Minnesota Sucks

Don't get me wrong, I love the University of Minnesota. I love the Twin Cities, especially Minneapolis, for the culture, the hangouts, and above all for the people. There is, however, an element to Minnesota life that continually leads me to question why the hell I didn't make a break for the west coast. Of course, I mean the weather.


When it gets to be springtime in Minneapolis, you can count on one thing for certain--being pissed off. Ridiculously rapid weather-pattern changes, lightning, thunder, snow, heat, tornadoes... you literally never know what they hell to expect. It's 75 and sunny at 4pm on a Thursday, and by Saturday you can be staring down the barrel of an 8" snowstorm. Fuck me.

March 31st, 2008 was a perfect example of why we should all hate Minnesota weather. It was the Twins home opener at the Dome, and had they been playing outdoors the 7" of snow would have put a real damper on the first game of the '08 campaign. Within the week, I'm pretty sure it got to be like 85 degrees before temps retreated to a normal range. Tonight, after a stretch of stable-but-shitty weather, we are experiencing yet more snow.

Just when we think its safe--BAM: A cosmic dick-in-the-eye. You have a softball game tonight? Thunderstorm. Block party next week? Freezing rain turning to snow. Hoping to see some girls show off a little skin in the next couple weeks of class? Well forget that, buddy, 'cause we're looking at a late-April cold snap.

Mother Nature, the skank, has decided that we, in the Midwest, deserve a constant mix of springtime ups and downs. Cold and snowy on Monday? Well its gonna be hot and muddy on Tuesday, bitch!

Minnesota to Mother Nature... we hate you. Stop fucking with us already. I doubt I can take it much longer, and I really don't want to have to move anytime too soon. How much more can I take, though? (Sigh) I don't think a whole lot.

2 Week Update, The Great Drinking Experiment of 2008

Hmm... What to say about these first two weeks? Well, I guess the first and most important point is that everyone was right. I couldn't do it. Birthday parties, friends graduating in May that I might not see very much in the coming years, etc. I was just unable to overcome the fact that, as I have said on multiple occasions, EVERY day is a potential drinking day.

I made it past the first weekend with ease, consuming a measly 5 beers between Thursday night and the next week Wednesday. When BnP (Beer and Pizza) came around Wednesday, I was powerless to resist her attractions. I went and drank relatively (for me) responsibly, and then did NOT continue to drink heavily on into the night. A moral victory for me, at the very least.

It was not until Saturday, April 12th, ten full days after I began my vow of non-drunkenness, that I got shitfaced. I blacked out, arriving at a good friend's birthday party around 10pm, and drinking steadily into the wee hours. I awoke Sunday afternoon, not particularly hungover, but with no real memories after 2 or 3am (I got home sometime after 5, as pieced together based on the fact that that is when my roommate got home, and I was not home then, but managed to wake up in my bed).

So, did I get right back up on the horse, and try to prove everyone wrong now that I'd fucked up and proved them right? Of course not, I fucked up, so now I drink again. I am a man who admits my failures, and this is one of them. I am not completely back to drinking at the high levels of my lore, but for all intensive purposes, I am a drinking man again.

Did I learn anything on my failed sober voyage? Well, I guess it isn't all that bad being sober, not even around drunk people. While I was sober, I managed not to fuck anything up (my first blackout night I broke my phone and had to get a different one). Can I exist in the in-between? Am I capable of pulling off the middle ground between stark sobriety and raving intoxication? All the evidence points to no, which is really too bad, at least some of the time. Ah well, though, if nothing else I can go back to doing what it is I do best.

I'm a Fuckin' Artist!

The greatest thing, undoubtedly, about facebook's graffiti wall feature is getting to feel like a bona fide artist. I discovered this when I viewed a recent collection of my graffitis sent to various friends and family. What I discovered shocked me to my core... I am a fucking artistic and creative genius. Oh, and keep in mind, dear readers, that I drew each of these without the cheater's benefit of a mouse. Yeah, I thought so.


This one is among my earliest works, and was given to a dear friend and roommate of mine, Mr. David DuBois. I drew my inspiration from a Lite-Brite set I never owned as a child, but saw many commercials for. I longed for that Lite-Brite, and I never got one. I cried myself to sleep every night. My juvenile angst was brought out in this dramatic work I gifted to David. If you stare at it long enough, you'll hear the angels weep for my lost childhood.



This is another early piece. It is my successful attempt at minimalist man-love. It is in response to a graffiti that was left for me by my dear friend Kevin. You can see that I have literally "bent him over the table" and am giving it to him with my phallus, which I represented slightly smaller than scale for fear of appearing cocky. This is a jubilant piece, and was recently appraised for auction at $27,000, though after my death the value will likely skyrocket into the six and seven figure range.



My earliest masterpiece. I call it "Snowy Night." This was an early gift to my younger brother, Jake. It blessed his wall shortly after the graffiti application came to my attention, and is widely considered one of the most influential pieces in the history of the Facebook graffiti application.



