Goodbye to “The Morning Show”

by G. Sax

I got up extra early, but it wasn’t early enough. My alarm clock went off to thunderous applause live from the Fitzgerald Theater in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota. Dale Connelly and Jim Ed Poole were doing their last broadcast as MPR/The Current’s “The Morning Show.” I guess the first people in line were there at 2:30 a.m. The place was full when my alarm went off, but I was intent on paying my personal respects nevertheless.

I quickly got myself ready and made the short trek from my front door to a parking spot directly across the street from the Fitz. A few quarters bought me enough time for a good breakfast in the basement of the Central Presbytarian Church across the street. The show was being broadcast throughout the church, and they even had a live video feed playing in the sanctuary.

So after breakfast, I went upstairs instead of over to the unmoving line to get in across the street. I sat in church with a warm cup of coffee and enjoyed the beautiful church architecture and the show with hundreds of others. We applauded and laughed just as though we were there. And when Peter Ostroushko plucked a mandolin and sang “You Are My Sunshine,” there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Listen now (31:30 into the audio in the 8–9 a.m. slot on Thursday, December 11, 2008)

Crystal Cody

by G. Sax

Diablo Cody is a good story for Minnesotans. Although I don’t really get my town’s infatuation with the local angle. Yeah, yeah, she wrote Juno at a Target store café in Crystal. She wrote for City Pages (a decent enough blog called “Pussy Ranch”), yay. But she’s from Chicago. She lives Out West. She’s about as Minnesotan at this point as the Coen Brothers or Bob Dylan. And yet the local newsrag went all apeshit on the post-Oscar cover about how Minnesota WAS Oscar.

Whatever works, I suppose. Ya gotta sell papers. And Cody and the Coens have been nice enough to Minnesota. You’ve probably heard that Cody is also a former exotic dancer. Which is cool, because naked is a good story for Minnesotans, too. We can all stand to loosen up. Including me, I suppose. I’m probably just jealous.

Embracing My Minnesotaness

by G. Sax

“There’s more to life than a little money, ya know. Don’tcha know that? And here ya are. And it’s a beautiful day.” – Marge Gunderson, Fargo

I’ve arrived. I’m at one of those places in life where it feels exactly like it’s supposed to be. I’m flooded with tingling sensations. When I talk to people I haven’t talked to in a long time, they tell me it’s great to see that things are going so well for me, and for a moment I drop my cynicism and believe them because they seem genuine, and I do feel at perfect ease.

I want to soak this in, y’know? It’s such a great thing. It’s maybe the closest I’ve been to understanding what winning a championship or an election or bingo feels like. It’s better than the ‘87 Twins and on par with the ‘91 Twins.

But this beaming, overtheatrical joy…it makes for super dull writing. My comical suffering is far more engaging, even to me. I’ll try to make the happy shit worth reading.

Using Food and Drink to Describe My Minnesota

by G. Sax

Pizza
At least every other Friday night, I like to order from Pizza Factory on Maryland and Western. People ’round these parts swear by John’s Cafe, and I’ll get around to sampling the gourmet pies from up the road. But I’m loving the many time warp trips I’ve made down to Pizza Factory for pickup. They have just three tables inside the “restaurant,” too much wood paneling, and too loud a TV. I usually get it to go, but before I leave I like to try my hand at the Pac Man machine that stores multiple versions of the famous game. I’ve never seen anything like it. James and I are going to meet there sometime, and I’m going to watch him absorb the computer chip. The pizza is greasy and the meat is generous.

Beer
Beer of the Month at the Sax household: Summit IPA. More flavor than the reliable Summit Pale Ale and not as syrupy as Winter Ale. I love pretty much all of the Summit products, but this month belongs to IPA.

Tacos
We eat at home a lot more now that we have a home. I still like to do taco night on Wednesdays. Or Thursdays. I also like Taco Bell, and I won’t apologize for it.

Minis
Third floor at the Xcel Energy Center during Minnesota Wild hockey games. Find the cart. Give your money. Eat them donuts.

Candy
Candyland in downtown St. Paul never gets old to me. Chicago Mix popcorn, mmm. Sour cherry balls, mmm. French burnt peanuts, mmm.

