“Here in the woebegone
upper country, Jack Frost is a liberal, rangy sadist with ice crystals in his
soul patch. Winter is the stuff of legend: stillborn, snow-choked, still as the
ice floes on the ten thousand–odd lakes. The old mill cities are populated by
generations of Scandinavian and German Lutherans, rugged souls hewn of blonde
wood, good sense and Christlove. The prevailing gestalt is one of wry
survivalist humor and thermal underwear with the pins still in the folds. Everyone's
favorite supper is a gluey carbohydrate-rich concoction known simply as ‘hotdish’
and served in a community Pyrex. Minnesota is like a church basement with a
leaky popcorn ceiling and a bingo caller who's afraid to amp things up past a
whisper.”—Oscar-winning screenwriter, playwright and memoirist Diablo Cody,
Candy Girl (2005)
As I look out my window
this morning, snow has fallen overnight for the second time in less than a
week. But it’s not much and may well melt by day’s end. It’s a far cry from the
“woebegone upper country” conjured up by Diablo Cody—for which I am deeply grateful.
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