Maryan

I don't use checks anymore. I don't think we need them too much in 2011. However, once a month, I have a bill that I can't pay with the bill-pay function in my account through my bank's website. The bill is rent. Rent must be payed with a check or money order - no cash, no cards. So once a month, I walk it on down to Wells Fargo, get a money order printed, and pay my rent.

The day before I went to Wells Fargo, I went fishing with my brother, John, and my friend, Styles. We fished for about three or four hours, and we caught three fish. We said we were doing it like Earnest Hemingway, which we kind of were, because we were drinking wine and fishing and then going into the city to hit the bars for some food and nightlife, and now I'm writing this, so the Hemingway continues.

We walked home that night, crashed out, and woke up the next day feeling like we'd been fishing and drinking all night. Hoping to prove true the old adage that sunshine is the best disinfectant, John and I went and played some tennis.

Following the tennis sets - John won both of them 6-1 and 6-2, and he was barefoot for goodness sake - we swooped past the Wells Fargo on Portland Ave. John took a seat on the bench outside, and I popped in after transferring some funds to my checking account on my phone.

Inside were the usual suspects. There were some Black folks, some White folks, some East African folks. Whenever I go into this Wells Fargo, everyone is always overly nice. It's never to the point that the niceness is awkward or anything, but there is certainly an emphasis at this Wells Fargo on neighborly care and casual conversation. I always think that there's no possible way they actually want to know what it is I'm doing today, or if I'm taking the time to enjoy the weather - but they always ask. I suppose the interaction could be worse: It could go in the other direction and we could just have a bunch of discourteous tellers snarling as they count out your twenties to you. So they're nice at this Wells Fargo.

I walk in and there's an open teller window. To the left of it an East African fellow with his wife and two kids are making a family affair out of the conversation with the teller. I don't mean to say that in any snide way at all. I just mean that everyone was kinda participating in the conversation with the teller and it was working out all right. To the left is a big slender redwood of a woman, with very fashionable tight jeans and a yellow tank top over a sleeveless black shirt. Every stitch of her clothing is hugging her very svelte body. And the caramel colored skin she shows on her arms and face is very healthy. She's just a really well-put-together-looking lady.

In the middle of these two windows is my teller-to-be, and as I get closer and closer, her and I both sense that we're going to be sharing some words in a moment, so we both pleasantize our demeanor and relax our faces in one of those lazily-drawn "I-don't-mean-any-harm" grins. She, the teller, is a also a very well-put-together lady. She's East African, either Somali or Ethiopian, and she's got very pretty eyes. She's wearing an outfit that covers all of her body, and her hijab is covering her head, but all of the colors are so springy. Her dress shirt is a vibrant violet, and her skirt is long and loose and springy white with little flowers. Her hijab matches her skirt, maybe even the same material.

As I walk up, I see she's got a name plate in front of her window that says, "Maryan."

Also, on her pretty purplish shirt, is a Wells Fargo name tag that says, "Maryan."

I'm having the time of my life walking up to the window. My life is good. I got that dough for rent, I got groceries, I just spent a day fishing and eating and drinking and then playing tennis. And I'm going to walk up to this window and get me a money order for the rent.

Bless her heart. Maryan isn't looking at her shirt or the name plate. She’s sitting behind the glass.

But I am on the other side of the glass. I walk to the glass and before I even speak a word, before I even say hello, I read the name plate and the name tag ... "Maryan."

After I read them both and say, "hello," she responds by saying, "Hello. my name's Maryan”

I think this is hilarious. What with two name plates staring me in the face, and my dear, neighborly teller still feels a need to let me know just who it is that she happens to be. Unfortunately for me, I know that I'm the only person in the entire bank who gets the joke. God bless everyone else in there, but they didn't just see what I saw. A name plate that tells me the teller's name is Maryan. A name tag that tells me the teller's name is Maryan. And augmenting those two, is a very gracious teller who is also audibly letting me know that her name happens to be Maryan.

