Vincent Kartheiser, another smug, bragging, Minnesotan

More bragging, Minnesota-style.  This time, it's one of the few people to leave the state, that smug little twirp Vinnie Kartheiser of Mad Men fame. *Note:  he's also a smug little twirp on the show.   (These are some snippets from some interview he gave here locally on TV in March).

“Because if you’re from Minnesota, you get used to running into people from Minnesota — at least in our industry, you do. All of my friends out here, except a few, are from Minnesota.

There it is.  Even when you Minnesotans leave home, all you do is flock to one another.

"You know, in the music industry, there’s a lot of Minnesotans,” he said.

More bragging.  Why not just say "you know, in Minnesota, existence came to exist.  Along with Music.  And space travel."

“You asked me why I love Minnesota and I think we just create doers."

Like the Twins?  Sorry, I couldn't resist.  But seriously, you think I make this shit up?  Well, here it is, in print.  "Minnesotans are a doing bunch."

"We kind of have a community of people who like to get off their asses and go do stuff. I don’t know if that’s only because there’s, like, three months of the year that you can get off your ass and actually do something? It’s like, ‘Oh my gosh, we can leave the house!’”

A little redundant, I know, but I wanted to include the "oh my gosh."  This is the Gopher Gold where stereotypes come from.  Yes, you, the "most-educated folk" in the nation are nothing more than a bunch of yokels.

“Many, many people I know from Minnesota have great careers out here and I’m constantly running into people from Minnesota. So, I wasn’t surprised and I’m never really surprised. I think it might also have something to do with the fact that we breed a lot and we tend to leave Minnesota, too,” he continued.

Wrong.  Some of you tend to leave Minnesota.  But very few of you do.  In fact, the statistics I've seen suggest that 93% of the people who live in Minnesota stay in Minnesota, so, you're not exactly exporting yourselves like toys from China.  It's also worth noting that for the most "educated state" in the union, your wages aren't competitive with other metropolitan areas.  And just because you have so many colleges doesn't mean that the schools are good, or even competitive outside of Minnesota.  Maybe you have too many colleges, thereby cheapening the value of the college degree? 

Food for thought...

Happy Punch a Minnesotan Day!

The shutdown is over.  The heat index is supposed to read 119.  And you, dear transplant, must fulfill your civic duty of going out and annoying as many Minnesotans as you can today!

Punch a Minnesotan Day

Transplanted to hell?  Tired of dealing with the boorish behaviors exhibited by Minnesotans? Well then, join me for PUNCH-A-MINNESOTAN DAY 2011. 

Now, of course I don't mean that we will literally punch a Minnesotan, that wouldn't be "nice."  (Unless, of course, they're asking for it.  But of course, that means, they would have to ask for it, which isn't something that Minnesotans know how to say without resorting to their passive-aggressive standbys of:  hanging up on you, giving you the silent treatment, talk to you while looking down...You get the drift.  I guess I'm digressing, I guess?)

So how does one punch a Minnesotan without resorting to violence?

Here are some suggestions:

-Tailgaiting them
-Saying you're welcome to a Target cashier before he/she even has the chance to not say "thank you" to you
-Bragging about your city
-Ask them about how they really feel about the Somalians and Hmongs here
-Tell them you can't believe they'll never leave here, even to go to the Wisconsin Dells

Again, these are just some suggestions - there are no hard and fast rules.  So join me this Wednesday, July 20, 2011 for Punch a Minnesotan Day!  You'll be glad you did!

Ask any Minnesotan and they will tell you that this is "The Greatest State in the Union"

Whether you're scrolling through Citypages, reading through what passes for culture in VitaMN, or browsing comments on the ST messageboards, Minnesotans sure love to brag about their fine state.

"We Minnesotans" is the most common thing you will ever hear out of one of these galoots.  (Oh, Gosh, I must be here too long if things like "galoot" are working their way into my vernacular).  Anyway, most (but not all) Minnesotans are a bragging bunch.  They brag about being the birthplace of Target, Best Buy, 3M, Garrison Keilor, Caribou Coffee and the like. 

