tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63521460080790720982024-03-14T11:02:02.502-07:00Myths of the MidwestWriter in the midwest trying to make sense of the publishing business and daily life in the midwest - no small task.Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-81132609050704099082013-09-27T11:36:00.002-07:002013-09-27T11:49:54.099-07:00Off to a new home.<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Follow me and wife at <a href="http://thebaconandicecreamblog.com/">http://thebaconandicecreamblog.com/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-37976229419777453942013-07-03T23:19:00.000-07:002013-07-03T23:19:10.798-07:00Amnesty and Rebuke at Caribou CoffeeWife 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.<br />
<br />
During this, she got in a car accident.<br />
<br />
Everyone's OK, so no worries.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Wife: "Well, let's see about any damage!"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-55702251711776294782013-06-28T18:57:00.000-07:002013-06-29T06:22:03.222-07:00Wife Got a JOB!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDa3mQJ6Lhr9YypADV_aRLte9xaS3Dfmz-ANwf-PCFIrzNqFcPcqfy8yHNcRYrp3FedQhqlAL2tvuIClBScpZPwpY7Vxy0J-3DAwKhYLmHv-lrn8cUoJU0RNzGh1ekTeWTGr4MNzFNY70/s480/Joy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDa3mQJ6Lhr9YypADV_aRLte9xaS3Dfmz-ANwf-PCFIrzNqFcPcqfy8yHNcRYrp3FedQhqlAL2tvuIClBScpZPwpY7Vxy0J-3DAwKhYLmHv-lrn8cUoJU0RNzGh1ekTeWTGr4MNzFNY70/s320/Joy1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pure Joy</div>
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Wife got a JOB!! </div>
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That's right. </div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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"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." </div>
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This is what that feels like: </div>
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She then called me at work. </div>
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"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.<br />
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"Come home" she said. And I told my boss and got the OK to go home and start feeling human again.</div>
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Pure bliss</div>
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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. </div>
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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On another note</h3>
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.<br />
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Wife and I will be starting a new blog!<br />
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We've been working on it for about a month, banking posts ready to go.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Fargo JonesFargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-75112963016510640712013-06-15T22:21:00.000-07:002013-06-15T22:21:07.468-07:00Minnesota 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. </div>
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When I got back to wife, she relayed the following to me. </div>
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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." </div>
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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. </div>
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Then a woman in pink comes and asks if he's the Phi Beta Kappa group, as if the sign isn't RIGHT THERE.</div>
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This woman, the one wearing pink and a hat: </div>
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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." </div>
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That ACTUALLY HAPPENED. </div>
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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. </div>
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.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. </div>
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They put the sign up again at intermission, and had to be verbally reminded again to please take it down thank you very much.</div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyyeYm5fzhJrHuEeLczvmYwhPOHTTA84o2n0ScQaAdlQQVY0Qf3OOPH1Tx0NWAbMIyyWwXatFIPwd1_3ry9Uqd68ojEW5reT9cqLqZ1JmBom0I9Uhl9boGGRs2jHAhF-Z86SK6TDfmwTE/s1600/Joel1_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyyeYm5fzhJrHuEeLczvmYwhPOHTTA84o2n0ScQaAdlQQVY0Qf3OOPH1Tx0NWAbMIyyWwXatFIPwd1_3ry9Uqd68ojEW5reT9cqLqZ1JmBom0I9Uhl9boGGRs2jHAhF-Z86SK6TDfmwTE/s320/Joel1_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFrey4mVa_saPRUDWEnMYCtdQ0AOZihdZ_imGtM_caDaBqCpR8VrFh_Z4t6z_g5y-o9OrsoyDv3txfv6H89YAfqSllAEJBpVX1k55o6iSLQaqHe0vFH2yyAF-IsGCXkVKtzDCWlitzi1A/s1600/Joel1_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFrey4mVa_saPRUDWEnMYCtdQ0AOZihdZ_imGtM_caDaBqCpR8VrFh_Z4t6z_g5y-o9OrsoyDv3txfv6H89YAfqSllAEJBpVX1k55o6iSLQaqHe0vFH2yyAF-IsGCXkVKtzDCWlitzi1A/s320/Joel1_1.JPG" width="234" /></a></div>
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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.</div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-41853713408769151252013-06-06T20:44:00.001-07:002013-06-07T17:40:11.256-07:00Edina Art FairOn 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.<br />
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The festival so big we parked a mile away and took the bus they had just for this event.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3wvH-olfz3fYNmmc1jAAq-B6WFeDNvlHRtQmF8P-jydmgcyMhpnURhCf8exEcMoNs5oQ0M39VdRO53H3y4tqdr28p70Pv-tb2or4SjExYg6TApncmIHbNTOWcKeZK3l5gXndX40behw/s1600/edina1_6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3wvH-olfz3fYNmmc1jAAq-B6WFeDNvlHRtQmF8P-jydmgcyMhpnURhCf8exEcMoNs5oQ0M39VdRO53H3y4tqdr28p70Pv-tb2or4SjExYg6TApncmIHbNTOWcKeZK3l5gXndX40behw/s320/edina1_6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This sort of crowd is my nightmare. It's also interesting to count how many </div>
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people will look at a camera in a crowd in you hold it over your head.</div>
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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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOXQbkDlvylzEC5zKY8uujwjbamUeOgbUHo0PeucMWX5IROjRvrnpUJFJpqoTd-i5SGoRMyMvKF6g1XAvONJ3nE4T25eICOQXJlrdn-CZTW3TPuzTdSz3qPFhGVfaOv3tF0X2mWE55d0/s1600/edina1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOXQbkDlvylzEC5zKY8uujwjbamUeOgbUHo0PeucMWX5IROjRvrnpUJFJpqoTd-i5SGoRMyMvKF6g1XAvONJ3nE4T25eICOQXJlrdn-CZTW3TPuzTdSz3qPFhGVfaOv3tF0X2mWE55d0/s320/edina1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy2k4gTQ5zMRvbSywdfof_MRz_CKpaMwYUWAG5w-k3LFCPPOPoiHQUN7FCfhTZikfX2YESK71EZSv_wLR3nGwKkN3Fm1bE-3jivPctu5ZKLZhqGKC5yic8-w9uWl3eogLtTxrhWN0taY/s1600/edina1_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy2k4gTQ5zMRvbSywdfof_MRz_CKpaMwYUWAG5w-k3LFCPPOPoiHQUN7FCfhTZikfX2YESK71EZSv_wLR3nGwKkN3Fm1bE-3jivPctu5ZKLZhqGKC5yic8-w9uWl3eogLtTxrhWN0taY/s320/edina1_1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Kunb3IS2fLSYRvQd2HZ02ThHXpd7X2TuIjtimCFbH-75QmUK5c1CuWVahLYv7nnCMjzebLW77HQFPJenuwl6K1KmlJg2ubqfoZSqZTfukP2G-FmCkGN_rOXssh7sONFqbQmFmIdXE8E/s1600/edina1_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Kunb3IS2fLSYRvQd2HZ02ThHXpd7X2TuIjtimCFbH-75QmUK5c1CuWVahLYv7nnCMjzebLW77HQFPJenuwl6K1KmlJg2ubqfoZSqZTfukP2G-FmCkGN_rOXssh7sONFqbQmFmIdXE8E/s320/edina1_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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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. </div>
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Here's some other booths that caught my attention: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JMI-FLFouxDygKWJde0KufdZuzRnAm4jGTENgRpziiAerXtZTz2smdqA6H5IAWv1Lf9wJ5yIwThhgZBTxOl93sdCZmb6a2NqJKhsuKtucn0P6uLMr2ci40lk9fbDqJal2krDdIS56Q8/s1600/edina1_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6JMI-FLFouxDygKWJde0KufdZuzRnAm4jGTENgRpziiAerXtZTz2smdqA6H5IAWv1Lf9wJ5yIwThhgZBTxOl93sdCZmb6a2NqJKhsuKtucn0P6uLMr2ci40lk9fbDqJal2krDdIS56Q8/s320/edina1_3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DBEHiPKeMUaZVq8emqPhRQfoeTUdCQDJXtASDdVtjQH8DsvJrCMk1fYNEgtaksCbMdqfn9KYkYT55Iwsp0K8jtu8bbCHE_y_KHYl61bgnRT8mGGkcByzGXcBFA8pSKDQs0H3XrPg0Ig/s1600/edina1_4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DBEHiPKeMUaZVq8emqPhRQfoeTUdCQDJXtASDdVtjQH8DsvJrCMk1fYNEgtaksCbMdqfn9KYkYT55Iwsp0K8jtu8bbCHE_y_KHYl61bgnRT8mGGkcByzGXcBFA8pSKDQs0H3XrPg0Ig/s320/edina1_4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERrq8Dqt6TRHDAZvPVNpJ9PA2VS-YIo3sip7SopGpdHKgWyZOg0vmrl7sznWx-CQ1op9Wzj0X0bOw27ctGdm4Q8kjD41zAK6G8R0iEqw0zoGd4-Xxr9_haBEasZydVrFW2KEsxg0P7fk/s1600/edina1_5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERrq8Dqt6TRHDAZvPVNpJ9PA2VS-YIo3sip7SopGpdHKgWyZOg0vmrl7sznWx-CQ1op9Wzj0X0bOw27ctGdm4Q8kjD41zAK6G8R0iEqw0zoGd4-Xxr9_haBEasZydVrFW2KEsxg0P7fk/s320/edina1_5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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.<br />
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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, <a href="http://fadingnostalgia.com/" target="_blank">tour their site</a>, 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.<br />
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I also wrote down <a href="http://www.abbylingle.com/gallery_1.html" target="_blank">Abby Lingle Pottery</a> in my notebook, but can't remember why. The pottery on her site is pretty dang slick though.<br />
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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.<br />
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Also, there was a booth where you could win 3,000 dollars worth of plastic surgery. That says a lot about Edina.<br />
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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."<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcw4acOESpA59KZihMIeaCu3t4zdxjLGr_D4SS2XSqArIhvY1pozHwbunRGu_yhVuYWSvEVFbgDs7R8p8aPTCQ2zzrfFE39XTGv2F1U3eX5iQ7eLsHB7kiCxVnw5VMQ9NGn_JL6HYTGs/s1600/edina1_7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcw4acOESpA59KZihMIeaCu3t4zdxjLGr_D4SS2XSqArIhvY1pozHwbunRGu_yhVuYWSvEVFbgDs7R8p8aPTCQ2zzrfFE39XTGv2F1U3eX5iQ7eLsHB7kiCxVnw5VMQ9NGn_JL6HYTGs/s320/edina1_7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyaj9C2BlVcq5nGWdPAB41Wxyy0c1HGMwLKZPYZKYCUvqwMenYj_LUEr-gKdd9gS6ZZcTpcZLtT9_iHXq9fvOGb2ClBRbnK0rbsi7xDV2CYihhc6zqgrfQkUiHBr-u0Tnvcutz7gkb8FY/s1600/edina1_8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyaj9C2BlVcq5nGWdPAB41Wxyy0c1HGMwLKZPYZKYCUvqwMenYj_LUEr-gKdd9gS6ZZcTpcZLtT9_iHXq9fvOGb2ClBRbnK0rbsi7xDV2CYihhc6zqgrfQkUiHBr-u0Tnvcutz7gkb8FY/s320/edina1_8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Cheese curds, and bacon, on a burger. Is this heaven?</div>
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2013 Lemonade count: 5</div>
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2013 Cheese Curd Tally: 2.5 (cause the burger had some)</div>
<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-25597499668285000652013-06-01T12:37:00.002-07:002013-06-02T06:18:41.627-07:00St. Anthony Art FestivalToday we spent about 2 hours continuing our summer of craft experiment. <a href="http://mythsofthemidwest.blogspot.com/2013/05/summer-of-crap-er-craft.html" target="_blank">Part one here</a>. 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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After parking the car and walking back to find wife, I passed a few booths. This one caught my eye.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLbyU2Gt5TMevXcgaHRTo9OEtkafM6B9DialzooeimtiZtgnVW4nl9wz1lnwjoFqtM9AA5NloEeQfI9LRWWiLXlTfuTX0yQvICH4fStA-mxSTMtm8yIwtqQJCql3JLP0ra5j1qgt-Ar8/s1600/St.+Anthony1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLbyU2Gt5TMevXcgaHRTo9OEtkafM6B9DialzooeimtiZtgnVW4nl9wz1lnwjoFqtM9AA5NloEeQfI9LRWWiLXlTfuTX0yQvICH4fStA-mxSTMtm8yIwtqQJCql3JLP0ra5j1qgt-Ar8/s320/St.+Anthony1.JPG" width="254" /></a></div>
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I found wife and told her about the booth full of pottery that resembled birch trunks. </div>
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"Birch pottery? This is what someone dedicated her life to?" I said. </div>
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"Let's try positive husband," wife responded.</div>
