Late Breaking: There’s an AAW Fashion Show featuring the aforementioned Foat Design (yoga wear and funky, earth-friendly knits) to the musical accompaniment of Faux Jean–which is a very fashionable band. (See ’em at left … I wonder if the foppish lead singer will don the Foat duds.). Check it all out on Saturday (tomorrow) at Spot Art, 7 to 11 p.m.
The sight of Roger Parkinson, the sharp-edged former publisher of the Star Tribune, strolling through the newsroom yesterday inspired dozens of tongues to cluck the same two words, “interim publisher.”
The innocent explanation for Parkinson’s appearance is that he was in town from Toronto as part of his duties with the local Humphrey Institute and he simply wanted to stop in and say hello to old friends. But, as several people remarked to me, “he had to have a sense of the moment”, meaning Parkinson the old newspaper boss who was legendary for fine-toothing everything but the classifieds, must have known that with the paper’s current leader, Par Ridder, operating under a cloud of litigation, speculation would immediately fly that he — a guy who can find his way from the parking garage to the cafeteria without asking directions — was in the building to get a read on his next assignment.
A well-placed source strongly doubts that scenario, but adds, “Who really knows?”
Parkinson is currently Chairman of the Board of the University of Toronto Press. An employee at Parkinson’s office has promised to pass this question on.
Just some things to chew on …
Yesterday I caught a slip of the Today show in which Matt and two lady doctors sat and chatted about which “healthy” foods might or might not be reeeealy evil in disguise. They singled out some fish (swordfish, tilefish, king mackerel, shark) to avoid because of high mercury. When asked if eating it in moderation was ok, the she-doc advised avoiding it all-together (that way people won’t eat it as often).
The issue: Why must we be treated like idiots? Do we need to be preached an extreme point of view just so that we are scared into listening, some of the time? And she was so comfortable with that ethos that she didn’t even try to hide it. It’s a bit of an overstatement anyway, yeah? How many times per week do you eat swordfish? How many times a month have you eaten shark? When was the last time you cooked king mackerel on your own? If you’re speaking to the general audience of the Today show, it’s a good bet that telling them to eat in moderation will fit the bill. No one’s going to get mercury poisoning from their occaisional fish taco.
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The restaurant industry is the second largest employer in the nation, behind only the government. That means that at one point or another in our lives, most of us have been members of the food/bev/hospitality world. How was it for you? Was it a spectacular spectacular job or did you get faux kicked in pre-shift like at Mr. Chow in NYC? Check out the Bruni blog on which the comments are deliciously whiny.
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Hershey’s has sagely grabbed on to the gourmet chocolate trend. First they bought Scharffen Berger and now they’ve launched allchocolate. It’s a smart and sexy adult site with good information that’s free of simpy puns and cliches about women and chocolate. I hate those.
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I rarely leave any wine in the bottle, but sometimes I do. While out of town, I wasn’t going to bring my bottle back to my hotel, but the server put it in a wine doggy bag which sealed it up quite nicely. Great idea.
I wrote a post last week about the NY Times coming in to Minnesota and snatching a significant story about Minnesota doctors accepting money from drug companies…and then showing a greater propensity for prescribing those drugs to children.
It was useful to me at the time for pointing out how lame our local gang over at the Strib had become, especially because they reprinted the Times story in a much shorter form–consistent with their strange mantra that the readers of their newspaper really don’t like to read all that much.
In our zeal to celebrate the triumphs of good journalism, though, we sometimes forget what the real purpose of good journalism is: to change things that ought to be changed, and to help people who ought to be helped.
There’s a terrific story on Salon today, written by Rake contributor Ann Bauer, about her son, who had been prescribed some of the drugs mentioned in the Times’ story, and the horrors her son and she have since had to endure.
Two sides of the same story. Two remarkable pieces of journalism. Please take the time to read them. You may have to register, and even pay for Times Select to see the Times story, but damn, it’s worth it.
While I wait for McClatchy muckety-mucks to respond to my questions I’ll slide along these interesting numbers from the company’s “10Q” report — breaking out the first quarter performance of the Star Tribune this year compared to 2006.
It ain’t pretty.
