Historical Pause
A relaxing weekend. Golfing was planned for Saturday but the frigid temperature in the air made going to a see a movie a better idea. So we went and saw Kurt Russell do his his Herb Brooks impersonation in Miracle, the story of the US Olympic Hockey team in 1980. Good movie. They do this great job of having the actual AL Michael’s play by play dubbed over the acting hockey sequences. Obviously you know the outcome of the game but it was still suspenseful. There was one old guy in the theater who was so into it that he would applaud and get all excited whenever the USA Team would score against the robotic Russian team. He was definitely reliving some cold war memories. Also some nice props to Jimmy Carter in the movie. The film highlights the speech he made about the lack of American confidence and uses it as a backdrop upon which the achievements of the USA Team seem very important and hopeful.

Sunday was a good day for reading. The Good Doctor turned me on to The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson. Huge book. I wish I didn’t have to work today and could sit back and finish it. The book is a thoroughly researched epic historical account of the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. It highlights two intense story lines, that of the Director of Works of the World’s Fair, famed skyscraper architect, Daniel H. Burnham and the crazed Dr. H. H. Holmes who went on a serial killing spree during the Fair. The sure grittiness of industry and city-spirit are captured very lyrically by Larson and you get a keen snapshot of Chicago’s turn of the century physical and mental landscape. Great side stories about Louise Sullivan, Frederick Law Olmsted, and Marshall Fields are tucked into the corners of this book.

The whole premise of the cultural fair is fascinating. Essentially the whole idea for the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893 was born from leading brains of the time that were upset by France’s World Fair and their damned Eiffel Tower which had dwarfed any American structure. The cultural war was on and the American’s set out to prove that no one puts on a World’s Fair like we do. Especially not the French.

I must say that it’s far more impressive to watch a cultural war go down, one where the key soldiers are architects and landscape designers, than it is to watch a modern day occupying Iraq war. We need to get the hell out of that quagmire and return our attention to whipping the worlds butt in such things as building gardens, building amazing cities and beautifully constructed urban spaces. That’s a friendly and worthwhile battle I could get behind.

Bonus Baseball
More great baseball at the Metrodome last night. A come-from-behind rally, extra innings, a dramatic finish. The evening had more drama then The Godfather part II. You couldn’t ask for more in a ballgame. Well you could. You could be watching it in an outdoor stadium and you could ask for a higher caliber fan base. I’m sorry but of the total attendance (approx 17,000) I’d say only a third of ’em stayed to watch the final episode. In fact I’d say about half the stadium left after the Twins went down four runs in the bottom of the eighth inning. Then, even after the Twins rallied back to tie the game and send it into extra innings, about another 4,000 fans decided to leave – just as things were getting interesting! I poop on all those fans. Do these people go to movies and walk out 10 minutes before the credits? Do they read books but ignore the last chapter? Shock and Awe. And why is it that adult people turn into flagellate chimpanzee aliens when they realize they are up on the big screen ballpark television? I sat there totally vexed watching normal people go to pieces in the fraction of a second. You can see the wheels spinning when they see themselves displayed for all. Their first thought is, “Ohmygosh, I’m on stage. I should do something clever and irreverent yet completely remarkable and relevant. I should give the people something that will become legendary. Something everyone will talk about around the water-cooler tomorrow. Finally my big shot. My big moment!” Then, sadly, the search for inspirado fails – dies and falls to the ground to be crunched under foot like so many peanut shells – all that’s left is a surrealistic spasm of nonsuccess danced out for all to see.

Driving home I heard yet another commercial on WCCO that I feel I must share with you. The products that get pushed during Twins games are exciting and completely relevant to my lifestyle. I must be the bulls-eye at the center of their demographic dart-board. This one’s called VIBE and I actually had to go to their website this morning to find out what it was because the commercial sucked me in with all the vitality and promise of the product but never actually explained what the product was.
Turns out VIBE maximizes my Negative Field Activation absorption, which is just totally what I fucking need right now. Shit, I could have really used this stuff down in sponge town. If you’re not like me and you don’t keep up on Negative Field Activation trends allow me to enlighten you with a word for word copy lift from their site:

As a part of the VIBE™ manufacturing process, a special negative magnetic field design at multiple times the strength of the earth’s own magnetic field is used.

and. . .

