From a decidely St. Paul perspective . . .
St. Paul vs. Minneapolis
By Doug Champeau
September, 2000
MY FAMILY AND I live in a crusty but comfortable portion of East St. Paul with all the amenities of metropolitan living a paved alley, bus stop, freeway access, and a corner convenience store with Little Debbie snack cakes. Mel, an artiste friend, describes my neighborhood as "quaint."
"What do you mean, 'quaint'?" I ask.
"Quaint, like charming. Provincial, maybe," she says.
"Provincial?"
"Like where your parents would live," she says.
Mel is as sophisticated a person as I will ever know. A freelance graphic designer with a résumé scarred with Minnesota Fortune 500 firms, she eats at restaurants reviewed by newspapers, sees plays where the audience is expected to participate, and is on a first-name basis with members of famous local bands I've never heard of. She's smart, erudite, and has never eaten a Little Debbie Swiss Roll. And she lives in Minneapolis.
"Things happen there," Mel says.
If you're an older St. Paulite like me, you know what Mel is talking about. Minneapolis has always been the younger, more successful sibling mom liked best - it has straighter streets, taller buildings, and a more cosmopolitan air. Minneapolis wears the Tommy Hilfiger logo; St. Paul wears bib overalls. Minneapolis dines on haute cuisine; St. Paul wolfs down a plate of hot beef and mashed potatoes. There has always been a healthy competitive enmity between the two cities.
I like Mel, but I'm intimidated by Minneapolis. And as much as I love to see Mel, I rarely go to Minneapolis unless I'm armed with a Hudson's street atlas. Otherwise, Minneapolis is just a place on the western horizon where the 16A bus ends. Each December, however, I haul the kids downtown for the Holidazzle parade. During my most recent pilgrimage, I was again reminded why Minneapolis causes me anxiety. I had a panic attack hunting for a parking space. And I foolishly endangered my family by taking my eyes off the road to ogle the city's tall, opaque skyscrapers in my rear-view mirror. Walking toward Nicollet Mall near Dayton's, I marveled at the purposeful hustle of pedestrians and was amazed to see so many crowded street-level restaurants where people were having a good time. It was all very sophisticated and urbane. I felt, well, provincial.
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http://www.mpr.org/www/mnmonthly/0009_stpaul.shtml