Hula Hooping and Other Exchanges in Kisarawe, Tanzania

Post and photos by the Hawthorne Hawkman. Video and photo by "Kaka Tembo," or "Brother Elephant," my younger brother who happens to be an offensive lineman in a Division II college.

After learning to hula hoop last year, the activity has surprisingly become one of my favorite hobbies. I've made my own hoop (with some help), regularly hoop several times a week at Farview, and even went to show some kids at Sojourner Truth Academy how fun this is.

So when I was told I should bring along gifts for a school I would volunteer at while on my trip to Tanzania, I didn't think twice before deciding to bring along hula hoops. I DID have to think, however, about...

...how I'd actually GET the hoops to Tanzania.

When I was packing, I was told, "Set aside only what you think you'll need for three weeks. Then pack half of that." As it happens, I was the only family member to follow that advice, but I got all of my things into one carry-on and one checked item, thus allowing me to check the 100 feet of tubing.

I wasn't able to find the kind of tape I'd need, but it turns out I wouldn't have had time to decorate the hoops anyway. The pipe cutter and connecting pieces went in my carry-on luggage, and then it was just a matter of clearing customs. Checking the hoops stateside was surprisingly easy; nobody even batted an eyelash. In Arusha, though, customs had a hard time believing I was bringing this stuff for something other than selling construction materials on the black market.

I tried explaining hula hooping to the customs people, but it just wasn't sinking in. I briefly considered trying to mime hula hooping. However, I quickly realized that a herky-jerky pelvic gyration looks even stranger WITHOUT a hula hoop. Doing this to an already suspicious customs agent would probably get me locked away in a small room somewhere.

Eventually the family's church trip credentials and the presence of other gifts convinced the guy to let us through. Below are some of the presents my brothers and I gave to kids at the school in the Kisarawe district outside of Dar es Salaam:






My only disappointment was that we couldn't spend more time with the kids. David, Aaron, and I got to watch the World Cup finale with over 100 wildly cheering youth, which was an experience in itself. The broadcast of the game was delayed because every channel was showing the Tanzanian equivalent of C-SPAN. The dominant political party had just picked its endorsed candidate for the upcoming presidential elections, and the pomp and circumstance was being paraded around for all to see.

I told one young man how Obama rescheduled his state of the union address so that Americans wouldn't be mad at him or his party for interrupting a popular TV show. He said, "That's a great idea. I'm not going to vote for this party now." I'm not sure if he was joking, as sarcasm is often lost in cultural translation.

David, Aaron, and I spent time in the classrooms as well. The random neural firings of children who want to know anything and everything about us and about America was enthralling, energizing, and often amusing. One kid asked, "Please tell us about the history of America." We had less than ten minutes before the end of the class period. By the time we gave VERY brief overviews of Plymouth Rock, slavery, and the Civil War, they were on to the next question. "Is Michael Jackson really dead? Because I heard a rumor that he's alive."

Kids also wanted to know about what kinds of accents we have in America. (southern drawl, a midwestern patois, an east coast dialect, and pirate, I answered. Ok, not really with the pirate.) Then someone expressed deep concern that George W. Bush was a Freemason, and didn't they or the government kill JFK? Oh, and are Americans all vampires like in Twilight? (No, but if we were, we would be more like the vampires in Blade. France would get the Twilight vampires.)

As much as I enjoyed the randomness of children, I felt we were doing more to disrupt their planned curriculum than help their education. Which, I suppose, is typical for Americans. I would have preferred to stay longer, sit in the classes, see what was being taught, and then add what I could. My only consolation is that Michael Jackson is probably still alive, because it's incredibly difficult to kill a hula hooping Freemason vampire who talks like a pirate. Or at least that's what I told the kids at Kisarawe.

Zanzibar Historic Housing Photo Tour

Post and photos by the Hawthorne Hawkman, except for third photo from the top, taken by "Baba Askofu."

Several days ago my family and I took a break from the daily grind of Tanzanian-Michigan church politics (which, to be quite honest, is not really that much of a grind) and went to the island of Zanzibar. Aside from relaxing on the beach, I knew there was one place I just HAD to visit: Stone Town. This is an internationally-recognized historic site, and the more I can learn about preservation of historic houses, the more I can bring that experience back home to NoMi.

