Anyone else so fucking angry right now, they're about to explode? Dumb question. Anyone with eyes, a functioning brain, and basic human decency is beside themselves about the ICE murders in Minneapolis. When I watched the footage of that fucking ICE Nazi JONATHAN ROSS (may he never know a moment's peace for the rest of his miserable worthless life) shoot Renee Good three times in the face and growl "fucking bitch" as her SUV careened into a parked car, I swear I felt my soul leave my body. Same thing on Saturday when I saw the video of Alex Pretti getting beaten, pistol-whipped, and shot dead in front of Glam Doll Donuts. A sickening mixture of horror, rage, fear, and overwhelming dread.

The worst are the apologists, of course. The smooth-brained MAGAts dutifully sticking to the script. "She was a domestic terrorist attempting to ram ICE agents with her car." And the ludicrous, "Well, he had a gun!" Seriously. I don't even need to point out the irony on that one. Everybody already knows.

The Trumptards think their allegiance to Orange Hitler and his regime makes them safe. It doesn't, and they'll be the last ones to know it. Renee Good was an SUV-driving mother of three with a glove compartment full of stuffed toys and a labrador retriever in the backseat. You just know the MAGAts were relieved to hear that she was a lesbian. Like she had all the trappings of a "normie," but her sexuality made her an "other," so whatevs. It's okay -- she was one of them. No need to worry. I'm sure they're waiting to hear that Alex Pretti smoked weed, or was a practicing Buddhist, or any other detail that makes him "sketchy" or different, so they can shrug off his murder as well. 

Right, fascists. Keep fucking that chicken.

It would be cruel and hypocritical for a middle-aged liberal feminist type like me to post an extra-large image of ICE Barbie Kristi Noem's fucked up face, wouldn't it? Especially since she was so bothered about the South Park guys making fun of her appearance.  

I don't know how I'll live with myself. 

I think Kristi Noem was actually upset because the South Park satire touched a nerve and brought her greatest fear into the open. You know that underneath that flammable synthetic weave, somewhere in the back of her tiny brain, she's terrified that there will actually be consequences someday. Not the consequences she deserves, but consequences nonetheless. And if she is thrown in federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison, (oh please please please let that be coming) you know what that means? Her lips and face will deflate, her Mar-A-Lago makeover will be ruined, and she'll be stripped away to nothing----just a plain-faced, puppy-killing nobody from South Dakota with bad skin and traction alopecia. 

From my lips to God's ears.  

 

Also....

Sometimes It Snows in April

Damn, it just doesn't feel real, does it? The headline "Prince Dies at 57" still does not compute, and it's freaky to even type that. I had the same issue with Bowie's death. It's like both Prince and Bowie were sort of these ethereal figures--almost supernatural--like it was just sort of understood that the rules of the universe did not apply to them. They were on a higher plane than the rest of us mortals. 

My writer buddy Dan Kennedy said it best: 

As shocked as I was by Bowie's passing, the fact that Prince is gone just seems harder to fathom somehow. My friend Marcus posted on FB that although both deaths were a huge shock, Prince hits closer to home (for Gen-Xer's like us) because, growing up in the '80s, Prince was "our guy." I totally agree. 

"Little Red Corvette" (1982) was the first Prince song I remember being aware of. I recall my sister and other "big kids" really digging it, but I was just sort of neutral (also, at nine years old I was more obsessed with horses than current pop music). Then in 1984-85 there was an amazing explosion of artists and albums that coincided with that sort of musical awakening a lot of kids have at around 11 or 12 years old and I discovered Duran Duran, Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, Michael Jackson and Prince--specifically the Purple Rain soundtrack--which blew my mind. 

