MPLSzine - The Movement Issue by MPLS Collective

MPLSzine

M O V E M E N T

I S S U E

Movement Issue - May 15, 2013

CONTENTS COVER BY CRAIG BELL LAYOUT BY BETHANY HALL & AMANDA REEDER

WHAT IT MEANS TO MOVE RELEARNING TO WALK AT 21 TAUGHT EMILY MUELKEN THE FULLER MEANING OF MOVEMENT.

PHOTO BY SASHA LANDSKOV

A MOVING TALE OF TWO CRUTCHES LINDSEY FREY WALKS US THROUGH THE WAYS CRUTCHES FUCKING SUCK, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CRAIG NORDEEN.

GET RIGHT BACK ON SUSAN WOEHRLE REMEMBERS A CHILDHOOD BIRTHDAY AT A COWBOY RANCH AND THE PLACE’S MEMORABLE OWNER.

48 SO YOU THINK YOU KAHN DANCE EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU CAN’T DANCE, BOBBY WILL TEACH YOU THAT YOU KAHN. CHRISTIAAN “BACON” TARBOX REPORTS FIRSTHAND FROM BOBBY’S DANCE CLASS AT GAMUT GALLERY.

52 DIGITAL CITIES ANDREW VOEGTLINE WON A MCKNIGHT GRANT FOR HIS DIGITAL ART-IN-MOTION PROJECT.

56 PHOTOS BY KATIE MAE DICKINSON 58 FROM RUNNING OFF TO JOIN THE CIRCUS TO STARTING THEIR OWN

L. A. SCHULTE INTERVIEWS ENTREPRENEURS WHOSE BUSINESS IS DANGEROUS AND BEAUTIFUL PERFORMANCE.

62 I LEFT MY HEART IN MINNEAPOLIS

ARTWORK BY JUSTIN CAMERON

JOANN SCHINDERLE MOVED AROUND A LOT AS A

THE SPEED OF SIGHT

WHEN SHE MOVED AWAY.

THE SLOWER YOU MOVE, THE MORE YOU CAN SEE, BILL LINDEKE SAYS.

PHOTOS BY SARAH BRUMBLE

I AM A CYCLIST ON HIS OWN TIME, ALEX NEEDHAM IS A CYCLIST. BUT AT WORK, HE DRIVES...A LOVED AND HATED PEDAL PUB.

THE TWIN CITIES UNICYCLE CLUB PHOTOS BY BRIAN HART

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KID, BUT MINNEAPOLIS BECAME HER HOME--EVEN

65 PHOTO BY ALEX ROOB 66 KEEP MOVING TRAVELING TO ISRAEL ON A BIRTHRIGHT TRIP TAUGHT ALLISON FINGERETT THE IMPORTANCE OF FORCING YOURSELF TO MOVE.

68 PHOTOS BY ANDREW CASEY 69 IN TRANSITION BETSY SCHAFER ROOB REFLECTS ON TRANSITIONS IN LIFE AND IN DANCE, WITH PHOTO BY ALEX ROOB.

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CONTRIBUTORS Sarah Brumble is a Minneapolis-based freelance writer/editor originally hailing from West Virginia and Portland, Oregon. When not sailing through sharkinfested waters or walking overland into Nigeria, she can be found giving your favorite band a chance, taking photos with unreliable cameras, and riding her bicycle. Justin Cameron lives and works as an artist in Northeast Minneapolis. He also volunteers for The Soap Factory in the Minneapolis Mill District and Flow Art Space in Lowertown St. Paul. Cameron recently earned his B.F.A. from the University of Wisconsin – Stout. See his online portfolio here: http://www.behance.net/thisvisvjustvin Andrew Casey, one of MPLSzine’s Visual Directors, is a photographer residing in Minneapolis. He migrates towards shooting stationary objects and street scenes. He has had a long-held passion and appreciation for street art and graffiti, which led to a history of documenting the artwork under the alias Urban Camper. Chris Cloud is a Creative Thinkdoer and the Publication Director of MPLSzine. He is very excited that MPLSzine gets to highlight remarkable creative work from the MPLS community. He hopes you enjoy the fruits of their labor, time, and passion. See more at chriscloud.com Kyle Coughlin, Illustration Director at MPLSzine, is a designer and illustrator living in Minneapolis. He enjoys drawing, screen printing, and being awesome. See his work at kylomoonguts.com. Katie Mae Dickinson is a photographer and collage artist living in the Warehouse District of Minneapolis. Follow her: http://www.flickr.com/photos/katie_ mae_dickinson, http://katie-mae.tumblr.com/ Allison Fingerett is a writer from Minneapolis who believes in the power of airing hideous personal truths. She spends her days at work or in traffic, pondering whether or not she should stop at the liquor store.

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Lindsey J. Frey is a modern storyteller by day and a seamstress/athlete by night (depending on the day). A native of Duluth, she grew up basing all direction on the lake and cannot tell East from West in her adult life here in Minneapolis. She loves animals and has caught on fire twice. You can read more from her on Twitter @LJFrey and at cargocollective.com/LindseyFrey Bethany Hall, Layout Director at MPLSzine, is an interactive/ux designer and lover of a creative challenge. She has a mean case of wanderlust and is no stranger to the culinary craft or power tools. Brian Hart, one of MPLSzine’s Visual Directors, is a Minneapolis-based artist. His eyes are always hungry. He hopes yours are, too. Google: brianmatthewhart Matthew Jacobs, Social Outreach Director at MPLSzine, is a PhD Candidate in the social sciences at the University of Minnesota. During the day he studies Chinese and religion under authoritarianism. At night he runs dance parties at the Uptown VFW. Say hello sometime at Tuesday Night Music Club Bobby Kahn is a performer, writer and dance class instructor in Minneapolis. Follow him on Twitter: @kobbybahn Bill Lindeke is a Jane Jacobs acolyte and bicycle flaneur who teaches urban geography at the University of Minnesota and Metro State University. He writes and podcasts at Streets.mn, and blogs at his own website, Twin City Sidewalks. He lives on Saint Paul’s West Side. Follow him on Twitter at @BillLindeke Jason Loeffler is an illustrator and graphic designer living in South Minneapolis. See more of his work at jasonloeffler.net Emily Muelken is a Minnesota native, born and raised in Prior Lake. Her large, tight-knit family inspires and supports her in each new endeavor. She lives for summertime, and her favorite author is Talbot Mundy.

Alex Thomas Needham is a jack of many trades including photography, videography, lighting, bicycle and auto maintenance, and writing. He has a BA from the University of Minnesota in Studies in Cinema and Media Culture. Check out his daily finds and style appreciation on Instagram: @thenewalexneedham Annie Peterson is a Minneapolis-based freelance writer who grew up “approximately” 138.2 miles due West in the picturesque town of Montevideo, home of the sustainable farmer and artists of many disciplines. When she’s not writing the next aweinspiring piece of never-before-read literature, she enjoys live music, danceable beats, and eating popcorn...in that order. annie@annierpeterson.com Zoë Pizarro is a native Minneapolitan. She is MPLSzine’s new intern and a student at the University of Minneapolis. She is still uncomfortable calling herself an artist or writer, but she’s working on it. She lives for the future’s undisclosed adventures. Colleen Powers is MPLSzine’s Editorial Director. She was born Rockford, Illinois and lives in Northeast Minneapolis, and you can usually find her at dance parties, libraries or rap shows. Blackstreet’s “No Diggity” is her one weakness. Amanda Reeder is currently studying graphic design at the University of Minnesota as well as working/ DJing at Radio K. She’s a converted Minnesotan (from MUHwaukee) that is most likely to be spotted biking around the city, going to punk shows, attending art crawls and drinking really delicious craft beers. Alex Roob is a third-generation photographer currently based in Minneapolis. He is working toward a Masters of Arts in Teaching Mathematics at Hamline University. He likes to climb rocks and loves Frank’s hot sauce. It’s the best.

