Author: rakemag

Seems I’ve become a fan of the Westminster Town Hall Forums. You probably already know about the Forums, but if you don’t: These are series of speakers, sponsored by our favorite Presbyterian church on the mall, that tackle all manner of contemporary subjects. Last year Westminster embroiled itself in the arts, inviting such heavy-hitters as Edward Albee and (Pfft!) Salman Rushdie.

Now they’re tackling the heady subject of America, and what it means to be an American. Interesting topic, no? Still, I was a little under-whelmed by last month’s speaker Jacob Needleman, a philosopher who wrote a book called The American Soul. Not knowing anything about the book, I had hoped he would tackle such issues as, you know, are Americans collectively going to hell? Or: just what the heck is the American Dream anyhow? But alas, the fellow had gone reading the Federalist Papers and was more interested in the ideals of early Americans–which, of course, we have strayed far, far from. There was some talk of how we Americans are still connected to such revolutionary thought, but I thought he mostly wimped out in this section, instead hiding in the relative safety of oblique language.

Today’s speaker, David Halberstam, a journalist accustomed to shaping language that hovers at about the fourth-grade level (that’s how they tell us to write at J-skool, ya’all) (except this guy went to Harvard so maybe not), is slated to cover the future and recent past. This is the guy who wrote The Best and the Brightest, a seminal book that, published in 1972, swayed much public opinion about the American course in Vietnam. Now here’s someone with something interesting to say about the meaning of America.

It’s really cool to be there at these Forums, which start at noon. But they’re also broadcast and re-broadcast on MPR. Hope you catch it one way or another.

All right, oldsters. Indulge me for a sec by turning down The Current or, for all you true contrarians, the Jazz 88. Today’s offering comes in the form of a love letter to dear, little Radio K. Remember when?

Remember the dreary radio days of post-REV 105, when there was no such thing as The Current or even Zone or Drive 105? We were younger then. And the indie kids all directed their ears (and hearts) to Radio K. Cosmic Slop? Hell yes I grooved out to plenty of Helen Reddy! The Beat Box? Thanks to that show’s theme song, the K’s request line shall forever be burned into memory: “Call 626-477-Oh / We’ll try our best to pump it through your sterrey-sterrey-Oh.” This was a sun-up to sun-down affair, and it burned brightest in the summer months, particularly in June, when the sun stayed up long past the workday and kept our ears filled with “the K” until as late as 9 p.m. Radio K, we loved you despite your puny transmitter.

In any case, as part of their annual Power Surge fund drive, Radio K is boosting tonight’s cool-sounding Ink’d and Amp’d concert. One-part fundraiser, one-part DEMO (Diverse Emerging Music Organization) happening, the event is somehow supposed to combine live music by Mel Gibson and the Pants, These Modern Socks, and such with tattoo art–or something like that.

And speaking of tattoos, if I had to choose a line of text to have permanently etched into my flesh (see The Rake’s Literary Supplement for the reference), it’d be this from Theodore Roethke: “When small birds sighed she would sigh back at them.”

Here’s where I give props to some competitors: It seems a couple’a folks over at Minnesota Monthly are having some success with Before The Mortgage, a recently published anthology of essays about adult life before taking on any real responsibility. There’s a public reading tonight at Magers & Quinn bookstore, 7 p.m. And yes, I will definitely be in attendance, if only to offer emotional support to my good friend, Tim Gihring.

This Before The Mortgage book grew out of a zine, you know. I once wrote something for the thing, even though, technically, I do not qualify… on account of my having a mortgage and all. I’m pretty sure my piece never made it to print, however. My essay was all about taking the Morning After pill with dinner at my ten-year high school reunion; and it’s even a true story! Seems I’d been practicing sloppy birth control day before the big event. And you’re supposed to take these things with food, of course, lest you submit yourself to 24-hours of queasiness. It was just coincidence that my next meal, after having picked up the prescription from Burch, was plucked off a typical D’Amico spread of caesar salad and lasagna, which was all that was being offered onboard the Centennial Showboat that night. Washed down the first in a two-part series with sapphire tonic, if memory serves. And I didn’t even feel woozy as we floated up the river and back again, despite the ever-presence of nauseating former classmates and all their pregnant bellies.