God help you if you ever rely on me for advice on your investments, but this appears to show a $35 million DROP in revenues from year to year, a roughly 40% decline. As I say, I’ve contacted McClatchy’s money gurus for clarification, asking if somehow this precipitous a drop is related to one-time bookkeeping jiggering associated with the sale to Avista Capital Partners. (I’m not holding my breath that they’ll get back to me.)
Until then maybe one of you can offer an explanation.
IF the numbers are correct and IF they are a pure reflection of routine business activity at the Star Tribune over the past year, my curiosity is then whether this has come as a surprise to Avista, and whether it in anyway ratchets up their impatience with their new toy and their desire to accelerate profit-taking through forced attrition, real estate sell-offs, etc.
Here is the link to entire report.
The Star Tribune entry is located on Page 10, Note 2.
UPDATE: I should have held my breath a bit longer.
McClatchy Treasurer, Elaine Lintecum, responded to my question about this drop-off saying:
“We sold the Star Tribune on March 5. So the 2007 amount includes only 2 months versus 3 months in the prior year.”
R. Elaine Lintecum, Treasurer
The McClatchy Company
That was one line of thought, but the statement didn’t provide a footnote specifically explaining that difference. But okay. If true, that is definitely better for all concerned. Well, for Avista anyway, I’m not sure about its employees.
Assuming each month represents roughly 33% of income, the Strib’s year-to-year revenue slide is more in the “normal” 7% range than something truly apocalyptic like 40%.
ART
Yeah, Yeah… You Already Know About This One
If art is your scene, don’t miss out on the Northeast Minneapolis Art-A-Whirl this weekend — an open-studio and gallery tour featuring over 400 artists, including potters, tile makers, painters, sculptors, musicians, photographers, glass blowers, printmakers, and textile designers. Plus you’ll get a lot of music and dance thrown into the mix. Grab a copy of the Art-A-Whirl map and schedule, and start the weekend off with the Minneapolis Photo Coop’s first group exhibit, featuring 15 photographers.
MUSIC
Are We Not the Musical Capitol of the World?
We’ve got a well-rounded city here, and the musicians refuse to get left behind, so in addition to the weekend’s fine arts splendor, there are some great musical offerings.
Nachito Herrera isn’t the only Latin American music icon living in the Twin Cities now. After studying jazz and classical guitar at conservatories in Lima, Buenos Aires, and London, Peru native Andrés Prado relocated to the Twin Cities in 2005. Don’t miss out on Prado’s unique mix of Andean and Amazon melodies, Afro-Peruvian rhythms, and Miles Davis-style jazz. His beautifully honed guitar skills, along with his use of rhythms and sounds of Peruvian shamanic chants makes him a one-of-a-kind artist. And the rest of his band doesn’t fall too far behind — Peter Schimke on piano, Pete Whitman on sax, Kevin Washington on drums, and Anthony Cox on bass.
Friday and Saturday at 9 p.m., Artists’ Quarter, 408 St Peter St., St.Paul; 651-292-1359; $10.
Talk about one-of-a-kind… the electronic duo Matmos actually manages to make music out of strange sounds — the sound of crayfish swimming, rats in cages, the pages of a bible, cards shuffling, spinning coins, and even liposuction surgery! And if that’s not enough, they’ll be teaming up on Saturday with the reknown chamber quartet So Percussion, and ex-Twin Citian Walter Kitundu, known for his sculptural, hand-built turntables that elaborate on the sonic possibilities of the record player. This is a show to be reckoned with. Matmos has collaborated with Björk, the Kronos Quartet, and People Like Us. Hell, they even created music for a pinball machine.
Saturday, Walker Art Center, 1750 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-375-7600; $20 ($16 Walker and MPR members; MPR members call 612-375-7600 for tickets).
