don't knock it till you try it: biking when it's cold outside

To celebrate my recent birthday, Nick planned a weekend trip to Red Wing to bike the Cannon Valley Trail. We drove down to Cannon Falls on a Saturday afternoon in late October, loaded our stuff onto our bikes and started the 20-mile ride to Red Wing.

It was probably about 40 degrees when we started, and to be honest, I feared that the experience was going to suck. I am definitely a fair-weather biker--I'll happily bike 60 miles in one day, possibly uphill, but only if the weather is nice and warm. I have no interest in purchasing face masks and special tires so I can commute to my job all winter in the snow like many of the more resilient people I know.

But it wasn't that cold, so I decided to hope for the best.

Once we got going, it wasn't bad at all! In fact, I ended up getting overheated from the many hysterical layers of clothing I'd piled on.

We arrived in Red Wing and checked into the St. James Hotel. Later we had dinner at Norton's, a restaurant owned by the former bass player for Husker Du. The food was super good! Overall, biking in the cold was just fine.

don't knock it till you try it: working in the suburbs

Despite my greatest efforts to find a job in Minneapolis--the city in which I live--I seem destined to always end up working in the suburbs. I've had a few brief assignments in the city, and they were great. I could ride my bike to work in 10 minutes and walk a block to meet my friend Katie for lunch. Unfortunately, the honeymoon can't go on forever--my $11/hour temp job would end when the regular admin came back from maternity leave, for example, and then it was back to reading 5th graders' essays in Eden Prairie.

My first real job after college was as an "associate project manager" at an educational testing company in Maple Grove. The first time I went out there it felt like I'd driven far enough to end up in St. Cloud. "This is how far I have to drive--every day?" I asked myself with disbelief. But I slogged on.

After that, I worked for about two years in Plymouth, and then I left that job for another one in White Bear Lake. Then I worked for about a year in Minneapolis, until I got laid off. And now I'm back in Plymouth, within driving distance of a Jimmy John's, a Solo's Pizza and a Subway.

At first when I started working in the suburbs, I felt oppressed. It didn't make sense to me that I--someone who lives in a city--should be forced to rise at 6 a.m. to cobble together a "business casual" outfit and then drive half an hour to 45 minutes to some office park many miles away, just so I could pay rent on a barely heated apartment and replace the bottle of vodka.

But after several years in the suburbs, I began to accept my fate, and decided I would attempt to embrace my lot in life. During long lunches I would fill the void with shopping trips to TJ Maxx or Target Ridgedale. I would go for long walks around the residential neighborhoods with matching houses that all have garages poking out in front. I would meet my other friends with suburban jobs at Chili's.

And then when I started working in White Bear Lake, I realized that I had developed opinions about various suburbs. Whereas in the past I basically thought all suburbs sucked, I realized after experience that this was not the case. For example, when I started working in White Bear Lake, I realized that I missed the "scene" in Plymouth. The chain restaurants and retail stores in Plymouth were clearly so much better!

Of course, White Bear Lake had a few special things to offer (but they cannot be found at the Thai restaurant downtown). The bars, for instance. White Bear Lake has a great assortment of dive bars! The restaurant scene was pretty sad, but my co-editor and I solved that problem by frequently making the half-hour drive in downtown St. Paul for lunch.

Verdict:

Best overall suburb in which to work: Plymouth

Best suburban bars: White Bear Lake

Best prefabricated "downtown": Maple Grove

don't knock it till you try it: dinner at ecopolitan

I recently visited the Ecopolitan restaurant on Lyndale for the first time. I went there with my very healthy friend, "Ellen," who I hadn't seen in weeks.

The Ecopolitan is an all raw, all vegan establishment. And although I've been interesting in checking it out for awhile, I was a bit dismayed, because the night we had chosen was cold and damp. Raw, vegan food generally sounds more appealing to me in the excessive heat of summer. But I didn't dare suggest that we relocate our date to Jakeeno's Pizza.

So we arrived, and were seated at a cute little table in the corner of the dining room. I asked Ellen what she liked (she's a bit of regular), and she gave me a couple suggestions. I decided on the flaxseed tostadas, and Ellen got the taco salad.

The tostadas arrived, and I was pleasantly surprised. They were substantial! And served with generous portions of salsa and guacamole. I guess I assumed that anything vegan would by tiny.

