Off to a new home.

I said there was another blog coming. This time I’m dropping the anonymity. I’m in the bright, clean sunlight, along with the wife. I hope you’ll follow me over there, cause I won’t be coming back here except in that way you visit a childhood home – no longer lived in, full of memories you treasure, but in the end, not where you are anymore.

Follow me and wife at http://thebaconandicecreamblog.com/

Amnesty and Rebuke at Caribou Coffee

Wife is spending her last week of unemployment getting ready for the holiday weekend and the upcoming shift in household duties. She's been doing dishes and laundry like a champ lately since she's been home and the place looks amazing for probably the last time in a while once we are both working all the time. Yesterday, she went to the dreaded Target to pick up things we had been running short on for months due to unemployment. Today she stopped at the grocery store and went to get some work shoes since hers are all shot.

During this, she got in a car accident.

Everyone's OK, so no worries.

She was stopping at the Caribou Coffee drive through in Medina for a pick me up and was waiting in the drive through line to order when the car in front of her started reversing. It bumped into her before she could react.

Wife got out, and two young teen girls pop out of the other car. The rider takes over talking, she says her friend literally got her license today, and they were going through the drive through for the first time. The driver was not talking, but clearly just to keep from crying.

Wife: "Well, let's see about any damage!"

They look over the car, my Pontiac Bonneville '99, which is a piece of shit car that got a death sentence 2 years ago and somehow keeps on kicking. Nothing seemed amiss. Wife called me to make sure and let me know she was fine. I said, what the hell, it's a crap car, even if it had a dent, no biggie, we're just driving it to death at this point. No need to do the insurance bull crap.

Wife told the teens that ordinarily they would trade insurance, numbers, etc. But no harm no foul. And then she said probably the best thing a new teen driver could hear: "Well, you got the first accident out of the way already, so now you can quit worrying about it!"

If there is an antagonist in this story, it's the Caribou Coffee employee who came out, not to check that everyone was OK, but to tell wife and the teen to get out of the drive through (though there was no one waiting behind them). So congrats to Caribou for probably making a new driver's first drive through experience with anyone rather crappy. There's one customer with a lot of life ahead of her that won't be coming back anytime soon.

Wife Got a JOB!!!

Pure Joy

Wife got a JOB!! 

That's right. 

Wife is now employed. In one week, in fact, she's gone from unemployed to having a full time and a part time job. The place she was volunteering at by helping with their marketing, media and grants, loved her so much they wanted to start paying her. So on Monday, she agreed to being on contract for 55 hours a month. There was a lot of negotiation, they wanted to have her part time for 20 hours a week, but it just wasn't going to be enough to pay the student loans and wouldn't have left her open enough for full time work. It is a HARD choice to make. 

So that happened, then by today, she had two jobs that she had interviewed at that said they would let her know this week. At noon, one called, the one that's just 5 minutes away, and offered her the job. Full time for a marketing company. 

"Yes yes yes yes yes," she said to every question. After a minute, "You know, I need to calm down a bit, I've said yes to you more than I did to my husband when he proposed." 

This is what that feels like: 

She then called me at work. 

"I got hired," the words nearly choked her as she tried to spit them out. Then she proceeded to sob incomprehensibly for two minutes while I calmly tried to ascertain which company hired her (the other one emailed to say they would not be able to choose until Monday as they had a scheduling problem with one candidate). I finally got it out of her.

"Come home" she said. And I told my boss and got the OK to go home and start feeling human again.

Pure bliss

I got home, and together we drained a bottle of Friday's long island iced tea and half a big bottle of wine. She was drunk by 5 and asleep by 6. 

Her search started in full a year ago at about this time when her former boss said she wasn't allowed to keep herself safe after a student threatened her - plus working with mice and bats doesn't help matters. She worked with me for 5 months which got her away from that, but has had nothing since March 1.

As an idea what it's like out there: Since May 23, we have sent out 174 resumes. We erased the records from before that because it was just too depressing to scroll through. I sent out six applications on my birthday. She was getting about 3-5 contacts a week - either phone, in person, or recruiters if they count during the past several months. We just needed one yes. And we finally got it!

On another note

You may have noticed the number of blogs trailing off lately. Well, applying to 4-5 jobs a day kind of curtails one's time to do things they enjoy, like writing. Plus I've been writing some art reviews for another publication, and that takes some time. But now I can also make another announcement.

Wife and I will be starting a new blog!

We've been working on it for about a month, banking posts ready to go.

I started Myths of the Midwest in 2011 to help myself stay sane. It has been pretty much a chronicle of wife and I as we struggled out of a crushed dream of a doctorate for her and the rather constant struggle of finding our place in the working world. I appreciated everyone who read it. I enjoyed sharing some of the more insane things that happen from time to time in my awkward life. I also got to share getting engaged and married and the first year of married life. It was a vent and served its purpose well, though it never really caught on much.