Unfortunately, if you were to listen to a Minnesotan for more than a day - as I do every day - you might think that Minnesota invented:

-Modern Sport
-Cures for each and every disease that has killed a man, woman or child since Ganghis Kahn
-The notion that the world is round
-The Atom Bomb
-The elbow straw
-Video tele-conferencing

Truth is, Minnesota has made some contributions to the World at large, but none of us outsiders need to hear about it every stinking minute of the day.  You know the saying, "act like you been there before?"  Kind of applies in this instance, dontchaknow? 

I swear, after hearing all of your drivel, I feel like I'm in a frathouse talking to that guy who brags about being able to suck his own dork.  The novelty has long since worn off, and in the end, I'm trapped in this room with a man who can't really see that fellating his own peni really ain't that cool.  Then again, your techniques for fellating thyself bring new meaning to the phrase "Minnesotans suck."

Minnesota Drivers: shit, shitty, shittier, confrontational until you confront them

As anyone who has ever driven in a civilized city will tell you, Minnesota drivers suck.  I mean, it's not just me saying this.  I will agree with those that say their infrastructure does not serve them well, but what really doesn't is their ignorant, arrogant, me-first attitude that leads to the delusions of grandeur that they - the average Minnesotan - are more important than you.  (See:  Minnesota drivers, tailgating)

But what happens when they come running into your lane, nearly slamming into your car, and you give them a courteous honk?  They flip you off.  They continue on into your lane, but continue to flip you off.  So you go ahead and honk your horn again, to let them know that they are in the wrong, maybe cause an accident, maybe put you into the hospital.  So what you do is, you keep honking.  I know, "that's rude."  But they keep flipping you off.  And what happens but, you are next to them at a stoplight, and you are parallel with them and, you roll your window down and, suddenly, the alien-robot hick-yuck Minnesotan dude with the goatee (how 90s of you, Minnesotan, don't you know that Mustaches are back?) looks dead ahead, as you give him a yell, ask him what the problem is, that he might have killed you, but...He.  Looks.  Dead.  Ahead.

And so the passive-aggressive pussy continues staring dead ahead, and the light turns green and you go.  He goes.  I go.  He gets behind me to go.  But he then picks up his cellphone and immediately know that he is calling the police on you for the rude behavior you've exhibited in actually calling him out for being such a horrendous driver.

In Chicago, kids are killed by bullets in gang-ridden neighborhoods.  In Minnesota, children are murdered by passive-aggressive yokels being aggressive only behind the wheel (until confronted), then do their best to whisper behind your back in the form of a call to the police.  Well, asshole, they never got me.  But I'm sure they have an APB out on all confrontational Illinoisans who call you out on your shitty driving.

Oh well, all is well in the world of Minnesota Nice, "doncha know?"

Minnesota, the only place where police are passive-aggressive

I am the most pro-police person you will ever meet.  I really am.  But the police in Minnesota are some of the most passive-aggressive pussies you will ever meet.  Truth be told, I have gotten two tickets since I've been here, but in that same truth, let it be known, each and every incident seemed like something out of a movie - like a colored-guy getting pulled over in the Jim Crowe South, circa, well, the Jim Crowe era.

On the first occassion, I was driving through the airport.  (Yes, you loyal-Minnesotan shitfucks, I now know that they are tough on everyone).  But I was literally dropping someone off, on my second day here.  Oh yee Royal-Mounteed Fuckwad pulls me over as I am nearing the terminal.  He does not say what I did, only asks to see my license and POI.  Suffice it to say, I didn't know what I did wrong until he handed me the ticket.  I was speeding.  Okay, I was with someone on my second day in the good old Twins-Marry-Each-Other-Cities, and I didn't know any better.  Was I speeding?  Quite possibly.  But the pussy-ass cop with the big bad-ass POLICE just went to his car and wrote up his ticket.  No eye-contact.  No explanation.  Ahh, Minnesota Nice!

