Year: 2007

I spend alot, I mean ALOT of time intercepting generally middle-aged people in parking logs and asking them about their rides. So far I have been treated far more graciously than I have by some people on Hennepin Avenue these days (one picked up my sandwich while I was sitting on a bench and proceeded to eat it. Never asked.)

It is therefore with some sadness that I must retract my previous comments about the Pontiac G6 as a “best buy.” To put it bluntly, the Pontiac G6 is a piece of crap.

That was confirmed by a lightly coiffed soccer mom in the parking lot of Lunds in Richfield this weekend. This mom was on her second G6 retractable coupe since 2005. While the car looked cool, it also looked plastic ala rubbermaid. Apparently the G6 also “rattled and shook all over the place,” which is the reason this nice lady said” she would never, NEVER, buy another.”

She was, of course describing the dreaded “cowl shake” that afflicted convertibles throughout the 70s and 80s. In other words, it seems GM still builds them like they used to.

Unlike the car that soon parked right next to the poor woman’s Pontiac–a Mini Cooper S in two-tone orange and black. This car does not shake, looks great, and goes like stink.

I tried to strike up another conversation but the stripper hit me.

P.S. It looks like I might try a few rides at Sears next Week or shortly thereafter. I am going to try and get four to eight cars reviewed a month.

A former Star Tribune scribe got mention in the NY gossip rags last week, but they didn’t bat an eye at the mere mention of John Habich. Why? Well, because Habich is betrothed to the writer/pharmaceutical heir Andrew Solomon, of course. Their wedding site, while ambiguous about the date of the actual affair, offers an enticing glimpse of how the upper-crust hitch. It includes a somewhat modest gift registry as well an amusing passage about preferred wedding attire.

My contact with Habich (a former Strib senior cultural editor, now at Newsday) was fairly minimal while he was in town. I was working at a mid-sized theater company back then. The only detail I recall is that of his NYC cell phone number. In any case, with all the bad news that’s been circulating about reporters and writers as of late, it’s good to see one that made good. Or at least is marrying well.

You have only a couple more nights to catch the Ballet of the Dolls rendition of Barbarella — the comic book, turned Jane Fonda sci-fi movie, turned Ballet of the Dolls cabaret. While it sticks to the screenplay perhaps a little too much — using actual images and dialog clips from the movie — you should never miss out on this cult classic. And, come on, what better group to interpret it than Ballet of the Dolls. Damn, this is beautiful camp.

Watch a video clip of a rehearsal from a couple weeks ago. It’s long, but it tells you everything you need to know without spoiling the show.

Saturday at 8 p.m., Sunday at 2 p.m., Ritz Theater, 345 13th Ave. NE, Minneapolis; 612-436-1129; $27, $20.

It’s time for us to have a little talk about the appropriate temperature for serving wine.

A delicate white, such as a Riesling, should be served downright cold: 45-46 degrees. A heartier white, a Chardonnay or Sauterne, may benefit from a 48- to 52-degree environment in which it can mellow a bit. Lighter reds (Beaujolais, for instance) are best when served on the chilly side, around 55 degrees. And finally, rich reds — everything from Zinfandel to Shiraz to Bordeaux — are at their best when between 59 and 65 degrees.

But under no circumstances should an open bottle of, say, Cabernet Sauvignon, be stored near a sizzling kitchen in an 85-degree room, then served in a glass still warm from the dishwasher. And I wish someone would run right now and tell the entire staff at Minneapolis’s newest trendy wine bar, Spill the Wine.

I went there tonight, not intending to write about the place. It was simply an evening out with my husband — and a preview for me. But the experience was so abysmal, I decided I owe it to every patron in the Cities who cares one whit about whether their wine is oxidized, watery, sharp-tasting, or brown, to say something now.

First off, if you’re going to enter the oenophilic field in the Twin Cities, competing with wine bars such as Lucia’s, Heartland, and even Cafe Barbette, you should hire people who know a little something about, um, wine. . . .We asked our server two questions about the offerings, which was enough to know she had no idea what she was talking about. I ordered the White Knight Viognier (a wine I’d never heard of) and found that though it had a nice, bright opening flavor, the finish was dull and slightly bitter.

I switched to red even though it was 90 degrees outside (and not much cooler at our table): first, a glass of the Estancia Cabernet. I’ve drunk this several times — it’s a not-spectacular but perfectly serviceable dinner wine. The glass that arrived, however, was warm to the touch. And what was inside simply wasn’t drinkable. It was roughly the temperature of the inside of someone’s mouth and had the distinct off-taste that occurs only when a bottle is poorly handled: thrown into the trunk of a car on a summer afternoon, stored next to an oven, or left uncorked for a day and a half.

I rarely do this, but I sent the Cab back and asked once again for a recommendation. The polite but clueless young woman shrugged. So I went with the Parker Station Pinot Noir, another lackluster wine but one, frankly, that’s hard to screw up. This pinot is simple and its flavors quite pliable. The glass, when it arrived (about ten minutes later) was barely passable: lukewarm and thin-tasting, but forgiving in its sweet berry qualities, as I’d hoped.

My husband drank a glass of the Trivento Malbec, a thick Argentinian wine, which he deemed mediocre and. . . .it was the theme of the evening where reds were concerned. . . .far, far too warm.

We ordered a light dinner — the Waldorf salad for him and a Cobb for me — and though neither was bad, each was so uninteresting, we easily could have made a comparable meal at home by opening a package of Dole pre-washed lettuce and squeezing the dressing that came with it out of a little plastic tube.

Our bill for this underwhelming adventure: $43.