The second picture from the top is of a large building that straddles a main commercial corridor in Stone Town. There is a one-way sign, as the passageway is too narrow for more than one car at a time. But, like many traffic laws in Tanzania, the direction in which cars are SUPPOSED to go is really more like a suggestion - and not a strong one at that. One has to wonder how many head-on collisions there are here.

Our tour guide said that some buildings were constructed as early as the 15- and 1600's, although most research I've done since then indicates he may have been embellishing things. Still, buildings standing from as long ago as 1780 are quite impressive. The MOST impressive aspect, though, was...

...the doors, often referred to as "Arab doors," they were designed by Yemeni and Indian traders. It's been said that the ornate doors were so prized that people would buy those FIRST and then build their house around that. I'm standing in front of one such door in the last photo above, and below are some shots of what passed for a home security system when this house was built. The spikes were meant to keep out elephants, rhinos, and other animals.




Zanzibar is about 98% Muslim at this point, so the mosques and other similar doors aren't decorated with the same imagery. Still, the woodwork is nothing short of amazing.









It was also common in the early 1900's for builders to stamp the construction date in the stone above the doors. 1933 was the LATEST year of new construction that was readily apparent from the street.



Here was the oldest-looking building we saw. Our guide said that no building can be demolished without going through an extensive application process with the local historical district. (Despite the fact that, according to some sources, as much as 75% of the buildings are considered "deteriorating.") When I asked what happens to people who demolish buildings WITHOUT going through this process, I was told, "The penalties are most severe." Sure sounds like an improvement over the lack of protection for some historic buildings in Minneapolis.



Among the famous people to have called Stone Town home are Freddie Mercury of Queen, and abolitionist David Livingstone. The last active slave trading market was on Zanzibar, and a church has been built over that site. At the foot of the altar, there is a marker where the whipping post once was. Powerful stuff.






And here we are, back where we started, but on the other side of the first building. I couldn't help but wonder, what housing, and what historic features will be standing in NoMi a hundred and two hundred years from now? Will the homes built at the turn of the century or before still be standing? Will the houses we're building as new construction still be there?

Regulatory Services in Tanzania!

Post and photo by the Hawthorne Hawkman, also known in Tanzania as "Watoto Askofu." Blog post done from the city of Dar Es Salaam.

While I am away from NoMi for a few weeks, I have vowed to do JNS posts when I have time, energy, and an internet connection capable of loading photos and video in anything resembling a reasonable time frame. Tonight I've got all three. I hope to get to other posts about my activities here, but a wonkish, geeky topic like this seems as good a place to start as any.

The large red X's shown above are prevalent throughout the countryside, especially near the city of Arusha. They are on a majority of signs, and even a fair amount of properties. I asked our driver about this and was told...

...this is done to mark signs and structures that are built too close to the road. The government has designated a certain amount of space as their right-of-way along the side of major highways. This appears to have been done for two reasons: first, before the roads were paved, the rainy seasons would wash away portions of dirt roads and people needed to be assured that they could drive around the washed-out areas. And second, because as the country builds up its infrastructure, the main highways will need to be widened to accommodate more lanes.

It wasn't clear (or at least his English and my far more limited Swahili didn't allow us to make it clear) what happens AFTER the signs and structures have been identified as violating this rule. Still, it was nice to see some work being done to identify Tanzanian "problem properties."

And in case any JNS readers have jumped to a conclusion here, "Watoto Askofu" is not Swahili for "Hawthorne Hawkman." As far as I know, that designation has no direct translation. My father is the bishop (askofu) of the Northern Great Lakes Synod of the ELCA, which has a partnership with the Lutheran Church in Tanzania. "Watoto Askofu" or "child of the bishop" is how I've been introduced time and time again.

My time in Africa has been nothing short of astounding and I already hope to return again very soon (even though I'm here for another week and a half). I've learned new facets of family dynamics (which, surprisingly, is a good thing). I went on a safari and sang a somewhat racy song after almost seeing two lions in courtship. (this may have prompted our rather devout driver to then teach us a song about Jesus casting out demons. I'm not sure.) I wound up singing "Happy Birthday to You" on a Tanzanian radio station that reaches up to 500,000 listeners.

