It’s not often that we venture outside of the Twin Cities in our pages. May is the exception to that rule. That’s because this month marks the return of our annual Food Road Trip issue, in which our writers fill up their gas tanks, and their bellies, in pursuit of great meals found further afield.
This year, writers directed their vehicles in the direction of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, Lindstrom, Minn.; the Brainerd Lakes Region, St. Louis, Mo., and Iowa. On their travels, they found pasties, burgers, pie shakes and a few upscale dishes such as marsala-braised rabbit.
But of course, we were eager to get back, and to write about what we found when we did. To that end, writers delivered stories on:
+ The one-year anniversary of the tornado, and how North Minneapolis’ history complicated the response to the natural disaster.
+ A look at the growing world of female body builders (we promise, there’s nothing to be intimidated about).
+ What it takes to raise chickens in the Twin Cities (legally, financially and ethically, that is).
+ Columns from Spazz Dad on what it means to be a man in need of a friend, and from Mo Perry on what it means to be a woman without a child.
+ A look at an Edina home that seeks to bring the outdoors indoors.
+ Some essential – and nearly forgotten – records from Secret Stash’s Will Gilbert and Eric Foss.
+ A ride about town from Minnesota’s one and only Segway rental and tour company, Mobile Entertainment.
+ An interview with Ted Leo, who will be performing at Wits on June 1.
+ Nine full pages of coffee, coffee, and more coffee.
All of May’s stories can be found in one location here. Like what you see? Support our work and subscribe today.
Administrative assistants have jobs, and they get paychecks in exchange for carrying out their administrative duties. They don’t really need a celebratory day on top of those things. But here’s the thing—admins share working space and hours with the other people in their departments, but make a fraction of the money. The things they are asked to do—fix the paper jams in the printer, order refills for the dish soap, remember the birthdays of every other team member and make sure they are acknowledged and celebrated—are a constant reminder that they are at the bottom of the food chain. They are support beams, tubes of lubricant, Zambonis—things that facilitate the real action.
There is a look nine out of 10 people get in their eyes when you tell them you’re going on a weeklong road trip by yourself. It isn’t admiration, jealousy or even concern. It’s slack-jawed befuddlement, as if they didn’t hear you right. There’s a long silence while they try to think of something encouraging to say in response (which usually ends up being “huh” or “OK”). You only need to have this conversation so many times before coming to the inevitable conclusion that most people are scared to death of spending more than a few hours in their own company—especially on purpose. And that is just too bad. There are few things in the world as restorative, centering and entertaining as traveling alone.
Did you know that if your dining room is located in the front half of your house, “visitors may habitually arrive, eat lots of food and then quickly leave”? We can’t have that! Luckily, all you have to do to “cure” this feng shui nightmare is hang a two-inch-diameter faceted crystal sphere over the dining-room table. I suspect finding better friends might also help.
METRO columnist Mo Perry put together a handy flowchart to help people decide if they should indeed click that “post” button. Read more here.
I feel guilty about the music on my workout playlist. Not because it’s overly-produced, commercialized, corporate noise manufactured by machines and tested on focus groups (which it is), but because of the lyrics. I’m not even talking about the Kanye songs, which are uniformly appalling. (“Let’s get lost tonight / you could be my black Kate Moss tonight / play secretary I’m the boss tonight.”) I’m talking about the Shakira songs. The Beyonce songs. The songs by ladies who tout themselves as bastions of female power and accomplishment.
It’s not every Saturday morning you find yourself standing shivering in a barely moving line in front of a row of Biffys, unzipping your boyfriend’s lycra Spider Man costume for him so he can pee. But then, it’s not every Saturday morning that you get to run down the middle of Summit Avenue surrounded by figure skaters, munchkins, q-tips (or were they tampons?), Wonder Woman, monkeys, and the guy from the board game Operation.
