Lifestyle

A bit of reassurance

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 04:47:36 +0000

Mindy Rhiger

In general I tend to be ambivalent about art or social commentary that singles out people with disabilities or differences. It isn’t easy to create a statement that doesn’t feel like pointing and staring. So when I saw the news story about a fashion photographer “reframing beauty” by photographing people with genetic disorders, I steeled myself for mixed emotions.

Then I read this quote:

“It’s terrifying,” Guidotti said, “There’s other ways to present this. I’ve spoken to so many genetic counselors who have a family in front of them and say ‘Ok, this is what your daughter is going to have. Read this.’ And they cover up the photograph because it will freak the family right out.. There’s gotta be something else we can do. There’s gotta be another way to present that information to that family.”

And I wanted to cry.

I didn’t have parents in mind when I originally created Fake Arm 101, but they are why I have kept it online nearly ten years after first writing it. I have gotten many, many emails from parents of young children who were born with one arm like I was. These parents tell me they didn’t know anyone with a limb deficiency before their child was born. They have no idea what a life looks like when you’re missing a limb from birth. Then they find my FAQ, and they probably cry.

The heartfelt emails of gratitude have always meant a lot to me, but now that I have a child myself, I get it. There is so much uncertainty in being a new parent. I can only imagine how much more intense that uncertainty feels when an unknown factor looms over your baby’s future. Anything I can do to calm a new parent’s anxiety, I am happy to do.

This is me. I’m pretty normal. :)

Please check out Positive Exposure. This is the kind of project that makes me feel like we’re getting beyond pointing and staring.

You can buy the zine version of Fake Arm 101 in my zine shop. This small DIY magazine is not at all the same as the online FAQ. It is a look at some of the comments I have gotten about my arm and some thoughts on what it is like to be physically different.

Proper Noun Blog

Socializing on the arts scene: Pro tips for surviving a night out

Mon, 17 Jun 2013 18:57:22 +0000

aminaharper

The Art House

When I was growing up, my one and only dream was to stay in the house and do nothing. This was mainly because I hated school, but I also felt at an early age that freedom from school meant the freedom to engage the world without restrictions. In my adolescent mind, this meant sitting in front of the TV all day eating junk food and watching old VH1 documentaries (this was back before VH1 became a reality show cesspool).

After 15 years total of schooling and plenty of hard work and luck since then my dream came true, albeit in a perverse sort of way. The one thing I didn’t anticipate was that while working from home there are a million opportunities to relax but no time to do so: because you’re the only one making sure you stay on top of things, you have to work all the time to prevent the ball you willfully hold from dropping. Because of this, my dream of being a lazy teenage butthole has morphed into the warped reality of a shut-in with a paint brush and poorly developed social skills.

The sad truth is that I spend more time in the house than outside, I spend more time watching my dogs vomit on the couch then I do with friends that are the same species as me, and I spend more time painting flowers than actually smelling them. And then there are the times when working means leaving the house which is both a welcomed change and slightly nerve-racking.

This past Friday I attended the Paper Darts Volume 5 launch party after spending the entire day beside myself over what to wear. I was a contributor for the issue and was really excited to get a free copy and learn more about the magazine I’m currently working for. That night the ladies at Paper Darts had packed the SooLOCAL space to the ceiling and as usual I felt like the smallest person in the room. I like to think that my social awkwardness is a haphazard characteristic of my personality that people find endearing and occasionally adorable. I’m not intimidating and I really just want people to be nice to me so that I can be nice to them in return. Because I don’t want my lack of social grace to contaminate others like some form of smallpox, I do these things to make surrounding myself with people less traumatizing.

Tip 1: BRING A FRIEND. One of the most important things I do when I go to events in the city is bring a very personable and talkative friend with me to break the ice and guarantee that there is someone for me to talk to. This time I brought my friend Angel, who may be one of the nicest and most genuine people I know. Her ability to create comfort in others by talking to them encourages me to open up, but also means that I have a loyal friend that won’t abandon me in the middle of a social minefield.