And they were much tastier than I'd suspected. I had been skeptical about the raw factor--how could anything quasi-Mexican even be edible without cooked beans or proper tortillas? But I was wrong. I mean, okay--they did taste "healthy", but in a good way!

And since we didn't swill a bunch of organic wine (just some beet juice), the bill seemed really cheap, too.

Verdict: Hey, it was good! I would definitely go back. I don't think they're going to convert me to their all-raw lifestyle--it clashes with my Chinese medicine diet of "lightly cooked vegatables." I've already chosen my particular food cult. However, I will definitely go back to sit in the infrared sauna.

don't knock it till you try it: library literary readings

Tonight I went to see Said Sayrafiezadeh speak at the downtown Minneapolis library. Said (I'm going to act familiar and use his first name, because I'm lazy) is the author of When Skateboards Will Be Free, a memoir about growing up in the Socialist Workers Party. 

I haven't read the book, but I saw a little blurb about the reading in the City Pages and it sounded like it might be good. Also, since I am "a writer" I thought it might be high time for me to go out and start, you know, "supporting other writers" or whatever. 

But truth be told, I generally dread readings. It is the rare author who can actually read well in front of an audience. Because of this--or maybe just because I have no attention span--I generally find that I don't retain anything from the presentation. I have no idea what the book was about, no idea how he answered the question about the title or what it was like when his dad read the book.

Tonight, however, I was pleasantly surprised. Said was funny and engaging--not a boring, droning literary type, but not a pompous cocksucker either. Virtually unprecedented! He said some interesting stuff about why it was a big deal for him to be in Minneapolis (his parents met here, the Socialist Workers Party was really big here, etc.). He read an excerpt from the book, and he was so good at reading I was actually able to follow the story! Then he talked some more, and then he answered some questions. 

My favorite part was when some woman tried to tell him that the Socialist Workers Party actually got a lot of political work done (Vietnam protests, women's "liberation," etc.), even though she heard him say on NPR that the party wasn't politically effective at all. He was all, Whatever! Well, I guess he was more like, "I respect your opinion, but I completely disagree with you." I swear, it seemed more badass at the time--guess you had to be there!! 

So I was pleasantly surprised by the reading. Said was fun to listen to, and he made me want to read his book (usually a reading has the opposite effect on me). My only criticism is that the whole operation was so safe. I guess that's to be expected--it was at the library, after all. But the evening included not one but two introductions by white guys in suits. Tons of information about the library was shared, and donations were solicited. After the reading, audience members had the opportunity to get their books signed while drinking water and munching on cookies in the atrium. 

Furthermore, I was surprised by the advanced age of most people in the audience. Hey, I think it's great that tons of seniors came out to support a brand-new author. However, where were all the young people? The author is only about 40 years old--I thought he'd draw a somewhat younger crowd. There might have been one or two other thirty-something nerds in there, but virtually everyone appeared to be over 65. Is this what it will be like if I ever go on a book tour? 

don't knock it till you try it: running

Since I didn't have the nerve to audition for the spring musical, I joined the track team during my freshman year of high school. I figured there would be nothing to it--I'd been playing soccer for years, and that involved lots of running, right? I liked the sound of "distance running," so I went ahead and signed up for that team.

It didn't take long for me to realize that I actually hated running. Every day after school, the other runners (tall, thin, blond) and I (short, dark-haired, childbearing hips) would head off to some local nature preserve to sprint ceaselessly around the trails. Although in soccer I was considered a fast runner, on the track team, I sucked.

Like the rest of my personality during that era, my running was depressive--just getting started was an almost insurmountable task, and once I was moving, I just went through the motions (laboriously) until it was over and I could go home and sleep for 15 hours straight. Needless to say, after that experience I didn't even think about running for well over a decade.

However, the years went by, and eventually I found myself shacking up with a recreational runner. For many months I refused to accompany him. I had only negative memories of the tedium of slogging endlessly around a track, usually in a stadium in Blaine.

But eventually I gave in and started experimenting with running again. At first it was horrible--my lungs hurt, I was exhausted after five minutes, I was bored out of my mind--but I gave it lots and lots of time, and eventually it became tolerable.