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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!"</div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaE0wu5cPqa2i2-_g558CoDhF_bLUg-2l_463J56O-dGLdQ-YKwnQ-yjf08i4g0_y0ng0WpPMhydgnqbWCyIBeYRLPldti1jmhhXyDeXM4pRp2Dda5CJx2-IRFFTuLkCEAu2SIJzX0tAo/s1600/St.+Anthony1_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaE0wu5cPqa2i2-_g558CoDhF_bLUg-2l_463J56O-dGLdQ-YKwnQ-yjf08i4g0_y0ng0WpPMhydgnqbWCyIBeYRLPldti1jmhhXyDeXM4pRp2Dda5CJx2-IRFFTuLkCEAu2SIJzX0tAo/s320/St.+Anthony1_1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYynnUrSR3OLJfHAYRbsPXPNn_GNeF1E2KidbY83JX2DytOQoAejNqhO6jr44X1XJHFMWFddfDfCBdSWLxPenwZm63dzoxo_x5ui6kvfLUp2DaSp5vn94LB3dAc5lCDw3M3-MYWUZWoI/s1600/St.+Anthony1_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYynnUrSR3OLJfHAYRbsPXPNn_GNeF1E2KidbY83JX2DytOQoAejNqhO6jr44X1XJHFMWFddfDfCBdSWLxPenwZm63dzoxo_x5ui6kvfLUp2DaSp5vn94LB3dAc5lCDw3M3-MYWUZWoI/s320/St.+Anthony1_3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We also stopped in a small wine shop, very small, like European shoppe small, but nice. We're drinkin' wine tonight!</div>
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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. </div>
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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."</div>
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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.</div>
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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. </div>
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"So, what are we gonna do with a bunch of wet clay?"</div>
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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. </div>
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This guy was good though. </div>
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Could be that he was playing a Greek bouzouki though, a point of order he made sure to note. </div>
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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." </div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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While I was getting the car, wife heard this passive aggressive conversation take place behind her by a woman with a small child. </div>
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"Oh, I just wish I could get a chair her so my child can sit down for a bit."</div>
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Aimed. Right. At. Her. </div>
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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. </div>
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Tomorrow, if we can stomach another outing, we're going to the Edina Art Fair. Pray for us. </div>
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2013 Lemonade Tally: 3</div>
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2013 Cheese Curd Tally: 1</div>
<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-28697863419597297042013-05-25T15:07:00.002-07:002013-05-25T15:07:54.420-07:00Awkward Hairdresser ConversationsI 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.<br />
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That changed with wife.<br />
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"You're an adult now, you should have an adult haircut."<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Sometimes I just listen to other people talk - about their kids, their lake home renovations, and other things that just make me bored.<br />
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Yesterday though, I had the longest conversation ever with the stylist. But we still spent the last 30 minutes in silence.<br />
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Here's how it went:<br />
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Her: Any plans for the weekend?<br />
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Me: Well, we're going to the new Star Trek movie tonight, but that's about it.<br />
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Her: I have never seen any of the Star Trek or Star Wars movies or shows.<br />
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Me: Wow, I bet you get yelled at all the time when you tell people that.<br />
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Her: Yup. People get really angry about it.<br />
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Me: People get angry at wife and I when they find out we've never been to the MN state fair.<br />
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Her: Are you kidding? You haven't been?<br />
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Me: Nope.<br />
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Her: That's crazy. You need to go. I go a few times a year.<br />
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Me: Well, we have only lived here for one of them, and it was super hot last year.<br />
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Her: Doesn't matter. If you are in a five state area, you are obligated.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Her: I hate craft fairs too. Tree stumps, felt mittens, wind chimes, ugh.<br />
<br />
Me: I know.<br />
<br />
We shared our mutual loathing of crafts for another couple minutes. And then all was silence.<br />
<br />
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.Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-77324867432723869762013-05-21T20:02:00.002-07:002013-05-21T20:02:37.322-07:00QuickieJust a short entry this time, rolling off the fingers.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOurnRQviAkzuplbFKuwcVwo8ILCvKR8fy1CmMpkx3hehCGSTQ1WBbVNbW_5mgDKkc71GMbc0JX4k_c6PAaUwcpqqurd-gt4oPRDtYPNLn0YiOl3377w8L1U2DdkkzVf7j51hAtvPTQ8/s1600/tumblr_lvpz43Tg2v1r7fztoo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOurnRQviAkzuplbFKuwcVwo8ILCvKR8fy1CmMpkx3hehCGSTQ1WBbVNbW_5mgDKkc71GMbc0JX4k_c6PAaUwcpqqurd-gt4oPRDtYPNLn0YiOl3377w8L1U2DdkkzVf7j51hAtvPTQ8/s320/tumblr_lvpz43Tg2v1r7fztoo1_500.gif" width="318" /></a></div>
<br />
This <a href="http://millcityfarmersmarket.org/" target="_blank">farmer's market</a> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-88735212485984238742013-05-17T10:18:00.000-07:002013-05-17T10:18:19.209-07:00He Said/She Said: Art-A-Whirl for the new couple <br />
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Wife and I wrote this last year after <a href="http://nemaa.org/art-a-whirl" target="_blank">Art-A-Whirl</a>,
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…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>He Said<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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<sup>nd</sup>
Street and 13<sup>th</sup> 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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We entered Grain Belt Studios at 79 13<sup>th</sup> 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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Our first stop on Saturday was the <a href="http://www.casketarts.com/" target="_blank">Casket Arts Building</a>.
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>She said<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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"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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-39294735359611483292013-05-15T19:54:00.000-07:002013-05-15T19:54:31.739-07:00Summer of Crap ... er ... Craft<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We
put it off for a year, but this summer, wife has decided, is the summer of
crafts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You
read that right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anywho,
the idea was germinated by <a href="http://www.minnesotamonthly.com/media/Minnesota-Monthly/August-2011/My-Fair-Lady/" target="_blank">This </a>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://img.youtube.com/vi/krSLhhn_F1Q/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/krSLhhn_F1Q&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/krSLhhn_F1Q&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In
short, I'm an asshole about crafts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
pain began a couple weeks ago. April 21, <a href="http://shows.craftcouncil.org/stpaul" target="_blank">American Craft Council Show 2013</a>. 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She bought a leaf. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, a leaf. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was actually more cool than it sounds. The <a href="http://leafpin.com/" target="_blank">guy</a> 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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got a nifty end grain <a href="http://bheiderturnings.com/index.htm" target="_blank">cutting board</a> 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. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6iOD17oUiml1TTxNcjp58dVR_5ieIQpPf0PZqG9yJEQlwMSZ7NaQDOXtsW9yTC-FSc20EtzzbZ7kZIZgl-DDg81dSNeSLjFP3qlp-ZonOM4VBUo4gvpsiH71O05P0m9Ab-cEO_7ZbA8/s1600/times1_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6iOD17oUiml1TTxNcjp58dVR_5ieIQpPf0PZqG9yJEQlwMSZ7NaQDOXtsW9yTC-FSc20EtzzbZ7kZIZgl-DDg81dSNeSLjFP3qlp-ZonOM4VBUo4gvpsiH71O05P0m9Ab-cEO_7ZbA8/s320/times1_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our third purchase – all for less than 100 total – was a
<a href="http://east-westarts.com/" target="_blank">Japanese influenced vase</a> for a single flower. We got it in honor of our recent
trip to the opera for the Japanese influenced production of Turandot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjBTGT3v1euumcFc5NaaiRg0ysSdCz3dJbP5xjU7uhhTVdQFluoZLafN-p0YsD_wmcnlvZw2YREC59OXDVPoYQjqppHApC3Pyd0trQgAT5aWVMLK5hTNfnCs13vB_l0k-GmwWB713tG0/s1600/times1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjBTGT3v1euumcFc5NaaiRg0ysSdCz3dJbP5xjU7uhhTVdQFluoZLafN-p0YsD_wmcnlvZw2YREC59OXDVPoYQjqppHApC3Pyd0trQgAT5aWVMLK5hTNfnCs13vB_l0k-GmwWB713tG0/s320/times1.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I felt good about all three purchases – something not always
true when it comes to craft fairs. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Overall,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6352146008079072098" name="_GoBack"></a> 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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our second scheduled craft fair was to be “<a href="http://www.craftstravaganza.com/2013/?utm_source=redshoes+news+list&utm_campaign=768ba0de9e-redshoes_news_april_signs_of_spring2013&utm_medium=email">Craftstravaganza</a>”
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).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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. </span></div>
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Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-52023079658788806962013-04-14T13:06:00.000-07:002013-04-14T13:15:43.759-07:00Opera 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!)<br />
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<br />
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. </div>
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<br />
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 <a href="http://www.palacesofmusic.com/operas.html" target="_blank">these places</a>. </div>
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<br /></div>
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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. </div>
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<br />
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. </div>
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<br />
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. </div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QoVKQ5G3t1g" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
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<br />
Wife had not been to any opera beyond the MSUM straw hat
players once, and I don’t think that counts. </div>
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<br />
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. </div>
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<br />
Our experience would be <a href="http://www.mnopera.org/" target="_blank">Minnesota Opera Company</a>’s take on
Turandot by Puccini. Here’s my retelling of the plot of this in a few
paragraphs. </div>
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<br />
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. </div>
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<br />
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. </div>
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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. </div>
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</div>
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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.</div>
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<br />
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.
