Showing posts with label Twin Cities life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Twin Cities life. Show all posts

Monday, October 19, 2009

Updated: Baldy's BBQ in Lakeville

From Kansas City to New Orleans and points far and between, I've had some pretty spectacular BBQ in my day, though I absolutely would not pass myself off as a culinary expert on it. Given the mostly stagnant array of dining choices in Lakeville, which is where I work, whenever a non-fast food establishment opens, it raises my and my coworkers' curiosities immensely. Such was the case with Baldy's BBQ, which recently opened in the same strip mall housing the infamous Tacoville, as well as a Subway and an adult gift shop ($5 flavored lube bar every Thursday!).

Considering the mediocre slop at Tacoville has kept them in business for over a decade, it would seem that the proximity to the truck stop hasn't hurt food businesses. Meanwhile, a bank, laundromat, and most of the other businesses have vamoosed, leaving a fair portion of the retails space empty. Perhaps if they would repave their parking lot, which has the appearance of a bombed Iraqi runway circa 2003, they could draw in more businesses (to be fair, it does appear they are doing some pretty heavy remodeling to the building).

As for Baldy's, I ignored the consistent misspelling "potatoe" on the website (which oddly enough is spelled correctly on their takeout menus), as incorrect spelling has never spoiled the flavor of a meal, except the times that Wendy's has misspelled "instant diarrhea" as F-O-O-D. I walked in over the lunch hour today and was greeted within seconds by Baldy himself, a towering, cheerful fellow who patiently guided me through the menu options as I hemmed and hawed making my decision (he mentioned they would have an actual menu board posted soon to make the process run a bit more smoothly). I decided on a pulled pork sandwich with spicy sauce, a side of baked beans (included in the lunch item price), and added a side of sweet potato fries and a drink, bringing my total to a little over $12. In ordering my drink, I was given the choice of a bottled soda or fountain drink. I usually prefer fountain soda, so I chose that, not knowing that there were no lids for their hard plastic cups (unless I didn't seem them?). This meant that I was ultimately forced to slurp down my drink to a level where it wouldn't slosh all over the place in my car.

While I waited during the relatively short time it took to complete my order, the cook came out to ask Baldy a question. In the cook's hands was what appeared to be a huge bag of frozen sweet potato fries. Hmm... After that, a woman informed Baldy that she'd found something in her sandwich. From a distance, it appeared to just be a bone, so I wasn't too alarmed. Had it been a scrunchie or a condom, I might have had second guesses about my decision to eat there. The customer didn't act too worried either and seemed to be just dropping an FYI, but Baldy appeared to take it fairly seriously. No matter, a few minutes later, I had my food and was on my way back to the office to scarf it down.

The spicy bbq sauce came in a small container on the side. Had I realized how small it was, I probably would have asked for a second container, as I like my bbq swimming in sauce. The baked beans came in a similarly sized container (though I would say it was probably an adequate portion) and the serving of sweet potato fries was adequate, bordering on generous. Since it was quite honestly the promise of sweet potato fries that drew me in, I dove into those first. They were good, but lacked the bold flavor and freshness of the sweet potato fries I'm used to. Similarly, the baked beans were good, but lacked in the boldness department.

As I drizzled the sauce on the pulled pork in the big kaiser bun, I noticed that the bun wasn't sopping wet and soggy from the meat like you'd get at a lot of bbq joints. It remained firm and intact, a definite plus when eating a sandwich to go. I emptied the little sauce container and dipped my finger in it to give it a taste. Not bad at all! A nice, rich flavor with a hint of smoke. It wasn't exactly my definition of "spicy," but as I've said many times, most people's definition of spicy would probably equate on my tongue to a dollop of chilled sour cream on theirs. If I'm not crying and shitting my pants at the same time, it ain't spicy (that time I ate a burrito at the mall doesn't count -- I was just really sad and had the flu). The pork itself was extraordinarily tender, perhaps dancing dangerously close to soggy, and while it was tasty with the sauce, I think if I had known to get a little extra sauce, it would have been tastier and more balanced. That being said, I would give them another go, perhaps letting a few weeks pass to see if time helps things along. I'd like to try their brisket and a few other sides before passing final judgment.

Overall, on a scale of "pea soup scraped from the mens room stall" to "sizzling seasoned ribeye fresh off the grill," I give Baldy's a solid "vastly better than Tacoville with both room for and a high likelihood of improvement, not to mention 100% less diarrhea."