L. A. Schulte has been an Army journalist for five years. Her aspirations are to break into the civilian world as a journalist, preferably doing cultural and subcultural articles. She took up photography to enhance her marketability and discovered a passion for it. Find her online: http://www.flickr.com/photos/30270731@N02/ and https://www.facebook.com/pages/MisfitMagic-Photography/280695292062952 JoAnn Schinderle is a stand-up comedian and improviser living in Portland, OR, and despite where she calls home, will probably never lose her Midwestern accent. Follow her online: http:// waiata.tumblr.com and @joannlizabeth Christiaan Tarbox, better known to the world as Bacon, is a graduate of the University of Minnesota’s journalism program, a freelance graphic designer, a film review blogger, undisputed Minneapolis karaoke champion, and a professional nerd. Follow him on Twitter: @thatbaconguy Adan Estrada Torres (www.adantorres.com) is a photographer based in Minneapolis with a bag packed at the ready for any adventure. Working towards presenting a human experience that exists in every corner of the world, he points his camera hoping to capture memories which serve as a prologue to infinite futures. Susan Woehrle has lived in Minneapolis for several years, going to Augsburg College for English Literature and volunteering in her local DFL chapter. She has worked as a line cook, campaigner and security guard but what she really loves about Minneapolis is our great theater, writing and storytelling scene. See her Efolio here: http:// susanwoehrle.efoliomn.com/ Follow her on Twitter at @suzwoehrle and see her photography on SprayGraphic: spraygraphic.com/susanwoehrle

Jake Ryan was born to a working class mother and father, never quite assimilating to the posh lifestyle the television demanded he live. He uses his legs for walkin’, his mind for wanderin’ and his time for ponderin’.

Photo by: Andrew Casey 5

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LETTER FROM THE EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Too often this winter, I got the “Sunday night blues”: The sun would set and I’d be seized with gloom and restlessness and feelings of inertia and incompetence. As stupid and obvious as it seems, it took awhile for me to realize that I’d feel better if I just moved--went for a long walk, even in the cold; or cleaned my whole apartment while blasting Missy Elliott; or drove across town to check out a thrift store I’d never visited. It’s easy for me to settle into a routine and get too comfortable there, even when I know painfully well that it’s not working. As John Mulaney says in his most recent standup comedy special, it’s so much easier not to do things than to do them. Too often I can find myself slumping in front of my computer, clicking idly through Tumblr posts and Daily Show clips on Hulu, and suddenly realize I’ve wasted half the afternoon. But I almost always feel better when I get the fuck up and move, funnel that discomfort and nervous energy into using my body and mind to do something halfway productive and stimulating. The worst times of my life have been when I felt like I was stuck in jobs that I hated and couldn’t see getting any better, when forward movement felt unattainable. I think that’s why a lot of us choose to work on MPLSzine or whatever passion projects consume our free time: As easy and tempting as it is to just sit there, it always feels better to move. To put effort into creating something and meeting people and tackling new, unforeseen tasks. To stretch yourself and stress yourself out for the sake of making something tangible. This publication strives to give people a reason to create and share work who don’t always have a chance to do that. If you find yourself feeling restless and inert, this could be the way to shake yourself up: draw a comic, share a personal story, interview someone you’ve always been fascinated by, go out around town and take photos. We take contributions at submit@ mplszine.com. Your move. Sincerely, Colleen colleen@mplszine.com

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Be part of MPLSzine! We’re looking for interviews, reviews, reported articles, essays, humor pieces, lists, infographics, comics, photos, and illustrations related to Minneapolis. (That relation can be loose--if the only connection is that you live here, that’s cool with us.) For now, we are not accepting fiction or poetry submissions--we know we can’t compete with the awesome literary magazines this town already has. We want to explore overlooked places and subcultures; make new connections and observations; share your heartbreaking, guffaw-worthy, and inspirational personal stories; and champion the people who make Minneapolis what it is. But we can’t do that without creative types sending us their stuff. submit@mplszine.com To get you started, our theme for the next issues is ANONYMOUS Submissions due May 19 Publishes in June Submit anonymously at mplszine.com/anon FREEDOM Submissions due June 2 Publishes in July If you can’t contribute right away but want to learn more, email us anyway. We’d love to have you join us.

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What it Means to Move Written by & Artwork By Emily Muelken

Action or activity. To go from point A to point B. To change position. Movement. A topic to which I never paid much attention. I expect the average person is the same. We may think of it tangentially---The hands of that clock are moving so SLOW; You better move that glass away from the edge before it gets knocked off; Why isn’t traffic moving at all? We may think of it conceptually---that unit in physics class about velocity and acceleration, for example. Unless you’re a kinesiologist (someone who studies movement), movement it not a topic you’re likely to spend much time contemplating. Why would you think about movement, anyway? We perceive movement constantly. It’s everywhere, all the time. Movement is like air. It surrounds us, but who needs to think about it? It just is. 8 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

Until it isn’t. You may start thinking about air when the car you’re biking behind is gushing clouds of exhaust and you can’t get a fresh breath. Or when you’re choking on a tater tot and can’t get any breaths. It’s the same with movement. You start to pay attention to movement when it’s restricted. Like when you’re sore all over from shoveling 10 inches of wet snow, or crammed in with too many other people on the 50 to downtown. You start thinking about movement when there is a lack or loss of it. When it becomes a struggle. When you actually have to think about it, to concentrate really hard just to make it happen. My brain zeroed in on thoughts about movement a few years ago when I was relearning how to walk after undergoing bilateral hip reconstruction. I’d spent the first few weeks after surgery just thinking depressedly about all the movement I was no longer able to do. Bending, twisting, stretching--- they take on new significance when you can’t even put your own socks on. When you have to be very particular about how you move your body in an attempt to simply sit up or to roll over--- that’s when contemplations about movement begin to consume you. You become acutely aware of your body and all its parts; how it feels to be not moving. No running, no biking, no canoeing, no lacrosse. There were definitely times I wallowed in selfpity... But then as the healing progressed, I had a purpose on which I could focus my attention. There’s actually a lot to think about in the simple act of walking. How fast are you moving? How long is your stride? How high are you lifting your foot with each step? Which way is your toe pointed? Are you doing it the same on both sides? Do you land on your toes, on your heel, flat-footed? Are your hips and knees in alignment? Do your ankles pronate? Are you activating your glutes? Does your left hip drop with each alternate step? Are you tilting your pelvis correctly? Are you moving smoothly, or is there a marked hitch in your step? When your focus slips, how much does it hurt? How long are you able to maintain the concentration that it takes to walk properly? Why is this so hard?! There are lots of reasons I could give about why learning to walk at age 21 is hard. Looking back after these few years, though, I realize the reasons don’t matter. All that matters is that it was that hard, and I learned so much from that struggle. After nearly two years had passed since the operations and I was back to my former moving-through-the-day-without-thinking-much-about-it normalcy, I experienced a powerful moment. I distinctly remember it, just walking across the Washington Avenue bridge amid my regular day dreams when a thought struck me: Hey! I’m MOVING and I don’t even have to think about it! I remembered how lucky I was to able to move. Oblivious to my fellow pedestrians, I gave a half-giggle-half-shout of pure joy. Beaming from ear to ear, I did a little hop, skip, jump to click my heels together. And that’s the biggest thing I learned. Movement is more than just the definitions I listed above. For me, movement is happiness. I was given a gift, not just of movement but the regaining of movement. The ability, the enjoyment, and --- ultimately --- the appreciation of movement. I found perspective. After the journey I had, now I find it is so easy to be happy. If I ever catch myself feeling grumpy, I can just think about those ten weeks on crutches, and suddenly whatever was bothering me doesn’t seem so troublesome anymore. Now there are no problems that a walk around the lakes can’t fix, no frustrations some dancing can’t work out. All I have to think about, all I have to do, is move. MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