I'll be volunteering for a few days at a children's school and teaching them the art of hula hooping (boy, getting hoops through Tanzanian customs was a challenge), and then I'm off to see Zanzibar. No, wait! Wrong Zanzibar. THIS is the Zanzibar I'll be visiting.

At least some of these things will wind up as JNS posts before or once I'm back in the States. For now, consider the red X of Tanzanian regulatory services to be the Hawkman's way of replacing the "dead tree format" of postcards. Wish you were here.

Eastbound And Down, Loaded Up And Trucking...All Roads Lead Right Back To NoMi...(Part Three Of Four)

Photo By John Hoff

Many minor and incidental pieces of Kentucky came back with me from my trucking trip, one piece in the form of a bottle of "Very Old Barton" brand bourbon; which one of my NoMi homies liked very much. He compared it favorably to Jack Daniels. Swishing it around in the mouth one thinks of bluegrass, retired racehorses behind creosote fence posts, a lazy and muddy river full of catfish.

Oh, wait, we actually have that last one up here in NoMi. I'll drink to that.

The other night four of us sat together at a backyard bonfire, burning scrap wood, imbibing but not to excess...and we heard about a dozen gunshots in rapid succession, NOT firecrackers, so we called it in.

And then we returned to drinking. Heck, the shots were blocks and blocks away. The shot spotter technology had the police ALL OVER IT, and we could hear the squads closing in. God bless the Fourth Precinct. Every day things in the neighborhood get better, but every now and then somebody has to pop off a few rounds, just to see if they still can.

So where was I? Oh, yes, driving a truck and crossing "the wide Missouri."

There is an old song called "Shenandoah" which always makes me think of the time I spent living in the mountains of Appalachia, working at Shenandoah National Park. The verses in the song speak of being "bound away...across the wide Missouri."

Well, I'd never really thought about it before until I actually crossed the Missouri River but...

That river is WIDE. There must have been a time, back in the horse and buggy days, when getting to the other side of the Missouri River was an adventure, and once you crossed over you must have felt quite far away, quite cut off from the loved ones you left behind. To get back, you'd have to brave once more "the wide Missouri." And it must have been no small and easy feat.

Unfortunately, I don't have a picture because I needed to keep my hands on the wheel and, well, there really wasn't a work related reason to pull over. And, as stated before and emphatically, I only take "micro vacations." Most of my time belongs to my boss, but that doesn't mean I can't look out the window and think, "Gee, that's the river from the song. It really IS wide." And for a moment, a hard working trucker feels just like a tourist on vacation.

Below is a picture I took at a safer map-consulting moment, while going through Crab Orchard National Wildlife Refuge. "Crab Orchard" isn't such a dumb name in comparison to another winner I spotted on my trip: Big Bone Lick State Park.


A little later in my trip, I had lunch in one of the smallest Kentucky towns I could find convenient to the highway, in a cafe that served catfish with hush puppies, white beans, and slaw. For desert, I had "chess pie," which I was told tasted like "pecan pie without the pecans," and that was exactly right. I don't even remember the name of the town. It started with a "C," though, and some urban revitalization was sorely needed. I snapped some pictures of an old building that looked interesting before I clocked back in to work, and continued on my way.




The way things worked out, I had to stay in Madisonville, Kentucky on Saturday and Sunday, because there was no cargo I could obtain after one pick up I made Saturday morning. So I just had to get a cheap hotel room and keep the "reefer unit" running for two days, which isn't as bad or illegal as it sounds. (A "reefer unit" is a truck refrigeration unit) I had plenty of time to find the cheapest lodging in Madisonville, and at first I figured it might be "The Hampton Inn and Suites" because the hotel was out in the middle of an empty, weedy expanse of just, like, NOTHING.

Who would want to stay out THERE? I thought.