On the second occassion, I was driving alongside of 494 in one of the suburbs.  In this instance, I know for a fact I wasn't speeding.  How?  Because in this hick-ridden state, I drive under the speed limit by five or so miles per hour (even though every asshole hick in an extended-cab rides my ass), just to avoid being pulled over.  Also in this instance, I never actually passed the cop - I didn't "break his plane."  But just as I was about to ride past him, he throws his siren on and pulls me over.  Again, same fucking thing.  The pussy-ass "crime-fighter" asks for my license.  (Wait, he didn't ask me for my insurance??)  So of course, he makes no eye contact, goes back to his little police mobile and I wait.  He comes back and hands me the ticket.  When I ask him what it was for, he says "Mr. BLANK, do you know how fast you were going?"  "Um, yes, I do.  30 MPH."  "You were going 51 in a 35."  When I started asking him how that was possible, he continued to look down.  I then hit him with the whole "officer, half of my friends and family back home are cops."  He sheepishly interrupted, "so you know."  "Yeah, I know.  I know what it's like to be someone who actually fights criminals, not fabricate shit like this."

Of course, this slack-jawed yokel had no response, other than to say "best you slow down."  And of course, I was livid.  But the pussy did nothing.  This passive-aggressive MSP suburban cop did nothing.  Instead, he walked back to his car, and got into his car.  At the stoplight, we were parallel.  I stared at him.  He would not look up.  Fucking pussy.

So, I have a few questions:  why don't they speak to you, instead of at the ground?  Is it because they were pulling a fast one and didn't expect to be called-out on it?  Kind of seems that way.  And that's kind of the way people are here.  They try and pull things on you because they don't think you'll call them on it.  And what happens when you do?  Their passive-aggressive asses curl-up in a ball, then go motherfuck you to someone who also views you as a foreign-invader.

All police in Minnesota can go fuck yourselves.  Okay, I'd like to lighten-up on that stance, because I do realize that there are cops out here that aren't cowardly weasels (and I salute you).  But all of you other cops up here, you can take a cue from my beloved Chicago Police Department.  You don't fight crime, you write bogus tickets.  So suckit.  Rednecks!

The GOP Debate in New Hampshire: the true definition of Minnesota Nice on display

Did you see Pawlenty on Sunday?  He was all about lighting up Mitt Romney for Universal Healthcare happening on his watch as the Governor of Mass.  Good Old Tim, a former governor himself, even coined the term "Obamney Care."  That's very cute.  Like, "youbetcha" and "donchaknow?"  I mean, he was really getting a kick out of it on Sunday.

But then Monday rolled around.  And he was in New Hampshire.  Unfortunately for him, so was Mitt Romney.  Even more unfortunate for him, so was CNN's John King, who tried to draw him into his seemingly strong stance the day before. So what happened?  Pawlenty - the Minnesota Nice Coward he is - crawled back into his hole.  Why?  Because he is a passive-aggressive waffler, much like most of the people in this godawful state. 

I'd like to throw in a shot or two about Michelle Bachman, but her representing the redneckiest district in this backwoods state will suffice.  But it begs the question:  do she and Timmy Turn-Into-A-Pussy-While-You're-In-My-Presence Pawlenty belong to the same mega-church that spits out goofy right wing idealogues? 

Minnesota Nice: just not to your face

This place Minnesota reminds me of many things.  I've had dreams like it.  No, I've had nightmares.  Have you ever had that dream where you are screaming, moving your arms, hands and mouth, but nothing is coming out?  That's kind of what it's like.  You tell somebody something, but they don't listen.  You ask them something, but they don't want to answer.

For ten months now, I've heard all about this great Minnesota work ethic, "Minnesotans are hard workers, doncha know."

I don't even know where to begin, but the above statement I have heard from many-a-Minnesotans lips' and in the comments section of countless newspapers and blogs is pure lunacy.  It simply doesn't exist.  I am sure that you don't believe me, and I have no statistics to substantiate what I am saying, but let me with you a few anecdotes than run the gamut from poor customer service to shit-all laziness, which stems from this thing called Minnesota Nice.

