Tag: minneapolis

Why My Novel Is Set in Minneapolis

Cristina Cordova — Sun, 25 May 2008 09:56:12 -0500

I lived in Minneapolis for a few years, some years ago, and during that time I came to love the town and the quaint Midwestern customs of its citizens. People smiled at you on the street—without asking for money. If you were lost, they gave you directions—without asking for money. They even assisted the elderly across the street; in DC, we use them as decoys for the onrushing traffic.

Last Tango for the Cul-de-Sac of Love

Rich Goldsmith — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 01:27:35 -0500

The Minneapolis-Saint Paul Craig's List is a colder and more lonely place these days as foreclosures reach a feverish pace in otherwise sleepy places like Anoka County. Cul-de-sacs once buzzing with activity and excitement now lie fallow. Residents no longer stumble, drunk in hedonistic delight, from house to house, relieving boredom and ennui with the aid of wives, friends and longtime acquaintances in true bacchanalian tradition. No longer will promotions be celebrated with swing parties of legendary

Murder by Numbers

admin — Mon, 26 Feb 2007 00:00:00 -0600

Viewed through the prism of memory, some years take on a character, a distinctive tone. In 2006, crime reclaimed its place on the front pages of newspapers across the United States, including the Star Tribune. And in this year of murder, Courtney Brown and Trevor Marsh were like twin poles on a violent globe. Brown died on a Saturday night in September, while walking with friends near the intersection of Lyndale Avenue North and Dowling Avenue. He had been playing basketball.

The Long Walk

admin — Thu, 23 Mar 2006 00:00:00 -0600

Can the Public Library (and Democracy) Survive?

admin — Thu, 27 Jan 2005 00:00:00 -0600

On the third floor of the temporary library in downtown Minneapolis—a retrofitted office building that once housed the Federal Reserve Bank—a skinny man with a shock of white hair paced hurriedly up and down the aisles carrying a bouquet of roses wrapped in a wad of shredded newspaper. He looked disheveled, a little like Sam Shepard on a bad day or, maybe, Hume Cronyn on a good day. Though I hadn’t set foot inside the main library for years, I recognized the man immediately as one of the usual cast of unusual characters that inhabit the downtown branch.

Burning Down the Firehouse

admin — Fri, 25 Jul 2003 00:00:00 -0500

To look at the tidy little house at 48th and York, you’d think the fire that killed Pearl Gallagher on June 14 didn’t really amount to much. Sheets of plywood cover the windows, but there are no flame-scarred walls, no singed rafters. The flower garden just beyond the front door blooms as if nothing happened. The perky impatiens nestled in a ceramic lamb at the bottom of the steps wait to be watered.