Water normally has polar bonds, which in the presence of a negative field, are manipulated and changed by that field – it is a process that “structures” and further purifies the water. This results in water that has unique characteristics to include being more fluid, being a better solvent, and having pH characteristics are different. In fact, water processed with Negative Field Activation becomes alkalizing due to its propensity to pull oxygen into the cell. This further results in a state where minerals in solution are ionized more fully and are transported into the body cells more efficiently.

Mardi Gras Indian

Tulip

It’s Catching Up
The deadlines and pixel pushing still hound me and leave me with little time for posting. The top photo is of a Mardi Gras Indian dancer taken by Peter at JazzFest and the bottom one I took while strolling through my mother’s garden on mom’s day. Those costumes the Mardi Gras Indians wear are a product of much money and love but can you imagine performing in that outfit when it’s 90 degrees outside? That’s punk rock.

My 31st birthday is rapidly approaching, and I’m really looking for someone to buy me a star through the International Star Registry. I first heard about this in an advertisement that came on the radio between the top and bottom half of the seventh inning (Twins versus Seattle) last week. Check out the Shining Star Dolls and star naming kit:

This Shining Stars Doll was born in the sky. It’s dressed in a lavender, pink, or blue, star-shaped bunting with adorable glow-in-the-dark pajamas and a hairbrush. And it even comes with a real star in the sky that you can name. Everything you need to name your star with the International Star Registry is included. The star naming kit contains a map showing the location of your star and a naming card you can complete and send to the International Star Registry. Once you name your star, it’s yours to wish upon forever. Doll measures approximately 16 inches tall.

No Sleep: Hit the Ground Running
Ok. Contrary to the internet rumor mill, I am neither dead nor wheelchair bound. I am in fact in full control of my functionaries and putting my root down back in the Northern Plains. In the battle of Earth versus New Orleans, Earth is starting to make a comeback. Unlike my damn horse, Lion Heart, who ran out of smoke in the final leg of the Derby and left me broke and with a broken hat, I am beginning to make a solid comeback. Curse that horse. It should be renamed, Pussy Fart and made into glue.

As fine a time as had in Nawlins, it was an ill conceived (in so many ways) vacation, especially with regard to my workload. I returned Tuesday morning to a virtual and physical Inbox loaded with too many “to-do” items marked with a bright crimson ‘urgent’ stamp. It was enough to make me want to take a giant nap. So this is the cause and curse of my absence. I trust I will soon be able to extinguish this firestorm of chore and obligation (where is that vomiting pink elephant when I need him?) and return to some more regular action up on these pages. Perhaps I can even find time to post some more photos. They’re definitely worth checking out.

Did I tell you I have Tulips in my backyard. I finer homecoming I could not have written. Earth – I missed you.

Trouble Funk
You have to understand something about New Orleans. It’s not a Level place. The whole town is built on one gigantic uneven sponge. I’ve come to terms with that. I realize at this point that the only way I can really balance myself in this craggy town is to become unbalanced myself. This way the path becomes much more easy to navigate.

Last night was a terrible, terrible night. The Radiators at Tipitinas. I knew I was in deep vats of trouble when; a) I noticed I had been using my two week old beard as a hand napkin, and b) when someone’s puke splattered on my flip flops and I did nothing about it except look down and delight in the fact that my bare foot connection to my footwear had a new frictionless slide to it. Later I saw a 400 pound man vomit a pink river for a full 10 seconds. That tripped me out pretty hard.

