I wonder if these Lake Street dealerships are cheaper, because they seem incredibly sketchy.

Although I don’t have any basis for assuming that these independent dealerships are sketchy. I bought my Nissan from a suburban chain dealership that failed to disclose a lot of defects, so I [...]]]> We had tiny used-car dealerships in Miami too.

I wonder if these Lake Street dealerships are cheaper, because they seem incredibly sketchy.

Although I don’t have any basis for assuming that these independent dealerships are sketchy. I bought my Nissan from a suburban chain dealership that failed to disclose a lot of defects, so I guess a “name brand” used car dealer isn’t necessarily more reputable.

Not funny. At all.

Okay, so I laughed a little.

Other photography posts:

I couldn’t [...]]]> Matt and I are at the Saloon. I see a Hispanic guy wearing a thin white button down with a gaudy silver pattern on the back. He also has a “female” friend who made me instantly homesick for Miami – flat ironed hair, tight tank top, fake breasts, scandalously short skirt, and dangerous stilettos.

I couldn’t resist.

Me: “Oh gurl, you’re beautiful!”
Yamile: “Why thank you!”
Me: “I’m from Miami. You’re taking me back right now.”
Yamile: “Oh my god! We are from Miami!”

We then chatted about our locations in the city. Yamile is a Miami Beach girl and doesn’t slum it in Little Havana… she then gets a whiff of something:

Yamile: “Do you just eat McDonald’s or something?”
Me: “No?”
Yamile: “Why does it smell like fries?”
Me: “Oh, they serve food at clubs here. The guy at the bar behind us just got a food basket.”
Yamile: “Oh hell nah. CARLOS, we are getting out of here. This Minnesota thing is some bullshit.”

She then literally takes her man and heads towards the door. Yamile was done.

I felt the same way about food in the bars when I moved here…but I never walked out. Oye Loca….

There is a bloated, 15-person group in the corner which looks like a book club. Tonight’s theme is “outsiders and specialness” and the conversation contains such gems as:

Middle [...]]]> I am so glad that one of my coworkers is at Dunn Brothers tonight. Now I am not the only witness to the batshit-crazy going on the corner.

There is a bloated, 15-person group in the corner which looks like a book club. Tonight’s theme is “outsiders and specialness” and the conversation contains such gems as:

Middle Aged Lady: “Can I tell you guys something? When I was young I thought I was special. I thought was really special! I thought I was so special that I thought I would have a virgin birth! And it has taken me 55 years to realize I AM NOT SPECIAL. I AM NOT SPECIAL AT ALL!”

Let this be a warning: if you have a crazy group discussion in a coffeeshop during late April it will be documented by a snide procrastinating law student. I promise.

Update: “Wild-eyed long-hair guy” seated next to our Wilting-Madonna caught me laughing at the group discussion. Eek! Time to meet up with Judd at the Bad Waitress before I get stoned by the “Special Mob.”

I thought the old houses were glamorous when I first moved to Minneapolis, but I got over that after living in the Gamma Eta Gamma house for a semester.

I am now aware of the dust and [...]]]> My neighborhood is full of old mansions. This is one of my favorites:

That’s probably were Morticia Addams grew up.

I thought the old houses were glamorous when I first moved to Minneapolis, but I got over that after living in the Gamma Eta Gamma house for a semester.

I am now aware of the dust and filth, but I still like looking.

Both Minneapolis and St. Paul declared snow emergencies. During a snow emergency, certain streets become no-parking zones so the streets can be plowed.

Parking on the wrong street during a snow emergency means a few hours at an impound lot and a hefty fine.

The City of [...]]]> It snowed a bit yesterday.

Both Minneapolis and St. Paul declared snow emergencies. During a snow emergency, certain streets become no-parking zones so the streets can be plowed.

Parking on the wrong street during a snow emergency means a few hours at an impound lot and a hefty fine.

The City of Minneapolis has a parking grid available online. St. Paul doesn’t. This was a problem because Trivia night is in downtown St. Paul, and I did not know if my car was safe because I could not find any “we plow here” signs.

I was scared of getting towed, so I left the bar to move my car to a garage.

The construction in downtown St. Paul and the random one-way streets caused me to spend at least 15 minutes driving in a huge, awkward circle. I ended up on the wrong side of the street several times. The cops got suspicious. It was a disaster.

I eventually found a parking garage near the bar. The garage was underground and looked like a basement from the SAW horror movies. The lighting was dim and the columns were unpainted. Rats somersaulted on the partially flooded floor.

I walked to the pay booth and saw a sign that read “Garage closes at 10pm. Plan accordingly.”

A random middle-aged woman enters the garage and I ask her how one gets into the building after 10pm.

Random woman: “After 10pm? I dunno. Just park in the covered alley.”
Me: “The covered alley?”
Random woman: “Yes. There’s a covered alley right on the side of the building that has parking spaces. It’s always empty. Here, let me show you. Follow me.”

So I let the random woman take me to the abandoned covered alley, and then park.

