Author: rakemag

Today, the Friends of the Minneapolis Public Library embark on a film series to explore the life and influence of Frankenstein director James Whale. Use it to tide you over since you missed last week’s screenings of Infamous… Me, I’ll be at home, still trying to nurse this crud-of-a-cold.

What I’m really doing this weekend: Tonight I’m going to the opening night party for Minneapolis in 19 Minutes Flat, a short, cinematic historic of Minneapolis starring Kevin Kling.

On Saturday, I’m headed over to the Twin Cities Book Festival so that I can geek out over comic books, essay and poetry anthologies, and zines. Last year’s book festival was especially fruitful in this way.

On Sunday morning, I’m having a couple of my closest peeps over to drink mimosas while watching Amy Klobuchar and Mark Kennedy on Meet The Press. I very much stumbled upon this network hapening, friends… Don’t normally watch much TV. And, realizing how this makes me “culturally unaware” in certain ways (I don’t necessarily understand what Nancy Franklin has to say, for example), I’ve made a point of flipping on the tele as of late. I had it on last weekend while reading the morning Times; turned my chin up just in time to hear old Russert say Klob and Kenn were up next.

Wrestling with indecision… How often, lately, have I taken to the laundry list?

First, readings, since books (and breath) are warm, it’s cold outside, and I’ve caught a case of the sniffles… Dear Ghosts, with Tess Gallagher, or Evil by Design: The Creation and Marketing of the Femme Fatale, with Elizabeth Menon.

Perhaps a stop by the Goldstein is just what the doctor ordered, in case you care to ogle all the clothes that were once owned by Minnesota’s wealthiest, but have since been donated to the museum’s giant archive/closet of designer confections…

And then there’s this whole other thing: opening night for Minnesota Sur Seine. If only felt up to it…

Addendum to the October music issue, page 52: It seems we forgot to mention Club Underground, a venue up in Northeast. The club’s booker, Marc Bowen, wrote to say he’s “a little pissed off” about the omission, understandably; and he has since incited a letter-writing campaign… So far, we’ve received no fewer than eight letters from folks who like hanging out at this joint, with one describing it as “the best place in town to catch truly new bands who aren’t caught up in the local hipster clique bullshit.” So, for heaven’s sake, go check out Club Underground, will ye?

A quick break from production week to advise those with the time, inclination to leave their offices, homes, to actually go outside to find something to do. Lucia Newell. The Stills. Russian Realism. The Science of Sleep, per the advice of Peter Schilling…

Late Breaking: Let us not forget Raking Through Books (with Brad Zellar there tonight).

Three goings on for tonight: 1) Books: Edina Library hosts a panel discussion on the subject of what makes good literature; 2) Theater: a special Monday evening performance of The Master and Margarita; 3) Music: Ode to Cole Porter with Arne Fogle and Maud Hixon at Rossi’s Blue Star.

Ah, Beyond The Crescent Moon. And it’s going to be a crisp, autumn (and full) one at that. And later on this weekend, from what I hear, there’ll be plenty of Little Miss Sunshine and even a little Surf Stomp to go along with it. But soon, soon enough… The Elevator to the Gallows (daylight savings time, too, will end.) Shall we watch Philip Guston Standing On His Head / Standing Philip Guston On His Head–as will I tonight? Or Yo La Tengo–as I’d like to, on Saturday.

Somedays one can’t bring herself to write about the on-the-town junket she could and should be taking–in a perfect, more energized world. I am a woman, see, and so my universe is ruled by guilt. And it just feels really baaaaad sometimes, you know, to plug a show that I myself wouldn’t want to go to… A quick perusal of the events calendar is telling me tonight’s that kinda night. I am but a theater geek, a clotheshorse, a lover of poetry and fashion magazines, and, when it comes to the music I love, nuthin’ but a dilettante. The Master and Margarita. A clothing swap. That copy of News Junkie, which has been getting dusty on my bookshelf. The new Hold Steady CD, which I can vaguely hear wafting from somebody else’s cubicle. But the greatest of them all is The Master and Margarita, and I will certainly drag my ass outside for that… but not yet.

Our humble, and often slighted, dance community is hosting its own version of an awards ceremony: tonight at its flagship, the beautiful Southern Theater. Rumor has it that this event is going to be “less pretentious” than last week’s Ivey Awards. (As in less sponsored, probably–and I’m quoting an anonymous source here.) Tickets are just five bucks, in any case… And if that doesn’t strike your fancy, well then, you just might consider some live music, because it’s going to be a fine evening: as in, The Bad Plus, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, the Charlie Parr CD release show…

Thirst Theater embarks on another performance season tonight–this time at a new venue, Jitter’s. If you don’t know what Thirst is, it’s basically a program of little playlets by local writers, as performed by card-carrying union actors. And the brains behind the deal is none other than Alan Berks, the writerly fella responsible for this year’s very well written Fringe Festival hit, How To Cheat. Here’s something to ponder: I suspect that Thirst is part of a larger movement to take some sorts of professional theater out of the more expensive and, in some instances, intimidating traditional performance venues, in favor of putting on shows in more communal spots where a girl can more easily get a drink!