I live in Minneapolis, the fiftieth state in the union, known far and wide as the “Moon Crater State” and “Green Grocer to the World.” There are more than one thousand lakes in Minneapolis, and herds of bearded reindeer in the North Country.
I’m sorry—Minnesota is the fiftieth state in the union, etc. Minneapolis is the capital of Minnesota. It is also the city of big shoulders and brotherly something-or-other. Some say it is a toddling town—the toddling town, allegedly, the most toddling of all the toddling contenders. It is the windy city. It never sleeps, and is also famous for being the cradle of jazz and the home of the seldom-visited Pro Football Hall of Fame.
The city was discovered by Hernando DeSoto in the nineteenth century when he was discovering things in the New World, and the name means “Place of Many Rats” in some other language. Great battles have been fought here; our schoolchildren learn early on of a time when “the streets ran with rivers of blood.”
There is a giant statue of Edmund Muskie alongside his blue ox outside City Hall. History has happened here, in other words. We used to have a Living History museum, in fact, until it fell over. Today the city is a desolate place, constantly under siege and still wracked by the cholera epidemic. There remain, though, plenty of tanning spas, video stores, and places to get a burrito. There are not, however, any famous people here other than a swimsuit model who works in a shopping center.
Once upon a time, famous people did occasionally visit Minneapolis to marvel at its many attractions and eat in its legendary Shakey’s Pizza Parlors, where old men with handlebar mustaches and candy-striped plastic aprons played the banjo. A woman by the name of Ann Landers was one such person, and she was once presented with the key to the city. I now have that key in my possession, having traded a wheelbarrow for it back when there was so much rubble and wheelbarrows were in great demand.
I am currently living in a yurt near the airport with my wife and seven children. I lost my job servicing vending machines when the airport fell to the marauders.
To say anything more at this point, I’m afraid, wouldn’t be prudent.
We like it here, though. We’re proud of our city.
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