Archives for posts with tag: Local

Sabrina Chap, my girlfriend’s  friend and amazing burlesque singer, came to Minneapolis this weekend and played a low-key backyard concert. We arrived just as the acoustic trio Hummingbirds were finishing. The whole setup was so goddamn sweet I’m bummed we didn’t arrive earlier.

Some of Sabrina’s stuff can be a little bawdy, a little political but that girl can work a crowd. People hooted. Couples cuddled. Even the baby in attendance loved it, dancing atop his father’s shoulders. As the end of her set neared, Sabrina wanted to play a Liz Phair song for my dear girl but didn’t remember all the lyrics. Fear not! Minnesota nice came through. Lynn O’Brien of the Hummingbirds held the lyrics of Fuck and Run AND harmonized a bit.

The sweetness grows.

I don’t go to many shows – social anxiety, party-pooperness, whatever – but this might make me change my tune. This crowd of people didn’t exude the usual selfishness of concert goers. I felt only love. So much love I would have thought someone slipped something into my beer if I wasn’t clutching the six-pack of Oberon under my knees for easy access.

Oh Minneapolis, I love you when you’re not steeling my stuff.

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Today we found a skull near the park:

I grew up in a town about one tenth the size of Minneapolis. Not small by Iowa standards but small enough. Even there I didn’t see this many animal bones.

Also.

This is our neighbor-dog Chevy:

Chevy screams like a child. Maybe you’d call it a moan or a wail but you wouldn’t describe it in dog terms. I’ve never owned or lived near a pitbull so maybe this is normal. He’s a good boy, he gets plenty of attention and walks, but he does NOT like the tie-out.

It’s easier to focus on things like this because instead of feeling stronger lately, I’ve been feeling weak. Yesterday, I almost threw up at crossfit – I’m not one of those people who thinks that’s a good thing – and my run was just as bad today as it was when it was 100 degrees out. I know these things go in cycles but it’s still frustrating.

This bike was leaning against a tree when left Muddy Waters:

Not locked, leaned. No one wants to steal a bike with rotting deer bones attached to it.

I like to say that I don’t like hipsters. Then I like to ride my bike and read books in public spaces and drink beer from local breweries and grow my own herbs. But I can’t wear skinny jeans so I’m pretty sure my hipster-hate is safe.

I just finished this book.

I liked the novel but I don’t know if I would recommend it. Great characters. Interesting plot. BUT. The author has this habit of not uniformly formatting dialogue. It’d be one thing if all the dialogue was formatted the way college freshmen think it should be formatted but sometimes it’s done correctly. I need consistency Mr. Wilson! That said, I hope this book gets made into a movie. I would watch it. That might be telling enough.

PS. In case I wasn’t clear before, I think everyone who is willing and able (particularly if you are a writer who someday wants someone to buy your book) should buy NEW books from local bookstores.

My mother has had the same hairdresser for nearly thirty years. When Joan’s studio moved from the strip mall across from the catholic school in Des Moines, my mom followed. After standing empty for a year a local bookseller moved into the small well-lit space that still smells a little like perm chemicals. I’m not going to rant about shopping at local bookstores. You can read a pretty girl talk intelligently about that here. I bring up this bookstore because the only reason I read Julie Otsuka’s novel was that the owner told me to.

“It’s written in the first person plural,” the bookseller said.

“Oh…” I said, preparing to set the book down.

“But each sentence is a story in itself. It’s really beautiful.”

“Ok, I’ll buy it.”

Clearly, I’m a sucker for even a soft-sell. She was right though, the novel is beautiful. Otsuka makes the plural POV work. It’s a fast, lovely read. You should read it.

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