Tip 2: EAT FIRST. Lucky for us, Pat’s Tap is right next door to the Paper Darts Pop-Up space. It was busy that night, as is to be expected on a Friday night with a party next door, and I got that burger where they cook the bacon inside the beef (and you can totally taste the bacon). There is nothing worse than trying to be socially present on an empty stomach and if you’re like me you’d be distracted, tired, and cranky…really, really cranky.

Tip 3: DON’T BE AFRAID TO STEP OUTSIDE. Sometimes the noise is too loud and the space is too packed; it’s hot and sweaty and maybe the walls are closing in a little bit. Black Diet were playing at the launch party, and even though they are a fantastic band, I get really anxious during loud music performances. So, before they started their set Angel and I went outside to sit at a little table on the other side of the storefront window. We could still hear the band well, but the window dulled some of the sound out so that it wasn’t overwhelming; it was also nice just to get some fresh air.

Tip 4: WEAR COMFORTABLE SHOES. Most gallery spaces have flat concrete floors that are a pain to stand on for too long, but most events at galleries have very few, if any, chairs to sit on. So it helps to wear shoes that you’re okay with standing in for long stretches of time. Most of the women that night were wearing beautiful heels that towered them over me in my little flats and my feet were still sore. I can imagine how their feet must have felt at the end of the night.

Tip 5: GO WITH WHAT YOU KNOW. If you see any familiar faces, gravitate to them first. The people you know will be your social buffer between you and that feeling of being out of place; they might even introduce you to new people. That night I was introduced to a very large, very friendly cat that lives in the neighborhood and comes to visit the SooLocal space every once in a while. I pet him for a moment and then he suddenly disappeared without a trace. He reminded me of Muta from Hayao Miyazaki’s The Cat Returns and a photographer from City Pages took photos of us.

Angel said the pictures made me look innocent and nubile, which in my mind made me think I looked like some sort of sexy toddler or something. I’m pretty sure I was just being a self-deprecating drama queen, but either way I’m getting a lot better at the whole socializing business. I might have to make it a regular thing, but I can’t make any promises.

Midsommar prep

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 20:07:30 +0000

Patrice

In Minnesota this year we have two weeks of Midsommar celebratory options, which is ironic considering we have yet to experience spring. Perhaps the iffy weather will make the festivities even sweeter. Our celebration begins tomorrow with a trot through the grounds at American Swedish Institute, a dance around the maypole, and indulging in a pastry or two from FIKA. Then our group will come back to our place for a Nordic feast worthy of any Scandinavian. Next weekend we head to events at Svenskarnas Dag (Swedish Heritage Day) and picnic along the Minnehaha Falls.

In preparation, I am quick pickling cucumbers, rolling meatballs, tossing potato salad, nibbling on herring and gravlax (I'm testing the flavors!), and mourning the Most-Expensive-Chocolate-Hazelnut-Cake-Experiment-Fail-Ever (more on that in another post). Nothing says Midsommar (or midsummer if you prefer) like a bowl of fresh strawberries, so this year we are adding strawberries to the beginning of our meal with an appetizer of grilled Strawberry Caprese Pizza, and as tradition demands we will end the meal with thick slices of the best Strawberry Cream Cake I've ever had.

You can read more about Strawberry Caprese Pizza (a.k.a. Kick-in-the-Pants Pizza) at this week's Called to the Table. Then start practicing your dancing style and memorize the lyrics to Små Grodorna. In Sweden frogs say "Kou ack ack ack," and pigs say, "Å nöff nöff nöff."

See you at the maypole! And don't forget the aquavit!

Små Grodorna

Små grodorna, små grodorna är lustiga att se.
Små grodorna, små grodorna är lustiga att se.
Ej öron, ej öron, ej svansar hava de.
Ej öron, ej öron, ej svansar hava de.
Kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack,
kou ack ack ack ack kaa.
Kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack,
kou ack ack ack ack kaa.

Cultural Construct

American Swedish Institute

Northern Spark 2013 in St. Paul: The best tweets and Instagram shots

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 17:01:46 +0000

Jay Gabler

Front Row Seat

Coverage of issues and events affecting Central Corridor communities is funded in part by a grant from the Central Corridor Funders Collaborative.

