Flying into Minneapolis
Weekend getaways, especially last minute ones, are great. I’m still digesting the fried chicken from Omaha, en-route back home to Cincinnati.
This time my connecting flight puts me in Minneapolis—a city I’ve never visited proper, which I find a little odd, since I loved Prince so much growing up. How many times I wanted to visit Paisley Park or get my freak on at Glam Slam.
Those feelings have long since dissipated as the Purple One one seems more intent on delivering shallower hooks over lyrics that alienate anyone outside his sphere of weirdness. I knew there was a problem when I read Purple Axxe® in the linear notes of some post-Lovesexy cut-out bin filler.
So there’s some bad weather in Cincinnati and no planes are allowed in. A brown out did the lady say? Behind the gate counter over the PA with horrible fidelity.