We were trying to be "pro-active" and counteract the bitch of winter, of Minnesota winter, where the sun shines for a full 17 minutes around 9 am and sets entirely by noon. I was trying to rescue Britt from -itis of the Full House re-runs, I was trying to rescue myself with the slightly more noble sounding artistic malaise which is the space occupied between blowing off deadlines, but not actually doing the laundry, and just wandering from room to room of your boyfriends house pretending like you would actually be-being more productive if only you had all your paints and rub on letters and sewing machine stuff around.
So, we did the most intellectual thing we could think of, the deepest, smartest thing Minneapolis offers: we went to the museum. We saw plastic and jade teacups and danish jazz poster art and modern painting and some really old chairs. After about an hour, we were so tired, I was ready to hitch a ride with the next nana that drove by on a Larkô. We are not brave New Yorkers, walking eight blocks to and from the subway, invigorated by the chilly air, we are atrophying Minneasotans, unwilling to move outside of a three foot radio of a reliable heatsource.Posted by Jessica at January 6, 2005 08:41 PM | TrackBack