Ode to the Metrodome

Think for a moment about the parallels between the Hubert H Humphrey Metrodome and the Space Shuttle.

Both are white.
Both are made of technologically impressive materials.
Both are creatures of late-70s liberal values.
Both represent a technocratic achievement of the highest magnitude.
Both are designed to be flexible and re-usable.
Both feature advanced hydraulic systems (e.g. pitcher's mound, satellite bay arm) and a pressurized artificial atmosphere.
Both offer awkward views of beautiful things (baseball, Earth).
Both have seen moments of triumph and moments of complete failure.
Both forcefully eject you when you open the door (which is far less pleasant in space, mind you).

And in the 21st century, both are unsexy and obsolete, abandoned by the societies around them. Both have been mothballed and/or destroyed. Both have seen their egalitarian pragmatism phased out, replaced by elite speculative fancy (luxury boxes, space tourism).

It is fitting that the last day of the Metrodome be a remorseless gray winter one. It's not that I love the building, or find myself fond of it. The dome represents both good and horrible aspects of our particular strain of Minnesotan modernism. On the one hand, you have practical efficiency, a culture of sharing (for post-industrial capitalism, anyway) with all seats being equal, except for those that aren't, but even they aren't all that great...

I've lots of fond memories. I grew up going to baseball games. I remember being at the '85 All Star Game. I remember chanting during Game One of the '87 ALCS, when the Twins scored four on Doyle Alexander, the Tiger's ace. I was with my sister  in the left field nose bleeds during Game Seven of the '91 series (best Series ever) when soon to be non-Hall of Famer Jack Morris was famously stubborn. In that era, we used to sit just over the general admission line in left field, moving closer at some point during the 5th or 6th inning. Sometimes, my brother and I would circumnavigate the dome like Magellan, going up to the top of the upper deck and gradually walking all the way around the half-empty place.

Later during the 2000s, I camped myself in Section 212 for five-dollars-a-game to see Johan Santana's filthy change-up. I remember watching Torii hunter slam himself into the outfield wall trying to rob another dinger in the 8th inning of a blowout against the A-Rod era Rangers. Tee sound of his body reverberated through the clunky outfield. For a while I had a friend who had a friend who worked for the Twins, and he'd get us tickets to Royals games behind home plate, sitting with the players wives. (According to him, Mientkeiwicz's wife was the hottest one...) I was there are the Knoblauch hot dog game, I saw Matt Garza's debut, and Corky Miller's only at bat. I've also been to one Vikings game (the '08 playoff loss against the Eagles), a few Gopher football games (including one in a luxury box provided by the U). There's a appealing simplicity to the building that seems out of place in the 21st century. The Metrodome is DOS prompt internet, a glamourless world of disembodiment that requires a charitable imagination. We're not to see its like again.

On the other hand, I'm still not fond of the place.  Andy Sturdevant recently called the Metrodome "sterile, in the non pejorative sense," but I wish to embrace the pejorative. The building embodies the Minnesotan fascination with escape and artifice. Like the skyways and the 'dale malls, the Metrodome is a statement of self-loathing, an abdication of our environment. We will replace the sky and make it average! We will create ourselves a grey and tasteless San Diego. I loathe this strain of the Minneapolis psyche.

[Alien crash site on top. "Take me to your leeeder" on bottom.]

At this moment, it's tempting to declare the death of the Dome to be the beginning of the end of Minnesotan techno-modernism. It'd be nice to watch the building demolished, preferably by monster trucks (Sunday! Sunday! Sunnn-dayyyy!) and think, no more will we attempt to escape ourselves, replace our world and its sometimes extreme diversity with false techno-babble fantasy.

The problem is that its replacement will be no improvement. If the Metrodome is a space shuttle of egalitarian self-delusion, the new stadium is an otherworldy post-modern intrusion. The new stadium resembles nothing if not an alien spaceship crashing into a distant planet with half-hostile intentions. It will be equally atmospherically false, only far better guarded. It will have advanced technology, and harbor a race with strange hierarchical codes that our people will not understand. I fear it will sit like un-exploded ordinance for generations, making me miss the days of the vast white marshmallow techno-bubble surrounded by faded asphalt.