The new blog will be a lot of the same topics, but more ordered into categories to share actual tips and empathy to job seekers, notes about writing and advertising, and posts about the things we enjoy about life in the cities. It'll be our calling card for potential freelancing jobs, and now that we're both finally, solidly employed and hopefully getting by through the next year of taking care of shit that's been squeaking by like the fact wife has no work clothes beyond her interview suit, my car is on life support, hers needs brakes, and a ton of other stuff that you have to put off just so you can eat.

The new blog is in the design phase - utilizing some friends we've picked up along the way and their wonderful talents. The nice thing is it won't have to be anonymous. We'll be ourselves and try to bring the funny and the frustrating. I hope you'll join us. It's probably a month off yet or more considering web design can be a bitch, but consider this a teaser. I'll send a heads up when it gets going. Thank you for reading, it meant everything.

Fargo Jones

Minnesota Opera Under the Stars (with racism?)

Tonight the wife and I took in a free public performance of the Minnesota Opera company at the Lake Harriet Bandshell. We got there about 70 minutes before the curtain, which was enough time to get to the back of the first hill of people.

If you plan to attend an event like this at the Lake Harriet Bandshell, and you are a guy, be sure you don't drink much all day, cause while there is a women's room, the only facilities for men in sight are unisex family bathrooms. Luckily, I was in a good way tonight, which isn't usual for me. TMI.

What really got my knickers in a bunch, though, was the group parked right in front of us. This was wife's view of the stage.

Apparently the Phi Beta Kappa Twin Cities Association was meeting up at this Opera event, and they wanted EVERYONE to know, especially the people behind them. I told wife not to worry, surely they would take it down when the opera began. At 15 minutes to showtime, I went to find out that there were no designated men's facilities, and waited in line for the "family bath" rooms. There are so many things wrong with calling a room the "family bath" room, but let's leave that one alone. 

When I got back to wife, she relayed the following to me. 

Two guys, obviously college students, perhaps grad students, who spoke with thick accents, from somewhere where soccer and cricket are likely popular, asked the guy by the sign "I want to know, if we sit over there or here, will you take the sign down when the event starts?" The first guy ignored them. They moved on to the guy standing up by the sign and asked the same question. The standing up guy said "no matter where you sit, you won't be able to see the stage anyway, so it doesn't matter." 

The two guys walked away. Another college aged girl carrying a Barnes and Noble bag, long dark curly hair, comes over and points to the sign. The guy starts to get defensive. She asks "are you the Phi Beta Kappa group?" He says "yes." She says "I'm here for you." he changes demeanor completely into Nice Guy Ned. He makes room for her, offers her a cookie and stuff to sign. 

Then a woman in pink comes and asks if he's the Phi Beta Kappa group, as if the sign isn't RIGHT THERE.

This woman, the one wearing pink and a hat: 

They make room for her. then they discuss what happened with the sign. She said: "Good for you, you want to make sure that they know their place." 

That ACTUALLY HAPPENED. 

Now, I can't say if this was a racist comment, or a class-based comment. In any stretch of the imagination, it wasn't a comment that can be painted over with some easy explanation unless she has a really dry sense of humor that makes no one laugh. But perhaps that comes from being part of a honor society that makes you feel superior to other people. 

.Anyway, racist/classicist/classist(?) groups aside, I assured wife that I would step up to the plate and be an ass if I needed to be. The music began, and the sign wasn't going down. After a few measures, and a tweet, I  said rather loudly "Hey, Phi Beta Kappa, could you take down your sign now?" the guy turned and looked at me, blinked, probably gauging if I could see the stage if he moved the sign, and moved to take down the sign. I thanked him "thank you very much." and we moved into the Opera. 

They put the sign up again at intermission, and had to be verbally reminded again to please take it down thank you very much.

The concert was of "La Boeheme" a story of a group of friends at the end of the 19th Century who party hard, fall in love, and lose love to consumption. If you have seen "Rent" you know all the basic beats of the plot and characters. Me, I had an unhealthy obsession with Rent in high school, so reading the synopsis before the opera began I felt like I was treading on familiar ground. 

The music was rather hard to hear at times, even though we were closer than half the people attending. Though there were microphones around the stage, they weren't used by individual performers. Only when people really belted out an aria's glory notes would the audience really get excited, partly because of the beauty of the music, but also partly because they could actually hear it. 

I loved the introduction of love in the first act, signaled wonderfully by the light, romantic turn in the music, and aided by the diving sparrows around the park as they hunted bugs in the pink, Minnesota dusk. The setting was lovely, the picnic wife made of bagels with cream cheese and turkey was divine, and the whiskey and ginger drinks we brought in a thermos the shiny cap on a wonderful event. Wife took this picture of the feet of someone who knew exactly how to enjoy this time.

I'd entirely recommend going to such free opera in the park events, but be sure to get their plenty early to get good seats, hopefully not behind haughty signage.

Edina Art Fair

On Sunday, I got wife up after finishing my weekend editing job. It felt like giving my executioner the syringe, after filling it and spiking a vein. It was the dreaded Edina art festival.

