The Rake Magazine

Category: Blog Post

  • Uberhip or Mellow?

    There are certainly plenty of ongoing activities to partake of this evening, many about which I’ve already written: Dr. John is still playing at the Dakota and there are a number of art shows and performances going on about town. See our So Little Time write-ups for details.

    But if you’re looking for something totally new, grab your coat (it’s going down below freezing this evening) and a friend (or two), and decide on uber-hipdom or quiet sophistication. Yes, in this case, they’re entirely different.

    FOOD
    Hip, Hip, and a Hop away

    If uber-hipdom is the way to go this evening, you might as well start with a bite to eat at Nick and Eddie, Doug Anderson’s new restaurant by Loring Park. Ok — it’s not officially Doug’s, but hey, let’s not get technical here. The menu is a bit inconsistent, but the space is great, and the service good. I recommend the grilled shrimp appetizer and the beef cheeks or duck. Don’t take my word for it, though; see Jeremy Iggers’s review here.

    Nick and Eddie, 1614 Harmon Place, Minneapolis.

    Next stop, First Avenue…

    MUSIC
    She Won’t be "Missing in Action" Tonight

    She might have the most annoying page in myspace history — and her personal website
    is no better — but M.I.A.’s music can justify just about any
    eccentricity or tasteless act that follows. This woman, this artist, is
    the real deal. I’m not talking about the rap artist that "really" grew
    up in the hood, the bluesman from the deep south, or the poor white
    trash hollaring his pain behind a wall of tatoos and a baseball cap.
    Sure, she’s got a history to boot — and that’s real, too — but I’m
    referring to her need to create. At a relatively young age, "Maya" seemed
    to have found her passion in painting and film. Here, she began to
    bring together the sum of her experiences — her early years in Sri
    Lanka, her father’s revolutionary activity, the Tamil-Sinhalese civil
    war, her escape to Madras, and her move to London, as a refugee — under
    the unified voice of her artistic expression. But this expression
    didn’t stop there. Maya continued to explore her voice in different
    avenues, until she stumbled upon her real one, her voice, her song. Her
    music is much like her life, a glorious mishmash of experience —
    electro, techno, hiphop, dancehall, grime, world music. Ummm-huh. You’ve
    got to hear it to believe it, my friends… just like you have to see
    that godawful website.

    8 p.m., First Avenue, 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-332-1775; $20.

    If you’re still up for a party after the show, head over to Foundation Nightclub for a "little" afterparty.

    FOOD
    Beets, Brussel Sprouts and Short Ribs

    For a quieter evening, a bit more relaxed, with a touch of sophistication, grab a bite to eat at Hiedi’s before or after exploring 21st century Asian America (to follow). Of course, there’s always Chino Latino, but why not try something new tonight. "Heidi’s, in the former Pane Vino Dolce space, is a much more modest
    venture, with minimal decor, and entrees priced from $9-$19. You can
    get a decent glass of wine for as little as $5 (a rarity nowadays),
    though the list of wines by the bottle ranges all the way up to $109,
    for a 2005 Justin Isosceles Paso Robles." See Jeremy Iggers’s review here.

    Heidi’s Minneapolis, 819 W. 50th St., Minneapolis, 612-354-3512.

    BOOKS & PHOTOGRAPHY
    Wing Young Explores Asian America


    Sure, we’ve all heard and used the term "Asian American" — but what does it mean? Where is this place they call Asian America? What does it look like? Who are its people? To answer this question photographer Wing
    Young Huie set out across the United States with his wife, on a trip through nearly forty states "to explore and
    document the funny, touching, and sometimes strange intersection of
    Asian American and American cultures." The result, Looking for Asian America — a collection of over 100 photographs of Huie’s journey — paints a multi-faceted portrait of Asian Americans today.

    7:30 p.m., Magers and Quinn Booksellers, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-822-4611; free.

  • A Perfect Holiday Pinot Noir

    I spend more time in the Byerly’s wine store than you might think. No, it doesn’t have the shop-on-the-corner charm of Hennepin-Lake or Solo Vino or Sam’s. It
    doesn’t have the breadth of Haskell’s or Surdyk’s. It isn’t dirt cheap
    like Costco, World Market, or Trader Joe’s. What it is is easy.

