The great, big, huge Minnesota State Fair rendered in Miniature Mode via the much-loved, in-camera effect found on my Canon SD1400.

The Minnesota State Fair starts today, and I’ve been counting down the days since the second I left it last year. For a few years in my life I wasn’t so into the fair because I felt it never changed, and it was always the same, the same, the same…

But now that’s one of the main reasons I fancy it so much. Every year there’s some new strange indulgence deep-fried experimentally or served on a stick to prove that a new year really has rolled around, but aside from that, the fair looks and feels exactly the same as it did when I was a kid.

And, aside from all the overalls and three-piece suits, it looks and feels not too terribly different than it does in all these decades-old photos.

Lessons learned last year:

1) Full funnel cakes are a better value and better tasting than funnel cake-bites.

2) Just bite the bullet and buy the big jar of honey with the handsome, green label, even if you have to lug it around for a few hours. It’ll brighten up your cupboard and your cereal for months.

Up in Northern Minnesota, time stands still in a way that wouldn’t be possible down here around home. And even when something you loved up there finally moves on or fades away, signs of it will still remain for many summers to come.

I’m trying to comfort myself here, but honestly I feel a little bit blue.

Originally a movie theater, then a beloved cafeteria, The Forum in Minneapolis languished as a series of clubs and restaurants since the early 1970s before being restored to its pre-war wonder under its original name as a chophouse earlier this year. (Don’t you love the retro riche of the word “chophouse”? I always do.)

With its mirrored murals and towering tiles, local historians now cite the refurbished Forum Restaurant and Bar as the best example of art-deco design in the Twin Cities.

As well, it glistens like an Epcot-style tribute to everything über-Minnesotan, with Vikings and Indians and pinecones as the main themes of the glasswork, and sparkling cocktails splashed with rhubarb syrup.

Aside from the woodwork and upholstery everything appears to be perfectly period, right down to the diamond doodads laid into the jadeite walls.

I think I was maybe wearing shorts when I first went, but next time I best break out a fedora, or at least some flannel.

The entire establishment is so Northwoods natty, I wanna look like I belong.

When was the last time you were a real rascal? There’s a real and rare thrill in rustling up some trouble, a thrill we willfully deny ourselves as we sulk into adulthood.

So pop an Old Time Sling Shot into your back pocket this weekend, perch yourself up somewhere sneaky, then fling bubble gum or your wadded up phone number at eye-catching passers-by until things get thrilling.

You’ll end up either engaged or arrested, but either option makes for a better story than whatever you had going on this weekend otherwise, I reckon.

Plus, you’ll be doing my homestate suburbs some ecological good.

Get this. According to Hickorees: “This classic sling shot is hand made from branches of the Buckthorn bush, a European hedge plant commonly found in suburban neighborhoods in Minnesota, and now considered an invasive species. Buckthorn’s hard “Y” branches are perfect for sling shots, and harvesting Buckthorn wood helps with efforts to control the species.”

So when that mean mom on your block starts wagging her finger at you for slinging away at all the pretty young things in your hood, flatly ask her when was the last time she did anything to help control an invasive species?

By the time she sorts out her answer, you’ll be halfway home and fantastically full of yourself. Just like a kid, but with cooler clothes.

My car is nothing fancy. In fact its pretty much a rolling disaster. But when I bother to spiff her up I refuse to take her anywhere but The Mermaid.

First off, The Mermaid’s logo and branding is pre-millenial, photo shoot perfect, and perched just about everywhere.

As you exit your vehicle, rolling waves murals carry you through the air-conditioned corridor toward the cash register (and candy bar/greeting card shop).

Before they drop you off on dry land, the painted waves roll you past a plastic dome of complementary donuts and pastries. (If its still early in the day and they haven’t all vanished yet. If its after 2pm, you’re left to just pout in the surf.)

Once you’ve paid your bill and picked out an Obama-themed birthday card for your mom/boss/parole officer, you can play with the chatty parrot perched in front of the car freshener section. Its at this point in my visit each time where I’m certain a strange Steve Buscemi film will shoot here someday.

After all this fluorescent and feathery fun, your car is usually already done.

The final mermaid bids you farewell, and your soaped up and sea-sprayed car carts you off into another two (but for me, more like six) months of dead bugs and grime.

If only every mundane errand could be ran in such amusing establishments as The Mermaid.

There was a time when everything was perfect. My parents had a cabin up north, and I would float in the lake on my water-skis, waiting anxiously to be propelled up and above the surface.

While I’d bob in the waves all alone, to keep my brain from imagining myself as the tragic victim of the first Minnesotan shark attack in recorded history (with the JAWS theme stubbornly ringing in my ears), I’d stare at one of the many candy-colored scuba Swatches I favored in the early 90s to keep myself calm.

For eight years now, I’ve lived without our cabin, and haven’t slipped foot into a water ski.

I’ve missed it all terribly, and so arranged for a family boating excursion later this month. To fully maximize my orchestrated nostalgia I just ordered an old but never worn scuba Swatch off e-bay to sport that day, and beyond.

It’s sea glass green, see-through band is perfect and the visible cogs and wheels on the face will give me something to stare at rather than mysterious, midwestern shark fins.

Last weekend for 75 cents I found a plastic bag of these vote-baiting nail file freebies from the late 1980s.

I don’t know how effective they really would’ve been as a campaigning tool, but as retro mementos they are clear winners. The powder of the blue and the brick of the red in these specific shades are a thing of the past.

I’m thinking of going back to where I got the first bag of files, buying about ten more, then sticking them like bouquets in a quartet of metal vases. But I’d need to host a party with some sort of coinciding theme in order to be that dweeby about dumb old nail files – and I can’t think of a logical enough link.