Coming back home to the Dive Inn, I walked into a scene that I would have expected to see in some movie if ever movies were as good as real life. There were throngs of naked people in and out of the pool. There were human statues who had taken one too many acid hits. It was raining heavily and the lightning storm happening outside was coming in through the enormous skylight, bouncing around the room, and every so often I noticed another human statue being lit up. It was like something out of a 1950’s noir zombie movie. Luckily, I was armed with a hard rubber goose that I had acquired from the pool earilier. I had used it once already on a psychopathic freak (he actually had a baseball cap that had ‘Freak’ embroidered on it) who kept demanding to pay me money to jump in the pool and slap his girlfriends ass. He got the wrath of the goose for that one. I kept trying to pull myself away from the scene but the events that continued to unfold well into the morning hours had me paralyzed – like watching a car wreck that you can’t turn away from.

But enough about that. We don’t want to highlight only those dark moments. You’ll get the wrong impression and we can’t have that.

Wednesday night at the Ponderosa Stomp, Eddie Bo really broke the night wide open with an epic version of the Hook and Sling. Hands down the best single performance of the trip so far. If I can have half Mr. Bo’s energy when I’m his age, I will be a happy man. The Ponderosa Stomp blew the roof off this place called the “Rock N’ Bowl’, which as the name implies, is a place where one can bowl a few lanes or catch some super heavy funk. All Star bands one after another. The MC for the lower stage was this cat named Dolomite who was pimped out in silver sequence and took about 10 minutes to introduce each act. Dolomite had adjectives for days. As the night wore on and Dolomite had more and more to drink the introductions grew longer and longer. I last saw Dolomite passed out with his silver cane on the basement floor of the Rock N’ Bowl. It was a great evening.

After jump starting things again Thursday morning with Bloody Mary’s and my huge double omelet power at the Saint Charles Tavern, I was back in a place where I could actually see myself powering through another day. So far so good. My strategy at JazzFest thus far has been to follow the Japanese kids. They seem to know what’s really going on. I’ve been doing some power vinyl shopping in the last two days but I am nothing compared to these Japanese cats. They are surgical technicians. They come into the stores and grab whole sections by the handfuls. They carry duffle-bags and are on hyper-focused missions.

The predominant demographic at JazzFestival is some kinda freaked out baby boomer Viagra hippy who dances in little circles and looks lost aboard some kinda cosmic freak train. Chotchkies adorn fanciful homegrown halloween costumes and everyone seems OK with it. It’s really not my place to tell someone that their feather head-dress and pink spandex combo isn’t at all right. But everyone gets a free pass here. Remember the city is built on a sponge.

New Orleans: Check Your Bucket
Shit is hot down here. I’m sweating galactic rivers into my keyboard. This thing could blow at any moment. Current location: pool side at the Dive Inn. Although no one can pinpoint exactly where it is and no one seems to be in any hurry to locate it, there is a wireless access point that is allowing me to broadcast live 24/7. I’ve been in the Bayou for almost 24 hours now yet it seems like I’ve been here at least four days already. A good adventure can have that effect. So far the number of hours slept remains at three. I was hoping to catch a nap before heading back out into the fold this afternoon but now it seems unlikely. There are serious schedules to be maintained down here and I am an amateur in a crowd of true professionals. The currency at the Dive is sleep. The less you need (get) the higher you place in the standings. Wayne keeps track on a big green chalkboard. So far I’m holding my own but it’s early yet and there are far more worthier contenders for ‘Rookie of the Year’. This is exhausting work.

Highlights so far include seeing Rebirth start a set at the Maple Leaf at 3AM. That shit was like going back in time. They wrapped up at about 6AM. A few hours later, I was hanging out with Legendary Funketeer Eddie Bo at his restaurant called the Check Your Bucket. The damn kitchen was broke so we couldn’t get no food but it was nice to just sit an hangout and take pictures with Eddie Bo. He’s playing tonight at a Deep Funk Party called the Ponderosa Stomp. Should be good.

Alright time to go down to Uglesich’s for more Poboys and Angry Shrimp. Marcia Ball after that then Band of Gold and then the late show with Eddie Bo. I’ll be back with more. Hopefully some pictures to follow. Here is Uglesich’s and my HQ – The Dive Inn.