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Photo by: Sasha Landskov MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

I call it my “painkle,” and I never thought one sprained ankle could so completely sabotage my independence. This $^%&ing sucks. Too swollen for shoes, it’s compressed each morning in an aircast and accompanied by two aluminum rods smashed repeatedly under my arms and against my ribs, which at least allow me to hobble-crutch around my day. Add to that misery the weather’s decision to spit in my face and throw down some extra snow and ice, and I’m left feeling completely pathetic and vulnerable. Never does this vulnerability become more clear than when I was lost in a dark downtown parking ramp like a wounded antelope about to become easy prey. It all started when my dear coworker was kind enough to park my car for me, saving me a long hobble-crutch into work from the parking ramp that morning. 12 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

Nearly fatal flaw? I really should have listened more carefully when he told me where he parked it. So, after a particularly mind-numbing workday, I started the long walk to the ramp. In reality, it’s only around the corner from our office, but on crutches you must abide by the following Crutch Equivalent Distance (CED) equation: Take the (Actual Distance) x 10 for pain and suffering, then subtract 50 (for determination and sheer will to sit down again) + 20 x (the # of mutterings of “this $^%&ing sucks!”) = the CED of pain, frustration and everything taking a goddamn lot longer to accomplish. For reference, hobblecrutching to the bathroom down the hall from the office is approximately 100 ft, so the CED can easily be 970 ft.

Anyway, I finally make it to the parking ramp, and a guy walking ahead of me is kind enough to hit the handicapped button for the door as well as stand to make sure it’s open for me. My car is on level four… I think. The same man is ahead of me and again opens the door for me, while making an inquiry as to how I hurt my leg. I tell him the short version – “Soccer game, sprained it.” Because at this point I’m about 19 “this $^%&ing sucks” mutterings in, and I’m really looking forward to sitting down in my car. I hobble-crutch myself almost everywhere – up the side of the ramp. No car. Down the middle and around the corner. Do not see car. Begin to feel slightly panicked. “Nice Guy” from earlier has found his car nearby and asks me if I need help. Hating to feel weak and vulnerable in the dark ramp’s horror-movie setting, I reply “No, thanks. Just what happens when you have someone else park your car!” Smile stupid forced grin. At this point I’m at least 47 “this $^%&ing sucks” mutterings in, which is well over the average 15, and I’m also getting really cold. I hobblecrutch back to the elevator enclosure to warm up and pull out my phone to call my coworker. No answer. Fighting the urge to cry, I hobble-crutch back outside. Nice Guy sees me emerge and reverses his SUV the entire way back down the middle section of the ramp to where I’m crutch-leaning. I see this as extreme. “Hey, are you sure you don’t need help? Why don’t you get in here, and I’ll drive you around to find your car?” he offers. Now, I watch a lot of crime dramas on TV. “CSI,” “Law & Order,” “SVU”—I watch ’em all. Therefore, the normal-for-me reaction to something like this is absolutely-paranoid-as-hell; however, when you’re going on 52 mutterings of “this $^%&ing sucks,” everything hurts, you’re cold, tired and just want to find your car, and someone is offering to help—your judgment becomes clouded. 14 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

“I think I’m okay. Let me just look further up here first, then you can help me.” I passively replied. He pulls into a parking spot to wait for me, while I hobble-crutch up the midsection of the ramp. Just then, I receive a text from my coworker. He’s sure the car is on level four in the midsection. Hope is renewed! But paranoid fear that Nice Guy may pull a “Silence of the Lambs” on me is still persisting. I start to hobble-crutch a bit faster. There…is that it? Around the side of that big red jeep…yes…I think…THERE! Never has that horrible road and salt-stained cherry red car looked so beautiful. I want to open the trunk, climb in, and let it embrace me. But then I remember that Buffalo Bill is waiting to make a skin suit out of me, and I should really avoid ending up in someone’s trunk. I gesture enthusiastically at Nice Guy in his SUV to communicate that I have indeed found my car. I frantically press my palms towards him in a gesture of “Stop! No need! No need!” while repeatedly hollering “Thank you!” to show my gratitude, while all the while retaining the idea that he is probably a homicidal lunatic. The wolf that has picked out the wounded antelope. I happily hop into my car. I’m safe! I’m sitting! And as I start the engine and watch Nice Guy drive by up the ramp, I begin to think what a nice person he probably really was. Maybe it was awful of me to assume his intentions were evil. Maybe it was just my vulnerable and disabled physical state combined with the sinister parking ramp surroundings that leaked such paranoia into my brain. Maybe I need to stop watching so much “Law & Order.” Or, maybe I’ll feel more optimistic when I’m fully mobile again. I can’t decide. I’ll probably continue to agonize over whether or not people in this world can ever just be nice and accept help from each other. At least that takes my mind off my ankle, and how much this $^&%ing sucks.

