Paper Covers Rock

Providing Quality Since Whenever

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I got a haircut two days ago. I will probably get another in a month.

  • See Ya

    Autumn and I live in an old house in Minneapolis’s Seward neighborhood. The residence is divided down the middle into two rental units, and for the last year, we have dealt with two ridiculously impossible neighbors.

    They smoked weed constantly. I don’t care what somebody else does with their time. I used to snort crystal meth off any flat surface for the first two years we lived here. I ascribe to a live and let live ethos.

    But when your ganja smoke permeates every shared area, from the entryway to the back stairwell, I take issue. On numerous occasions, Autumn voiced her displeasure, and got pledges from our neighbors that the offending behavior would stop. It didn’t.

    This house is old. Over a century old. When you share walls, you will invariably hear other people. Part of being an adult is accepting the world doesn’t have to cater to your desires, and that it’s frequently opposed to them, and indifferent at least.

    Our music bothered Marcel, our female neighbor. The sound from our television bothered her. Our laughter from when we entertained guests made her apoplectic. Instead of coming over to talk, she sent texts bickering about our volume levels.

    Then, in the most stunning display of passive-aggressiveness I have ever seen, she ordered two huge packages of acoustic foam tiles delivered to our unit. I put up several of them, before quitting. I blocked her number, and refused to interact anymore.

    I’m forty seven years old. I know what loud, disruptive music sounds like. I also have quality stereo equipment in my basement that I’ve pieced together over twenty years for a setup I enjoy listening to. For the entirety of their being our neighbors, I didn’t use it. A full year of not playing records out of deference and respect to her needs for quiet. I compromised.

    What I’ve realized is that certain people cannot be accommodated; that respect shown isn’t evenly reciprocated. I have dealt with enough of my own shit to placate people like that anymore. If you need complete quiet, you have to live alone. That isn’t my problem.

    So good riddence to overbearing demands, to marijuana smoke, to passive-aggressive mind-fucks, and petty selfishness. I have the basement back, and with it, a part of my soul that I sacrificed for someone I won’t miss.

  • Autism

    I’m battling these days. I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD last year, at age forty seven. Late diagnosis are so many things: release, revelation, concern and burden.

    Today, it manifests in wanting solitude. Even encounters with with gas station attendants can be exhausting. Combined with a week of intense sun exposure and I’m caustic and crispy.

  • Doggy ruff ruff

    I spread fertilizer and walk roughly ten yards a day. Of those, ninety percent will be pocked in dog shit. IMHO, people have too many dogs. Pick up your pet’s poop, especially when you know I’m stopping by.

    Addendum: if you have a dog, a portion of your yard is fucked. Accept that no amount of fertilizer, watering and worrying will restore your grass.

  • The Doctor is in

    I used to be dismissive about Doc Martens. I’ve always favored the leather upper, but felt they were inferior beside my Red Wing Iron Rangers. A Minnesota native, I have appreciation for the company, their heritage, and have visited their flagship store in their namesake city. Their materials and construction compared to other boots like Docs is superior.

    But…I never wear my Red Wings, a fall trip to the apple orchard aside. They’re unsuitable for work as a pesticide applicator. They’re uncomfortable for city wear. As much as I appreciate layers of vegetable-tanned leather atop a hard Vibram rubber sole in theory, reality is miserable shock-absorbtion and achy knees, hips and neck.

    Doc Martens fill my need for boots whose PVC soles take the brunt of impact on paved city streets, while being significantly lighter. The PVC that I once dismissed as cheap and gimmicky has real value to my lifestyle. Plus, I look damn good in them.

  • Additionally

    I rate the Electric Fetus with some indifference. The hierarchy of record stores plays like:

    1. Cheapo- My home away from home. I’ve been buying from them for twenty years.  I’m friends with Michael, the manager, and we’ve spent hours sharing pieces of our lives, building rapport over the cluttered sales counter. It’s a spiritual place, a sonic sanctuary.
    2. Agartha- The finest record store in Minnesota, on selection alone. I used to think gasping in surprised delight was relegated to cinematic performance. Now, I’ve done it, flipping through another row of records I never thought I’d see; far-fetched Discogs wishlist items. I found a Roisin Murphy record there. They have Definitely Maybe signed by both Liam and Noel. ‘Take my paycheck’ I want to exclaim.
    3. Electric Fetus-The used section is too small and cramped. That said, there are real treasures behind the counter. I have flushed out my Husker Du and Replacements collections there. In the 1990s, it was a bit dodgy, especially when the sun went down. Freaks, dyed hair, and sweet marijuana. They’ve leaned into their legend. The store is brighter, cleaner, and loaded with chotchkies for tourists.
    4. Barely Brothers- It’s too cramped for leisurely browsing, and their used section is a 4/10. Autumn found a Mariah Carey greatest hits compilation there, which remains the highlight from our visits. There’s potential, but only from expanding the space.
    5. Disco Death, Roadrunner, Down in the Valley- The latter kind of sucks. Lame atmosphere and crap used section makes this a miss every time. The first two I can’t comment on from limited visits.

  • Are you chicken?

    Medium charcoal, a too-dry Crayola red marker, and a very deep red posca marker.

  • Pencils down

    I have a pencil fetish. Silky smooth applications of graphite to paper does it for me. This Progresso pencil is entirely graphite, with none of that pesky wood shell to interfere with laying it down.

  • Drawing

    Drawing

  • Burn down the mission statement

    This is my space. It is unconcerned with performatives, stylistic rigidity and expansiveness. Just as paper covers rock, providing shade, shelter, and solace.