This first photo, below, shows my truck parked in front of the Hampton Inn. The second photo shows the expanse of tall weeds right up near the hotel. I was surprised to see birds swooping down to eat bugs that had just met their fate on my truck grill as I turned around in the circular driveway.




To my surprise, it was a very expensive hotel. I asked the front desk clerk why the hotel was "way out here in the middle of all these weedy vacant lots" and I was told a super dooper mega shopping entertainment complex was coming, yes indeed, and the hotel had gotten built in anticipation. I responded, almost tactfully, that perhaps the price of the rooms might reflect how the big shiny tourist-oriented thing hadn't been built QUITE YET.

And then, before I drove away, I took a moment to scrape some of the bigger, fatter bugs off my grill, for the eager swarming birds.

I ended up at an affordable hotel called the James Madison Inn. Somewhere near the hotel I saw these cool old house shutters and snapped a picture. I thought of the classic homes in my NoMi  neighborhood--amazing, 100-year-old houses that can be scooped up bargain basement style--and I realized our old houses have different features, different styles. Our NoMi houses don't have shutters cut with half moons, so a firearm can be used from inside to fend off attacking Indians or Yankees or whatever.

That's what I sort of IMAGINE the half moon hole is for.

One thing you notice about Kentucky tobacco country is a lot of people smoke, and they smoke INSIDE, while eating catfish and chess pie. I couldn't get a non-smoking room on my first night at the James Madison Inn and, geez, I got sick as a dog.

Luckily I had original formula Nyquil. I also had that bottle of Very Old Barton but I thought, well, better to bring it back unopened and bad idea to mix the two.

I knew the weekend was my big opportunity to be a tourist, there in the not-so-upscale part of Madisonville, Kentucky, not far from the drive through liquor store and (I noticed while turning around in a maze of one-way street b.s.) a monument to dead Confederate soldiers. My tourism would be off-off-off the beaten path, but this is what the universe had issued me and I would have to make do, and be glad.

To be continued.

Eastbound And Down, Loaded Up And Trucking...All Roads Lead Right Back To NoMi...(Part Two Of Four)

All Photos In This Post By John Hoff

I thought it would be a good time to talk more about my trip out of town and how--while it's fun to travel--the real adventure is home ownership and turning my neighborhood around. I'm constantly telling friends in their 20s that home ownership doesn't TIE YOU DOWN. Rather, it frees you because you have a base of stability to strike out from, seeking various economic and travel opportunities made possible by--oh gee--having equity instead of being a RENT SLAVE.

I'm just saying.

The picture at the top of the post is...

...to state, once again, that I only take "micro vacations" when I have a moment of my own time in the course of paid work for my employer, driving a truck. The vast majority of my day looks like this: trying to keep it between the lines, hour upon hour, but no more than the number of hours allowed.

But when you travel--even in the course of hard work--you see things you've never seen before like a magnolia tree, or retired racehorses living large on Kentucky bluegrass behind 3-rail, creosote dipped fence posts. When you eat somewhere, you can pull in someplace local and order something unique, almost like a tourist.

So here's something I saw in a small town in Illinois (I think) while I was waiting at a railway crossing. It's an old caboose and it's BLUE. When I was a kid in rural Minnesota, trains still had cabooses--it's complicated why they usually DON'T have them anymore, check out this informative article from Wikipedia, click here--and I'd heard the legend of cabooses that were BLUE. I don't think I'd ever seen one before, ever. A few that weren't RED, but BLUE? No, never. Maybe in the dark we once THOUGHT we saw one, but who can tell in the dark?

Anyway, I had my camera handy in the cab, so I snapped this photo:



Later I was driving along and I saw a prison. I think I saw a total of three prisons on my trip, maybe four. When I drive by I wonder if there are prisoners inside who spend long periods of time looking out the window, watching the vehicles go past, envying my freedom...like that song Folsom Prison Blues, when Johnny Cash sings about the train going by and how "They're probably drinking coffee and smoking big cigars."  



Here's a picture of something that always bothers me when I'm driving: a motorcycle, right in front of me. I am a fanatic about maintaining a safe following distance. I'm always thinking about some scenario where a tire blows or something malfunctions on the vehicle ahead, and it slows down rapidly. What's a fender bender in a car or truck is DEATH OR PERMANENT INJURY on a motorcycle. I swear, I don't even know why people drive them. Seriously. They were fine for soldiers to carry messages in World War One and risk their life in the endeavor, but after that...just a bad idea.

