Criminally Negligent

Julie, a tattooed brunette in her mid-30s, was walking with her newborn son in a stroller on a northeast Minneapolis sidewalk last August when a white Ford pulled up. The driver, a slight, middle-aged man with round glasses and a mild demeanor, made a strange proposition: "I'll give you $100 if you'll talk to me. I don't care if the baby watches."

Julie, who asked that her last name not be used, ignored the bizarre request and strolled down to the 1029 Bar, a cop hangout. Suddenly, the man ran up from behind her and jammed his hand between her legs, then groped her breast. "Get the fuck off of me, you motherfucker!" Julie screamed.

Passing motorists stopped. The attacker ran back to his car, kicking over the stroller with her baby in it in his hurry. He sped off, but not before Julie and a witness got his license plate number.

Julie borrowed a phone and called 911. Twenty minutes later, a Minneapolis police officer arrived and took down her statement, but didn't interview any of the witnesses. Later that day, Julie followed up with a visit to precinct headquarters. She was told to come back Monday—it was Friday afternoon and the Sex Crimes Unit wasn't available on weekends.

Read the rest here.

Archbishop Homophobe

More than 300 Catholics died on the snowy steps of the Cathedral of St. Paul last week.

The "die-in" was part of an organized protest of the new Archbishop in town: John Nienstedt. Last month the Archbishop declared his position on homosexuality in an article published in The Catholic Spirit. Here's the abridged version: "grave evil."

Responding to Nienstedt's article in an open letter, Michael Bayly, editor of The Progressive Catholic Voice, wrote: "By the threat of sin, you have divided parents from children, family members and members of loving communities from each other." Then, a question: "Is it a mortal sin if we support homosexual family members and friends?" And: "May we have them to dinner?"

The archbishop's response was stoically indirect: "The teaching of the Catholic Church about God's plan for human sexuality is the same today as it has been for centuries. It is not discriminatory."

The corpses in front of the Cathedral, no doubt, rolled over in their graves.

cPod #10

I talk about my Hold Steady piece.

Listen or download here.

Coleman, Paulose and Susan Kimberly

Eric Black has again pushed the story of recently resigned and previously embattled Rachel Paulose a bit further. His hard-won interview with Sen. Norm Coleman about his role in "the rise and fall" of Paulose is a good read. But that's not what I'm here for. In Black's piece, Coleman re-visits, ever-so-briefly, a remarkable piece of history: Coleman, when he was mayor of St. Paul, appointed the first transgender deputy mayor in America: Susan Kimberly, a Republican.

In the interview article, Coleman defended his early enthusiasm for the Paulose appointment like this:

[Coleman] described Paulose as “a woman of extraordinary intellect… an immigrant background… attracting strong bipartisan support… The kind of woman you’d want to support.” Coleman said that during his public career, he has a history of appointing young women who broke glass ceilings (he mentioned several names, and added that he appointed Susan Kimberly, the first transgender deputy mayor in America).

These days Susan Kimberly lobbies on behalf of the St. Paul Chamber of Commerce. And it appears Coleman has drafted her once more--if unwittingly--this time to serve him in his ongoing effort to defend unpopular decisions.

Read the entire post here.

Home for the Holidays with the Hold Steady

The State Theater opened on Hennepin Avenue in the winter of 1921 with a silent film and a newsreel projected onto what was then the largest movie screen west of the Mississippi River. Over the stage there was—and still is—a sepia paradise scene called "bountiful nudes." A cloth covered the mural for much of the '80s when the theater was under the ownership of Jesus People Church. Today the Hennepin Theatre Trust owns it. The nudes are nude again and six ornate—and original—chandeliers pour light over 2,000 red velvet seats where, one Thursday evening last month, 2,000 bodies sit in anticipation of the Hold Steady, who are gathered in a dark hallway by a stage door, pacing, stretching, drinking, and waiting.

Read the rest of the article here.