WitnessThinks…It’s Time To Move.

Ever see the movie Cocoon?

Did you ever think that if they never rediscovered their youthful vigor, the entire film would be over 90 minutes of a camera focused on senior citizens living the remainder of their lives at the speed of cough syrup? You probably wouldn’t want to watch that, right?

That’s exactly what it’s like at my grocery store here in Minneapolis.

Obtaining food for me is largely centered around guessing a time that I think the elderly are least likely to be out of their coffins beds. Unfortunately, this hour does not seem to exist on any clock known to man. If hunger has overwhelmed me to the point that going to bed means I might not wake up, I’ll occasionally venture out around 2 AM to join the leagues of hospital workers, the blissfully unemployed and people I can only assume are circus folk at the sub par 24 hour supermarket. This is the only way I’ve managed to get food without feeling like I’ve been dragged blindfolded through a nauseating fog of poor dye jobs and a smell that reminds me of a public holy water basin and Werther’s caramel candies stuck to a couch cushion.

This isn’t a deep seated hatred for senior citizens that I’ve been letting simmer over the years. This is the desire of a (fairly) healthy young man to get ingredients for dinner without losing two hours of his day  because Betty and Ruth both decided to turn their carts horizontally while they observe prices in an aisle that’s only big enough for two people standing side to side. I guess pasta will have to wait till next week. Thanks a lot, guys.

My grandmother was a queen. (Not literally, because if she was I wouldn’t have to wait in line for the length of time it would take to watch Forest Gump twice every time I want to get some fucking french bread.) She instilled within me a very deep respect for my elders. And all it took was one grocery store in Minneapolis, Minnesota to deconstruct 10 years of her handiwork. I turned my cart briskly around a corner yesterday to see an man of an age range usually reserved for forests, standing frozen in time in the soda aisle. (It’s not called pop, jerk.) He had a solitary drop of clear mucus hanging from that piece of flesh between your nostrils. He was also blocking the aisle. I considered killing myself.

People bitch about how senior citizens drive. Or that they get sweet parking spots. Or that they get into movies at a lower price. I’m fine with all of that. Maybe it’s just that I’m an East coaster who hasn’t yet adapted to the speed of the Midwest, but buying groceries should not take me two hours. And I’ll point my finger regardless of whether I need to direct it at the lovable folk who give out apples on Halloween.

Well, I did it.

I picked up and moved to Minneapolis, Minnesota.
And to be honest, I couldn’t be happier.

To recap the story, I fell in love with a wonderful, inspiring girl who lives here. She’s the Lisa to my David. After making the decision that I needed some change of scenery, needed to scare the hell out of myself and needed to explore as many zoos, fields, parks, lakes, forests and city streets as possible with the aforementioned lady, I picked up and moved one thousand miles from home. Music took a temporary backseat, but I don’t think one could ask for a better distraction than happiness. Though, I’ll be damned if I become another statistical musician who loses steam when he stumbles over a little sunshine.

So what’s new?
I got one of these.

The lady and I captured this young mammoth when he was but a few weeks old. We call him Shark. Or Sharkey. Or Lemon Tiger Sand Shark. Or Zharque. Or pop.

Getting a dog when drunk may be worse than getting a tattoo after a few drinks–namely because tattoos aren’t alive–but I’m very happy with this decision. Even when that decision wakes me up at 4 AM because he wants to find and devour small pieces of corn on the cob hidden under miscellaneous shrubbery in the park.

Skyline.

I have a hard time imagining this place becoming Antarctica.

Weeping Willow Islands. You heard right, son.

I live in the south side of Minneapolis. Directly on Powderhorn Park, to be specific. The picture at the top of this post, in additions to the ones above are one of the many points visible from what is essentially my front yard. If Powderhorn Lake weren’t covered in pond scum and dead fish penises, you can bet your bottom dollar I’d be swimming in it all week.

Minneapolis–Southside in particular–has a ton of epic restaurants, groceries and peculiar shops, often consolidated into the same building. For example, a bar that girl and I go to on occasion is a bowling alley, restaurant,  bar, cabaret theater and spoken word poetry joint. There’s also a laundromat/arcade/ice cream parlor not too far from me. A true artifact of 90’s excess.

Summer is serious business in Minnesota. Which I guess makes sense, considering how abysmally cold the winters are. The park in front of my house is a daily circus, home to people juggling axes, riding unicycles, practicing tumbling and tai chi and one woman who seems to think side stepping across the park is an acceptable form of public exercise. There seem to be festivals, outdoor concerts, outdoor movies and some kind of insane bar special going on everyday. There’s so much going on in fact, that there are about 3 weekly papers, 4 websites dedicated to daily activities in the city and a bulletin board dressed in a thousand flyers in almost every local business. And there are a ton of local businesses. Quirkiness is everywhere.

Vans are made of grass here. What else do you want?

Cars are sold with dinosaur hood ornaments. What of it?

As far as Hip Hop goes, it’s pretty much everything you’d expect. There are some very dope local radio stations which play a ton of local artists, the scene is ripe and growing and knowledge of the indie scene seems to be far more widespread than back home. I was even at a local show about a month ago only to see Ant of Atmosphere smoking cigarettes on the outdoor patio. Shit is tight knit and beautiful here. I’m looking forward to getting involved.

I’ve got many more stories to share, so I’ll be blogging about my experiences in Minnesota from here on out, in addition to the usual nonsense. I just needed to find a way to break the news and explain the story up until this point. Musically, I’m back on the ball and have some interesting things underway. I’m going to avoid making announcements because, well, if you’re reading this you know how my announcements normally turn out. Let’s just say it involves a full length record for next year, a new mixtape for this year and a ton of shows in places I haven’t played in over 5 years. I hope to see you there.

Below are a few other photos that I couldn’t cleverly weave into my post.

From inside the skyline.

Fish have auras here.

Butterfly exhibit at Como Zoo. Thousands of these things.

Iron Chef is my jump off.

And I was pleased to find this compilation of the intros from the different seasons, if only because it reminds me that my life would be vastly improved if I achieved an erection every time I bit into a bell pepper. (1:58)

Does anyone know why Chairman Kaga (above) is the only one on the show not dubbed?
Or why they felt the need to write a completely fictional premise for the show?
Or why I actually believed that an eccentric millionaire in Japan decided to build a “kitchen stadium” in his “castle” so that the world’s best chefs could battle to the death?

No. I’m not proud of it.

My vegetarian friends express the disappointment of a parent who found out their kid has been stealing money from the donation basket at church when I tell them the news. A stern “You’re better than that” expression stretches across their faces and I can hear the gavels of judgment echo from their heads.

But, fuck y’all.

The reason I went back to meat again is because my consumption of carbs, white breads and other items brought my blood level to the point that I almost contracted Type II diabetes. Does that mean that I was a lazy vegetarian? Probably, but considering that I didn’t really have the time to learn more than 10 or 12 recipes, my options were as limited as my wallet. When my doctor–who was at first thrilled to find out I went vegetarian–told me that it was imperative that I stop, I decided it was time to back off.

I genuinely did prefer vegetarian dishes. I haven’t been able to look at meat the same way and while it was only a short period of time till I got used to removing the fat off of a chicken breast again; it still feels strange. If anything, I can say it made me a better cook. The dishes I make these days aren’t centered solely around meat and with some meals, I actually prefer the meatless variations I concocted. And I sure as hell don’t buy any processed shit.

I’ll probably return to it someday.
When I’m healthier, richer and not so immersed in every other facet of my life.
I’m sorry, barnyard friends.