There, I said it.

I have a little verbal talisman I say whenever a motorcycle is in front of me: GET OFF MY FRONT BUMPER YOU BUZZING INSECT!!! 

When I say these words, I never have an accident with the motorcycle.

Try it. It works.



This last photo shows signs that are placed at some rest stops reminding commercial drivers about the limits on the number of hourssss allowwwwwed on.........

DRIVING!!!!

Geez, nodded off for a second, there. Good thing the truck knows the way.

No, seriously, I always stay within my allotted hours of driving and get enough sleep.



Oh, one more thing about the photo at the very top of the post: Illinois has the WORST ROADS and the MOST TOLLS. You can literally see the state line because there's a row of potholes right there, just before you get to the Welcome To Illinois sign to let you know you've OFFICIALLY arrived.

And, for the record, Abraham Lincoln was born in KENTUCKY. True fact. So when the signs in Illinois say "Land of Lincoln," well, that's not entirely true, either, but I'm sure they're finding a way to charge you a toll for the billboard.

JNS BLOG EXCLUSIVE: Non-Fatal Police Motorcycle Crash In Bloomington...

Photos By John Hoff

So I just happened to be in Bloomington on Thursday and I witnessed some of the aftermath of a police-involved motorcycle crash reported extensively in the mainstream media, including this coverage from Fox 9, click here.

None of the articles I read had very good images of the aftermath including the position of the two cycles, so this can be one of the many times the blogosphere fills in the gritty details...though admittedly this incident has nothing to do with North Minneapolis.

To answer a question I'm sure would arise from one of the photos: yeah, that red stuff on the ground sure did look like blood to me. Yes.

(Do not click "Read More")

Fifth Ward DFL Convention "Side Show" Featured "The Gubernatorially Tall Man"

Photos By John Hoff 

Though the main act at Saturday's convention was Don Samuels versus Kenya McKnight, there were a lot of political "side shows" happening, too. This blog post features one of them...

In the top photo--right where he belongs--is John Marty, a state senator from Roseville who would like to run for governor. (His website is www.johnmarty.org) He is the chair of a committee which deals in health and housing. But, more important than all these things, HE IS RATHER TALL. 

How tall? Well, taller than the current governor, and that's what matters. Did you know 85 percent of the time, the TALLEST candidate wins? It's OK if you didn't know that, because John Marty knows it, which is exactly what you expect from a tall leader.

Remember, running for governor is a TALL ORDER, so John Marty is your man.

Note in the picture above how John Marty TOWERS OVER MERE MORTALS, such as the woman on the left. Vote for John Marty, or he might...squash us and eat us!!!!!!!!

In the second photo...somebody who is working for the Marty campaign. Wait, why are fifty percent of the readers of this blog post lingering so long on the SECOND photo, paying virtually no attention to the first? Stop looking at the second photo! DRAW YOUR AMAZED EYES TO THE VERY TALL MAN!!! He is the point of the show. Note how TALL he is, GUBERNATORIALLY TALL!!!!

Well...I guess if tallness doesn't work, one could run the other guy and play the "good looks" card. I wonder what percentage of the time the candidate who is MUCH BETTER LOOKING wins the race? 

What "Recession" Looks Like In America's Obscenely-Overflowing Dumpsters

Photos By John Hoff

Connie Nompelis (NO-bliss) is glamorous and financially successful in her real estate profession, which causes Connie to spend a lot of time in North Minneapolis. Connie has also kicked around lots in Honduras, so she's appalled by the wasteful habits of Americans after spending time in the Third World. This happens to almost everybody who spends any amount of time in the Third World.

As odd as this sounds, me and lovely Connie have gone dumpster diving together. She's had me sign copies of the two books I've written on the subject of "proactive urban scavenging." She's fed me a delightful crock pot stew from turkey we salvaged together I-won't-say-where-exactly. (The photo above is part of our haul that night) Connie has read most or at least many of the writings of the "Simplicity Movement," which thrived back in the heyday of Clintonian prosperity. My first book on dumpster diving is one of those writings, albeit some have characterized those writings as part of the "fringe" of the Simplicity Movement.