Yet.

When I came across these illustrations rendered on old dictionary pages at a local art fair last week my intention was to keep and frame one for myself then give the other away as a gift this summer. But now I’m not sure which one should be which.

pg. 416
Grand Tour to Gratification:
A Ship at Sea:

or…

pg. 769
Plasmagene to Platinum:
The Boy In The Rabbit Ear Coat

I’ve already changed my mind (back and then forth) about four or five times.

Finally, a post it makes sense to use my Camera Bag (non iPhone) app on!

“The James Ford Bell Museum of Natural History was established in 1872 to collect, preserve, and interpret Minnesota’s diverse animal and plant life for scholarly research and for public enrichment and enjoyment. Its governance belongs, by state legislative designation, to the University of Minnesota.”

I don’t know why it took me decades to ever visit the Bell. It’s the closest thing to a public school field trip circa 1949 that a retro-minded modern man can do with his afternoon.

And back in college that grungy-glam, diorama-set Sheryl Crow video was (and still is) one of my favorites.

From its elevator, to its radial-edged wooden walls, to its apparent lack of air conditioning, the core of the museum looks and feels exactly how it did seventy years ago, I bet.

Unfortunately, right after my visit I learned that, just like most things too old and amazing to still be standing today, the original Bell is set to be updated.

“The Bell Museum of Natural History is in the process of developing a larger facility to house their thousands of specimen and to aid in research. The new location and building will be on the St. Paul Campus of the University of Minnesota and will better able to serve the many people and tour groups that visit the museum each year. Additions to be made to the museum will include an outdoor teaching facility, accessible parking and food service for visitors. The estimated cost of the new facility and moving is near $36 million.”

I respect that, to fully serve and instruct its visitors properly, the Bell needs to grow and evolve.

But I just know the new space won’t have strong and sturdy elevators, or polished and pretty wood walls as handsomely hand-crafted as the original.

If there’s one thing our world knows how to do in 2010, its design an ugly University building. (Or any building, it seems.)

Maybe beauty will get lucky and the original Bell will stand as is, once the new facility opens. As less a museum honoring the beauty of elks and pelicans, but of paneling and hand rails.

In less grumbly news, check this out. It almost instantly restores some of my faith in Minneostan mankind:

Café Scientifique

Café Scientifique is a program designed for adults who share an interest in scientific research and gathering in pubs and coffee houses for informal discussions on relevant and often provocative scientific topics. Science Cafés and Café Scientifique events are a chance for adults to exchange opinions and ideas about science and related issues. The Bell Museum launched its own Café Scientifique program two years ago which consisted of a happy hour program for adults that brings research from the University of Minnesota and beyond into some of the Twin Cities’ most unique and atmospheric bars and restaurants. The Bell Museum’s Café Scientifique explores science and natural history from distinct and surprising viewpoints, drawing connections between scientific research, culture, environment and everyday life. The Bell Museum’s Café Scientifique features guests from a variety of fields with diverse and relevant expertise. Past events have included scientific researchers, policy experts, bioethicists, community leaders, cultural historians, artists, and authors for dynamic discussions that bridge the gap between science and culture.

I had suspected that once I visited France I would never want to leave. Nine days into my visit, it seemed as though I truly never would…

My trip began with a frenzied flurry of cathedrals and cafes, croissants and charm. Every day was a rigorously scheduled stampede past Paris’s prettiest or pleasingly grittiest spaces and places.

Striving to slot in not only the iconic museums and monuments of history but the long and lovely list of Treasury reader recommendations of shops and stylish sites as well, there were few moments in my first days in France that felt fully experienced. Fully felt.

A silvery gold brunch at Ladurée with baskets of baked bliss and pitchers of milkshake-thick hot chocolate was one of the few itinerary items I didn’t just check swiftly off of my list, but actually absorbed languidly with all my senses and my entire soul.

For anyone who carts at least three cameras to any vacation destination, it can be a tricky challenge to not simply photograph the glory of your getaway, but actually FEEL it too. I have to get better at this.

As the trip was just about to end, an ashy disaster in Iceland erupted, shutting down all European air traffic and trapping us on the far side of the ocean. Unsure of whether we would return home to Minnesota in mere days via plane, or not for three months via a sluggish U.S. Army sea vessel, we washed our clothes, mildly panicked, at a Parisian laundromat. (And accidentally laundered 10 Euros worth of Ladurée chocolate into them, to make matters worse.)

Our pressurized yet picture-perfect vacation had slammed on the breaks at last and we were forced to slow down, set the cameras aside, and look at the city not as time-strapped tourists but as lazy (temporary) locals.

For six extra and almost-agonizing days…

It may sound like I’m whining, because I totally am, but let me explain.

Of course there are way worse things than to be stranded in Paris. The city of lights is lovely, for sure – but nothing is lovelier than home. And when you can’t get there, and a volcano that last erupted for two whole years is standing in your way of ever returning, Paris transforms from the culture capital it normally is. It becomes, unfortunately, a cute but confining cage.

I’m just so very glad to be home again. I missed it, and you. I’ll share more stories and snapshots in the days ahead that showcase and celebrate France and all its non-cage-like best!

Not all grocery markets are created equal, but even the better ones never seem to have everything I am in need/want of. So I cycle through them all, at irregular intervals, to suitably stock my pantry properly.

Even at the drabbest and saddest of the markets in Minneapolis you might come across something surprisingly fine ‘n fun, just as I did last Friday with this box of Finnska black licorice.

It was offered in red too, but where’s the thrill in that?