AN OPEN LETTER TO MINNEAPOLIS ROOFERS

(From June 25, 2008)

Gentlemen,

I would first like to thank you for all the hard work you do. It is truly indispensable. As the impresario Sol Hurok once said, "The sky's the limit if you have a roof over your head." (Of course he was a Russian Jew, and as everyone knows they don't often repair roofs so much as fiddle on them.)

My respect for your craft not withstanding, may I offer a few hints that will no doubt improve your work experience and the experience of those around you:

1) KQRS is not the only radio station in Minneapolis. While I'm sure my Vietnamese, Mexican and Somali neighbors love Led Zeppelin as much as red-blooded American workingmen maybe give them a little KFAI once and awhile. Also, I think the computer program KQ uses to select its playlist is faulting. How else can one explain playing Wang Chung's "Dancehall Days" and AC/DC's "Back in Black" in succession. No human being or properly functioning robot would do this.

2) You shouldn't drink so much beer while roofing. I say this not out of concern for your safety, but because it tends to make you MUCH LOUDER.

3) Despite what you may have heard about the virtue of the ladies in my neighborhood, few of them will respond favorably to, "Yeah, bitch! That's the fucking stuff!" shouted from three floors up. Might I suggest flowers?

4) If your man-titties are larger than a B-cup, put your Jeff Gordon t-shirt back on.

Best wishes,

Brian David Shuey

P.S. I'd like to thank you for not hooting, barking or whistling at me when I was in the shower this morning. That showed real class.

THINGS PEOPLE TELL YOU ON THE STREET

(From June 4, 2008)

So I'm standing on the corner of 26th and Nicollet. This guy approaches and asks for a light. I oblige. And then he begins his story....

"So my little girl. Five months old, she's gonna die."

"What?"

"Yeah, she needs a kidney or she's gonna die. And I can't give it to her."

"Well, have they 'typed' you yet?"

"Naw. I just can't give it to her. You know?"

"Well..." (I paused. I had nearly asked a total stranger on the street if he had hepatitis... or worse.)

Naw, I can't give it to her. And her mom's parents say let it die, because it's black."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"Naw, because we're not married, I can't do nothing."

"Well..."

"And I don't think I can marry her. I just don't love her like that, you know?"

"Umm..."

"I just don't love her like that...I just don't love her like that...I just don't love..."

He repeated the phrase over and over again as I walked away.

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF MR. SHUEY PT.1: TOOTH DECAY

(From May 28, 2008)

So it seems I may have a cavity. (In one of my teeth, that is.) Specifically tooth number 19. That is the first molar on the left side of the mandible. For those who don't know their teeth numbers.

This would be my FIRST cavity. Ever. In either my adult or primary/deciduous teeth.

And I am not happy about it.

For years I have smugly bragged about having avoided tooth decay for the whole of my life. Blessed with few physical gifts—save disarming good looks and a whip-smart intellect—my record of perfect dental hygiene was a selling point in the never-ending struggle to breed and produce offspring. Had I not been told at an early age that my enamel was the strongest ever encountered? So strong it would dull the mightiest dental implements. All this time I have been regaling potential mates with tales of my periodontal prowess—and how it would benefit our children in tough times ahead.

The way I saw it, in the post-apocalyptic nightmare world left over after China annihilates all remnants of North American civilization what attributes could be better suited to survival than a large brain, a short compact frame and a set of strong, sharp teeth?

Being too tall would put one at a disadvantage, as zoo-raised African predators and packs of vicious wild dogs scoured the short prairie grass in search of prey. My progeny could survive and even thrive by remaining unseen and scavenging carrion, breaking open the bones with their mighty teeth and feasting on the protein rich marrow.

In a few thousand years they would be poised to take their rightful place at the apex of a neo-Neolithic hunter/gatherer culture.

This was my theory, anyway.

But it will all be for naught should this toothache prove to be an actual breach in the structural integrity of my one remaining unassailable physical attribute.

I have a date with the X-ray machine in one week. I shall keep you all informed.