The festival so big we parked a mile away and took the bus they had just for this event.

This sort of crowd is my nightmare. It's also interesting to count how many 

people will look at a camera in a crowd in you hold it over your head.

The first few booths near the bus did not portend well. Filled with enormous, like ridiculously enormous metal animals that moved. I couldn't see this sort of thing working anywhere except a school maybe, if they could get the safety permits.

And the next booth had what I would definitely categorize as a "craft" in that it sucked. I don't see the difference between this and a kid's store.

But then things turned around. They started turning at the booth of Bob Wilfong, whose bronze sculptures were accompanied by poems. These sculptures were colorful and exuded a peaceful vibe that was hard to ignore. It made me feel a bit less crabby and able to start enjoying the art fair. 

Pictures just don't do this justice, much like any really interesting art. You can see more of it here, but I'm telling you, the way the colors shimmer in the light, and undertones seem to float beneath the surface of the bronze, it's just magic. 

Here's some other booths that caught my attention: 

 I love the way these mechanical people are crammed to the brim with personality. Somehow they break through the "Craft" designation I've created in my head and cross the line into, if not art, interesting.

Also, there were a lot of photography booths filled with highly photoshopped pieces ready to print and sell, which annoys me for some reason even though I know people gotta make a living. But this photo place caught my attention. They don't photoshop, they shoot with the full moon, and they use color strobes to paint interiors of long-forgotten buildings on little traveled highways. Seriously, tour their site, it's pretty cool. They are newcomers on the art fair scene, so keep an eye out. I think they got an award at the Edina fair. For some reason, I don't like to take pictures of photography, so you'll have to look them up.

I also wrote down Abby Lingle Pottery in my notebook, but can't remember why. The pottery on her site is pretty dang slick though.

Truthfully, there was a lot of good work going on at this fair, much more so than the previous day's excursion. But the environments couldn't be more different. Whereas the small fair on Saturday was in a clearly welcoming neighborhood, Wife and I couldn't help but feel out of place in this Edina hotspot. Edina is one of the most affluent suburbs of Minnesota, and the surrounding shops, none of which wife or I could afford to frequent ever, made us feel rather small and unwelcome, like a mechanical robot hanging on a wall just looking for some acceptance. As we took a breather, I mentioned that for a while, I was worried about losing my wallet to a pickpocket in this crowd, but then I remembered I was wearing a Doctor Who shirt and we were surrounded by people wearing suit vests. I was not the preferred target of anyone looking to score by pickpocketing.

Also, there was a booth where you could win 3,000 dollars worth of plastic surgery. That says a lot about Edina.


Wife felt it too, and said one of the best things I've ever heard he say "I think this summer project might backfire. I'm going to start hating these things as much as you if we keep this pace up."

We didn't buy anything this time cause we're broke as shit again until wife lands her job. So we were looky-loos, which is fine by me. After the food we got, we went home with 36 bucks to our name until Wednesday when wife's unemployment came in again. Yay capitalism.

Before boarding the bus to get back to our car, we stopped at a lemonade stand and a food stand for something called "the Fonz" burger. It had cheese curds on it. CHEESE CURDS. We also got cheese curds as a side.  And yes, that menu says they have an item called the DEUCE. Naming your fries after what is also a common term for private business is not the best idea, folks.

Cheese curds, and bacon, on a burger. Is this heaven?

2013 Lemonade count: 5

2013 Cheese Curd Tally: 2.5 (cause the burger had some)

St. Anthony Art Festival

Today we spent about 2 hours continuing our summer of craft experiment. Part one here. While the Edina Art Fair is going on, and it's billed as Minnesota's second largest art fair, we decided to take our chances with a smaller event.

The St. Anthony Art Festival on Como Ave. in St. Paul keeps things small - 80 artists in all. After our time at the last event - the American Craft Council Show - this one was a huge step down the crap hole in quality.

After parking the car and walking back to find wife, I passed a few booths. This one caught my eye.

I found wife and told her about the booth full of pottery that resembled birch trunks. 

"Birch pottery? This is what someone dedicated her life to?" I said. 

"Let's try positive husband," wife responded.

I'd like to say things got positive, but they didn't. We were done with half the art booths in 20 minutes. Wife's eye was caught by a few things, but usually the people in the booths would turn her off. One woman was selling necklaces, and we overheard her explaining the significance of salt and pepper shakers on the necklace as black slavery items. From what I could gather, white guilt was her selling point, but then I wondered what you do when you get home or wear it out later. "Nice necklace!" "Yeah! And it reminds me of how horribly we treated fellow human beings!"

But really, I need to be more positive. What did I like? I liked the atmosphere. Although the booths were sparse, and the quality of items circumspect, and the booth merchants overzealous (one calling out that she had my wife's size in clothing), the neighborhood was pleasant. I could imagine living there. Lots of old trees, bike paths, cute shops and access to the basic needs. And a nifty old library that was benefiting from the fair. It'll be under renovation starting Monday, but they had a used book sale. 

