’t know how many siblings I lost to being mistaken for minnows. We got lakes such that if you’re dry for more than a few minutes, anxiety kicks in and you’d better take a step to the right or left and get yourself into Perch Lake or Lake Arrowhead. I once just about drowned after drinking a few Hamm’s and falling off a fishing dock. I fell like a stone to the bottom of that there lake and when I did what’d I find there but four Mer-people sitting around a lower fishing hole catching tin cans. Nice folks, them. Ended up spending the weekend with ‘em before making a casserole of ‘em.

Mer-People Casserole

Debone and de-trident Mer-people.
Make offering to Neptune (unless serving during Lent or Dionysian Feast)
Crumble Funyuns into casserole dish
Use crock pot
If Minnesotan, you know the rest. (If Wisconsiner, get bent)

Endangered Mythological Beasts: A Need To Conserve our Mindscapes

Ryan McGivern — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 09:46:11 +0000

Our cultures are facing the shock of science! I hate test tubes and microscopes for the most part with the exception of when they are used as props in science fiction movies.
Can’t you see what this modern era of the last six hundred years has been doing to us?! Its getting harder and harder to get a spirit possession properly diagnosed and your village’s well protected from various vampiric creatures including Biting Blankets and Wooly Mammoth Wooly Socks.
We are undergoing a paradigm shift.
But not everyone and everything need be vulnerable to the seemingly inexorable march of science’s influence!
Yes, my brothers and sisters our minds are the last great fortress against those evil forces of Reason.
Our old gods can take respite in the hold-out of your mind and I encourage each of you to hold fast in the face of facts and objectivity.
What we have always held dear is our human capacity to instill fear and give explanation and meaning through off-the-cuff story telling and no amount of Education can rip that instinct from our primitive minds!

Take for example the Wind Wolf. Hear that noise outside? You know what that is. It is the Werewolf’s inbred cousin who visits children during windy nights and howls among the alleys and parking lots. The Wind Wolf smells the sin of lust and Self Pleasure. That howling is a warning Little Ones! Beware and repent!
You may hear from younger generations who have been indoctrinated with the ‘new worldview’ that Wind Wolves have never been proven to truly punish children who incite their lustful longings with exploratory hands and shower nozzles but remind them: sometimes Wind Wolves exact their punishment in the afterlife!
Take heed before it’s too late!

And who hasn’t noticed that the religion of the Floorafe has diminished in recent years?
Yes, the tale of the Floorafe has largely been pushed aside in favor of “evolution” and “common sense,” both of which are purely tools of the Cloven Hoofed Old Scratch.
We can all recall the story of the Floorafe:
In the beginning a giant giraffe filled the whole of the cosmos. Its wisdom and neck were limitless.
It created humanity and was pleased with the way humans groveled underfoot.
Over many millenia humans learned to walk upright and started to see themselves as equals to the Great Giraffe in The Sky.
Given that the Great Spotted Lanky One was Eternally Humble, She said to Herself,
“Okay, you humans think you’re so great…I’ll allow myself to shrink and not stand in your way of development and growth.”
So She shrunk and allowed humans to have more and more control and understanding of Her universe.
Soon humans were exploring space and manipulating DNA….And more did She shrink.
Before long humans were feeling pretty good about themselves–they were healing diseases, predicting storms, and those aspects of the universe that had once been mysteries to them opened up before the human species and they found less and less need for astral powers and spiritual beings.
The Great Giraffe shrunk even further until Her neck was touching Her shoulders and She looked no different than a humble horse. As humanity’s strength grew, She shrunk even more until she was two dimensional and as flat as a string of nanomolecules.
Now, The Great Giraffe hides in the floorboards of Her True Believers and is known among the initiated as the Floorafe.
She is only seen in the ‘heart of faith’ or sometimes makes Herself known under the feet of Her devotees when She makes a slight creaking noise.
“Oh, that’s just a loose floorboard.” some skeptics will say.
Ha!
We know the Truth.

Yes, there are many extinct Gods and Goddesses but with the proper upkeep of our mindscapes, we can hold on to the last remaining ghouls of our ancestors.

Investigate Miss Virginia Nikki Poteet

Ryan McGivern — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 00:25:58 +0000

Miss Virginia Nikki Poteet is innocent until proven guilty.
But sheesh.
When many people are confirming that you went on a drunken tirade breaking furniture and using homophobic slurs, a serious investigation is needed.
I encourage everyone to call requesting Miss USA investigate these allegations seriously.
(212) 373-4986
pr@missuniverse.com

About Nikki Poteet:
http://thinkprogress.org/lgbt/2011/11/01/358324/poteet-homophobic-slurs/
http://missvirginiausa.com/titleholders.php?id=2010110809525094586

“I Am Not Moving” True Democracy in Action

Ryan McGivern — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 22:39:44 +0000

Hypocritical and corrupt regimes cannot stand against non-violent, sustained, allied democratic movements.

Favorite Songs By Favorite Artists

Ryan McGivern — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 01:45:43 +0000

Here’s a short list of somma my faves!