-Say you have a problem where you live.  No, say you've had a few problems where you live.
Let's say that other tenants have been loud, at all hours, a complete violation of the rules in the "gosh darn" lease, and you explain your problem to the property manager.  Said property manager shows alarm, like "oh gosh, no, Gosh.  I'll let them know.  You betcha."  You are then subjected to the exact same noises, at all hours of the night, with no end in sight.  You go back to the property manager.  You explain that nothing has changed.  You begin to notice a squeamishness in her. (Do note she has a whole lot of Sarah Palin going on, I know, Sarah's from Alaska, but "gosh darn" she sounds like one of these yokels from here - even has horrible glasses!)  Anyway, you pointedly ask her if she said anything.  Silence.  Nothing.  And she gives you that look like you're just a confrontational son-of-a-bitch, but in a nice way.

Or, let's say, you have some asshole fucking meth-heads who park right next to you.  A zig.  A zag.  A car pointed forwards, but never in the right direction.  And, on several nights, you can't park in the garage because their zooted-methi-ness has contorted their ability to navigate two bright-yellow lines which have just been striped.  So, you go to the property manager.  And you tell her.  And what does she say?  She tells you that she has other parking spaces.  You explain that you don't want another parking space.  This.  Is.  The.  Parking.  Space.  You.  Were.  Assigned.  This is the parking space you pay for every month, on time, and what would be right about getting what you paid for?  So said property manager says that she will take care of it.  What happens?  Days pass before the car is moved.  Like.  Three days.  And then it happens again and again.  And you ask her if she talked to them.  She doesn't really respond.  Because if she did, she'd be inclined to say "yes," which is a lie. And lying is not nice.  Lying is not Minnesota Nice.  But Minnesota Nice is the reason every fucking asshole here smiles politely, then does nothing to solve the problem.

-Let us say that you have a problem.  You do the reasearch to have said problem resolved, by looking up the appropriate service providers of said problem.  You call said problem solvers, and they say that they will get someone out to solve your problem.  Except, they don't come to solve your problem when they're supposed to.  So you get on the horn and call the problem solvers, and they sound aloof, and maybe that's a common characteristic with the locals (it sure as hell is), but they say they are working on it.  Except now, they don't sound confident.  You call them back.  They waffle.   You wait.  At the end of your day, they call and say they can't solve your problem.  You ask them about tomorrow.  Sure.  Repeat what happened today.  And the day after tomorrow, same thing.  And finally they send someone out to figure out what might be your problem.  But they can't solve the problem today, it's going to have to be next week.  Whatever, I don't care.  But why don't you just save me all of the trouble by telling me you're busy and you cannot make it?  Would have saved all of us a lot of trouble.

Incidentally and anecdotally (of course), people approach me with problems all of the time.  I'm like Harvey Keitel as the Wolf (in Pulp Fiction).  I solve fucking problems!  But you have to ask me.  If you don't ask me, I will not solve the problem.  And when you go and say to someone else you have a problem that I need to solve, it would probably work a little bit better if you actually fucking asked me instead of whining to a co-worker that I am not solving the problem.  But that would be too easy.  Instead, you sit on your ass, read your paper, take your little smoke-breaks (like clockwork), and act as though going to work and actually doing your fucking job instead of being a cowardly Minnesotan.  Are you starting to catch on that I will not solve your problem if you don't fucking ask?  Oh gosh, no, darnit, it's much easier to complain about you behind your back. 

Well, I'm spent.  Another couple of months in this backwoods hellhole. 

What other blogs and their transplanted commenters have to say about Minnesota

Hardly original on my part, but the comments in on this post are worth their weight in gold. 

http://blondebombchelle.blogspot.com/2007/10/top-10-things-i-hate-about-minnesota.html

Minnesota Passive Aggressive II: never repeat yourself to the food girl

There's a great place in this area with decent lunches for reasonable prices.  They have hot specials everyday, for a really reasonable price.  On my third day in this establishment, I decided that I didn't want the hot special, but a sub.  So what I did was, I ordered the sub.  When the girl taking my order asked me what I wanted on it, I told her everything. 