The book sale was pretty packed, but I nabbed a few choice books for the summer's reading. I got a historical fiction trilogy by Norwegian Nobel Prize winner Sigrid Undset, an early book by J.M. Coetzee and a John LeCarre novel. All for 6 bucks. 

We also stopped in a small wine shop, very small, like European shoppe small, but nice. We're drinkin' wine tonight!

By this point, wife's morning caught up with her. I had woken and done my normal morning routine of eating cereal. Wife, however, wanted to just get going, so she skipped breakfast, took some meds, and had half an energy drink on the way to the event. This led to feeling crappy. 

We got some fresh squeezed lemonade (which by the way is my favorite thing at any fair outside of turkey legs, and I will keep a running tally of our lemonade purchases over the summer on this blog). The lemonade didn't do the trick. Getting wife to make any sort of decision during such events just leads to frustration on her part and mine. "Do you want to sit?" "Um." "OK, how about I get a gyro?" "Or we could go to that cafe." "Sure." "But I don't know."

Eventually, we stopped at a food truck for spicy cheese curds, which wife could handle about four of before they became too much. We also found some mini cookies, but she didn't like them either. Food at this fair was difficult to say the least.

They also had activities for the kids. One such activity was helping kids to make their own pottery complete with clay and wheel. Sounds fun, but when you take a second to think, there's no way they have a kiln available or the time needed to complete the process, right? Right. This became apparent to parents after the fact. While I was getting some stuff back to the car to be less burdened, wife overheard this one between a man and wife who's young son was carrying around his newly created clay pot. 

"So, what are we gonna do with a bunch of wet clay?"

I also need to mention the abundance of lutes and mandolins. I swear to Christ every one who plays lutes in Minnesota outside of Ren Fest was at this thing. Now, I think it's great for lute and mandolin players to have a place to perform, where they can feel safe from the years of bullying, but you just can't unhear Beatles tunes being PBS-ified to death by straining them through a mandolin quartet. 

This guy was good though. 

Could be that he was playing a Greek bouzouki though, a point of order he made sure to note. 

I was not alone! Wife was severely disappointed at the quality of this fair. We were not 4 booths into our second half of the 80 art booths when I swear to god I heard our future selves behind us. A woman was saying to her husband "Do you think you could be more positive?" and the husband was saying "Maybe." 

Seriously though, I haven't described it well, but this fair felt like the castoffs of Minnesotans who couldn't get into the Edina fair. It's just not worth describing and I don't have the energy to do so beyond one more. 

We walked quickly past, but it was a booth of drawings and copies of those drawings, intricate pencil pieces of people. The elderly woman at the booth was busy arranging the pieces. You couldn't help but notice that she had talent. The pieces were intricate, but unsettling, like she was going for R. Crumb, but not on purpose. You felt bad for her, to have so much talent, but not quite enough to be really good, and knowing she was old enough that it wasn't likely to be a matter of needing more practice. 

At this point, wife said to go get the car. She looked ready to faint, so I found her a chair and went back to the car, passing by a booth full of homemade beanie babies and groaning while at it. 

While I was getting the car, wife heard this passive aggressive conversation take place behind her by a woman with a small child. 

"Oh, I just wish I could get a chair her so my child can sit down for a bit."

Aimed. Right. At. Her. 

Wife did get up eventually, but the woman is seriously lucky she didn't drop kick that kid. Wife has been known to shove misbehaving kids out of her way in public restrooms (she came charging out that time, grabbed my arm, and said "We must GO now" and we hightailed it out of the restaurant.) We're not kid people, and on top of that, we're not fans of people who feel their children should be entitled to everything at the expense of others. 

Tomorrow, if we can stomach another outing, we're going to the Edina Art Fair. Pray for us. 

2013 Lemonade Tally: 3

2013 Cheese Curd Tally: 1

Awkward Hairdresser Conversations

I used to be of the "cheapest is best" style of hair person. I would go to whatever CostClips I could find every four months or so and have them cut the shit out of my hair.

That changed with wife.

"You're an adult now, you should have an adult haircut."

Fair point, I figure. I have a weird shaped head with a bald spot on one temple and a knob of a skull in back, so it was always a crapshoot weather the latest haircut would accommodate these things or just make me look bad for a month while my hair grew out. Like I said, I didn't care for more than 30 years about this. If I could get my hair cut for 10 bucks or less, I didn't care if it looked like it was done by machete.

Now I go to Aveda every three months to wife's hairdresser. They wash my hair as well, which feel really nice on an early Friday morning before work. I still feel like shit for having to spend 40 bucks plus tip on a haircut, but I will admit it looks good every time rather than about half the time. I agree that part of working in the professional world is having a decent haircut. Although the engineers i work with haven't all caught on to this.

I do not have the gift of gab. At gatherings, I sit and listen, sometimes I have a fun anecdote to add, but I dont' know how to barge my way into a conversation and the moment passes onto new topics I know nothing about. With hairdressers, my life has been silent. After the "what do you do" conversation and the "where are you from" bundle of fun, the conversation dies.

