Whether you for for it or against it, against it before you were for it, or even for it before you were against it, you were participating in something unique to our metropolitan area. Where else but here could there be such a far-reaching and profound discussion about city pride, civic identity, and ‘from the ground up’ name-making? And it all happened within the space of one week. Holy crap, Twin Cities, you’re awesome.
I’ve been mulling over this since the polls opened yesterday morning, and I need to make a possibly stunning admission: I’ve grown to like “Twincy.” Call me a flip-flopper if you must, but this whole ordeal has re-ignited my love for the place I live and for the people I’m proud to call neighbors. An important issue was raised and we responded with prudence, humility, and self respect. I mean, Twincy… really? It’s so sooo stupid. There’s no way we could let it become our new nickname. And we didn’t. But at the same time, we did. Or didn’t we? The discussion is far from over.
So here’s what I propose: Just have fun with it. You’re now in on a cities wide in-joke that has a ton of potential. Casually drop the T word at parties and see who picks up on it. Debate the merits of it over coffee at Common Roots in Minneapolis or Nina’s in St. Paul and you’re bound to attract the attention of your fellow cafe patrons. It’s the new Twin Cities litmus test. Whether you voted Yay or Nay, everybody is bound to have an opinion, and what better way to get to know those around you who also call the Twin Cities their home.
Love it or hate it Twin Cities, Twincy is here to stay. Let’s just hope the rest of the country doesn’t find out.
Spent the morning measuring bathrooms on a site visit (about 20 of ‘em). Spent the last 2 hours at Intermedia Arts’ SOTA emergency townhall meeting. Am currently tallying all of the final Twincy Wars votes (go vote!) and trying to polish off a half bottle of TGIF’s (appropriate) White Russian (“Vodka is in it!”) that’s been sitting in the fridge for about a month. Tonight it’s off to Palisade to spend the weekend with Shanai's family.
I propose a vote, right here, right now. No need to propose alternatives, a simple “Yay" or "Nay" will do. So what say you, fine residents of Minneapolis and St. Paul? Reblog or get in touch with your vote, I’ll keep tabs of the tally here:
He wears a full snow suite, boots, mittens, hood: all black. Pulls a milk crate along the sidewalk by a rope, carries a solitary boot by another rope slung over his shoulder. Milk crate appears to hold a metal pipe, a section of 2x4, and some clothing or maybe a blanket.
He stops on the corner, positions his crate, and grabs his boot rope. The first part of his ritual looks like a child dangling a lure in a shallow pond, except that instead of a lure there is a large men’s boot and instead of a shallow pond there is slippery cold sidewalk. This goes on for 60 seconds. He is oblivious to passerbys as well as the group of us staring at him from the bus stop across the street.
Now he takes the rope off of the boot and begins anew. Holding it with both hands he spins around once and then throws the boot in the air, ducks, and steps under it letting it land where he once stood. As the process begins again be ads a quarter spin and it becomes clear that he will do this a total of four times, once for each cardinal direction.
I can’t look away because I realize that I’ve seen him before, always within a block of this corner, where I’m usually waiting for the 53 or the 14, depending on if I’m coming or going. I know it’s him because I’ve seen bits and pieces of this strange ritual before. A boot thrown on the air, or dangled from a rope. Or sometimes, from the corner of my eye, just a dark shadow that dragging something behind him down the sidewalk. I can’t look away because maybe if I see it all I will know what it means.
But not today. As the bus pulls up he takes the pipe from the milk crate and hits the ground with it twice, turns 90 degrees and, pop pop, two more with the pipe.