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By Susan Woehrle Illustrations by Jason Loeffler The Diamond T Ranch, while it lasted, was an anachronism. The owner, Cowboy Bob, liked to have it this way, full of cowboy kitsch. An anachronism himself. Bob was even a deadringer for John Wayne, circa 1975, and if that weren’t enough, seemed to channel the dead actor’s onscreen cowboy persona. He had purchased large aluminum square with Wayne’s portrait shot into it, like the screens on a pie-safe, only the holes were big enough to let flies through. And flies there were, everywhere: travelling from food to face to horse and eventually landing on the flypaper that hung from the ceiling. The air around the place was tangible, tangy with horse excrescences. My mother always said she loved the manure-smell. I didn’t, but it was worth it to ride horses. I imagined that the horses chosen for me knew their names: Sugarfoot, Daisy, Laredo, Pixie. I always wanted the same horse I had ridden before, but never got the same one twice. That didn’t seem ominous at the time, but I later found out that the death toll at the Diamond T was almost as high among the horses as the flies. At my 8th birthday party, I was only interested in the magic of the atmosphere. The place carried an authority that people just went along with. Customers wore Wrangler brand shirts under vests, bola ties and cowboy hats. Children wore little cowboy and cowgirl boots and blue jeans, 24 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

piping “Howdy!” with little voices. When Cowboy Bob told me that the shot-up aluminum square over the fireplace was a portrait of himself he had commissioned of a sharpshooter, it never occurred to me to question him. When I had my birthday at the Diamond T, and my horse took off running during our trail ride I was devastated, not merely for my own percussed rear end. I mourned for my own authority. My words of assurance to my doubtful compatriots that horseback riding was “perfectly safe,” belied, my confident assertions proved false. I lay on the ground, dazed in the bright sunshine, watching the grasshoppers flutter and the dust clouds settle, too shocked by the force of the hard dry ground too feel any pain. One of the trail ride leaders, a college student’s summer job, went looking for me and helped me back onto my horse, leading us back to the restaurant and bar where my friends sat at wooden tables covered in red-and-white checked oilcloth, patiently waiting for me so they could have what I had insisted be birthday pie, French silk being my recent obsession. My mother took out the pies and clicked a shot of me with the 8-shaped birthday candle nestled effulgently in the whipped-cream topping, which I then blew out. Stephanie looked at the array, maudlinly declaring, “I don’t like pie.” From behind me I heard the clomp of boots and the tinkle of spurs.

Diamond t

horse

“Oh, I see the Birthday Girl has decided to grace us with her presence.” He said this to the table. My imagination was much too occupied with impending orgy of chocolate custard to pay him much mind but my mother urged, “Honey, Cowboy Bob asked you a question!” I looked up at him but before I could say anything he said to my mother, “I hear she managed to get bucked off earlier.” He turned to me, again without waiting for response, said, “I hope you got right back on that horse.”

FLY

“Yeah, I rode back.” He may have been impressed with my casual tone, but I was never that emotive as a child. “That’s right, I like it when a rider get’s back in the saddle.” I sighed, impatient with his cowboy clichés, and yet I felt pleased with his approval, hating myself for it. My mother, divorced and a shameless flirt, offered the man some pie, which he quickly accepted, his plaid paunch evidence of the regularity of this gambit’s success. In retrospect, I doubt he did much riding.

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Artwork by: Justin Cameron

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The Speed of Sight By Bill Lindeke It seems the older I get, the slower I want to move. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve traded my car for a bicycle. I prefer taking the train to flying, even over long distances. I like nothing more than to amble, wander, drift, perambulate along a sidewalk or down an alleyway. The slower I can move, the more I seem to enjoy it. 28 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

The reason is simple. Movement is perception; movement is confinement. Our speed changes these things. Consider the astronaut leaving the atmosphere. How confined! Strapped in every possible way, G-forces changing even their faces. Think of a race car driver, speed equal to a harness. Consider the way that airplanes, cars, or Greyhound buses bind your body, keeping in place the arms and knees, forcing knees upward, limiting legs and arms, insisting on the hunching of shoulders, requiring leans along particular lines and joints. The verb ‘to wedge’ predoiminates. The train has few such contrasints. Only a ship offers more individual freedom atop collective travel. Perception grants a similar spectrum. What can you see from a speeding car? Only large objects, from a distance. The road itself must be engineered along particular lines, shoulders expanded, obstacles removed. This leads to the birth of neon, bright simple signs large atop tall poles, everything an icon. Can you stop and smell the roses? Turn on a dime? Change your mind? Bicycles and sidewalks allow freedoms. Small signs and symbols, architectural detail is only visible from a slow point of view. Window shopping requires particular forms of movement, slow going, a pace of vision. Taking the train across the country, you sacrifice speed. But in return, you’re given a way of seeing, an intimacy of perspective, views of backyard worlds, from fifteen feet, into windows moving at the rhythms of everyday life. You see forgotten America: fifty green picnic tables leaning on each other in the snow, a threadbare high school football field, the front porch of a house with three wagon wheels leaning on it, a pile of beige rocks, stacked concrete doughnut circles each four feet across, a massive automobile scrap yard in the middle of nowhere, an American flag waving in tatters, a woman lighting a charcoal grill in her backyard, a light blue bicycle leaning against the backside of a bar, a man trimming a tree in a forest on a hillside, an empty blue trampoline, fortynine dilapidated deer stands, a redtail hawk landing on the top branch of a pale bare tree, two ducks swimming in a water treatment pond, a woman clapping her hands while waiting to cross the street with three bright green plastic bags of groceries, a man waving from a squatter camp perched on the side of a freeway, the words “you’ll never be as young as you are right now” spray painted on the side of the concrete banks of a Milwaukee river, a small cactus on a desk in an urban warehouse loft, a rusting paint can on the metal roof of a condemned building, an empty public swimming pool. There is very little regularity: a squirrel leaping from a tree branch, its shadow dark on the white snow. Contrast again with the car, the wide uniformity of the automobile freeway interstate trench. There is no detail here, by design. Walking is the only way to properly see the city, the human city, filled with the kinds of smallnesses that make lives meaningful. Movement is not about time and speed, no simple calculus. It is what we can see, how we feel our surrounding spaces. At this point, I wonder if I am secretly Amish. How can I move more slowly? What is the end point? Will I wind up sitting in a small room, contemplating motes of dust settling on a paperweight? MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

Bicycleberm ________________________________________________________ Extreme North province of Cameroon. That berm the man is riding on keeps the river separating Chad from Cameroon from jumping its banks.

Photos & captions by Sarah Brumble

Busreflect _______________________________________________________ I watched this girl watch someone else say goodbye just outside her window. Something about it sucked me in. Not knowing she had another version of herself looking her back in the eyes, or that other people were watching her just as intently as she was watching the people outside...

Montanastructure __________________________________________________ I’ve driven back and forth so many times between Minneapolis and Portland that the barren nothingness of eastern Montana has produced in me an affection for the subtle ways these gigantic high-tension power lines change, architecturally. They’re like giant, halfbuilt robots on the horizon! I still can’t figure out who’s in charge of designing the subtle structural changes from one line of them to the next, and why... is it wind patterns, topography, state or federal or private interest driving it? Meh. I really like this photo and I have about a billion others of these things.

Crosses _________________________________________________________ Easter flood in the Red River Valley, somewhere between Fargo and Grand Forks, North Dakota--2009, I think. Something something stations of the cross?

Traincarcollide ____________________________________________________ While taking a train from Yaounde, Cameroon to its northern provinces, we came to a stop in the middle of the night. 2 a.m., maybe. Since there were no real safety measures in the Cameroonian train system, we could hang our heads and arms out the windows, even when it was moving. But as I walked out of the cabin to see what had stopped us, the only thing I could see in the surrounding darkness was on the tracks next to us. There was this engine, with its lights on full power, having a face-off with a car. I just kept staring at it and cannot figure out what was going on... I still donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get it! If there was a car being hauled on a flat train car, the engine wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have been facing it with its lights lit up like that (wrong order for things to be attached in a freight train), and if the engine and car had really been playing chicken, where the hell did they come from and did they really narrowly avoid colliding? Meh. The flares are great.

