Norm Serves Fine Whine at The Lex
Speaking of Ron Rosenbaum (see 12/5), imagine, if you will, this scenario:
Monday evening before Thanksgiving, friend and colleague Paul Demko and I hit the bar at The Lexington in St. Paul. (Need evidence?)
The Lex is one of those old-school joints that boasts a helluva butt roast and one darkly lit oak bar. The wall in the back hallway is cluttered with photos of notable regulars, folks like Joe Soucheray, Garrison Keillor and Norm Coleman.
So Demko and I stride in, order a couple of Stolis, and realize that the fellow in the blue dress shirt puffing a stogie at the table right behind us is Norm Coleman.
Coleman is verbally sparring with Rosenbaum, and some guy, an old-timer St. Paul guy, who we should maybe call Gabe. (Demko and I were sitting in silence, observing the great Lexington past-time of blatantly eavesdropping, but we never figured out who the guy was.)
Norm starts bitterly complaining that Rosenbaum had no business mentioning “the state” of his marriage on the air. Rosenbaum’s show, “The Morning Spin,” is notable for being about the only histrionics-free thing on the AM talk-radio dial. It’s normally nonpartisan and even-keeled.
Demko tells me now that at least two airings of “The Morning Spin” dealt with Keillor’s infamous piece on Salon.com implying that Coleman’s marriage is, well, convenient. One show featured Pioneer Press media columnist Brian Lambert discussing whether such infidelity rumors are newsworthy; the other had PiPress opinion editor Steven Dornfeld explaining his decision to run excerpts from the Keillor screed after it appeared in Salon.
Garrison this and Garrison that is Coleman’s refrain for about 10 minutes. Voices rise and fall, but at no point, alas, do I hear the Senator-to-be utter “motherfucker” or “cocksucker” under his breath.
(It occurs to me at this point how much of a playground spat Keillor v. Coleman really is. The two obviously know each other, as evidenced by Coleman referring to “Garrison.” Who calls him that? Maybe someone who is merely an acquaintance, but not a stranger. If Coleman didn’t know Keillor, he would probably call him “Keillor.” If Norm knew him well, he’d probably just say “Gary,” don’t you think? This is all a hunch; I don’t really know what people call Garrison in real life.)
Anyway, Rosenbaum, hardly cowed, essentially rebuffs Coleman’s whining. Demko and I note the irony of Coleman talking about such a “personal” issue in such a public place. There’s literally about five other customers in the whole bar, and pretty much everybody can hear what’s going on.
Finally “Gabe” chimes in with, “You’re a Senator now, get used to it” or some such admonishment. Coleman simply nods, like he’s twelve years old.
“I don’t even have a place to live,” responds the Senator, with considerable concern and melancholy. “I gotta find an apartment out there.”
Pleasantries are exchanged, and Norm Coleman, Minnesota’s newly elected junior Senator, retreats to a corner table with a couple of buddies and lights another stogie. The trio feasts on what one may presume--all due respect to The Lex’s way with a butt roast--resembles fresh donkey meat.
3:24:01 PM 
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