    It’s
    close to home, there’s never a line. Plus I can do my banking, my grocery
    shopping, send a few packages and buy a few bottles all in one trip.
    Call it environmental awareness, call it laziness, call it what you will. The surprise — for me, at least — is that Byerly’s stocks some
    excellent, affordable wines.

    Granted, you may have to look to find them. Last time I was at there, they had a great pyramid of Castle Rock Pinot Noir right up front. This wine is syrupy and foul. I’d far rather decant a bottle of Benadryl with my evening meal. And yet. . . .I discovered one of my favorites of the last year at Byerly’s: the Abbaye de Tholomies Minervois.

    While shopping over the weekend, I ran into Bill Belkin, the category manager of wines & spirits at Lund Food Holdings, Inc. (owner of Byerly’s, as of the acquisition ten years ago) and a rather garrulous guy. Within moments he had waxed on about the new Coen brothers film (he’s a BIG fan), my husband’s resemblance to Josh Brolin, and an FM-107 Lori & Julia segment he’d participated in on MILFs (which I would rather not define here — if you don’t know what they are, please Google; you’ll get an eyeful).

    Then he recommended the Bouchard Aînés & Fils Bourgogne Pinot Noir 2005, calling it a "really great turkey day wine."

    Now, a man that forthcoming, you assume he’s either totally honest or off his meds. I opted to trust Belkin, and I’m very glad I did. This pinot noir is pretty perfect for a holiday celebration involving several generations and levels of wine-drinking zeal. It has a bright fruit flavor with just a tiny bit of eucalyptus (a combination of oak and mint), a light mouthfeel, and a kirsch-soaked finish that stops short and relatively clean.

    Not only is it a good match for turkey — hearty enough to stand up to the stuffing and dark meat, but delicate enough to complement the white — it’s that grape that everyone in America has loved since Paul Giamatti‘s swooning ode to it in Sideways:

    "It’s a hard grape to grow, as you know. Right? It’s uh, it’s
    thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It’s, you know, it’s not a
    survivor like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and uh, thrive
    even when it’s neglected. No, Pinot needs constant care and attention.
    You know? And in fact it can only grow in these really specific,
    little, tucked away corners of the world. And, and only the most
    patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who
    really takes the time to understand Pinot’s potential can then coax it
    into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they’re just
    the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and… ancient
    on the planet."

    I’m not telling you the Bouchard Aînés & Fils is the "fullest expression" of a pinot noir. But for $13 a bottle (and a rather meaty alcohol content of 12.5%), what can you expect? This is a very drinkable, universally appealing, and versatile wine. And you don’t have to take my word for it. Mr. Belkin of Byerly’s — fan of independent film and MILFs everywhere — says so.

    For the record, this winemaker also produces a masterful Pouilly-Fuissé that’s quite a bit pricier and much harder to find. . . .but it’s well worth the effort if you also want to offer a white at your table as well.

  • What Will Dan Barreiro Do?

    You want to feel a cone of silence? Call around to KFAN and KSTP and ask what’s up with Dan Barreiro? You gotta hope the U.S. spy satellite program has security this tight.

    As has been reported here and by Judd Zulgad over at the Strib, Barreiro is at that rare moment in a broadcaster’s career when he has maximum leverage to close a sweet, long-term deal with either of two eager employers. (I was going to strain the usual "seduction" and "suitor" analogies, but lifelong bachelor Dan just got married — finally — so it seems in bad taste to suggest some kind of reckless promiscuity.)

    What can be said is this; KSTP AM 1500 has made Barreiro a handsome offer for six years, most likely in the 11-to-2 slot, and KFAN — which is to say the suits in Clear Channel’s San Antonio office — have roughly another week to meet or beat that offer. Whatever Barreiro decides will have serious impact on both stations since it hard to say which needs him more.