</div>
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<br />
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.<br />
<div style="text-align: right; width: 480px;">
<embed flashvars="rssFeed=http:%2F%2Ffeed1284.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fa561%2Fminnesotaopera%2FMinnesota%2520Opera%2520-%2520Turandot%2Ffeed.rss" height="360" src="http://pic2.pbsrc.com/flash/rss_slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" wmode="transparent"></embed><a href="javascript:void(0);" target="_blank"><img src="http://pic.photobucket.com/share/icons/embed/btn_geturs.gif" style="border: none;" /></a><a href="http://s1284.photobucket.com/user/minnesotaopera/library/Minnesota%20Opera%20-%20Turandot" target="_blank"><img alt="minnesotaopera's Minnesota Opera - Turandot album on Photobucket" src="http://pic.photobucket.com/share/icons/embed/btn_viewall.gif" style="border: none;" /></a></div>
<br />
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. </div>
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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. </div>
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<br />
Two blocks away, people were beating eachother up on the ice
during the Wild game. </div>
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<br />
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. </div>
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<br />
This is to the tune of Abba’s Take a Chance on Me. </div>
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T-t-taco Bell, T-t-taco Bell, T-t-taco Bell, T-t-taco bell. </div>
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<br />
When the bars are closed,<br />
And you need tacos, <br />
Go where we all go, <br />
T-t-taco Bell. </div>
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<br />
It’s all in the shell, <br />
And your farts will smell, <br />
But you need to go,<br />
To T-t-taco Bell.<br />
<br />
As for the Minnesota Opera, we're now planning on going to two shows next year. </div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-21984638190673265882013-03-31T07:25:00.003-07:002013-03-31T07:27:27.605-07:00Living in FilthI just don't get this whole adult thing where people live in clean palaces.<br />
<br />
Here's what I see when I visit other people:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrC7OdhsRRaogn6ddflGecrRFM0xkxFyEcomXnxbVGkXoQwIJdFICxxkrcUVn-LFhg_d2a0F7XgLK9tnvL9G7qcfgckJYxSF4Y2kFCHiMnWo-zLmTP6JLyID5E12rjRTu01SLMG93VEis/s1600/clean+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrC7OdhsRRaogn6ddflGecrRFM0xkxFyEcomXnxbVGkXoQwIJdFICxxkrcUVn-LFhg_d2a0F7XgLK9tnvL9G7qcfgckJYxSF4Y2kFCHiMnWo-zLmTP6JLyID5E12rjRTu01SLMG93VEis/s320/clean+home.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Here's what I see when I come home:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAS1l3PbT585pdFoHTLKD8KHTTEtFkBI_l0_zVXit1GD4OO2TiXAOeT6kI1NuczJuH_5NCt3WekoSnT9qGEGB-4IcbeWrMPFeQAm8BNPq2pBEKmFkDQe123Lf7ZyjTox9uIR9EoiGN2w/s1600/messy+apartment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAS1l3PbT585pdFoHTLKD8KHTTEtFkBI_l0_zVXit1GD4OO2TiXAOeT6kI1NuczJuH_5NCt3WekoSnT9qGEGB-4IcbeWrMPFeQAm8BNPq2pBEKmFkDQe123Lf7ZyjTox9uIR9EoiGN2w/s1600/messy+apartment.jpg" /></a></div>
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(Except we don't have the excuse of kids to cause this sort of thing)</div>
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Wife and I have a bedroom, office, living room, kitchen and two bathrooms to clean. That's really not a lot of space. And this March, we planned out 1-2 rooms per weekend for deep cleaning, like taking out everything, rearraginging, dusting, washing it and putting it back. We got the living room done, and most of the kitchen. </div>
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Even when things are relatively tidy, things go to shit quick. Since we try to eat healthy and make food at home, the dishes pile up quickly. Empty table space is like an invitation for the mail you don't think you can throw away yet, but don't know what to do with either as well as the cereal boxes that just don't fit in anywhere. Wife has a desperate fear of becoming a hoarder, so at least we are able to throw away legitimate trash. At least we aren't living with the remains of takeout food surrounding us along with dead cats for atmosphere. right?</div>
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The way I see things, there's about 5 useable hours a day where you aren't sleeping or working (including prep and travel time). Take out 2 hours for applying to jobs. 1 hour for cooking a healthy dinner. and there's two hours left in your day. Oh, wait, we have to budget the bills and see if we have enough to buy gas this week. 1.5 hours left. </div>
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Oh wait, I'd like to spend some time connecting (not a euphemism, not entirely) with the person I want to spend my life with. Hard to connect when you're elbow deep in toilet gunk. </div>
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So we end up doing what absolutely has to be done, like dishes and laundry, and leave the rest for another day. </div>
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It's all just another thing Disney lied to me about. Where are the singing birds and mice that are supposed to help do this shit?</div>
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At least we got the Christmas tree down this month. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIvjCNxDrTgTKAgzTJ_FsnN6lO6nXgQv0HjOLq34e6SMStXzlkdM6qvBsdEOSwgDJJnIvGSf1BDA_WcVVSVe9211CadUvndR2FQNmwrIFH46ElMNJVg4lddNTXNzpB4gG2SXW7AtwaRY/s1600/cleanwaste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIvjCNxDrTgTKAgzTJ_FsnN6lO6nXgQv0HjOLq34e6SMStXzlkdM6qvBsdEOSwgDJJnIvGSf1BDA_WcVVSVe9211CadUvndR2FQNmwrIFH46ElMNJVg4lddNTXNzpB4gG2SXW7AtwaRY/s1600/cleanwaste.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-15344327035610602412013-03-25T14:40:00.000-07:002013-03-25T15:15:26.774-07:00I Hate Toddlers/Review of More Real at MIAIf there is one thing you should do before going to an art
show at the <a href="http://www.artsmia.org/" target="_blank">Minneapolis Institute of Art</a>, it is this: Check their schedule for
kid events.<br />
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<br /></div>
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If there is an event for kids, such as Sunday’s Rock the
Cradle with 89.3 The Current, DO NOT GO. You can be sure that every 2 year old
in the metro area will be there. </div>
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<br /></div>
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You will find this out when you get to the museum after
backroading through south <st1:city w:st="on">Minneapolis</st1:city> because
the GPS decides you need to visit every pothole in <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state> on your way there. You will begin
a spiral shaped pattern of driving around the museum in ever widening circles and narrow streets as you search hopelessly for a parking space. “Surely this street will have
openings,” you think. “Parents wouldn’t want to walk their 2 year old in this
cold for half a mile.” But you would be wrong. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, you find a spot seven blocks away in a neighborhood
that has several run-down apartment buildings daring the laws of gravity and
good taste. </div>
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<br /></div>
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You walk the seven blocks in dampness, each step screaming
“this better be worth it.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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Kids are everywhere as you get closer. Without wife along,
as she was feeling sick, you start to stick out as the only tall guy, wearing a black coat and hat, without a
kid hanging off a limb. You begin to feel as pedophiley and suspicious as a guy with a van and candy at a playground. But
dammit, you’d punt a kid if you weren’t surrounded and actually rather
terrified they might turn on you. And you have the lingering knowledge that if you have a sudden poop attack, there will be kids in each fucking stall in the place to make your life more miserable.</div>
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You begin to have conversations with these parents in your
head. One-sided conversations where you pretty much yell at them. </div>
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<br /></div>
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“What the hell do you think your kid is getting out of this?
Every kid here is about 2. Two! They don’t even understand the concept of
fucking TIME yet, but you think you can force culture on them and they’ll get
something useful out of it. Like the four cardboard tubes they tied together
with string that they are carrying around like a fucking badge of genius rather
than the worst craft project known to man? I can understand if your kids were 8
or so. At least then they can discern the concept that other people in the world
think different thoughts than them, and they might actually remember what they
saw today a month from now. You fucking liberal douchebag parents want to
cram your 2 year olds into the genius class and want to grab on to the fact
that your kid spent two seconds looking at a piece of art that they might just
be the next Picasso or some shit. I hate you. This much.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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That’s the conversation I had while walking behind a mother
who was letting her 2 year old walk up the stairs in front of me all by herself.
