Best Of :: People & Places
Let's face it: If you're going to publicly dump someone, chances are you care less about looking like a callous ass than you do about ridding yourself of this clingy bastard for good. Unless you're a total weasel, it's likely you've tried ending it before in private, during an after-dinner discussion that almost always begins with, "Ummm, I think we need to talk," a sentence that turns the other person's thorax into a ball of steel that could choke Andre the Giant. Or perhaps you tried the next best thing, breaking up with them over takeout McDonalds: "You're McDumped." However, if neither of those worked, there's Southdale mall. Tell the creep you have to work late, and you'll meet at the mall instead of driving together. The best time to go is on a Saturday night, when the lines are eight layers deep. (With a mouth-breathing Vin Diesel fan delivering hot air on the soon-to-be dumped one's nape, there's little chance even the most volatile dumped dude will make a scene.) Determine in line that you'll see one of the 16-screen theater's completely innocuous offerings, like Ice Age 2 or Scary Movie 36, and then deliver the news: "I think we should just be friends...starting now." Then, while the recently dumped stands there stunned, suggest you stay and see the movie as friends, an event that will last less than two hours and, thankfully, requires silence. When the movie's over, simply get in your car, drive home, and turn off the cell phone for at least three days. Dumped well done.
Walk into St. Paul's Turf Club one Sunday night a month, and you'll be treated to an old-timey hootenanny radio broadcast, the likes of which may have never taken place around these parts before. Reminiscent of flatbed-truck revival meetings hosted by Bob Wills and the Carter Family and/or Hank Williams's "Health and Happiness Show," the House of Mercy Band soars on a magic carpet ride of fiddle and acoustic guitar. (If it's a more staid definition of "acoustic" you're hankering for, there are several groovy coffeehouse pickers to be had.) The most frequently heard adjective used to describe the vibe of the HOM's monthly Sunday gig is "cozy," but that doesn't quite do it. Not when Satan is ever present, heathen guest stars abound, and the acoustic can sound like alchemy.
We were tempted to give this award to Zombie's House of Curiosities on University in St. Paul for its unparalleled kitsch value: It's a classic head shop that carries pipes, water bongs, throwing stars, and—in a back room—uproariously trashy smut. But then we stumbled across the Adult Only Superstore on Washington Avenue and our mouths hit the floor. It's a new store—so new as to have an unlisted phone number and, as of yet, no credit-card machine. But this smallish storefront business puts larger competitors to shame with its dazzling variety of merchandise. This is a connoisseur's sex shop, as evidenced by its impressive selection of '70s-era adult movies, many starring the brassy, lecherous Georgina Spelvin, who was 37 when she came to prominence as a performer, and looked it. Also on hand, scattered among the more mainstream products: nonfiction books about the early years of the adult industry, including a bio of Russ Meyers; copies of Found magazine's adult counterpart, Dirty Found; and number of tacky paperback books with garish illustrations on their covers and titles such as I'll Whip Your Ass and Serve Your Mistress. This is a store that evidently views erotica as an adventure, and a surprisingly fun one. After all, among their inflatable sex dolls is one called "Fatty Patty" and another, named "G.I.L.F," whose dubious pleasures we dare not describe.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, so we went with the obvious choice. (We were all ready to crown Prince's new best-of, Ultimate, when we found out its release had been delayed.) But there's something to be said for such an easy decision. The fact that we uncontrollably bob our heads whenever we find the duo in the "A"s of our iPod means they're doing something right. From Slug we get frank talk about the world's problems with drugs (people do them every day and once in a while there are serious consequences) and sex (the rapper's reaction to the rape and murder of an Atmosphere fan is caught in a mournful rumination on sex-offender laws that never once exploits the girl.) Ant's soul-soaked production draws more emotion from his partner's words, spiking the anger and amusement with found sound seemingly created just for them. Atmosphere has claimed this honor before, and who will flinch if they do it again? It's no big thing. They're just that good.
The under-21 music scene is as diverse as any other kind, with a host of small venues catering to young people—community centers, bars with all-ages nights, high school cafés. Yet only one club in town has shows every weekend without age or genre restrictions. Founded in 1999 with backing from the city of Burnsville, the Garage features live music Fridays and Saturdays between 6:15 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. (as well as Thursdays when school's out), and these events routinely fill a cafeteria-sized main room, with adjoining game rooms and lounges. (The organization hopes to expand further in 2008, possibly to include a recording studio, a skate park, or an indoor gym.) This black-lit hall is no minor circuit, either: Bands pass through here to become live legends (Crashing By Design, Down and Above, Screaming Mechanical Brain—formerly Screaming Monkey Boner) and sign with national labels (Four-Letter Lie on Victory, Quietdrive on Sony). Older acts ignore this generation at their peril, and miss out on the most energetic audience in town.
The atmosphere in the Franklin Community Library is jubilant. Children—when they aren't parked with a book in the children's pavilion, teen arena, or stairwell—are run-walking the short maze of the small library's recently renovated footprint, often forgetting to heed the "inside voices" rule. Or they're staring slack-jawed at the kids'-area computer screen in front of them, too heavily weighed down with enormous earphones to be running in and out of the reading rooms. In short, the brightly painted library is consistently bustling with kids and adults taking advantage of its more accessible offerings. Built in 1914, the city's oldest community library reopened in May after an extensive reconstruction effort. The original stone and masonry on the building's facade was restored, as were indoor architectural elements such as the millwork and wood shelving. The elevator—a relic of an earlier renovation—was moved to regain some of the elegance of the front entryway. It worked. Other changes, such as removing interior walls and adding large rooftop skylights, open the library and manage to make it feel more spacious and cozier at the same time. An addition at the rear of the building makes room for a staff lounge, a kitchen, and unglamorous things like the mechanical room and storage space. Near the front, works by local artists hang above fireplace mantles. Above all, Franklin lives up to its name as a community library, with people streaming in and out of the building at a steady pace, some filing to the new tutor and technology rooms, others reading soundlessly wherever they can nab a spot.