Thursday, sigh. Hell week persists. And, worst of all, these scrumptious little teasers keep cropping up in my inbox. First it was the Jeffery Cambell “Mabel” Bootie at left (from Nordstrom – thanks to Alexis at Lola Red for pointing it out – this might be appropriate footwear for Glamorama). And, then it was a promotional email from Net-a-porter proclaiming: The skirt is back! “Whether the mini or the swing.” Well, hallelujah.
Peruvian-American chef Rachel Rubin, whose culinary credits include creative work at the Loring Cafe, Chino Latino, Tiburon and Bobino, will present a five-course Peruvian diner this Sunday, August 19 at the LeDuc Historic Estate in Hastings. Courses include anticuchos (grilled skewers of beef), papas a la Huanciana (a Peruvian potato salad), seviche of corvina marinated in lime juice, arroz ahaufa con mariscos, a seafood stir-fry with fresh ginger, garlic and scallions, and flan for dessert. Pisco sours will be served with the appetizers; selected wines with the other courses.
The event, billed as An Evening of Peruvian Artistry, will also feature music by Peruvian guitarist Andres Prado, and a reading by poet Paloma La Hoz.
The 5 p.m. seating is already sold out, but there are a few places left for the 8 p.m. seating. Cost is $50, with proceeds benefiting Jazz 88, KBEM-FM. To register, or for more information, go to the Jazz 88 website, and click on Restaurantour, or call Kevin Barnes at 612-529-5236.
When I saw the front page flag on yesterday’s Wall Street Journal — the one that said, “Why We Need More Dick Cheney” — I thought my favorite WSJ contrarian troll was at it again. If you follow the Journal’s Op-Ed page, you know it is populated — exclusively — by some of the eeriest, most in-bred cultural reactionaries American journalism has ever produced. And that is saying something.
But among them, deputy editor Dan Henninger is my hands-down favorite. The guy had to be last picked at kick-ball. My list of all time favorite Henninger syllogisms would have to include the time he dared gay-marriage advocates to prove that what they wanted wouldn’t lead to people, (most likely gay liberal Democrats) to eventually demand to be allowed to marry snakes … like a woman in India did. (Link is here, scroll to the bottom.)
Anyway, sorry to ramble, but it turns out Henninger was NOT the author of the “Damn, That Dick Cheney is a Smart Guy” Op-Ed. No, the piece was written by Cheney’s approved biographer, Stephen Hayes, who, just like Lindsay Lohan on Leno, has something new to sell, in this case his latest book, “Cheney: The Untold Story of America’s Most Powerful and Controversial Vice-President”. Hayes writes for the ultra-conservative Weekly Standard and Cheney himself has referred to his previous work asserting the ties between Al Qaeda and Saddam Hussein several times as proof enough that … Cheney’s … epic fiasco in the Middle East isn’t rooted in either fraud or incompetence. (Here’s the counter-point to Hayes’ assertions.)
Here’s a bit more on Stephen Hayes.
So … imagine my surprise when Hayes turns up on Jon Stewart’s show last night … only a couple days after his boss, Weekly Standard editor and uber-neo-con, William Kristol, had been on.
My point — and don’t you wish I’d get to it? — was the demeanor and tenor Stewart displayed in the presence of both men, neither of whom would ever be considered fellow-travelers. Here is Stewart with Hayes, and here is Stewart with Kristol.
In the context of … the myriad problems with mainstream media … it by now a cliche to point to Stewart and say, “Look, damn it. This isn’t so tough. Ask these questions in this way.” Point being that Stewart understands that O’Reilly-style head-knocking offends the sensibilities of his audience. Bellicose name-calling and boorish grandstanding not only is off-putting to anyone with an adult brain, but it is utterly valueless in terms of asserting or ascertaining any truth.
In fairness to Kristol and Hayes, both understand, like a liberal tip-toeing on to O’Reilly’s set, that they are probably not going to have the last word in this fight. But, unlike the usual “adversarial” pin-cushions on O’Reilly-like acts, both also knew that Stewart, despite profound disagreement, was going treat them with civility befitting … a guest.
I was thinking of this because there has been some talk around town of trying to set up a liberal/conservative face-off website for the Twin Cities, where readers/viewers could, you know, maybe get a better idea of who is dealing with reality and who isn’t? As in: An actual honest debate. This strikes some lefties as a complete sell-out. After seven years of Rove-Cheney (abetted by the Kristols and Hayes of the world), they have no tolerance at all for collegial civility. Not right now, anyway.
“First, rip their gizzards out, spread them out in the sun, cover them with lime and salt … THEN we’ll consider civility.”