Beatles: Its All Too Much, Pepper’s Reprise, Carry that Weight

Korn: Freak on a Leash

White Zombie: More Human than Human

Paul Simon: Kodakrome, Baby Driver, Keep the Customers Satisfied

Ozzy: Goodbye to Romance

Red Hot Chili Peppers: Under the Bridge, Give It Away

Breeders: Cannonball

AC/DC: Thunderstruck, Money Talks

Iggy Pop: Lust For Life

Morrissey: Certain People I Know, King Leer, There’s a Place for Me and My Friends

Rage Against the Machine: Bombtrack, Bulls on Parade, Killing in the Name

Jane’s Addiction: Been Caught Stealin’

Lightning Seeds: Pure, The Price

System of a Down: Chop Suey

Led Zeppelin: D’yer Maker

Beck: Beercan

Leonard Cohen: So Long Marianne, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye

50 Cent: At the Club

Mammas and the Pappas: Glad to Be Unhappy, 12:30

U2: With Or Without You, Running to Stand Still, Where the Streets have No Name

Moby: Southside, We Are All Made of Stars

Metallica: Sad But True, Enter Sandman

Mickey and Sylvia: Love is Strange

They Might Be Giants: Birdhouse in your Soul

Pixies: Here Comes Your Man

The Doors: LA Woman

Weezer: The World Has Turned, Holiday

Stevie Wonder: Superstition

Kinks: Suzannas Gonna Cry, Some Mother’s Son

Dexy’s Midnight Runners: Come On Eileen

The Beastie Boys: Sabotage

Smashing Pumpkins: Today

Sublime: Santoria

Rolling Stones: Ruby Tuesday

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Maps

Neil Young: Heart of Gold

Bjork: The New World, I’ve Seen it All, Cocoon

Steppenwolf: Magic Carpet Ride

Bo Diddley: Bo Diddley

The White Stripes: Seven Nation Army, Gonna be Friends, My Doorbell

A letter from 2002

J.J. — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 00:25:13 +0000

April 18, 2002

Dear Abraham,

Sunday is good to talk — maybe I’ll try you first. My thesis is finally taking off — I just hope its not headed for any office buildings in NYC. unless it’s Mr. T’s office. Not that i want him dead, but if I’m going to die anyway, it’d be cool to get a burial plot next to his. Do you think Mr. T has an office? My thesis is lots of work though. I’ve traded in my health and sanity for productivity. all i eat is ground coffee. I don’t even brew it anymore. I haven’t had a beer in weeks, unless you count the urine I’m collecting in two liter bottles which I’m hoping will eventually turn into Natural Lite. I don’t go outside. My tanless skin is now a perfect pearl white. The only daylight I see is sunrise, and i quickly close the blinds. I think I might be a vampire. Kind of hoping, actually. I’m beyond delusional. It’ll all be done, or not done, by next week though. I turn in the final copy on Friday, and my thesis defense is May 13th.

This summer Orin and I are definitely hopping up to Canada somewhere — we’ve already given Canada lots of money for student work visas. You and Mel have an open invitation to visit anytime, as long as you like. If you stay too long, though, we might make you dress up like a lovely hairy lady and march down to the Shell station, if they have them there.

Speaking of lovely ladies, there might be a new one in my life, although she’s not as hairy as you. She’s in my photo class. We hung out the other day. I thought I’d spoiled everything, by telling stories that never found a finish line. but later that night she sent me an email…:

ok. so you can’t tell a ‘good’ story, but regardless, you’re a riot. so, you put me to sleep and i can’t really stand to listen to you ramble on. hah. you thought there was going to be a but, but no. yo, thanks for the photographer links. but really, no more camera talk. you’re fab. and since you’re old, it’s fitting that you tell stories that have no point.

it’s really too bad we just met this year, since you’re leaving and i’m staying and i have so much more knowledge left to soak up from you. you’re really just screwing things up. thanks a lot. no really, you’re great. and so cute. you really make me smile (even when your stories are boring me to tears). thank you. and you shouldn’t call people fat. it makes them feel bad.

moose,
b.

She’s definitely not fat. She’s cute, witty, funny, sarcastic, sardonic, overly critical… and she’s the first new person in a long time that i would really like in my life somewhere.

So ponder that, maybe. I’ll throw a few more afternoon activities your way: make a nice liver and sardine sandwich. Airbrush a pretty picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Give your brother a flower. Watch a Friends marathon. Start lifting weights. Join the Romanian army. Drink a cup of decaffinated espresso. Listen to counting crows. Eat a deep fried twizzler dipped in peanut butter. Slice off some fingers and re-attach them around your nipple. Wear a horizontally striped pink and grey shirt. Apply for a job as an automotive oil lubricator. Find Shamus and give him a nice friendly foot massage. Use a can of roach repellant to get a whip-it high. Swim across the english channel as a protest to the next Harry Potter book. Ask your neighbors if they like blind melon. drop out of art school to pursue your dream of becoming a politician. Start a ferret farm. Take ice cream out of your diet. eed some squirrels. Purchase some Enron stock from Ebay. Buy clothes only from famous Italian. Change your name to Luigi.

and give me a call
yer buddy
john

Gov. Walker’s Gambit to Sell Out Working Families Is Losing

Ryan McGivern — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 00:39:34 +0000

Scott Walker’s attack on Labor Rights has nothing to do with budget and has everything to do with
depriving working families of the American Dream and funneling more cash to the very rich and
big corporations.

This video is of Congresswoman Gwen Moore exposing Walker’s gambit:

Poem: A Welcome

Ryan McGivern — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 17:13:00 +0000

I heard you dance at the doorway
kicking at the heels of shoes
until they scatter like chickens at feed

you still smell of the trees
the alive ground wet trodden
again a dalliance of cigarette

your hair at its many parts
reveals shorter hair surely
a sign of your growing

there is smell of scalp
the struggle of sweatshirt
the wet of a missed autumn bus

all chaff and embers
those enclosures of care
that kitchen quiet while your sleep