Now I go running every so often--sometimes even two or three times a week!--and I think I can say I almost like it. But I have not yet turned into one of those people who "love" or "crave" running, nor do I prance around Lake Calhoun in full eye makeup and a jog bra. But who knows what tomorrow might bring.

don't knock it till you try it: going to a restaurant alone

Last week I traveled to Regina, Saskatchewan for a work-related trip. One of things I hate most about business trips is all the enforced merriment with coworkers, including the dreaded group dinners. These aren't horrible by definition, but I just hate the way it always goes--the meeting wraps up around 5:15, and whoever is facilitating says, "Okay, then, let's all walk back to the hotel, drop off our laptops and meet in the lobby at 5:45. We've got a reservation for six-o-clock sharp!" 

But we had a giant lunch at 1:00--doesn't anyone else want to think about something other than food for an hour or so? Doesn't anyone want to go for a walk, or make a phone call, or just not see the other meeting participants for at least half an hour? I guess my introverted, reclusive nature is to blame here, and not my energetic, positive coworkers, but I will still complain bitterly. 

So on this last trip, although there were at least two group dinners, I managed to legitimately excuse myself from both. One evening I went out with a coworker unrelated to the business trip, and we had lots of food and wine and gossiped about work-related things and it wasn't nerve-wracking at all. The other nights, I somehow managed to go out by myself. 

When I tell people about doing things alone, they often look at me with pity, as if I can't find anyone to accompany me. Maybe this is actually the case, but I don't really care--I like going out by myself. Granted, sometimes it sucks--there's nothing like going alone to an all-ages rock show at the age of 16 when the band you came to see doesn't play for four hours and all you have to occupy the time is drink soda and maybe play some Ms. Pacman.    

But in general, I like to go out alone. One of the nights I waited until a little after 8:00 (two hours after my coworkers had dinner!) to go out and look for a restaurant. I found a bar/restaurant that specialized in beer. I'm not that crazy about beer, but it seemed like a good place to go alone--there probably wouldn't be a bunch of starry-eyed couples looking over at me and wondering if I'd been stood up by my Internet date or something.

I ordered some food, and some beer, and my waiter was very nice and charming but not in a smarmy way. There were other single people there, but they were all dudes. I think a single woman in a restaurant or bar is often an anomaly. This can be a bad thing--everyone assumes you're a harlot and you get lots of unwanted attention--or it can be a good thing, and your waiter comps you a beer and invites you to join him and the rest of the waitstaff later that night at the Irish bar down the block.  

Don't knock it till you try it: one-piece swimsuits

In The Meaning of Sunglasses, a book about style that I really enjoyed, Hadley Freeman weighs in on a variety of fashion topics (ankle boots, the etiquette of beauty treatments, hem lengths) in a smart and entertaining way. However, when I went swimsuit shopping the other day I was haunted by one of her opinions. As Freeman wrote in the book, "A woman in a one-piece bathing suit is either a professional swimmer, someone with issues about the shape of her tummy, or someone traumatized by a missing bikini top accident."  

Now, I hate my body as much as the next girl, but in my old age I've come to realize that the odds of being chased down a beach by a bunch of 12-year-old boys making fun of my awkward body are slim. (They were not so slim when I was nine years old at the Richfield pool, but that's a story for another post.) So, to prove that I'm okay with my abdomen, I boldly hauled a bunch of two-pieces into the dressing room, including some so-called "tankinis," which Freeman thinks are the perfect compromise in that they cover more skin while not binding your chest. 

I tried on all the stuff and was sorely disappointed. Everything fit absurdly and looked ridiculous. There's not much else to say without straying into Cathy territory. Anyway, despite agreeing with Freeman on many of the points she made in her book, I wasn't sold at all on the "tankinis" (a word I can't stop putting in quotes because I find it really embarrassing.) There was something bulky and awkward about them, at least the ones I brought into the dressing room. 

The time had come, I decided, to try the one-piece. Could the style really be that dowdy? I grabbed two that didn't look completely elderly and went back to the dressing rooms. They were both great! One was fushia in a sort of "50's bombshell" style, and the other one was kind of like a very short halter dress. I didn't feel like a professional swimmer at all. 

Conclusion: Screw bikinis and tankinis--one-piece bathing suits are the best-kept secret in the world of swimwear.