The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

I have no tolerance for pot dealers who insist on sharing a bowl every time they conclude a transaction. I don't need to seal my drug deals with shiny happy-people vibes; that's what I bring the money for. But that's just me; when it comes to harnessing good vibes, I'll take the mayhem of Altamont over the "brotherhood" of Woodstock every time.

Mike Edison's memoir I Have Fun Everywhere is the perfect summer reading companion for anyone who would rather lace their weed with the Ramones than with the Byrds.

I Have Fun Everywhere chronicles Edison's twenty-something, '90s rampage through the second tier publishing world of male-American fetishes (wrestling, porn, drugs), his first-person explorations into rock n' roll excess (through numerous European tours with numerous punk bands), and a sliver of a love story that feels more like a kick in the balls than a kiss on the lips.

The book kicks off with Edison dropping out of NYU film school, and discovering wrestling. In his stoned view, wrestling is a pure art form, a performance art for the masses that plays on classic archetypes. A few wrestling fanzines lead to the editorship of Main Event, the flagship publication of the wrestling scene.

The Main Event gig doesn't pay much, though, and Edison soon broadens his literary wings by pumping out the ragged porn novels that used to be a staple in Times Square sex shops before Giuliani and his Disney squadron stormed the city walls.

Through it all, Edison continues to rally his various punk bands through small European tours that produce just enough money for the plane tickets and the drugs on the road. It's a good life that keeps on giving and eventually leads him to his dream job, publisher of High Times magazine.

At High Times his first mission is to push the magazine out of the hippie squalor of irrelevance in which it is living, and bring it into the new decade.

"The first person who suggests putting Bob Marley on the cover is gonna be looking for a new job," he says to his new staff, by way of introduction.

A generational clash is inevitable, and the lines are clearly defined by footwear — black Gen-X Chuck Taylor high-tops against Boomer Birkenstocks.

"YOU CAN'T BE THE EDITOR OF HIGH TIMES," a High Times veteran yells at him during a meeting. "YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE THE BEATLES!"

No Gen-X memoir is complete without a good dose of manic depression and bi-polarity. While Edison struggles with constant near-mutinies in High Times, he falls in love and moves in with a bi-polar chick who manages to finish law school between bouts of self-loathing.

If there's one thing Edison knows, it's his audience. A bunch of dateless wrestling fanatics with punk music in their stereos, boutique buds in their bongs, and porn on their TVs, have little tolerance for a story that ends with the redeeming power of love. In their lore, every woman is a Yoko. An empty, heartless, sexual succubus.

(Porn lovers also like their women dehumanized, and Edison complies by replacing his girlfriend's name with a simple ________.)

After finishing law school, _______ fails to invite him to the graduation.

"I really appreciate everything you've done for me," she tells him. "But I don't need you anymore, I can do it on my own."

It's a harsh blow, but Edison is not one to stay down long. After a lost weekend in Vegas, he returns to New York with a new mission: make the High Times movie.

"How could it possibly fail?" he asks.