Hey there, fellow bike rider! I have a request.

Can you maybe try not to be so stupid/unsafe/dickish, just a little, and maybe not fuck things up for the rest of us who know what we're doing?

I'm not talking to you, bike messengers; you know what you're doing and you do it the right way, because you're well aware that your health and (here's the important part) the health of others depends on you doing so. I'm not talking to you folks who commute on a bike daily and do the little things, like adhering at least slightly to the rules of the road, staying off sidewalks whenever possible (as it turns out, some people like to just walk on them!), dressing with some common sense; you know, stuff like that.

You know who you are, fellow bike rider. And you know you can do better.

Today's example: I was driving down Harriet (sometimes I drive, like when I'm running errands and want a little more than the space in my bag and my back strength in terms of hauling capacity) - if you aren't familiar with it, Harriet is a little one-way street here in Minneapolis. In the winter, it becomes effectively half its normal width, due to snow and ice accumulation forcing cars to park progressively farther away from the curbs as Winter moves along. By this point, there's rarely more than about 6 feet of space on either side of cars traveling down the street. So there I am, tooling down this narrow corridor, when I spy a fellow bike rider coming towards me, going the wrong way.

Now, since I ride myself, I'm overly courteous to riders when I drive. Accordingly, I shifted as far to the right as possible so the rider would have some room to get by. The thing is, this street was pretty icy; big patches of ice, all over the place. So I couldn't help but wonder how wise it was to ride against traffic on an iced-up little one-way (thanks, Paul!) when there's a street going the way you want to go just one block West, as I continued to tightrope along the right side of the street, flirting side mirror disaster as I went along. As he passed me, he lost his grip a little and had to steady himself by dragging a foot. He also gave me the stinkeye, as if he was disgusted with the gall I was displaying by driving the right way down a one-way street. Sure; that makes all sorts of sense and isn't at all dickish.

Honest, folks; most of us are perfectly nice, sane people. We aren't interested in getting in your way or otherwise molesting your peaceful progress through the day. As long as you are kind enough to refrain from, you know, running us over and stuff, we're easy to get along with.

As for the rest of you, work on that shit, okay? Good talk.

Dear Paul: An Open Letter to an Important Musical Touchstone.

I know, I know - with all the awesome content I could be providing, I'm going to waste your time for what? First, let me apoligize to the 2 (or maybe 3) of you who read this drivel on occasion: I know it's a waste of your time, but it'll be quick and it must be said.

Recently, while doing a little light reading on the internets to try and keep up with the career and goings on of one Paul Westerberg, I came across some indication that Tommy Stinson had been in town this past autumn. That in itself isn't all that crazy; this is his hometown, after all. No, what caught my attention was the fact that while he was here, Tommy got together and played w/ Paul. Again, this isn't all that outlandish; they've collaborated several times since the 'Mats parted ways. The kicker is that they were playing with a drummer and another guitar player.

Hmm... Pauly, Tommy, a drummer and another guitar player. Where have I seen that lineup before?

Now, according to both Paul and Tommy, this wasn't a precursor to the so-anticipated-that-if-it-happens-some-people-I-know-might-actually-die-from-excitement Replacements reunion; they don't seem ready for that, yet. Yet. But what if it was? What if they were rehearsing for just such a venture? Wouldn't that be great?

No. No, it wouldn't. And I'll tell you why: The other guitarist wasn't me.

That's right, Paul; I'm the guy you need to call if you ever get the itch to dust off those old gems and play them with a 4-piece rock band again. I'm just going to lay it out there like that. I loved Bob Stinson, probably a little too much. I loved how his playing transformed catchy pop tunes into heart-racing drama; how he could ratchet up the tension with a couple notes here or a double-stop there; how he would decorate your insanely catchy songs with aural shrapnel. He was like a sucker punch that way.

Paul, if you should ever decide to try a Replacements reunion, please consider me for that all-important Bob Stinson role. And if you don't or won't (understandable; I'm just some schmuck claiming in his blog to be capable of such a feat, after all) consider me, at least refrain from filling that role with some sort of 'professional'; that would be a criminal error in casting. Whoever your Bob is, he needs to be anything BUT professional. He needs to do the opposite of respecting your very-respectable canon; he needs to avoid defering to your wishes in any way. In short, he needs to bring some real Bob Stinson to the table.

Can anyone short of Bob himself do it? I don't know, to be honest; and I'll admit that I'm personally as ambivalent about the idea of a Replacements reunion that doesn't include the real Bob as you seem to be. That kind of lightning isn't easy to catch in a bottle in the first place; twice is unlikely. Perhaps it's an impossibility.

But if you find yourself wanting to try it, give me a call. I'm the guy for the job, I swear it.