Considering Lao Minnesotans

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 04:50:58 +0000

Bryan Thao Worra

As we approach International World Refugee Day on June 20th, there are good reasons to revisit the journey of the Lao Minnesotans.

Although they are often forgotten in many policy discussions in Minnesota and nationally, the Lao community in Minnesota has over 12,000 who still actively identify as Lao. We have the third largest population of Lao refugees in the United States. This is enough to form a city the size of Monticello.

Minneapolis, especially North Minneapolis, is home to an estimated 70% of our community with 8,400 Lao. We have to ask, how will the next mayor work with us to keep our community engaged? How will our legislators work with us to reduce systemic barriers that encourage a thriving economy? Who will help us most to enable everyone to innovate together?

In the coming elections in November we must ask: Who has the vision to build sustainable world-class models for economic and social development? Alas, many candidates, especially among those vying to be the next mayor of Minneapolis, have no understanding of our journey and they act as if they can take the Lao Minnesotan vote for granted. They cannot.

For a tangible example of why Minneapolis needs to be concerned, we might take notice that few Lao make use of city facilities and resources such as parks for our festivals. Almost all major Lao Minnesotan events are held outside of the boundaries of Minneapolis, even though 7 out 10 Lao live in Minneapolis. That should be a BIG red flag for city council members and other stakeholders that there are unmet needs or restrictive policies that oblige us to take our business elsewhere.

During the 1990s, Minnesota's approach attracted hundreds of Lao Americans who rebuilt their lives successfully. In the 2000s, however, an honest assessment is that far fewer have migrated to Minnesota as a destination point for success. How might Minnesota become a renewed magnet for Lao for the rest of the 2010s and beyond? It's going to take a lot more than a shiny brochure from the Visitors and Convention Bureau.

Lao Minnesotans are fairly easy-going and resilient. For over 30 years we have not seen a Laotown zone emerge anywhere in Minnesota because Lao will typically set up shop wherever, without necessarily clustering. It's debateable how effective an economic and social strategy this is. But the bottom line is that we saw few Lao entrepreneurs emerge in the last 5 years. This is deletrious to our broader philanthropic capacity, and to the overall character of Minnesota. So, how might a city encourage Lao Minnesotan investment and growth?

I strongly believe that in order for Lao Minnesotans to live up to our full socio-economic potential of almost $700,000,000 (based on the median Minnesotan income of $58,476) we all need to seriously reinvest in our process. That particularly includes support for our non-profit sector, which is needed to reduce the strain on the mainstream systems and increase efficiencies.

It would be fair to state that most of our officials and colleagues have little appreciation of how strained the Lao community service infrastructure is presently. To put it into perspective, the Monticello city government has 140 employees to serve its 12,000+ residents. The 3 main Lao Minnesotan non-profits have less than 15 employees combined to do outreach and engage effectively statewide. We're looking at one Lao non-profit employee for every 800 Lao Minnesotans. Based on the last few years' budgets, each Lao non-profit organization presently has about $16 to invest on each Lao person in the state a year, not even enough for a decent pizza. Compare that to the Monticello city budget, which needs $6 million a year to operate, typically, or an investment of $500 per head.

We know there's a very real and crucial need for Lao who can assist other Lao and other refugees in navigating many of the complex systems in Minnesota. There is still a very real need to hear Lao Minnesotan voices on immigration reform, health care reform, and education reform, given that many of our current Lao youth are scoring under 50% on both reading and math in this state, and less than 10% of us successfully graduate college.

If those numbers don't turn around, we must begin considering alternatives where our children can succeed, preferably because of the system, not in spite of the system.

But we also know that Lao Minnesotans, if given the opportunity, are capable of winning national and state awards. The Lao youth group, "Asians United" received a top award from the U of M Human Rights Center, for example. Miss Teen Brooklyn Park, Mariah Rattanasamay, is breaking ground as a role model and anti-bullying advocate at Park Center Senior High School. Like many refugee communities, our results are still very polarized. People are thriving or flailing. We need to reduce barriers for everyone to have a good opportunity to live, work, learn and play in Minnesota meaningfully.

