Loring Park Overrun by Weird Humans

"It's just hard to enjoy an afternoon in the park sometimes," said a local resident, a grey squirrel with a big bushy tail. "I feel like I always have to keep an eye on who's behind me and who's going to aim an empty beer bottle at my head."
The park on the edge of downtown Minneapolis, across Hennepin Avenue from the Walker Sculpture Garden, is a well-known hang out for local squirrels, where families gather to feast on the plentiful acorns that fall from the tall oak trees and the hip, bushy-tailed youth of the city cruise for the possible elligible date.
However, a different sort of park-goer has been noticed in recent years, one that is not altogether welcomed with open paws. "The humans bring a bad element" said a local that has been living in one of the tall trees near the lake for decades. "I don't like the smell of stale beer and urine in the morning, and it's difficult to climb up on the park benches when there are people passing out on them..."

Impulse to post another pointless to be read by Anonymous

So I was in Dinkytown last night, at the invitation of a friend to check out her Gamelan ensemble's practice. That was awesome, of course, though in perhaps a bit overshadowed by the awesome meal that I had before hand. I was just biking around a bit, intending to go back to my old haunt for dinner, Hong Kong Noodle. Then I saw the little Korea Restaurant, tucked there behind Stub and Herb's, easy to miss under the big "Kareoke" sign. Inspired by memories of kimchi soup in Kunming, I ventured into the little place that I'd always wondered about. Awesome.

Bike Samurai

Saturday night surrender

Not everyone need appreciate the intricacies of cutting boards and baking pans, but coming off of a far too long shift at the kitchen store, it took a strong drink at Williams, across the street, to get the image of brightly colored ceramic Le Creuset stockpots out of my mind. An entry of depth, perhaps a bit of content, might be in order, especially in this especially lucid state of mind, but I'm afraid I'm a bit more interested in not really having to think at all. That is all.

This side of town

People come here to Nina's Coffee Cafe, on St. Paul's Cathedral Hill, to write their short stories, or their poetry, or just to be good old St. Paul folks that find themselves blissfully unaware of the affluent-struggling artists that have inundated the place in search of inspiration. And perhaps there is inspiration to be picked out of the air here, maybe behind the stack of local newspapers, through the mist rising from the preparation of someone's latte. Downstairs is Garison Keillor's new bookstore, which is, to no one's surprise, I suppose, a gem and far too well suited for all those writers that might be writers but would rather just buy someone else's book that tells them how to be great writers.
I'm not all that cynical, really. But this is better than actually getting my work done.

I don't need your dumb job

Who wants to work downtown anyway? It's so... geriatric. And those outfits one is forced into, an instituted comformation to the soul-sucking black and grey, shiny shoes of those overpaid drones. They're all screaming on the inside.

Where is he now?

Hai-Ho!
You ought to check out www.tedmeinhover.com. It seems that I have been putting much more effort into that site. No offense to blogger, of course...