Sometimes I just listen to other people talk - about their kids, their lake home renovations, and other things that just make me bored.

Yesterday though, I had the longest conversation ever with the stylist. But we still spent the last 30 minutes in silence.

Here's how it went:

Her: Any plans for the weekend?

Me: Well, we're going to the new Star Trek movie tonight, but that's about it.

Her: I have never seen any of the Star Trek or Star Wars movies or shows.

Me: Wow, I bet you get yelled at all the time when you tell people that.

Her: Yup. People get really angry about it.

Me: People get angry at wife and I when they find out we've never been to the MN state fair.

Her: Are you kidding? You haven't been?

Me: Nope.

Her: That's crazy. You need to go. I go a few times a year.

Me: Well, we have only lived here for one of them, and it was super hot last year.

Her: Doesn't matter. If you are in a five state area, you are obligated.

Me: Well, maybe we'll go. We are going to a lot of craft fairs this summer. I hate craft fairs, but I want to write about them.

Her: I hate craft fairs too. Tree stumps, felt mittens, wind chimes, ugh.

Me: I know.

We shared our mutual loathing of crafts for another couple minutes. And then all was silence.

I thought it was great that she got mad at me for something trivial immediately after implying how weird it was for others to get mad at her for something trivial. Maybe that's why I don't do small talk - I like the clashes sometimes too much.

Quickie

Just a short entry this time, rolling off the fingers.

Been a year since I got my job. It's been a good year overall. We got out of pre-foreclosure and pre-bankruptcy, we can afford to live. Wife is rocking the unemployment right now, getting an insane number of interviews, each of which brings her closer to a job. Hoping like balls her interview tomorrow goes well, cause that job is on the same damn block as mine and we could move and not have to do this driving for an hour or so every day.

Went to the first Farmers market of the year for us on Saturday. Got two bags of lettuce (5 bucks for one, 3.50 for the other). It's pricey, but DAMN you notice the difference. You forget that lettuce is supposed to taste good after a winter of the stuff shipped in from wherever in the world is warm. We get by in the winter on green leaf heads, which is okay. Once wife got iceberg because it was on sale, and it was like eating tasteless garbage (if that word pairing makes any sense). So if you learn anything from this post, it is to try Farmer's Market lettuce. Trust me, it'll change the way you see salad. I also bought a 6 dollar bunch of asparagus, which was not noticeably different than the stuff at the store. But with the goat cheese and green onions I also got, I was able to make a delicious quiche.

This farmer's market was at the Mill City Museum, so it had the added atmosphere of industrial river folk with girders, old train tracks, and tin roofs. I felt like I was in that black market place in The Hunger Games. It was awesome. Will definitely return later when prices have gone down as supplies grow around here.

Until then, wife and I will continue to cram in a salad every night, which even when it tastes awesome begins to feel like a chore to finish a five dollar bag before it goes bad.

He Said/She Said: Art-A-Whirl for the new couple

Wife and I wrote this last year after Art-A-Whirl, which is going on this weekend in Minneapolis. Our dance card is full this year with Red Sox games, so we won’t be going. Maybe next year. Anyway, on with the blog…

He Said

As a recent transplant to the Twin Cities, I knew nothing about Art-A-Whirl® going into it. Wife suggested it as a fun excursion into the art scene. Consider this article the result of a lot of fumbling about and trying to get my bearings to enjoy an event that has established itself for 17 years before we came along.

With a name like Art-A-Whirl, you expect to get dizzy. We didn’t plan much for it beyond figuring out where to park and hop on a trolley. We drove through a sea of ironic hairstyles and fixed gear bikes, becoming more and more apprehensive about this experience. Were we hip enough to do this at all? Wife said she read in City Pages that what you wear to these events is important – unlike what your mother believes, this is a fashion show.

The St. Mary’s Orthodox Cathedral parking lot was so empty, we wondered if we were in the right place. We decided to check out the church, and all our pretensions about Art-A-Whirl were dashed away by good ol’ religious iconography.

Every surface in the cathedral was covered with art. The looming figure of Mary in the dome up front appeared more three dimensional the more you looked at it. Acapella hymns filled the air, and we just had to sit down and take it all in. The people at the church were very helpful in asking if we had questions and explaining some of the finer aspects of the icons surrounding us. It was a shame, but also wonderful, that this stop on the tour wasn’t more populated. It felt special.

After getting our fill of religious iconography, we went to wait for the trolley. After 15 minutes of wondering if it would ever arrive, waiting for the trolley became an existential experiment in how long we could hold out. I started to question the existence of the trolley as night approached, and what in my life led me to sit on a corner infested with ants while passing the time with the wife.

