A Rumination With a View

There are certain things in life that I just love, and I really should keep a running list, but here's one: the view from my office building in downtown Minneapolis. 

From the 48th floor, you can look either directly north or south from enormous windows in the lunchroom and lobby. Although the southern view presents you with several lakes, the Art Institute, the Walker, and the cathedral, I prefer gazing north over the river, the bridges, the library, the Mill City Museum, the Guthrie, and the Grain Belt Beer sign, all the way into NE Minneapolis, where I live.

The other day I was hurrying down the stairs on some errand, but I just couldn't help but stop and stare awhile. It never gets old. (And I'm not just saying that because if you lean around the corner a bit, you can see directly into the new Twins stadium). I had to pause for a moment because, if you'd told me seven years ago that I'd one day be working smack-dab in the heart of downtown, I would have called you a liar to your face.

But seven years ago I left South Dakota and came to "the Cities," as we in the rural tri-state area call them (duh, what other cities could we possibly be referring to?) I came with no job and knowing only about three people, one of whom was a high school acquaintance who needed a roommate. I had no idea where anything was or, if I did, how to get there.  

My early navigation attempts consisted of simply driving around aimlessly until something looked vaguely familiar. I distinctly remember once being so lost that I pulled into a McDonald's and bought a shake and french fries so I would have something to munch on as I consistently took exits I didn't mean to take. To this day, I'll occasionally pass a landmark and think, "Hmmm, I know this place ... I think I was lost here once ..."

I still take the periodic wrong turn, but I now have the ability to troubleshoot. And, three jobs later, I have much more than a handful of excellent friends. They are people I can't imagine not meeting, and I love them more for their quirks than in spite of them.

I realize that I've probably experienced only about 20% of what the TC has to offer, yet it's still been a wild, lovely ride. Whenever I visit my hometown, people ask me whether I like it here. When I reply that of course I do, they always seem a little shocked. But truthfully, I frickin' love Minneapolis. I love Minneapolis the same way I love my apartment, which goes like this: Whenever I pass by, I wish I lived there. And thankfully I do.

So I was reflecting on all this the other day in my brief pause before the window, feeling pretty proud of myself for having the guts to strike out alone somewhere new and generally pleased with all my small accomplishments since then. It was at this point that I turned, still gazing wistfully northward, and nearly Dick Van Dyked over a low oval coffee table in the lobby.

I get it, Minneapolis. Just keeping me in my place. Thanks for tripping me and not punching me in the face.  That's right, you heard me, St. Paul.

I've Got a Monkey on My Back . . .

 . . . and his name is Juan Valdez!

Today I saw a van stopped behind a car at an intersection. When the light turned green, the car hesitated to immediately move forward, and the driver of the van went ballistic, honking and gesturing, finally swerving around the car and speeding off like a maniac.

The car in front: "Student driver."

The writing on the van: "Espresso Machines."

Things in life are labeled, people. All you have to do, really, is read.

Escape From the Man-Eating Balcony

I would just like to say, as a follow-up to my very first posting, that I am now not the only person to ever lock myself out on my balcony. A good friend of mine (who shall remain nameless, unless he chooses to comment and reveal his identity) managed to do so recently, in much the same way as I did.

However, there were three major differences in this instance:

1. There was no spider involved.

2. He was not scantily clad.

3. Unlike me, he did not need rescuing, since he somehow channeled his inner Houdini and freed himself with the help of some clever machinations and dextrous arms.

Here's the thing, though. Since I wasn't around to witness this event, he wouldn't have had to tell me about it. He could have kept his mouth shut, but he didn't. He admitted it, which I think speaks a lot to his general character, in addition to his general resourcefulness. And now we share a bond that cannot be broken by space or time. Or sliding patio door bars.

Looking back, I probably should have reacted with more empathy and appreciation for his situation when he told me. Instead, I shouted with glee (and may have even done a fist pump) at the sudden validation that I might not be quite as big a moron as previously thought. 20/20 hindsight. 

Of course, this could also mean that we're both morons, but I doubt it. With his nimble critical-thinking skills and my ability to yell for help, I firmly believe there is no problem we cannot handle together.

Use Your INSIDE Tape

Today I saw a car for sale. How did I know this? The owner had written the price and details on a sheet of paper and taped it to the outside of the back window. Consequently, it was wrinkled and battered, and the ink had begun to run.

I think I should call this person up and negotiate. If his math skills are anything like his advertising skills, I believe I could wrangle a pretty awesome deal.

I Am Not Your Boo

I had one of my weirdest bus stop encounters yet this afternoon. Keep in mind that this comes on the heels of last week's fiasco, when an older gentleman asked me whether the Twins won and then watched me walk away, yelling, "You're lookin' good! I'm in love with you!" 