    For the unaware, Barreiro’s 4 to 7 p.m. KFAN show is something of an oasis of literacy in Twin Cities commercial talk. While the basic stratagem for holding male audiences continues to depend heavily on feeding the ill-informed near toxic amounts of bullshit and candy, Barreiro’s act routinely reflects someone who reads material heavier than NewsMax, the deep thoughts of Hugh Hewitt and Fantasy Football websites. The ex-Strib sports columnist appears to actually read — gasp! — books, novels and more than one newspaper. What’s more, his show reflects something more evolved than a supermarket check-out line intelligence level.

    KSTP badly needs Barreiro to add octane to an act that was slumping before the departure of their right-wing marquee attractions, Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, to Clear Channel’s KTLK two years ago. (Jason Lewis departed prior to that, and signed with KTLK in large part because Clear Channel didn’t want him rebuilding right-wing talk back at AM 1500). The station’s much publicized and very expensive deal to bring the Twins in — $1 million a year for four years, with virtually all ad revenue accruing to the Twins– did not deliver anywhere near the kind of ratings boost they hoped it would give the rest of the line-up. Other than Joe Soucheray, the station’s other personalities just aren’t pinging many radars.

    KFAN does well among men, but should be doing better. If Barreiro left they would no doubt consider shifting P.A. and Dubay, their all-football all-the-time mid-morning act to afternoon drive. They might — or at least they should consider giving Barreiro’s long-time sidekick, Joe "Mr. Phun" Anderson his own show … if he doesn’t follow Barreiro to KSTP. (Anderson’s contract expired at the end of September. Word is he has been told to stay cool until the Barreiro deal is settled.)

    Even earlier this year, with Mick Anselmo running KFAN and the other local Clear Channel operations, Barreiro most likely would have been sewn up long before by now. But the perception now is that none of the surviving managers here in Minnesota have anywhere near the pull with San Antonio to make this deal happen via their own influence.

    Anselmo hired Barreiro years ago and, with Dan Seeman, cultivated Barreiro’s game. Seeman was fired in late ’05 and Anselmo was canned earlier this year. The fact that Seeman — whose support and insight Barreiro values — is now only one office door away from AM 1500, running Hubbard Broadcasting’s FM 107, has to make the offer from KSTP all that more appealing.

    Another thing that must be playing in Barreiro’s mind is the ever-tightening clutch Clear Channel corporate has around the necks of all its local operations.

    Formal approval of the Clear Channel empire’s move back into private ownership will almost certainly mean another round of budget-tightening and even less local-level decision-making. The joke in the business is that where Clear Channel is a company with almost no patience (never mind that the KFAN line-up has been unchanged for years), Hubbard Broadcasting is a place with far too much patience. Change comes at a very pre-global warming glacial pace at Hubbard radio. The upside, if you’re Barreiro, is that once you’re in you tend to stick for quite a while. A deal at AM 1500 has to be seen as significantly more secure, all things considered.

    Finally, there is the matter of the notorious Clear Channel "basic contract", which in truth is less contract than a series of medieval dictates of no value whatsoever to the employee. The standard language allows the company to do pretty much whatever it wants whenever it wants. As much leverage as Barreiro has, there is always the question whether he has enough to push Clear Channel into a for-real guaranteed contract. That is to say, a contract with language so specific that "meet" actually means "meet" in terms of matching every detail of KSTP’s offer.

    Put another way, there is every good reason to be highly, intensely skeptical of anything Clear Channel promises. Three years down the line they could get bored with his "literate" act and all that book and reading stuff and demand a shift to all Vikings talk all the time (like a real sports station) and, if Barreiro rebelled, the big firm could whack him, a la John Hines, leaving him paid but in professional limbo.

    Finally, as I mentioned in a previous post. There is the Soochie factor at AM-1500. As most listeners and all his colleagues know, Soochie ain’t exactly Mr. Cuddly. More to the point, I seriously doubt there is anyone in the Hubbard building who dares even ask Soochie if he’d consider moving into the old Limbaugh slot in order to make a better fit for Barreiro.

    If there is anyone foolish enough to pipe up, "Uh, uh, Joe … I mean, Mr. Soucheray … could … uh … uh … I mean … " I want to be there to see what happens.

  • Bethinking Butterball

    The theme was black and white this year. And let me tell you
    something, it is very, very difficult to do anything interesting with b&w—especially when you have autumn coloring, such as I do,
    and a closet full of earth tones.