UPDATE: Lazy Lightning gives Baldy's a far more in depth try than I was initially able to and gives it a thumbs up. I now sincerely look forward even more to trying more items on their menu.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Shop on for some reason space line

Home Depot, Burnsville

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The peculiar Anytime Fitness logo

This is the logo for Anytime Fitness. Now I have no personal experiences with the Hastings-based company, nor do I have any reason whatsoever to believe they are anything but a fine, upstanding health club business. However, we were driving home tonight from a gathering held at the Groveland Tap by the folks from The Uptake, when I caught a sign for an Anytime Fitness club out of the corner of my eye and momentarily processed it as this:

Perhaps a logo redesign is in order? I propose this simple modification. Just change it to one running guy taking off from the starting line, and a guy next to him still in the starting position.

Who could possibly visually misinterpret that? Only total assholes, that's who. Just send me the money by PayPal, Anytime Fitness. I don't need to tell you that my work has already paid for itself.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

The solution to our nation's traffic problems has been found

Not since this man's solution to drought has such genius been applied to a modern plague. In the comments on this Star Tribune article about the growing traffic problem on I-94 heading west out of the metro area, someone going by the name "tblgyn" (table gyno??) says, "A cheap way to add capacity to the lanes is to increase the speed limit to 75 or 80. That would allow more cars to pass thru this area on existing lanes. A minimum speed of 75 in the left lane may also help."

Well, there you have it. The solution to all of our traffic problems is to have everyone drive faster! That will increase road capacity! Then again, if you can manage to hit 50 on I-94 West in Maple Grove at 5:30 pm, let me know.

Also, the following solutions to various problems have been found:

-The solution to the lackluster capacity of our nation's power grid is to push more electricity through it.

-The cure for cancer is to have less cancer.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

This is my PIN. My PIN, let me show you it.

Since I am apparently one of the quickly shrinking number of people in my circle of friends and coworkers who usually carry cash on a daily basis, it's not unusual for me to make a weekly stop at an ATM. I've seen it all: the old man who pushed so many buttons to withdraw a single thin Jackson that I swear he thought he was at a pay phone making a collect call to the Czech Republic. The endless stream of soccer moms in minivans who decide after waiting in a line of several cars at the drive-through ATM, that pulling up to the machine is the time to start digging in your purse for your card. Or the cow-wanna-boys in rusty, bumperless pickups perched on wheels from a Massey Ferguson combine who zip in at the same drive-through, get their cash with clockwork precision, then realize now is the perfect time to organize their chewing tobacco.

To me, ATM etiquette is pretty simple -- get your shit wired before you walk or drive up to the machine. Have your card out or at least readily available so people behind you don't have to wait any longer than necessary. If you're making a deposit, go off to the side somewhere, sign your checks, fill out the deposit envelope, and only then may you get in line (unless it's long enough you an do all of that without holding up those behind you). And when you are finished with your transaction, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY! Do you need to sort your bills before putting them in your purse or wallet? Do you need to write it down on your transaction log? Step aside, or drive forward, and let the next person in line have their turn.

And I tweeted about this the other day, and it's completely unrelated to etiquette, but people, stop calling it an "ATM machine." ATM stands for Automated Teller Machine. You are essentially saying that you're visiting the Automated Teller Machine machine. Unless you are talking about an "Ass To Mouth" machine, in which case I would appreciate it if you would gargle some Listerine and lye afterward.

Now the lady ahead of me in line at the Wells Fargo ATM in the SuperAmerica on 7th and Wall St in St Paul yesterday afternoon may not have thought she was at an Ass To Mouth machine, but that is the only segueway I could come up with. When I walked into the store, she was already parked in front of the machine, staring blankly at the screen without any indication she intended to make her move anytime soon. I was in a hurry, as I was supposed to meet up with Ang and a craigslist seller to buy a barely used bed, and we had to pay in cash. But I figuring this might only hold me up an extra minute or two, and there was no sense in snipping at this 40-ish, disheveled woman, particularly since her halting movements and swaying stance led me to surmise that she may have a disability of some sort.

