Minnesota's War on Cold Sufferers

Despite not eating as healthy as I should, and only working out when I am being chased (a thankfully rare event) I rarely get sick. Once or twice each year I'll catch a cold that slows me down for a few days. Last summer I was knocked on my back and nearly in the hospital by some sort of illness that reduced my voice to the sound of rusty lawn mower. I almost made it through this winter without getting sick, but with less than a day before the start of spring, I woke up with dull pain in the back of my throat, and went to sleep with my nostrils carrying out an evacuation that would make FEMA blush. Perhaps trying to prove that I am invincible to all germs, I went to work. As the day wore on I gradually felt worse, but it certainly was nothing to justify a sick day. Unfortunately I was out of cold medicine, and my girlfriend was kind enough to pick some up for me at the local grocery store.

Getting effective cold medicine in Minnesota is a process that few decide to undertake. In fact, it would be much easier for me to pick up some cocaine, a little marijuana, and few doses of heroin on the way from work to my car than it is for a law abiding citizen to get sudafed that does what it is supposed to do.

I don't know if I should blame an overly ambitious attorney general, the lack of anything to do in the quasi-suburbs of Minneapolis, or take the easy way out and blame the meth addicts who blow up houses as often as they blow their chances at doing anything positive with their lives, but when getting sudafed is harder than getting into Canada, I want to blame someone. For all I know, my girlfriend is now in a national registry of sinus pain sufferers. They have her name, drivers license number, and now the beginning of her history of buying cold medicine.

Big Brother, you don't have to watch, you can here me sneezing a mile away.

Overpopulating the Internet, one failed blog at a time.

What the world needs now is not another 24 year old who thinks he knows all the answers espousing, his supposedly infallible beliefs anonymously through cyberspace. Well, everyone has their faults.

This is certainly not my first blog, and probably won't be my last. I sometimes have a short but passionate attention span; passionate enough to think the world desperately needs to know what I think about a myriad of subjects, but short enough for me to move on in an equally attentive way. My past blogs have attempted to reinvigorate independent politics (done better here), expose the world to music that isn't ruined by commercial radio (done more pretentiously here), enlightened the masses about ignored parts of the world (while never leaving a moderately cosmopolitan city), and drafting a candidate who could be the last bastion of rational thought in Minnesota politics. These all clearly failed, except for those who love to post millions of links to nothing in the comments sections of these long abandoned blogs.

But I am back with a simple goal: keep writing. In the recesses of my mind I have always envisioned myself to be a writer. I think like a writer, I talk like a writer, but I do not write...at all. The words leave my mind during rants to coworkers, or become lodged between gray matter and white matter, lost in a series of could'ves and should'ves, until now. There of course is not much reason to believe that I will be any more successful at this than I have been inthe past, but I will be making a few changes. The first is that this will be broad, sweeping, all encompassing. Lambasting Meredith Viara in one post while questioning South Africa's lack of involvement in the worsening crisis in Zimbabwe...why not?

I have something to say about everything, a lot to say about a few things, and enough occasional outrage to go through the process of creating a new blog every month or two. Can one blog be many things to one person, and still be interesting enough for complete strangers to waste a few minutes of their increasingly busy lives? We shall see!