I saw Purple Rain (the movie) when it premiered on HBO in the summer of 1985. It was so dark and "adult" that it's funny to think of my little 12-year-old self watching that. I mean, my family (along with everyone else in our neighborhood) had gotten premium cable a few years earlier, and it was a big thing for us neighbor kids to secretly try to catch "the dirty parts" of movies like Porky's and Fast Times at Ridgemont High (or if we were feeling really brave, one of the Friday the 13th movies) when we were at each other's houses. But Purple Rain was a lot racier than the typical teen sex films of that era, so I'm pretty sure it was one of those movies I sneaked out to the living room to watch at like 2am while my mom and stepdad were sleeping. That was something I got really good at: creeping into the living room and turning on the TV so it was barely audible and sitting like five inches from the screen so I could hear the movie while simultaneously listening for my mom in case she woke up. (In the event that she did, I would switch off the TV, race into the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of milk so it would look like I'd just gotten up to get a drink. Back in the day, we had to be really creative with stuff like that. I think kids today have it a lot easier, they can just watch whatever they want to on their smart phones and their parents probably don't have a clue.)      

Speaking of access, everyone knows by now how impossible it is to find Prince clips on YouTube; the only ones that exist seem to be live performances from award shows (which are awesome, admittedly), and the only Purple Rain clips viewable online are the ones from the trailer.

I guess this is indicative of how many times I've seen Purple Rain over the last 30 years (um, a lot), because there are a few little flashes of scenes I don't recognize: 

00:28 -- Apollonia in a barn? WTF was that? 

00:51 -- Prince getting smacked around by his dad (I think?) at what looks like a rehearsal space?

Marcus, help me out....do you remember any of this? I'm also unsure about the snippet with the cop car driving by Morris and Jerome. I'm guessing they were deleted scenes, but I want your opinion. 

_______________________________________________________________

Anyway, Prince is gone, and it sucks. I have more to write on this subject but I'm still getting my head together. 

(Psst...looks like someone posted the video for Take Me With U in the past few days, but it will probably get yanked ASAP, maybe by the time this goes up.) 

Sarah Failin'

Several years ago I had a dream where I ran into Sarah Palin in the salad bar area at Kowalski's (a Twin Cities supermarket chain). I've forgotten many of the details; I only recall pushing her grocery cart aside, putting my hands on her shoulders, staring her in the eye and demanding, "What is wrong with you? Really, I'm serious--what the hell is your problem?" I don't remember what answer she gave me, or if she said anything at all. 

I think I already knew the answer. It was clear then, it's crystal now: the woman is a gold-plated idiot. No complicated answer. No clinical diagnosis. That's really all there is to it. She's dumb as a bag of hammers. 

I wish a wolf would shoot her from a helicopter. That would rule. 

Sic her, boy!

NICE TO MEAT YOU

Now, run along and wipe that face off your head. You're getting rancid.

Last night my husband and I had his friend and colleague Bob over for dinner. I hadn't met Bob before, but we laughed and slapped a gleeful high-five when we discovered we were both vegetarian.

Let me clarify. There are a few sub-types of vegetarians. Bob is a pescatarian (no beef, pork, poultry, just fish). I am an ovo-lacto vegetarian. No beef, pork, poultry, fish, or anything in between. Occasionally I'll eat cheese made with vegetarian rennet, and sometimes cage-free, organic eggs (and I still love ice cream). If you want to get really specific, I don't eat anything with a face. 

Except for these guys. Yum!
(Source: Happiness is Cookies by Clawson Cookies.)

If this information makes you want to scream and punch a wall, that's fine by me. I'll admit--it is a bit confusing.

Related: I've lived all over Indiana, Minneapolis, Baton Rouge, and now Reno, NV. Over the last eighteen months, I've traveled to NYC (twice), and to Tulsa, OK (more than twice). 

Of the six locales mentioned above, can you guess where I was hassled for being a vegetarian? I'll give you a hint:

1. Indiana
2. Minneapolis 
3. Baton Rouge
4. Reno
5. NYC
6. Tulsa

Yes--my beloved, progressive, Earth Day-founding Minneapolis and the Seat of the Empire, A-#1, King of the Hill, top of the heap: New York, New York.

I'll back up a bit.

I grew up on the north side of Indianapolis, just blocks away from an adorable vegetarian restaurant called The Stillwater. 

I couldn't find a photo of The Stillwater, so here's a yearbook photo of Dave 
Letterman, graduate of Broad Ripple High School, class of '65. He looks like my Dad!