Finally after another minute or two of staring she hesitantly shoved a card into the reader. It was at this point, that I noticed she was clutching a blue scrap of paper in her left hand. She studied the paper, and it was at this point that I was staring at her PIN. I had given her plenty of polite ATM space, but I quickly turned my head and looked toward a display of candy. She wasn't making the slightest bit of effort to keep the number private, holding it out practically at arms length and shoulder height, but I instinctively didn't want to appear suspiciously interested in her financial transactions. She ever so slowly entered the PIN, hesitating for several moments before pressing each on-screen button. I was still trying not to stare, but after hearing the staggered, seemingly endless stream of beeps as menu item after menu item was selected, curiosity overwhelmed me, and I returned to watching what she was doing. Finally she managed to get to the Withdraw Cash screen, selected an account, and the machine spit out her card and a few twenties. Oh, thank sweet Christ! I was preparing to swoop in once she stepped aside when she pulled out yet another card and struggled to get it into the reader. Huh? Her thumb moved down on her scrap of blue paper, and I now saw at least half a dozen PINs written on it. Sure enough, she consulted the scrap, slowly and aimlessly beep-boop-beeped her way through the menus until she randomly made her way to the Withdraw Cash screen, and grabbed another small stack of twenties. She repeated this process for each and every number on her list, completely oblivious to the growing line of highly aggravated people waiting to use the machine, several of whom had taken to muttering invectives under their breaths. At first, I thought it might be a simple case of someone who couldn't remember her PIN, but on the third card, I started to seriously wonder if any of these cards were hers. My suspicions grew higher on the last card, when she clearly didn't know how much money was available in the account, and persistently rolled her way through smaller and smaller multiples of twenty in her attempts. When the machine refused to give her so much as a single twenty dollar bill, she finally gave up, got her(?) card back, and wandered away to another part of the store.

Now that I finally had my chance more than 10 minutes after I'd walked into the store, I pounced on the machine, did my thing, and was in my car 30 seconds later. As I drove away, I wondered what, if anything I should have done under those suspicious circumstances, but then realized that if this lady was indeed stealing money from accounts that didn't belong to her, that she did so in full view of the video camera mounted inside of the ATM, as well as the store security cameras. If she was up to no good, her ass was as good as caught. Plus having more than one ATM card and not being able to remember the PINs for any of them, doesn't automatically make one a criminal. But it sure pisses off all of the people in line behind you.

Saturday, November 01, 2008

My Halloween costume

While we did go see Night of the Living Dead at the Parkway Theater in south Minneapolis, we did not dress as zombies. Although that certainly would have been easy to do since we still had leftover makeup from Zombie Pub Crawl IV (incidentally, check out Chuck's ZPC video on The Uptake, featuring a very familiar zombie couple). Instead, I was a disheveled strip club patron who had been awake for three days on a coke bender.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Zombie Pub Crawl IV: Zombie Boogaloo

Better late than never come photos from last weekend's Zombie Pub Crawl IV in Minneapolis. It was the biggest ever crawl of the dead, by some accounts bringing the number of zombies to 4 digits, or at least quite close.

We started the day by have some grilled meats and beers before getting our makeup on at Taylor's place.

Ang the headbanging zombie says fuck grilled meat. She wants raw brains.

Jeremy the citizen journalist zombie was covers a story for The BrainTake.

Gold Medal Park once again teemed with the undead.

Zombie DrUncle Sam does what Zombie DrUncle Sam does, he drinks.

Somewhere... out there... there are... brains. Oh yes, there are.

My press pass shows how it all began. It was Ang who bit me. That bitch!

Ang drinks from a fishbowl at Preston's.

It's hard to look horrifying when you're drinking a fruity blue drink through a straw.

Zombie nurses, who left before I could get my camera ready, handed out HPV info and condoms.

"What dis? Arrunngghhh... PPPFFFT!! Taste like summer camp, not brains."

Zom-BEES!!! Get it? Huh?

Zombie Jeremy's teeth are yellow from eating rotting flesh and smoking 3 packs of brains a day.

Zombie G.

My. Fucking. Eyes. And if you're looking at the chick on the phone, you're looking too far to the left and too far up. And you're blind. See it yet? There, now you're blind again.

Zombies like Chipotle burritos because the brains are grass fed and hormone free.

Somehow we found each other.

MMMMM!!!! ZJ eats the shit out of that fucking thing.

Oh boy! I can't wait to take another bite--aw, shit. I got brain blood all over it.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Roomba by the tomatoes

Is that sanitary? Seen Wednesday in the kitchen at Khan's Mongolian Barbeque in Richfield.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Quick answer to question about Jana Shortal

Will KARE11's Jana Shortal become the new Sven Sundgaard in terms of office chatter and swirling rumors? I don't know, but today I received a google search referral for "jana shortal sexuality." To answer your question, Jana Shortal is very sexual. Thanks for playing the "ask an irrelevant question, get an irrelevant answer" game. Join us tomorrow, when we play a rousing game of catch-penis.

