Hola amigos, it’s been a while since I last hollered at you. I’m spelling “weekend” like that for now on because it’s cool. Search it if you want. On the verge of the year’s first thunderstorm here in Lowertown. The sky is lighting up as I strike these keys. Soon, the refuse of the Rossmor parking lot will be blowing through the streets (it’s windy too).
Some Lowertown updates: The pawn shop on Ninth and Robert Streets, American Pawn Shop, has shuttered its doors. Just walked by it an hour ago and noticed *everything* cleared out of there. It was empty. Must have moved out Sunday after St. Patrick’s Day. Never went in there. Don’t think they advertised or even had a website. Could only find an unclaimed Yelp page.
Speaking of St. Patrick’s Day, I told myself I wouldn’t do it, but curiosity got the best of me and I walked down to Eagle Street Grill to try and get a beer. Well I couldn’t get a beer, and what did I actually expect? Too late did I figure this out, but duh, the neighborhood crowds are in the neighborhoods. Every hockey hooligan from the five-state area was going to be downtown because why venture to Snelling Avenue or even just up the hill? The mob at Eagle Street was soul-less, scowling, intimidating and brimming with drunken violence – and the staff was equally surly and unfriendly because it had to be.
More fun was Black Sheep Pizza beforehand. My college roommate and his fiancee came down on the 3 bus from their Como apartment and we got some pizza. We snatched some bar seats shortly after the parade let out, and as we went through our pizza and beers (try the Lift Bridge Irish Coffee Stout, to me a less intense Surly Bender), we became slowly surrounded by parade-goers looking for a pint. Soon, the manager was in the weeds (restaurant industry slang for being so busy you aren’t able to distinguish what is the most pressing task at hand). About 15 minutes later, the husband-wife owner team shows up. Colleen began tending bar and her husband (didn’t catch his name, is it Jordan?) was making pizzas on the cook line. That’s some locally owned dedication I can get behind. We weren’t charged for our four beers because “they came out too slow.” I tipped to make up for it.
OK, around 8:15 on Monday night here. I need some rain to cool things off. Early spring allergies combined with a Rossmor HVAC that hasn’t yet switched to AC made me slightly miserable over this past weekend. Sitting here in my boxers, sweating it out. And it’s March. In Minnesota.