Once I went to see Drive By Truckers at First Avenue.  It was a great show, the crowd was crazy for them, I was totally into them also.  I had a pretty cool spot to stand on the balcony stage left so I could see the band perfect.  The only tough part was my buddy John showed up at the show, was feeling a bit bored and hungry, he kept talking to me for a lot of the show, so I was constantly distracted.  Finally when they were almost done, John asked to leave, I still had not heard my favorite song "My Sweet Annette", but what the hell I know the song anyway.

Once I had an adventure on the freeway with my motorcycle.  I was just taking a leisurely ride today, ended up on a highway which was ok because I could handle that ok..not a lot of traffic....I had the bike up to 55 without any problem...then construction signs everywhere...exit here for 494 east or here for 494 west...not turning back....not turning around...take 494 west...construction everywhere crossing the mighty mississip..roads are diverted this way that that...change lane....uneven pavement...potholes...semi trucks fly by me going seventy...dont they know that I'm scared shitless and that's why I'm driving 45, looking at the dirt on the highway...seeing concrete barriers coming at me and curving and twisting.....only 2 miles to go....everyone is passing by me...I wonder if they are waving at me...no time to look up....finally I get off....I have to pull into a Burger King to take a break....back on the normal highway....going 40 mph seems like standing still now....I passed my first fear factor episode...biking rules...motorcycles are wonderful...its freeways that suck.

Once I went out with my friend Scott and Mark to hear some music on a Wednesday night.   Scott wanted to stop and get a drink first at a run down looking bar on Broadway Avenue in North Minneapolis.   We walked in and it was part bar, part strip club.  The boys went outside to have a smoke and I was sitting there all alone feeling like some sort of lonely pervert.   One of the strippers came over and sat down at my table and just starting talking to me, asking me how I was doing, telling me about her day, saying she was tired and had to go work a night shift at a restaurant in St.Paul, laughing because the strip club was so slow that she was only going to make $51 on an eight hour shift.  We talked about motorcycles, living in St.Paul, and then she said that her shift was over and was going to go change clothes.  It was kind of like meeting a new friend, kind of.

Once I was at First Avenue to see the Pixies.   They were playing in the main room.   I looked over at the side of the stage and a guy waved to me and motioned me to come over to him.  When I got close it turned out his name was Dave and he said he was the Manager of my second band, The Dads.   I hardly recognized him and my memory was fuzzy, but he started naming some of the songs I wrote so he seemed real.  He said he was part of the Pixies crew and invited me behind the stage.  I watched the rest of the show behind the stage and when the band was done he brought me into the dressing room and introduced me to Frank and Joey.   Frank was rolling a joint, and Joey looked at me like I was from outer space and walked away.  Dave told Frank I was the greatest guitar player in Minneapolis.   Frank just said "cool" and continued to roll his joint.  The club closed down, I hung around, and ended up playing foosball with Kim Deal and her husband till 3am.  I love the Pixies. 

Once I was sitting in seat 20C of a Northwest flight from Houston to Minneapolis.   When I got on the plane this little old lady was sitting in seat 20A.  She had a twinkle in her eye, and a fun smile, and she told me she was from Billings Montana.  We waited a while to depart and as usual I closed my eyes on takeoff in order to avoid feeling disequilibrium.  All of a sudden she smacked me on the art and said look at that beautiful sky.  I was a light blue and pink and was dramatic.  I was staring at the sky and she said she was an art teacher.  What grades?  "oh, I taught from early elementary all the way up to the college level".  I talked about my trip to Houston to visit my artist friend Terri Hallman and said that I was visiting my friend and working on art.  I opened up my notebook and showed her the 8x10 inch picture that I drew.   She looked at it and said nothing.  I put it away.  In a few minutes we leveled off and she pulled out a puzzle book.  You know the kind where you have a big block of hundreds of letters in rows and columns and you have to circle the words backwards, vertical, on an angle, etc.  She spent the next hour working on that.  I was a bit bummed that she didn't make any kind comment on my art.  I decided to read my book on Zen Guitar.  It is more of a philosophy book versus a guitar instruction book.  At the end of the book was a summary chapter which put into bullets all of the intrinsic and salient points of the book...the bullets were inspirational, spiritual, touching, and made me cry.  It was almost an awakening for me.  Being dissed by the art teacher in the seat next to me didn't hurt anymore.

Once I was in Austin Texas at the SXSW music festival.  I saw a metal band do a pretty good set at one of the clubs.  I clapped for them at the end of the show.  A few hours later I saw the band members on the street corner.  They seemed happy, drunk, and rowdy.  I was standing next to the drummer and said "nice set you guys".  The drummer stuck out his hand, gave me one of those homey handshakes when two guys kind of pull each other into a half hug, then said "thanks bro".   That was strange necessarily, but a second later his band mate yelled "Legalize Rape" and three of the other band members walked straight out into traffic in business intersection shouting the same thing

Once I was in Santa Fe with a bunch of Honeywell guys on a business trip.  This was the late 1980's and I convinced them to go out to a club to hear music.  There wasn't any rock and roll but we did find a dance club.  It was one of the first times I had heard some excellent trance house electronic dance music and I zoomed out to the dance floor.  I was at a high altitude, drinking a bit too much, and going crazy dancing.   I looked over at the group of guys I was with and they were all staring and laughing at me.  I didn't care one bit, I just loved dancing.

Once I was a little boy in St. Clair Shores, Michigan.  We moved into the neighborhood and I didn't have any friends.  So I would stand out in the front yard and take a baseball and throw it really high in the air and then catch it.  I would do that for hours.  It's strange the things you will do when you need a friend.

Once I worked at Honeywell.   Last year one of my employees was mocking me by asking me if I ever worked at Honeywell.  Apparently I was saying it too much to customers as a reference point for how I started my software company.   I thought it was funny and clever that I was being mocked.  But at the same time I felt kind of like an idiot because I don't want to be the kind of person who repeats stories.   Self esteem is a very fragile thing.

Once I was in Boston in the red light district (combat zone).  Just walking around and frequenting some of the finer establishments that provided "entertainment".  Anyway, I was leaving one of the places late at night when these two hookers came up to me and started saying nasty things, and rubbing my back, and offering to go back to my hotel room, etc.  Normal run of the mill I am a hooker dialog.  Anyway, after rebuffing them soundly, I walked up to a 7/11 to probably buy a Slurpie.  When I reached in my pocket I noticed that the $40 bucks I knew I had left was missing, and was most likely in the purse of one of the hookers.  I decided (misguidedly) to go back and get my money from said hooker.  I bolted out the door, found her, and confronted her.   She of course had no part in this ruse and started getting angry, and being the calm good girl next door started kicking me and hitting me with her purse.  As she squarely hit me across the noggin, a police came up and threw me against the wall.  When I explained that she took my money, the cop made her open her purse and sure enough my 4 ten dollar bills gleamed brightly.    He handed me $30, gave her $10, and told me to move along that I most likely learned my lesson about being in the Boston combat zone.   When I turned the corner to go home, by good buddy Walt called me and said that he had a brand new baby boy that he was naming Paul Terrence Bresnahan.   I was a very proud Godfather.