Microblog

Packed my boots.

Thoughts were provoked at the Guthrie’s “Frankenstein—Playing with Fire.” The Frankenstein novel was published 200 years ago; applying technologies while ignoring morality damages our society today.

Enjoyed a balanced diet of marzipan, whipped cream, sponge, strawberry jam, and toasted almonds. My mother-in-law’s 85th.

Posted Disaster Tourism.

Cycled home from Stillwater. Appreciated the gentle gradient of the new Brown’s Creek (Rail) Trail from the St. Croix River in Stillwater to the Gateway Trail to St. Paul. Previously we had to climb Stillwater’s grueling Myrtle Street

Cycled to an exuberant bed in Stillwater, Minnesota.

Explored St. Paul’s Highland Park with a friend. Encountered several characters, including the owner of this over-the-top home. Later, we chatted with a spry 89 year-old who was out for a long walk after cycling 16 miles yesterday. She declared “You gotta keep it wigglin’”

Cycled through Jefferson yellow and baby blue on a bridge that was recently sandblasted, primed, and repainted.

Posted In the Event of an Earthquake…

Bicycle helmets rearranged our new haircuts.

Walked through the downtown Minneapolis IDS Center’s gorgeous Crystal Court. Opened in 1972, Philip Johnson’s masterpiece still feels fresh.

Cycled to the Latvian section of a North Minneapolis cemetery. Today, once again, Latvians fear Russian aggression, and an America that promises to look the other way.

Cycled to my weekly gig in this building. A hundred years ago Swedes and Norwegians came here to learn. Today, Somalis follow in their footsteps.

Walked past the dilapidated 1884 Commutator Brass Foundry Co. Building in the Minneapolis Warehouse District. Delighted to learn it will be preserved and incorporated into new construction.

It was a good day for lunch with tater tots, and pulled pork topped with crispy onions, washed down with Surly Furious. Coleslaw provided guilt-alleviating cruciferous.

“What does it mean?” asked a young woman, fresh from an art show at the Weisman. “Whatever you want,” I replied, “Students have been throwing their shoes at that tree for decades.”A student overheard us: “They do it when they graduate,” then he quickly added, “But I won’t.”