There’s Going to be a Blackout
I’m absolutely certain that next weeks activities will make it very difficult for me to follow the Twins against Toronto and Anaheim. So this week I’ve been trying to front-load as many chances to see the Twinks play small ball as I can fit into the schedule. Unfortunately, it’s next to impossible to catch a game on the tube in this town. Thanks to a dispute between Victory Sports and my Cable Company, there has been a complete blackout of games here in the Twin Cities. Only a few select bars have used nefarious tactics and handed out large bribes to secure secret pipelines to Victory’s play-by-play. I know because I spent the better part of Monday night in an intense bar-crawl trying to get the hook-up. It was a miserable failure on all accounts. The bars around by immediate hood are the worst, most loathsome dives I have passed through. One bar features the entire rear-end of a ford pick-up as its awning. Huge american flags greet you at the front door. The dregs that patronize this bar are a slovenly bunch that glare at you from their interactive trivia councils. Its got all the makings of a low-rent sports bar but apparently management has spent all their money on quasi professional Karaoke singers and video trivia and they haven’t paid off the Victory Sports mob. Bottom-line: no twins. I was entertained only slightly by a guy who looked like a cross between William Hung and Louis Anderson singing Karaoke style Foo Fighters and some other terrible song that was about this guy wanting to fuck “Stacy’s mom”. That place should be firebombed. Another beefy guy got up and dedicated his rendition of The Chilli Peppers “Under The Bridge” to ‘People who love football’. No shit. I kid you not. I’m certain that, had Anthony Keidies heard this, he would quit making music forever.

The light at the end of the tunnel seems to be that all these Twins fans grumbling about not being able to see their ball club has made things uncomfortable for Gov. Pawlenty, who is attempting to rally support for his stadium bill(s). You can’t sell bacon to people who hate pigs. I’m looking for Pawlenty to step in and solve this matter fast before I have to step foot in another bar where clearly I am not wanted. Until he does though, here is a list of bars that have signed on with the mob and show Twins games.

Bunny’s Bar & Grill, 5916 Excelsior Boulevard, St. Louis Park
Park Tavern Lounge & Lanes, 3401 Louisiana Avenue, St. Louis Park
Sports Page, 9014 Lyndale Avenue South, Bloomington
Loon Cafe, 500 1st Avenue North, Minneapolis
Joe Senser’s, 3010 Eagandale Place, Eagan
Joe Senser’s, 4217 West 80th Street, Bloomington
Joe Senser’s, 2350 Cleveland Avenue, Roseville
KFAN Restaurant, 2801 Snelling Avenue, Roseville

Bohemian is Just Another Word for Clothing Optional
Out of breath and sprinting to the finish line, I’m trying hard to wrap things up here in the northland and prepare body and mind for the festivities that await next week in the Dirty South. I’m looking into connectivity so I can keep everyone who visits these pages abreast of my daily constitution while swimming through the bayous of booze, beads and brass bands. My base of operations and general HQ for the week will be the Dive Inn. From the looks of it, this reservation may go down as being my first mistake. Trying to find out if they have connectivity, I checked the link marked services, and got:

Wonderful Wayne, is ready to work out the kinks of the trip with a relaxation  massage.
            Single      65.00
            Couple  100.00

More importantly, Wayne will perform an Erotic massage. It is very sexual in nature
            Females   65.00
            Couple  100.00
            Sorry, no males

Oh boy! And if that’s not enough of a bad omen, the FAQ page informs that the pool is open twenty four hours and is clothing optional. Damn what kind of loose degeneracy have I signed up for? It’s just that kind of peacenik-commune openness that may force me to post daily photos of my nominees for “naked person in the pool who has no business being naked in the pool”. Of course I’ll set up a poll to let my readers vote on a winner.

I kept the training up this last weekend with a hit of the Rebirth Brass Band. Let me just say, you aren’t listening to any funky music if you aren’t listening to Rebirth. This band jams so tight. Check the music page and shake your ass. Marching bands are the new black. For more proof check out the UMASS Marching Band’s cover of Radiohead’s Paranoid Android (mp3).