Holy Time-eater, Batman!

By Myrtle Schmeckpepper

The West Hotel, which used to tower over 5th and Hennepin. I'm slobbering all over turn-of-the-century downtown right now.

This is some dangerous business I’ve gotten into. I’ve always thought I nurse an unhealthy level of obsession with details and certain subject matters–old-timey things and local trivia being two big ones of late. To this end, I caught onto a series of Web sites detailing the old-timey architecture of Minneapolis; past, present, and demolished.

Hi, I'm James Lileks. I like old stuff too!

Very interesting stuff, and described in the fun, irreverent voice of Strib columnist James Lileks.

‘Gee, this is a fun way to spend a few minutes on a Friday afternoon,’ I thought.

Then I started peeling the onion. A) This guy is all over the internet, and B) He makes my obsessions look practically ADD in comparison. Take the red pill and follow me down the wormhole, if you will:

Here’s his main “Minneapolis” Web site. Nested inside are five different sites, each devoted to the architectural history in different aspects of our fair city. Inside each of those sites are a half-dozen to a dozen slide shows on the notable buildings contained within.

• There’s Downtown: the granddaddy of the sites, with 40 (count ‘em, 40!) or so slide shows illustrating the greatest architectural hits of then and now, lovingly scanned by hand. All your old pals are there: city hall, Wells Fargo/Norwest, and my personal favorite–scrappy, egotistical little Foshay. Fo’ sho? Yes, Foshay. 
  

  I was the tallest cat in town for a while, I swear!

• There’s the Long Gone section, which–dear god, I didn’t know how deep this goes. The title explains it all, but Lileks (bless him) further breaks our dearly departed structures into more subcategories: Office Blocks, Hotels, the Gateway District, Theaters, Nicollet Ave.–Oh, dear, I’m going to need some smelling salts.
• There’s the University–perhaps we’ll find out how Dinkytown got so dinky.
• The Lakes! My local-trivia sense is tingling.
• And finally, Modernism. Not my favorite (so angular! so unadorned! so avocado!) but still interesting.

I’ve made it through downtown so far, and I figure I’ve got a solid 12 hours of timewasting left in these bad boys, easy. But the thing is, he’s continually updating and adding to them! It’s a Sisyphean task, keeping up. Hats off to you, Lileks, you are the master. I hope that one day I can be as fixated and focused as you. But until then a warning to everyone else:

Don’t click on The Leamington post. You’ll be there for days.

Restaurant Review: Jasmine Deli

Well, kids, after about 10 visits to Eat Street’s Jasmine Deli, I can no longer keep my praise for the place confined to street-corner soapboxes. I must take it to The Internets, where it might be heard by all who would be delighted by a big bowl of noodley goodness.

Coping With Winter: Tea Time!

News flash: despite what the miraculous rash of warmth that descended on our fair cities for the last week or so might indicate, it’s only the middle of February. That’s right, folks, approximately 2.5 months of winter to go. And even though 35 degrees (positive!) is a far cry from the negative-14 we cursed for most of January, it’s still cold by any standard. So what’s a chilly, financially challenged person to do when she desperately needs a warm-up, but can’t afford the 70%-cacao pure Guatemalan hot chocolate she craves?

MinnePup: Little Fuzzy Mutts

Ladies and Gentlemen, kind hearts the world over: Prepare yourselves for an explosion. A big one.

New Hero: James J. Hill

By Myrtle Schmeckpepper

Based solely on the below quote, old-timey railroad baron James J. Hill is my new hero:

Give me enough snuff, whiskey, and Swedes, and I’ll build you a railroad to hell!

Now, personally, had I access to those materials, I might use them differently, but I guess that’s why I’m not a transportation tycoon.

MinnePup: Leona the Hound Mix

By Myrtle Schmeckpepper

We here at MinnePop have a soft spot for animals, especially man’s best friend. Case in point: Sadie, the official MinnePup, a Goldendoodle who enjoys chasing squirrels and tossing pine boughs in the air, and rarely wants for attention from her doting owners.

Unfortunately, Minneapolis is full of unwanted, homeless dogs, so we (along with Wags & Whiskers Animal Rescue of Minneapolis) would like to take time each week to tell you about an adoptable dog who could really use a nice home and a belly rub. We’re calling this feature “MinnePup.” Cute, no? Not as cute as this pooch

Fun at the Library: “The Dark, Delirious Morning”

By Myrtle Schmeckpepper

Welcome to the first in what we hope will be a regular series: “Fun at the Library.” The authors of this blog, being young and only good at things that no longer have a practical value, aren’t exactly making $100-bill sandwiches in our panini presses. ‘Oh, woe to us,’ we thought, ‘for we have no monies with which to buy books and magazines and music and movies, all of which we enjoy so well. If only there were a place where we could borrow these items for free and then return them.’ Well, friends, such nirvana does in fact exist right here in Minneapolis (and the suburbs, too!) The Hennepin County Library system (formerly Minneapolis Public Libraries–RIP, urban homie. I dug your logo.) The city is littered with magical places where you may ask for any book, CD, DVD or magazine your heart desires and it will be delivered to the library closest to you with your very own name on it–sort of a “dibs” system, if you will. Sure, you might have to wait a few days or months for it, but it’s free, and beggars can’t be choosers. We Minnepoppers do this a lot. So, we’ve decided to share the love and report back on the things we read, listen to and watch courtesy of the lovely library, good and bad. First up, local dude Chris Koza’s latest, The Dark, Delirious Morning.