So, You're Addicted to GeoGuessr...

Don't worry. You're not alone.

...

OK, that's a good point. You actually are alone, technically speaking, in the sense that you're sitting in your room staring at your computer, taking a break between rounds of Geoguessr to browse the internets.

But what I meant was that you're not alone because that there are others just like you, thousands of others all around the world suffering from the same problem.  Geoguessr Addiction is real, commonly referred to as GA. And GA is here. Each day, more and more people become victims of GA, sitting in their homes, unable to think of anything else, locked in an endless quest to name the un-nameable, place the un-placeable. Something must be done.

...

Where are these people? I don't know, all over the place.

...

No, I'm not going to give you a clue as to their whereabouts.

...

It might be a desert area, I don't know. It doesn't matter! They're everywhere, all around you. People just like you who can't stop trying to pinpoint locations based on vague visual signs. You're not alone, see?

...

Ok? Sorry. So, let's talk about our options. The first step is to admit you have a problem.

...

My high score is 11529, actually, thanks for asking.

...

Yeah, I know that sucks. But were here to talk about you, not about me. I'm not the one with GA. OK? Can you admit you have a problem?

...

Very good. That's the first step. Now let's talk about what we can do about it.

The thing is, GA draws on some very powerful forces, deep within human nature. It channels our need to navigate, to master space. It fuels itself on that feeling we all have, especially men, of refusing to ask directions.

Once they begin playing Geoguessr, people are drawn in by the desire to know, the desire for omniscience, the desire to decode the landscape. Geoguessr beckons to you by saying "All places are unique." It says, "You can decode and understand your landscape."

...

See? That's what I mean. Well, the first thing you have to understand is this: That is a lie. Everywhere is just like everywhere else.

Don't believe me? That's where the beauty of my one-step program comes in. Using the latest in psychogeographic technology, I've developed a Geoguessr antidote that I call ApplebeeGuessr.

Try it out and see what I mean.

OK. Study the image carefully, and then click on which of the ten (10) Jacksonville, Florida Applebee's locations you think it is.

...

See what I mean?

...

Oh, you're still trying? OK. I'll give you another shot. Here's Round 2.  

See?

...


There, there. Don't cry. It's OK. My point is this. Everywhere is the same. There is no trace left of the real. There's no there there.  We've replaced the territory with a map of the territory, and we've replaced that map with a very large Applebee's menu. No matter where you go, there you are. There are 34,205 McDonalds restaurants in the world today. Walmart's 2012 gross income was 92 Billion dollars. There's no way to win at GeoGuessr. It's time to move on. Let it go, just let it all go.

...

It's not your fault. It's not your fault. You'll be OK...

More Ideas for Art Shantys that Rhyme

[The Medicine Lake Art Shantys, an almost annual celebration of shantily-clad creation.]

Dart Shanty – A shanty where people enter and can play darts. Alternatively, a shanty shaped like a dartboard, with another mobile sort of dart-type art object on ice runners which guests can project toward the shanty’s bullseye.

Start Shanty – A space where guests can attempt to build their own shanty out of anything they happen to have on their person. Nobody finishes.

Smart Shanty – A shanty that capitalizes on mobile communications technology to create an emergent adaptive shanty network, uses self-organization and crowd sourcing to create its own art, achieves sentience, and takes over the world (lake) a la Wintermute.

Pull-Apart Shanty – A shanty made from many, many small parts. Each guest takes part of the shanty home with them until the shanty disappears.

Blart Shanty – This makes no sense. “Blart” is not a word.

Quisinart Shanty – A shanty that chops raw food materials into tiny bits when inserted into the doorway. Made from shiny chrome.

K-Mart Shanty – A shanty that somehow demolishes the Lake Street K-Mart.

Fart Shanty – Self explanatory.

[Fart Shanty prototype, on right.]

Ideas for Art Shantys that Rhyme

[The Medicine Lake Art Shanties, an almost annual ritual of creative shanty construction.]