The “covered alley” is more of a tunnel. It is the kind of tunnel where a jogger finds a burned body on Law & Order. I leave my car with the understanding that I will be killed and eaten upon my return. Thank god Christopher Meloni will find my body and launch an epic investigation sponsored by Johnson & Johnson, a family company.

Trivia night was a sprawling conversation. Jake, Bill, and I exchanged stories until almost 2 a.m.

I then snuck back into the tunnel, fetched my car, and zipped back to Minneapolis, the city of clear parking restrictions.

Pilot: “Do we have any MDs on board? If you are a MD please touch your flight attendant call button. A passenger is ill and we need your assistance.”

Everyone looked around. No doctors aboard. A flight attendant rushed by with an intense looking oxygen tank.

The pilot repeated his request, and [...]]]> The pilot came on the intercom.

Pilot: “Do we have any MDs on board? If you are a MD please touch your flight attendant call button. A passenger is ill and we need your assistance.”

Everyone looked around. No doctors aboard. A flight attendant rushed by with an intense looking oxygen tank.

The pilot repeated his request, and then asked if any nurses or medical personnel were aboard. No takers. Vet techs? None.

I felt pretty useless – “I can offer qualified legal advice!”

We arrived in Minneapolis and waited for the paramedics to fetch the ill passenger. I then stormed to baggage claim and wandered the parking garage¹ for my car.

I hadn’t slept in 24 hours and was in a vicious mood.

I went to the University of Miami the night before. Trisha and I visited our old dorm and caught up on the student-life drammy.

The RAs chirped about homecoming and were freaking out about decorating their floors. Trisha and I looked at each other and laughed. We are both in professional school now, but just two years ago we were fumbling with construction paper and rubber cement. How bizarre.

I think I horrified one of the RAs who is thinking about applying to law school. Gloomy tales of the legal job market – dum dum dum!

After the dorm visit I went to South Beach for Lady Gaga² night at Twist.

Ben and I were posted at the main bar again. Blaring house music, strobes, bodybuilders, and periodic visits by the club’s manager and owner. Ben and I insisted on having a 4-hour³ conversation over the music, so I’m croaking like a seasoned smoker today.

I left the club around 5 a.m. and had a terrifying ride with a cab driver who was more familiar with the gas pedal than the road markings. I then showered and packed for the airport.

The airport was a disaster. The Delta Airlines area was understaffed and chaotic.

The baggage drop line was 100-people deep and crisscrossed the self check-in line. The result was that no one knew what line they were in until waiting in the wrong line for a half hour.

The lines moved at a glacial pace and we slowly realized that there was no way we would make our flight.

So many of us were late that they held the plane for us, but they didn’t tell us that the plane was waiting, so a pack of us tore down the terminal like we were being chased by zombie TSA agents.

After the airport sprint in Miami, the medical dramatics on the plane, and the 30 minute car seeking expedition in the Minneapolis Airport’s parking garage, I was so relieved to pick up Harley from the pet hotel and crash.

I slept for 8 hours, did laundry and some minimal cleaning, and I am going back to sleep so I can make it to work early.

It was a fun, exhausting trip.

Viva Miami, but welcome Minneapolis.

I threw my groceries into my apartment, snatched my caretaker’s snow shovel from downstairs, and then ran outside to help excise the jeep.

The African couple in the jeep was screaming at each other and questioning their [...]]]> When I returned from the grocery store this afternoon, I noticed a stranded car across the street from my apartment.

I threw my groceries into my apartment, snatched my caretaker’s snow shovel from downstairs, and then ran outside to help excise the jeep.

The African couple in the jeep was screaming at each other and questioning their decision to move to America. We made progress on their car when a plumbing company’s van got stuck on the other side of the street.

Chaos ensued. Snow and smoke flew from the stalled vehicles. The Mexican plumbers cursed in Spanish. The Africans cursed in heavily accented English. A traffic jam developed.

Things looked bad, so I called 311.

Me: “There are stalled cars on both sides of my street. Each car is blocking an alley entrance and a traffic jam is building.”
311 operator: “Okay, so?”
Me: “Uh, well, can you send a tow truck or a plow truck to help? The cars are causing a traffic jam…”
311 operator: “I can send traffic control to give them a ticket.”
Me: “Well, that’s not going to help anyone. And traffic control just drove by and didn’t even stop to help.”
311 operator: “Sir, there’s a snow storm going on. We are busy dealing with real accidents and real emergencies. I can send someone out to give them a ticket, and that’s it. What is the car’s license plate number?”
Me: “Nevermind.”

Click.

People came out of apartments and cars to help push and shovel. Even the Africans briefly stopped worrying about their own car to help push the van.

No progress was happening with the van. Then, suddenly the van lurched backwards and looked like it was going to T-bone the African’s car. There was screaming, but the van managed to stop 2 inches from the driver’s door. The van then slid back across the street and promptly got restuck.

The van driver ran to a nearby apartment building and summoned a small troupe of Mexicans to help him push the van. I then helped the Africans shovel around their car and we eventually got them unstuck.

Between the Mexicans and the other drivers, we had a small mob of people to help excise the van. The van driver was so happy when we freed his van, that he passed around $5 bills to the crowd.

Score!