This a representative photo showing the hustle and bustle of downtown Minneapolis. I took this while riding the six bus down Hennepin Avenue. The building in the picture is actually a parking garage. It has fake windows to make it look like a restuarant that is under renovation, or simply out of business.

A Rat with Wings Finds a Nest

This is bizarre. I've never seen a nesting pigeon before. This pigeon tried to keep it cool. But you can tell from the expression in its eyes that it knows it's trying to get away with something. It probably just accidentally landed in another bird's nest. Anyway, I saw this nesting pigeon on Hennepin Avenue, and immediately ran home to get my camera. Some people in New York call Pigeons Rats with Wings (the same people who call the ground, "the floor"). I don't think that's fair. Sure they flap around in your hair every once in a while, or get in your way on the sidewalk, or maybe even poop on you (which has only happened to me once). But they don't come into your house and gnaw holes in your box of Grapenuts. They don't scurry. They don't have pink, hairless tails.

The Problem With Books

I have a book problem. Here's a sample of books that I own that I still haven't read. These aren't even close to the top of my Books I Own & Still Need To Read list. Some of my more urgent reads? 1. New York Trilogy, Paul Auster 2. Young Hearts Crying, Dick Yates 3. Victory, Conrad 4. Moons of Jupiter, Alice Munro 5. Herzog, Saul Bellow. Plus I've got a half dozen books that I'm about half way through (Gotham, The World Is Flat, A Crown of Feathers, Dutch Shea Jr, and others). And still I visit the public library at least once a week. Is it possible that I spend just as much time looking for books to read as actually reading books? I'm currently reading Black Swan Green by Dave Mitchell. There isn't enough time to read everything I'd like to. I get the NYer every week and the Paris Review once every three months, and how about the hour I spent this morning reading the NY Times? My problem with books is just that I love them too much.

My room-mate's car nearly got stolen last night. Apparently the thiefs couldn't quite jump start it. The steering column has been wreched out of place. Every coffee shop in town seems to have a robbery story, from armed robbery to over night break in. It's strange. I started at a new coffee shop last week. And the first thing I was shown was footage from a surveillance camera of three men breaking into the back room and pilfering the safe. This was during business hours and the store was full of people. There's a strange crime wave going on. Is Minneapolis simply unconditioned to criminal activities? It definitely gets quite after dark. I rarely see cops. And I never see cops on foot. There just aren't enough people walking around. I've known several people who've been mugged. I guess you're an easy target if you're the only person on the sidewalk.

This has nothing to do with Minneapolis, but I picked up the new New Pornographers album after deciding in advance that I wasn't going to get it. I bought their last record, Twin Cinema, and barely listened to it. I thought, do I really need more of the same? More (obnoxiously?) tight, super frenetic pop songs? But I had a chance to listen to Challengers in the store, and well, I liked it. The new record is sweeter, there's a little more breathing room, I guess. And I'm a sucker for Neko. On a related note that does have to do with Minneapolis, I'm getting impatient for a good Minneapolis band to come out with a new record. I find myself prowling the record stores pouring through the local stuff hoping to find something cool. I picked up a bunch of promising stuff this past winter (Mouthful of Bees, Winter Blanket, Signal to Trust, and even Ela. Though Ela's actual record, compared to a live show, is pretty flat). So my question is, where're all the good bands at?

Minneapolis' Brass Rail Bar (in that old, narrow building on Hennepin Avenue that looks like it's about to cave in out itself) makes an appearance in the liner notes of the new Okkervil River record. So does the Crystal Corner Bar in Madison, Wis (where I saw Rob Krieger of the Doors perform when I was sixteen). Okkervil River is not a MPLS band, they're from Austin, Tex. When I first breezed through the liner notes, I assumed that the photos were of Austin. But what do I know? The last song on the record also references a Washington Avenue bridge (and, actually, the Brass Rail).

I find myself yelling at motorists whenever I walk around uptown. I don't know if this is a sympton of road rage, a personality flaw, or a normal human reaction-called fear-to being in the path of an accelerating two-ton vehicle. Last week, I yelled at an entire family as I crossed Lagoon. It was a mom and three kids, and they turned onto Lagoon as I was trying to cross. All their windows were down, and the kids stared up at me as I said, "I really appreciate this!" And I thought, what's the hurry? I'm the one walking. You're traveling at 30 mph, and you don't even have to stand up to do it. Why not hold on a second so I can get across the street safely? But nope, I was duly ignored. And recently I yelled at a guy who was driving in the bike lane downtown on Hennepin Avenue (not the first time I've see this). I was stopped on my bike at a stop light, and when I looked behind me there was a guy in a purple trans-am, windows down, his newly implanted hair strands undulating in the breeze, and totally happy with himself for taking advantage of this extra lane that other drivers seemed oblivious to. I said, "hey, this is the bike lane!" and he ignored me. We met up again a block later at the next stop light. By this time he'd moved over to the bus lane (a single lane buses use to travel in the opposite direction). I pedaled next to him, and told him he was in the wrong lane. Of course he knew he was in the wrong lane, and continued to ignore me. I repeated myself many times: "Yo, man, that lane is not for cars." As the light changed he turned to me and said, "Give it a break." I'm not sure what I hoped to accomplish by giving him a hard time, except to let him know I was mad that he was making my life a little harder. Maybe if he'd apologized or hadn't been driving the purple trans am (too fucking audacious, it even sparkled like motorcycle helmets from the 70's), I would've been more forgiving. I felt like he was infringing upon my right to bike safely in downtown Minneapolis. As I pedaled away, I uttered the requisite "fuck you." I didn't feel totally satisfied with this exchange. I'd been happy and now I was mad. But then, a moment later, I passed a cop car. I pointed back at the lane offender, still in the bus lane. I don't necessarily like siccing the cops on people, but I couldn't help myself. "We see him," the cop behind the wheel said (he probably saw the guy the whole time he'd been stopped at the light. And probably the guy had seen the cops the whole time, too). Ultimately, I'd rather not exchange words with motorists. It's not entirely civil. And how long until someone gets out of his (or her?) car and beats me up?