Sugarreflect ______________________________________________ Same North Dakota flood from Easter of 2009. That drive stretched on for hours with everything out my window reflecting itself in the flooded highway ditches. This sugar beet --> table sugar factory smelled particularly terrible, as I recall.

I AM A

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Photo by Adan Torres

CYCLIST Written by Alex Needham

I am a cyclist. I bike to work and I haul ass. I dodge cars and traffic lights, making my route on the fly. It’s exhilarating. But when I get to work I become a driver. For the patrons whom I serve, it’s usually the other way around. They drive to me, and then they become the cyclists. This is because I drive what the city deems a “Pedal Car.” Sixteen passengers are allowed to bring a limited supply of alcohol onto a bar on four wheels. This “party bike” is propelled by their own power through the use of interconnected bicycle pedals at their feet. They choose a route and I drive the bike through our scenic streets to various establishments where short stops are made for rest, and possibly a drink at the bar. “This thing have a motor anywhere?” I’m always asked by newcomers to the idea. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing anything.” “It’s like Ouija,” I tell them. “Everyone says they aren’t moving the thing, but they are. Just wait until we start to climb a hill, you’ll see.” “How exciting,” everyone says of my job. “What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened on your bike?” “The craziest thing?” One mild Sunday afternoon, I piloted a group across the Central Avenue bridge when we came upon a black truck illegally parked in the shoulder. The driver was apparently hopping onto the sidewalk to take a photo of the gorgeous skyline but as we approached he straddled and then stepped over the guardrail to the outside of the bridge, over the dam. He was holding on, facing the truck, yelling at his significant other who sat, stoic, in the passenger seat. As I veered around the truck he looked to my pedal car of revelry and asked, “Should I jump?” A unanimous “No!” resounded from my group. A lady pedaling at my right yelled, “Stop! Stop! We need to help him!” “No,” I said, “He’s getting all the attention he requires.” MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

Photo by Brenda Ingersoll

Most of the time it’s a pleasant job, not really that exciting, just nice. I like to be outdoors, feeling the sun, wind, and rain. I enjoy meeting new people. But at times it’s like babysitting adults. I can’t let them get too loud. They can’t yell obscenities or harass pedestrians. I seldom suffer from incapacitating, belly-wrenching laughter. A pedal car’s engine seems to suffer from delusions of grandeur. It thinks its jokes are the funniest ever heard. But I’ve heard them before. “Hey! Why don’t you have pedals?! Why doesn’t he have pedals? He’s not doing anything!” This I often hear midway up the first hill.

“I pedaled to get to work and I’ll pedal home.” A call was made to 911 but the man had driven away before the fire department reached the bridge. You see, the craziest thing to happen on my pedal car had nothing to do with my bike or the people on it. This is because I don’t let crazy things happen on my pedal car. “Has anyone ever fallen off?” Not unless they wanted to be fined $300, which is the same penalty required of someone who throws up. “I just can’t believe this thing is even legal.” Sure, it’s illegal to ride a bicycle intoxicated. But the difference with a pedal car is that a drunkard isn’t piloting the pedal car, I am. I steer, brake, signal my turns. I am a sober and conscientious driver whose engine happens to be a little slow. Not a crime. As for drinking in public, a pedal car is no different than a beer garden. Much like at a bar with a patio, all beverages are required to remain on the pedal car at all times. Never are they to be taken onto the sidewalk. 40 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

My job feels scripted: “I pedaled to get to work and I’ll pedal home.” I say. Or, “If I had pedals I’d be doing all the work.” Or simply, “Because they don’t make pedal cars that way.” People complain about minor inconveniences or get creative with ideas to improve upon the simple pedal car design. “This thing should have a trolling motor or something,” they say. “What part of ‘Pedal Car’ did you not understand when you signed up for this?” is my standard reply. Usually there is a wise guy among the crowd who believes he has stumped me, “What would you do if we all just walked away from this thing and left you stranded?” “It hasn’t happened yet.”

Photos by Adan Torres

“But what if we did? What would you do?” “I guess I would call my manager and get a quick tow back to the hub.” But it won’t happen. No one would pay for a tour just to play such an unfunny joke on a complete stranger. Though, as far as money goes, it’s not really that expensive. Compared to a night on the town with sixteen of your friends, a ride on a pedal car with a storebought pony keg or a few cases of beer or boxes of wine is relatively cheap, so long as the renter succeeds in collecting shares from each rider. And as far as fun goes, my riders usually have a blast. They all face each other on the bike and work together as a collective. I know that at the moment a big portion of our business is based on its novelty: Biking and Booze. People think it’s so crazy that they’ve just got to try it. Once they’re on the bike they believe that the sight of them wows everyone on the street. This is where the bum rap comes from. A pedal car sighting is often accompanied by “Whooo!” or “Hey!” from its occupants.

Yes, maybe it is kind of annoying that people from the ‘burbs come to our home to get a thrill. I make money at this business and even I find it obnoxious. Last summer, I found myself lucky if I didn’t have to hear “Call Me Maybe” four times a day on my pedal car. I let people have their fun, but I enforced a single play of that song per tour. So far, this season, I haven’t heard it once. I know another clever song will eventually take its place, but my point is that things move on. Likewise, we’ll eventually get used to pedal cars and find something else to hate. It will happen in tandem with pedal car riders getting over the idea that a pedal car is a means of escapism. What I would like to suggest is this: when the hype wears off, what people will have found is that pedal cars are a fun and inexpensive way to host a group of friends for a few hours on the town. Even when it’s no longer a crazy idea, it’ll still be a point of interest for the city, and a worthwhile event for relaxation and camaraderie. Hell, maybe I should give it a try. I’ve never done it.

A friend of mine once described the scenario that gave him cause for hate of the pedal cars. He’s walking his dog and a pedal car rides by, everyone aboard waving to him while screaming. His response, “Oh hey, you’re on a pedal car, that’s great! My dog’s taking a shit in the boulevard. Bye.” MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

Special thanks to the Twin Cities Unicycle Club The Twin Cities Unicycle Club is the largest and oldest unicycle club in Minnesota with over 200 unicyclists. Membership is open to anyone who shares the interest of unicycling. The Twin Cities Unicycle Club has many of the best individual and pairs riders in the world. They have taken many national and world titles including titles in artistic freestyle, artistic pairs and unicycle racing. Members hold over 30 national titles and over fifteen world championship titles. www.tcuc.org Photos By Brian Hart 42 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

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So You Think You Kahn Dance 48 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

I’ll be the first to admit it. When it comes to the dance floor, I’m definitely no Fred Astaire. I’m the polar opposite of “fleetfooted”. Both of my left feet have left feet of their own. When I’m told to bust a move, I invariably end up busting my pride. Or my ass, after I fall on it. So I decided that I needed to change. I needed a way to fix my issues with hoofin’ it in the dance circle without feeling self-conscious about my rhythmic deficiencies at the same time. Bobby Kahn answered those prayers, my friends. Kahn—a friend of mine and a former public access compatriot on the late, great Freaky Deeky—threw the second installation of his come-as-you-are, dance-as-you-feel instructional class “So You Think You Kahn Dance” at the Gamut Gallery in downtown Minneapolis.