Oh well.

Turns out Connie read my first book YEARS ago, before I ever ran into her in North Minneapolis. I really wish Connie would turn into an obsessed fan and stalk me. I wouldn't try to get away. Honest.

Anyway, the reason I bring this up...

...has little to do with Connie or North Minneapolis, but I am determined to, as it were, go through the literary motions of tying everything to North Minneapolis. So there.

Through my blogging efforts, I met a young Harvard student named Deolinda Martins. When I say I "met" Deolinda, well, I've never actually spoken to her, let alone met her in person. (Which is a shame, as a Google image search reveals she is, well, HOT) It turns out Deolinda and myself share an incredibly arcane and obscure public policy passion: we are both obsessed with the Bill Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donation Act.

Well, actually, our mutual obsession is even more RARIFIED than this obscure, relatively unpublicized law which could feed every hungry person in America if only the law were better PUBLICIZED.

How can this one law do so much, you might ask? I'M GLAD YOU ASKED.

Grocery stores and restaurants produce obscene mountains of food waste, but pointlessly obsess over "liability issues" when it comes to food donation to, for example, food banks. But the Bill Emerson law basically protects stores and restaurants from liability. Only one problem with the law: it's not very well publicized. The Clinton administration was publicizing it shortly after passage but then a minor matter came up: a certain JEZEBEL WHORE named Monica Lewinsky.

But I digress.

Anyway, it turns out both Deolinda Martins and myself are obsessed with why the Bill Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donation Act isn't better PUBLICIZED. That's how Martins located me in the blogosphere world. I had written a few things about this law and how the lack of publicity about the law basically thwarts the PURPOSE of the law.

So Deolinda was writing her academic paper, and this question about why the law wasn't better publicized was one of the questions she was puzzling over. Also, Deolinda has spent a lot of time outside of the United States--just like Connie Nompelis--so Deolinda apparently has the same horror over American waste habits. (In fact, I seem to recall Deolinda telling me she has roots in Portugal)

Though Deolinda is only an undergrad, I've proofread a doctoral thesis or two in my time and let me just say I'm amazed by the quality and effort which went into this "undergrad" paper, which reads more like something written by a PhD candidate.

At a certain point quite early in the development of her paper, Deolinda communicated with me and I encouraged her, brainstormed with her and--many times--tried to rally her in moments of discouragement by telling her how IMPORTANT a paper like this could be, especially if the idea of JUST PUBLICIZING THIS LAW got into the heads of the Obama administration as a measure to help Americans avoid the terrible pain being caused by this recession, until we get through it.

(Whether recession is such a "bad" thing, however, particularly when landfill waste is down approximately 30 percent, is a more complex topic. I would argue that a sustainable green economy can't run on Keynesian economic principals--which appear to rely on perpetual growth rooted in extraction of natural resources. Clearly, new "green economy" models are needed)

All the same, Americans being in need while dumpsters overflow with perfectly good and PERFECTLY SAFE food is another matter entirely, and our government should respond. One easy and economical way to respond is to simply publicize the Bill Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donations Act, producing massive resources to feed the hungry--whoosh--out of THIN AIR.

(Take a look at red hot Connie, in the picture above. Does she look like she's keeling over from food poisoning? Publicize the law, I say! SAVE THE GOOD FOOD THAT'S BEING TOSSED IN DUMPSTERS!)

Deolinda sent me her paper in the form of PDF files, and I've put these on the Johnny Northside PDF support website, click here, for those who want to curl up with an academic paper which is many, many pages long. But somebody will care about this paper, I think--I already sent it to some old friends at Real Change newspaper in Seattle--and I am very hopeful Deolinda's academic masterpiece will have a positive social impact and miraculously feed the hungry, like Jesus making loaves and fish just...replicate, like...WHOOSH!!!! Wow, dude, where did all this FISH come from?!!! Yummy. Yummy miracle fish!