Top authority

Thanks to Matt, who discovered that doing a Google Maps search for Tacoville in Lakeville shows a single review, which is from an aggregation site that references my Tacoville review (well, technically my preview). The best part? The excerpt shown. "Do you like spicy meat in a tortilla? Or maybe some veggies in a tortilla? Or the feeling of a warm tortilla squeezed between your eager buttocks on a frigid January day..."

UPDATE: It now appears that the Google Maps results point directly to my blog.

Click for larger image:

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Friday, September 05, 2008

Wait, now I'm confused

According to the Pioneer Press website this morning, McCain declared last night in St Paul that change is coming. Meanwhile, the St Paul school superintendent has warned us that changes are coming. Is change good? Obviously it depends on what the changes are. More evidence that decisions must be based on valuable content and specific data instead of empty rhetoric from biased sources extolling their own devotion to vague concepts. And to be clear, I'm talking about both McCain and Obama. Listen to and seek out the substantive facts, not just the overall theme.

Screen shot of

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

The Daily Show

Update: This post is getting a lot of traffic from people who seem to be googling how to get tickets for the St Paul run of The Daily Show. Let me put it this way. If you didn't already get your name on the ticket reservation list back in May, unless you are some sort of VIP, you are fucked. I guarantee you that you will not get into the studio taping, though waiting in the standby ticket line might (and I do mean MIGHT) get you into the separate theater that plays a closed-circuit simulcast on monitors. This is probably one of the only times Twin Cities residents will have such easy access to a taping of this show, and people filled their reservation list within a couple of days when they were first made available. And now we resume our previously written post.

Today I made what will be my one and only venture into downtown St Paul until after the Republican National Convention packs up and leaves town. Between half the streets being shut down and anarchist "protesters" rioting and damaging private property for no good reason other than to cause chaos, I will stick to restricting myself to Ang's neighborhood. The worthy exception, of course, was our trek today to see The Daily Show with Jon Stewart taping at McNally Smith College of Music's History Theatre.

Even though the ticket info (I reserved our free tickets months ago) recommended we show up by 3:30, we decided it was best to show up earlier. We got into line about 1:30 and already about 30 people were ahead of us. Over the next few hours, we watched dozens of protesters and marchers (not part of the organized march that started later) walk by. Some carried signs, some had colorful costumes and props, and some had actually bathed sometime in the last week (but not many). We lost count of the times that random people from these groups would ask us what we were waiting in line for. Invariably, whoever answered would answer while pointing in exasperation to the gigantic Comedy Central "Indecision 2008" banner hanging from the building behind us.

At one point, one beret-clad woman bathed in an aura the screamed, "Hey, everyone, I'M OFF MY FUCKING NUT!", walked the line asking if anyone had an extra ticket. I wonder if she even knew what the hell she was trying to get into because she asked Ang, "Is this a special thing?" No, The Daily Show tapes here all the friggin' time. And never mind that wouldn't work anyway. You don't get an actual ticket. You essentially get put on a reservation list. They overbook the taping to ensure a full audience, so you aren't guaranteed a seat. They go down the line, asking for your name, check the reservation list to make sure you're supposed to be there, and hand everyone in your party (assuming you reserved enough tickets for everyone in your party) a numbered ticket. Even if you reserved tickets, if you are too far back in line, and they reach the seating capacity, tough shit. You're out of luck. In other words, show up early. Though I hear tell that they had an overflow area set up in the building where latecomers could watch a closed circuit simulcast of the taping. So crazy beret lady gave up and left empty handed to go plop down in the grass to listen to some old hippie play a protest song on his guitar.

Once inside, we were informed that Jon Stewart would do a Q & A before the show and were half-jokingly instructed not to ask him any creepy questions. So that threw my, "Hey, will you sign my wang?" question right out the window. Why doesn't anyone sign wangs anymore? Anyway, Ang and I ended up in the 4th row on the left side of the theater (stage right), although the theater was small enough that almost any seat would have been fantastic. Our warmup guy was comedian Paul Mecurio, who did a great job whipping everyone up into a frenzy before Jon Stewart came out. During Jon's pre-show Q & A, an audience member asked him if he had been to the State Fair and tried the chocolate covered bacon. Without missing a beat, he responded no, but he had tried "a pig with a Twinkie shoved up its ass, deep fried, and shoved up my ass." And as always with these open Q&A things, you had a few stupid questions, and a couple of jackholes shouting random, nonsensical shit, thinking they were clever. Go out and set a dumpster on fire with the anarchists and shut the fuck up.

