25 July, 2010

And I thought yesterday was going to suck.

I woke up yesterday in a funk, just convinced that the day was going to be lousy. So I got up and got in the shower, thinking, Oh, yeah, I have lasagna pasta. I should probably make lasagna tonight. I got dressed and greeted Janis in the office with my coffee in hand, looking for the scratch pad so I could draw up a grocery list.
After about a half hour of trying to figure out if I was forgetting anything, I bid Janis adieu and made my way to Aldi. As I crossed through Washburn Fair Oaks Park, the weather seemed pleasant, you know, not bad. Saw across 22nd that Lynn had some scaffolding up on the old carriage house. Probably repairs that Karl never got to. Crossed the street by the Bauhaus and down past the St. Stevens shelter, turned left on 4th toward Franklin, and before I was halfway down the block to the Electric Fetus, I was dumbstruck by how nice everything seemed and I became aware of a slight smile creep across my face as I gazed out the Minneapolis skyline from the Franklin bridge.
As I made it to Aldi by noon, I was in and out in fucking fifteen minutes, three of which were spent in line, as opposed to what normally happens if I show up at two o'clock: I spend twenty minutes stuck behind a klatch of Somali women bickering at each other about - I don't know, something, but definitely not even interested in groceries, an accumulated total of forty seconds tripping over some unmonitored fuckin' Bébé's kids, and fifteen minutes in a line stretching halfway back into an aisle while somebody tries to haggle with one of two cashiers.
I actually have the feeling sometimes that I've crossed over into Interzone when I go grocery shopping. This time - what? Interzone. You know? Jesus, motherfucker tries to make one goddamned literary reference and you have to get all Philistine about it. Google it on your own time.
ANYhoo, this time was a breeze. So much so, in fact, that on my walk home, my groceries didn't feel all that heavy. Weather wasn't too hot. It was... nice.
Got back home and realized I forgot the spinach. No big deal, I'll just hit the bodega over on 3rd. I could just go down to Hark's but the selection is shite and iffy. So, hey, back through the park I go. Out of the park and on 3rd, coming up on Franklin, this guy who is way too damn happy hands me a flier and tells me about this arts festival going on down at 26th and Stevens and there's free BBQ. Then he scurries off.
Get down to the bodega and I see one of the new city bikes inside the door and this six foot six black guy yelling at Ghandi, "Ima wait till this muthafucka leaves before I start cussin you out cause all you doin is talkin bullshit." I don't know what to make of this but -
Ooh, there's Hawaiian Punch. You know? It's a hot day, I'll treat myself.
And while I'm reaching in the cooler, the guy keeps yammering on to Ghandi. Here's what I could gather: A) His bike was stolen. B) He is owed this bike. C) It doesn't even belong to the city but the arts council. D) Ghandi don't know what the fuck he talkin' 'bout. E) Motherfucker brought him this bike. F) It was supposed to be back at ten thirty but... G) Look at your watch. What time is it? Shit is noon. H) Mothafuckas bitchin' about it being an hour and a half late so fuck it.
I grab my bag of frozen spinach and a bag of frozen corn and head up to the counter to see my man Ghandi about some cheap squares.
Ghandi asks how I've been, I tell him it's lasagna night.
"Oh. Who's cooking?"
I can't trust anybody else to make lasagna.
Ghandi starts laughing his ass off.
Ghandi tosses me some cheap squares and I head off, telling him to have a good one.
Walk up to the liquor store to prepare for the weekend, meaning a case of Pabst and a six of something nice. Got Schell's Zommerfest. Get back, tell Janis about the arts festival. She says she's interested in going and checking it out after she gets back from grocery shopping. I say cool.
As the dorm above my room cleared out, I felt free to let the amps fly and practiced for about an hour before the guilt set in that I had yet to put down the vocals which are the last thing that need to be tracked for CaSa012. It just seems like every weekend, the dorm above me is occupied to various degrees and I've noted before that you can't have the people who give you money for a comfortable stay think that there is a screaming, howling maniac in the basement. Even if there is.
But I turn to mixing after practice, and find I just need to fade off some tails. Janis comes down and asks if I still want to go to the shindig on 26th. I say sure. Grab my hat and my bag and we head out. The arts festival wasn't really all that interesting. It had lots for the kids to do and there were hippies selling ugly jewelry. We go inside a gallery and there's some bird doing some recital thing, you know, like mixed poetry / stand up comedy thing, where the story teller is oh! so literary that they over inflect everything. Her story begins with, "There's never really an appropriate time to cry in a grocery store..."
Oh, fuck. She went to art school. She has issues with calling her mom and probably a chocolate lab named Lexie or some shit. I can't see her shoes but I bet they're Berkenstocks. I fucking bet. Probably has the first season of Grey's Anatomy on her NetFlix cue. Fucking A, man. Let's split.
So Janis wants to stop off for a beer. Before we get to Pancho's, she wants to check out this vintage store. I got nothing else going on. We get in there and it's obviously geared more toward ladies' fashion. There's an awesome picture of a Mountie on the wall alas no price tag. Fuck. Well, great. Ladies' clothes, huh? This is bor-
Ferrante & Teicher - West Side StoryHot rats! Look at this selection! Abba, Louis Armstrong, Cheap Trick, damn. Ooh, West Side Story! I wonder what these are going for.
Sign says LPs are four beans each. The Cheap Trick record is marked up to eight bucks, though. Sure, it's in mint but I already dropped thirty five on groceries and another twenty five on liquor, that's sixty beans right there and that was before one o'clock. West Side Story is still only four and I don't want to be the asshole that cruises through the vinyl and walks out. Especially when the selection is this boner-inducingly awesome. So I pay my four bucks at the counter and play one of those cocktail table Ms. Pacmans set to free play that they have in there while I wait for Janis.
She buys herself some scarves and we make way to Pancho's until Janis spots the Black Forest Inn and we decide to give that place a shot since the patio looks pretty cool and neither of us had been there. Mofo, they got imports for five bucks a half-liter. Yeah. You read that right. You can get a "mug", a half-liter, or a liter. I get this stuff, Köstich or something, thick black beer, not far off from Guinness, bitter with a coffee finish. They sat us next to the fountain which was cool.
Anyway, this older bird comes out and begins playing accordion, starts going from table to table and she's getting closer to ours so I tell Janis I'm going to hit the head before she gets over here so I'm not blocked in. When I get back, Janis had made a request and the accordion lady chats us up after she finishes up. Comes about that I like the movie Charade, so the accordion lady just breaks out the theme. Right there on the spot. It was quite wonderful, actually. Janis snapped this picture of me while I was listening:
Got home. Made my lasagna. Watched Lost in Translation. At the end of the night, with a reasonable buzz on, I step outside for a smoke and the cute bird from Detroit who's staying in 204 is out on the patio having a smoke.
Mind if I join you?
Had a nice little chat. She didn't seem too eager to go to bed despite her repeated remarks that she ought to. Then the loud-mouthed guy from down south opened the back door. She saw him coming out and said, "Yeah, I'm going to bed."
Cool. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow?
Not a bad way to cap off a nice day like it was.
Fuck it. What did you do yesterday?

1 comment:

  1. Accordion players (and yeah, I kept in mind that that includes our grandfather)


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