Scanty Shanty – The least possible shanty, made from the least possible material. This shanty barely even exists.

Aunty Shanty – All five of my aunts take turns sitting in a shanty.

Panty Shanty – Girls-only shanty. They trade panties with each other or something.

Decanty Shanty – Shanty with fine spirits in crystal containers. Guests drink booze.

Jimmy Durante Shanty – Shanty containing the personal effects of the late Jimmy Durante. Could be shaped like a giant schnozz.

Shanty Shanty – Sing sea shanties in a shanty. This has obviously already been considered and/or done.

[Then, it hit me. An actual good idea…] 

Ranty Shanty – A shanty shaped like a soap box, only with some sort of ladder on the outside (or inside, if preferable). 

Entering the shanty, you find a little display about the great ‘speakers corners’ of history (e.g. Hyde Park, Union Square), and some information about famous public / grassroots orators.

Then, the best part: there is a box of some kind, and a paper you can fill out that says, “Suggest a rant. (Be specific.) What irritates you the most?” Then there is a spot for more details, questions like “What is it about your rant suggestion that is the single worst thing? What else is really horrid? (Please be specific.) How does your rant suggestion lead to the downfall of civilization? (Be specific.)” Etc. etc.

Then, the shanty is staffed with the trained volunteer ranters, and every 15 minutes or so one of the volunteer ranters chooses one of the better suggestions, climbs to the top of the shanty, and delivers a tip-top rant on that topic, with lots of fire and brimstone and gesticulation and oratory. Hamming it up is encouraged. Theatrical individuals are involved. Improvisation occurs. Details are fudged or fabricated. The ranter stands atop the Ranty Shanty and yells like Ahab into the cold winter wind, addressing his or her grievances to the horizon. Onlookers look on. This proves to be immensely popular.

As an added bonus, interested participants can attempt to deliver their own rants, addressing a boisterous crowd as if on the Apollo Theater mainstage. Democracy in action, on a giant soapbox on a lake.

It all proves to be immensely therapeutic.

And cold. Also cold.

[Rough schematic of Ranty Shanty. Note: Not to Scale.]

Notable Quotes #2: Jean Baudrillard describes Minneapolis circa 1989

[The Commodore Bar, Saint Paul. Img via University Club.]

Tomorrow it will be Minneapolis with its sweet-sounding name, its gossamer string of vowels, half-Greek, half-Cheyenne*, evoking a radiating geometric pattern, at the edge of the ice-sheets, at the horizon of the inhabited world**... Speaking of the silence of the masses and the end of history, and casting an eye over the immensity and radiance of the lake. A biting wind blows over it, away to the east where night is falling. Planes pass overhead, silent as the wind, behind the windowpanes of the hotel, and the first neon signs begin to roll slowly, above the city. What an amazing place America is! All around is Indian summer, its mildness presaging snow. But where are the ten thousand lakes, the utopian dream of a hellenstic city on the edge of the Rockies?*** Minneapolis, Minneapolis! After the patrician elegance and feminine gentleness of the Indian summer in Wisconsin, Minneapolis is merely a rural agglomeration, simply waiting in darkness amid its silos and hunting grounds for the winter and the cold on which it prides itself. But in the depths of this real America, there is the Commodore bar, with the finest art deco in the world, where Fitzgerald, they say, drank every evening.**** I drink there too. Tomorrow I shall be carried directly by plane to the opposite extreme, opposite in terms of light, surface area, racial mix, aesthetics, and power – to the city that is heir to all other cities at once. Heir to Athens, Alexandria, Persepolis: New York.

[-Baudrillard, America. P. 14.]

[The Commodore bar, Saint Paul.]

* Actually Ojibwe. But whatever, its not like Jean was the first white European traveler to mess up the names of Indians.
** Actually Canada.
*** Actually very far from the Rockies. Obviously, geography was not Baudillard's strong suit. Perhaps he needs a map as large as the territory?
**** Actually in Saint Paul. Now tragically un-open, controlled by Saint Paul's old boys.