When we meet again in the dark

May 1st, 2024

It’s natural to reflect on your birthday.

It’s natural to daydream about your earliest moments, lying on coarse carpet, following the sunlight as it sings through the tiny glass prism your mom hung in the window, leaving stains of every color in the palm of your hand; it’s natural to anxiously dwell on a worm hiding in the core of an apple, the inevitable conclusion of our entropy, this impending black death.

That’s natural, guys. I think a lot on birthdays.

I’m thinking about a hug I saw on Friday night.

I was at a show and the crowd was very young, except for the people sitting on the balcony who, excuse my French, looked pretty old. I watched them and realized that they were family members of the musicians performing that night.

A tall guy, unruly hair, hugged his mom tight as photos were snapped. His face was a mix of embarrassment and pride and stupid love and I knew that face well, because it used to be my own.

Every time I did something to express myself growing up, my mom was there to embarass me, to be proud of me, and to love me stupidly. Every performance, every publication, every birthday.

Since 2020, the year she left, I have done a lot of work. I don’t know if it’s good or bad or (god forbid) just mid, but I do know it exists. I pretend that I don’t know why I’ve been working so hard, but I do.

I keep thinking: if I can make something extraordinary, she’s going to have to come back to tell me.

This makes no sense. Unless, of course, you have wildly fluctuating self-esteem, an unreasonable amount of self-doubt, and you’ve lost someone who you’d give up a handful of your sanity to see again.

In a normal essay, this is when I would admit that I know working this hard won’t bring her back, I am Kenough, and that I’m going to reconsider my priorities and slow down.

But it’s my birthday and I will do as I please.

No, my broken brain wants to double down and increase production; to keep writing words that matter to me; to continue drawing pictures and playing songs; to go out and meet people who love art, and help them create it, too.

Not because I have anything to prove to myself. I’ve made peace with me, the decent parts and the monstrous pieces. And not to bring her back, either.

No, I just want to prove she was right.

I want what she saw in me to be true. I want the nice things people have said to me this week to be true. I want to be embarassing and proud and stupid in the service of love.

When we meet again in the dark, I don’t want to say I left anything out. I said it all, in the way only I could.

Nothing could be more natural.

Dennis’ Birthday Mixtape 2024, featuring 39 songs for no reason at all. [Mix available on YouTube]

1. May 1st – Beach Fossils
2. May 1 – Archipelago
3. Papercuts – Landon Conrath
4. The City – The 1975
5. Heaven is a Place on Earth – Belinda Carlisle
6. Gettin’ Old Rock & Roll – Wildermiss
7. The Kintsugi Kid – Fall Out Boy
8. Quiver – Dora Jar
9. Love Will Never Do (Without You) – Janet Jackson
10. Losers Club – Durry
11. King of Wishful Thinking – Go West
12. Westworld – Evan Giia
13. Overcome – Nothing But Thieves
14. Me Myself & I – 5 Seconds of Summer
15. Obsessed – Mallrat
16. Reds – Michigander
17. Straight Up – Paula Abdul
18. Heartbursts – Lucius
19. Novocaine – The Band CAMINO
20. Weak In Your Light – Nation of Language
21. Casual – Chappell Roan
22. in the wake of your leave – Gang of Youths
23. Coffee – Sylvan Esso
24. Magic – Coldplay
25. Reflections – Atmosphere
26. Geronimo – Sunnysmack
27. Cough Syrup – Young the Giant
28. First Single – The Format
29. Dancing On My Own – Robyn
30. Tear In My Heart – twenty one pilots
31. I Want You – Savage Garden
32. Care – Beabadoobee
33. No Shoes in the Coffee Shop – Hot Mulligan
34. how to exit a room – The Maine
35. You Ruined Me – JC Chasez
36. Superspreader – Ber
37. all my ghosts – Lizzie McAlpine
38. Sugar & Spice – Luther Vandross
39. Mad World – Gary Jules

With Great Stupidity Comes No Responsibility

April 29th, 2024

Human beings are objectively both the most intelligent and stupidest species on the planet and, yes, that includes you.

One of my favorite writers, Brian Klaas, wrote yet another phenomenal essay last week about this topic and, while you should read the whole thing, I just want to share the piece that proves how idiotic we absolutely, inarguably are.

When animals receive information from reality, they understand it as fact and change their behavior accordingly. See, animals don’t have the luxury of ignoring facts, because ignoring the truth of the world around them would likely lead to death.