I had a lot of time to think. 2 year olds are shit at climbing stairs. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I got up the stairs and dodged and weaved my way to the More
Real show. I knew that there would be solace there, because tickets to get into
this exhibit are 14 bucks, unlike the free rest of the museum. 14 bucks is a
small price to pay to get away from munchkin land. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The full name of the exhibit is<a href="http://artsmia.org/more-real/" target="_blank"> <st1:state w:st="on">MO/RE/AL</st1:state>: Art in the Age of Truthiness</a>. They
already have a 300 or so page souvenir book about it you can buy for 40 bucks
at the gift shop. Ugh. Also the site just linked to has more annoying gifs than a geocities refugee center.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you don’t know what truthiness is by now, here you go. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="background-color: black; width: 520px;">
<div style="padding: 4px;">
<iframe frameborder="0" height="288" src="http://media.mtvnservices.com/embed/mgid:cms:video:colbertnation.com:24039" width="512"></iframe><br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 4px; padding: 4px; text-align: left;">
<b><a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/24039/october-17-2005/the-word---truthiness">The Colbert Report</a></b><br />
Get More: <a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/full-episodes/">Colbert Report Full Episodes</a>,<a href="http://www.indecisionforever.com/">Political Humor & Satire Blog</a>,<a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/video">Video Archive</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The idea of art as a lie that gets to the truth is an old
one. I’m a fan of unreliable narrators and metafiction, but the pieces here did
not impress like the collection at the Real Life show, which used a lot of the
same thematic organizing devices, yet managed to group the pieces in more
useful and digestible clusters.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unlike the other shows I’ve been to at the MIA and the
Walker, I had a lot of trouble getting into this one. The first three rooms, in
fact, were a bit of a bummer and I was wondering if I could get my money back
if I left early enough. Compared to the Sports Show and the Until Now shows at
MIA and the Real Life show at the <st1:city w:st="on">Walker</st1:city>,
this exhibit was sparse. Most rooms had one or two artists, sometimes just one
or two works to examine. It makes you jealous of MoMA visitors who have a chance to see <a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/actress-sleeps-box-52-year-old-tilda-swinton-s-real-life-art-display-at-moma" target="_blank">Tilda Swinton in a box</a>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned around a bit on the experience when I got to the “Phantom
Truck” by Inigo Manglano-Oralle. This piece takes up the largest room in the
wing, so much so you wonder how they got it in there. The whole room is dark,
like photo-room dark, with little more than the exit sign illuminating anything.
Out of the darkness you can make out the vague massive shape of an open top
semi trailer with big, boxy and air-compressor shaped equipment loaded and
strapped down. It’s rather menacing, and for good reason, since it is based on
the idea of the chemical weapons trucks that were supposedly our reason to
invade <st1:place w:st="on">Iraq</st1:place>.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VrblAtGHtHqRyV6gkohNAEJLFyuzMAA9Myl54A3P-P284nf1dC76Dm9ExS6YLKCi4p6K2MxpBKvqI4SptCtNkUEgoz8AAD-03HKFhA4HQJaaJ8E19V5um_b_c0BT-yf5IOp3dpjO32I/s1600/phantom+truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VrblAtGHtHqRyV6gkohNAEJLFyuzMAA9Myl54A3P-P284nf1dC76Dm9ExS6YLKCi4p6K2MxpBKvqI4SptCtNkUEgoz8AAD-03HKFhA4HQJaaJ8E19V5um_b_c0BT-yf5IOp3dpjO32I/s320/phantom+truck.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You wanna feel bad about your fellow social internet
surfers? Like, shit we are doomed bad? You can check out this piece called “<a href="http://0100101110101101.org/home/nofun/index.html" target="_blank">NoFun</a>” Two artists decided to use Chat Roulette (You can go there anyway if you
need to feel like we’re doomed) and put up a hanged body. People laugh about
it, even though nothing about the scene looks fake. Out of the many people who saw the scene, one called the cops.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another point of interest was Vik Muniz’ “<a href="http://theexposureproject.blogspot.com/2008/09/vik-munizs-verso.html" target="_blank">Verso</a>” pieces. A
Rembrandt hangs on the wall, but around the room are other paintings, leaning up
against the wall so you can only see the backs. On the backs, there are mailing
labels to say what they are “Starry Night” or “American Gothic” and where they have
been. The idea here is to give the museum goer a look at the story of the life
of the painting, where it has been, which is typically only seen by the museum
staff. I think this is where I get a bit perturbed by this. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEueT5TjHHyUjAfbsBHRVZOPh7-PGtg4vjLs0dZxWA0dImpmkhbmPglEHkbUMT-Gi5C20tSw2FebhioDhUCRorKdGA9qQajCzF4HM_vxipeuSg7TFcWc7Hg76Epm1uv7Hc4MXCI0rCC8/s1600/VM-StarryNight-2008b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEueT5TjHHyUjAfbsBHRVZOPh7-PGtg4vjLs0dZxWA0dImpmkhbmPglEHkbUMT-Gi5C20tSw2FebhioDhUCRorKdGA9qQajCzF4HM_vxipeuSg7TFcWc7Hg76Epm1uv7Hc4MXCI0rCC8/s1600/VM-StarryNight-2008b.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The act of recreation here is impressive, don't get me wrong. Obsession like that usually is. However, pointing out to me that there are other stories behind great
works, that they go to different museums, is about the least insightful thing
you could say about artwork. I know that they keep making commentary tracks for
movies, but I quit listening to them years ago after the point where they all
pretty much say the same damn things and you aren’t really going to learn
anything new about the movie business that you really cared to know. Exception:
Anchorman commentary – it’s like another hilarious movie. Back to the Verso
pieces, this insight isn’t even as good as a commentary track about how people
got along in the making of the movie or which scene was shot first. It’s the
intellectual equivalent of telling me that the book I’m reading was shipped to
a Barnes and Noble once. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Much more interesting, and in the same meta-fictional realm
of the backward paintings, was the nearby room showing a 10 minute film by Eve
Sussman called “89 Seconds at Alcazar.” The film is a recreation and behind the
scenes look at the minutes before and after the scene depicted in “Las Meninas”
by Diego Velazquez. Here’s that painting, which I’m sure you’ve seen: </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG07d8HvmQEsYZNOyehE89ryKgCfJQ88od3DhMFxu5ASZnDNLYPRKuFvJj41Ea1f6uxAuw04h4osYryGgfV04kd0yysQFVgcIo1_j-g_31YXqHdnYFnC0mQuVyLKuF1foekrjzMU2shE/s1600/Las_Meninas,_by_Diego_Vel%C3%A1zquez,_from_Prado_in_Google_Earth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG07d8HvmQEsYZNOyehE89ryKgCfJQ88od3DhMFxu5ASZnDNLYPRKuFvJj41Ea1f6uxAuw04h4osYryGgfV04kd0yysQFVgcIo1_j-g_31YXqHdnYFnC0mQuVyLKuF1foekrjzMU2shE/s320/Las_Meninas,_by_Diego_Vel%C3%A1zquez,_from_Prado_in_Google_Earth.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What’s so interesting in this one shot scene is the constant
fluid motion of the people involved, the intricate costumes recreated from the
painting, the way everyone eventually lines up, and the fact that Peter fuckin
Dinklage is in a dress! And it’s way more interesting and says more about the
piece it’s commenting upon then the back of a painting. There’s also a bit with
a dog. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the risk of apples to oranges comparisoning: here’s a
list of novels concerning nature of mixing fiction/art/life that you will get
more out of than spending time on the same subjects at this gallery: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Atonement</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lolita</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Neverending Story</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The White Hotel</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The French Lieutenant’s Woman</div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-31319069826575371272013-03-24T07:02:00.003-07:002013-03-24T07:03:07.581-07:00I ain't got time to re-run, death's a-comin'<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday I took my VHS collection to a donation center
along with my VHS player. I know that even 2 years ago, pawn shops stopped
paying for tapes. Even DVDs were only a buck a piece. I took that price then because
I needed to get food that month and sold 50 DVDs for 50 bucks. I’d probably
spent about $750 amassing that collection. There was regret at the time, but
not a lot. I had gone through my collection, and they were DVDs that I wasn’t
planning to watch again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, though, I got rid of my VHS collection, with
tapes that I’ve had for 20 years, without batting an eye. This included the
last copies of the original Star Wars movies before Lucas THXed the shit out of
em. The Godfather movies, and a whole bunch more. Wife told me to make sure to
write down the ones we should get DVDs of. My response, what’s the point, we’ll
have to move to BluRay eventually and DVDs will be useless. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJQNO2iunvzs0Voy4vOxTwmKv8LmnGz2zLIRSTsIm-2vQovR5UI0HqZG0vT4lOCjtJcM4yad4N_o1xU8-Lm8bulKZXxVhyAIMKFz9uV5lxHhhD74PDVXzE7iLzYllEb7wR6NTgv_cWG4/s1600/movies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJQNO2iunvzs0Voy4vOxTwmKv8LmnGz2zLIRSTsIm-2vQovR5UI0HqZG0vT4lOCjtJcM4yad4N_o1xU8-Lm8bulKZXxVhyAIMKFz9uV5lxHhhD74PDVXzE7iLzYllEb7wR6NTgv_cWG4/s320/movies.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But beyond that is a huge difference in life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I’m approaching 35, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on
the main differences between my 20s and my 30s. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in my 20s, I thought nothing of watching Reservoir Dogs
30 times. Likewise for Star Wars, Being John Malkovich, Three Kings, Crouching
Tiger Hidden Dragon and the list goes on. I spent a lot of time with the movies
I loved. I would fall asleep to movies as a regular part of my sleeping habits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s just the proliferation of
Internet services like Netflix and Hulu. I’ve had cable for about 1 year of my
adult life, so videos were a pretty big staple of entertainment until
technology caught up. But I think it’s more than that. I loved watching movies
again and again. I read books a few times even though I wasn’t teaching them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These days, I can’t stomach the thought of watching
something again unless I’m also watching with Wife who has not seen it (like Doctor Who). There
is simply too much good, awesome stuff out there now to be spending time
re-running things. And the phrase “holds up to second viewings” is just insane
to me. Why does that matter when there is so much more to read, view, see? I
did break this twice. I watched Battlestar Galactica twice. It was not as good
second time around even though I consider it one of the best Iraq commentaries
via sci-fi ever devised. I also watched the last season of Lost again – It got
better once I knew why I should care about the secondary lives of the
characters. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is this an age thing or is it that so much more is available
than there is time to watch it. It seems that there wasn’t much TV worth
watching in my 20s except for 24 (first five seasons anyway). Now I’m trying to
keep up with a ton of shows that are all really really good. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other big thing that changed between my 20s and 30s?