Bobby, kicking off the class by high-fiving students to the immortal theme song of wrestling legend Hulk Hogan—“Real American”—while resplendent in American flag-themed pants, vest, and bandana, telling the story of how the mere thought of dancing petrified him eight years earlier. He noted that the key to getting around his mental roadblocks was to embrace his desire of being the center of attention and running with it. And his goal was to impart his strategy on us. One of the requirements of taking the class was that you had to wear a costume. Mr. Kahn noted to his students that in order to win over your dancing peers and gain selfconfidence, you needed to be S.A.F.E.: Sassy As Fuck Everyday. And bringing a costume to the proceedings would be the first step in shedding one’s inhibitions. So I came to the class dressed in my trademark rainbow jumpsuit. Because fuck you, I’m fabulous.

Bobby, whose class spun off from an MPLS. TV video series of the same name, made a very convincing case to his charges: the dance circle you enter belongs to you, and no one else. And it was a challenge I was glad to take on.

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We started off by forming our circle and taking turns in the middle, unleashing our inner superstar with, usually, reckless abandon. But it didn’t matter how good or bad we were: if we were having fun, we were doing it right. I managed to throw in a few impressive moves of my own. Well, impressive for me. Before this class, I never attempted to do “the worm” in front of a group of strangers, but by Christ, I did it, and it felt GREAT. We learned the fine art of dance-offs, with the extra challenge of maintaining eye contact with our opponent. We got to show off our own individual talents to prove ourselves (including Bobby’s uncle Stan, who could do a killer cartwheel like nobody’s business). Guest instructor Simone DuJour gave us tips on setting the floor on fire with some fancy Latin American-style footwork. We danced-off some more. And as with Bobby’s first class, we ended in a rotating group huddle to Ween’s celebrated single “Friends”. Because by the end of the class, that’s what we were. Friends and dancers-in-arms. I’m pleased to report that the fire in my belly transformed me in a bona-fide superstar. Let’s be honest, I will never be a great dancer. But taking this class gave me and my peers the pick-me-up we needed. Dance is a language that we can all understand. Some are more fluent than others, but as long as we be ourselves and unleash the funk, we shall, we may, we Kahn do anything. Words by Christiaan “Bacon” Tarbox • Photos by Jake Ryan

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Bobby Kahn's dance tips Bobby Kahnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s simple tips that will help you on your way to becoming a dance floor superstar:

Walk around like you own the place. When there is room on the dance floor, I like to walk around and take up as much space as possible (without being a jerk). You have to believe you are the coolest motherfucker in that room.

Accessorize. I know wearing sunglasses inside is a douche-y move, but adding something as small as sunglasses can really help you feel like a different person on the dance floor.

Free your mind. Your ass will follow. MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

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Digital Cities Artist: Andrew Voegtline Project: Digital Cities Words: Annie Peterson Photo credit: Andrew Casey

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Meet Andrew Voegtline: MPLS artist and the first recipient of a New Media Project Grant, for his concept Digital Cities. The $50,000 grant was awarded through Independent Filmmaker Project Minnesota (IFP) and funded by the McKnight foundation. Voegtline’s project will combine user’s smartphone GPS location devices with a variety of art forms to create a site-specific, mobile, Digital City experience. Local artists Holly Newsom, Chris Koza, Kate Casanova and Stuart Pimsler are working with Voegtline to create content - music, visual art, and choreography- that can be coordinated specifically to a user’s location as they walk through the city. Other factors that inform the app include the time of day, temperature, and even the number of people that are present at a given time and place. Voegtline is also the creator of Minneapplesauce.com – a multimedia website that blends art, music, poetry, and technology into an interactive format that relies heavily on user interaction. Voegtline and his cohorts, Bobby Maher and Erik Martz, launched Minneapplesauce.com in January 2012 and they have released 10 issues to date. Whereas a lot of the interactive media we enjoy can be found online, Digital Cities takes it to a new level, allowing us to physically move and interact with that technology. I recently had the pleasure of sitting down (digitally) with Voegtline to talk more about his project and what we can expect. Here’s what he had to say:

Can you tell us a little about the concept behind Digital Cities and why movement is a huge part of this project? Art has always been about location. Whether going to a show at a bar, an art opening at a gallery, or a performance at a concert hall; location has always informed the art in some way. People associate the movement to, and around, physical spaces with the interactions and experiences they’ve had in those places. This aspect of location, as well as the emotions and memories tied to these locations, has been lost in the realm of digital art. The concept of Digital Cities is really about filling in that missing information. The project will include an app and website counterpart which will work together to present location specific art around the Twin Cities which will be delivered through your smartphone.

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You said in the TC Daily interview, “The real strength of it (the app) is when you get into the location”. Can you tell us a little about how that works in regards to time of day, temperature, movement, etc.? Movement is a core attribute of this project. All of the art is site specific. The goal is to have the location inform the art and the art inform the location. All other types of parameters will be specific to each piece of art, and there are many parameters that the artists may choose to use. Some works will be shorter arcs, while others may rely on much longer timescales. It really is about using whatever is required to communicate the idea. Depending on what choices are made, a piece could hypothetically only appear once a year or even less. This creates an opportunity for performancelike moments which people will have to be physically present for to experience.

You’re working with Holly Newsom, Chris Koza, Kate Casanova and Stuart Pimsler. How will the collaboration be implemented in the project? Holly, Chris, Kate, and Stuart will all be making art that will be included in with the launch of the project. My team and I will be working with them along the way to help them best use this new platform, but I am really excited to see what they come up with. Has anything like this been done before in other cities? I am not aware of anything. The technology that is being leveraged to complete this project has been around for a number of years. Geocaching and other locationbased tools and games have become increasingly more popular as people have become more likely to carry a device that is capable of these sorts of things. The main difference with this project--and this is not to say that all designers are guilty of this-is that it’s not technology for technology’s sake. Digital Cites takes an already valid experience of community and location altering the perception art and information, and uses technology to augment that in a positive way. You’re also the creator of Minneapplesauce. com. How is Digital Cities conceptually different or similar? Minneapplesauce is a project that I started with two of my cohorts, Bobby Maher and Erik Martz, back in January of 2012. Digital Cities is a new project that isn’t attached the Minneapplesauce, but my idea for it came out of work that I had been doing for the site. The idea behind Minneapplesauce is to communicate artistic ideas using

whatever medium is required. Although I am sure you can find similarities with the art that is included, we make a very purposeful point to not limit the art we create and curate by type. Due to this, on the site you’ll find stories that will bounce between formats, an interface that guides people from one artistic medium to another, and many pieces that rely heavily on user interaction (which to me is a huge and sometimes underused strength of art on the internet). This project, Digital Cities, uses some of the same concepts of finding how to best connect with art and digital content at that meta level. The difference is that it essentially pulls the internet outside of the internet, and lays it over a physical space that a community of people are already moving around and experiencing. This app is compatible with the iPhone. Will it be available for android in the future? The iPhone version is scheduled to be built and released first. Android has a wider variety of operating system and mobile device combinations that will need to be assessed, tested, and so on. I plan to follow up with an Android version as soon as I can. Sweet. When do we get to try it out? The New Media Grant has deadline of January, 2015. If things stay on schedule with the project timeline, this should be in the hands of people in the Twin Cities in the summer of 2014. (YESSsss!!!)

