The I.I. Blog Roll
- The I.I.
Copyright 2011, Irving Inquistion. Powered by Blogger.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
10:17 AM | Posted by The I.I. | | Edit Post
This blog thread posted by the Irving Inquisition uses some explicit language, as well as depicting some aspects of life in North Minneapolis that some readers may find objectionable. Reader discretion is advised.
Bring Your Passport
Being a city slicker has its advantages, especially if you live in the city. Incidentally, being a city slicker has its definite disadvantages. Most notably these disadvantages become apparent when said city slickers LEAVE the city and go out into the country. Considering that, this blogger generally doesn’t like to leave the city unless flying to another city, preferably a bigger one.
Living in the North Minneapolis hood for so many years has allowed this blogger to forget what it’s like to interact—try to at any rate—with authentic Lutheran, Scandi-German, Country Bumpkins, Hilljacks, Hucklebucks, Shit-kickers, Hicks, Rednecks, and Townies. And while I’m sure a number of you that just read that last statement are probably clamoring to write some nasty comment because I just insulted your heritage, let me put things in context first.
Several weeks ago, this blogger allowed his arm to be twisted by some pretty chica into going to see some no-name band, Section 30. Ok, that’s fine, I guess. “Where are they performing?” I asked. “At some hole in Monticello.” she replies. “Monticello? Where the fuck is that?” “Half way to St. Cloud up on 94.” Against my better judgment we embark on a journey to Monticello to see Section 30 because my friend knows somebody, who knows somebody, that’s friends with the band.
|Section 30 getting warmed up to perform.|
At last, we arrived at our bar in the lovely BFE town of Monticello. Go inside and it looks like a cross between a dance club and a VFW. 80’s style blue carpeting everywhere, long tables reminiscent of Buffalo Wild Wings scattered around, and stools. All the seats were already full, even though we arrived twenty minutes early. No worries, we’ll go sit at the bar.
From where we sat, we had a view of the band on stage, as well as a good view of the locals. This was an excellent people watching scenario. We quickly realized how much we stuck out. City slickers have a certain sort of burned-out look to them, probably comes from living fast and hard. These townies, on the other hand, appeared to be relaxed and rested in comparison. Another strange observation, they were all wearing the same clothes. Not exactly the same, the guys were wearing plaid flannel shirts of slightly varying colors. And the women wore varying outfits reminiscent of early 90’s Hollywood Boulevard hookers. That and everybody was basically 25 and younger.
What the hell was this, a high school reunion? The interaction was fascinating to observe. Easily over a hundred people, all talking to each other as if they’ve known each other forever. This would never happen in Minneapolis, ever. Naturally, the people around us were doing the same. We tried to startup conversations with them, but our attempts to communicate with the locals were reciprocated with a very icy, cold shoulder treatment. We were strangers, not a part of the click, therefore not to be spoken to.
The band played all of their two songs, and then played Matchbox 20, Bon Jovi, and Journey songs after that. They seemed more like a group of people doing karaoke than a band doing its own thing. We even noticed how they played a few of their songs more than once. Seriously? What the hell is that?
|"She's just a small town girl, living in a lonely world..." Shoot me right now!|
Three hours later, we had enjoyed wonderful conversation amongst ourselves. Wasn’t able to break the ice with our Monticellan friends, unfortunately; and finally decided to leave. As we left the building, I couldn’t help but notice that my car was the only foreign car I could see in the parking lot. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing—yes it is—it does reflect upon the local culture somewhat. That, and the ratio of Chevy Silverado pickup trucks to everything else was stunning. Ah yes, I had forgotten… All men in rural areas must own a truck. Failing to do so results in being ostracized by your peers, and ignored by the opposite sex.
The trip home was dominated with conversations of being thankful for living in the city, being able to enjoy variety, and of course the anonymity. This eye opening experience helps to give perspective on what happens to people if they become siloed, or have a homogenous culture. I think that’s something we do a lot of around here, even in NoMi. The white T’s and pants falling down, the boom cars, and the loitering; these are examples of the exact same thing as what I was just blasting in Tea-Party country.
So if you plan to leave one silo and go to another, be prepared for a few surprises from the locals at wherever it is you’re going. Don’t forget to bring your passport.
- Bring Your Passport
- Wilde Roast Café
- Where Has the I.I. Been?
- Another Source for Restoring Your NoMi Home
- The All New Avenue Eatery
- Renovation by Habitat
- Single Bridge to the Other Side
- Future Site of Minneapolis Public Schools HQ
- Neighborhood of Times Past—Part 3
- Sub-Zero into March
- Neighborhood of Times Past—Part 2
- Snow Banks of Broadway
- ▼ March (12)