A Living Magazine - Day 110 - Twins and Twighlight Towers

I woke with all kinds of ideas about what I'd like to do and see here in the Twin Cities area in the next thirteen days. I was finally keeping current on the posts and able to explore more. I wanted nighttime pictures, to visit North Minneapolis (the rough side of town), check out St. Paul, and tour the parks around the cities. But on this day, the first order of business was to get downtown...

After seeing the locks of love in Duluth, this seemed symbolic somehow of

forgotten love--rusted, and holding on as long as it's foundation might last.

I'd been by Target Field a few times now, and decided to explore it... 

This was really cool--thousands of small hinged plates move as the wind passes by them.

After photographing Target field, I went to a Caribou Coffee along Nicollet Mall and wrote up the day's post. It was a good place to work, and I will probably be back there a few more times.

Minneapolis is the only city I've been to so far that has a huge library with very few working outlets. That, along with the full SWAT team of library cops there--walking by and staring at anyone with a backpack, makes it a slightly uncomfortable and distracting environment for writing. Pretty disappointing in such a grand city. But, to be fair, I will try going to the library again a few times more and ask for help finding AC power.

This was an overcast day. Usually that meant great pictures when out in nature. But, in a city filled with darker glass buildings under a bright white sky, the photos needed to be processed before being posted here. I did my best...  

The First Avenue Downtown Danceteria. I recognized it as the iconic club featured

in the movie "Purple Rain", by Prince and the Revolution.

It is perhaps humorous to recount just how many furrowed brows I received by admitting that I liked Prince (as a white kid from Maine), back in Cumberland County's 1980's, New Wave and Heavy Metal era. I was a budding recording artist myself, and his production work was beyond amazing to me, and still influences me today.

Because image was - and still is - regarded as being of foremost importance in people's minds when considering music (think about that for a moment--another well-trained, brainwashed cultural American failure--music is music, folks!), I knew how shallow and inexperienced my musical peers were at that time. I counted myself as slightly courageous for not hiding my love of Prince's music. A black guy playing in pink underwear, with make-up and a falsetto voice was just too much for hardened Yankee boys, trying to pass themselves off as manly men. Funny thing: I still love Prince and all of those guys never achieved the kind of manliness they sought to project. 

I remember playing Prince's song, "Darling Nikki" (one of the most creative, well-orchestrated, dynamic, harmonically complex, sexually provocative and powerfully emotional songs I'd ever heard anyone record) for my best friend after school. He looked at me as if I'd grown a nose out of the side of my head, and said, "Man, you've lost it." It wasn't the music, but the inability to admit the music was good, despite the Purple One's image. This friend was one of several Yarmouth musicians who ended up attending Berkley College of Music in Boston, moving to Europe and playing in a very popular band there for over a decade. I suspect he now would appreciate Prince's music a lot more than he ever would admit to me. At the very least, any musician should appreciate just how unique Prince's writing and recording style was and still is.

Someday, hopefully before either the world is wiped out by a comet, or reaches a Utopian plateau of everlasting peace and harmony, musicians will be acknowledged for their MUSIC and not their image. Until then, I guess we sheeple must accept the non-musical aspect of songwriters (looks alone, for example) as somehow being equal to their "music", suck up to the big corporations that dominate the industry and continue grazing in the sourgrass fields of mediocre, profit-based sound.

Modern culture still suffers extensively from TCS (my acronym for: "Too Cool Syndrome"); where everyone walks around unable to get past their own need to appear hip and fashion-flawless. Dumbasses don't even realize the first thing about the nature of music, and even less about what moves music forward, until a new style plows their unsuspecting asses over. But, lordy!, how I do digress. Suffice it to say, that if I have the chance to see anything Prince related here in Minneapolis I'm going to jump on it without hesitation. And, you are going to read about it--if you haven't already sunk too deeply into the cookie-cutter, auto-tuned, American Idol mirage.

I continued around the Nicollet blocks... 

Not sure why, but I'd like to go here with my friend, Mr. Walsh.

Golly, I hope the steaks look better than the picture on the building!

Charles Schwab, right on the Mall. With their offices exposed to passers by.
How noble!

Yep, here it is.

The Penera Bread courtyard.

The IDS Center building. It is the tallest building in the state of Minnesota.

Twilight came and the fully muted sun hidden behind the clouds all day, moved to the horizon.

I was ready to take as many photos as I could, but was on a tight schedule, and was praying it didn't rain. I had to find a Bus Route 14 stop to get back to Robbinsdale and connect with Bus 717 to Plymouth.

Arranging bus rides and transfers can be very tricky business at night. For someone not yet used to the compass directions as applied to city streets--and viewing everything from the street, combined with all the one-ways and the fact that local buses - like those for the town of Plymouth - have very sharp and earlier cut-off times, the process can be frustrating and even dangerous, I suppose.

