Author: rakemag

It’s a rather cruel indulgence to base a film on a childhood game that tends to revolve around abusing a shy classmate with glasses—but there’s no denying that often, that’s just the kind of thing moviegoers are ravenous for. Underdog owner of the Average Joe gym (Vince Vaughn) faces foreclosure unless he can raise fifty grand in three days. His solution is to hold a dodgeball tourney, offering a huge jackpot to the winners. To add to the tension, Vaughn is pitted against the slimy owner of the Globo Gym (a preening, Fu-Manchued Ben Stiller). Who will be the last man dodging? Cameos from William Shatner, Lance Armstrong, and David Hasselhoff add to the sublime dimwittedness. The DVD offers an alternate ending and bloopers footage, which is only slightly less funny than the final cut.

To hell with exploitative kitsch-mongers and the mean folk who like to point out that he died on the toilet: We still have a soft spot for the King. We remember that he not only had a truly dreamy voice and an electrifying stage presence—he was also a real actor. At least he wanted to be. The man dreamed of being the next Marlon Brando, and longed for a serious script that would show off more than his sideburns. Instead, Elvis got stuck with the likes of Love Me Tender, a 1956 Western that finds him shaking his booty on the wild frontier. His first Hollywood movie, it set the standard for a string of goofy second-rate films to come, which have become classics—OK, perhaps kitsch classics—in their own right.

Wim Wenders’ cult classic follows the slow unfolding of a damaged man as he literally comes in from the desert and learns to talk again, with the aid of his seven-year-old son. Artful and anti-Hollywood, the film, with its lush cinematography and a haunting soundtrack by slide guitarist Ry Cooder, makes the story stick in the craw for days after the lights come on.

The person who has nothing—there’s one in all our lives. Perhaps they’re bereft of worldly possessions by divine will or karmic revelation, or maybe they’ve simply “downshifted” into intentional thinglessness. Either way, these folks can stump even the most discerning gift giver! Our “Aught for Naught” gift basket is the perfect answer. Also a good choice for that annoying aunt who’s forever carping about the “secularization of the holy day.”

Walking stick: Our collapsible “staff of life” is hand-carved in your choice of gopher wood, cypress, or olive

Stone-ground mustard plaster: Or “poultice.” It’s just fun to say!

Helmut Lang hairshirt: Hand-loomed using yak hair gathered by Mongolian craftswomen, tailored with Lang’s incomparable long, lean cut

Ecumenical holy water: Blessed by a full complement of religious authorities: rabbi, yogi, imam, priest, Hindu and Buddhist monks

Salt: Edible and tenderable, our fleur de sel is
collected on the shores of the Dead Sea by seven vestal virgins

Aerospace-grade titanium fish hooks: Teach a man to fish, and he eats… a lot of tartar sauce!

Flint, steel, and char cloth: Don’t wait for Prometheus to find you, grasshopper! Flint doubles as a razor,
if hairlessness is your path

Twice-baked amaranth crackers: Hearty and historically correct

All packed in our signature basket: woven in the authentic Egyptian dynastic tradition with hand-harvested reeds from the banks of the River Nile

With everything an Italian trattoria should have—inventive pizzas and pastas, an approachable wine list, and a dessert menu supercharged with chocolate—Biella is our favorite among the west suburban ventures of Mark Nazigian. You could call it the sophisticated sister to Ravello in Long Lake, as both restaurants hold their charm in intimate surroundings and with ever-changing menu selections. With its Lake Minnetonka view, Biella provides an appealing mix of ambiance, flavor, and nostalgia. 227 Water St., Excelsior; 952-474-8881

For some, indulgence comes in the form of manicures and hand massages. For others, it involves tucking into some great nosh with an expertly mixed cocktail at hand. Both camps may self-indulge freely at Mell’s Beauty Bar, a dark little boîte tucked amid Minneapolis’ hulking warehouses. During the cocktail hour, a manicurist is available to ensure that the fingers cradling your martini glass are polished. But be careful not to muss your nail job when tearing into Mell’s stunning wood-fired pizzas (the prosciutto and goat cheese version is simple elegance). Even the bar snacks have been made over: Those are marcona almonds, dahling, not beer nuts. Desserts are appropriately decadent, and anything with chocolate will allow you to lick clean your stylish fingers before sashaying out the door. 606 Washington Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-338-1680; www.mellsbeautybar.com

Knollwood Mall has been in a continual state of either death or revival for the last twenty years. It’s hard to tell which way it’s going right now, but the presence of an authentic, family-owned Mexican restaurant on the strip side of the mall is a definite score for the revival side. El Gordo makes the requisite mondo burritos, stuffed with ample cheese and topped with creamy guacamole; among its taco options, we’ve become fans of the steak version seasoned with onion and lime. That is, when we’re not going for the three-colored enchiladas, the ideal plate for the indecisive. We love moving back and forth across the platter: a bite of savory red sauce, a bite of tangy green sauce, a bite of chocolatey mole. Repeat. Yum! 8140 Highway 7, St. Louis Park; 952-935-6237

Burnt Sugar is a big musical mixing bowl spilling over with jazz, funk, blues, hip hop, and rock. Add some African beats and a little contemporary classical composition, and you’ve got what could be the world’s most eclectic jazz ensemble, one whose inspiration comes from such diverse sources as Miles Davis, Metallica, and Mobb Deep. Each member—there are a dozen, including African Americans, Middle Easterners, Europeans, Asians, and even a Minnesotan—also lends his own musical influences, and an instrument or two, to the band’s jubilantly raucous happenings. To reign in this torrent of grooves, Burnt Sugar founder Greg Tate (also a journalist for the likes of the Village Voice and the New York Times) serves as conductor, using hand gestures and baton movements he invented expressly for the purpose of unifying this improvisational force. 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-375-7622; www.walkerart.org

Despite her gritty alto, the Chicago-based Edith Frost seems convinced that God intended her to use her vocals as a pretty pop instrument. This peculiar voice, which she subdues until the most poignant moments, brings a sense of understatement to the waves of catchy melodies put forth by her back-ups. Frost’s compositions tend toward introspection and poetry, especially those from her 2001 release, Wonder Woman, an album basking in the beauty of simple chord changes and stark, confessional prose. Edith Frost’s live show is a retrospective of this newest, most mature work, as well as bluegrass covers and psychedelic soundscapes from earlier releases like 1998’s TTelescopic (which included the college radio hit, “You Belong to No One”). 400 Cedar Ave., Minneapolis; 612-332-2903; www.400bar.com

Nothing warms up a grubby Minneapolis bar like a few hours of honkytonk Christmas carols. For the eleventh year, Trailer Trash reprises its beloved holiday shows at Lee’s. Nate Dungan’s band has earned a reputation for rocking so enthusiastically about the season that many an anti-Christmas stoic considers this event their token holiday outing. Half the fun is watching unsteady revelers vie for an opportunity to shake the trademark, five-foot-long, tambourine-topped Jingle Stick. And parents, it’s never too early to introduce your tiny dancers to the thrills of live music. No, you don’t have to drag them to Lee’s—this year, Trailer Trash is also setting up at the smoke-free Theatre de la Jeune Lune for a special kid-friendly matinee. Good wholesome fun! Lee’s, 101 Glenwood Ave., Minneapolis, 612-338-9491; Theatre de la Jeune Lune, 612-333-6200; www.trailertrashmusic.com