    I couldn’t find my slip, so I pulled on three, count ‘em,
    three see-through black sheaths which, together, created a frothy (but opaque) ensemble.
    Even so, that outfit nearly put me to sleep. Or maybe it was the gratis
    martinis. Or maybe, just maa-aybe, it was the sight of forty-somethings
    swing-dancing to Soul Asylum. I kid you not, friends … The boyfriend turned to
    me at thist point and said, with a sigh: “God, that makes me feel old!” With
    this, we pushed forth, immersing ourselves in the sea of penguins and little
    black dresses, to find examples of black-and-white outfits we actually liked.

    As many of you know, the event was co-hosted by Dan Buettner
    and his g.f, Cheryl Tiegs. I didn’t spot the supermodel, but I have it on good
    authority that she wore something very similar to what the woman at left
    (above) is wearing. Doesn’t she look just darling?

    Tatting, my true love; I ended up stalking a couple of women
    in white, lacy dresses. This one happens to be married to punk poet, Paul Dickinson.
    (At left, below: Lucky guy!)

    Awash in a roomful of penguins until I spotted this guy (below), an artist named Drew Beson who made his own sweater. Just between
    you and me, he was awfully flirty.

    This woman (above) cheated a little—the back of her dress was
    actually made of gray, ribbed cotton. This accentuated her, uh, curves. And a
    hilarious scene unfolded: She was posed for some friends
    and, before you knew it, a gaggle of men descended with their own digital
    cameras. I decided to get in on the fun, too … Oh, and about that dress: It
    strikes me as rather brilliant that the front was bedecked in sequins, which are
    stiff and therefore forgiving along the lady’s amble tummy. (Not that this one needed
    such forgiveness.) At the same time, the cotton in the back accentuated what is
    beautiful and just about most women’s bodies—the round, shapely booty. I want one! I want one! (I
    meant the dress, silly.)

  • The Giving Guest

    Tradition hasn’t rooted so firmly in my kitchen that I cook the Thanksgiving meal every year. Sometimes I am a guest at the feast, like the mjority of people, an eater. It’s a beautiful thing, for a cook to be cooked for, and I never take that invitation lightly.

    It should be one of the first rules of life that you never show up to a feast empty-handed, and I’m not talking about pot-luck. A little gift, a little prize, a little special something that will make the host smile … it’s a small price for a full belly.

    That being said here are some peccadilloes to avoid:

    I know this will sound surprising, but don’t bring flowers. The hostess will have to find a vase and a location for your flowers, taking her away from her duties. And even if they have a pleasant odor, they’ll take away from the smell of the food.

    Don’t bring a cookbook. Nothing says "Hey, time to learn something new!" to a harried cook more than that.

    Dont’ you dare bring a surprise dish: "I brought along my favorite mayonnaise pizza dish just to help out!" This person should be banned for life.

    And never, ever, ever this.

    So what’s a stylish and gracious guest to do? Simply, be thoughtful:

    A bottle of wine is classic and easy, but make it a bottle that is meant for another day. In fact, make it a kick-ass port with a tag that reads: Open when we’re all gone.

    A ribbon-tied pair of dish washing gloves, with your name inked on them.

    Chicken stock … just in case.

    Onion goggles. Your contribution to a tears-free family feast!

    A game to occupy the kids at the Kids Table, whether you’re still sitting there or not.

    Chocolate turkeys. Who doesn’t love biting the waddle off a chocolate turkey?

    A great loaf of bread and jar of mayo for the first post-meal-everyone’s-gone-late-night turkey sandwich.

    Breakfast in a clean kitchen: a bag of pre-ground coffee, scones, and lemon curd.

    Fine! You can bring a pie, dammit. But make sure it’s flippin’ great and not something you picked up at Costco or the gas station.

    The All Time Best Gift: an invitation to dinner at your house.

  • Icons, Live-Givers, and Life-Changers

    MUSIC

    An Evening with an Icon

    The Dakota is serious about its music. Sure, they bring us new and upcoming acts, but mostly they serve up long-time masters. Tonight is no exception. With three decades of performances, over twenty solo albums, hundreds of singles and albums, and two Grammy Awards to his credit, Dr. John has secured his place in American music history. Catch a taste of funky boogie-woogie blues and R&B tonight (through Wednesday) as he lifts the voice of New Orleans across the Twin Cities, proving, as always, New Orleans is alive and well despite its troubles.