Oh, by the way, my books on dumpster diving are NOT listed as sources in the paper. Generally, books with a cartoon in every chapter don't get cited in academic papers.

But do such books have an impact on society? Oh, yes, they do...just like a blog does.

The "Lost Victorian" At 3216 3rd Ave. S.

Photos By Connie Nompelis

There was an alarming and sudden demolition of an old Victorian house in South Minneapolis, and though it may be a case of "mission creep" for this North Minneapolis blog to report on the matter, I am concerned that what happens in South may not remain in South, but could become a pattern in North.

Connie Nompelis (pronounced NO-bliss) forwarded me these pictures, and a firsthand account from a neighbor, David Piehl, as follows:

Imagine my surprise, yesterday evening, when I drove down 3rd Avenue and found 3216 to be completely gone...

...except the front porch base, a hole in the ground, and a backhoe near the alley.

This property is not on the most recently published 249 list at all, and certainly had not been approved for demolition by CPED or CANDO. Nobody in the neighborhood, as far as I can tell, received ANY notice of a potential demolition for this property. The house itself was attractive on the exterior with the exception of some bad updates on the rear that have been there (for longer than 16 years).

I've since learned that GMHC at some point purchased the house, and according to city records applied for a demolition permit on March 12, 2009. GMHC did not make any notification to the neighborhood at all.

In the 1990s, the neighborhood group asked GMHC to develop certain lots, and the block clubs as well as the housing committee had input not only into site selection, but also design of the new construction from a list of options provided by GMHC. I am appalled that GMHC circumvented the neighborhood altogether, particularly since they are relying on OUR tax dollars to do so!

Central Neighborhood's resident-approved plans call for renovation of older homes and NO demolition unless absolutely necessary. So, while a burned-out home on the 3100 block of Columbus Ave. languishes, 3216 3rd falls to teh backhoe with no notification whatsoever. This demolition flies in the face of the city's efforts to drastically reduce demolitions, demolishing only where necessary...not just because it is cheaper to demolish than fix the existing construction.

This has to stop. So far the private market has been addressing most of the foreclosed homes in Central; GMHC should only be called in to deal with properties that the private market leaves behind, thereby spending scarce tax revenue only where most needed.

Please support a moratorium on GMHC demolition permits until notification processes and standards can be worked out. As far as the vacant lot that was created, I hope we do not have to endure the construction of another GMHC "Milk Carton." The privately developed new construction on this same block (2nd Ave. side) is the model that should be followed, whether or not it is privately developed.

Yesterday, 3216 3rd Ave. S. was hauled to a landfill. By the looks of what was left in the hole, not even the hot water registers were salvaged.

(JNS says: clearly, no attempt to salvage bricks, either)

Remember that the greenest housing is what's already here. The demolition of 3216 is a slap in the face to the block club, the neighborhood group, the city, preservationists, and the green movement. Please address this with all due expediency.

(Piehl's communication was sent to the following city officials: Elizabeth A. Glidden, Council Member Gary Schiff, Robert Lilligren, and Lisa Goodman)

Drinking Guifiti Shots In North Minneapolis (Yes, "Guifiti")

This doesn't have anything to do with North Minneapolis, except for the people involved. Connie Nompelis, real estate agent and rehabber extraordinaire, has family connections in Honduras and still gets back there from time to time. One of her favorite places in Honduras has an interesting history and an interesting drink to go with it...

In the 1600s, two Spanish ships were sunk off the coast of Honduras. The ships were loaded with black slaves, many of whom survived the shipwreck, and lived among the Native Americans in that region, creating a new people and culture. Though it's more complicated than that--check out this link, click here--one surviving aspect of this blending of black and Native American culture is a drink called "Guifiti."

(Like "Chick-a-dee," only it's "Gif-a-dee." Don't be fooled by the spelling, especially if you're familiar with Spanish. That's how it's pronounced, really)

The way Connie explains it, a bottle is filled with an (apparently) secret concoction of plants, though coconut chips are apparently a small part of the recipe. (I can read the words "artesania cocunut chip" on the label, but I can't actually SEE any of the chips in the bottle) Next, liquor is added. What kind of liquor? According to Connie, it's some really inexpensive stuff...the Honduran equivalent of moonshine, but rum is also used. The stuff in the mixture of plants leaches out into the liquor. You can refill the bottle several times and get more value out of the plants; rum is usually the preferred liquor for refills.