Breakfast
Though technically not a food, you know what I mean. Breakfast is so frickin’ awesome. I really wish I could farm up my mentality more on eating, because I would love it if I sat down and had a big ol’ farm-fresh breakfast most mornings, whether it were at the kitchen table or out at one of the many fine Twin Cities breakfast establishments. I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy the Louisiana Cafe and the Copper Dome in recent outings. Hash browns and pancakes. Omelettes and wheat toast. Bacon and eggs. Coffee and orange juice. Me love breakfast.

Fries
I go to Sweeney’s a lot. It’s a great old St. Paul bar on Dale Street between Selby and Summit. The menu and outdoor patio have changed for the better, but the interior is as how I remember it 13 years ago. And the french fries… Oh, God. Mayonnaise-mustard sauce. Spicy seasonings. Nng-gah.

Steak
We went out for some meat at a good old local char house called Mancini’s. It was for the St. Paul Bouncing Team banquet. I won “Rookie of the Year.” Brag. Mancini’s is almost more awesome than breakfast. One side is the traditional butter knife steak and dark walls setting you’d expect from a Midwestern meatery, the other side is monstrous Naugahyde red booths, signed pictures of Tony Bennett and The Chairman on the walls, a huge “Class of ‘49″ framed poster from some local high school, and an old-time band on stage catering to an audience of oldsters and young hipsters. As we left, we heard some dude crooning a solid rendition of “Hey, there, little red riding hood…” We’ll be returning soon.

Apples
Before I got established at my new St. Paul pad, when we were nearer suburban pastorality than city grit, we spent an afternoon thieving apples from an orchard out west of Minnetrista. Between Carly, Anais, Hunter, and I, we nabbed 109 delicious apples. They were selling bags onsite that held about 30 apples for $25.00. Eff that. Sweatshirts work real good and security was lax as we made multiple trips to the trunk of the car. We had about 96 apples left after a few caramel dips and a couple of batches of apple crisp.

Corn Dogs
The I-35W bridge collapse was international Minnesota news in 2007. I had to check it out for myself. It was like the Minnesota State Fair. People with babies in strollers, roaming packs of college students, lots of camera phones, couples holding hands, all the 7 Corners bar patios full of relaxing eaters and drinkers. Some kind of tragedy, eh?

The Bridge

by G. Sax

The I-35W bridge collapse is national news. Carly and I have been receiving check-ins from friends and family far and wide. I’m fine and all of my immediates are fine so far. Though perhaps not on par with other catastrophes over the last decade, it’s still a bit shocking when a major interstate collapses into the Mississippi River.

I went northbound across that same bridge during the lunch hour last Friday and again heading southbound on Sunday night. Little did I know.

Be well. Enjoy everyday.

4th of July, 2007

by G. Sax

I’ve been fortunate enough to spend the Independence Day holiday in many great cities in the U.S. An evening on The Mall in Washington, DC. Wrigley Field and a dozen fireworks displays from a vantage point on high in Chicago. A little patch of green in Surprise, Arizona. A farm in Estelline, South Dakota. Friends in town for a holiday visit in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Baseball games in Sacramento and San Francisco, California. Even dirty little Vallejo evokes a charming memory of a shabby parade.

There have also been several in Minnesota, including about a half dozen at Langford Park in St. Paul’s St. Anthony Park neighborhood. That’s where I went last year for a dash of nostalgia. But I didn’t really feel like I reached back far enough.

For the first 5–8 years of my knowing life, I spent the 4th on Norton Street, at Marydale Park, and in the surrounding neighborhoods of St. Paul’s North End. That’s all the bigger my world was.

I remember holding ladyfingers as they popped, running from the unpredictability of jumping jacks and bottle rockets, sticking firecrackers in dog poop. I remember the big fireworks displays they used to do off of Mackubin Street by Loeb Lake. I remember when my mom’s boyfriend threw an M-80 in the dirty little pond just to the south of the lake and how exciting that watery explosion was. I remember drinking too much New Coke. I remember throwing a firecracker under a moving cop car. I remember when my full bag of fireworks went up in a fireball from an errant ash. I remember it all fondly.

Today, CarlyGirl and I ate a simple meal at a Minnetonka Perkin’s, took a few funny pictures at Midway Stadium, looked at some homes for sale, and then went to Norton Street and Marydale Park. We walked the length of Norton, lingering at 1165. We walked all the way around Loeb, watching a pops band while eating snowcones. We watched a volleyball tournament that seemed to pit Hmong vs. Rice Streeters on two different courts. We finished our day by 4 p.m., but I caught up on 30 years.