Trying to Avoid the Soft Kill

by G. Sax

So I served McDonald’s to the homestead for dinner. I know. Not good. Worse, it was my second McDonald’s meal of the week. I’m a sucker for the McFish during Lent. No, I’m not Catholic. It’s just a good excuse to eat McFish. But the McFish is causing a sort of crisis of personality. Am I really a guy who eats McFish twice a week? Am I destined to be a fat fuck for the rest of my life? Will I always be driving the best car from 15 years ago? Will I always be the third-fastest, the second to market, the next in line? I will if I continue to make excuses, that’s for sure.

The McDonald’s folks forgot the 4-piece McNugget and the fries that go with the double cheeseburger meal—basically flubbing half the order. I could forgive the pickles I didn’t ask for, but this was ridiculous, especially after a pseudo-miserable day. I drove back, clutching my receipt.

And a funny thing happened. Everyone inside turned Hispanic. The middle-aged Caucasian woman who served me was gone. The tie-wearing African-American manager who said to my daughter, “McNuggets? I like McNuggets, too!” was gone. The high-school aged African-American kid who filled my to-go bag was gone. The salt and pepper cooks were gone. It had been, what, 15 minutes? Where’d they all go?

And how did my Spiderwick Chronicles happy meal toy magically transform into Señor Siniestro from the Nickelodeon series, “El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera”?

I had to ask. My new helper said they had just turned over to the night shift. I looked around. This was a total team, like they were all hired together or lived in the same house or something appropriately stereotypical. The place was suddenly awash in efficiency in the same way I see at just about every Chipotle I ever go to (another McDonald’s property).

I could hear my inner voice: “Keep complaining and not doing and watch yourself become obsolete.”

No more complaining. At least not without some proof of do.

Mama’s Pizza on Rice Street

by G. Sax

Maybe not as good as Savoy (bite your tongue!) but the service is always stellarstar. It’ll be just down the road now, so I see another visit when it reopens after a devastating flood from a burst pipe last February.

Red’s Savoy Pizza

by G. Sax

I think I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it from here to forever: So good.

Forget for a moment that Norm Coleman’s dad uses the surrounding neighborhood as a place to try to pick up whores.

Once inside, there is nothing but delectable pizza and chubby wombas as far as the eye can see. I can’t believe it took me more than 35 years to figure it out.

Taste of Minnesota

Photo fun: Gina, G., Cheryl, CarlyGirl do YMCA

by G. Sax

The annual overpriced food and music festival moved to Harriet Island from the Capitol grounds, and a lot of people seem happy with it. I guess it’s okay. I don’t notice much difference in pricing and offering, but it’s not a terrible venue. It brings back memories of the old Riverfest, where I saw Thompson Twins, Sting, and the BoDeans, to name a few. I’ve also seen the Beastie Boys, Parliament, Smashing Pumpkins, and A Tribe Called Quest on Harriet, so that’s a decent musical pedigree.

This year, I accidentally caught the Village People. It made for a great photo op (see above) but nothing more.

I saw The Time for the third time in my life, but there wasn’t much left of the original cast. It lacked the heart of the old shows, but Morris is still Morris, and I still appreciate what he’s done for Minneapolis music.

On the heels of The Time was a good set from Tapes n’ Tapes. I’d never seen them live before, and I enjoyed getting the chance to do so for free. I had pretty good backstage views, too. Whether in front, behind, or somewhere on the other side of the park by the ferris wheel, the sound was great.

Both The Time and Tapes n’ Tapes went national following appearances at the legendary First Avenue in Minneapolis.

I was there.