Of course, everything was going smoothly until I asked her, "can you gut the bread?"

"We cut the bread."

"I know you cut the bread, I said gut."

"We cut the bread."

"I know you cut the bread, but I said gut.  GUT."

At this point, all of the girls behind the counter - I'm guessing ten of them - stop.  The Lead Order Taker, somewhat politely steps in and asks "what do you want?"

I don't think it's a big deal.  I didn't raise my voice, except to annunciate the "g" in "gut," and I explained what I want.  Being from Chicago, I am used to asking for my bread to be "gutted" at Potbelly's.  If you're unfamiliar with Potbelly's or how I order my sandwich, pay attention at Subway when they're working on the old sandwich board.  What they do is, they cut out the center of your bread so that your choice of toppings is less prone to slide out (and I am guessing so that it seems like they are actually filling your bread, but that's another argument for a blog about fast food - which I won't be writing).

After all is said and done, Lead Order Taker explains it to the girl who doesn't understand my jargon.  I get my sandwich, I'm gone.

----

The very next day and the exact same time, I walk into this little joint.  I am standing there, trying to decide what I want.  I'm looking back behind the counter, and the "Gut-not-Cut Girl" looks right at me, turns, and whispers something in her co-workers ear.  They both laugh and go into the back where they are doing their chickens.

She then comes out and asks every single person in line if she can take their order but me.  This goes on for five minutes, all the while, she refuses to make eye contact with me.

And this is another exercise in Minnesota Nice.

Minnesota Nice liquor store and the local news

I was in a liquor store the other day, and there was a white man and a black woman.  They seemed to be down on their luck.  The poor white guy actually gave the store owner all change, mostly pennies, for a 40-oz jug of whatever-popular-on-the-streets-right-now.

White guy and black lady walk out of the liquor store and just as the door closes, the owner, while gesturing to them, says to me:  "Guy could brush his teeth for once."

===

And so it is true, this is the mindset.  On the news today, the state legislature argues about cutting out the fat in the state budget.  One Nordic-type of representative - a Democrat who may really be nice (and not just the "Minnesota Nice") - argues that stripping funding for much-needed programs for those with disabilities would really hurt a lot of people who would really struggle. The ABC afiliate here had a nice tie-in with a mother taking care of her 28-year old daughter who became disabled at the age of five from an infection.  Nothing wrong here at all.

But then it happens.  They move onto other news:  Arnold and the Maid.  The kid.  The kid Arnold and the Maid had at the same time Maria was pregnant.  Snarky Anchor #1 refers to it as his love child.  Snarky Anchor #2 passes her own judgement, which, if they were black women, would amount to "Nigga Please he be dippin his noodle up all ova," except these are two "professional" journalists, who should be reporting the news instead of editorializing it.  It's called unprofessional, and it's Minnesota Nice.

Now, let's hypothesize:  Arnold, his former Maid and their "Love Child" walk into the local ABC afiliate, see Love Child, Maid, and Arnold:

Snarky Anchor #1:  "oh gosh, he's darned cute, ya know."

Snarky Anchor #2:  "yaaah.  He's got the most beautiful tanned skin."

Snarky Anchor #1:  "you betcha."

Arnold and Maid bring Love Child to the vending machines (all this media attention is making him nervous, and thirsty!)

Snarky Anchor #2 turns to Snarky Anchor #1:  "goshdarn Mexicans."

Snarky Anchor #1 replies:  "Mexicans?  Goshdarn foreigners, Austrians included."

Arnold, Maid and love Child return.  Snarky Anchors greet them with the most sincere pleasantries.  The pleasantries they greet them with are, well, they tell them about the weather in Minnesota and fail to ask what California is like this time of year. 

That is Minnesota Nice.