As I stood waiting, I was approached by a man in a hooded sweatshirt who was either slurring or just enunciating very poorly. He started the conversation like this:

HIM: "Hey, mommy."

ME: (not sure he was actually addressing me, as I am not a mommy.)

HIM: "Hey, boo."

ME: (so taken aback that I was incapable of uttering a response.)

HIM: "What's your name?"

ME: (reluctant to respond, hoping he will simply go away.)

HIM:  "Hold on, girl. Quit bein' so nervous! I ain't gonna do nothin'. I'm Mark."

ME: (finally telling him my name, because it's clear he will not simply go away.)

HIM: "You down here for the game, or what?"

ME: "Just waiting for my bus."

HIM: "You got nice dimples. (going in for the kill) How 'bout you call me later?"

ME:  "I don't think so."

HIM: "Now, just wait a minute, just think about this. You call me when you get home, tell me how your day was."

ME:  "I don't think so, sorry."

At this point, he wandered away, yet another man irresistibly and inexplicably attracted by my crazy magnet. But I was left with this thought:  If I did call him up and tell him about my day, he would probably actually listen. And, substance abuse problems aside, that would be really nice. In the same way it's nice to hear "You're lookin' good!" from inebriated strangers, but nice nonetheless.

I'm not saying I've reached the level of desperation where I would take any of these guys up on their offers.  But when it comes to the compliment? I'll take it.

Pickup Lines 101

So here's the rule, crazy men on the street. If you want to charm strange women, keep your comments specific.

Example #1:  A man once approached me and told me I had nice teeth. He then asked whether I was married. When I said no, he replied, "That's a SHAME!" Survey says? Compliment.

Example #2:  A man once approached me and told me I had nice dimples. OK. He then told me I had a nice mouth. Survey says? Creepy! Having "a nice mouth" is much too vague a statement. (Nice why? And for what?) Comments like these make people hear banjo music and run in the opposite direction.

Do you see the fundamental difference between complimentary and creepy, crazy men on the street? No, I didn't think you would.

Shoe Fly, Don't Bother Me

Last week I was (as always) waiting patiently for my bus, when a man approached me with the following offer: "I'd sure like to shine up your shoes."

The fact that he was indeed carrying a shoe-shine kit assured me that this was not a pick-up line, although I can think of several appropriately dirty responses that I won't repeat here.

As it was raining and I was a bit pressed for time, I responded with, "No thanks."  His reply?

"So you're okay with them lookin' all messed up like that?"

To be fair, I was wearing my 9-year-old Eastlands, which have traveled with me worldwide and been the victim of numerous slips on the ice here at home. So, needless to say, they are rather scuffed and beginning to leak in wet weather. (Now that I'm actually typing this out, I begin to realize it might be time to buy some new footwear.)  But that's why I was wearing them ... they're great for kicking around in and shuffling to and from work. I leave them with their scars intact, because A. I just don't care,  B. They aren't Jimmy Choos, and C. They still feel like slippers. So suck it, Shoe-Shine Man!

I did have to admire his sales tactics, however. He offered a service nicely, was turned down, and resorted to insulting his potential customer, presumably with the goal of shaming me in public into accepting the aforementioned service. 

It reminded me of the time I foolishly answered my apartment door to find a man asking me to buy magazines. When I politely declined, he proceeded to stand there and angrily demand to know why I didn't want to support his continuing education, while I gripped the spatula I'd carried to the door (mid-dinner preparation) ever tighter. Maybe you catch more flies with confrontation than honey. I've never tried.

But what if other businesses took this approach?

"I'd sure like to put braces on your kid ....  No?  So you're okay with those jacked-up teeth?"

"I'd sure like to be your personal trainer ... No?  So you're okay with being a fat-ass then?"

"I'd sure like to cut your hair ... No?  So you're okay with that outdated rat's nest on your head?

Just think of the possibilities! Would we be more inclined to accept services if we knew an insult (and most likely a terrible truth) were to follow, loudly and publicly? I don't know. What I do know is this: rather than inciting the mob around me to urge me to take care of my battered shoes, Shoe-Shine Man merely drew a few incredulous and annoyed tsks and laughs as he moved on down the street ... with no takers.

Be My Baby Tonight

My sister is flying to St. Louis this week to visit a friend who recently had a baby, and she came up with the following list.  I had to share because it's hilarious.

THE TOP TEN REASONS HAVING ME AS A HOUSEGUEST WILL BE JUST LIKE TAKING CARE OF A NEWBORN:

10. I cry when I want something.
9. I feed every two hours.
8. Filling my pants is cause for me to rejoice.
7. If I'm up at 2 a.m. I'll make sure you are too.
6. I smile when I'm gassy.
5. I grow out of clothes before I can even wear them.
4. I'm fascinated with your breasts.
3. If I drink too much I might spit up on you.
2. When I wake up my bed is covered in drool.

1. NAPS!!!!!!!