Naps. Oh my God, I have fallen deep in love with good naps. </div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-57175646005893596982013-02-14T19:48:00.001-08:002013-02-14T21:13:21.906-08:00Social media experience is NOT A THING/My new dentist sucksBeen applying like a mug to get wife a permanent gig. This contract work at my place of biz wasn't going to last forever. In the past week, we've sent out 30 or so apps, contacted two placement firms that are talking to wife, and I did some LinkedIn networking like a mug and got another person in a local business communication group I belong to to take a look at wife for a social media position at their company.<br />
<br />
Now, social media is like the baby of a species you have never seen before. No parents. You don't know how to deal with it. And it's only a couple years old. Some people get lucky and have successes, but when other people try to repeat that success, it's just white noise.<br />
<br />
What works in social media is new, interesting things. No matter how many experts you wrangle, or examples you bring in, that's the bottom line. You just have to keep throwing out new things and hoping something will stick.<br />
<br />
But, this potential employer wanted someone with a few years of professional social media experience. THAT IS NOT A THING. The damn concept was unknown a few years ago. Companies did social media, but not many, and not to the extent they do very recently, and certainly not as a full time gig. So I want to ask this person what the fuck, but can't cause there still might be a position at that company down the road that will work. We're meeting her for coffee maybe in the future, so perhaps I'll get to ask this question.<br />
<br />
Secondly, I had three fucking cavities filled this week. We used to go to this dude in Fargo for our dental needs, and he was AWESOME. Only dentist wife has ever liked. I agree. He made dental work seem easy.<br />
<br />
So I was somewhat relieved to find out the dentist we chose here had gone to school with him.<br />
<br />
Wife got a cavity filled on Tuesday. She moaned and complained that it was a lot worse than before. I scoffed. "Dentistry gets better every year."<br />
<br />
Then I went in last night, and had three fucking cavities filled. And oh my GOD it was like being waterboarded. the stupid drill was shooting water down my throat so I couldn't breathe. The dentist was like, try to breathe through your nose (with my mouth open,which I have NEVER understood as advice. Am I just weird or is it impossible to breathe through your nose with your mouth open?) Then she left after filling one and drilling the other two so she could check on another patient.<br />
<br />
I welcomed the chance to breathe. but my tongue started to explore the drilled teeth and holy shit do they just strip mine mouths now? I felt like the entirety of my tooth was gone except a couple peaks around the edges.<br />
<br />
Then she mentioned possible root canals in the future and I'm OLD I"M SO OLD JESUS FUCK.<br />
<br />
Anyway, here's a better blog about dentists. <a href="http://www.booksofadam.com/2013/02/garbage-mouth.html" target="_blank">Enjoy</a>.Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-38642883365880106502013-02-08T20:02:00.003-08:002013-02-14T19:33:27.321-08:00Walgreen's Gave Me the Wrong Drugs: UpdatedDifference between last week and this one? Immense. The severe, wicked, horrible depression is gone thanks to a change in medicine and some perspective. I have an anecdote to share and we'll call this post good.<br />
<br />
Went to Walgreen's two days ago to pick up a prescription for wife. When I got there, they had two. This happens often, and I don't keep good track of what she takes, so I just paid and left.<br />
<br />
Got home, and the second medication was a refill for the new prescription the Dr. put wife on after the new year that made wife violently ill every time she tried to take it. Vomit sessions all night. So she stopped taking it and told her doctor (along with the info about the depression going south in a bad way).<br />
<br />
So we got a mostly full bottle and entirely unopened bottle of medication that I paid for that we don't need. I had to pick up another prescription today. Here's the conversation I had with the Walgreen's person.<br />
<br />
Me: Picking up for my wife, Mrs. Fargo Jones.<br />
<br />
Her: OK.<br />
<br />
Me: Can we double check what you are giving me? Two days ago you refilled the wrong prescription.<br />
<br />
Her: (reads prescription)<br />
<br />
Me: Yup. that's right. So, that incorrect prescription. She violently threw up all night when she took it, twice. And you refilled it and sold it to me. I was unaware of what it was. Is there any way to do a refund?<br />
<br />
Her: Nope. We can't do returns for medication.<br />
<br />
Me: OK. Guess I get to go do some experiments then.<br />
<br />
Her: ...<br />
<br />
<br />
Really, I joked about using her prescription drugs illegally, and this teller had no warnings or concerns whatsoever.<br />
<br />
So Walgreen's, if you're listening, it was at the Eden Prairie Walgreens, at 12:42 p.m. Thanks!<br />
<br />
UPDATE: So, it turns out if you write a blog about your wife, along with fill out the feedback form that the receipt asks you to fill, and in there leave a link to your blog, you should tell your wife about said blog. When the pharmacist calls to figure out what went wrong, things will go much more smoothly. Anyway, pharmacist called wife and made things right. She figured out that one of wife's three medical allergies was not on the list at Walgreens, and that the prescribed medicine included that allergen, hence why wife puked her guts out both times she tried taking it. The pharmacist said the doctor should have known that (cover your ass classes, always helpful for medical professionals, eh?). In any case, they credited wife the 15 bucks toward the next prescription. So, yeah, I guess we're cool now.<br />
<br />
Wife said the pharmacist seemed to be really treating her with kid gloves. I said, yeah, well, I was very dickish in my letter and blog.Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-77062825836596295592013-02-01T19:53:00.003-08:002013-02-01T19:53:58.753-08:00Love Letter/Horribly Severe Depression<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the worst thing about severe depression is the way
others react even though I don’t know how I want them to react. If the idea of reading about depression makes you wanna puke, I don't blame you and please stop and go do something else instead. this one isn't for you. Like the spoken word part of a 90s R&B song, I'm about to get serious up in here.<br />
<br />
For two weeks,
wife and I did the depression dance, which is a lot like a Coldplay song where
it starts off quiet and sort of meekly sad, and builds and builds until it becomes
a loud riot of darkness that you can’t get away from. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wife had her medication changed after the new year,
including a depression med. Shortly after, she got violently ill, which was
attributed to flu season, but she was never quite the same. I commented, she
noted my concern, but we were ok. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
But then the song began to build. She had to fight people to
get paid on time, and was told she had a tone, which is a huge trigger word
from her past, then we found out she was not being considered for a job in a
rather harsh way, and we decided it would be a good time to start drinking heavily
every night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So for a solid week, we spent all our waking hours at home
after work her telling me what’s the point and me trying to give her reasons to
keep going. She would fall asleep at 8 and I would stay up until Midnight
applying to more jobs for her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She called her Doctor on Monday, and was told the doctor wouldn’t
be in until Thursday, and asked what was this concerning. Fuck if wife is going to
discuss her issues with the phone jockey at the clinic. She had told her doctor
previously about the concerns, but the doctor didn’t seem concerned. She sets
an appointment for Thursday and I beg her to just go back on the pills she was
on before which we still have a bunch of, but I’m no doctor. And we get through
three more days of suicidal feelings, with me on duty to stay with her through
it all when were not at work. Finally after a wretched Wednesday night, she
calls in to the doctor on Thursday morning and leaves a message “I’ve been
feeling suicidal since Monday, the new pills are not working, I would like your
help.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Two hours pass. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She leaves another message along those lines. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Fifteen minutes pass. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The doctor calls her and changes her medication “But not
until noon because I’m very busy today and you should have gone to the
emergency room if you were feeling that way.” So this doctor of medicine
expects a suicidally depressed person to possess the rationality of a
non-suicidally depressed person. And me? I still am not sure what an ER would
do for us other than charge us several hundred dollars we don’t have to change her medication to something that
takes days to kick in, and berate us because that’s what doctors do in our
lives particularly when it comes to mental illnesses, berate us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Then the crescendo. Wife decides to kick it up a notch and
start blasting away at every self-esteem issue I’ve revealed to her over five
years. I try to encoruage her, speak loving words, guilt her, berate her, make
her laugh, and nothing was working. She kung-fu’ed every statement of mine into
another way I hated her somehow. She was a jedi master in flipping my words. She
choruses “you’d be better off without me,” and “What’s the point?” and “You don’t
love me” and “You betrayed me and sided with the people who won’t hire me.” I
promise that I am going to sit there and take the abuse and love her, and she
takes that as a challenge and raises it to 11 until pretty soon she’s talking
about leaving me “It will be better, you wont’ have to pay back Sallie Mae, you
wont’ have to wash the clothes or do dishes for me. Really, you will be so much
better off.” And I’m wondering if I stabbed my thigh would I hit the artery the
first time and Shit I am in there too and death seems like a perfectly rational
reaction to this progression of shit we call life and why aren’t more people
doing this because this all feels so fucking bad. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I get up out of bed and scream that I can’t take this any
more and if I’m the only thing keeping her alive then she’s doing a great job
of hacking away at that final tie to earth. I’ve been running an emotional
marathon for two weeks and I am exhausted and can't take any more and she yells at me that I am
abandoning her just like she always said I would someday. And I put on my coat that’s
on the floor and can’t make myself move any more because if I reach the kitchen
and those knives I don’t know what will happen. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
There is no rationality in severe depression. People say all
sorts of shit to people who are in a bad way mentally, and if you haven’t listened
to Maria Bamford discuss it, then do so. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vNq8fIyFZXI" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
And I write about this, both my and wife’s depression, because
I hate hate hate that we have to go through so much of life hiding it from
people. If we had cancer or something, it’d be fine and dandy to bring up, and
people would shower us with ribbons and fun runs. But if the wiring in your
brain chemistry is having a hiccup, man, you better just buck up and get over
it because all our lives suck and who the fuck do you think you are to bitch about it? Maria Bamford says this better than I can in
another interview from Slate:</div>
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<strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; padding: 0in;">Bamford:</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">People
get really irritated by mental illness. “Just fucking get it together! Suck it
up, man!” I had a breakdown, and a spiritual friend came to visit me in the
psych ward. And they said, “You need to get out of here. Because this is the
story you’re telling yourself. You know,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://patchadams.org/" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgb(255, 255, 153); text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #006699;">Patch
Adams</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>has this great
work-group camp where you can learn how to really celebrate life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">It’s something people are so
powerless over, and so often they want to make it your fault. It’s nobody's
fault. I started thinking of suicide when I was 10 years old—I can’t believe
that that’s somebody’s fault. Like, “Oh, you’re just an attention getter.”
Mental illness isn’t seen as an illness, it’s seen as a choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<em><b><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; padding: 0in;">Slate</span></b></em><strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; padding: 0in;">:</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Or a weakness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; padding: 0in;">Bamford:</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Yeah. I
have a joke about how people don’t talk about mental illness the way they do
other regular illnesses. “Well, apparently Jeff has cancer. Uh,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0in;">I</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>have cancer. We all have cancer. You
go to chemotherapy you get it taken care of, am I right? You get back to work.”
