Mitch Van Winkel

In so many areas of my life, I feel like Rip Van Winkel.

It was bad enough starting in radio again, for the first time in twelve years; radio studios are all computerized these days; no turntables, reel to reel decks or even cart machines. I could not run a radio program, in a technical sense, if I tried today. Scary.

Then there's Minneapolis.

The last time I spent any serious time in the Warehouse District of Minneapolis, especially in daylight, it was the mid-eighties. Back then, it was exactly that - a district of warehouses; trash blew in the streets, walls crumbled around you, and the buildings were...warehouses. A zillion bands rented dirt-cheap space in ratty hovels; I auditioned for all of them and practiced with most.

So I took my first walk north of Third Avenue North in probably 17 years.

Oy, vey.

It's all gentrified. Most of the warehouses have been converted to lofts, apartments, tony stores, comedy/theatre spaces...everything but warehouse space. All new. All expensive.

It was as if someone had dropped a whole new city on top of the one I knew. I almost got disoriented by the time I got to the Strib plant, up on Eighth Avenue.

I have to get out more.