spots of color

You want to see style coming at ya thick and fast?  Go down to Main Street on the summer solstice.  I would like to report that I did not trip on the damn cobblestones chasing after these two.  I would like to report that, and I will, by golly.  This is journalism, after all.  I like sheer polka dots and I like long skirts with layered tops. Actually I didn't, hadn't even thought of them, until I saw these two.  Then all of a sudden, I'm like, oooo, sheer polka dots and long skirts with layered tops.  I'm kind of hideous excellent that way.

Ok, where were the interpretive dancers and the synchronized kayaks and the boomboxes chained to the Stone Arch Bridge playing Bolivian recorder music that have helped me celebrate the summer solstice and our Mother Earth and her carotid artery, the Mississippi River in past years?  That, and dinner with my friend at Aster Cafe, got me across the river into crime-infested Minneapolis in the first place.  I have attended the solstice river fest for the last several years now, even though I do not have a little beard growing in my armpits. Nor do I own even one article of tie-dyed clothing.  That's the thing -- this is an accepting, nonjudgmental fest.  And you can stand there in the syrupy sunlight with the toxic spray from the river gently rearranging your DNA and think A) I interpret that scarf twirling to mean that she just farted and is artistically clearing out the evidence, and  B) I could do that, hell, have done that. It's not even hard.  I'm always effused with a feeling of being one with the universe.  But this year, no solstice river fest, no scarves, and I had to settle for being one with my bike saddle.