But eventually the trolley did arrive. Turned out it was on a 45 minute schedule, not the 25 we had been told online. The host was pleasant and kept things lively as the semi-paved streets jostled our fillings. We now had information booklets to start planning our trip. As it was getting late, we decided to get off at the stop marked on the map at the corner of 2^nd Street and 13^th Avenue and just walk our way back to the car with the opportunity to stop at four or five studios. The trolley driver had different designs despite what the map said, and she blew by this scheduled stop to end up at the American Craft Council. Oh well.

We entered Grain Belt Studios at 79 13^th Avenue. Before I knew it, wife was blaming me for poor planning, there were two people who appeared to be dead lying in shrouds on red sheeted beds, stringed music filled the air, and people zipped about in every direction. We were having trouble knowing where to look, and longed for the quiet rooms of the Walker where your neck isn’t fighting your swiveling head trying to figure out where your attention should be. We decided to escape for less assaulting environments.

I think it was somewhere between seeing the topless kilt-wearing guy and the young woman who passed out near Two 12 Pottery and Gift that we decided to call it a night and start fresh in the morning.

Our first stop on Saturday was the Casket Arts Building. I was apprehensive about visiting another big place with a cacophony of artists after the previous day’s experience, but the Casket Arts Building was a wonderful diversion.

What I loved about the Casket Arts Building was the segmentation. We wandered around with no idea where we had been or where we were going next, but in each room, we could focus on that room alone. Each room was tied together by a single artist’s work, or by several artists with common tastes that worked well together.

Still, after several hours of exploring the one building, we were beat. In the end, if there was one complaint about the experience, it is that there is simply too much to do and see. There’s no way one can see it all in an enjoyable manner, and it can feel like you are missing out on something around the next corner or in the next building. You can let the art overwhelm you, Whirl-style, but sooner or later, you have to accept that your mind and heart have been filled to the brim with interesting pieces and let it go. It’s nice to know that we can keep going to Art-A-Whirl for years to come and still visit new studios every time.

She said

"We love to be naked" proclaimed a sign, made of construction paper and black sharpie, scotch-taped to a wall in an artist's studio in the Casket Arts Building. This profound piece of found art defined the art-a-whirl experience for me.

I am an incredibly private person, so much so that I don't even have a Facebook page. How these artists allow thousands of strangers to tramp into their private work spaces is unfathomable to me. Seeing the artists' microwaves, chipped and stained coffee mugs next to overused, dirty coffee pots, mish-mashes of cd cases and books, and art supplies organized in a way that only the artist can understand forces the viewer to see the artist as mortal, vulnerable, and human. Art-a-whirl demonstrates to people like me, who have only seen art as separate from the artist on walls and in instillations, that art is a lifestyle, a way of life. 

In some ways, the invitation into private space makes sense.  Every day the artist exposes themselves and their vulnerability. Whether it’s a painting, a chair, a performance piece or a ring, all present the soul and humanity of their creators. 

One of the most intense invitations into a private space was the St. Mary's Orthodox Cathedral. They graciously opened their doors to have not only their artwork judged, but also, perhaps unintentionally, their faith. Two women were painting icons on either side of the church. One of the church members explained that icons are painted from dark to light, as they believe Christ brings humanity from darkness to light. Very few people were inside the church when I was there, and many people chose not to visit the Cathedral, perhaps turned off by the very idea that the Church might be prostheletizing. This was not the case, the church provided a serene, cool, and welcoming environment, and in turn, allowed viewers to judge integral pieces of their humanity, just like the more conventional artist studio.

In the end, the sheer thought of thousands of people viewing and judging my cubicle raises my blood pressure.  I have more respect for those who do more than I could ever dream about, sharing their humanity with strangers.  Loving to be naked is no simple feat.

Summer of Crap ... er ... Craft

We put it off for a year, but this summer, wife has decided, is the summer of crafts.

You read that right.

Last summer we were broke as shit, so it wasn't much use to put gas in the car to go to craft shows if we weren't going to even have a chance of buying anything. I was just starting a relationship with a local arts publication, and pitched the idea of having a curmudgeon like me galavanting around to craft fairs and to see whether or not by sheer volume I would be turned to what I considered to be the dark side. The pitch didn't take, and the editor turned out to be a horrible fit for me - as in she published a few articles but could never explain what she wanted and didn't want to put the work in on editing anything. I love writing multiple drafts, but not everyone jives with improving that way. I’m writing columns for an international art magazine now, so plan to use this space as a journal of this summer’s project to mold into a functioning piece by the end of August.

Anywho, the idea was germinated by This article by a guy who had to go to the Minnesota State Fair. I haven't been to the state fair ever, but I've learned to keep my mouth shut about that. I said as much at work last year and I think two co-workers were seriously ready to slap me for saying I'd never been. Really, their reaction was visceral anger flames.

So what could someone like me do to not copycat that article, but go one better? Well, smarty pants, why not make it a marathon? Sure anyone can go to a state fair for a day and write about it, but dragging your ass out of bed on an otherwise perfectly good weekend and spending hours looking at crafts? That's dedication. That's the kind of self-flagellating that in my mind outdoes any of those ridiculous self-mutilation videos people do online.