Message to anyone considering transplanting to MSP

If you like chain stores, chain restaurants, chain stores that are attached to chain restaurants which are attached to giant malls which contain more chain restaurants and chain stores, do yourself a favor and don't come here.  There is no such thing as "independent" here.  The only independence you will feel here is that feeling of loneliness created through the cold, hard stares you will get from the locals here.

It's the kind of loneliness you feel when you, alone, arrive in a foreign country, say, the Sudan.  Except, things aren't color-coded here.  No, your potential isn't some muslim who has an axe to grind with Westerners, but a pale, icy, slow-witted slug who probably looks like Bill Macy, Phillip Seymour Hoffman.  Though I am white, he or she - who looks like Bill Macy or Phillip Seymour Hoffman - is whiter.  Colder.  Colder and whiter from brutal winters and lack of any and all stimuli, or something outside of the (Big) box.  Stores, that is.

Recently, Minnesota was named the "Most Hipster State" in the country.  I'm not sure what that means.  But after being here since October, I can tell you that is hardly the case.  Sure, you will see lots of people on bikes.  Sure, you will see lots of people on bikes at all times of the year.  And surely, you will see lots of people on lots of different bikes in lots of different types of weather, throughout the year.  But go through any area of this country with a lot of small, "liberal arts" types of colleges, and the pseudo-intellectuals many of them attract, and you will find this.  Think Berkeley, or all of the out-lying areas of school-centric Boston, and you will find these types.

But the hard and cold truth is that neither Minneapolis or St. Paul does not have these types.  No, what they have are wannabees.  What they have in Minneapolis and St. Paul are people trying way too hard to achieve an aesthetic that has already run its course.  Why, there are many parallels between the words "hipster" and "douche-bag."  Very easy labels to pin on someone.  In fact, they are almost too easy.

So let's get past the bikes, and deal with cold hard facts.  What do Minneapolis and St. Paul have that qualify them as cultural meccas?  Um, outside of nothing, three music clubs (Triple Rock, Cedar Cultural Center and Turf Club - say, yall here Lady GooGa was there last Summer, hyuck hyuck), there is absolutely no music scene.  Bands don't really stop here.  And believe me, I recognize this irony, but the band Chicago recently sold out here. 

"Oh, but Soul Asylum and Prince are from here!"

That's great.  But I'd rather you tell me why Prince left for so long, and where Soul Asylum is, other than playing shows in and around your beloved TCs!  No, wait, what I would like to here about is the band Low! But of course I won't, because most of you local yuksters probably never heard of them.

So what else???  Amy Adams lived here for a while?  Great talent, beautiful girl and filled with charm.  But, is this really all you have?  I've already told you how much I love Franken, the Coens and the Replacements, but, maybe you could follow their lead and get out for a change of scenery.  You might actually find yourselves living in a multi-cultural world where there are more people to hate than Somalians and Hmongs. 

"Hey, yaaaah, let's go to the mall Sven."

"I already toldja Sufjan, I don't go to MOA, now.  It's all the tourist.  Yaah."

"Yaah, you betcha.  Eden Prairie then?"

"Yaaaaah."
Of course, I jest.  But you cold, humorless people would hardly get that.  You're too busy with your phony, Minnesota Nice.

Minnesota Passive-Aggressive: Nordic Hamburger Patty in the Laundry Room

9:00 AM 

And so I am in the laundry room of the large apartment building where I live.  There are three washers.  There are three dryers.  I am loading my clothes into two of the washers, when this Nordic Hamburger Patty of a human wreck comes in.  She a woman, of very large stature.

"Oh gosh you can use all three if you want I'll just come back. Oh no its okay its okay I'll just come back just use all three."

She says this politely, but she speaks so nervously, with so much pent-up frustration, that when I say to her, "I'm only using two."

"Oh no, it's okay goshdarn I'll just come back."

She manages to pick up all of her laundry and walk out the door.  I finish loading my laundry into the washers.  Lights with lights.  Darks with darks.  (I'd insert a joke about the neighborhoods back in Chicago being so segregated, but that wouldn't be so "nice" now would it?)