(And that’s a sample from usually squishy-huggy liberals.)
Accepting that the right-wing attack and echo machine invented the game of mass/pop media demonization-for-profit, lefties are justifiably worried that engaging in human-level interaction with characters so notoriously, and unapologetically wrong-headed as Bill Kristol risks playing into another diabolical trap.
But the Stewart model seems to be working pretty damned well. And in the context of so-called “objective” journalism, particularly as the mainstream shifts on-line and must re-visit a few of the hoarier standards of “fair” questioning, the ability to pose tough — but demonstrably fair questions … revealing personal viewpoints … is a place journalism is going to have dare to go if it has any hope at all of holding both demanding, long-time news consumers AND attracting younger news seekers.
The Ferarri 430. From a modern master.
I have split this into two posts to help you recover from the shock of my headline. The hero-worship of Frank is so strong amongst my nascent readership that they asked me to break this into sections so as to dole out the criticism in little bites.
So, as I was saying, I arrived in Buffalo late last Friday night and checked into one of the top five boutique hotels in America according to Zagat and CondeNast (no small feat). This hotel is called The Mansion, and I have rarely spent an evening in a building that lifted my spirits more.
The late 1800-building is designed in the Second Empire style–thus high ceilings, perfect proportions, and ornate woodwork. This alone makes it special. What makes it peerless is the modern day interior design executed by some genius out of Atlanta. The icing on the cake is a staff of butlers that will iron your underwear at no charge, should you so choose.
In short, the proportions are perfect–from the design of the space to the precision allocation of the service.
Better yet, the mansion is a perfect place to spend a night before you take a tour of Buffalo’s significant buildings in the morning. Buffalo is a city still trading off its glory days 100 years ago but appears to be undergoing a small artistic resurgence. (I hear ArtSpace from Minneapolis is now buying in Buffalo.)
This overlooked aspect of Buffalo, I reckon, tends to prevent numerous turn-of-the-century masterpieces from being torn down. I won’t go into all the buildings you can see in a morning, but they include Wright’s Darwin Martin and Graycliff homes that are boffo’ prairie pieces.
I find both houses to be confining (as I have others). I am offended that he made his hallways small, forcing me into his “great rooms,” and that he made his ceilings only tall enough to accommodate his own shrimpy stature. In other words, the proportion of his spaces seems best suited to him (and not the other guy like me).
OK, so Graycliff and other houses are interesting and probably worth being preserved, but not to the exclusion of overlooked masterpieces like the hotel I stayed in for one unforgettable night.
I feel the same way when I take the wheel of a modern day masterpiece like the Maserati Quattroporte (Giguaro), the Ferrari 430 (Pinnifarina), or even the occasional Pantera (Tjdara) when it starts. While these cars may not be buildings, they remain masterpieces of proportion designed to please both the eye and the soul. (Check my author’s links for these designers.)
While Frank Lloyd Wright was known for many things (including architecture), he was also soulless in his dealings with any human being besides himself. It stands to reason, therefore, that he might get some things wrong, while buildings like the Mansion and cars like Maserati will remain so very right.
BOOKS & AUTHORS
Hit the Road, Jack
This week marks the 50th anniversary of the publication of Jack Kerouac’s medium-sized-but-still-somehow-epic novel On the Road, in which Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty zip back and forth across the country via various modes of transit, legal and not. Penguin is celebrating by releasing a special edition of the book, as well as a copy of the original scroll on which he typed the first draft of the manuscript during three weeks in April of 1951. (The scroll, made of eight long sheets of tracing paper that Kerouac later taped together, held the content as Kerouac wanted it published: unedited [he thought editing deprived a work of its spontaneity] and without a single paragraph break.) Additionally, a new biography of Kerouac by Douglas C. Brinkley, and a somewhat more philosophical contemplation on the meaning of
ART & MUSIC
Gallery Grooves
Join us for Gallery Grooves, The Rake’s monthly art, jazz, and wine event. Socialize and discuss the latest jazz with Kevin Barnes from KBEM Jazz 88. Enjoy free libations compliments of The Wine Company. Featured Jazz selections include the Puppini Sisters’ Betcha Bottom Dollar; various artists’ We All Love Ella; and the Monk’s Music Trio’s Monk on Mondays. The exhibit, SAD: Illuminating a Northern View of Darkness, addresses a sense of place focused not on land, but on the qualities of light and atmosphere, and the sense of time to which those elements relate. It features nine Twin Cities-based artists: Ana Lois-Borzi, Jan Estep, Theresa Handy, Chris Larson, Charles Lume, Molly Roth, Andrea Stanislav, Piotr Szyhalski, and Katherine Turczan.