I had to make it to a 14 stop (going in the correct direction: north) by about 8:00 pm in order to reach the Robbinsdale Transit center and catch the 717 ride (at 8:45) back to Cub Foods in Plymouth. The 717 had one last ride at 9:35, if all went to hell. If I were too late finding the downtown bus, I would have to walk all the way from Robbinsdale to Plymouth (6+ miles)--something I could do, but wouldn't be happy about. And, if I were unable to catch a Bus 14 by about 11:30, I'd be super-rough camping (meaning, I had no sleeping bag or equipment on me for such a contingency) somewhere in Minneapolis proper. Therefore, I gave myself a cushion on both ends and hoped for the best... 

Buildings from left to right: Plaza VII, Marriott Hotel City Center connected to

the New Century Theatre, and it's taller sister building, the Marriott Hotel Building.  

One of many skybridges. These characterize every major city I've been to, west of the Mississippi. 

One of each please!

No hardhat required.

Hardware?

5th Street Light Rail. Aka, the main vein.

As opposed to a non-fun bar?

Phew! I thought they were real. No need to go to confession afterall.

Self explanatory? And I didn't see a single drag queen over 80. Damn false advertising!

The hallowed library of broken outlets and donut-eating platoons.

Actually, aside from my bitching and complaining, this is a very impressive building (built 2006).

I'd walked by this store many times, but never at night.

When it comes to retail lighting, sundown makes for the best advertising.

I was all turned around by the time I needed to catch the bus. I went up and down the north bound lanes of avenues and streets, and found only bus stops going in the wrong direction. Plus, I was out of quarters. It is $1.75 on non-rush hours (rush: 6:00 am to 9:00 am, and 3:00 pm to 6:30 pm, is $2.25--in case you were wondering). The little bead of sweat started to form... But, then, I found a bar to cash a dollar into quarters, and when I walked out of it...BOOM! there was a northbound bus stop for Route 14. That's what I'm talkin' about, bub!

I only had to wait ten minutes. I got on the bus right before a whole crowd of other people and was quite happy to share the seat with a kindly black grandmother who kept called me "honey pie". She turned to her daughter sitting behind us with another stranger and said, "This is one cute white boy, darlin!" They had a nice laugh as I turned scarlet red--maybe trying to escape my whiteness.

I got the the Robbinsdale Transit Center, with a half hour to kill. As I sat nearly shivering on the metal bench, a tiny black little old lady walked up to me, pushing a baby carriage. She asked me what time the 716 (not my bus) was to arrive. I walked over to the schedule and read it to her: "One at 9:06 and one at 9:26."

She hemmed and hawed and then asked me if I would go over to the liquor store about two blocks away and pick her up a fifth of bourbon. She said she'd "pay" me for it. I checked my watch (knowing all along I couldn't do it or would miss my bus--which came at 8:45) and then told her I didn't have time. She asked me if I thought she had time. I told her I thought she did. So she left, pushing the squeaky baby carriage - containing a sweet-faced little boy, lost in sleepy land - and disappeared up the road. I still had fifteen minutes to go. But she must have jogged as soon as she turned the corner, because she was back in five minutes. I was impressed.

I said, "You made it!"

She just smiled proudly, holding her paper bag, and said, "Mmmm hmm. And you're still here!"

The 717 arrived about four minutes late, and it was the same driver I'd been getting to know; an Asian guy who was such a character, he had me cracking up every time I rode with him. I'll call him "Chang" until I get his first name (I hope that isn't seen as racist--he looks just like an older version of Jackie Chan to me). I'd seen him do all kinds of things... 

One young man asked if he could just ride for free. Chan looked at his watch and said, "Okay!"

There is no food or drink allowed on the bus, but Chan is always scarfing down peanut snacks, and announces the intersections with his mouth full. One big dude, seeing Chan empty the rest of the peanuts into his mouth, said, "Hey driver! I thought we couldn't eat on this bus!"

Chan got on the microphone and said, "You eat as much as you want, I won't tell..." The whole bus cracked up. People ask him if he will let them off short of bus stops - just at random places - an official no-no for sure!

He just says, "Okay!" Then he pulls over to an arbitrary lamp post and says, "Have good night!"

Basically, for me - a guy with little entertainment in his life - I would vote Chan "Best Bus Driver in the Minneapolis Metro Area". And, he has a lead foot. As soon as your bottom touches the seat you're traveling at 40 mph.

I made it back to Cub Foods somehow and thanked Chan, who is beginning to recognize me now.

Then, I walked back to Allyson's with a smile on my face and all the photos above, on my SD card. Mission accomplished!