Or: “I was dating this chick, and three months in, she tells me that she wears
glasses, and she’s been wearing contact lenses all this time. She needs help
seeing. I was like, listen, I’m not into all that Western medicine shit. If you
want to see, then work at it. Figure out how not to be so myopic. You know?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2012/05/10/maria_bamford_interview_a_conversation_about_mental_illness_and_stand_up_comedy_.html" target="_blank">More of that interview here</a></div>
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So I spent 15 minutes on the floor, wife in the bed. Trying
to clam the fuck down. We eventually fell asleep. Today started off horribly,
with every attempt at discussing the issues while driving to work leading again
to how much better off I would be without her. </div>
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By 10, we were doing better, We were joking again. Sharing
things we saw. The old wife I hadn’t seen in two weeks was peeking through. She
had already had therapy scheduled, so I joined her for the first time at her
request. We talked it out at therapy to a degree. The therapist recommended I
start seeing someone, which I agree with. </div>
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And this sickness affects so many people out there, and it
isn’t something you can talk down, or rationally deal with or throw love at,
like SO MANY people do. It’s a storm that you have to withstand and weather
somehow, holding on to whatever you have. For wife, it’s me. And I am very glad
to be that person.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JI-o25K6B-E" width="560"></iframe>Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-30272806587247589382013-01-15T20:42:00.000-08:002013-01-15T20:42:09.782-08:00Sallie Mae Can Suck My Balls CleanLife lately:<br />
<br />
Enjoying the hell out of working with wife. She is contracting with my company, and making such a good impression that the president the other day was like "Get ____ to help you with that project" to one of the sales head dudes. We eat lunch together every day. We're kindof sickeningly in love :)<br />
<br />
Working on weekly goals, some we reach. Others not. This week, to only eat out twice, both times because of work reasons.<br />
<br />
Met with a lawyer and found out we are in too much debt for chapter 13, and make too much money for chapter 7. (last year, I would have qualified for a chapter 7, but couldn't find the $1600 that it would have taken to file it since I had no job, so go figure). We literally can't declare bankruptcy even though we have multiple hundreds of thousands of dollars of student loans between us and will NEVER be able to work it all off. Our loan debts take all my paychecks per month leaving not quite enough for rent. So we rely on wife to make money for us to live on. There's something rather freeing about the fact we cannot discharge student loans (because Sallie Mae in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bankruptcy_Abuse_Prevention_and_Consumer_Protection_Act" target="_blank">2005 lobbied congress to pass a law making that impossible</a>), yet they are so large due to predatory lending that we cannot <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/c-cryn-johannsen/student-loan-debt-suicides_b_1638972.html" target="_blank">possibly keep up the payments</a>. Something freeing about looking at indentured servitude for the rest of our natural lives. In fact, it's weird because even indentured servants got off after 7 years. Fannie Mae has us for life without parole, and it's all perfectly legal for them to do so.<br />
<br />
It's easy to denigrate us for taking on so much debt. But we aren't alone. Student loan debt surpassed $1 trillion this year. There's no question it's the next bubble, higher ed. As more and more of us, fed the lie that higher education is the key to a better life, take on debt, then find no jobs for us on the other side, we are not going to be able to pay back the promise/lie you fed us, America. But hey, don't take my word for it. Other <a href="http://nataliaantonova.com/2011/12/03/student-debt-story-dear-sallie-mae-i-cant-afford-you-youre-too-high-maintenance-and-your-cutesy-name-sucks/" target="_blank">bloggers have</a> said <a href="http://www.change.org/petitions/tell-sallie-mae-stop-the-unemployment-penalty?utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=url_share&utm_campaign=url_share_before_sign" target="_blank">it far </a>better than me.<br />
<br />
We keep on truckin on. Sallie Mae suicide is certainly something we discuss on an intellectual level, since being in this position sucks so much balls, and no one gives a shit because you took out the loans willingly to chase the dream that we are fed about education being worth the cost. But in the end, I keep saying, we don't have a house, we don't have cars worth more than 300 bucks. we really have nothing to our names, so what the hell would they take? They can garnish wages, sure, but would any sane judge garnish so much that I can't afford rent let alone food or gas to get to work to pay the wages they garnish? It's hard to say, since this insane system has been upheld by judges so far.<br />
<br />
Maybe once enough people are out of work and in life-debt to Sallie Mae - and given the exponential costs of higher ed, that won't take long - things might start to change. Until then, will keep going to work, keep paying the interest only payments that are more than i made in a month at my first professional job 10 years ago.<br />
<br />
Sigh.Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-1037592362810580012013-01-01T12:55:00.000-08:002013-01-01T12:56:07.796-08:00Bipolar Life in 2012<br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In typical fashion I’m
a day late on reflection. Seems that all the year of 2012 blogs are already out
and done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was at a show the
other night, the Vilification Tennis group doing their F**K 2012 show. They are
a wildly inappropriate insult comic group and always a blast to go see. You
will think “Oh, you didn’t” at least once during the show, often while
laughing. Here’s a video of them at the renaissance fest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I cannot repeat the Red Hook jokes, but they
did help me personally to find some way through that shit that has been
weighing on me for the past month.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Well, during the show,
one of the activities was to ask the audience who had the shittiest year. They
asked people to raise their hands to share. I thought over the past year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I started off the year
4 months into unemployment that would last another 2 then got some sort of
contract-work-employed for a couple months. I would have declared bankruptcy if
I’d had the $1,500 for a lawyer. I was 3 months into pre-foreclosure on the house. I told my mother I'd had thoughts of suicide in two emails, and she never responded. I broke off contact with my family. I’ve hit my heaviest weight ever in the
last week. Wife is now living in the uncertain contract position life where we
never know when she will be paid and how long she has a job. Wife’s years of
school loans are coming due at a rate of $900 a month to begin with. We enter
2013 with no savings, no safety net, and capped off the holidays by walking out
on Christmas weekend with wife’s family after her grandmother said one too many
criticisms of wife (a long list 33 years deep that includes how she was too big
to ever get a husband, too dumb, useless and now added too loud, so thanks for
that new complex). Also had a fun fight with her family members who were
complaining about homeless people begging for money, when we were literally
weeks from being among them when I finally landed my job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yet. I didn’t raise my
hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And not because I was
scared to speak in public. I don’t have that fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I didn’t raise my hand
out of some sort of “could be worse” thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For every piece of crap part of my life over the past year, I also thought about the
things that went right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We sold the house
before it was foreclosed, without owing money. I got hired by an awesome
company and doing what I love – writing and creating. I am doing better without
my family, and now know they can’t manipulate me through money, even when times
are at their worst, and no longer accept money from them. I do pretty well
feeling like shit about life on my own without their help, and Wife’s work is
uncertain, but it’s a fuck of a lot better than working for Lisa Larson et al.
at Hennepin Technical College. She gets paid closer to what she is worth, is
respected for what she can do, and has gotten to know my colleagues better than
me since she’s more of a people person than me. We get to go to work together
every day and eat lunch together. We got on a debt reduction program. We quit
smoking in August and it has stuck. Once I got my job, we have been able to
start fully participating in life in the Twin Cities by having fantastic dinner
experiences at The Melting Pot, the Lexington, Mort’s Deli, and more. We spent
our anniversary in the St. Paul Hotel, where we got upgraded to the poshest
room where presidents, dignitaries and celebrities stay. We’ve gone to Twins games,
Paul F. Tompkins, Wits, Sleepwalk with Me with both Ira Glass and Mike
Birbiglia at the screening, the It’s A Wonderful Life Radio Play, a Roast of
Ebenezer Scrooge, the ballet, Art a Whirl, the Walker Art Museum, Northern
Spark, the Aquatennial fireworks, Prairie Home Companion, Canterbury Downs
horse races. Instead of not being able to go to things because we’re broke as
shit, we can’t go cause we simply can’t find the time cause there’s too much we
want to do. We’ve had trips to the North Shore, Duluth, and Red Wing. Wife’s
best friend made it home safely from Afghanistan. Wife overcame fear of heights
to go with me up Lutsen mountain in a gondola. For one month, we were both <i>happily</i> employed full time (more than we’ve
ever been). We’ve been relatively healthy this year. I’m off all medications.
Our cars have miraculously made it through another year.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">2012 continued our bipolar life, which would have been a good alternate name for this blog. Highs, Lows, and few inbetweens.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">BTW, the guy who won
the shittiest year award: Got the Harley he’d saved up for years for, six
months later, got hit by a drunk driver and spent three months in the hospital.
