So all kinds of shit is always happening.
We live in Saint Paul now, right down the street from the house F. Scott Fitzgerald was born in. I reread The Great Gatsby since we got here, and man, I don't know why I even try sometimes. That book is better, in under 200 pages, than just about anything. It's comforting to know Fitzgerald was a big ol' drunk with all kinds of problems and he still created stuff like that.
Saint Paul is awesome. The twin cities are easy to navigate, I feel at home here. Em and I are just about into our routine. She works downtown and I got a job in Minneapolis at one of the top comedy clubs in the country. This week was a real eye-opener as to how good stand-up can be. I watched three comics do their shows (5 times in 3 days), saw the adjustments, the crowd work, the increasing rate of laughs. Man, it was like being in school. The headliner, Ian Bagg, has been around for a long time, and he has a witty comeback for just about anything an audience member could possibly say to him. His rehearsed material is solid, flying out in any order the audience and he decides is necessary. Last night he did a show for 200+ people and had them laughing at such a rapid rate for over an hour it was a little mind-blowing.
There is an open mic at the club on Monday nights, which I'm sure I'll get the sack for at some point. Not this Monday, though. Tomorrow we're going to see Eileen Myles speak and present their new book. It's cool to introduce Em to them. I think Katie gave me a copy of Cool for You like, twelve years ago or something. But now Myles is kind of an indy-lit rock star, and it's not even the biggest show happening this week. More on that after it happens.
There is so much art and culture here it is astounding. Every night it seems like I miss a cool show because we are doing something else equally as cool. We went with Cooley (another NM to MN transplant) and his lady to go see an ensemble theater show, created by the cast, and it was evident that Minnesota takes pride in giving its local artists the means they need to thrive and flourish. On Friday, we'll see Modest Mouse. We bought tickets for that show before we even decided how and when to move here.
In my own sphere, I'm shaping the novel into something readable, producing new material at about a page a day, and I'm starting to make good on my promise to become temporarily obsessed with both Haruki Murakami and David Bowie. It seems like a good pairing. Put on some Bowie while reading Kafka on the Shore? I listened to Bowie's debut, self-titled album today while cutting up butternut squash for some delicious concoction Em was making, and that album is god damn hilarious. I can't believe it was his first album. He's just dicking around, singing about kids and rubber bands. Bowie don't give a fuck.
Anyway, sorry for the name-droppie blog. I hope all of you are having as much fun as I am.
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