multimedia blog
Snapshots: The Midwest in the Summer
The Wisconsin town, near the cabin we regularly visit, has an annual festival named after the kind of fish the area's lakes are famous for. Only two hours away from the Twin Cities, the cabin is a popular summer destination for those of us in Lowertown who can't afford Hawaii or California. Meanwhile, in the run-up to the Festival, there were several oddities and activity to photograph in Lowertown, Saint Paul. All photos taken with a Motorola Razr V3xx cameraphone.
GLIMPSES OF LOWERTOWN, SAINT PAUL
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The Outback Steakhouse blimp over Lowertown's Farmers Market, 19 July 2007.
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Kari, another Year of the Monkey friend living in Austin, TX, sent me this photo.
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I sent Kari a photo of Lowertown's Dancing Monkey Institute in response.
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This street corner in Lowertown reminds me of a modern take on a medieval romance tale, involving a beautiful princess, imprisoned in an unscalable artists' loft while her prince pines away at the crossroads of both of their lives — getting regularly pissed on by thunderstorms yet nonetheless holding on to the pastoral vision of heaven on earth that their love affair is supposed to be.
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On Kellogg Boulevard, the renovated Great Northern Warehouse yuppie condos use the name of the cross street to attach some undeserved pretention to its address. Wall Street in Saint Paul starts at a car park and ends a few small blocks later at a gas station. When this glass panel first went up in the mid-2000s, the joke was that it would be funny to attach the following note to a brick tossed through the panel: WE HAVE MORE BRICKS THAN YOU HAVE FANCY GLASS PANELS MISLABELING OUR STREET FOR REASONS OF PRETENTION. To date, no one has actually done this, but the idea holds enduring appeal.
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DJ Del6 spins at the usual Friday happy hour at The Black Dog Cafe & Wine Bar in the hours before the rest of us left town for the Wisconsin cabin.
Even though there is typically almost nothing going on in Lowertown, and everyone spends all winter whining about the weather, it is notoriously hard to get people to the cabin, where they can do nothing in a far more productive way, and get a suntan while they are doing it.
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DJ Dog on the official Roo pillow, guarding Del6 LPs.
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Potter Amy fires up a Racu kiln in the backyard of the Tilsner as the rest of us are about to head out of town on the Friday night.
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ON THE ROAD
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In the town of Luck, Wisconsin, the unfortunately designated water tower that serves the Durex factory. Whatever ingredients end up in condoms, one would hope that lucky water isn't one of them.
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AT THE CABIN
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It's all about the sun in the Midwest. Get it while it's here.
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On the stage, some old timers play music at the town's festival. Later at night, the bad cover bands with 30-minute-long Freebird solos will come out on Main Street to torment the then-drunken masses. The rain stopped the Sunday parade in the small town near the cabin. Several big events have been rained out this summer by thunderstorms. More no doubt will follow.
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The fish fry component of the town's weekend annual festival. Can't beat this much grease for just $5!
In a nearby stall, you will find mouse races that you can bet on! The town definitely has an appealing Twin Peaks quality to it.
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SUNSET ON THE LAKESHORE
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Sunset and moon over the lake.
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Sunset off the cabin's lakeside dock.
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Tony fishing on the dock at sunset.
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ON THE DOCK
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Roo Dog, meet a crayfish.
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Unarmed, Roo contemplates fish in a barrel and his unfortunate lack of opposable thumbs.
Left: Roo examines the barrel of fish while making a number of curious and frustrated noises that entertain the crowds.
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Roo on the edge of the dock, fixated on a floating stick. Will he? Won't he? Tony's girlfriend, Julie, has a good laugh at the Roo, whose vocalizations—when he is cut off from sticks by water and height—are pretty amusing.
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Taking the lower height option of launching from the bank rather than the dock, the Flying Roo stretched out over water.
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Roo and a fish.
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Summer reading. The collected Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy books and The Bible. Some would argue that both are the same book.
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The Sphinx is getting old at age 17 and is starting to pee regularly in the house. In the various preliminary discussions about putting her to sleep, someone invariably suggests a cheap and sick solution. This photo was taken to torment a friend who is a veterinary assistant.
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