Yeah, that would suck ass. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-75648840740412714872012-12-23T19:11:00.000-08:002012-12-24T21:28:54.232-08:00Cell Phones will KILL us all<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have this theory. Not supported by facts. Just a gut
feeling</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Cell phones will kill us all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dead. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s not as if they haven’t warned us about them for years. Notice
how a cell phone has helped to make this woman completely oblivious to violent
horrors. This one starts so sexy you worry about your mother walking in, but trust me, stick around and you'll see what I mean.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not only are they distracting us. They will start to kill us.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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They might rain death from the sky: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
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Be used as weapons to kill each other while Britney Spears
sings in the background. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Or, hell, they might just start shooting though the
atmosphere and kill left and right in what is not even the most ridiculously
violent cell phone commercial I’ve seen. Considering the events of the last few weeks, I'm betting people at Motorola wish they'd never done this one. In fact, I have trouble believing it's a real ad or someone's spoof. It's got to be a spoof, right? Right? I'm too lazy to find out.<o:p></o:p><br />
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This observation was prompted by seeing an ad a few weeks ago
where the guy’s heart was replaced by a cell phone or something. It's called Droid DNA, and if this shit doesn't scare you, I don't know what will<br />
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Now, there's a fucking reason that this shit did not fly in the Matrix universe. Yet here it is presented as some sort of "bonus" to your cell phone prowess. What the shit sort of universe do we live in now where we are meant to identify with the smug guys who share shit between their phones like video of santa falling off a stair banister and really messing his internal organs so bad his mother wouldn't recognize them (sidenote: Little known fact, we are all just little organ farms for our parents, so they are very familiar with them)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I’ve always
wondered what the hell is up with uber violent ads for cell phones, or creepy
ads where computer arms interact with the phones. I don’t know what the hell
these ads are trying to say that’s positive. They seem more like a warning.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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I avoided cell phones until I had to get one for a job. Then
I’ve kept it low tech. I have a dumb phone. I don’t use it to go online. I use
it to call and text. Sometimes I take really crappy pics with it, but beyond
that, nothing. I enjoy having a cell phone, but don’t care about the high tech
ones. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was at lunch with coworkers and one of the more tech saavy
guys saw me pull out my phone to check the time, and made a comment about being
old school. Yes. And when your phones start to kill you or the rest of
humanity, I will be here, hiding. <o:p></o:p></div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-54679242701094993122012-12-09T21:19:00.001-08:002012-12-09T21:19:46.363-08:00Got wife to watch BlinkSo I'm a bit of a Dr. Who fan. first episode I remember is a vague recollection of the Tom Baker version on PBS when I was hanging out at a friend's house in 7th grade. His dad watched it. I noted it, and it stuck in whatever brain cavity things from that time period stick in that you can recall decades later, cause I don't remember shit about ANY OTHER watching habits of parents of friends, or even the friends themselves.<br />
<br />
Then many years later, I was flipping around the channels and caught an episode of the reboot, the one where Rose meets her father on the day he died. It's pretty nuts, and I remember thinking "Wow, that guy from Shallow Grave is in this." Since that is what Christopher Eccleston was to me. I also saw the second episode around that time, must have been a marathon or something that day on PBS.<br />
<br />
A couple years go by, I hear things, and Dr. Who shows up on netflix or something, so I check it out. And I soon get hooked.<br />
<br />
I've been raving about it ever since meeting the wife. I also raved about Lost and Battlestar Galactica. She watched them, enjoyed bits, and hated other bits. She really loathes having spent so much time on Lost, as the only redeeming factor was Desmond/Penny to her. But she keeps trying, and I keep trying her stuff.<br />
<br />
I hesitated watching Big Bang Theory and The New Girl, but I am thoroughly hooked by those shows after some time (although Big Bang Theory is a season or two behind, since we don't get TV really, and their show isn't easily available for people who like to use Netflix, Hulu+, Amazon Prime, and Redbox - so yeah, it's my fault that I don't watch the ONE thing they are available on).<br />
<br />
Wife even made a wedding vow to watch Doctor Who with me. This was not prompted by me at all. This was what she came up with.<br />
<br />
We slogged through. She had me fast forward the nightmare enducing parts, like the WWII gas mask two parter. If it's creepy as fuck and gross to boot, she doesn't want to play.<br />
<br />
So she's decided after a season and a half of Tennant and she wants to skip ahead to the next doctor. She just doesn't like Tennant like she did Eccelston, and she's seen some of Smith. Before we can do that, I said, there are a few key episodes you still have to see. Blink and Silence in the Library I think, since they introduce major additions to the Whoniverse. We'll miss out on the Master's intro, but seriously I think if wife saw the head spider things that come from that one and I wouldn't be able to get her to sit through another episode ever. He hasnt' been an issue in the Smith years anyway, so no worries. (I know jumping ahead is sacrilege to some people, but screw you, did you start with the first episode 50 years ago and watch every one in order? No you didn't cause that isn't possible unless you are British and old, and if that's the case why the hell are you reading my blog?)<br />
<br />
Here's a bit about Blink for the uninitiated:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sH0R01gP3m0" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
Tonight, after a day of cooking, wrapping gifts, cleaning and more chores, we sat down and watched Blink while wife did some online shopping for gifts. First 25 minutes, she wasn't into it. After hearing from me and others that it was THE BEST episode, she was not impressed.<br />
<br />
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Just Like McKayla</div>
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<br /></div>
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So after the needling, I asked her to hey, tone it down, and put down the computer, let me rub your legs, and let's close out the last 13 minutes. </div>
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And she loved it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Yeah, it's that good. </div>
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<br />
<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-51838535146181913392012-12-05T19:32:00.001-08:002012-12-05T19:33:40.696-08:00Tonight I saw CrazyTonight I saw crazy. Wife and I left work and on the way home, I convinced her we should just stop at the grocery store and get her a flu shot. I already had mine a month ago, but she was a walking target, and she's hard enough to take care of when she has a cold.<br />
<br />
The ladies at the grocery store pharmacy thought it was funny that I was "making" her get one, as wife put it.<br />
<br />
After the shot, we had to linger around the store for 10 minutes to make sure wife didn't have a crazy reaction to the shot. Unfortunately, they told her the side effects that could happen, so for the next ten minutes, wife kept telling me her lips were tingling and that she was feeling weak.<br />
<br />
We got some coffee creamer, energy drinks, and much needed toilet paper as we are down to our last rolls. We were discussing whether we should get buns or not when it happened.<br />
<br />
This 40 something blonde woman with a cart and 12 pack of soda comes up into the bread area. "Hey, excuse me!"<br />
<br />
She's talking to another woman that's near us.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me, but you have no right to hit my car like that."<br />
<br />
Obviously, shit was going to go down. I didn't get a look at the other woman. The 40 something blonde was well dressed with a long black coat and looked "Businessy." That's the only term I can think of to describe her. She was talking on about the parking lot.<br />
<br />
Wife and I, being highly non-confrontational creatures except with each other and our families, scooted down the way a bit and out of ear shot. I had my back to them. Wife kept watching them over my shoulder. Not long after, the blonde woman came by again, her wheeled cart bumped my hand cart. She was looking at my wife.<br />
<br />
"Nutcase."<br />
<br />
She was looking for some sort of comraderie with the wife. But she wasn't getting it. Wife and I moved on. Wife had forgotten about any tingling lips and faintness she had been experiencing.<br />
<br />
As with everything that isn't fiction, there were two things that stuck with me.<br />
<br />
One, the woman had taken the time between whatever had happened in the parking lot and then to get a cart, grab a 12 pack of soda, and then track the other woman down in the bakery. WHO DOES THAT!?<br />
<br />
Two, the best she could come up with during all that time was "You have no right to hit my car."<br />
<br />
Me to wife while driving home: "I mean, really, what do you say to that?"<br />
<br />
I told wife this is why I want her with me when I leave the house, because things like this are too much for one person to absorb without help.<br />
<br />
Wife: "You mean this happens all the time?"<br />
<br />
Me: "No, but it happens enough."Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-39222123519915431202012-11-22T07:35:00.001-08:002012-11-22T07:35:17.615-08:00The Target Clerk Dipshit Conundrum <div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know what it is with me and clerks. Maybe it’s just
that I have more contact with them in usual life. I have another short anecdote
about a clerk. It may not be as embarrassing as the “<a href="http://mythsofthemidwest.blogspot.com/2011/07/open-letter-to-gas-station-attendant.html" target="_blank">I love you</a>” incident, or
as fascinating as the “<a href="http://mythsofthemidwest.blogspot.com/2012/01/to-woman-i-was-complete-ass-to-at-gas.html" target="_blank">trapped in the car wash</a>” scene, but its up in my top
five cause it happened a week ago and I still can’t shake it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So wife got this lovely shirt for me for my birthday. The
T-shirt is run of the mill screen print with this design on the front: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Oh4rA8MJxjs18fV-KUjVHrxbVeF2YOGWLRx0MN5tbR24ri0164WSruM_KL9UPfDmzCsyRpMxq3TLXpRpKqikAyOi7CAPWlXRtP3lBoqf5-9MdMGs0BEbFK0XAuFVyUmPAStHpD0jC8w/s1600/Daleks-in-abbey-road.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Oh4rA8MJxjs18fV-KUjVHrxbVeF2YOGWLRx0MN5tbR24ri0164WSruM_KL9UPfDmzCsyRpMxq3TLXpRpKqikAyOi7CAPWlXRtP3lBoqf5-9MdMGs0BEbFK0XAuFVyUmPAStHpD0jC8w/s320/Daleks-in-abbey-road.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s it. I love it and wear it on weekends. What’s
really nice is I get compliments on it from fellow fans of the Doctor. That’s
right, random strangers stop me and tell me, Nice shirt! One of my coworkers squealed
in delight when I wore it on casual Friday, the other two had no idea what the
big deal was or really heard of the show. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s all preamble to the following conversation had at
Target last week. I was wearing the shirt. I was with the Wife, and we were
checking out with a small hand cart full of items. The line below is when I
slip between what was actually said, and what happened subsequently in my head.
Enjoy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Clerk: What’s with the shirt?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Me: Hmm?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Clerk: What’s the deal with the shirt?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Oh, it’s just a show. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Clerk: I get that, the Daleks and all, but what’s the deal
with it?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Um, it’s just the Daleks crossing Abbey Road.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Clerk: Yeah, so, is there a point to it?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Um, well, I think it’s just mashing two well known
British icons together into one image. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clerk: Huh. Whatever. I don’t see redfoot. Where’s redfoot?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Um, I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Me:
Listen here you dickwad. I love that we live in this new internet age where you
don’t have to feel bad for having a hobby and apparently feel that no one can
love something as much as you. You remind me of
a hipster version of simpsons comic book guy, and you need to take down
the superiority a notch. Really, it’s a show, I like it, I wear a shirt to
display that appreciation, which is the only shirt I own with anything, not
even a logo, on it (besides the subsequently bought tshirt with a Sherlock
design). Just because someone doesn’t go through the trouble of learning every
fuckiing nuance of a decades old tv show doesn’t make them less than you in
whatever fucked up version of reality you live in. There’s no mystery to the
shirt, it’s a mashup of two images. That’s it. No mystery to solve. No clever
little Easter eggs for only the “true” fan to appreciate. What you see is what
you get. Now go choke on a fucking adipose
you twat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2dqpZD4Mb_T3Rlw8GUdanCScIs4evr27tEadLTW46WSxul1cDEQF6345Y5p0El8bXMsiyVEue3LEXXcEznRMcacA-1whqVWGDD1PxKAiiupk_0ICM4diO_23K3UsJ-cUQBeJ7gAwdsU/s1600/250px-Adiposeinthesink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm2dqpZD4Mb_T3Rlw8GUdanCScIs4evr27tEadLTW46WSxul1cDEQF6345Y5p0El8bXMsiyVEue3LEXXcEznRMcacA-1whqVWGDD1PxKAiiupk_0ICM4diO_23K3UsJ-cUQBeJ7gAwdsU/s1600/250px-Adiposeinthesink.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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Me: have a good night.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clerk: (shrugs and turns to next customer)<o:p></o:p></div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-63559904717688702952012-11-18T20:47:00.000-08:002012-11-18T20:47:31.452-08:00Off my meds. Feeling OK. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Part of being on
antidepressants is the kooky thing where when you have been taking them long
enough, you think you don’t need them. You feel fine. Which is what you took
them for in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I don’t always feel
that way, but I am a guy, so sometimes I just plain forget to take them. I put
the pills by the sink in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or anywhere else I am
sure to be in the mornings, but invariably, they become part of the background
decoration of that area of the apartment and I just look right through them and
don’t remember to take them. Then the next day, I’ll be freaking out about
something, or feeling panicked or shitty, and then it occurs to me that I
forgot my pills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had that happen again
three weeks ago, however, I didn’t notice missing my pill for four days. And by
then, it wasn’t because I was panicking. I just noticed I didn’t remember
taking a pill for several days.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had started to take
the pills back in Fargo, when I was trying to help fiancé find work in the area
while keeping going at a job I no longer found challenging or fulfilling. I had
started to skid down the sadness road. I thought about death a lot, not like
suicide, but just a sort of thinking about death a lot way. It’s just
easier to think about death than a job you don’t like, a family that doesn’t
support you or your fiancé, a job market that is insane, and a world that
thinks so little of everything you do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yeah, so I got some pills. They helped. I didn’t think about
death quite so much. But things were still shitty beyond reckoning. By this
point, we’d moved to the cities, wife had a job but not me, I had cut off my
family because they didn’t support my wife and any attempts to explain my
feelings about the situation were met with a general statement about how it was
all in my head. To be frank, I haven’t tried speaking to them since March and
life has gotten a lot easier without them. They’ve tried to get in touch 3
times since then by email. The last one had the sentiment “We miss you and will
welcome you back whenever you are ready” which is nice, but again asks me to
accept all blame and that I’m nuts and that they did nothing wrong. Also, wife
sent a lengthy response in May or June about what they could do to make things
right, but they haven’t taken us up on it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anyway, a few weeks
ago I accidentally quit taking my pills, and by the time I noticed, I also
noticed that I was OK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Part of this, I think,
is the general state of life affairs right now. I’ve got a job I love, I get to
work with Wife and have lunch with her, I don’t have to deal with my family,
and wife is out of her own hell hole of a job at Hennepin Technical College.
