Midwest Specifics

Space Aliens caught my eye all the way back in July. The instant I spotted it's galactic porthole I told Preston that it would be the first place we went once I was gainfully employed. Four thousand job applications later we finally sat down for oozy burgers and fries at the out-of-this-world eatery. Our experience was everything one may expect from Toy Story's "Pizza Planet", there was birthday cake, skiball and the claw. 

1 MIDWEST POINT: Space Aliens was founded in North Dakota. 

Top Down

A couple of weeks back I was lent a convertible for the weekend. Such a state necessitates a drive. My boss recommended a visit to Fort Ransom. His directions were simple: head south out of town and turn onto a highway headed towards "Kindred". My Californian sensibilities of what a new highway looked like, led us to miss the exit. And instead we found ourselves in  South Dakota.  The glittery Dakota Magic greeted us at the state border. After two games of roulette and a hand of blackjack, we left with an additional $6 and a greater sense of direction. 

Upon heading north, we discovered that the "Kindred" highway had been fifteen minutes outside of Fargo. This time we made the exit, but were tempted by a new possibility. Veering from course we followed a pair of scenic binoculars down a dirt road. We switched the radio from our found: Taylor 92.7, "a station for any girl who's ever been dumped" a Taylor Swift only station, to KNDSU's student-run Sunday bluegrass hour. Like Alice's evasive white rabbit, the binoculars vanished, leaving behind a fork in the road.  

Signs of suburbia are few and far between in North Dakota. Strip malls and stop lights fade away four miles outside of Fargo city limits. Following the rearview mirror compass we wove through Dakota fields. The day's sun had retreated behind a calvary of storm clouds. North and West turns brought us to the western edge of our new city. Day was done. We went home without reaching our intended destination. We spent the day lost, without knowing it. And as it turns out being lost is generally the best way to find everything. 

Midwest Specifics

 A herd of bison migrate down Fargo's Broadway drag, in search of tunics made of organic cotton and cappuccinos. 

Game Day

America is full of regional twangs. Californians know to when to roll "r's" and silent "ll's". New Englanders name their mothers, mum. And in North Dakota, bison are bizon. And don't you say any different. The "correct" pronunciation was one of ESPN College Game Day pre-show lessons.

ESPN in the House  

The show choose little old Fargo for their weekend broadcast. Downtown was transformed from main street America to a Hollywood backlot. I have been to both, so you can quote me on that. Every front page article and morning show topic debated, predicted and anticipated the coming weekend. Starting at 5:30 Saturday morning, tailgaters, die hard fans and college kids began filling up Broadway.

A video of ESPN's rainy welcome

From what I understand College Game Day is a pre-game commentary show. The hosts discuss many of the college games that will be played on a given Saturday. During the broadcast they showcase a particular location. The program ends with a host wearing the mascot head of his predicted winning team. And apparently it is very popular amongst people who like football. 

My Game Day

The cafe I work at is situated on Broadway, meaning my Game Day began at 6am. I served bizon sugar cookies, chai tea lattes and black coffees to many chilly fans. Always a fan of festive wear, a emerald green ribbon tied up my hair and my chosen shirt was hand painted to cheer on Fargo's favorite team. 

Morning was a cool and crisp forty degrees. The day went on to shed its autumnal tones, and by the time I closed up shop at 4 o'clock, the sky was shining summer sun. My saturday work day concluded with beer and whiskey at the Pickled Parrot (I know, I know what an awful name) with a favorite co-worker and favorite boyfriend. 

Picture This 

Since I was hard at work preparing hot chocolates and green teas all of Saturday I wasn't able to adventure around the crowded Game Day set. However I was able to snap a few photos along my walk to work on the rainy Friday morning before. 

Fourth Quarter Remarks

The preparations for Game Day were at times a bit manic and obsessive, there was no way to escape the buzz surrounding the event. While working the front counter last week, I queried each customer about his or her Saturday plans. While the responses varied the sentiments were the same; hometown pride shone in every pair of eyes. All 100,000 citizens of North Dakota's biggest city are not bashful about their love for their chilly and secluded hometown. 

I have heard that Fargo is entering a new era. The city is changing, the population is diversifying and the businesses are becoming local once again. People are proud of where they are from, and there no intention to leave. North Dakota is a home that holds on. And for many, an ESPN TV show was just another confirmation of what a great place they live in. 

Midwest Specifics

Last night three three thunderstorms converged twenty miles outside of Fargo. The lighting was vivid, but the thunder was mute. 3 MIDWEST POINTS. 

Midwest Points

Game Time

I have taken up a game. Or rather I've started keeping score. I have always been a big fan of giving out points to my friends and family for feats of courage and awesomeness. And as a summer camp counselor I was constantly bestowing "cool points" to my many campers. Currently I am counting Midwest Points.

First Point 

The first incident of self-awarded Midwest Points stemmed from an accidental 'mispronunciation', where I told a man that his family was "soooo cuuuuuute" in dialect that was not at all Californian twang. The oddest thing about the incident is that I couldn't replicate the pronunciation again. It was as if Thor's Minnesotan grandson Ole, struck me with the ability to speak in midwest tongues for just a moment. And while we are the subject of accents, apparently I have a very odd one. No matter where I am living, Sydney, Idaho, California, people are always telling me I have an accent. People have even questioned my roots in my hometown.