My mom took me to the Stillwater once when I was ten years old, and I was baffled by the concept of a meat-free menu. You see, I was raised on a very meat-ful menu, which was down to my father, a big Irishman who loved his meat, his potatoes, and sometimes sausage for dessert. To this day he still prefers corn beef, meatloaf, and pork chops, but won't touch chicken since he was raised in Illinois during the Great Depression, when chicken was all anyone could afford.

When I was away at boarding school during my teen years, I developed a taste for beef tacos from Taco Bell, Burger King Whoppers, Big Macs, and greasy pepperoni pizza--stuff I wasn't allowed to eat at home (my parents divorced in 1983 and I was mostly raised by my mom, a health nut who ate chicken, turkey, and a ton of veggies. She now eats fish and veggies). I gave up fast food at the age of twenty, but continued stuffing my face with processed meat products--frozen cheeseburgers, Italian sausage, and corn beef--well into my twenties. 

In 1995, when I was twenty-two years old, I got very sick and discovered that red meat made me projectile vomit. I couldn't even stand the smell or sight of it. It wasn't difficult for me to quit red meat. 

For the next two years, I ate only chicken (I never cared for turkey) and the odd vegetable. In mid-1997, I decided to try going vegetarian. It fit with my belief system (I'm a hardcore animal lover) and I knew it was healthier than fried chicken, the only meat product I found it hard to live without. The last time I ate meat of any sort was Labor Day, 1997. My last carnivorous meal was a half-order of white meat chicken from KFC. I thought "well, I might not be able to do this, but here goes nothing." 

To my surprise, I was able to quit meat altogether and I never looked back. In the last sixteen years, I've haven't had a craving for anything besides--again--fried chicken, and that was during my first year of being meat-free. I even found a healthier alternative: fried cauliflower. Same texture as chicken, wonderful when fried and breaded. It's still one of my favorite dishes ever, along with vegetable pakora. 

 Above: Fried cauliflower. It's de-lish.

       

In my mid-twenties (ca.1998), I had lunch with my Mom once a week (I miss that). She introduced me to India Garden in Broad Ripple, and I decided right then that I could probably live off nothing but their potato samosas, palak paneer, tikka masala, dal, Basmati rice, and, of course, vegetable pakora (pictured above).  

India Garden spoiled me for Indian food. I was unable to find an Indian restaurant in Minnesota that came close to their perfection. I couldn't even find anything comparable in England, either. India Garden is the BEST. The next-best curry house is a cute little restaurant in Baton Rouge called India's.

John and I have already found an Indian restaurant near downtown Reno, called India Kabob and Curry and it is YUM (still not as good as India Garden, but relatively close. And they have great pakora.)

Okay, wow. I never intended to write a food blog. That market is saturated, so now I'll just bitch about dumb things that were said to me in Minneapolis and NYC in regards to my vegetarian diet. 

The Minneapolis comments were made by acquaintances that I'm no longer in touch with. The NYC comments were those of an oddly curious waiter in Hell's Kitchen. 

I'll start with the Big Apple, then I'll take a bite out of the Mini Apple.

ON-DUTY WAITER: "You're a vegetarian? Oh my god, really? So...no turkey on Christmas?"

Oh hell no. As I mentioned, I was never fond of turkey, because turkey is prepared two different ways: Bone-dry (roasted) and slimy and wet (deli). I won't be having either, thanks.

I wish I could properly convey the astonishment in the guy's voice. He was a native English speaker, so there was no language barrier. And he waited tables in Manhattan, so he had to at least be familiar with the concept of vegetarianism. But he didn't act like it. In fact, he seemed utterly mystified, like I'd just told him I was a Roman Catholic nun and I loved the feel of old lady pantyhose against my skin. (I'm not. And I don't.)

MINNEAPOLIS, HALLOWEEN PARTY, 2009.

FRATTY-LOOKING "BRO" DUDE IN A TRUCKER HAT: 
"So, do you eat asparagus all day and then sit around and fart?"

Let me just blow your mind: I rarely need to make time in my schedule to sit around and fart. I can multi-task. I do like grilled asparagus, though.