7 p.m., Frederick R. Weisman Museum, University of Minnesota, 333 East River Rd., Minneapolis; 612-625-9494.
FILM
Eloquent Nude
You might be familiar with Charis Wilson. In fact, you’ve probably seen her naked. Her nude images hang in museums across the globe. Want to see some more… and in motion? Tonight’s documentary, Eloquent Nude: The Love and Legacy of Edward Weston & Charis Wilson, recounts her story of love and work with photographer Edward Weston — the man behind the camera. Granted, she’s 90 now, but that just makes the nudity that much more interesting. OK, to be honest, I don’t know that she’ll be unveiling herself physically at this point, but she’s certainly denuding herself in a much deeper sense. The film, directed by Emmy Award-winning filmmaker Ian McCluskey, is associate produced by Minnesota native Julie Gliniany who is now bringing the film back to her homestate for only a few limited screenings. Don’t miss it. McCluskey will be present for a Q & A session, and there’s a reception following the screening. Of course, if you miss the screening this evening, you can catch it this weekend at the Riverview Theater, with an after party on Friday night.
7 p.m., Minneapolis Institue of Arts, Pillsbury Auditorium, 2400 Third Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-870-6323; $5.
A Leech of Your Own
If you’re in the mood for something a bit wackier, less nudity and more leeches, head over to the Bell Museum courtyard for a screening of Attack of the Giant Leeches. Directed by Bernard L. Kowalski, this creepy-crawly horror flick shows a small town wracked by terror. Local moonshine-swilling trapper Lem Sawyer sees a giant creature in a swamp near his home, but his story is ignored… until people start disappearing. The best part of tonight’s event? — If you happen to be lucky (or perhaps unlucky) you’ll be taking home your very own pet leech. (What are you gonna do with that? I say go fishing… but how the hell are you going to sleep tonight?)
8:30 p.m., Bell Museum, 10 Church St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-624-7083; free
THEATER & PERFORMANCE
Cabaret, Town Hall, Vaudeville, Opera
The Bedlam certainly isn’t known for putting on boring shows. It seems everything they do is at least somewhat unusual, and tonight’s performance certainly confirms this. Ahh-vuh-deez Productions presents A Bedlam Town Hall Show this evening: a fine mix of cabaret, town hall, vaudeville, and opera featuring Alison Scherzer-soprano, Eric Pearson-baritone, Grant Sherzer-baritone, Avedis Manoogian-piano, Dreamland Faces (with magicians and puppets), The Last Unicorns with Bird and Silas, Wendy Lewis, and Solid Gold. Sounds like an action-packed evening to me. Why settle for mainstream entertainment, when you’ve got this? Get there before the show for the Bedlam happy hour (4-6 p.m.). I guarantee it’ll be heavenly with a couple cocktails under your belt — not that it won’t be without.
7:30 p.m., Bedlam Theater, 1501 S. 6th St., Minneapolis; 612-341-1038; $6.
(Posted by Brenda “BMW” Langton)
OK. I MUST SAY CALLING AROUND TO CAR DEALERS AND SPEAKING WITH USED CAR SALESMEN IS NOT MY CUP OF TEA. So, after much reading online and Consumers Report on cars I have narrowed my search for my next used car.
It has to be a luxury sedan that is all wheel drive and has a black interior…I can be flexible on the color of the car but I will not give in to ONE MORE ugly beige or light gray interior!! Honestly, could someone please figure out some sexy interior colors of cars for the love of GOD!!! It’s like everything else about cars has evolved except the beige and gray interiors.
I have come down to three cars…the BMW 3 series, Infinity G35 or Audi. I ruled out the Audi, I’ve had too many problems with them in the past and it gets very bad ratings (new models are much better now), even though it is a beauty and performs well.
The Infiniti G35 is too loud and has more muscle than I need. I feels like like more of a man’s car to me. The interior also lacks sex appeal and the brakes were super touchy. I found it odd, for example, that when I test drove it the salesman in the backseat alerted me to the brakes, perhaps he had some previous driver launch him into the front seat.
Later in the night I drove the BMW which was lovely, it won hands down over the Infiniti. The interior was really snazzy, it had a very smooth and peppy ride and the brakes were a breeze–what a difference.
Buying a used car of this caliber is the only way I can justify/afford this kind of luxury. And while it is commonly known that the the 2005 BMW 3 series received great reviews, it has been challenging to find one that is coming off lease. Till now, that is.
That makes right now the right time to buy.
I don’t love running like I love fried chicken, but I really can’t have one without the other. This summer, my daughter and I have been training for Jack’s Run, a race named for a little friend we know and love.