If you miss Kitundu on Saturday night, catch him on Sunday, alongside two other great artists. Mankwe Ndosi, Carei Thomas, and Kitundu began working together eight years ago on the Coalition for Performance Composition — “focused on the aesthetic of purposeful improvisation among uncategorizeable players in image, sound, and word.” This weekend’s show, Restoring the Human Connection, includes a set of music from Coalition players and special guests, and finishes with a conducted jam session, where a Coalition conductor will set the group structures for short pieces, with everyone joining in at the end. Watch the masters at work — Kitundu on phonoharp and percussion, Ndosi on vocals and text, Thomas on JD800 synthesizer and harmonica with spoken story, Douglas R. Ewart on winds and percussion, and Donald Washington on reeds — and then lend your voice (or musical instrumentations) to their song. Sit back and relax or join in. This is a fully interactive event.
Sunday at 4 p.m., Center for Independent Artists, Black Box Theater, 4137 Bloomington Ave. S., Minneapolis, 612-724-8392; $10.
Looking for something with a little more angst and soul, perhaps a bit less experimental and a little more contextually real? Let singer/songwriter/activist Mitch Walking Elk pull you out of your complacency with his songs of social injustice. He’ll be playing Saturday at the Cedar Cultural Center with Wade Fernandez. I’ve got to tell you, I met Walking Elk almost two decades ago, when he was just breaking into the music scene, and there’s just something about this man that makes you feel honored just to stand in his presence. He has much to offer and much to say, and he does so eloquently and powerfully. This is Indian Country music at its finest. (That’s music from Indian Country, not country music.)
Saturday at 8 p.m., Cedar Cultural Center, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-2674; $10.
Nobody recognizes musical talent better than a musician. And when the top guitar players in the country laud a guitarist, you’ve just got to stop and listen. Folk legend Dave Van Ronk called Dakota Dave Hull “one of the best guitarists in the world.” And when Leo Kottke heard Phil Heywood for the first time, he promptly asked him to join his tour so the two could play duets. Dakota and Heywood are among America’s top guitarists, and having the two together is just one fat bonus. Dakota serves up a mix of jazz, ragtime, folk, blues, Western swing, and vintage pop. While Heywood — former National Fingerpicking Champion (1986) and winner of the American Fingerstyle Guitar Competition (1987) — offers up country blues, and rootsy, soul-grabbing guitar instrumentals.
Sunday at 7:30 p.m., Cedar Cultural Center, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-2674; $16.
THEATER & PERFORMANCE by Christy DeSmith
Boats on a River
In 2004, the Guthrie Theater offered to send a favorite playwright, Julie Marie Myatt, to wherever in the world she wished to go, just so long as her travels inspired a new play. Myatt chose Cambodia. Once there, she immersed herself in the sex trade, interviewing child prostitutes and even volunteering for organizations trying to rehabilitate the girls. This wasn’t too far a stretch for Myatt, whose repertoire includes such provocative plays as Cowbird, The Joy of Having a Body, and The Sex Habits of American Women, all of which address complicated issues related to sexual identity. With this new piece, Myatt not only explores the challenging subject of the sex trade, but also looks at the motives of aid workers, mostly Westerners, who feel drawn to Cambodia. These do-gooders strive, perhaps in vain, to restore the country’s lost girlhoods.
Watch this video interview with playwright Julie Marie Myatt and director Michael Bigelow Dixon, courtesy of the Guthrie.
Saturday at 7:30 p.m. (various offerings through June 10), Guthrie Theater, 818 South 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-377-2224; $19.
This is also the last weekend to see In The Basement Productions’ presentation of Burning Bright, by John Steinbeck, at the Lowry Lab Theater. And Future/Now opened yesterday at the Bedlam Theater.
SPORTS
It’s Even GREEN
It’s too late to register for the race, but it’s not too late to watch and cheer on the players. Saturday is the 15th Annual Solar Boat Regatta. That’s right. Can you believe we’ve been doing this stuff for 15 years already? What are we doing going to war over petrolium? We’ve got solar boats and electric cars right here, in our own backyard. The annual Solar Boat Regatta gives mainly high school students a chance to enter their home-made solar-powered boats in a number of races, culminating in a one-hour endurance race. Come cheer them on, watch the chaos, and learn a little about energy conservation (now just another term for peace) in the process. And enjoy some of the activities of Water Fest 2007 while you’re there.
Saturday from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Beach House Beach, Lake Phalen, St. Paul.
SPECIAL BENEFITS EDITION
Come on Big Spenders
There are a few other interesting fundraising events and galas this weekend worth mentioning for all you do-gooders out there with some extra cash on hand.