Anyway, flash-forward to 34 minutes later, when I walk back into the laundry room because I know that my two loads will be done, when I find that the fine Minnesotan who left their two loads in the dryer 34 minutes before (finished, mind you), still hasn't come back to get them.

One who can adapt to anything, I do what any prudent person would do, and take one load out, and put it into the only open dryer.  As I am doing this, this Nordic Hamburger Patty, all nervous and oh-so-polite, comes in with her things and says, "oh gosh, are ya done with tha three washing machines yet?"

"I am done with the one, the other two are open.  I'm waiting for the dryer."

No reply.  She nervously rummages through her Nordic Hamburger Patty panties, and I go through my colored load to get something out that I don't want to shrink.  I take said item out and walk out the door. 

I am gone all of five minutes, when I return to find my wet colored load in my basket, courtesy of NHP. At this point, I'm irrate and of course, there's only one suspect, that Thing. 

Now, if I were Minnesota Nice, I would have bit my lip, but I'm from Chicago, and unless you're some sort of crazed criminal with a penchant for others wet laundry, you have violated my space.  Politeness being the better part of valor, or something like that, I calmly asked this woman "did you take my laundry out of the washer?" 

She wouldn't acknowledge me.  Nothing but nervous rummaging.

A little louder, with a little more heart.  "Mam, did you take my laundry out of the washer?" 

She quickly turns, nervous as hell "I need all three and you weren't here."

"I was gone five minutes."

"I need all three and I need all three gosh darn I do."

At this point, I can't tell you what I said.  Well, I'll tell you what I said, and it's this:  "what the fuck are you doing touching my shit?  Fucking play all nice, with your nice bullshit?  You don't touch my shit!"

At this point, she's pulling all of her stuff from the machines, wanting to say something, anything, but all that she could muster up were phony pleasantries.  It was like I opened up the robot, exposed all its wires, doused it in water and short-circuited the thing.

Pulling all of my clothes from the washer is very passive aggressive.  And say what you will about my response, but her self-centered, cowardly move is the real Minnesota Nice.

My mission statement: to encourage outsiders to think twice before moving to the Twin Cities

What can I say?  I'm in shock.  I've been here since last October, and I am still in shock.  Coming from Chicago, I had no idea that my neighbors to the north and west would be so ignorant, smug and rude to outsiders. 

If you are an out-of-towner considering a move to Minnepolis-St. Paul, I'd advise you to think again, and if you think it has anything to do with the weather, I assure you it doesn't.  While seven months of winter isn't something I'm fond of, the weather in Chicago isn't that much better.

No.  It's the people.  It's the attitude.  It's the me-first mentality of these people.  They think their way is better than your way.  They think that they are the center-of-the-universe.  Sometimes it's hard to describe, but when you are talking with someone, you aren't actually talking to them.  No.  What you are doing is actually listening to a monologue.  They may ask you how your day is going, but they really don't want to hear an answer.  They don't want to hear about you, your family, your city, or any of the things that make you a human.  No, they want to go on and on about their day, their family, why their family and their city are so important to them.  I could go on and on about this, but I won't.  Suffice it to say, this is Minnesota Nice. 

As I said earlier, my journey started in October, and I never could  have imagined it would be this way.  From what you see on the internet or say, the Food Network, you'd really think this is one sophisticated and urbane place.  Think Montreal meets New York, but on a smaller scale.  I mean, who doesn't love the humor of Al Franken or the Coen Brothers?  Who doesn't love the Replacements or Prince?  Who doesn't love the hilly, foresty topography, and having all of these lakes and rivers?  Who doesn't want to live in a bike-friendly place where there is seemingly a food co-op on every corner? 

Okay, maybe those things aren't for everybody.  But they are things I like and admire, and I can't really like and admire them anymore.  You know why?  It's the people, stupid.  It's the stupid people living in this stupid state that makes it impossible to like.  And  I really can't wait to get out.  I am literally counting the days.  Unfortunately, there's quite a few left.  So, for my sanity, I will be posting my musings about the awful people I've encountered in this place.  It's my form of therapy.