Music Review: “The Silver City”

By Myrtle Schmeckpepper

Let’s start with this: I really, really wanted to love Jeremy Messersmith‘s new album, The Silver City. But I can’t even make myself like it.

The first time I heard one of Messersmith’s songs, it was “Light Rail,” I was driving, it was on The Current, and I was hooked. It had everything: hand claps, horns, streetcars, local references, use of the word “spendy” in all seriousness–the perfect ode to our towns’ burgeoning public transit system. The song was permanently lodged in my head, and I immediately wanted more. Naturally, I popped onto the Minneapolis Public Library’s website, searched “Messersmith,” and requested that the artist’s first album, The Alcatraz Kid, be sent to my local branch. The library, however, had not yet purchased The Silver City–the well from which “Light Rail” sprang–which gave me a major sad.

So I waited for a couple of months and did my homework in the meantime. I learned that Messersmith is a young, local guy (cool), that he participated in The Current’s “Songs from Scratch” contest (also cool), that “The Silver City” is a nickname given to Minneapolis’s skyline (awesome), and that Messersmith’s inspiration for this album came from life in Minneapolis and the surrounding areas–it was a tribute, of sorts (SOLD).

Brimming with anticipation, I thought ‘screw the library’ (such impure thoughts will never cross my mind ever again, I swear), sucked it up and bought the album on iTunes. I listened to it that night, and around Track 7 (“Love You to Pieces”), a tiny little trumpet in my heart went “wah-wah” as I realized that this album and I were just never going to work. And it wasn’t my fault.

Aside from “Light Rail”, which remains as brilliant as ever, The Silver City is just a big bag of mixed metaphors and syrupy cliches. Stop me if you’ve heard these vanguard turns of phrase before:

“I held too tight, and it broke”

“We laughed so hard it hurt”

“I’d lose everything for you”

“Do you believe in miracles?”

And finally, ladies and gents, prepare to enter a new and uncharted era in art: He compares a woman to a car in “Breaking Down.” Get it? Cars can break down, and also, women. It’s one of those new-fangled metaphors.

And the music’s actually quite good: big, open, Copland-y chords, fun horn sections, decent melodies. But I just can’t get past the dopey lyrics. I tried twice, too; I gave the whole record two open-minded spins in different environments, but it just didn’t work. Even the inclusion of an adequate cover of “Skyway” by local Zeus-of-Rock Paul Westerberg can’t redeem the album. When you start out with such a marvelous and lovely song, I’m sorry, but I won’t applaud you for simply singing it well.

So there you have it, Jeremy. You’ve got the music and the ideas, just stop cribbing lyrics from the Hallmark section at Target. (Oh, and I and about 3,000 others caught on to the Postal Service rip-0ff in “Miracles.” Come on, dude. The Postal Service? You’re taking material from a band that existed solely to support a 5-year-0ld Zach Braff movie? I expected more from you.)

Next time, make Mama proud.

Of Belts and Brothels

By Myrtle Schmeckpepper

This is Henry Held:

Henry runs a leather goods/shoe repair shop in Ely, where we found ourselves over Thanksgiving weekend. One of us needed a new belt (the doodle had made quick work of an old one in her puppy chewing phase, which has yet to end–RIP, new mittens,) so of course we went to Henry. These belts are custom-made of genuine moosehide, and Henry doesn’t mess around when trying to sell you one:

“All belts have a lifetime guarantee. If your dog chews it up or you pull a pickup-truck out of a ditch with one you’re on your own, but other than that, your belt will outlast both of us.”

Sold. So anyway, into a hole-in-the-wall next to the canoe outfitters. “Brown or black,” Henry asks. Brown, and he gets to work, measuring the old belt to decide where the holes should be, stamping them out with an old-fashioned hole-punch that looks more than a little medieval, rounding off the end with a hammer and a sharp stamp. Perfect fit, if a little stiff, just needs to be worked in a bit.

The whole process takes about ten minutes, but here’s the thing about Henry: During those ten minutes, the four of us relive his hitchhiking trip down the pacific coast of Mexico, set in (at various points) a mansion on the ocean, a brothel, and a pickup truck careening down a mountain. You can tell he wants to keep talking, but we’ve got a parade to get to. (Fast-forward: the parade, themed “Festival of Fish Houses,” was not all it was cracked up to be. Note to Ely: let’s learn a thing or two from the July 4 extravaganza down main street. Now THAT was a parade.)

“Are you Buddhist, by any chance?” Henry asks. Nope. “Too bad, I would have given you a discount so you wouldn’t come back to get me in a next life.” Still, all told, it was definitely worth $35.

Go see him for some moosehide mittens, gloves or wallets, and ask him to tell you the one about the apartment on Hennepin and the motorcycle.

R.T. Rybak is an Arctic Fox

Let's go snowshoeing in Theo Wirth Park together!

If he ran the world, we’d all ride trolleys and read books and listen to music and play outside all day.