Spent most of the day today in downtown Minneapolis, where there’s a farmer’s market going on. I don’t really have anything more to add about that, I just felt I should mentione it. Also, there was this guy:

Oh yeah, hot stuff. I know plaid with plaid is no good, but plaid and purple camoflauge? Haven’t heard that rule yet. Also saw this bizarre sign at a sub place called Jimmy John’s where we ate.

I have no idea what this means

Downtown Minneapolis is pretty cool, mainly because they have this thing called the Skyway, which is an indoor walkway that takes you through most of downtown. I would imagine this is really handy in the winter, when the typical Minnesota temp is absolute zero. So my friend Jessie and I wandered around downtown, had a couple prolific conversations about love and art, as we tend to do (possible further entries to come), then she took off for school and I promptly watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose. And since I couldn’t get any of my friends to go watch it with me, I had to do it alone.

When I first took my seat in the theatre, I thought I was really going to be alone, seeing as I was literally the only person in the theatre. Luckily a few more joined me shortly after the previews started, or I have a feeling I would have freaked myself out a little bit (constantly imagining sounds behind me when I know that no one’s there, you know, things like that). Overall, the movie was great, though it did scare the shit out of me. However, if you’re into scary movies, much like myself, it’s definitely worth watching. The girl who played Emily Rose deserves an Oscar nod, simply for “highest percentage of scenes involving screaming or body contortion.”

So I headed back to my temporary residence at my friend Jessie and Karl’s place, got off the bus and thought, “Where’s my car?” Thinking maybe I had gotten off on the wrong block, or was on the wrong side of the building, I quickly perused the street, only to find that my car really was gone. Perhaps because of multiple demons living within it, my saturn station wagon had also resorted to self-mutilation and had hurled itself off a cliff or something. Or perhaps the “meter-nazis” (as my friend Beth referred to them) had impounded it. We found a phone number, found where the car was, and Karl and I were off.

A couple buses later, we find ourselves on the darkest patch of road this side of hell, and with the dulcet orchestrations of broken glass below our feet, we head down this pit of death toward the Minneapolis Impound Lot. Now do remember what movie I’ve just seen. Suddenly my afternoon entertainment wasn’t feeling like the wisest decision. Despite the demons and the glass, the road finally leads us to a small building (with some reserved parking spots nearby, which it would be funny to be towed from those all of 60 feet), where I wait in line behind similar suckers like myself attempting to retrieve their vehicles, and am charged not only a $133 towing fee, but also a ticket for parking between 4-6pm on an apparently busy section of road during those hours.

I think I would have learned my lesson just from the ticket alone, but apparently they had to get the car out of there and teach me a much bigger lesson. And that is that the gap between more and enough never closes. I can rest well knowing that.