Leave Minnesota Alone
Shame this was cut for time.
YouTube link: Weekend Update: Tommy Brennan on Trump’s ICE Deployments in Minnesota - SNL
I Believe In Belief
This has been an especially difficult year for Minneapolis. The assassination of Democratic state representative Melissa Hortman, and Donald Trump’s characteristically callous response to it, is still an open wound. Many yards still contain pink lawn signs created as a sign of community support after the deadly shooting at Annunciation Catholic School in August. The murder of George Floyd, never far in the background of the city’s collective memory, has returned to the surface, as one needless murder in the streets recalls another. How much can one city take?
from How Much Can a City Take? by Scott Meslow, The Verge
On Dogs, Briefly
My niece has a hockey tournament a few hours away, so I’m watching my sister’s dog, Benny, for the weekend. After forty years on this planet, it feels like it’s time to publicly admit that I am not much of a dog person. I don’t hate dogs—I grew up with one, and I admire their morale, their loyalty, their commitment to the present moment. But they are also loud, energetic, and possess a kind of smell that sure takes some adjustment. Living with one, even briefly, feels like hosting a very affectionate talking teddy bear which cannot be turned off. So, last night, I tried diplomacy. We had a movie night. I put on Homeward Bound, a childhood favorite that I thought might be a culturally appropriate gesture. Benny did not care. He did, however, climb onto me, sigh heavily, and reposition himself every few minutes like a person trying to solve a complicated geometry problem with my arms.
Today has been quieter. It is bitterly cold, so we have been inside: chicken tortilla soup, NFL playoffs, and long cuddle sessions on the sofa. I am vaguely bothered by his constant demands for attention, mainly because they override anything that I think is important. Text messages mean nothing to him. Cleaning means nothing. Standing up at all seems misguided. In Benny’s eyes, the entire point of life is to sit very close to another living thing and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere. You can’t help but melt under that kind of adoration. It is nice, if uncomfortable, to be so thoroughly needed.
I’m not sure about this philosophy you’ve got, Benny. I prefer a comfortable level of independence, and a dog is anything but. You’re forced to not just coexist, but embrace dependence. However, I suppose we all need to step out of our comfort zones occasionally, and I’m glad I did this time.
That said, I will be very happy to have a cat in my life once again.
A Metaphor for Frozen Water
It’s encouraging to see the hard-working people of Minnesota working hard to remove ice. Ice can be damaging, dangerous, and disastrous. Here in our community, we show courage and bravery to stand up to ice, no matter how much comes our way. Our friends, family, colleagues, and neighbors demonstrate that through resilience and determination, we can push back against any force that chills our home. We’ll always find a way.
At least, that’s what I’m thinking about when I look out of 26F. This is just a post about de-icing, which is something we should all be thinking about and supporting right now. The removal of ice sure is an amazing feat, isn’t it?
My Space
For me, the idea of a personal home on the internet died a quiet death when MySpace went away.
Like Angelfire, GeoCities, and countless others, MySpace gave anyone a place for creative expression with a low barrier to entry. It wasn’t polished or professional, but it was yours. A corner of the web you could shape and fill with photos, writing, music, and fragments of who you were at that moment in time.
Then the web shifted.
Platforms consolidated. People followed their friends. MySpace faded from relevance, changed hands, and slowly became something else entirely. Many of us drifted away, assuming we could always come back someday and look around.
But years later, after a botched server migration wiped out huge portions of its data, there was nothing left to return to. Photos, writing, friend lists, music—gone. Parents used to warn us that “what you put on the internet lasts forever,” and for a while that felt true. But this time, it didn’t.
That experience stuck with me longer than I realized. I think it’s part of why I’ve always been hesitant to share too much online, or to build much of a web presence at all. It seems most things we post today are designed to be ephemeral—fast, disposable, algorithm-fed, and that kind of carefree impermanence has never really been my style.
When friends started blogging in the years that followed, I wanted to join in, but I felt burned. I didn’t like the idea that a company could decide—at any moment—that my words and work were no longer worth hosting. So I kept reading. I just never started writing on my own.
Inspired by a recent post by Joan Westenberg, I’ve finally decided it’s time to start writing—with intention. This blog lives on a platform designed around independence, portability, and restraint rather than algorithms or engagement metrics. It’s not a walled garden or a feed run by AI, and it’s not trying to capture or exploit my work.
This is about taking back some authority and agency over the things I care about. Lately, I’ve been reminded how quickly circumstances can change—through politics, through violence, through illness, through loss or through luck. None of us really knows how much time we’re given.
I can’t control most of that. But I can choose to speak while I’m here. To make things. To leave some kind of record that I was paying attention.
For humanity, we’re nothing if we don’t make something.
This is my space.