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Photos by: Katie Mae Dickinson MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

From Running Off to Join the Circus

to Starting Their Own By L. A. Schulte There is something alluring about the body in fluid motion, and performers in Minneapolis are capitalizing on it. It’s all about turning the art of kinesthetics (the motion of a body) into income. Belly dancing is one of the oldest forms of dance that requires extensive control of every separate muscle in order to appear fluidly connected for your audience. Belly dancers seem to have waves of motion roll through their bodies only to shimmer and pop when released or recharged. “It’s not just going through a set of moves. Your whole job is to interpret the music as you hear it for the audience through your movement. And it means something,” said Aliyah Sahar, who co-founded belly dancing group the Sisters of the Sahara in 2006. The Sisters of the Sahara perform at Arabic weddings, where it is traditional to have a belly dancer. They also perform for International Fest at Landmark Center in Burnsville and in restaurants around the Twin Cities. They even performed the entrance opening for “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” at the Ordway Theater. The same graceful story that the Sisters of the Sahara portray for their audiences from the ground, aerial artists perform above the crowd. It’s exhilarating to watch aerial master Justice of Dragons dance in midair, weaving through two hanging silk drapings like a dragonfly among reeds. 58 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

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“It’s not really art if all you’re doing is copying movement, but if you can take that movement and you consciously put it together in a certain way with passion involved, I think that’s art, ” said Justice, who founded Dragon’s Fire Theater. Dragon’s Fire Theater became its own entity in 2007. Justice started the company to not only control his own income, but also to share his own show. “I want to see some big key things happen, but I want them to help create it, I want them to feel like they have a piece of it . . . There’s also that I just have entrepreneurial blood. I like controlling my own income,” said Justice. His acts have amazed crowds monthly at Blind Tiger in Minneapolis. Justice has also performed special events such as Midnight Morocco New Year’s Eve party at Epic nightclub. Once you attend one show, it’s easy to see why he is in such high ($600 per performance) demand. It’s hard to muffle a gasp when Justice tumbles down the silks from up to 45 feet in the air. It’s even harder not to sigh when the wound silks catch him mere feet from the ground. The literal duet of dance and danger makes these performers very marketable.

Sisters of the Sahara www.facebook. com/sistersofthesahara Dragon’s Fire Theater http://www.Facebook.com/dragonsfiretheater Embrace the Light: http://www.embracethelightprooductions.com

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The growing popularity of fire dancing performances at mainstream events like the Luminary Loppet in Minneapolis can attest to the marketability of dangerous dance. “When I started doing fire performing, about 10 years ago, there were two troupes in Minneapolis that were performing professional acts. Now we’ve gone from two fire troupes to literally dozens of fire troupes,” said Eddy Wilbers. Wilbers started his own troupe in 2005. Though his company Embrace the Light started as a promotional business seven years ago, it has evolved to be primarily performance-based. “If you want to work as a fire performer, unless you join Cirque du Soleil or you’re living in Las Vegas or something like that, you’re kinda on your own. . . Starting my own business was sort of almost a necessity as a professional performer,” said Wilbers. Clubs and event coordinators book Embrace the Light to make their event memorable by his beautiful dance of danger. “It’s exciting, it’s thrilling, it’s beautiful. I mean, it’s totally mesmerizing to watch someone do fire. And it’s unforgettable. I think of most of the people

that hire me want something that people are going to go home and they’re going to talk about for the next week,” said Wilbers. Dancers become fire sprites as they glide by the audience with fire whirling around them. You can’t hear the delight from the crowd when the performers weave intricate patterns with hoops, staffs and chains whose wicked ends are lit on fire. Children and adults alike stand amazed while Wilbers prances about, blowing fire to the crowd.

Stick with two-foot fire wicks with fire streamers coming off it was just one of them. All of the gigantic creations appropriately earned the prefix Doom. In many cities across the U.S., street performers have to scrape out a living on tips from public performances. The Minneapolis populace has a broad appreciation for the performing arts. “This community has a history of entrepreneurial effort with the performance arts,” said Justice. “Minneapolis is a very artistic community, but we’re not an entertainment-based economy; we’re an artistic-based economy. I’ve been helping a lot of the different groups understand that their art is worth money,” said Justice. It’s because of the support from Minneapolis citizens and especially those in the crowd that allow the circus arts to be here year-round. “Almost everything we do we owe to our crowd because without people to watch us, to appreciate us, to observe us and to pay for us, we couldn’t progress as artist,” said Wilbers.

“Oftentimes people are totally silent, and when I first started performing I thought, oh my gosh they don’t like it. They’re not making any noise, and what I’ve realized is generally they’re silent because they’re mesmerized,” said Wilbers. It’s after the show that the audience approaches Wilbers to share their curiosity and appreciation. “Someone once told me, ‘Your performance inspired me to be a better person,’” said Wilbers. Wilbers said he understood where the sentiment of the compliment came from. He himself has seen performances that made him want to go out into the world and do something amazing. Doing something amazing for Wilbers meant bigger fire. Unfortunately Wilbers was a mere human, too small for his grand aspirations. His solution: master dancing on stilts in order to invent gigantic fire props. His 12-foot-long Doom MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

I Left My Heart in Minneapolis An essay by JoAnn Schinderle I have been called “the new girl” more times in my life than Lindsay Lohan has been arrested. (Terrible reference, whatever.) Point is, this constant changing of towns, homes, schools, revolving door of faces and names to memorize, have all added up to me never feeling connected to one geographical location. I’ve always claimed big territories. All of my adolescence I had been “the new girl” throughout the entire state of Wisconsin. It wasn’t until 2006 that any feelings of “having roots” ever sunk in. Minneapolis stole my heart. It stole the opportunity for me to walk down the street and bump into an estranged UofM colleague; it stole the ability for local coffee shops to refer to me as “a regular”; it stole the idea of always feeling completely myself, no matter how nuts or hyper-productive I decided to be that week. It stole my reference to what the terms “solid friends” and “empowering community” really mean. What I’m saying is, it stole my definition of “home” and I couldn’t be more grateful that it did. Then why did you move across the country, you may ask? I can only blame the inherent tugging at my soul that keeps chanting “Go, Go, Go.” Embedded in my being is a little stir-crazy voice that’s only used to saying ‘move-forward-now.’ It was planted there long ago. It’s been there through thick and thin. It’s faced fear, it’s laughed at mundane, and it pretty much embodied the essence of Sasha Fierce. This voice has never let me down. This voice has always reminded me that life is short, so why not? During the summer of 2011, I struggled really hard with this nagging inner stir- craziness, which quickly became outer stir-craziness. I clearly remember the day I figured it all out. In late September 2011, while sitting at my favorite spot to zone out with my computer and a cold Grain Belt (Muddy Waters on Lyndale), I wrote down the following: “Life. So currently I’m at this turning point where my job and lease end on the same day (2 ½ weeks from now). I have no employment leads, no housing to afford, and no plan set in stone. Normal people would freak out and go into hyper mode to create an action plan. Me? Oh, I deal with stress by ignoring it. Right now I’m more concerned with hunting down a doctor who will diagnose me with adult ADHD so I can have a supply of Adderall on tap VS. figuring out what to do with the mounds of shit I’ve acquired over the years. (There is a difference between the terms ‘ hoarder’ and ‘sentimental’; I choose the latter). But there is something freeing about not having a plan, about doing everything last minute, about taking open opportunities when they are in front of you even when disguised as pitfalls. This may not be a potential disaster, this may be an open window, and it may just be calling me to jump. Do I know if there is a mattress under the barn door ready to catch me? Absolutely fucking not. But, I cannot suppress the urge to jump, because I know that once the short thrill of free falling has ended and I land (possibly bloody and with broken ankles), I know that I will be grounded, and allowed to take off running however I choose. (Unless my ankles are totally busted, then I’m going to need a bit of assistance.) (No, fuck assistance; then I’m going to need to strategize a new game plan, but at very least--I’ll have jumped.) I’ll have jumped.” MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

