The Blank's Alter Ego

I enjoy working out because afterward it's that much easier to make "heavy breathing" phone calls to random women.

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As we roll up the beach blankets and unroll the stadium blankets, it's safe to assume that summer has given way to fall. While we might be mourning the loss of those sunny days and moonlit nights, we can always relive their glory through this year's feel good song of the summer. As you all know the rules of this award, I can safely dive directly into its presentation.

"The 2007 Feel Good Song of the Summer" goes to the one and only "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavigne. Try listening to it without feeling compelled to rush to the nearest dance floor Airplane-style. You simply can't. Even the hearing-impaired fall helplessly under its musical spell.

I also feel the need to present a retro award to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'." Whether listening to a Top 40 radio station, rocking out to the jukebox at Charlie's Kitchen or watching the final episode of The Sopranos, you couldn't escape this '80s masterpiece.

So go ahead and load up these songs, crank the volume up to eleven and give the summer of 2007 the farewell it so rightfully deserves.

From the Lakes of . . .

I'd again like to take this moment to quote the lyrics to my new favorite song.

"Who says you can't go home?"

Try the Veal

Behold, my dear readers, the most amazing calf you shall ever see. Marvel at its definition. Gaze upon its subtle tan. Lose yourself in its tangle of hair. Be overwhelmed by the knowledge that it's only half of a dynamic duo of exquisite calves. Play your cards right, and you could admire both at your leisure.

Many will enter; few will win. Offer is open to Minnesota residents only. Please allow twelve days for delivery.

Modeling the Latest Fall Fashions from Paree

Dear Homeless People,

Although I don't believe in you [much like foolish people don't believe in Santa Claus], I feel the need to compose a letter to you. I understand that life gave you lemons, and you misplaced your juicer. That doesn't mean you have to neglect your social graces entirely. Let's go over a couple ground rules regarding your future interactions with me. I'll be the Henry Higgins to your Eliza Doolittle, so that I, too, can grow accustomed to your face.

God help you if you attempt to get my attention by shaking your damned cup of coins. I don't respond to the worthless senior citizens who do the same thing while sitting in front of a slot machine surrounded by a cloud of smoke, and I'm certainly not going to respond to you.

If you want my money, entertain me. Breakdance in the subway station. Do some street magic. Accompany yourself on the ten-gallon plastic pickle tub. If I have to jump through hoops at my job to get paid, so do you.

Unfortunately, you will never be able to read this letter, as you would need both a computer and basic literacy skills. I can only assume you lack both. Maybe I can address these issues with you during the group sleepovers you are so fond of having outside the Coop. I apologize if my presence interrupts your pillow fights, ghost stories and intense games of "Truth or Dare."

In whatever manner this letter reaches you, I hope you take its content to heart. It will make the city a better place for all. Well . . . except for you . . . you'll still be homeless.

Sincerely,
Justin

P.S. Regarding your signs, where do you get all the fabulous cardboard and markers used in their creation? I need to make some for Twins games, and poster board and Sharpies just aren't cutting the mustard.

Do It, Doug!

I would love to have been a fly on the wall during whatever meeting birthed this unholy demon of a strip mall. I imagine it went something like this.

Tycoon 1: "I'm considering investing in a strip mall."
Tycoon 2: "Well, you'd have to market it to the key demographic."
Tycoon 1: "18-34 year-old white males?"
Tycoon 2: "No. Jewelry-buying, exercising, pizza-loving porn addicts."
Tycoon 1: "Brilliant! Don't you think we might be alienating some people, though?"
Tycoon 2: "Er . . . pedophiles?"
Tycoon 1: "Absolutely! Maybe I can work that into the name of the mall somehow."

For those keeping score at home, you can visit this temple to commercialism in Salem, NH. Once a coffee shop is added, I'll be hanging out there daily.

Mmm . . . Bowlful of Jelly . . .

Now that my résumé has been perfected, it must embark on a dangerous journey around the world. In 80 days or fewer, I can only hope that my dream job will fall directly into my lap. If all goes as planned, that lap will be getting quite the workout in the upcoming months.

You see, my dear readers, I yearn to be Santa Claus.

Besides my obvious affinity for the Christmas season, there are numerous reasons that this career is perfectly suited to me.

• My office at the North Pole would always be surrounded by snow.
• The elves would make all 5' 7.5" of me seem ginormous.
• Flying by sleigh is quite possibly the best mode of transportation ever.
  
• Milk and cookies are two of my favorite food groups.
• I would inherit that twinkle in my eye that I've always desired.
• I could eat candy canes year round.
• I would finally be part of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
• I look good in red.

In the meantime, I can only sit back and play the waiting game. Perhaps I'll go recruit some little people to be in my entourage. That way I can mentally prepare for my future life among the elves.