Minneapolis says it's investing in its infrastructure and making improvements. The Lao Minneapolitans alone could form their own city the size of St. Anthony, but we often see Minnesota agencies dismissing our involvement, even those ostensibly in place to meet the needs of Asian Americans and refugees. This is a critical blindspot I'd seriously recommend folks reconsider, especially since most Lao Minnesotans ARE citizens and registered voters.

But what are your concerns and thoughts, and how might we make positive change to address the situation?

Lao'd and Clear

Russell Peters at the State Theatre: The funniest thing Minneapolis has seen all year

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 19:57:40 +0000

Dwight Hobbes

Sounding Off On Sound

Probably the best comic you never heard of, Canada-based Russell Peters is a rare find, doing the sort of ingenious stand-up you just don't see these days. Not that he's exactly unknown, having done extensive stage, television and movie work. Still, Peters has to be one of the quietest successes in the entertainment industry, drawing, for example, a respectable but hardly sold-out house to the State Theatre on May 2. In the preceding weeks the widely famous had come through and packed the place—but, ironically, not one of them was half as funny. In fact, if you go through a roster of the biggest names in the business, you'll be lucky to find a handful that who are as good as this guy.

Peters does a cool combination of scripted material and improv, both components being rich in raucous observational humor—in this day and age of gratuitous profanity and witless vulgarity, refreshingly free of foul language. It's only once in a while that he cusses, and even at that simply does it in passing.

A recurring riff for the night, one of this favorite sources in general (i.e. his DVDs Outsourced and Red, White and Brown) is drawing on his ethnicity—his dad was born in Bombay—to satirize Indian culture and, while he's at it, take a playful poke or two at folk from the Middle East. You'd think it's a far stretch to compare an Arab fella working in a department store being constitutionally incapable of saying, "I don't know" to George Bush winding up sending warplanes to Iraq after those imaginary weapons of mass destruction that, to this day, no has ever been able to find. Peters takes you on a rib-tickling routine, digressing here and there, that eventually connects the dots and hits your funny bone hard enough to fracture it.

He doesn't, by the way, spare even himself or his wife, who is Latina. With some of the comments he made about their sexual proclivity, it wouldn't be a surprise were she waiting off stage to give him a slap upside the head. If you're bashful it doesn't pay to be in the front—particularly if you're Indian and most particularly if you are and your date isn't, as Peters gets devilish delight out of roasting mixed couples. He did easily 20 minutes to a half-hour getting on the cases of parents who brought their kids to the show, starting out, "Whose brilliant idea was that?" It couldn't have been anymore fluid had the audience members been plants. That's how well he thinks on his feet.

Bottom line, Russell Peters is wired tight. It's just too bad more people weren't on hand to appreciate it.

Coverage of issues and events affecting Central Corridor communities is funded in part by a grant from the Central Corridor Funders Collective.

Bottom line, Russell Peters is wired tight. It's just too bad more people weren't on hand to appreciate it.

Coverage of issues and events affecting Central Corridor communities is funded in part by a grant from the Central Corridor Funders Collective.

Be sure to look up in downtown St. Paul

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 02:53:38 +0000

Teresa Boardman

Above: Galtier Plaza

Taken from the inside of Galtier Plaza located on E. 6th street. The building is the home of Airye Condominiums and Galtier apartments, not to mention the downtown YMCA and Cray Research and some restaurants.

352 North Wacouta street

The faces are high up on a brick building on Wacouta street near 4th (union depot)

Pioneer Press Building

The Pioneer building... they sure don't make them like that any more.

Be sure to look up when you go downtown.

