T. Rimberg is a genius. I’m not saying he’s not messed up, but he’s a really good person and he tries really hard and when I met him all he really wanted to do was help me out. He also wanted to kill himself.

I’m Cranberry. I’m a genius. I suppose I have to admit that I was a little fucked up when I met T., but because of him, I am a fully engaged human being, with a love, a man who can even count his mom as a fan. My mom didn’t like me very much for a couple of years. I didn’t like her either.

Charlie, T.’s son, is super funny. You should meet him. He’s a little moody, though, and he can be annoying if he’s bored. T.’s twin daughters, Kara and Sylvie have gone from not talking to me or anyone involved with T. to insisting I watch freaking Hannah Montana with them whenever I’m in town, which is not that much, thankfully. They’re also funny, I have to say.

Mary, T.’s ex-wife, is getting married to some guy named Tim. She’s really gracious when I’m around, but I haven’t spent that much time with her.

T.’s mom sometimes says, “My pain… my boys.” She’s not so good.

I never met the dry-skinned biddies in T.’s old office, but I can tell you this, I see them driving in there stupid Blazers and Caravans every time I’m back in the Twin Cities.