So I play along. “Well, all right. My name’s Joe.”

... Let the transaction begin.

Minnesota Nice and Cars Stuck In The Snow: It's deeper than you think

I think just about everybody who drives here in Minnesota has had an experience with a car stuck in the snow.

I want to start by saying that there is correlation here, but I'm not necessarily saying that correlation, in this case, equals causation. I am saying there's a relation.

Minnesota Nice
In Minnesota, we are very nice. There's even a name for it: Minnesota Nice. It's because, believe it or not, we are notoriously "nice." There are two things I can tell that qualify Minnesota Nice as Minnesota Nice.

(a) It's over-the-top nice, nicer-than-you-would-ever-think-of-being-to-someone nice.

(b) That niceness is given with the mentality that the interaction is only going to last for a certain amount of time.

It's the best, most pleasant interaction with a stranger that you could possibly imagine. But only so long as we both understand that once we get past the interaction, we need to part ways.

Why do we have to part ways, even after having such a wonderfully pleasant interaction?

It's because we have our own social groups and people we do business with or go to school with, etc. We've already established those groups, and you aren't necessarily invited to those. Unless you meet someone who has some sort of criteria that you feel you just absolutely need in your life, you're probably going to just carry on.

Well then why were we so damn "nice" to each other when we ran into each other?

I'm going to suggest to you that the "Ultra Nice" interaction is akin to, and may even have something to do with Cars Stuck in the Snow. There's correlation, and I'm saying that there may even be some causation.

Cars Stuck In The Snow
Everyone in Minnesota who drives has had a car stuck in the snow. I don't care what kind of car you drive. I've seen the biggest trucks get stuck in the snow. There's crazy weather here in Minnesota. The Winter Wonderland that it is dictates things like 8 ft. drifts, and everything is slippery, and there are cars stuck in the snow. That's just one of the things that's going to happen.

But anyone who has seen a car stuck in the snow in Minnesota, has also seen complete strangers get out of their car or walk off the street to push the car that's stuck in the snow. It's happened to me on multiple occasions, and I've been on both ends: pushing and needing the push.

This is an extraordinary act of kindness. A complete stranger is going to get behind a car, where it's messy, snow is being kicked up by the tires, when it's already cold outside, in a completely undesirable situation. And this stranger is going to get behind the other stranger's car, and, "by golly: we're gonna push you're car out of the snow."

But that interaction, after we get your car out, is done.

We've got this extraordinary act of kindness. Everyone is familiar and involved with it. In fact, sometimes you can get up to eight people pushing on one car, with everyone getting along swimmingly to complete this relatively straightforward task. But the interaction stops after we get the car out.

I think there is a correlation between that and Minnesota Nice in itself.

Does that mean we're nice to other people only because we believe some day we will need them to be nice to us?

No.

But I am saying it's a lot easier for us to believe that we'll need the help. If you've seen even the best drivers in the biggest trucks get stuck in the snow, you kinda start to believe that maybe it could happen to you too.

The Self-Serving Factor
There's also a self-serving factor to consider here. If you're the car stuck behind the car stuck in the snow on a narrow road, what option do you have except to push the car in front of you? I suppose you could offer encouragement, but that seems a bit cynical in that situation.

What's the self-serving factor in being ultra-nice to someone then?

Give it a try. You might be surprised.

Downtown at Target, and I just saw Eric Eskola without a scarf. I told him he's awesome.

I saw him going into Target, and I was so excited about it that I stopped on 11th and Nicollet, en route back to my apartment, to tweet it. As I'm tweeting away, as we do in 2011 etc., Eric walks by again. He flippin' walked past me again, for goodness sake!!! He’s carrying bread and a 12-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper that he bought from Target. I walk diagonally toward his path and ask, "Are you Eric Eskola?" I think he may have thought I was a little crazy for a moment. I was all sunglasses-and-bearded-up, approachin' homie as though we go back like seats in a Cadillac or somethin', so I can maybe understand his perspective.

