Over the course of the past month, our friends had been slowly disappearing. They were off to have adventures (and study) everywhere from California to Ohio. With less than a week before our own departures, Brenda, Ally, and I embarked on one last hurrah (at least for this summer, anyway). With a full tank of gas in my mom’s ridiculously fuel-efficient car and Brenda’s copy of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack at hand, we drove to the Twin Cities.
After dropping our overnight provisions at Nana’s house, it was decided that we needed food. Immediately. So, our day started near the Macalester campus where we had lunch at Shish and roamed the Common Good bookstore.
Just as we discovered a beautiful magazine section, Jason texted Brenda. Noting that we needed to return someday soon, we headed to the University of Minnesota campus.
Brenda navigated the sprawling University campus brilliantly and we eventually located Jason. All that was left to do was to decide how we wanted to spend the next 12 hours. We had a list of options: the Mall of America, Ikea, the Midtown Global Market, and the Minnesota State Fair. Because we are both ambitious and indecisive, we decided to just do it all.
We parked in Hawaii, perused H&M, squeezed into the Forever 21 photo booth, downed iced lattes, made tough decisions in Aerie, walked a lap, found the exit, had Jason take over as chauffeur (if you can drive in LA, you can drive anywhere), emotionally moved into an Ikea apartment, sampled futons, bought a plant, temporarily named the plant Harold, drove to Midtown, tasted French pastries, delighted in cheesecake, devoured Crème Brûlée, pondered creepy piñatas, fawned over colorful fruits, departed for the Fair, and whistled in the car.
But then we saw the Electric Fetus. All other plans were paused.
Being the record-obsessed music fanatic that dreamt of living in the Twin Cities nearly all her life (approximately four years), Brenda considered it a rite of passage to step into the Electric Fetus. Known as the Holy Grail of Twin Cities record stores, the Electric Fetus has been servicing angsty youth, hipsters, and grown folks alike since 1968. Her hippish friends always gushed about the Electric Fetus on their trips to the Cities, and she had always envied them for that. Now it was her turn. As she stepped foot into the Electric Fetus for the first time, her eyes grew wide with awe and excitement. All sense of time was lost. For God knows how long, she flipped through records, made laps around the aisles, dug through a box of free posters, and marveled at the amount of coolness she was witnessing. After walking away with a number of free posters and a Dirty Dancing soundtrack vinyl (yeah, Brenda is the kind of person that feels the need to own the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on MP3, audio CD, and vinyl format), the gang headed towards the Minnesota State Fair, the sun beating down on the city skyline.
The State Fair was exhausting. Fun fact: it’s the second largest State Fair in the country right after Texas. Because I’ve attended nearly every year since birth, I guess you could say I’m somewhat of a fair aficionado, and I proudly showed off all my favorite attractions to my inexperienced friends. We fished through a crowded art gallery and miles of fried food kiosks, hit up The Midway—riding the “Stinger” included both the euphoria of viewing the fair lights upside down and the pain of banging one’s head against ineffective headrests—and indulged in Sweet Martha’s Cookies. In the evening, many of the buildings were starting to close (no free samples in the Grandstand), but wandering the fair while it was filled with live music and neon lights was a unique experience in it of itself.
When it was time to depart, we rested our aching feet—Ally was hardcore limping—and let the Sky Glider carry us back to the entrance. As we sat suspended in the night sky, we heard “Minneapolis/St. Paul! Are you ready to rock and roll?” It was none other than Aretha Franklin. Aretha flipping Franklin. She’s 72 years old and still bringing stadiums to their feet.
As Aretha mesmerized us with her voice, the fireworks lit up the sky. It was the most well timed Sky Glider trip in human history.
Ironically, as soon as we left the Fair, all four of us realized we were hungry. Back near the U, we assisted Jason in feng shui-ing his dorm room and picked up a pizza with sausage and roma tomatoes. Taking our food to-go, we drove through the late summer night with the windows rolled down and music blasting. Back at Nana’s we devoured the pizza and washed it down with Arnold Palmers; we made sure to use place-mats.
Although we maybe should have rested before our big day of music and excessive food consumption at Chipotle Cultivate, we instead decided to watch a movie. Picking a movie is always a difficult process. Ultimately, it itwas a tie between some kind of Black Power Kung Fu movie and two different scary movies.
