Long time, no blog. Sorry. More to come, I promise. In the meantime, a 365 throwback:
I flew home to Minneapolis tonight from a work trip. I had spent the afternoon driving my rented Toyota from meeting to meeting, listening to tear-streamed tributes on NPR. I was grieving, itching to get back home for no reason other than to be in the zip code, and to share the moment.
It made me think of the provincial pride we sometimes feel, with no logical merit. Prince elicited this pride in all Minneapolitans, as if we somehow had influence on his genius. We say he’s “ours” or “Minneapolis’ favorite son” when in reality he resided in an orbit entirely his own. Maybe we took pride because he validated our little home halfway between the coasts. He made us matter. He was an argument-ending mic drop if anybody talked shit about Minneapolis. He was our street-cred.
Both the 35W and Lowry bridges were lit purple tonight, but cloud cover prevented a glimpse as my flight descended. I was instead greeted by a funky jam called “Calhoun Square” when I got to my car, and that was good enough for me.
RIP and thank you, Prince. You were a five-foot-two giant, you sound-tracked our city, and you will be missed.