The Ragamala Music and Dance Theater Gala starts with a silent auction, followed by a performance of Sva (Vital Force) with Ragamala’s newest collaborative partner — Taiko drumming group Wadaiko Ensemble Tokara (of Nagano, Japan) — a buffet and cocktails, a dessert reception, a live auction, and a Bhangra dance party.
Friday at 6:30 p.m., SOO Visual Art Center, 2640 Lyndale Ave S, Minneapolis; 651-209-6799; $65.
Also on the agenda is the second LEAD event, Get Fresh, a garden party at the Weisman Art Museum with an open bar, DJ, and Flora and Fauna. Proceeds will benefit Fresh Energy, an organization on the forefront of the renewable energy movement. And attend the post-party at the Chambers Hotel to continue your intake of great art in Minneapolis, with a cocktail in hand.
Friday at 8 p.m., Weisman Art Museum, 333 East River Road, Minneapolis; $95.
And getting on the pricier side of things, but definitely worth your while — top of the weekend with the The Artists Salon, an evening of gypsy jazz and Parisian cuisine celebrating the one-year anniversary of the new Minneapolis Central Library grand opening. All proceeds benefit the Minneapolis Public Library’s collection. Enjoy a brief program of salon-style entertainment with singer Connie Evingson, Django Reinhart biographer Michael Dregni, bassist Chris Brown, and guitarist Sam Miltich. Mingle with musicians and booklovers. Dine on Parisian cuisine by Thyme to Entertain. And bid on bookish items in the Artists Marketplace.
Sunday at 5 p.m., Sumner Community Library, 611 Van White Memorial Blvd., Minneapolis; 612-630-6390; $150.
Oh, yeah… and don’t forget that Shrek 3 opens tonight, and most theaters are giving away cyanide tablets to the first 100 customers.
Yeah, well, you know…uh, boy…ummm, that was…that was…uh, that was….I’m sorry, give me a moment to compose myself…I, ummm, I’m just trying to, you know, I’m trying to get my head around this…I don’t know, it’s, uh, it’s just…it’s just really, really…I mean, seriously, Jesus, it’s really hard…that was…that was, well, I’m not really sure, I can’t quite…I cannot quite…I don’t know…I, ummm…
(Walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator door; stares disconsolately at the pathetic collection of 20th century condiments and takeout containers of fossilized and mold-frosted Chinese food and then drinks maniacally from a carton of chocolate milk; inexplicably removes his flannel pajama bottoms and shoves them in the garbage pail; sits down on the kitchen floor in his boxers, spits into his palm, and absentmindedly spells out F-U-C-K on the oven door with his index finger. A dog appears in the kitchen doorway and stares at him with a puzzled look on its face.)
(Points at the dog) Tell me the truth: what the fuck was that? Don’t give me that stupid look. That. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. That. That. That. Why do I do this to myself? Seriously, why? I can’t…I cannot take much more of this. I won’t.
Pussies!
Another AAW snippet, for cruiser-set cyclists:
Wheel Good Bicycles (503 1st Avenue NE floor 3) is showing some one-of-kind custom bicycle fender sets, all of which have been designed by local “celeb” artists. (See above, which includes fenders by Jennifer Davis and Ingrid Restemayer.)
Burch woke up one morning in a ditch in some low-lying country. He had no idea where he was and no recollection of how he might have arrived there. Whatever possessions he might once have owned –and he had a vague recollection of a backpack full of belongings– were nowhere to be seen.
He was thirsty as the devil himself for a can of Coca-Cola.
Alongside the damp ditch in which he found himself there was a poorly-maintained dirt road, its surface pocked and worn with deep ruts. In the distance Burch could see smoke rising from the chimneys of a little town, and he set out along the road in the direction of this unfamiliar village.
As he walked it became apparent to him that somehow, and somewhere in the lost stretch behind him, he had acquired a rather pronounced limp. Burch felt a dull ache extending from his left buttock all the way down to the area behind his knee. The pain became more acute as he hobbled along the road.
An angel appeared to him just as he was approaching the outskirts of the village. Burch watched as the angel glided down from the bare branches of a tree.
