It’s Monday now; I’m heading back home tomorrow. I’ve taken quite a few pictures, but I don’t think I need to share them with you. How many pictures do you really need to see of a snowy hillside with snow-covered trees? There’s really just not a whole lot else to see here. It’s pretty, but it’s like some certain races of people. It just all looks the same.

I went to Guitar Center the other night just to get some play time in. Being out of town without one of my guitars is deafeningly shitty. I can’t stand not being able to pick one up and play it whenever I want to. I long for it. Like a junkie needs his heroin, or a nymphomaniac needs good hard sex – I need my guitars. I have to feel those hard metal frets and tight copper and steel strings beneath my fingertips. So I went to GC to play for a while. To get my fix.

There were some high school kids there playing some Dave Matthews Band tunes, so I sat in with them for a while. I can dig on some DMB. And one of the employees – Mike G was his name (what’s up Mike?) – sat down with me and played along while I went over some of my original material. He was playing third- and fourth-position chords I’d never seen before. He was playing ninth-diminished patterns and split seventh majors I never knew existed. He was playing stretch minor infinitives I had only dreamed about. Okay I just made that one up. But he was good. Kind of a shitty adjective to use, but he was. He was really really good.

So I played for a couple of hours, then I went to a little sports bar and had some drinks with an old dude who’d just gotten back from skiing. Yeah, I want to hear about your skiing stories. Kind of like you want to hear about my Guitar Center stories. I drank too much and ate way too many of the jalapeno-covered nachos, and was thus up too late into the night with heartburn. They have good porn on the pay-per though. So at least I wasn’t alone.

The next day – yesterday – no wait. That was Friday night, wasn’t it. Yeah, I had to work Saturday. But anyway one of those nights I did all this great stuff. Then Sunday I went and saw Syriana. With George Clooney and Matt Damon. So anyway, here I am, ready to go home and see my sweet daughter. She’s already grown up so much since I’ve been gone, I’m sure. So in my final Minnesota report, I have to give it two thumbs sideways. It seems all right. Nothing to write home about. Which, in a way, is precisely what I’m doing. But it’s not bad either. I think I’d need more time here to determine. And quite possibly I’d need to come in the summer. Meh. I’m not really willing to spend too much more time here though, so I’ll be coming home tomorrow. Home to Texas. Where people drive on the right side of the roads. Where people don’t get over for you when you come barrelling up behind them on the highway. In the left lane. Where you can get a downhome good-cooked meal without some lame ass out-of-state restaurant trying to call it some gay Texas-ized name. Like Texas-Fried Chicken. Or Texas Straws. WTF. Have you guys been to Texas? No? Then stick to cooking your Minnesota style and don’t try to act like you know what Texas is all about. Please.

Anyway, celebrity report remains the same for now. I haven’t seen anyone. F Minnesota. F it like Burt.