But he says, "yes." And homie doesn't even have a scarf on for goodness sake - Just a red spring jacket - No scarf. You know it's spring time when Eric Eskola doesn't even have a scarf on. Anyway, Eric is honest with me about who he is, and he says, "yes."

And I say, "You're awesome."

And he perceives me to be a fan, which I am, but he says, "Well, thanks. What's your name?" But I can tell he doesn't really want to know my name, because he's hesitant like he might still think I'm completely out of my mind. I say, "My name's Joe, but that doesn't even matter right now. You're awesome. Just keep being awesome. I'm gonna go do some homework and you keep being awesome." And then I turned east on 11th toward my home.

You know what? Eric Eskola is awesome. He was given the opportunity to work, and he did. He worked very hard for a long time and did some really good things with his opportunity. He engaged people all over Minnesota and contributed greatly to how involved Minnesotans are in our political process. Sure, he may have been given some advantages that the average bloke may not have had. Sure, he may be kind of a quirky fellow with his scarves, etc.

But who isn’t?

Eric Eskola is someone who acted in his own circle of people and worked really hard, even though he couldn’t always see immediate results of his work. And the work he did ended up radiating well outside his immediate circle. And that’s what I’m talkin’ about.

Some of those other schmoes on Nicollet and 11th don’t know that Eric Eskola is awesome. But I do. I went home and did some homework. Because I want to get on my own level of Eric Eskola awesomeness.

How'zagoin? vs. How'sit going?

There's a common salutation we use in America that, when it originated, was actually an important question: How is it going with you?

How's what going exactly? Well, you know ... The Life! How's the life going?

This is an important question. Understanding what someone's mentality is at the moment could give an incredible amount of context, and help you in determining how to proceed with your interaction with this person. If their dog just died, they're going to be acting a little bit differently than if they just got a new job. These are polarizing examples, but you get the point: How someone is feeling at the moment is an important thing to gauge so that we know how to work with them.

But in the combination of the fast-paced life, and the fast-paced way we slur and combine words and sentences, we've come into 2011, with a conjugated word: how'zagoin'. And as time has gone on, this conjugation's function as a salutation has begun to replace its function as a very important question.

So I've been trying something new with mild success. I've broken the conjugation. I say, "how'sit going?" with emphasis on the break and the "ing" on going. Some people chuckle at how the question sounds with the space and the new emphasis. Some people simply continue on as though I had posed the question as the rhetorical salutation with which they're so familiar, in which case I pose the question again.

But for the most part, folks hear the space between the words and know that I'm deliberate in the way I pose the question. They know that I really want to know how the life is going with them. And for the most part, they respond honestly.

The people who are in a bit of a hurry, will usually respond, "good," or something to that effect, simply because they don't value the interaction enough to actually divulge how the life is going. But some people do. For those that do, there is some extra time invested into the initial interaction, because you have to grasp who you're dealing with and what their mental state is. But that little extra time in the beginning to gauge how the individual is doing is so beneficial to the rest of the interaction. It can save so much time and hassle.

It's Chris Rock's Birthday today.

Chris Rock Great birthday so far. Had my first rehearsal day for my new play, they changed some lines, but I'm ok. On my way to see prince.

about an hour ago · ·

Your life is pretty cool, Chris Rock.

One time when I was 19, I was working at this hotel and your manager gave me 40 bucks for a tip (Which is a pretty amazing tip - thank you very much, Mr. Manager).

And then you came down to the lobby and asked me if there was anything going on in the city. Unfortunately, it was like 2 in the morning on a weekday, and that's when the places close in Minneapolis. So my answer was, "not really."

But I was 19 years old, and in the back of my head, this blaring intercom of a voice kept saying, "Holy shit, I'm talking to Chris Rock."

And it was pretty cool.

Anyway, sounds like you got your party started a little earlier for your birthday this year.

I say: Right on, Man.

I say: Happy Birthday.