Best Writer in the Twin Cities

/ Tim / 1 Comment

Our community newspaper, Roseville Review, is typically pretty dull. It includes the usual variety of local business profiles, high school sports reports and city council updates. However, buried deep within many issues is some of the most entertaining content you’ll ever read.

Whoever writes the police reports for some of the neighboring suburbs is a comic genius. This anonymous scribe takes turns routine traffic stops and domestic “situations” and turns them into brilliant, sarcastic gems. Behold some of his or her recent masterpieces:

A 19-year-old woman learning to drive Oct. 27 at Snelling and Roselawn avenues was arrested for no insurance, no licensed driver on board, and a loose child in a vehicle displaying revoked plates. Good start.

Thieves climbed over a makeshift pile of sheetrock blocking a garage that had no door Oct. 12 in the 3200 block of Country Drive and made off with two bundles of scaffolding. Relish the irony.

Washer and dryer coin boxes were rifled Oct. 31 at an apartment complex in the 100 block of Demont Street. Management estimated the “loss at $3,000-4,000.” That’s a lot of quarters.

You’re displaying license tabs issued to another vehicle, you have no proof of insurance, your registration is expired, what else can go wrong? How about driving after license revocation? An officer began developing writer’s cramp Aug. 16 at Hwy. 280 and Larpenteur Avenue.

Would-be tap dancers climbed up and kicked in the windows of a large excavator at a County Road B2 construction site in late June. Two intoxicated men found in the area with cuts on their ankles and shoe prints that matched those found at the crime scene were arrested. The 23-and 21 year olds, who admitted to being “dumb and drunk,” were charged with felony criminal damage to property.

Knuckle sandwiches were served up the evening of Aug. 8 at a Larpenteur and Snelling Avenue bus stop. A 25-year-old male victim told police he wanted to pursue charges and a 26-year-old man was cited for fifth degree assault.

I Quit

/ Tim / 1 Comment

I made it through Band on the Run and just cannot bring myself to continue my latest project. I guess I achieved my goal of determining the precise point when Paul McCartney’s career became an embarrassment. It was April 1970, when he released his first solo album. Sure, he had some decent songs here and there, but most of his post-Beatles material is a steaming pile. 

Going into this thing, I figured the career turn occurred in the mid-1980s. When I was only 13, Spies Like Us and his cameo in that Tracy Ullman video left a long-lasting impression on me: Macca was a shameless dork. Knowing how great The Beatles were, I assumed the evolution from great to crap took a while. Not so much.

Why Do I Live Here?

/ Tim / 2 Comments

It’s the middle of November in Minneapolis. We are entering the time of year when I ask myself and anyone who will listen why the fuck we live in this frozen wasteland. Fortunately, several nights each year, I am reminded. Tonight was such a night.

I live here because I got to see Prince play nearly every Friday and Saturday during the summer of 1995.

I live here because The Gear Daddies helped me survive being surrounded by a bunch of asshats in college.

I live here because I got to see the final Trip Shakespeare shows at The Cabooze and most of the early Pleasure/Semisonic shows at 7th Street Entry, The 400 Bar and First Avenue. 

I live here because I get to see Dan Wilson play several times every year.

I live here because I get to see The New Standards’ annual holiday show, when John, Steve and Chan get together with other talented Minneapolis musicians, like Jeremy Messersmith, Dan Wilson and Matt Wilson, for the most spirited show of the year.

I live here because Haley Bonar has the voice of an angel. 

I live here because there’s always a chance Paul Westerberg might show up.

I live here because I know the skyway don’t move at all like a subway.

I live here because Soul Asylum is still the best bar band in America, and the bars they still play are within 10 minutes of my house.

I live here because I drive by at least one Craig Finn reference every single day.

I live here because, like so many songs by these great musicians, Minneapolis is scratched into my soul.

Why Do I Punish Myself?

/ Tim

I may have to abandon my Paul McCartney project. I’ve listened to McCartney, Ram and part of Wild Life. Three albums in, and I’m trying to decide whether pills would be easier than taking a nap in the garage with the Buick idling. For every great song, there are at least eight that are either complete garbage or mediocre. I figured Macca’s career slide occurred sometime in the mid-80s. I’m starting to think it happened in April 1970 with the release of his first solo album.

A New Mission

/ Tim / 2 Comments

I’m on a mission to figure out the precise point at which Paul McCartney’s music started to suck. In the coming weeks, I’ll be working my way through his post-Beatles catalog with the goal of determining the album that was the turning point between mostly great and completely embarrassing. I shall report my findings when I return from this important mission. Wish me luck.

Who Knew I Was So Angsty?

/ Tim

A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from my high school alumni office requesting permission to give my contact information to a classmate. This triggered a chain of events that has pushed me into full-on reminiscing mode like you wouldn’t believe. Suddenly, for the first time in 15+ years, I’m in contact with several people with whom I spent the better part of four years. I’ve exchanged e-mails and Facebook posts with all of them and even had dinner with one. In just three weeks, the whole crew is getting together for drinks and dinner.

As a result of all of these voices from the past, I’ve found myself revisiting The Box, a collection of items I can never bring myself to toss—photos, notebooks containing bad poetry and other mementos. The most insightful glimpse into my past has come from a shoebox full of notes. As I comb through these gems I’m realizing my memory of high school is way different from the reality I was dealing with at the time.

Overall, I look back at high school fondly. I remember having some of the best friends a guy could ask for and enjoying the experience. Maybe it’s all relative. I have mostly bad memories of grade school, and although college started off OK, the last two years were a nightmare. So compared to the 13 years that made up kindergarten through eighth grade plus college, my four years of high school were a pleasant stroll through a field of daisies.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t want to relive my high school years, and I’ve never referred to them as the best years of my life. I’m not that guy. But I’m also not one to dismiss high school as a tragic, painful time. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself.

As I’ve been pulling random notes out of the shoebox, I’m finding that my friends and I were absolutely miserable. Many of the notes paint a picture of tortured boyfriend/girlfriend relationships (or lack of, in my case), petty disagreements with other friends and the agony of every tiny aspect of our lives. Holy shit! We were typical, overdramatic teenagers. 

Despite all of this drama and misery, I still remember the high school experience positively. I think it’s because for the first time my friendships were based on emotional connections. We weren’t friends because we lived near each other, liked the same baseball team or needed someone to play catch with. We were friends because we understood each other. We cared about each other. We would have done anything for each other. My relationships with my best friends were built on endless hours on the telephone late at night, therapy via notes written in purple ink, and a shoulder to cry on whenever one of us needed one. I had never felt loved like that and had never cared so deeply for anyone before. 

I guess having really close friends who meant the world to me supersedes all of the overdramatic teen angst because most of the bad stuff is confined to an old shoebox and has long since vanished from my mind.