Two days after writing this, I accepted a job offer in Portland, OR. I jumped. I was prepared for the adjustment of navigating a new city and finding new shelter. Fuck, bring on the revolving door of new names and faces, I’M READY! Or so I thought. Once settled into my new surroundings, I discovered a new inner voice, one that whined and was constantly unsatisfied. “What the fuck is this?!” I proclaimed to friends and family. I was blissfully unaware that I was ever capable of feeling “homesick.” I had never attached myself to a home. I knew Minneapolis and its contents meant a lot to me, I knew that maybe I wasn’t ready to leave, but I never knew that an entire city with all its quirks, beauty and at times frustrations had the ability to take a physical toll on my being. Touché, MPLS. If you were to ask me what my life is like now, I’d say this: grown up. Being away from “home” has forced me to become an adult, to realize that I am in control of my own destiny, to prioritize my time and quickly figure out what the fuck I want in life. I now love living in Portland, OR. I found my stride here. I have grown up personally and professionally. I believe this is a normal kick-in-the-face to anyone leaving the coop for the first time. I’m so incredibly thankful that I have finally found a coop to feel homesick for. I love you MPLS. Forever yours, JoAnn Schinderle PS. For the record (mind you, I think having a rivalry is stupid), biking in MPLS is WAY easier than biking in PDX.

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Photo by://Alex Roob MOVEMENT MPLSzine

Keep Moving by Allison Fingerett Movement is scary; backwards, forwards, none at all. I tend to inadvertently keep movement at a minimum, but life occasionally presents the perfect set of circumstances for moving outside the sedentary zone of copacetic comfort. And it can be magical. For example, I am Jewish. So, naturally, traveling to Israel is a part of my birthright. 66 MPLSzine // MOVEMENT

... I honestly never felt that way. But I recently learned that a rich man named Sheldon Adelson thinks so. And, despite his immense pressure on me to produce Jewish children, I appreciate his willingness to donate millions of dollars so that application-savvy Jews between the ages of 18 and 26 can take a free 10-day trip to Israel. Seizing clearly presented opportunities is easy, it’s the follow through that’s terrifying. Leading up to the trip, I fixated on the dark abyss of the unknown. The vague itinerary we’d been given was peppered with activities I’d never choose to engage in of my own volition, like sharing a tent in the desert with 50 strangers and hiking routinely. But one does not snub their nose at free International travel, so I went--pouting and frightened--to do what so many Jewish young adults have bragged about before me. And it was awesome! Because, as it happens, adult summer camp can be very cathartic. Moving from one planned activity to another feels effortless, and traveling around a tiny country on a crowded bus is a circumstance that allows for maximum bonding. It’s amazing how close a few hours of “Never Have I Ever” can make one feel to others. At Mount Herzl, the Israeli soldier cemetery, we learned of how Israelis go through the trenches together--for one another--and the best friendships are built this way, however literal or figurative those trenches may be. We barely slept--first because of jet lag and then because of the general encouragement to drink alcohol and “bond with other Jews.” Sheldon Adelson did not provide free condoms, mind you. Those of us not inclined to fuck each other talked a lot about our feelings and smoked hookah with teenage boys who wore their giant guns like sashes and danced the Harlem Shake. On that much anticipated night in a tent, I ended up with 10 of my new closest friends in the middle of the desert, spreading my mother’s ashes under the stars. And, before I sprained my

ankle in a whiskey drinking accident, the hikes were actually quite lovely. The whole experience made me want to quit my job and do all of the cool free (or affordable) things that are out there to do. And then grim reality set in. And now I’m depressed that that feeling is slipping away. I have to listen to the same Matisyahu song about Jerusalem on repeat just to feel it again for a moment, however fleeting. But I’m glad I went, because forced motion is good. As is a sense of identity, whatever that may mean to anyone. MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

Photo by: Andrew Casey

In Tr ans ition by Betsy Schaefer Roob Photo by Alex Roob “I am in transition,” I say again. Only this time I hear it and know I’m saving face. Because I’ve been busy taking photos at the right times—birthday candles, graduation caps, highest leaps, most extended arabesques—seeking that next piece of good news for the story of my life, seeking payment for my passions. Job searching is like a donkey chasing a carrot, dangling from a string just in front of her face. Only the donkey is actually on a treadmill. And the carrot is a mirage, the imagined and sure-to-come Career, just like everyone promised. I was the donkey for eleven months: poring over job boards, whipping out cover letters, emailing like a fiend. Forgetting, most mornings, to clean my cereal bowl. Barefoot on the marley dance floor, I cycle between extending, contracting, throwing, falling, folding, reaching, turning, sliding, and settling. Playing, my body discovers endless pathways of the bones and joints. In choreography, these moving pathways often unfold into images or shapes—brief or sustained landmarks, anchors for the viewer to hold. I was reaching for an anchor to hold—for a “yes” after an interview, for an invitation to interview, for a simple email reply (at least tell me no!) to my months-old application. I let the powers play me like a marionette as I flung my donkey limbs every which way to please. Eventually, a part-time “yes” did come and I am thankful. But it was not the pinnacle of all happiness and excitement I expected. The breath and blood are ever moving, each configuration of the body always alive, each moment of the dance both distinct and in transition to the next. Achieved goals, like images, fade, reincarnating into another winding road. I can be stubborn as hell, a restless seeker always after new landmarks of opportunity. I’ll be piecing together my puzzle of part-time jobs and past-times for a long time to come. But just as my body knows the impulse to seek and stretch, it also knows the calm of settling, as those subtle morning swells roll in at Grandma’s lake cottage, on that starlit evening paddle over water smooth as glass, in the moments after making love. This is when my cells grow heavy. My toes sink, limbs drape. For a time, my heart cracks fully open and I inhale, taking in, adoring the world. Soon my belly is a bowl of breath, dropping and spreading like a lake and I know:

My soul is a buzzing, dancing thing. Transitions are the only dance. MOVEMENT // MPLSzine

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Let's Get Social Save The Date: July 11th, 2013