To Catch An Alligator and Take It Home

Apparently my new bike has strong brakes. Which will be fun when I brake for the first time and fly over the handlebars.

I have a shiny new helmet in my apartment. And a shiny new bike pump BB insisted I need (for what?! I thought I had a Biker Boy for putting air in tires and assorted other routine maintenance activities). What do I not have in my apartment, you may ask? A shiny new BIKE. It's getting put together or something. By Biker Boy. I was going to go for a ride tomorrow, but I guess I won't. I'll just sit around or something.

After much shopping, I purchased a great new skirt from a great store (which may be located on Lyndale Ave. and 24th - go now and see why I LOVE it). But where is this great skirt? Hanging in the closet of a certain house in IOWA. Let's examine some basic facts about me. Where do I live? Minneapolis, Minnesota. Where is my skirt? In IOWA. Sad. Sad. Sad. My skirt is sad to be away from me and I am sad to be away from my skirt. My bike is sad to be away from me, too.

Biker Boy's cousin is married. So is his brother. There was much fiesta-ing.

I have an addiction. His name is Ira Glass. I listen to the archives of This American Life over and over and over again. And I listen to Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me!, but only the episodes where IRA GLASS is on. Hi, Ira!! I love you. I would get the Puppy Channel in honor of you. You make me reconsider eating meat, although I do like me a nice piece of steak.

Oh, yeah, I need to stop. That's the point. HOURS can go by and I have listened to several episodes and I love David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell and Jonathan Goldstein, but they can't hold a candle to Ira. Ira. I know you're from Chicago, but Minneapolis is not that far from you. Please. Just move. We have an NPR affiliate here. You can do your show here. Please?

You're wondering what any of these paragraphs have to do with the others? Well, I'm not sure. If you figure out what the commonalities are, let me know.