This I call "Dawkins v. God," and it is my latest breakthrough in the world of art. This piece is iconic not just because it foretells the death of God in the world consciousness, which is coming in the next few generations (chalk that Nostradamus-like prediction up to me, as well), but also because it serves as a brilliant retelling of Richard Dawkins's book The God Delusion, which I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone. It is currently located on Mr. DuBois's graffiti wall. He is, to date, the largest collector of my works.



Finally, my most controversial work. It has come under great scrutiny, despite its very obvious genius, because of the homosexual overtones. From my middle period, or as it is collectively known to Jeff Neuman scholars, the Rainbow Period (2007), this piece is in fact not homosexual in nature, but rather is a triumphant defense of man-to-man love in the strictest heterosexual sense. It is also owned by Mr. DuBois, and is considered by most art historians to be a piece of exceptional importance.



As an example of the slop that passes as "art" on graffiti, I have posted this original by Ben Catterall. This travesty is both short-sighted in its scope, and poorly executed to boot. Beware, gentle readers, that when you go searching for the brilliance of my work, you may come across things such as this, which are eyesores among eyesores. Unfortunately, not everyone can be a fuckin' artistic genius like me.

Words I Can't Hear in any Context Without Laughing

I have the mindset of a 15 year old boy. I have never disputed this, and in fact rarely argue when the figure drops to 14, 13, or even 12. I have a classically "dirty" mind, and this has rarely, if ever, struck me as inappropriate. I have a tendency to go above and beyond the standard crude thoughts however, and even in wholly unexpected situations I will find myself pondering questions that would unnerve some people. I know this because when I ask a question like, "So, how many dicks do you think that girl has sucked in her life," or, "Do you think she's ever done anal?" pointing to a girl on the street, I tend to get some pretty strange, or even disgusted, looks from friends and passersby.

It is no surprise, then, that there are a multitude of words and phrases that, in any context, I cannot help but laugh when I come across in daily, non-dirty usage. Examples are as diverse as they are numerous, but all have some--whether obvious or not--connection to a "vulgar" concept that I find absolutely hilarious. Go ahead, call me immature. Call me "dirty-minded." I take these so-called insults as badges of honor. Badges that say, "Society and political correctness have not smothered my inner adolescent."

In light of this I have compiled a list (by no means comprehensive) of things that I can't hear or read without giggling like a 6th grader in his first Sex Ed class.

Facial

This on should be obvious, but you'd be surprised how often it comes up in television and print ads for face creams. I don't care how soft it makes your skin or how much younger it will make you feel, this is something I'll never be able to take seriously... ever. They might as well call it Money-Shot Cream.

Cream Pie

This one should also be fairly obvious to anyone who's watched a decent amount of porn, but for anyone who doesn't know I'll direct you to the definition of creampie at Wikipedia. This comes up every time I'm at Dairy Queen, or Baker's square, or anywhere they serve dessert and somebody is trying to describe a delicious banana cream pie. Sometimes I wish I could look past it, just to focus on the delicious treat in front of me, but it never happens.

Load Size

Also fairly obvious, but it comes up over and over again both in the world of hauling things with large vehicles, and as a setting on most washers. Haha, load size.

Massive Taco Bar

Only I could take something so innocent as a 35 foot, make-your-own-taco stand and picture nothing but a long bar on which a multitude of prostitutes are lying, pantless, with their feet up in stirrups.

Come Again

Really? But I just came. Have you ever heard of a refractory period?

Uvula

Sounds far too much like vulva, and in fact, I got the two confused quite often as a youngster (I had some peculiar reading interests).

Oral Exam

As a liberal arts student, I am forced by my college to take 4 semesters of foreign language. This, of course, means muffling my laughter for two years every time my Italian teacher says, "We'll be having our oral exams next week. If you're looking to develop your oral skills before the test I'll be holding additional office hours..."

Of course there are many more examples, and you can undoubtedly think of your own. The point is that I am immature, exceptionally immature, and to a large extent I am proud of that fact. As I said above, I like to think this indicates an undying adolescent glow that emanates from somewhere deep inside me. (Deep inside me, haha.) So if it is your nature to think as I do when these hilarious terms come up, don't stifle it, embrace it, and we'll all be a little less mature and a little more happy.

The Outer Fringe of a Blackout

There are those times when you are out drinking, and a sudden, distinctive feeling comes out of the back of your mind. You may have had ten, fifteen, twenty, or more drinks at this point, depending on how long you've been at it. This chirp, a mild alarm in the back of your head, is trying to tell you something. Something like, "Whoa, buddy. We've been here before." It is telling you that you are on the outer fringe of a blackout. You are in a state of suspended animation, like how time seems to slow in the brief moment before a car crash.

It is like peering over the edge of a cliff, into a deep, black chasm. Here, you know that one tiny slip, one pebble skidding underfoot, and it is down into the dark. In this case, that pebble is your constitution. It is your will to turn down that next drink.