My idea of craft fairs up to this point has been shaped largely by attending them in Fergus Falls and Fargo, once because I was a reporter and, well, there's not much to report about in Fergus Falls, so you end up going to shitty craft fairs. And in Fargo - I went because Wife. 

Most times, I can bitch enough to be allowed to go sit in a corner with a book while wife walks around. I read my way through a chunk of The Road that way, and somewhat envied the characters in the book who didn't have craft fairs to go through, just a post apocalyptic wasteland of roving cannibals. 

When I hear the word, craft, I think of silverware with colorful rocks attached to it with wire to match fiestaware colors. I think of homemade belts. I think of hand painted rocks. I think of people with very specific sensibilities who for some reason are able to get other people to pay them for the things they found lying around and added some paint to or burned with a soldering iron. 

In short, I'm an asshole about crafts. 

The pain began a couple weeks ago. April 21, American Craft Council Show 2013. This was a show that you have to pay to park and pay to get in, so before Wife and I even see our first booth, we're out 34 bucks. 

The show was held in a large at the St. Paul RiverCenter, which seemed to be just the right size for the event. As a bonus, they had the event booths lined up in six clean rows with chairs at either end, so you could take a breather, walk down a row, and if your back was acting up like wife’s was that day, you can take another rest. This was sprinting style craft-fair attendance, and I liked it. I also liked being able to see an end to the place. Some craft fairs are set up outdoors and it seems like the rows of booths will never end until you give up.

The other nice thing about this event was that payment for entry seemed to guarantee quality. There were very few booths that struck me as especially “craft” driven as I have described above. Instead, this place was filled with what I would call artisans – people who have obviously put a lot of time and effort into providing quality over quantity. The booths were equally divided between metalworks, ceramics, woodworks, clothing, and jewelry. There was one photography booth as I recall, and a couple painting booths, but for the most part, this was the type of art/craft where you take something from nature and manuplate, cut, mold, and shape into something beautiful.

We went on a Sunday, which was the last day they were open, and the crowd was easily manageable. We never felt pushed along or as if we were simply avoiding being cornered by throngs.

Wife found what she wanted in the first row of booths, but we waited until we had seen everything to be sure and walked back (which is another nice thing about this setup – try this at some craft fairs and you may end up walking a mile back to the place you want to get something).

She bought a leaf.

Yes, a leaf.

This was actually more cool than it sounds. The guy collects leaves that mean something to him – at home, on trips to national parks – and preserves them by either encasing them with a thin layer of copper or by replicating them in copper. The process also takes color into account. What you end up with is a perfect (or imperfect) leaf in incredible detail with a pin on back to use it as a brooch or to connect to a necklace.

I got a nifty end grain cutting board that is composited together from various wood pieces. Not the most artistic of choices, but we needed a cutting board. It’s been a month now though, and I still have to get mineral oil to treat the board with.

Our third purchase – all for less than 100 total – was a Japanese influenced vase for a single flower. We got it in honor of our recent trip to the opera for the Japanese influenced production of Turandot.

I felt good about all three purchases – something not always true when it comes to craft fairs.

I do regret not partaking in a handcrafted whiskey tasting during the fair, but there was no way to know how much it would put us back, and I didn’t want the embarrassment of asking and finding out it was way out of my league.

The other aspect of this fair worth noting was about a dozen booths that were like little rooms decorated by local interior designers by creating the space around one craft piece from a booth at this fair. While that sounds rather interesting, the end results were like looking at pretension if pretension was a room that was decorated by someone who hates the idea of people living in that room.

Overall, our first foray into the craft world for 2013 was successful. Would I say I enjoy craft fairs now? Absolutely not. It will take more work to disabuse me of my prejudices when it comes to this whole “craft” world.

Our second scheduled craft fair was to be “Craftstravaganza” but with wife still on the hunt for full time work, we couldn’t swing the cash that it would take to gas the car to get there let alone actually get something. This was a crushing blow to wife, particularly after a job rejection she had made through the third round of interviews to get. We spent the day relapsing into smoking and heavy drinking what we had around the house instead. (6 cigarettes total, rest thrown away that night. 2 bottles of wine killed by noon on Saturday).

So the plan is to re-join this craft project with the Edina Art fair at the end of the month. This weekend is Art-A-Whirl, but we just don’t have the energy or cash flow to do that between two Red Sox vs. Twins outings on Friday and Sunday. We also went last year and had a less than stellar experience.

Opera is Awesome (And so is Taco Bell)

So with the bonus I got at work in March, I paid off a loan to finally be rid of a 200 monthly bill. We had enough left to invest in entertainment options throughout the spring, including two Wits shows, two Red Sox/Twins games, and a few other things, including tickets to last night’s opera outing. It gives us things to look forward to while wife goes through the crazy job hunting process. (five interviews last week and already has four scheduled this week!)

