Author: rakemag

Ugh. Ash Wednesday. The day on which my Catholic guilt really kicks in. Even though I no longer go to church like I used to, I still feel inclined, every year, to sacrifice something for Lent. What on earth will it be this year, when I’ve already given up so much and seem to have a problem with getting “off the wagon,” as it is? For example, one year, back in college, I gave up meat for Lent (not fish, per the standard) and haven’t touched the stuff since. Then last year I gave up refined sugar–a move that, admittedly, was more inspired by “stomach issues” than for any want of character-building sacrifice. But alas, I have consumed very little refined sugar ever since Fat Tuesday of last year. As for this year… Shopping? (Non!) Red wine? (Mon Dieu!) Or maybe sex? Because, you see, THAT I could do without. (Hi mom.)

But one thing’s for sure–it’ll be easy to abstain from recreation this evening because, as it turns out, there’s very little to actually do. There are a few good art exhibitions, sure. But most will require action before 5 p.m. There’s some decent theater going on too, but I’ve already covered all that. Glug, glug. Sigh.

Lookin’ for something to do on Fat Tuesday. Well, the Turf Club has an ai’ight bill. Starting at 10 p.m., the lineup includes The Brass Kings, Molly Maher, Jon Rodine, and, my favorite on this list, Charlie Parr. The shindig’s sponsored by Mercy Seat–a punk-rock ministry out of Northeast Minneapolis.

Since there’s not much that could get me out to, say, a bar or a theater thing evening (I’ve got an interview to do anyhow), I think I’ll just skip the suggestions this time around. But I did have a very fine weekend taking in various arts-and-entertainments. On Saturday, I went to the comparatively unfunny BNW show. Then, yesterday, I missed Stuart Pimsler’s show at the Guthrie because I got the showtime all wrong (1 p.m., not 7!) So, to make myself feel better, I went home to drink wine and watch a screener of the short film Intolerable, which is scheduled for the Walker’s upcoming Women With Vision series. (It was directed by Alison Maclean whose most famous film is probably Jesus’ Son.) It was an interesting flick starring David Rakoff about a double-dealing, and fairly cruel director who screws with a bunch of actors who’ve lined up for what means to be a cattle call. Liked it very much, thanks. I wondered if this was’t inspired by the Maclean’s own experiences with auditions.

This weekend: Brave New Workshop‘s new show opens (it’s as close as I get to comedy and a boyfriend favorite to boot!) and Stuart Pimsler Dance Theater’s very smart-sounding To The Ends of Love, at the Guthrie. Daytime hours will be spent, in part, shopping for new bookshelves. I’m takin’ my snobby ass to Danish Teak Classics and Scandia.

This is my first Valentine’s Day with a sweetheart who actually requires of me an acknowledgement of the occasion. “Don’t forget about Valentine’s Day,” he said last week. He then added: “I like chocolate.” Me, I’m not a huge Valentine’s Day person. I couldn’t care less about getting flowers or candies or strawberry-flavored lubricants as gifts. But here’s what I’m really not happy about–missing the G. Love sho’.

Oh, and here’s something else: There’s a masturbation workshop at the Smitten Kitten tonight.

Oh shit, I almost forgot to plug this very special, twentieth anniversary installment of Blue Velvet on the big screen. I point you to Schilling’s blog for the full endorsement.

Of course, the really kool kids will be down at First Ave this evening, blowing their ears out at The Shins concert. But neither you nor I are quite that cool (at least not cool with a “k” cool), so what are our options? By chance, there is a hip (yes, hip) theater production opening this very evening. Not that I care much for being hip, but the work and spirit of the Brit-born director Jon Ferguson strikes me as being very hip. It reminds me of my limited exposure to the famous London theater scene in that it’s contemporary, urban, and draws an eclectic–and young!–crowd of onlookers. The Sad and Lonesome Story of What’s His Name is a collaboration with some other great artists, too–namely, Noah Bremer, of Live Action Set, and Mikael Rudolph, a local musician. Seriously, folks, sight unseen, I give this my whole-hearted recommendation. I can’t seem to find a functioning ticket-buying website to direct you to, so know that the show plays the Sabes JCC and you can apparently call 952-381-3447 for the hookup.

Very calm now, I am going to type about how I can’t take this cold much longer, but then leave it at that. Better to hole up indoors and distract yourselves by looking at pictures of the pretty girls in all the Fall 2007 fashion collections, which are being presented in NYC right now at Fashion Week. My favorites? Vena Cava–which is always a fave. (I troll eBay for their wares, but never win anything.) Derek Lam… I guess I ought to come right out and say–I must be forgiven my grunge sentimentalities.

On the subject of fashion, I’d be very interested to hear what you think of the much-anticipated Proenza Schouler for Target line. I purchased this jacket, a full-figured thing that looks so much better on me than on this waify model. And, um, speaking of full figures, I can’t get the bustier dress over my person. (What’s that, a B-cup?) What do ya’ll think on PS Target?

I went to see The Swan last weekend.