FARMER'S MARKET, ST. PAUL, SOMEWHERE IN 2004

CUSTOMER: "Oh man, vegetarian? I could never do that. My grandfather was a proud truck farmer (or goat hoarder, or bullshit wrangler, or dog snatcher, or whatever)." 

Truck farming. Yep, that exists.

Good for grandpa. Sorry that you lack the mental resources to imagine a different lifestyle. Still, those trucks ain't gonna farm themselves....

THE GREEN ONION RESTAURANT, ST. PAUL OR MINNEAPOLIS, SOMETIME DURING PREMIER BUSH'S TENURE.

SOMEONE: "I wish I could be vegetarian. But I'm Latvian/German/Hungarian/Icelandic/Spanish/Brazillian/Italian and I need my meat."

Don't loan your meat out to anyone else, then. I'm Irish/English/Choctaw* and I will continue to eat whatever I damn well please, including (but not limited to) a metric shit-ton of kale.

*For years, I mistakenly believed that my maternal grandfather was Cherokee. It turned out that no, he was Choctaw. But he grew up in rural Oklahoma in the 1920's, a time when people didn't exactly broadcast their Indian heritage or care to know much about it. Unlike my dad's family, who will tell anyone who doesn't run away screaming all about the awesomeness of the Emerald Isle and its people. (I do love them Irish.)

SYNAGOGUE, ST. PAUL, 2005 (I worked in the admin office).

CONGREGANT: "No meat? Is that a religious thing? What are you, exactly?"

Ummmm....a Democrat?

MINNEAPOLIS, UPTOWN, MY APARTMENT, 2010:

ACQUAINTANCE #1 (EDITED FOR CONTENT): 
"Oh, I looooove meat. How can you not love meat? That's ridiculous because....BACON!"

Enjoy being an unpaid shill for the pork industry. I'm sure they appreciate your efforts.

MINNEAPOLIS, THEIR APARTMENT, 2010

ACQUAINTANCE #2 (APROPO OF NOTHING):

"Real girls eat meat!"

Congratulations. You're in fine company. Check it out: 

Go cram a cheeseburger in your head, dipdouche.

I just need to stop and have a mild rant here. What's with the T-shirt manufacturer's creepy aversion to the word "women"? "Real girls" sounds all underage and icky. It's probably from Abercrombie and Fitch, proud proprietors of all things underage and icky. 

Sadly enough, the bizarre comments I've listed here are just the tip of the iceberg. I'm still perplexed that I heard brain barf like this from randoms in one of the coolest cities I've ever seen. Also, 95% of the people I knew in the Twin Cities: friends, neighbors, countrymen, urban cowgirls, etc. were--naturally--open, sympathetic, and usually vegetarians themselves. 

The rest of 'em got more brains in their stomachs than in they heads.  

NOTE: Thanks to my John for coining the term "dipdouche" when we were out in traffic the other day. I just felt privileged to be in the presence of the original Master of Brookovian Wit when he spontaneously busted out a new drollery, one that he doesn't mind me borrowing when the situation calls for it (see above).

Rewind

Another REWIND! This time from 2009. I miss the Twin Cities. And I still stand behind all of these reviews.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

A review of stuff I hate vs. stuff I love...

The Suck It List

Stella’s Fish Café
I can’t get past the name. I don’t know who Stella is, but I know that the words “Fish” and “Café” don’t belong together. It brings to mind fish-flavored coffee, which, ew. Plus, it’s not even a café, just another restaurant/bar, like a pretentious Old Chicago. With fish.

Chino Latino
I refuse to be swayed by the cheeky billboard ads and the glittery sign. Too loud, too yuppified, and the food is crap.

Paisano’s Pizzaria (St. Paul)
This place is utter crap. Mediocre food, messy dining room, excruciatingly horrible service. You’re better off staying home, heating up a frozen grocery store pizza and eating in front of the teevee.

Sawatdee
Two words: food poisoning. Five more: dine at your own risk.