Things are going well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They could always be
better. Wife is now applying to job after job and going through the same
mindfuck I was going through in my job hunt: mostly that you can take two hours
out of your day to go visit with an interviewer, send a thank you, send a
follow up a week later, and still never get the common courtesy of a thank you
for applying call or even a note to say they went with someone else. I go balls
out and want to send a snide letter, but wife still thinks it may be possible
to be hired after three weeks of hearing nothing and doesn’t want to send
anything even slightly aggressive. I talk a big game, though. A few weeks ago,
against my better judgement and at wife’s request, I reached out to the
mnartists.org editor to see if she was interested in another piece from me.
Though she can’t explain what she wants, and the pieces she publishes are far
less professional than she seems to think they are when my own pieces weren’t
meeting some professional standard she said she had, she seemed to think that
it was me who couldn’t meet her expectations. Rather than get snipy, I just let
it go and wrote a piece for the blog that I still haven’t had time to retool
for pitching to other publications.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I watch shows
like New Girl, a show I like, but last episode the main character is trying to
get a job, is sitting in a waiting room with 5 other applicants, which NEVER
happens and if it did you should run away since they don’t know how to stagger
schedules so people aren’t waiting for hours. She breaks down and cries during
her interview, freaking out the interviewer. Later in the episode, she goes
back and interviews again. We are meant to believe that this attitude got her
the job. BULLSHIT. There were five other perfectly reasonable people in that
waiting room who probably didn’t break down and cry during their interview, and
you’re telling me she got it over them? I hate America. Still like that show
though.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Another thing along
those lines is movies about mental illness. Everyone gets cured through sheer
force of will. How fucking American, right? If “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” has
it right, all we need to get through crippling depression is to spend a week in
a ward, and all our problems will be magically solved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So anyway, I have been
off my meds for three weeks now, and I’m doing OK. It’s weird to get emotional
over things now. Songs can get me misty if they hit me at the right time. I
wept through the last half hour of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which is a
really awesomely good movie, but probably not worthy of a good cry. This is
painting me as a crying conundrum, but it really isn’t that often, and it’s
during genuinely emotional things and not over seeing something like a puppy in
a teacup. I’m enjoying these new emotions and the catharsis they bring rather
than not feeling or bottling to boil over later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Not sure if I will
continue to try life without meds, or if I will go back on them. Wife is in my
corner either way, so that’s nice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6352146008079072098.post-21242494578920919412012-11-11T21:19:00.000-08:002012-11-11T21:19:41.505-08:00Emotional Gut Punch at the Minneapolis Photo CenterToday I went to the <a href="http://www.mplsphotocenter.com/" target="_blank">Minneapolis Photo Center</a> because a friend of mine, <a href="http://blog.dankoeck.com/" target="_blank">Dan Koeck</a>, had a couple photos in one of the three exhibits they opened up yesterday.<br />
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I'm planning to write more eloquently about the exhibit to see if I can't get my foot in the door at one of the magazines in town that cover such things. Tonight though, I'm still trying to come to terms with what I saw and how it affected me to the point where I just had to leave the building, go back to my car, and cry it out.<br />
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First exhibit:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVLktE2xEI35b0sMQqGmm78ZVGSacywYzw6P18X3fKvF2O3gCHaUsaQZbsa88NZDsRXqHFlZyQgfd7fwsMUM6C60h1GSFLzdEEILA7IxN0f517p5gd9wRHOhJp8jDUF8-EZFL5eYD8mc/s1600/seligerpostersm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVLktE2xEI35b0sMQqGmm78ZVGSacywYzw6P18X3fKvF2O3gCHaUsaQZbsa88NZDsRXqHFlZyQgfd7fwsMUM6C60h1GSFLzdEEILA7IxN0f517p5gd9wRHOhJp8jDUF8-EZFL5eYD8mc/s320/seligerpostersm.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
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Mark Seliger, a former Rolling Stones photographer who has probably shot your favorite photos of bands and actors, has a book out of the same name as the exhibit. The poster is a bit misleading, since the other 20 or so photos are portraits of Holocaust survivors, and most of those seen out of context don't scream Holocaust survivor. Take this picture for example: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszZi78-FqSDLNHRMFjIHa9j0dDLIHx1VsHPncN5ZxzRN7HywIPp19mBI-2q2CKPaNOy5P3gXFgK0ci1HBCdUCdDqyf_d0sTBVarhHIZJ_mEgpXNu0_fiM7tXMbFrYf225aSvVO8Ue2HE/s1600/Gastone-Orefice.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszZi78-FqSDLNHRMFjIHa9j0dDLIHx1VsHPncN5ZxzRN7HywIPp19mBI-2q2CKPaNOy5P3gXFgK0ci1HBCdUCdDqyf_d0sTBVarhHIZJ_mEgpXNu0_fiM7tXMbFrYf225aSvVO8Ue2HE/s320/Gastone-Orefice.gif" width="261" /></a></div>
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What was tough about the exhibit wasn't so much the photos as the quotes from the interviews. I don't have a copy of the book, so I don't know how they got these people to give such mind-blowing quotes, but I would be reading along and come across emotional gut punches that turned any preconceptions I had into dust. "The day we received the tattoos was a good day for us; we had received them as if they were passports for life." </div>
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"Sometimes people ask, "Did it make you a stronger person?" I don't think suffering makes you strong." </div>
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One sole survivor of her family talks about leaving her mother in the bunk, knowing she would be dead when she returned, how she escaped and moved to New York. "I never discussed the Holocaust with my husband." </div>
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Another: "I find that the best ones went, and we who survived are the worst. My father and brother could never survive, not even a day. They were fine, sensitive, idealistic." This same person discusses suicidal thoughts after the war. "I gave myself a year. I told myself that, if I could make a human being out of myself, I would continue. And if not ..." </div>
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Those three dots still bring the tears to the surface. </div>
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Holy fucking shitballs, I was glad to be the only person in the exhibit, reading these stories, writing down the quotes that suckerpunched me. </div>
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Then, in the hallway, the second exhibit. The theme and name is "The Human Condition: A Survey of Humanity" </div>
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So after reading the stories of Holocaust survivors, I was taken through a wide array of photos showing the best and worst humanity has to offer, the joyous and the depressing, the weird and the amazing. Here's the winner of this show, titled "My Father, Pensive" </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCBdcc3JzGU74E4R0vyjdQNps_J9dw5ivSm9ttPK9dRvDuRUnA-v6ROuDn3Dmmshyphenhyphen8aroCwjg25ONZWT28_StHQ-NRc_wyuQa4v38bPlaOD5Z3GtxDr_-P2A1qUIfBOu5UEOAuZF8U6c/s1600/first.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCBdcc3JzGU74E4R0vyjdQNps_J9dw5ivSm9ttPK9dRvDuRUnA-v6ROuDn3Dmmshyphenhyphen8aroCwjg25ONZWT28_StHQ-NRc_wyuQa4v38bPlaOD5Z3GtxDr_-P2A1qUIfBOu5UEOAuZF8U6c/s320/first.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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And it just makes you want to fucking wrap yourself up in puppy kisses and orphan dreams cause I see myself, too, sitting there in 40 years wondering what the hell's next. </div>
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Another photo had me creating a hell of a story for two little girls and the state of their lives when this is where they live: Check it out <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ciaochessa/2253756166/sizes/m/in/photostream/" target="_blank">here</a>. They apparently live in those mini-tubs? Shit, man. </div>
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And this one, the second place winner, must be seen in person. It's called Before the Briss, and the lighting is just unreal. </div>
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So, after being primed with Holocaust survivors and then washing through decades of photos that detail atrocities and triumphs of the human soul since then, (<a href="http://www.mplsphotocenter.com/exhibits/WAAP-jury.php" target="_blank">more here</a>), you come to the third exhibit, Photographer Doug Knutson's portraits of Nobel Peace Prize winners. </div>
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Now, you'd think after the raw nerve scrubbing of the past two galleries, that portraits of nice people would be just the thing to help salve the open wounds of your soul. Not so. </div>
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Desmond Tutu, Elie Wiesel, The Dalai Lama and others look right at you, in you, and you can see their goodness and feel how you pale in comparison, and you finally can't hold it back any longer and have to leave to go back to your car and back to your wife who is in her fourth day of sickness but getting better, and back to your life of personal and interpersonal struggles. It's a cold day. The first layer of snow sticks to the pavement in this rather dismal, industrial section of north Minneapolis. Winter is coming, and we're all going to need some emotional super-juicing to get through it. The exhibits run through Jan. 4, so go see them. </div>
<br />Fargo Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07822739011893471090noreply@blogger.com0