Origins Unknown

I think it's because I was born with an accent.There are two important factors when considering the time period in which I learned to speak. The first, I had many ear infections, which were believed to have altered my speech. The letter "R" did not exist for me. My dad Mark, was Mahk. A jar was a jah, and green was geen. With the exception of geen, my childhood pronunciation could be considered straight up Bostonian. Which brings me to the second factor, my caregivers. My Grammmie was the most loving Bostonian woman in all of southern California. And her accent was as thick as her hugs. Me and Grammie spent some time together, alot of time together. And for that matter I went to endless pahties with aunties and uncles, where my mom always lost her cah keys.

The St. Lucia Incident 

 I lived in my unknown accent until second grade. Mrs. Fuchs, our Irish music teacher had settled on a international themed Christmas pageant. The second grade was presenting Sweden's St. Lucia Day. My Dad helped me memorize all the lines for the role of Inga. And after my public try-out Mrs. Fuchs told the whole class that it was so nice that I had added an accent.

Wait.
An accent.
What accent?

That spring I started speech therapy.
Two years later, I had an "R"
& 50 SPEECH POINTS.

Second Point

But back to my most recent accumulation. Last week I had a major Midwest moment. I had my first bowl of pasta salad, ever. It was a Santa Fe pasta salad and it was filled with black beans, celery, bell peppers and delicious southwest sensibility. 2 MIDWEST POINTS. Since then I have also sampled a BBQ sauce based pasta salad. 1 MIDWEST POINT. And just yesterday two ladies at a table I was waiting told me that I "was just soooo nice". Being called nice by people who are known as being "North Dakota nice", deservers 4 MIDWEST POINTS.

The Santa Fe

SCORE. 

Midwest Specifics

Fall is on it's way. 

Fargo, ND

Turtle Races

Goin' down to the Lake

Like the good midwesterns-in-training that we are Preston and I spent a recent weekend down at the Lake. And yes, around here Lake gets a capitol "L" as decided by me. We drank cool sauvignon blanc and hoppy IPAs as the days slowly rolled under the summer sun. We laid on the shore, wore water shoes in the Lake and ate every delicious morsel Preston's mom offered. The sole interruption of our lollygagging ways was Battle Lake's infamous and cut throat turtle races.

competition is in the air

It's Turtle Time!

Every weekend the few teenagers that live in Battle Lake are charged with the task of running the gladiator games turtle races.The morning event is composed of lottery drawn heats, a hula hooping competition and finals. Preston, his niece and nephew participated in the asphalt sprints. I wimped out the second I saw sharp turtle claws dig into a nine year old's hand. Turtle racing is not for the light heart.

The racers are actually kidnapped  wild  gladiators  turtles. They  are forced to entertain the masses raced throughout the afternoon before being returned to the Lake. There are small ones, big ones, nice ones and mean ones. And as you can imagine, there are quite a few dropped ones as well.

  The Results

I am proud to say that my man, Preston Taylor, made it to the semi-finals. He cheered and coached his turtle on to second place!!! It would have been first if the turtle didn't veer to the left.  Either way I am dating a winner. And either way we all enjoyed a mellow day at the Lake after the grit of the turtle gladiator races.

Midwest Specifics

Afterwork Skies

Downtown Fargo

PS I finally landed a job two weeks ago!!!

Island Park

Weekend Work-Time

Preston and I had intended to have an easy weekend. However a furniture find changed all of that.
On my way home from the library I discovered a perfectly-pretty alright-dumpster dresser right outside our building. Besides fishing out the drawers of the mostly-empty dumpster, it seemed like the perfect find. I figured I would scrub the abandoned drawers with some Pledge and call it a day.

The Complex Person That Is Me

I have been desperate for a dresser. Any dresser. But the  bigger the better. You see, Preston and I have been living out of suitcases since backpacking in Thailand last March. And that is really NOT okay. I have seen many a movie where dreamy protagonists claim that all they need is the clothes on their back and notebook to compose, sketch and doodle down their brooding feelings (I am looking at you, Jack Dawson). I am not that person.

I travel light. I really do. Once when going white water rafting with my best friend, our guides grinned at our low-key dry bags. A sleeping bag, tube of sunscreen and extra t-shirt were the only things we packed for the riverside camping trip. The same could not be said for our male counterparts.

But when it comes to the place I live, I need more. I want storage boxes and storage boxes that stack into other storage boxes. I dream about hanging shoe racks, flour canisters and shelving units. I love organization. And the second I spotted that dingy dumpster dresser I knew I must have it.

The Complex Person That Is Him

Preston is a "found treasure" collector and enthusiast. His ideal weekend would be spent trudging down back alleys and searching through abandoned warehouses for unwanted "treasures". In the past year Preston has reclaimed: futon cushions, a walnut desk, a suede high-back chair, an outdoor coffee table, throw pillows, an outdoor recliner, a cherrywood desk, wire spools, and endless palettes. And those are just the big money items.

He was happy to fish out the dumpster drawers and couldn't wait to start fixing. And that is how Preston and I differ. Where I am immediate, Preston delays. I saw organization, Preston saw a project. And man, does he love a project.

So instead of eating sherbet and cultivating our zen garden, we tromped all over town in search of paint, sand paper and non-99 Cents store paint rollers(because 99 Cents store paint rollers do not work, a tested fact). And after two days and nights of sanding, wood gluing and puttying, we needed a break.

Island Park

Our desire to smell things other than paint lead us to Fargo's Island Park.The downtown forest is a midwest oasis. To my chaparral raised self, it seems like a fairy tale woods. Sherwood with a jungle gym. Paired with a jar a mango-peach salsa, it was the perfect way to while away a Sunday afternoon.

&

the main event, our finished dresser