The Salon For You
I used to live above this place when I lived in St. Paul. I decided to check it out, and left with a fabulous haircut that I was extremely happy with, along with some funky reddish/pink highlights. Two months later I went back looking for the same stylist. She no longer worked there, they told me, but the owner of the salon was available to do my hair. I felt like I was in good hands—after all, if she’s the owner, she has to know what she’s doing, right? Wrong. She refused to do highlights because some weeks before I had experimented with a temporary color rinse and she said she wouldn’t color over that “as a matter of principle.” (?) Then, she proceeded to give me the worst haircut I’ve ever had in my life, and that’s saying something (I came up in the eighties, remember?) She just took the scissors, gave me a blunt cut straight across the ends, and she was done. It looked so horrible that I had to scrape together some more money and go find somewhere to get it fixed. Happily, I ended up with Mackenzie at Hair Police (see below). Her take on my botched ‘do? “Holy crap, this looks like it was done by someone who’s never cut hair before!” Thank God for Hair Police.

American Apparel
I understand that they’re famous for making their clothes in the USA by non-sweatshop labor, so good for them. But do their all-American, non-sweatshop workers have to make such fugly clothing? I mean, I don’t want my clothes made in Laos by a barefoot 9-year-old, but I do want clothes that are attractive and wearable. (Seriously, who buys this crap?)

Skintight shiny spandex? Really?

Ragstock
There was a time when nearly every scrap of my wardrobe came from Ragstock. Their clothing and accessories were quirky, functional, and reasonably-priced. Unfortunately, they have since gone straight down the crapper. I think they changed clothing suppliers or something, because they’re stuff has taken a sharp nosedive quality-wise; cheap-looking clothes that are more expensive than the lines they used to carry. And most of the clothing doesn’t even come in larger sizes—if you’re above a size 8, you’re shit out of luck. Also? Rude, unhelpful staff. (Oh Ragstock, why hast thou forsaken me?)

Luvs It

Dulano’s
Live bluegrass every Saturday night, plus damn good pizza. You can’t go wrong. Bring a date here and they’ll think you’re offbeat and original for discovering it. You’re welcome.

Nina’s Coffee Café (St. Paul)
My original St. Paul hangout, located directly across the street from my first Twin Cities apartment. Great coffee, great atmosphere, and a fabulous place to hunker down and get some writing done. I’ve seen Garrison Keillor there twice! (He owns the bookstore down below Nina’s—Common Good Books.)

Buffalo Exchange
Since Ragstock has fallen out of favor, Buffalo Exchange has picked up the slack. I love this store. Fantastic clothes, shoes, and accessories, all reasonably priced. It’s all thrift/resale, but the staff are fairly picky about what they buy and they always have a good selection of clothes that tend towards the “gently-used” rather than simply “used.”

Eye of Horus
Yeah, I’m a bit of a hippie—you got a problem with that? Didn’t think so. Even for a non-hippie, this is a cool store. It has a wide selection of candles, essential oils, and incense—stuff anyone could use, right?—along with tarot cards, crystals, runes, and mojo bags, for those of us with more esoteric needs. All this, plus a friendly and knowledgeable staff.

Nicollett Village Video
Who needs a Netflix subscription? I’d rather support independently-owned video stores like this one. Village Video has nearly every movie category imaginable, including a wide range of foreign and cult films you can’t find anywhere else. They also have a huge “Brit Vid” section, featuring shows like Spaced, The Tomorrow People (remember that one, fellow Gen-Xers?) and Not the Nine-o’Clock News. It rocks. Hard.

Hair Police
As long as I live in the Twin Cities, I will never go anywhere else to have my hair done.

 Ms Sparrow said...

Thanks for sharing all your hard-won experience and advice on great places to avoid. I've never eaten at Sawatee, and I hope I never will.

I've never heard of most of the Brit TV shows you mention. I don't even watch the Eastenders, but I love "Keeping Up Appearances" and "Mr Bean" always makes me laugh--except not in his movies.