But running is hard. And when it’s hot and humid and lazy and beach weather, running is very very hard. So I need a prize, and my prize is fries.
Seriously, I could sit and eat Culver’s squishy salty fries dipped in vanilla custard every night of the week … but I don’t. Now that I’m logging some heavy road-time in my sneakers, I feel more able to succumb to my fried potato needs.
And yet, if I’m going to indulge, I want it to be worth the miles. Clearly, I’m a big fan of Chino Latino’s Popocatepe which are like nacho-fries: loaded with guac, sour cream, black beans, pico, chile de arbol, yada yada. But I truly crave my own version of Buffalo-fries: tossed in wing sauce and drizzled with bleu cheese dressing and bleu cheese chunks. Not that good can’t be simple. Give me a hot, crispy cup of frites and a bottle of malt vinegar and I’m set.
Sunday will be my first visit to Harry’s Food and Cocktails , so I’ll be on the lookout for the much-anticipated poutine. I hope it’s worth my Saturday morning.
Yes, boy, I could sure go for some beef stew and a chicken bone. That’s it.
–Last words of Christopher Newton, whose execution by lethal injection in Lucasville, Ohio took nearly two hours (May 24, 2007)
I summon you now
Not to think of
The ceaseless battle
With pain and ill health,
The frailty and the anguish.
No, today I remember
The creator,
The Lion-hearted.
–May Sarton, from “For My Mother”
You’ve been gone for five years this morning, but if you were still here I know you’d be driving through the night, headed in my direction even as I type these words, and at some point in the next couple hours I’d expect to hear your knock at my door.
Five years ago this morning I walked out into a world without you in it for the first time, and I know how much it would pain you to know that that world has been wobbling under me ever since.
I’m not blaming you. You gave me plenty more than I needed. I watched you long enough that I should for damn sure know how to go through life with a smile on my face and enough grace, good humor, and compassion to get me through any day. And anybody who spent enough time with you and logged long hours in the hospitals where you left so many years of your life and got so many of them back should have gained enough perspective to spend every one of their remaining days counting their blessings.
It’s been really hard, though. I’m tired, and I’ve failed.
Your last words to me were, “I love you. I’ll see you soon,” and those words have haunted me. I wish you could stand here before me and take at least some of them back.
I wish there had been more, of course –of you and from you and for you. And for me. And for all of us.
Tough shit, though, which I fully realize is not a sentiment you’d ever endorse.
I remember reading something long ago by Thomas Carlyle, an essay, I think, about heroes. A hero, Carlyle said, had to be first and foremost sincere. Not merely honest or earnest, but fiercely sincere. He had to have true conviction in what he said and did and believed. And a hero had to have heart; he had to be stout-hearted, yes, and brave, but also and especially tender-hearted, pure-hearted, compassionate, and capable of real love.
I might be making this all up, or confusing my writers, or even just imagining things, although the sad truth is that I’m not having much luck making things up or imagining things anymore.
I do know, though, that using that definition, or those definitions, and virtually any other definition I can come up with, you were a hero.
My hero.
Ours.
I couldn’t afford to lose you then, and I can’t afford to lose you now, even as I seem to be losing things right and left. Including, I sometimes fear, you.
By the time he was my age he had four children and a literally broken heart.
He did what he could.
He taught wonder.
I used to sense him coiled like a discus hurler behind every one of my best intentions.
His blood was the blood that called me back to this world each time I crawled away disgusted.
His were the words of forgiveness I was always surprised to find crouched at the back of my tongue. The tenderness, unexpected, that seized me when I was in the presence of suffering or helplessness, that also was him feeling through me.
My biggest dreams were his.
He pointed out the stars, and taught me to appreciate the gorgeous example of upholstery that is a baseball mitt. The short trigger, the hatred of condescension, the intolerance of cruelty, his compassion and affection for the little guy and the underdog, all those things he gave me.
He could not, unfortunately, give me his unbridled optimism, his undying faith in human goodness, his stiff upper lip, or his genuine willingness to just let the world be the world.
But his capacity for love, his sense of loyalty, his appreciation for a good road trip, and his eagerness to play the fool –What can I say? I was his boy.
He showed me again and again how to live.
Some nights lately I’ve sat up in the middle of the night, half expecting him to knock on my door.
I’ve forgotten so much already. I’d give anything if he could come back for just one day, for just one hour, for just one cup of coffee, to help me remember.
He’s not coming back, though.
He’s waiting for me to come to him.