    7 & 9:30 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club & Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-332-1010; $50 & $35.

    MUSIC AND DANCE
    Mazowsze

    In the past 50 years Mazowsze has performed more than 6,000 shows across the globe. If this doesn’t sound impressive enough on its own, consider the 65 dancers and singers that perform in each show; consider the 1,000 or more costumes, some of them weighing more than 30 pounds; consider the 23-piece orchestra that accompanies each song, each dance. Mazowsze is on one hell of a mission to preserve Poland’s rich cultural heritage of music and dance. This is no simple effort, but a truly necessary and life-giving one for a country devasted by war. The result is an amazing and energetic performance, leaping, twirling, flinging, colors bursting in air. We’re not talking polka nights at Nye’s here — great as that may be.

    7:30 p.m., The O’Shaughnessy, College of St. Catherine, 2004 Randolph Avenue, Saint Paul, 651-690-6700, $32.50-$43.50.

    PERFORMANCE
    Transgender Day of Remembrance

    We all love a good drag show, but this one is special. Outward Spiral Theatre Company is hosting an evening of art and revelry in celebration of the transgender community. Enjoy performances by Andrea Jenkins, Harsh Reality, Empowered Expressions, Dickie Van Dyke, Emmett Ramstad, and Barbara Gordon. Best of all — it’s free!

    7 p.m., Bedlam Theater, 1501 S. 6th St., Minneapolis; 612-341-1038; free.

    CONVERSATION
    Irish History and Drama

    As many of you well know, The Home Place has been at the Guthrie for quite some time now, making its American premiere. As we enter the production’s last week, director Joe Dowling will shed a little light on Irish history and the Irish identity in order for audiences to better understand playwright Brian Friel’s new piece. Having worked with Friel in 1977, Dowling will share his particular insight into the play’s historical perspective and societal framework.

    7:30 p.m., Dowling Studio, Guthrie Theater, 818 S. 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-377-2224.

    FILM
    Behold the Bull

    Who is Pedro Infante and why should we care? Why should we brave cold
    November nights and wander through the city streets to an old theater
    and watch these Mexican melodramas? For the same old reason we see
    movies in theaters: to be touched, mesmerized, to laugh and perhaps
    cry, and to share these complex experiences with other strangers in the
    dark. And, in this case, to see something entirely new to American
    audiences. In this case, a series of strange and wonderful musical
    dramas starring Mexican crooner Pedro Infante. Infante was called the Mexican Sinatra, no doubt by clueless gringos
    who barely paid attention to life south of the border. He was a master
    singer, and a very good actor, who brought his dashing good looks to
    these rough stories and yet never shone too brightly, never distracted
    us from his supporting actors, or from the pain and pleasure witnessed
    on screen. He sang, told jokes, made comedies and dramas, and could
    entertain a billionaire or a bum. —Peter Schilling
    See Peter Schilling’s full review.

    Pepe el Topo at 4:15 p.m., Nosotros los Pobres at 7:15, Ustedes los Ricos at 9:35 p.m., Parkway Theater, 4814 Chicago Ave., Minneapolis; 612-822-3030; $6.

  • The Devil Knows About These People

    WARNING: Plot points revealed below–

    *****************************************************************

    Don’t shoot heroin.
    Don’t screw your brother’s wife.
    Don’t steal from your parents.
    If you do, make sure they won’t be there.

     

    Don’t embezzle from your company.
    Don’t squander your child support on cheap booze.
    Don’t whine, especially if you’re a guy.
    Pay some attention to the company you keep.

     

    Have great sex in Rio, but remember it’s just vacation.
    Don’t expect it to last forever.
    Don’t kill your mother, your brother’s friend’s brother-in-law, or your heroin dealer when you get back.

     

    Remember the IRS is watching.
    Don’t pay former employees and pocket their checks.
    Never trust your brother.
    Watch out when your father has a pillow in his hands.