I worry about places like Spill the Wine. I worry about the fact that an artsy little location — just east and south of the Guthrie, and only blocks from the West Bank — tin ceilings, black napkins, and an assortment of funky glassware, will convince some people they’re getting their money’s worth and experiencing fine wine the way it was meant to be consumed.

Not so. Someday, this could be a nice place: it has the cool old building, just-outside-downtown vibe, and proximity to the river road, where we enjoyed a nice walk after our meal. But I respectfully suggest that the managers of Spill the Wine should call up someone like Mitch Spencer at Haskell’s, or Bill Summerville at La Belle Vie, and ask for a few basic lessons.

You? Right now, you’re better off buying some nice salads at D’Amico & Sons, stopping at the liquor store for an $11 bottle of McManus Viognier or Bogle Old Vine Zin, and having a casual dinner in the comfort of your own home. Serve the wine at the right temperature and it doesn’t really matter if you don’t have a set of matched goblets. Jelly glasses will do.

If the Cavs and Spurs had played 20 times this month, I am now convinced San Antonio would have won 18-19 times. For Denver it would be 15-16; ditto Utah; for Phoenix, 13-14; and ditto Dallas, the tough matchup they avoided with the Golden State upset. Which is to say that the Spurs’ fourth championship was the opposite of a fluke. Having seen all but one of their 20 games in the post-season, I think they were the most complete and inevitable champion since the second Jordan Bulls outfit of the mid-90s.

I was singing a slightly different tune ten days ago, of course, when I made the case that the Cavs could play the Spurs tough. Four games later, the convention wisdom–that the Spurs had too much talent, experience, will power, and everything else for the Cavs–was obviously wiser. Without going back and rereading my wayward post, I think I based my premise on the Cavs being competitive on at least two of three factors emerging. But in fact none of them developed. Read ’em while I weep.

The Cavs’ perimeter defense would deter Parker and Ginobili
Parker’s Finals MVP trophy gives you a clue how this one turned out. Yes, Larry Hughes was waylaid by plantar fasciitis, but Hughes would have had to be at the very top of his game to derail Parker’s glory in this series. From the onset, the soon-to-be Mr. Longoria blew past two or three Cavs at a time en route to his trademark banker while taking a header into the photographers. By Games Three and Four, he had settled into such a comfort zone that not only the teardrop but the heretofore unreliable trey had become money in the bank. And when Parker wasn’t bedeviling the Cavs, Ginobili was, as always, waiting for the step-up moment that would be most deflating to his opponents’ resolve. The competitive killer instinct of Parker and Ginobili is more ferocious than any guard tandem since Dumars and Zeke back in the day.

LeBron would hit his midrange jumpers
You knew the Spurs wouldn’t give LeBron a chance to penetrate; not without making him prove he could nail that 15-footer. It was unreasonable to expect King James to continue the long-range accuracy he’d demonstrated against the Pistons, and, at 5-20 FG from beyond the arc, he didn’t. But what really doomed the Cavs was LeBron shooting just 40 percent (28-70 FG) from two-point range. What that stat says is that San Antonio was able to deny the superstar both layups and free throws. I’ve ripped ABC commentator Mark Jackson in the past, but he was dead-on in his repeated calls for the Cavs to post-up LeBron more often. Yes, Bruce Bowen came up huge, and the Spurs have the depth and commitment to assure that LeBron never discovered the comfort zone Parker was able to create for himself. But how does a player like LeBron operating under the new hand-checking rules only get 29 free throws in 170 minutes during this series? (By comparison, Ginobili shot 30 FTA in 117 minutes.) As someone who has praised Cavs’ coach Mike Brown for his defensive schemes, I’ve got pile on with the critics of his offensive sets. Yes, guys like Varegao, Pavlovic and Gooden are probably destined to play stupidly in terms of shot selection and overall ball movement. But put your athletic superfreak down in the paint and see what happens a little more often–especially when it was obviously the best thing Cleveland had going on offense.

Daniel Gibson would maintain his swagger
This was a gut call that turned out to be inaccurate. I figured Gibson had absolutely nothing to lose and thus would continue to play out of his mind. Instead, the law of averages caught up with him and he reverted to his regular season mortality, shooting 44 percent from field overall and just 32 percent from three-point territory. Thus, the long-ball threat that killed the Pistons and freed up James was out of the equation.

A couple more minor points before we close the books on this slaughter. Brown made a big mistake not giving Eric Snow more burn when it was apparent Hughes couldn’t go. No way a no-hope like Damon Jones deserves 65 minuts to Snow’s 41. Sure, Jones is a three-point threat that could open up the floor for LeBron is ways Snow couldn’t. But Jones can do anything but shoot, whereas Snow can defend and dish (despite his scant minutes, his 9 assists were third-best on the team this series). Watching Damon Jones trying to guard Parker and company was this mismatch in microcosm.

Finally, you are going to hear all about how this experience will enormously abet LeBron and make the Cavs the presumptive favorites to return for next year’s finals. It is a viable theory, but I’d actually argue that it is the Spurs who benefited most from their experience this season. Consider how much two of their starting five, Oberto and Parker, grew in confidence and role-expansion over these past 20 games. Consider that Duncan looks healthy and is surrounded with players who will enable him to stay home in the paint at both ends of the floor, extending his career. Consider that Ginobili’s deal with the devil–enabling him to hit every big shot and put himself in the perfect position to generate big rebounds, steals, etc., has obviously been extended. Consider that Duncan, Parker, and Ginobili are all signed through 2009-10, and that of the top 10 in their rotation, only Oberto, Finley and Vaughn are eligible for free agency this off-season. A year from now, we could very well be hearing about “one for the thumb” as it relates to championship rings for Tim Duncan.