FILM
Schmooze Time
Oy! Another month gone by?! It really can’t be; but, oh, it is. Cinema Lounge strikes again. See five short films and meet the filmmakers. Ask them anything you like, and you might just get an answer. Tonight’s films include Urban Lull (At Once Charmed), by Micah Dahl; A Satisfied Life, by Freya Schirmacher; Who To Trust?, by Dean Peterson; Buddy, Buddy, by Mojo Solo; and Unhinged, by Gregg Holtgrewe.
7 p.m., Bryant Lake Bowl, 810 W. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-825-3737; free.
Hometown Crime Spin
Small time politics. Big city crime. That’s what the movie poster says anyhow: Dying Midwestern, a film by Matt Kowalksi. Of course, I can’t seem to find either on the Internet. Hmmmm… Is this a film about St. Paul’s tender punk rock band? I think not, though I know very little. All I know is that it’s a crime story shot entirely in the Twin Cities and surrounding areas. Yay! Another film shot in the Twin Cities. I ask, once again, who the heck says we don’t do film here? It seems there’s a new local film coming out every other week. What about tonight’s, though? The press release compares it to Fargo and Pulp Fiction, and while this may very well be accurate, we must never dismiss the simple fact that is indeed a press release after all.
6:30 p.m., The Varsity Theater & Café des Artistes, 1308 4th St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-604-0222; $8.
While you’re at it, have a look at the Pulp Fiction Short Version.
And for a real treat, have a look at Beast of the Tokyo Bathhouse, part 1. You may just notice a familiar face in there. Have you had the pleasure of meeting Sailor Martin? You may not want to once you see this film.
Oh, and don’t forget to check out this week’s Owen video. He’s having a little trouble in the communication arena.
MUSIC
Get Out of Jail Free
I haven’t given you a good reason to sneak out of work lately, so you’ve definitely got one coming. How about The Brothers Curtis at Elliot Park? Hell, if you work downtown, it’s a piece of cake, just a hop, skip, and a jump away, just over yonder on that greener grass. Otherwise, better still, just cut out early and wile the afternoon away. Enjoy Stratocaster Master Curtis Marlatt with Blues Harp Bender Curtis Blake, then stick around and browse the farmer’s market, which goes until 4 p.m.
Noon – 1:30 p.m., Elliot Park, 1000 E. 14th St., Minneapolis; 612-370-4772; free.
And Then There Were Some
Damn, those Minnesota Zoo concerts are well-attended. Tonight’s show — Tower of Power with Paul Cebar — is sold out once again, so if you don’t already have tickets, you best look for an alternate source of entertainment. The Rake’s myspace page doesn’t really serve much of a purpose, but we do get quite a few announcements for upcoming shows. (If there’s one good thing about myspace –and even that’s pushing it — it’s the abundance of musician and band pages.) And while I so often overlook these announcements until it’s too late, I did notice a few for today.
Eddie F. posted to let us know about the hip hop and punk rock show at Big V’s. (See, even Big V’s has a myspace page.) Hip hop and punk rock? Does anybody else think this is an odd combination? I guess there’s no such thing anymore. This evening’s performance features C. Doty Run, The Angry Mothers, Fixed Gears are for Jerks & Lesbians, and Many Missions.
9 p.m., Big V’s, 1567 University Ave. W. (University & Snelling), Midway, St. Paul; 651-645-8472; $5.
The paper prophet posted to let us know about this evening’s Turf Club show, with Thunder in the Valley, Spider Bags (from Chapel Hill, NC), and Prairie Sons.
9 p.m., Turf Club, 1601 University Ave., St. Paul; 651-647-0486; $4.
And a heads up for tomorrow night: Seymour Saves the World will be playing at 10 p.m., at the Uptown Bar.
Head on out and sample some local sounds.
The Duetto Spider. A lovely little effort from another master besides Frank
I just returned from a trip to Buffalo, New York. For what it’s worth, if you are flying back from the East and granted the chance to be re-routed for points, speak up immediately and say, “I would love to get routed through Buffalo, New York.”
Suddenly, you could be perceived as a saint by fellow yuppies who are weighing the merits of a stopover in another perceived hell like Detroit (which is actually a real hell compared to this overlooked architectural paradise I am about to describe).
You may also come face to face with something many never will–that modern American architecture neither begins nor ends with Frank Lloyd Wright, and that in many cases this graphic designer (the one area in which he is peerless) actually got it wrong.
How do I know this?
a) I study proportion as design exercise every day.
b) I have learned from Giorgetto Giguaro, Batista Pinnifarina and Tom Tjdara, who teach us that proportion is essential to the design of all things. (Use my links if you want to meet the dudes.)
c) Frank frequently got proportion wrong in his work, leaving people with the desire to bolt from his buildings.