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
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, May 16, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
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.
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.
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