It’s a good thing the education system failed you, or you would have a profession that requires you to wear a tweed coat with leather elbow patches, rather than a shoebox of leather elbow patches under your sink. The accoutrements of even the best jobs lose their novelty before one can appreciate them enough to rub them all over one’s body while reading The Economist.

So I'm out here in Minneapolis, and as the rain dumps and the lightning strikes outside like it never seems to in Seattle, I'm thinking of one of my favorite MLPS rap songs ever. Ali's description of a block with a funeral home on one side and a library on the other exactly reminds me of my old block, Rainier and Alaska, the beginning of Columbia City. One side of Alaska is the library where I checked out tapes (Pixies, Digable Planets, Blackhappy), stupid books (Dean R. Koontz thrillers, Klingon language books), and good books for school reports [Fetal Alcohol Syndrome! Sammy Davis Jr!]. On the other side is the Columbia Funeral Home, whose glowing sign I could see from the third-floor apartment I lived in with my mother. She always said good things about the guy who ran it, as he was a nice and conscientious neighbor. He certainly was a good dude to me when my mother's body made its penultimate stop there some 14 years ago. The last stop, of course, was Venice Beach, my childhood favorite, in whose waters I now feel her presence when I return each summer for my birthday. All this, I think of, just thinking about being here in Minneapolis for the first time.

Right now I'm jamming some Dismemberment Plan (Emergency & I) because it reminds me of going to New York this time last year to see their reunion show at Webster Hall despite the East Coast snowstorm. Snow was everywhere. Several feet of it lined the sidewalks, pushed from the streets with plows. Central Park was 98% white—only a few paths were beaten down by snow boots and sleds and tourists kept falling down on the icy bridges. New Yorkers were getting really sick of the weather, complaining about the snow and the cold as they got their coffee. But I loved it and, despite only having tennis shoes, I still walked everywhere I went instead of taking the subways only because I didn't want to miss a second of the prettiness.

What are you listening to while the snow falls outside?

As Drizzleville once again turns back into Drizzleville, I've been going through boxes that I've just moved across town. A lot of the boxes I've kept since I was 12, mostly mail and receipts and paper scraps that I've put in my pockets. Here are scans of some of those things.

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Okay, Line Out smarties, I once again need your help.

I listen to music when I write. This music must be close to word-free, and maintain a steady-ish sound/vibe.

Previous champions of the writing music genre that I have subsequently played into the ground and back: Gas' Pop, My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, The Essential Fripp & Eno, assorted Boards of Canada, assorted Steve Reich, J. Dilla's Donuts, Four Tet's Rounds.

(Records that you think might fit the bill but don't: Burial (too jumpy and attention-grabbing in its jumpiness), various beloved African records (just because the words aren't in English doesn't mean they're not distracting), Tom Ze (both previous reasons apply).)

But really: Pop, Loveless, and Steve Reich's Music for 18 Musicians are the pinnacles of the genre as I know it so far, and I NEED MORE.

Thank you for your help.

FACT OR FICTION? Last Saturday my better half took some mushrooms baked into tasty chocolate ("Mushroom chocolates are not baked rather, the chocolate is melted over them." - person in question) I took some too, but only a little bit because those things tend to make me lose my brains. At the end of the night we decided to watch TV and scrolled through the streaming Netflix choices. Eventually we decided to watch Nickelback: Live at Sturgis 2006 to see if we could force our brains to understand Nickelback. We were aghast and delighted by Nickelback! At one point the singer announced to the crowd of 999,999,999 dudes and topless ladies, "I HAVE A QUESTION AND I NEED FOR YOU TO ANSWER AS HONESTLY AS YOU CAN...ARE WE GOING TO HAVE A GOOD FUCKING TIME TONIGHT?" Oh, man. The crowd of 999,999,999 dudes and topless ladies went wild, because they were indeed going to have a good time that night.

A lot of people don't like Nickelback, but they're not exactly sure why. Here's a list of facts and non-facts to help you determine whether or not you like Nickelback. Like John Lennon sang in 1969, Give peas a chance!

• Nickelback: BOING.

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Last Thursday at the Pony I was punched in the face by an actual punker with a red mohawk. It was late into the evening at Lacey Swain's birthday when a pack of Legend Of Billie Jean look-alikes tumbled into the bar from what must have been an Exploited concert. Because it was a birthday party there were a number of balloons about, and as I made my way to the bathroom, a punker was punching one of the balloons near the same level of my head. Soon my head was right next to the balloon and as she drew her fist back we locked eyes and I nodded in approval. She punched me in the lower right jaw hard enough for it to be sore today. Later, Dre Gordon and I slow danced to "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac and when I informed her of my extreme fear of dancing, to which she just said "Shut up."

• Don't party with me, punker.

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