Teresa on TCDP

Teresa Boardman on TCDP

Commuter Pit Stops welcome walkers and bikers to Bike Walk Week

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 00:46:48 +0000

jakre

TC Daily Planet

This week is Bike Walk Week in the Twin Cities, and to help encourage people to bike and walk for their commute, Pit Stops have been set up in several locations in the Twin Cities. Volunteers from the community and from local bike shops are there Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 7 to 9 am and 4 to 6 pm to help people with biking and walking tips, some lights and other giveaways, and bike repairs. We visited four stations on Monday morning and talked with volunteers about why they bike and walk.

For more information about Bike Walk Week, visit bikewalkweek.org.

I am not, nor have I descended from a Hipster

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 03:44:33 +0000

Rachel Dykoski

It was studiously, judiciously planned, my visit to Blacklist Vintage. It began with an inquiry via Facebook, stating I had some 1980s clothing that I hope to find a new home for, are you interested? The anonymous replier said, yes! When you take four years to truly look at the stuff you've inherited from a lost-loved-one, the wash of relief is like a good glass of wine, refreshing and intoxicating.

During the brief glimpses of sun, I stopped by this Hipster-paradise, just to casually check and see if today would be the day I'd show the owner my duds, and perhaps pocket some cash for them. She said yes, today's a great day to bring some things in, so long as their 'in-season'. With it being June, although it feels like April, I winked. I got it. I'm hip to her 'lingo'. I'll bring in the linens, I said. She nodded and I merrily went on my way.

Now that I look back, my reply should've told me that whatever pristine, 1980s attire I had for her to peruse, would NOT be what she's looking for. If you didn't catch what I said, I'll repeat it so you don't have to strain and scroll up. I said, "I'll bring in the linens." (Groan)

I'd unpacked only two suitcases so far. They were filled with cleaned and ironed clothes from the 80s by my then-79-year-old mother. I had also found items never worn, with tags, not even yellowed still on them. This dress was $130? That skirt went for $64 but she paid $16, shrewd shopping mommy, well done! I pooled together the obviously 80s outfits, dresses and skirts, tossed them into a 30 gallon glad-bag and hurried back to Blacklist Vintage.

There was no street parking available when I rolled up, so I parked in what I believed to be a side lot for some business that wasn't open. I just prayed that I wouldn't get towed while I conducted my 'business' at BV. See what I did there, I abbreviated the name. I'm so cool.

Linen's heavy by the way. I easily had 10 outfits in there. Off-the-rack names swirled in my head, knowing the proprietor would be enthused, no, grateful for what I was about to bestow. Evan Picone sportwear. Jones of New York. Ashanti boutique. Classic, eternal fashion was about to be unloaded by me. And if she liked what I had here, heck, I've bunches more where that came from, I exclaimed in my head!

Today I wore a bleached white Eddie Bauer turtleneck, tapered NOT pleated mom-jeans and tres chic platform brown flip-flops. My feet are slipping ever so slightly from the awkward lugging of fashions via Glad bag. But not to worry. I'm unloading this for some cashola, baby. Oh yeah. I stepped up the sloping, corner entrance, sidled past racks of uber-cool wear and hefted my bag to the glass counter, situated in the middle of the store. "Just drop it there," Vanessa, owner of BV said, "I'll get to your things in a moment."

I giggled. Yep. This grown-a** woman giggled and started perusing the closest rack. "I believe I owned these slacks when they came out," I uttered. Vanessa may have said something back to me, but I don't rightly recall that. I just knew this was gonna be a heck of an afternoon. She was going through someone else's bag, a cute, perky blonde gal who had done the same as me, brought in things she had no use for to be considered as BV worthy. Perky gal was told that the cowboy boots and something, was it a western belt? had been worth $30 in-store credit by Vanessa. PG (see what I did there?) said that was cool, and went about browsing the rack where she stood.

Mz. V lugged my bag to behind the counter, and began to pull out mom's treasured attire. Several times, as she began to make piles, she paused to smell each item. They had been in a suitcase for four years. A suitcase that's older than she & I combined. Lined with cedar, of course! She glanced at a linen dress, which I wanted to blurt had been mine back in the day. When I was a teen. But I didn't. I wanted to savor whatever she had to say. "Do you think I can get THAT out of it?" she asked. I blushed, get what out I thought? I pulled the pretty, beige, pleated linen dress closer and all-be-damned, there was a yellow stain. Unremarkable. But a stain that's been there since the late 80s. There's no-way Mz. V of BV could get it out.

