I take it back. Sort of. A bit. Well, not that much. Well, not any of it. But most of it, perhaps, in the long run, and none at all in the short run.

I mean the line about killing the city. I went downtown today, and was heartened. It’s a sign of the times to say “all the glass was swept and the windows freshly boarded-up and heavily armed National Guardsmen were standing on the corner” and think “well, that’s a relief!” But it was.

There were still people around, too! And again, that’s a sign of the times: hey, it wasn’t as bad as I thought, there were a few human beings present. But the mood wasn’t jangly. I didn’t go to the Target area, but headed to a meeting in a newly refurbished building - an architectural firm, where everyone’s designing the future.

Some sights.

Nice, except for, well, you know.

IDS.

Boarding up the Northstar.

Nicollet Mall. They looted Saks.

A substantial piece of equipment.

Love is all around.

En route I stopped to talk to a Downtown Improvement District guy, sweeping up. It was the third conversation I’d had that day with a stranger about the night’s previous “unrest,” as the paper put it for many hours. The first was a security guard at the hot dog stand. (I’d gone there to see if his little business had been trashed, since the building was attacked; he was fine.) The security guard was INCANDESCENT about events. As was the second guy I talked to, a maintenance worker outside the building. The DiD guy was the most passionate, and I would love to recount the conversation except you’ll think it’s made up.

I will note that he said he saw the residents of the apartment building come out in the morning to walk their dogs, and they had to pick them up so the dogs’ paws wouldn’t get cut by the glass.

He said the residents came out with their own small brooms and dustpans and helped tidy up.

That’s Minneapolis, I said. Not the rioters.

That’s Minneapolis, he said.

And you’re Minneapolis, I said.

I am Minneapolis, he said. And so are you.

We’re Minneapolis, I said, and we did a COVID knuckle-bump handshake.

So the good outnumber the bad, as we knew; and the good have lost all patience with the bad, as you might suspect.

Short-term, though - who’s going to invest down here? Who’s going to come downtown to eat at a restaurant, when you don’t know what will happen outside? Who’ll walk to the parking ramp after dark when someone was just shot there? Who’ll want to come back to their office when it’s safer to be at home?

I’ve been one of the few citizens of this ghost town since April - not a resident like thousands of others, but an office worker who can’t give up downtown, who wants to buy my pizza at my place, keep the Walkin’ Dog going through these times, and not cede an inch to the idea of gradual, indifferent abandonment.

Night two, curfew, Nat’l Guard. Nothing happening.

Odd, that.

Damned odd.

They haven't burned this one yet.

Notice anything new?

You might see it on the weekly sweep:

The skyway, attached to the library. A lot of people are unhappy that this is happening; they do not want the library attached, because it will ruin the building and of course people will use it in the winter instead of walking outside and making everything Vibrant.

Last week I saw this:

That's the pylon that attaches the library to the high-end new residential tower across Nicollet. This week:

It's been removed. Something wasn't right, perhaps.

In very small news, the new design for the 333 Building's outdoor area is starting to take shape. Don't know what the circles are, but I'm telling you know this new paving is going to be a disaster.

 

 

From my vast collection of things with almost no monetary value whatsover, I bring you this week's entry.

   
 

"Orol Skalny" is the local term for Golden Eagle. "Aquila Chrysaetos" is the technical official term, I gather.

J. Balaz was the artist.

The nation that issued this stamp is gone, but the mountains and birds endure.

   
This year it's Bela on the last Friday of the week. Rather then stretch them out over the course of the week, I'll dump them all here in one day. It's like Lance, without the mystery.
 

 
 

The suspense is murder, isn't it

Solution is here.

 

 

Yes, the last Friday of the month is Jingle Day! Thrill with us as Anita's singers set the stage for your listening pleasure with the shouts that defined an era - and still define the medium, if you ask me.
   

Wonder who the deep-voice guy was.

   
 

 

This is shading into middle-middle-age 3rd scotch rue.

 

     
 

 

Man, that's a lot of sellable time.

 

 

 

I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if the gongs were part of the old station ID.

 

     
     

 

It's one of those records that sells itself foremest by the quality of its hi-fi sound. The back of the album talks more about how the music was recorded than the actual music itself.

   

 

 
   

It's easy-listening stuff played by your aunt when she was a bit melancholy. She never checked the needle for dust.

 

   

 

 

MEGATANE!

MEGATANE!

   

 

 

That's it. Hell of a week. Hope for the best and see you Monday.

 

 

 
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