In retrospect, I’m pretty sure my essay sucked. What a horrible topic, first of all! Second: there are plenty of tough-to-tackle issues involved with sloppy birth control, not to mention with serial dating and childless-ly reaching the thirty-year hump. I didn’t adequately unpack any of them, dammit! Plus, I didn’t even bother to style the thing. It was a shitty effort. Sorry for that goes to BTM and MN Mo editor Rachel Hutton. See ye tonight. And good luck hawkin’ your book, yo!

Well, since I’m yet to give an official nod to National Poetry Month, we’ll make this a books-n-reading-themed Secret o’ the Day.

Most important (at least in my mind): The May issue of The Rake hit stands today, and is also posted online. What’s not online, however, is the Literary Supplement we produced to celebrate the opening of the new Minneapolis Central Library, later this month. (It’s, uh, “poly-bagged” along with our May issue–get to yer local newsstands, fast!) Check it out for original pieces by Robert Bly, Kate DiCamillo, Bill Holm, and other great Minnesota authors.

On that note: There’s another MELSA-sponsored reading of Minnesota Book Awards nominees today, this one at Ramsey County Library in Roseville and centers on the nominees for history and biography.

Okay, poetry! Have ya’all checked out the Laurel Poetry Collective? I have not, sadly. Not yet anyway. But there’ll be a good chance tonight when they give a reading at the Roseville Barnes & Noble. Will I be there? No, sir.. I’ll be up to my eyeballs in work and “r&r recovery.” But I’m hoping to check them out come May, when the Collective’s work will be the featured text block at Ignited, an exhibition of handmade books–coming soon to the Minnesota Center for Book Arts.

And come Tuesday, I promise to return with spitfire and grit. (T’was a long, exhausting weekend.)

Never mind the science, here’s the politics. Not content with denigrating the science behind any cogent understanding of evolutionary biology or global warming, now the Bushies are taking on medicine.

Despite the clear scientific evidence that marijuana has medicinal uses such as combating nausea in chemotherapy patients and pain and anorexia in AIDS patients, Bush wants the DEA and the political appointees at the FDA, not the National Academy of Sciences, to tell us what we ought to think.

Do you ever wonder what those guys in the administration are smoking?

Makes you wonder if the stoners at Macalester aren’t really on to something.

Does anybody else remember a fellow named Dan Bussey? I’m not even sure if that’s how he spells his name. But in any case, he was this guy–sported a long, curly mullet, if memory serves–who used to plan and execute all these dance parties for the 16-plus sect at places like Waterworks (in Centerville, near where I grew up) and the Goldrush (in Cottage Grove, clear across town from where I grew up). He was a happening fellow, so girls used to throw themselves at him. And I’d just stare in bewilderment while the seemingly smart, but definitely beautiful, girls in my life just tossed their-selves his way. Hmpf.

Dan Bussey might’ve been a northern suburb phenom, but I’m not entirely certain. Nevertheless, where I come from, and in the house I grew up in, in particular, where my sister used to go on-and-on about Dan Bussey this and Dan Bussey that, the Bus-man mystique swelled larger life. I used to spot him across the room at those dance parties, and I would wonder what he was really like. What the hell was he interested in? What did he want to be when he grew up? (Or was he already grown-up? I couldn’t tell, exactly.) What books did he read, if any? What TV shows did he like to watch when he wasn’t oogling teen-aged hotties. I’d watch him bounce between beautiful blondes, like my best friend, and the occasional stunning brunette, like my big sister. As the ugly chum and tomboy kid-sib, Dan Bussey never gave me a second glance. Though I always fantasized about how interesting he’d find me, had we the occasion to meet… But then I stopped hanging out with my sister so much and woke the fuck up.