As for the show, you can check that out for yourself. I'm sure they'll be replaying Tuesday's episode in the wee hours of tonight and early tomorrow evening. But after taping concluded, we were informed that the building was locked down and that for the moment, we needed to stay put due to protests with the "potential for violence" going on outside of the building on Cedar. It didn't last long -- within 10 or 15 minutes, they said we could leave through an exit on Wabasha at our own risk. Everyone got up and left. We still needed to cross Cedar to get to Ang's car, but fortunately the march had almost completely moved down the street, leaving little behind but the eerie site of dozens of riot police and mounted cops wearing gas masks surveying the scene from their equine perches. All in all, it was a hell of an interesting day to say the very least.

See also:

KARE 11's Jana Shortal's report on The Daily Show. You see Ang and I briefly toward the end and a few other familiar faces throughout the piece.

Coco, who was also at The Daily Show taping, gets a taste of tear gas after the show.

Aaron has a great FAQ about what to expect when attending The Daily Show taping this week.

Monday, September 01, 2008

Still accepting caption contest submissions until midnight

Deadline for the caption contest is midnight. You know you want to win the coffee cup! Big ticket prizes here at afterglide, folks.

I will go through the entries and pick a few for you to vote on by the end of the week.

Tomorrow we'll be attending the taping of The Daily Show. If I get caught in the middle of a fucking riot while we're in downtown St Paul, I will be cross and fold my arms in disapproval thusly. [folds arms in disapproval]

Friday, August 22, 2008

"It's a fucking ROBOT!"

I react to an animatronic robot suit making the rounds at the Minnesota State Fair.

Minnesota State Fair 2008: Hazy dancer

Note: Photos forthcoming; Ang has my camera in her purse (right next to my balls)

Spurred by Max and Coco's desire to see Sharon Jones at the band shell by the Leinie's Lodge at the Minnesota State Fair, I agreed to Ang's desire to join them, Rich, Jen, Brandi, Lulu, and Loomer. This was against my better judgment, as I assumed that going to the fair on opening day would put us shoulder to shoulder and foot to dick with sweaty throngs of morbidly obese, inappropriately exposed, corn pone gawkers dragging their bacon-greased, pockmarked jaws, guts, and breasts on the sweltering pavement behind them. Typically the process involves driving to one of the free park and rides, finding it's full, going to the next one, waiting behind enough people that 3 free shuttles (these "shuttles" are actually full-sized Metro Transit busses) come and go before you can get on one. Then you stand on the bus between a farting, sweaty fat guy and a fatter mama pushing a quintuplet stroller containing exactly one child and a rattle, spend 30 minutes in line to buy a gate ticket, and then spend the rest of your time trapped between or struggling to get out of the way of electric carts struggling to pull the weight of a 600 lb women, toddlers running apeshit and unsupervised around your ankles and between your legs, and outstaters who only come into "the big city" once a year for the fair and don't seem to understand that, unlike the Piggly Wiggly populated by you, a tumbleweed, and the butcher, someone is walking a foot behind you at any given moment, and you can't just suddenly fucking stop dead in your tracks to eyefuck a pork chop on a stick.

I discovered, however, that opening night is the night to go to the State Fair. It took us 2 minutes to find a parking spot at the park and ride, we climbed directly aboard a nearly empty shuttle, and we had perhaps 2 or 3 people in front of us in the ticket line (and discovered that tickets were discounted that night). When we walked in, I was floored. While it was clearly bustling, it was practically a ghost town compared to my previous visits. This was the most laid back, stress-free trip to the fair I have ever had. And you couldn't have asked for better weather. With the exception of a few minutes of drizzle and gusty winds at the beginning of the show, the humidity was low, and the temperature and slight breeze was perfect.

Some people at the fair had more fun than others. Take the dude who was baked into the ionosphere who approached me as we sat in the benches in front of the stage, waiting for the show to begin. He had been pacing around in a tight circle to the point that other people were following his pacing trail, mocking him behind his back.

He leaned in. "Are you relaxed, man?"

Ang and I had sprawled across one of the benches saving seats for Jen and Rich, who had ventured out to get something to eat. I thought this guy was trying to start some shit about him thinking we were occupying more than our fair share of relatively prime seats. "Just waiting for the show to start."

He persisted. "Yeah, but are you RELAXED?"