Which leads us to the point:

Humans are the only species on the planet who will be presented with a fact and ignore or outright refuse it based on their beliefs. A large percentage of humanity is actually resilient to evidence.

And when you spell it out like this, you realize how utterly moronic we are.

At his show the other night, Daniel Sloss (per always) had a lot of insightful things to say about free speech and empathy and saying hard but true things and getting away with it.

Something I’ve seen with my writing as the years go on is that I appear to be getting away with it more frequently.

There are times, right before I hit the “post” button, that I think (while feeling my underarms pool with sweat), “people are going to be mad about this.”

It isn’t an unwarranted fear. I have, in the past, made people big mad. Sometimes it’s my fault, and sometimes it’s just not. So ultimately, over time, I’ve realized two things:

  1. I am responsible for my own words and actions, and as a human being and writer, I am responsible for having empathy for my fellows and for telling the truth to the best of my ability.
  2. I am not responsible for other grown ass adults’ feelings.

And those two points have informed what I do and they’ve served me well, and they allow me the ability to do things like start this essay by calling you stupid.

There’s a trust there and a sense that I don’t say things just to rile you up. Granted, I do try to rile you up, but not for the sake of riling.

Daniel also said that you will never find a good comedian who whines that you can’t say anything anymore. That pairs with another often-discussed sentiment: the idea that you actually can say anything as long as you’re talented enough to get away with it, like a student who makes the teacher laugh and avoids discipline.

People will always find ways to be offended, even when the reason they’re offended is true and supported by facts.

And we are not responsible for grown ass adults’ feelings when they’re hurt based solely on their beliefs, especially when even the stupidest animal on the planet knows better than that.

Birthday Weekend

April 28th, 2024

To celebrate my upcoming birthday (it’s not today, it’s Wednesday, May 1st, but you already knew that) I went out not once, but twice this weekend.

On Friday, I found myself at the Fine Line to see Landon Conrath & friends, holding my own front row all night. The young energy had me feeling 19 again, and the songwriting and musicianship and passion on display had me feeling inspired about the present and future of music in Minnesota.

On Saturday, I saw my favorite comedian Daniel Sloss at the Fillmore and it was hands down, sore belly up, the best set I have ever seen. He is filthy and insightful and mischievous and nothing short of brilliant, and to be sitting just a few feet away from him was surreal.

As I get older (barely, but notably), and the draw of staying home becomes more and more difficult to refuse, I remind myself to get out in the world and experience it for myself.

I’m so grateful for these nights and the ability to be fully present in them. If you see me today and I’m sleeping while standing up, mind your business. It’s almost my birthday.

goosebumps

April 16th, 2024

What is scary for you?

I’ve been First Ave- and Prince-obsessed the past several months, diving into library books and PBS documentaries and YouTube videos and resurfaced bootlegs.

There’s a quote from Prince in an interview (his last) that I can’t stop thinking about; he was lamenting the current state of music in a 2015 article of The Guardian when he says:

“When was the last time you were scared by anyone? In the 70s, there was scary stuff then.”

Those words are like a song I can’t get out of my head.

When I initially considered “scary,” I thought he maybe meant esthetically; how a band presented themselves on stage, their aura, their mystery, their vibe.

But I then I realized that all good art has fear. The real stuff.

So what am I scared of?

Being vulnerable. Shame. Being unloved. My past. The future. Failure. Being misunderstood. My monsters. Our environment. Violence. Entropy. Death.

And as I consider what scares me, I notice which art speaks to it, and which doesn’t.

A lot has been said on why so many artists, as they mature, can never seem to throw again the lighting they captured in their youth. Using this as a frame of reference, I think I see part of it.

People simply tend to become more aware of being embarrassed as they get older, and do everything they can to avoid it.

When you mature, at anything, you’re supposed to get better. For many, that means creating more polished work and consistently improving your craft.

But what if that isn’t better?

On Sunday’s American Idol, a young contestant named Kaibrienne Richins had a rough night. She was clearly dealing with nerves and forgetting parts of her song. But the emotion she displayed throughout was undeniably real, and her perfomance was affecting. Lionel Ritchie relayed a similar story from his career, and spoke of how emotionally moved people were by what he felt was an objectively flawed performance.

In high school, during a play called Cinderalla Waltz, my scene partner forgot one of her lines (or maybe I did, and I would actually love to take the blame here, but I don’t remember it that way). Wide-eyed, we threw ourselves into the moment and found our way out. Our director then wanted to speak to us after the show, and we were terrified that we were in trouble. Instead, he told us that we had just done the best acting of our run; that we had actually made him believe us.