7:42 AM

 

****UPDATE JUNE 2026****

Got a Simon tip/sighting? Email simonreidtips@gmail.com

Wednesday 9/12/12 

9pm EST (8pm in Minnesota)

Investigation Discovery Channel

I'm going to be on TV again! Well, me and my friend Kate (she's my character witness) and of course Jo, Laura and Nicola. That's right, our story was chosen for the excellent--and highly addictive--Investigation Discovery Channel program "Who the Bleep?" It was formerly called "Who the Bleep Did I Marry?"  but the show's scope has broadened to include ex-girlfriends/boyfriends/significant others of con men and women living double lives (e.g. Simon Reid), and not just their spouses.

The team from Sirens Media --Brigette, Diana, Eric and Johnny--flew in from D.C. to Minneapolis to film interviews with me and Kate and film B-roll footage. It was really nice to stay put for a change--they came right to my door!

A film crew in the living room! I felt like a stah.

I had such a great time with everyone! The crew was cool, so personable and so much fun; I liked them all right away. The interview was a little nerve-wracking (they always are) but Diana, who interviewed me, was awesome and made me feel at ease. The fun part of it for me was shooting the B-roll. They filmed me walking down the street, talking on my phone, typing at my laptop, petting my cats (Audrey really took to being in the spotlight. I swear she's a Leo), writing in my notebook, making tea, and gazing out of my front window. Both Brigette and Diana kept apologizing for how much B-roll they had to shoot, but I didn't mind at all. You haven't lived until you've strolled around Uptown, trying to look nonchalant while you're being shot by a professional film crew, and everyone walking by is trying to figure out if they should know who you are or if there's some kind of weird new reality show being shot in Minneapolis or if someone is making another indie film or what. It's not like shooting on the street in Manhattan, where they're so used to film crews and famous people milling about that they barely even notice anymore.

Me in front of the duplex. This wasn't taken during the filming, but
I'm wearing the same top in the interview. Close enough.

After they filmed me, Kate came over and they interviewed her and shot some B-roll of her by herself, plus some footage of us just chatting, goofing off, sitting in the garden, and walking around the block.

Some really cool things about the experience:

• They highlighted the fact that I'm a writer, which rocked! In most of the Simon Reid stories I'm referred to as just a blogger (not that just being a blogger isn't cool) but it was gratifying to actually be taken seriously. I talked about my book a bit in the interview--I won't know until the show airs if that part made it into the final edit--but still, I really appreciated their interest. 
• During the shoot Diana and Brigette pointed out all the paintings that my roommates and I had hanging on our walls. Most of it was original work by our friend Rachel, who is a professional artist. They said they'd love to feature it but they would need a signed release from her first. Rachel was living in Asheville, NC at the time but she was able to get the paperwork quickly enough for some of her work to (hopefully) make it onto the show!
• The whole crew really fell in love with Uptown. We went to lunch twice at Common Roots (a restaurant that has a special place in my heart--the site of my first date with John) and got several gallons of coffee at Urban Bean, where Diana ended up buying an "I heart MPLS" t-shirt!

A few weeks after the Sirens gang shot my segment, they flew to the UK to chat and film with Jo, Laura and Nicola to get the rest of the story...a story which will be beamed around the world courtesy of Sirens Media and the Investigation Discovery Channel tomorrow night, 9/12 at 9pm EST (just in case you needed a reminder). Like I said, "Who the Bleep?" (now in its third season) is super addictive. Go to their site and get comfy, because once you start watching clips of the show it's hard to stop! 

And one more plug for the road....

Available now for Kindle and all other e-readers.

"So Mote It Be!"

Okay, whoever is doing these quasi-Wiccan Barbie garden displays in the Whittier neighborhood of Minneapolis, I doff my hat to you. I came upon his/her latest bit of awesomeness around the time of the blue moon. Notice the stones (representing the earth) the ubiquitous giant bug, and the ashes sprinkled on the breast of the redhead (the ceremonial ashes of Barbie ancestors of yore?).

Oh, Minneapolis. I love you.

Minneapolis Institute of Arts

The view outside my office.

Moon over Minneapolis.

It's a full moon kids! Time to do some howling.

Third verse, same as the first.

And we wait for spring to come...

The snow actually melted about a 1/2 centimeter today. Can Spring be far behind?



Dare I dream?