A gambling man may say to himself, "Hey, it's not getting any more fun sitting here thinking about all this." Perhaps his pebble slips and he buys another drink. He falls, but catches a branch on his way down. He is safe, avoiding the blackout abyss, and is no worse for the wear. He steers his course, and has a good, drunk time all night.

Now, say he takes the drink, slips, and misses that branch on the way down. At the bottom of that cliff are the scariest things to any heavy drinker. Sex with fat/ugly women, waking up in the hospital, or the drunk tank, stories of being thrown out of bars, waking up in a place you've never seen before, and the list goes on. I am a gambling man, and this abyss is a place I've ventured many times.

These days, when I am afforded this momentary cosmic pause to reflect on my drinking that evening, I turn down that next drink. I would suggest, that should you find yourself at this edge, you do the same. This is because it is a rare event, at least for me, that you should find yourself aware of an impending blackout. Often--far too often--the liquor will hit you before you have a chance to recollect, and like a man shot in the head by a sniper, for you everything just goes dark.

So when you are given this opportunity, this absolute gift, to salvage a night, take it. I say this with the experience of a man who has been there, and who has both heeded and ignored my psyche's advice. Once the moment passes, and you know you're in the clear, then by all means go ahead and order that next drink. But if you see yourself on that cliff, and you give in, allowing your footing to slip, and you wake up next to a she-hippo, don't say I didn't warn you.

Truck Novelties: Announcing Your Stupid Redneck Status to the World

Is there anything quite as indicative of the redneck than the ridiculous novelties adorning his (or her.... shudder) truck? Ludicrous inventions, such as Truck Nutz, are the perfect way to tell the world, "I'm proud of my red neck, motherfucker." And of course, they do just that. My only major issue with this, of course, is that there is nothing whatsoever to be proud of when calling oneself a redneck. Rednecks are, as the rest of us know, fucking stupid. If you didn't know this already (and you should have) just watch some Larry the Cable Guy. Their idiocy and that character made that man a millionaire.

There is something even more deeply chilling about the stupidity of rednecks, however, and I alluded to it above. Their pride. These assholes are actually proud of the misspellings of words on their bumper stickers. They're prideful of the very nature of their ignorance yet they seem to recognize themselves as the "American Ideal." Ironic, is it not, that the very people whose borderline illiteracy has almost assuredly prevented them from reading anything about America, its laws or its politics, its history or its future, see themselves as the epitome of it?

Still more ghastly is the ferocity with which they seem to advertise this prideful ignorance. A primary weapon in the arsenal of any bullshit-spewing redneck is his/her truck. Large, environment killing, mud-tire sporting, eardrum-rattling, redneck-Christian bumper sticker wearing, lift-kit heightened, redneck trucks. They infuriate me, and this is why; they have come to represent, with their very existence, a mobile billboard for the advertisement of all that is hick (and the ignorant pride that entails).

We've all seen these trucks on our roads and freeways, and perhaps some of you have not fully considered the message behind them. "I am a redneck and I'm damn proud no matter what you say." Well, now perhaps you will join me in my response to this message, and that response is, "Hey redneck, fuck you."


Jeff N.

The Great Drinking Experiment of 2008

The name of this article, coupled with previous posts detailing the exploits of my many drunken nights (or days), may suggest an experiment of the nature, "How long will it take me to drink 100 beers?" Or, "I wonder if I can get my BAC over .20 in under an hour?" Indeed, and sadly some might say, this is not the experiment of which I speak. Perhaps a more appropriate title would be the Great Non-drinking Experiment of 2008. The experiment, I will explicitly state, is to see whether I can go for one month, from April 2nd to May 3rd, without drinking to the point of intoxication. This may sound an easy feat for an average person, but indeed, I am no average person in this respect. As of yesterday, I was averaging drinking to the point of being legally restricted from operating an automobile an average of 4 or 5 times a week (to say nothing of the times I've doubled that limit or more).

I have often been known to promote heavy drinking, as well as promoting certain bars and specials at which binge drinking is the norm. I am going out of my way right now to say that by no means am I taking back any of the positive things I have said about alcohol, or the heavy consumption of it. I will at no point stop promoting heavy drinking for anyone who participates, or is thinking about participating in this grand exercise of free will. What I am doing is that which, in the last four years, I have not done-- I am exposing myself to the other side. I will attempt this daring feat in an attempt to gain an additional perspective from which I have long been detached. I will maintain an update of my sober "exploits" and report back to the drinking world what, if anything, differs in the "responsible drinking" lifestyle.

"Great, what's next Jeff, opening a savings account? Maybe you'll go to every class, too, huh?" You may be thinking this to yourself, due to the obviously contradictory nature of my newfound non-alcoholism. My answer, of course, is no. As with any good experiment, it is frowned upon to change more than a single variable if we are to deduce valid results. The same is true here. I'll attempt in every way possible to lead a life of relative non-productivity, with the only change being a drastically reduced alcohol consumption. With that, I hope you will wish me luck. When it's all said and done, I hope I can pass on some insight as to how the "other side" lives. If I do, and its helpful, maybe you can buy me a beer.