You are to undertake a quest, the angel told Burch. An old horse will be provided for your journey, and you are to learn that the heart can be killed anywhere on earth.
That, Burch said to the angel, does not sound like a quest. It sounds like a sentence.
To which the angel replied, That is only because you fail to understand the full meaning of the phrase.
Burch considered the angel as it fluttered there above him on gray and dusty wings. This, he thought, was a most unwelcome and untimely visitation.
It seems to me that the phrase could not possibly be plainer, he said.
Only because you cannot yet see clearly, the angel said.
Burch was in no mood or condition to argue with an angel. For his part, the angel felt obligated to remind his charge of the seriousness of his mission.
You will understand, I’m sure, at what grave peril to his soul a man refuses to carry out the orders of an angel, he said.
I understand no such thing, Burch said. And surely you understand that you are looking at a man whose soul is already in considerable peril, if, in fact, it has not already been entirely lost to him.
What I am telling you, the angel said, is that there is yet hope for you. You are being given a rare opportunity.
I can barely walk, Burch said.
That is why you are being provided with a horse, the angel told him.
From the village Burch heard the ringing of church bells.
I suppose, he said, that I am to regard that as a sign.
The angel cocked his head and listened to the sound. The bells? he said. That is nothing more than a custom of the village.
Burch spit into the road and pawed at the dirt with his boot.
Let’s have a look at that horse, he said.
Slayed.
Slaughtered.
Shattered.
Crushed.
Obliterated.
Burst.
Busted.
Broken.
Destroyed.
Rubbed out.
Squashed.
Flayed.
Annihilated.
Massacred.
Snuffed.
Shredded.
Spent.
Jolted.
Struck.
Moved.
Electrified.
Blown wide open.
Stunned.
Tickled.
Elated.
Overjoyed.
Lit up like a jack-o-lantern.
Delighted out of all proportion.
Rocked.
Resurrected.
Reborn.
Will someone please think of the children?
I keep trying to quit, but it’s an addiction. I know it’s bad for me. It raises my blood pressure, makes me wheeze, and makes my head hurt. It kills brain cells and it’s bad for the people around me.
No, it’s not cigarette smoking. I quit doing that in 1976.
It’s Katherine Kersten. She’s a plague upon anyone who would try to clear the air on almost anything.
Today’s column is a topper, though. The smoking ban that was signed into law yesterday…well, KK’s agin’ it. But not for the sort of reasons you might think. She’s worried that the next thing on the agenda for the American Lung Association is…are you ready for this…steak.
Yes, steak. Because, as anyone knows, steak is bad for you. Like cigarettes, it ruins your circulation and causes an early death in lots of people. However, unlike cigarettes, it only causes an early death among people who actually consume it. Last I looked (and it wasn’t that long ago that I had an absolutely delicious filet at Mancini’s) there were no noxious fumes coming off that perfectly charred and lusciously pink-centered piece of bovine heaven.
There was no threat to my companion, who was having a piece of broiled fish and a salad. Not even my pre-steak gin soaked olive concoction posed any danger to her. (I wasn’t driving.)
But, if Katherine the Great had her way, she would have you defy all logic and FEAR THE GOVERNMENT! Because if they can step in to protect people who are being harmed by the actions of others, who knows, next time they’ll probably step in to protect people who aren’t being harmed by the actions of others. It’s only a short step from banning smoking in public places to banning steaks, pork chops, palm hearts and those damn raspberries whose little seeds get stuck in my teeth.
Damn government. Next thing is they’ll be banning food altogether. I’m writing my legislator right now. This has got to stop.
Ok, you say, I’m not being fair. And you’re probably right. Because KK didn’t stop at steak. Because, she had a column to fill, and we hadn’t got around to family values yet. And, logic dictates that, if you’re going to ban smoking, you should also ban divorce and pornography, because, in the words of that Simpson’s character, “Will someone please think of the children?”
I’m going to start thinking of the children right now. Here’s what I’m thinking: If you don’t care if they rot their lungs, go ahead and smoke around them. If you don’t care if they rot their brains, leave the Strib laying around where they can get their hands on Kersten’s columns.