My history with Opera is very slim. I went to part of a Beethoven opera that was at the Vienna Opera House during my backpacking through Europe phase. I got the super cheap 4 dollar standing room ticket and watched the first hour from the back of the top balcony. No idea what the hell was going on. It was more cheap to do that than pay for a tour of the building though. I had to leave partway through to catch my overnight train to Venice.

Whenever I talk about such things, wife characterizes me in a snobby voice “well, when I was in Europe, I simply HAD to see the Opera.” I assure you I don’t mean it that way. I didn’t get anything out of it. I went, didn’t get it, and left. Actually, I was hoping the interior would look more like one of these places.

But it didn’t. The pics I find online don’t refresh my memory much. From my obstructed standing room view I couldn’t see much of anything of the place.

My other history with opera is taking Italian for two years in college, where two of my classmates were taking it as part of their opera training. They wore scarves a lot.

Beyond that, I absolutely love movies that involve opera like Amadeus and Topsy-Turvy.  I actually like Topsy-Turvy more because it speaks to the creative process as a mix of hard work, collaboration and inspiration rather than the God-given genius only bestowed on a select few that shit out art with little effort that Amadeus is (still love the movie). Topsy Turvy is available on Netflix Instant watch BTW, and the trailer doesn't do it enough justice. 

Wife had not been to any opera beyond the MSUM straw hat players once, and I don’t think that counts.

So in effect, we were both breaking our Opera cherry together with a full fledged professional production complete with subtitles so we could follow along.

Our experience would be Minnesota Opera Company’s take on Turandot by Puccini. Here’s my retelling of the plot of this in a few paragraphs.

Act 1: We open on a young dude getting beheaded for failing to answer the three riddles of Turandot correctly in his bid to marry her. A prince in the crowd runs into his blind and long-deposed king/father and the father’s servant, Liu. Not much is said about this random coincidence or what caused them to be apart so long. The prince sees Turandot in the distance and falls in love. He decides to ring the gong to take on the three riddles despite pretty much everyone in existence saying not to.

Act 2: Three ministers talk about how they miss their homelands and how many people have died from this crazy ass riddle thing. The prince answers the three riddles correctly, but it turns out Turandot is a crazy bitch who doesn’t want to marry because of something someone did to her ancestor 1000 years ago or something. So despite having killed several dozen people with her riddles, she doesn’t want to play by the rules SHE SET UP. The prince says OK, if you can tell me my name by dawn, I’ll submit to death.

Act 3: Turandot has ordered no one to sleep and that EVERYONE will die if the prince’s name is not discovered. The prince, still in love with this crazy ass bitch who is killing people left and right in order to find someone who knows his name, sings one of the most recognized songs in Opera.

Turandot finds the prince’s father and Liu, and starts torturing the fuck out of Liu to get the name. Liu sings a killer song, then slices the shit out of her own throat rather than reveal the name and dies. The prince sees this and STILL WANTS TO FUCKING MARRY TURANDOT!! The prince sings another song to Turandot and reveals his name to her. And then, out of pretty much nowhere, Turandot accepts his love and decides OK, lets do this thing, while you know, everyone is still walking around in the blood of Liu, because she is FUCKING NUTS and I’m sure in two years, the prince is going to severely regret his decision. The end.

So the love story leaves much to be desired, which makes sense after discovering that Puccini died before he was able to finish the thing. Critics agree with this view of the bat-shit craziness of the main character as well, I find out, and feel a bit better that I wasn’t missing something.

Despite the drawbacks of the actual story, the opera was still incredibly moving. The stage used a series of circular elements, steps dripping with the blood of former suitors, grimicaing heads on poles in the air. The costumes were absolutley stunning.

I got misty a few times in the third act, mostly with Liu’s part, and it’s hard to listen to Nessun Dorma and not get a bit misty cause something about it cuts to the fuckin core of human souls even before ever reading a translation.

Wife and I enjoyed pre-ordered champaign and big gingers during the two intermissions, looking out at Rice Park and the Landmark where we got married. It was a magical night at the Ordway, surrounded by people all gussied up, some even wearing opera gloves and tuxes. Me, I was wearing my new beige duds that make me look like a nice retiree in Florida ready for a game of canasta. Wife was stunning as always.

Two blocks away, people were beating eachother up on the ice during the Wild game.

Time on the weekend always gets away from us, and since we barely got to the theater in time for the show, we hadn’t eaten before. It was now 10:30 and we were hungry. What better way to top off a night at the opera than hitting Taco Bell. I improvized a song for wife while driving the half hour back to our neighborhood Taco Bell and waiting in the drive through line already 4 deep.

This is to the tune of Abba’s Take a Chance on Me.

T-t-taco Bell, T-t-taco Bell, T-t-taco Bell, T-t-taco bell.

When the bars are closed,
And you need tacos,
Go where we all go,
T-t-taco Bell.

It’s all in the shell,
And your farts will smell,
But you need to go,
To T-t-taco Bell.

As for the Minnesota Opera, we're now planning on going to two shows next year.