I scored a $4.99 bottle of rum at Mervin's for this purpose. After all, you need CHEAP rum to be authentic.

So, you're probably wondering, what does it taste like?

The easiest way to describe it is...vile. Almost impossible to drink. It tastes like Jagermeister without any sweet flavor, and (if you can believe it!) much more herby than Jagermeister, like the stuff which might be left over at the bottom of the kettle after brewing up a batch of "Jag." I could down the stuff without a problem but, well, regular readers are quite familiar with my legendary strong stomach. (Though "strong stomach" may not be the right word...I actually LIKE the weird stuff I'm eating)

In any case, flavor is not really the point of this drink. The point of Guifiti is, well, it's...

An aphrodisiac. Allegedly.

I had a couple of shots of this stuff with Connie...hard to tell if something is an aphrodisiac when a woman as hot as Connie is around, if ya know what I mean...and then, a few nights later, I had a couple more shots with Jeff and Connie. (Connie, who actually brought the bottle and gave it to me, didn't indulge that time, though there were a few off-color jokes about the possible effects of me and Jeff drinking the stuff together)

The first time I had some of Guifiti, I figured out the vile taste needed to be MODIFIED, somehow. I slugged down my second shot with a big spoonful of sugar. ("Just a spoonful of sugar makes the Guifiti go down, the Guifiti go down...")

Jeff poured his sugar on his hand like you would with salt while doing a tequila shot. (Personally, I think the salt and lime thing is for wimps, and real men drink their tequila straight up) The result was, according to Jeff, not half bad. And, after all, there's plenty of cane sugar in South America.

I tried researching Guifiti and didn't find too much on the internet, except for a very short research paper, the conclusion of which appears to be: some ingredients can be identified, but who KNOWS what's in the stuff? Click here for that research paper.

Oh, also, some authentic Guifiti recipes use MARIJUANA ROOTS. (But reportedly not the ones sold to tourists)

All the same, if I come up hot on a (expletive) test, I'm blaming Connie. Totally. Dude.

Word from Connie is this region of Honduras is putting itself on the tourist map; a cruise ship recently pulled into one of the towns for the very first time. A local hotel is preparing to meet the seagoing gravy train.

I can just see something like this becoming a hot trend. Well, I spotted it from afar, like the surfer dudes who bought a cheap Mexican beer called "Corona" and, well, what do you know? Everybody wanted to drink what the surfer dudes were drinking.

An Open Letter To President Obama In Regard To Predatory Towing Abuses

Flickr.com Photo

On this historic day, I am taking the opportunity to write an open letter to our new president. The subject of the letter is not the usual stuff I put on this blog...

You see, I have an area of passion in regard to public policy reform...and what that area is, exactly, surprises a lot of folks, who think I throw all my spare creative energy into livability in North Minneapolis. In fact, I also care about the issue of "predatory towing," an emerging national problem.

For most of the last year, I've been doing more than my fair share just to help popularize the term "predatory towing" as part of a consciousness-raising effort on my OTHER blog, Towing Utopia Dot Com.

I believe cracking down on predatory towing--the seizure of vehicles on flimsy pretexts, which disproportionately impacts poor people and students--is a way to help protect individuals in this tough economy. Also, it's cheaper to regulate things than to fund various bail outs.

How do you fix an economy when your nation is in a deep financial hole? You regulate away the things which are hurting people, like taking their cars on flimsy pretexts when they need to drive to employment. You encourage cost effective high-tech solutions, like some cities have begun to implement instead of remaining stuck in archaic technologies. (Metal hooks and carbon paper, I like to say)

I hope those who regularly enjoy my Johnny Northside Dot blog may take a moment to read my Open Letter To President Obama on the subject of regulating predatory towing, click here for a link. If you read the many media stories I've collected on this other blog, you may be surprised to learn how much predatory towing impacts our nation.