>When I was driving out to Willmar yesterday, I was listening to NPR, and there was a lot of coverage from Minnesota Public Radio about all the goings-on in Fargo/Moorhead and the impending doom threatened by the Red River. The crest, the retreat, the impending storm, another crest when all the snow piling up melts, etc. What struck me is the people they interviewed. Now I know a lot of folks in this neck of the woods got all up in arms about the way people were portrayed in the classic Coen brothers flick, Fargo, but damn if every single person on the radio didn’t sound like they stepped right out of that piece of cinematic genius. So either the NPR folks were taking the piss and only played recordings of people with that particular speaking inflection, or the Coens pretty much nailed it. I can’t say I noticed the accent so much when LAZERWOLFS played Fargo last summer, but my experiences with folks today in Willmar would support the truth of what the movie showed us. Anyway, here’s Sid charming the ladies at the bar we played in Fargo, the Nestor Tavern:
Spring in Minnesota apparently means blizzards and ice storms. There was some question as to whether or not this week’s big snowstorm would hit us here in Willmar last night; it did, but not until this morning. I looked out my window around 5 AM and it looked like it was just starting. By 8 it was coming down horizontally because the wind was blowing so damn hard, and everything was icing up nicely.
At some point during the day though it stopped and warmed up a little. By the time I left work, the roads were either wet or clear, and the snow was mostly slush. That bodes well for the drive back to Minneapolis tomorrow; I wasn’t looking forward to two hours being transformed to 4 or 5.
Here is a shot of the place I am working. Apparently they make equipment for the food and dairy business. Whatever. All I know is the IT guy kind of scares me; either that or his mind is so warped by a World of Warcraft addiction that he has no remaining person-to-person social skills. He doesn’t make eye contact and every now and then he has this evil little knowing grin, as if he just cast a spell whose effects aren’t yet manifest. I’m pretty sure if shit goes down though that I can take him. I’ve shrugged off a dweomer or two in my day and lived to tell the tale, believe me.
Speaking of old boy, patriarchal and misogynistic organizations, every small town also needs a big imposing church (to balance all the little weird ones and the bars and the pawn shops and the liquor stores), don’t they?
Last up is the old looking Dairy Queen I thought was cool. And now I’m really craving a peanut buster parfait . . . but luckily I’m already stripped down to my chonies and I don’t feel like putting my pants back on.