"Uh..." No, because you're making me nervous, you bleary-eyed fruitcake!

He got a crazed look in his eyes and practically whispered, "Do you know what the fuck is going to happen in a few minutes?" and abruptly danced away. Yes, danced. I scanned the area for a backpack full of C-4 and nails, but didn't see anything, so I figured he didn't know what the hell he was saying any more than I did. Plus it's hard to take anyone as much of a threat when they make their exit with a little Phish-in-the-mud dance jam.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Expanding the blogging kingdom

Tonight we had a fucking hilariously fantastic time with Muscleyarm at The Strip Club in St Paul. We all agreed that we wished we could go on forever and ever and end in a metaphysical merging of our beings. But alas, it is a Tuesday, and we all have shit to do in the morning, like work, recover from drinking, work, poop in a bucket of Ultra Pure White Behr paint at Home Depot, and quietly seal it shut, so on and so forth. But for now, we need to be satisfied in the knowledge that we will make the brain love sometime in the future. I also hope there will be booze and meat there. Seasoned meat without a hint of ass hair. I fucking hate seasoned ass hair meat.

Friday, August 01, 2008

Your problem is apparently my problem

When possible, practical, and above all, safe, I like to help people. However, we live in unfortunate times where people prey on our sympathies to score a quick buck, a drink, a fix, or whatever their ulterior motive may be. Now, that being said, I will agree that not all people asking for a handout are grifters, drunks, or drug addicts. But the seedier folks have pretty much fucked it up for everyone else. With few exceptions, my policy is to never give a handout to someone on the street. I give money to reputable charitable organizations whose missions involve helping the less fortunate. I don't appreciate being handed a line about "my car broke down, and I need bus fare." But if a guy walked up to me on the street and said, "Hey, dude, I'm trying to get drunk. Help me out with a couple bucks?" That truthful motherfucker might just get a five-spot in his hand if I've got it because his honesty would be refreshing.

This morning as I exited Ang's building to leave for work, before I had completely closed the front door behind me, a morbidly obese woman in her 40s or 50s (hell, she might have been a haggard 30 for all I know) waved me down and hollered at me from across the street, "Excuse me, are you driving?" As she asked the question, she was already crossing the street toward me.

Shit, I had a pretty good idea where this was going, but I answered truthfully, if not curtly, "Yep."

She weezed from her 20 foot walk, "My car broke down, and I'm kind of stuck. Could I get a ride? It's just over on Earl Street."

Um, hell to the fuck no! Like I'm going to let some strange, smelly bitch into my car to stab me and rape me in the ass with a bent meat thermometer. Plus I was in a hurry to get to work. I had a lot of preparations ahead of me for a 12:30 meeting and couldn't afford to take time out to play public transit to just anyone who walked up and asked. Never breaking my stride, I replied, "Sorry, ma'am, but I need to get to work."

Well, she didn't like that response at all and was visibly agitated, but she pressed on. "Well, can I get a couple dollars for the bus, I just--"

"I don't have any cash, sorry." (I actually didn't have cash, not that I would have given her any)

Well, clearly I didn't understand the gravity of her situation (never was there an explanation of why she so desperately needed to get to Earl Street), and she grew more agitated and barked, "Well, Earl Street is just a little bit that way," pointing farther down 6th Street.

I knew full well where Earl Street is; it's about a mile down the road and would only take 2 minutes to get there. But that was completely beside the point, and I was really getting annoyed with this pushy, sweaty land cow. "I know where it is, and that's the exact opposite direction I'm going. I need to leave for work now."

She realized she wasn't going to get anywhere with me, and continued on her way acting incredibly incensed that I wouldn't help her out by letting an unkempt stranger into my car to sweat all over my leather and bust up my shocks or give her money for the same sob story, true or not, that a thousand panhandlers use every day. As I got into my car, she flagged down an older maroon Buick that had just pulled up to the 4-way stop, headed toward Mounds (helpful vagrancy tip -- try flagging down cars that aren't headed in the exact opposite direction you're going). It took about 3 seconds for the dude to drive away, leaving her in the crosswalk with steam pouring out of her ears at the nerve of these people.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

WCCO allows me to win

Earlier tonight I attended WCCO's Bloginar, where there was a panel discussion of sorts with 'CCO's Jason DeRusha and MinnPost's Eric Black. After the festivities, they gave away prizes. I won this towel imbued with the essence of Jason DeRusha (because I went to great lengths to quite literally wipe the towel on his person). I'm now wearing the towel as a diaper.