It’s scary to be reminded that we’re not in control. Have you ever seen a band so well-rehearsed that didn’t make you feel a thing?

As I continue to write, I hope I’m becoming a better writer. But what does that mean? Does it mean I’ll write prettier sentences? Because fuck that shit. I hope it means that I dig in deeper, that I don’t shy away from shadows, that I care more, not about structure, but understanding.

And it brings me back to what Prince said about fear. I don’t think being scared is enough. As artists, as people, it’s sharing what we’re scared of — of embarrassment, of shame, of vulnerability — that connects us as human beings in the truest sense; it’s reaching into our darkness with a bucket and letting others pull the rope, surprised by what comes out, but only because we recognize it so intimately.

soft

April 9th, 2024

It’s always curious to me when older people say that kids these days are soft.

Isn’t that the point of modern society?

Isn’t that the reason we evolve as a species?

To let our children be softer, to encourage them to be kinder, to let them be a little gentler than the generations before them?

If I had a dollar from every screwed up adult who told me how screwed up their childhood was but look at them, they turned out fine, I would use all those dollars to buy them therapy.

None of us are fine but fine is a spectrum.

Instead of incessant judgement, I wish the grown ups would help. Instead of pretending to know everything, I wish the grown ups would tell the truth. Instead of insisting that this is the way things are, I wish the grown ups would open a path to how things could be.

Being a good grown up is planting seeds for trees whose shade you will never sit under.

I never had a mentor and it bums me out every day. I think about it a lot and I long for it. It’s why I try to mentor anybody any time the opportunity rises, and it’s why I feel like a fraud when I mentor, because I never learned how to mentor from a mentor.

So I try to be what I think a grown up should be.

But I screw it up and I’m softer than the grown ups say I should be.

FOB!!

April 8th, 2024

I have actually lost count of how many times I’ve seen Fall Out Boy live, but I know when I became a diehard fan: 2005, the year that the album From Under The Cork Tree was released.

Like I said in a previous post, FOB is one of the precious few things I’ve found in my life that I just never tire of. I don’t get sick of their music or roll my eyes at their shenanigans. I would see them every night if I had the chance to. And on Saturday, their last day of tour, with a set list of 38 songs, I saw what was, for me, one of their greatest shows — all by myself.

It was glorious.

Some highlights:

🚗 All of their openers delivered solid-to-outstanding sets, but Carr in particular, who also opened for them last summer in Wisconsin. We were rained out for much of that show and got a short set as a result. This information is important for later.
🏀 I’ve been looking for Timberwolves gear in order to jump on the bandwagon this season and FOB have been offering dope shirts featuring a graphic of the band wearing the local b-ball team colors at every stadium, effectively killing two birds with one orange ball for me.
🥹 There is sold out and then there is SOLD OUT and Target Center was packed from bottom to top with more people than I could count (and I can count pretty high).
🐃 FOB has become a band with TOO many hits, which often (understandably) constrain their choices; that being said, they always find ways to give songs that don’t see as much light a chance to shine, and hearing songs like Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes as part of the main set was a massive treat.
🧠 Local legend Justin Pierre surprised us and joined them for an early tune; we have seen Motion City Soundtrack almost as many times as FOB, most recently at First Ave on their Commit This To Memory anniversary tour.
☔️ Patrick sang a Minnesota medley, starting with a deep local cut (Animal Chin?!), followed by memorably leading us in a chant of Purple Rain.
🎱 Set lists are easy to find online, so artists challenge these by playing unique songs on each stop. Taylor Swift does it; FOB calls theirs the Magic 8 Ball songs. They usually do one, maybe two of these tunes per set. But remember how we got rained out last year? Because Pete remembered. And they played us SIX Magic 8 Ball songs, finishing with one of my all-time faves, Wilson (Expensive Mistakes). I cried. I was actually so in the moment that I ripped out my protective ear plugs and never even thought of grabbing my phone. I just wanted to be in it, and I soaked up every second.
🫶 I got an super cute friendship bracelet from a girl and her mom, and that was the vibe of every person I met that night.

Until next time, Wentz & co. Thnks fr th mmrs. 💙🖤

Total Eclipse of the Heart

April 8th, 2024

I was wondering why Target was so busy this afternoon until I remembered that today was the end of the world.

Reading stories this week about stores of all kinds being overwhelmed with certain types of people planning for the apocalypse had me frequently wondering: planning, exactly, for what?