Despite the fact that Brenda hates scary movies and Ally and I really had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, we went with “Phobia,” a collection of gruesome vignettes, courtesy of the Thai horror movie industry. The next two hours were spent squirming on the couch, hiding our eyes behind pillows and blankets— occasionally out of actual fear, occasionally out of disgust for the poor CGI. By the time we reached the point where a woman was trapped on a plane with the vengeful mummified corpse of her loverboy’s wife, I didn’t know whether to be terrified, amused, or seriously confused.
After that experience, none of us wanted to be alone, in the dark, with unfortunate Raggedy Ann dolls smiling on the shelf, my Nana’s creepy grandfather clock chiming eerily every fifteen minutes, so we all piled into the other guest room. Jason knocked out first, taking up most of the floor space. Ally, Brenda, and I were all reluctant to sleep in the middle after a watching a vignette where the person that sleeps in the middle DIES. So, Brenda, being the shortest (and the last to go to bed) took one for the team and slept in the cozy plaid reading chair. Ally drifted off to sleep soon after Jason, and eventually, Brenda and I followed.
Once everyone was done getting ready, we headed out to the Bad Waitress, a delightfully hip diner plastered in movie memorabilia. It’s called the Bad Waitress because no waitresses actually take your order; you write down the order yourself and turn it into the cashier. Brenda got an El Camino, I got the Out-of-this-Earth Scramble, Ally got Eggs Benedict, and Jason got some tofu dish. Our dishes came out beautifully and we spent a solid three minutes making photographic rounds (for magazine purposes) before allowing anyone to indulge in their meal.
After our satisfying brunch, we spent an hour or so exploring the area. We poked our heads into bicycle shops, high-end boutiques, and vegan restaurants of all kinds. Afterwards we parked our car at the Walker Art Center and headed on over to Loring Park to get our Chipotle fix at the Cultivate Festival.
Being the free event that it was, the festival was packed, not only with people but also with Chipotle propaganda. We began our epic journey to complete a series of challenges that would culminate in the form of a free burrito. However, lines were long and we soon gave up. We did manage to get ourselves some free Ben & Jerry’s for supporting GMO labeling, though.
Throughout the afternoon there were a variety of musical acts and celebrity chef demonstrations. Ally, being a religious viewer of “Chopped” on the Food Network, made sure we went to see Amanda Freitag. She charmed the audience with pork chops and deep fried green tomatoes. She was a lot of fun to watch, but it’s always a little sad to watch someone prepare food that you don’t get to actually eat. The delicious wafts of sizzling pork chops reached me all the way in the back corner of the crowd and I was reminded of the free burrito that was never to be.
At around 4:45pm we headed to the music stage to check out the Grouplove performance. The joyful experience of being sandwiched between throngs of hipsters and men in mesh pineapple printed shirts brought back memories of Rock the Garden. Despite the painstaking tiptoeing and rather exhausting task of avoiding beer spills, we were entranced by the charisma of the band and had a blast overall. Things definitely got turned up a notch when the group played their ever-so-catchy hit song “Tongue Tied.” We screamed along, watched the crowd surfers go by, and danced as clouds of Mary Jane hung over our heads (because hipsters keep wads of marijuana in their pockets at music festivals, just itching for a mere suggestion by one of the bands). Brenda and I were especially excited when they pulled out a grungy, garage band type cover of Beyoncé’s “Drunken Love.”
After the performance was finished, we sprawled onto a patch of grass, contemplating what to do next. We ended up taking a long walk back through the Sculpture Gardens and heading over to Dinkytown in search of something to quench our thirst. We happened upon Chatime and ordered various boba filled drinks. While enjoying them (well, with the exception of Ally’s painfully bitter tea that calls for an acquired taste), we played with an incredibly sticky Jenga set and took in the reality of the approaching school year. The last weekend of our summer was coming to a close.
Once we were finished with our bubble tea fix, we dropped Jason off at his dorm and headed back home. We righted our course after a short, unintentional detour, and the rest of the ride was fairly quiet. We discussed our favorite Scooby-Doo episodes and our college packing lists, our anxieties of starting college and plans of getting together in the future via Amtrak. In melodramatic terms, it was perhaps a bittersweet farewell, and we probably would have addressed it at some point, if only we weren’t distracted by the fact that I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the car lights. Rest assured, I eventually called my mother and we got home safely. We rolled into town at around 8:30pm. Our goodbye was filled with tight hugs, promises to keep in touch, and Brenda reassuring me that she would eventually finish a mixed CD for me. The next time we are all together, we will be college students. —M., with a bit of assistance from B.