She began putting all the pieces back into the Glad bag. And my heart felt squeezed. "Are all the things you've got like this? I can tell you, my girls aren't looking for matronly items. Lemme' show you what I'm looking for...." With a spring in her step, she sauntered over to a rack and began producing awesome, gaudy frocks from the 70s and 80s. Again, I wanted to blurt that what she's just reviewed is far superior to what she's showing me now. But I don't. Flustered. Embarrassed and flushing, I nod my understanding, hurry my thanks and try to disappear with 20 lbs of clothes in tow, as fast as my flippity-flops could carry me. Picking up speed, I lunge through the door, go to step down and forgot that it's a sloping step. I'm top-heavy with unwanted couture. My head and chest lean forward, my hips wobble and my feet slip in the thongs, so that my elongated toes drag on loose concrete, sidewalk. I look up, and see at least 5 cars lined up northbound, for the light at 26th and 1st Avenue S. I hop, step one-two. And saved myself the embarrassment of falling flat on my face.

Grumbling to myself, I knew this was going to be a waste of time. Didn't I tell somebody who'd suggested I go here years ago that it was probably nothing they wanted. Well, HA! Hahaha, I was right! Ears-red from gaining nothing from this venture and effort, I open my car's hatchback, chuck mom's clothes in and slam the door shut. This is NOT how I saw it playing out. Damn it all to heck.

What could make my blush go away, I wondered. And I instantly knew. One "Bombshell" doughnut from Glam Doll Donuts on Nicollet. It's spicy, Mexican-chocolate filled pastry, glazed and drizzled and spiced pecans will soothe my crushed dreams. I drive the whole 1/2 block and park in front. I get that and another bismark-like filled confection and I'm outta' there. It smells so wonderful in here, I could just inhale my treats, right here at their counter. I could linger, read a magazine, start up a conversation with strangers. But I stop, and look around. The awesome spot is brimming with actively snacking customers. Some solo, some in pairs, threesomes. And they all had one thing in common. They were Hipsters. Under 40, perhaps in school presently for the first time or, A-GAIN, and they look just, (groan) cool. I take my treats and hit the door.

S'okay. I knew it. I mean, I guess I had it confirmed today, that I am not nor have I descended from a Hipster. I lionized the preppy handbook. I've monogrammed, white oxford shirts from my HS years. Mom bought ALL.THESE.CLOTHES as a form of therapy when my father died on their 26th anniversary. He was 56. She hadn't planned on being alone and so she ate and grew and had to buy clothes. But she did it like people buy vitamins. It seemed like every weekend she found a new something-or-other that she HAD to have. And she'd assure herself that it was a wise purchase by saying, "...I only buy classic styles, they'll never go out of fashion." I remember nodding agreement, and silently praying that I could wear said pleated skirt or 'timeless' suit or dress.

Well here I am! I've got enough clothes to not have to wear the same thing twice for what, uh, two years? And I'm miserable. Because the kindly woman who knows her beans about what people want in attire, says what I've got ain't where it's at. I can dig it. I'm just mad about it. I can't wear these clothes because I'm not a size 22 - 26. I'm not 50-something. I'm not a Hipster. I'm middle aged and frackin' angry.