What comes after the end? Can we stand still long enough to think this through?

I don’t want to tease the people who believe in impossible conspiracy theories because those people have suffered enough; they believe impossible things that can never be proven true.

That is a special kind of pain, and uniquely human.

I just finished Severance this morning (writing about the series is a future essay, because rarely does a television show affect me in this way, all the way down to my DNA), and among its countless themes and threads is the idea that humans want to skip the hard parts.

The difficult parts of being human. The boring parts of being human. The being human part of being human. We want to skip them and get to the good parts, and the way our culture is evolving reflects that.

It drives me crazy when people speed up their audio, on TikTok or YouTube or audiobooks. It’s perfect proof that people don’t want to be in the moment; they don’t want to experience the pauses and the “um”s and the thought and emotion of genuine human speech.

Just get me to the end. Give me the good stuff.

Don’t give me quiet gaps where I might fall, and have to live in my own mind for a minute and think about who I am.

No matter what you do today, during this eclipse, during the end of the world, I hope you do so.

I hope you live in the pause, live in the “um,” let yourself have a moment of silence to consider your own thoughts and emotions.

Just remember not to look directly into the sun. The same is not true when it comes to yourself.

Spring Flowers

April 4th, 2024

I haven’t been let out in public to talk about writing and art and music and The Bachelor since November (where does the time go?) but that’s all about to change.

April showers bring May flowers and I’ll be making appearances soon! Come visit! Bring snacks! I’ll bring the chaotic energy and sparkling conversation. See you soon.

• May 11th: Downtown Lakeville Art Crawl, Labyrinth Puzzle Rooms, 12 – 5 PM.

• May 18th: MNCBA SpringCon, M Health Fairview Sports Center, Woodbury, 10 AM – 5 PM.

Ode to Burnsville Center

April 2nd, 2024

It might be impossible to describe how it felt to be inside the Burnsville Center when I was a kid; what the Mall meant to us who grew up during its height.

But I’m going to try.

These feelings came up strong today when I took my kid there to burn off some excess spring break energy. We live right next door. To be honest, these deeply nostalgic feelings come up every time I step on that carpet I don’t think has been replaced since before I was born.

I’m from Faribault. Visiting Burnsville (specifically, the Mall and Shinders) was both a unforgettable highlight of my childhood and a formative time for the me who became the me that I am. I’m nothing less than absolutely certain the reason I moved here after graduating high school is because of those magical spaces.

And that magic was brilliant but ephemeral. I do not reject the idea that money, capitalism and consumerism has warped our fragile human minds beyond their best design, but being at the Mall was so much more than that.

It was the people; it was experiencing the microcosm of society in one building that showed me the workings of the endless universe itself. It was the discovery; there was a bookstore, an arcade, a movie theater and several entertainment stores, where I discovered things before the internet as we know it existed, like niche magazines and obscure films on VHS and anime outside of Pokémon. It was the energy; chaotic and colorful and proof that humanity was here, alive, before I existed, and would be here, alive, when I am gone.

But, really, it was the potential. The potential of what we can become, together, and the frequent realization of that potential.

I know it’s become low-hanging fruit by now, but the Burnsville Center is not this anymore. It’s mostly empty. It’s eerie but not horrific, sad but not depressing. And it isn’t depressing for the same reason I feel the Mall had such a hold on me in my youth:

It still has potential.

Just as the countless memories that flood my mind like butter on a baked pretzel seemed like they belonged solely to the past, I saw new memories being made. I made new memories with my kid.

I saw pockets of community everywhere. A barbershop. Some independent clothing stores and restaurants. One of my favorite comic shops, Mind’s Eye, is re-opening there. There’s a skatepark on the second floor! For real!

We spend more and more time on our screens and the results are in: our mental health and overall well-being is worse than ever, and we’ve never been lonelier despite our constant connection. The same internet that, with its “convenience,” drove us away from cultural centers like malls has made us more narcissistic, has driven division to never-before-possible mass extremes, and has been a general bummer, serving us bad vibes and even worse comments. We don’t see eye-to-eye because we never have to see anybody’s pupils.

I think — I hope — that if enough of us can not only recognize what the “digital revolution” is taking from us, but take action to balance the real world against it, we will have places to go and gather. We need them. And we’ll get to experience that microcosm, this personal society made up of people, face-to-face again. The brilliance, the energy, the potential of humanity.

And maybe we can replace the carpets.