This was the early 90s, and that crowd of peeps was very inspired by the M.C. Hammer look. I remember Dan Bussey used to wear all these pimpin’ purple suits and some of those jester-esque, two-tone dress shirts. I can’t remember if he also wore “Hammer pants,” but I suspect he probably did. You know, come to think of it, the cold color palette of early 90s hip-hop fashion sure wasn’t kind to the fair-skinned, mousy-/frizzy-haired likes of Dan Bussey and me. I would’ve looked far better in the neutral tones of grunge, and I eventually came to my senses on this point. I wonder if old Dan ever did.

Well, this trip through memory lane has been delightful. This weekend’s big Secret, good through Saturday at 5 p.m.: The Lit 6 Project is throwing another show. Here’s why Lit Sixer Sam Osterhoot carries the Dan Bussey mystique into the mid-oh’s: he wears tweed, he looks ah-ight in cool colors and styles his hair floppily, he’s funny as hell, he’s friendly, aspiring writers and bloggers stick to him like white on rice, following him around much like my sister did the Bus-man. In any case, these Lit 6 shows are generally good ones, with the content veering wildly between literary references and scatological humor. (The geeks and wallflowers of the world therefore fitting right in.) There’s also beer.

Oh Lordy. Once again, there’s so much great stuff going on tonight. I love spring.

There’s The Rake’s own Gallery Grooves–a seen-and-be-seen affair taking place at Artistic Indulgence. Free wine, free cheese, plenty of pretty people to kick-it next to. Kevin Barnes from KBEM will be there, and he’s promising to spin some Fred Hersch, who I caught in a late night snooze-fest at Orchestra Hall last year, during Sommerfest. But I’ve since forgiven the man.

(Parenthetic thought: Did any of ya’all catch The Morning Show spinning Benny Goodman’s Sing Sing Sing yesterday a.m.? Holy Smokes, that was fantastic! I happened to be on the treadmill when it went down, and under those circumstances, I found the percussive beat to be quite “forward propelling,” like Dale said. Workout complete, I then switched back to KBEM. Swear to God.)

The Minneapolis-St. Paul International Film Festival gets underway tonight, with a special screening of Al Franken: God Spoke. I’m such a lucky girl; I’ve been kicked-back on the sofa this past week, screening a few flicks for the occasion. There’s been some good’uns and plenty of out-right duds. I’ll be sure to keep you informed.

Want to peek some Rakish flesh? There’s a good chance tonight, when our fetching head potato (but not vice versa), Mr. Hans Eisenbeis, Editor in Chief, will be moderating a Minnesota Book Awards-themed reading at the Ridgedale Library. Hosting nominees in the memoir and creative non-fiction category, he’ll be joined by Elizabeth Andres and (gasp!) Nicole Lea Helget–you know, the real controversial one.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that punk-rock poet Richard Hell will be giving a reading at the Walker Art Center tonight, sponsored by Rain Taxi. So there’s absolutely no excuse to stay home.

There’s some all right stuff going on tonight: Jamie Lidell’s at the Varsity; Karen Armstrong–you know, that nun-turned-palatable pop theologist–will be speaking at Wayzata Community Church; Rebel Reels, short films by and about the world’s swelling population of Rebel Girls–such as myself, I’d like to think–are screening at The Center for Independent Artists.

(Today’s rant: I refuse to include tonight’s Salman Rushdie appearance in my list of worthwhile events. I have my biases… Plus, he’s slated to cover the most tired of topics–The consequences of writing. And we all know what that means! Rushdie is uniquely qualified to cover this topic, you know. Oh puke!.)

But the coolest thing for sure is the annual iron pour, happening over at the University of Minnesota’s Regis Center for Art, just across the river from where the famous writer and his giant Fatwa will be. I’d much rather be in the presence of budding artists as their metal sculptures come to life than some writer who’s supposedly been near-death for the past seventeen years.

Late-breaking: The Jamie Lidell show has been cancelled. Thanks to K. Tillotson from the STrib for letting me know!