I know, right?! I'll show her. There's an audience out there, waiting for these large-sized preppy duds. I'm gonna' sell these myself! Hrmph. Off I drove to the Main Post Office downtown. And I found a parking space, it's just perfectly placed between the two entries, that are equally a half block away. (Grumble, groan) Setting out for one of the doors that I think is the main one, I stumble over, again, on loose concrete sidewalk bits and I hear tittering and peels of laughter. Flush again I look up, and there in their under 40-dom, is a regatta of rental-bikers, having a gay-old-time riding around downtown. Doin' the town, healthy style. FU** YOU I want to scream. But I don't. I just sigh, and shuffle on in my mom jeans up the ramp to the post office entrance. It looks so dark, I catch my breath, praying that it's open. I check the posted time and I've got at least 15 minutes before the place shuts down. Then I remember, it always looks dark in there, when you're coming in from the sun. I revolve through the door and see that not one of the teller windows are open. I sigh, I remember the sequester, I recount the evil a competitive marketplace has wrought on dear Uncle Sam's post office. But there it is. A kiosk filled with do-it-yourself envelopes and mailing boxes offering a flat-rate for delivery. I take the tri-fold brochure. A couple of envelopes and bend over to grab a couple of boxes. Did I just pull something? I reach down and tug at the flat box and of course it's jammed. Of course it's stuck in the kiosk. Of course I'm feeling old and cranky and I just wanna' go home. I free the stuck box and flippity flop toward the door. Polished granite and shinning, lifeless brass art deco seem to mock me as I rush for the door. A rolling roar of air is sucked in by an antiquated air duct. It startles me. But since I knew what it was, I didn't pee myself. I just strolled on.

I'm finally going to take pictures of mom's 1980s treasures and I'm gonna' put 'em up on eBay. And if I ever sell stuff, a percentage of the profits will go to the Twin Cities Media Alliance. Hold onto your britches, and watch this space for the deets. Peace.

Blacklist Vintage

25 E 26th Street

Minneapolis, , Minnesota 55404

Glam Doll Donuts

2605 Nicollet Ave S,

Minneapolis, , Minnesota 55408

Rachel Says

Blacklist Vintage

Aziz Ansari turns in a disappointing performance at the State Theatre

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 19:17:17 +0000

Dwight Hobbes

Sounding Off On Sound

Even gifted artists sometimes work harder on their way up to stardom than they do when they get there. Jamie Foxx used to do killer comedy on the groundbreaking show In Living Color, but after he become a name himself, he did stand-up that phoned it in. Even the wonderful Wanda Sykes, as generally engaging and entertaining as she was last year headlining the Orpheum Theatre, was, several seasons ago, so strong opening for Tommie Davidson that her performance was worth the ticket price while his was weak as diet water. The talented Aziz Ansari, who a while back was hilarious opening for Kathy Griffin at the State Theatre, on April 6 at the same venue simply was not the same comic.

Well, in point of fact, it was the same fellow in terms of timing and persona. His material, though, had nothing to it—and the Twin Cities was a perfect place for one of the routines he did. You can't swing a dead cat around Minneapolis and St. Paul without hitting an interracial couple, which makes this a priceless opportunity to make the most of the bit where Ansari makes fun of folk who don't like the idea of him having sex with white women. But all he does is what amounts to such to sticking out his tongue like a brat you'd love to smack but can't reach. There's no wit to it. Nothing subtle at all.

Another potentially rich subject was poorly handled. Kids. Few things are funnier than some of the things they do, and from Bill Cosby to Richard Pryor to Sykes, ad infinitum, a deft comedian can have a crowd laughing itself by joking about grown-ups', whether they're parents or not, attitude toward or reaction to children. Ansari came up with one witless riff after another that, him being a bachelor, was supposed to punch how parents make way too much to-do over their little darlings' abilities. Like being able to walk. Honestly, anyone who's ever had to sit throw some proud papa or mama gushing over their precious little ones, basically congratulating them for breathing, understands where Ansari was going with the subject. He just never got there. He spent the whole show—both the early and the late performance—not getting to point after point with any kick to his punch lines.

Which really is too bad. A professional of Aziz Ansari's prowess passing off such a lame performance is like a high-class clothes horse strolling around in a Ralph Lauren suit and Payless sneakers.

Coverage of issues and events affecting Central Corridor communities is funded in part by a grant from the Central Corridor Funders Collaborative.

Which really is too bad. A professional of Aziz Ansari's prowess passing off such a lame performance is like a high-class clothes horse strolling around in a Ralph Lauren suit and Payless sneakers.

Coverage of issues and events affecting Central Corridor communities is funded in part by a grant from the Central Corridor Funders Collaborative.