     

    These are just a few of the lessons I learned watching Sidney Lumet’s Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, in which a shallow, fucked-up, heroin-and-cocaine addicated real estate accountant (Philip Seymour Hoffman) hatches a plot with his spectacularly dumb little brother (played to a T by Ethan Hawke) to rob their parents’ suburan jewelry store.

    Why? Well, there are drugs to buy. Lots of them — dispensed by a gender-indeterminate waif in an apartment with modern furnishings and a view of the Empire State Building. Also, the accountant has a hot wife — Marisa Tomei, who spends a good half the movie topless and jiggling with a pertness that belies her age. Their last great sex was in a hotel room in Rio de Janeiro and he’s got it in his head that all he needs to do in order to repeat the doggie-style feat of manliness is return.

    The cypher, on the other hand, begins boffing his brother’s wife once everyone’s reassembled in New York — though what she sees in him is anyone’s guess. He also has a jaggedly bitchy ex-wife to serve and a spoiled daughter who wants to see The Lion King on Broadway, but tickets are $130 a pop.

    Everyone needs money. No one seems to want to work.

    This is not simply a dysfunctional family, it’s one in which blood flows like a rancorous, rotting, murderous stream. The mother is killed; her husband, the always fantastic Albert Finney, finds out. The brothers disintegrate in predictably biblical style. And justice is meted out: from the hands of the father, a punishment worthy of the crime.

    Sidney Lumet has made some startling, wonderful, tense films in his time, and this one is no exception. It is, however, lacking the fundamental humanity of a movie like Dog Day Afternoon. The latest Lumet begins with an epigraph: "May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you’re dead." In the case of these people, however, I’m sure the devil won’t be fooled when they die. He’s been waiting.

    Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is playing at the Edina Cinema.

  • The Three Pointer: Half Hearted

    Home Game #4: Washington 105, Minnesota 89

    Home Game #5: Washington 100, Minnesota 82

    Season Record: 1-7

     

    1. Swingman Glut Exposes Brewer

    There are a dozen ways to explain how the Minnesota Timberwolves posted their worst six-quarter stretch of the young season this weekend, a trudge of ineptitude that lasted from the second half of the loss to the Wizards on Friday to last night’s thoroughly desultory performance against the Hornets. Like the apocryphal blind men with the elephant, descriptions of all the individual, isolated flaws would be woefully incomplete yet partially accurate, and, if stitched together, would yield of realistic composite of what the thing is. In this case, the thing is a pretty sorry basketball team: Too young, with insufficient talent, comprised of mismatched pieces and not enough pegs.

    Al Jefferson is a peg. You can plant him at power forward and he’ll batten down one-fifth of a quality, perhaps championship-caliber, starting lineup. The rest of the roster? Nobody really knows, including coach Randy Wittman, who may be more confused about his ballclub today than he was at the beginning of the season.

    One of the reasons the Wolves, and by extension personnel guy Kevin McHale, became such a laughing stock was due to the lopsided configuration of position players: Nearly everyone was either an off-guard or a small forward. One of the things lost during the hubbub over the Garnett trade and the boatload of new faces arriving for the cull-and-keep process of rebuilding was that this year’s team likewise is jam-packed with swingmen, scrabbling over each other for minutes like crabs in a bucket.

    Let’s get specific. By dint of his 33-point explosion in the Wolves sole win last week versus Sacramento, Rashad McCants laid a pretty sizable claim on the off-guard spot. If Minnesota is to win, or even avoid being blown out against the better teams in the league, they need a legit perimeter scoring threat to complement Jefferson down in the low block; especially if that guy can also get to the rim and draw fouls off the dribble. McCant is far and away the most obvious candidate to fill that niche.

    But then there is also Corey Brewer, whose perimeter scoring is, to put it kindly, suspect, but who dogs people on defense, scrambles for loose balls, hits the glass with a daredevil’s impetuous focus, and is a coachable, mentally mature kid almost certain to improve dramatically with experience. Brewer, too, is a swingman. At 6-9, it’s reasonable to assume his best position will be small forward someday, but at 185 pounds, someday is not today, or tomorrow, or most any other time this season. Only one player on the entire Wolves roster is lighter than Brewer; Sebastian Telfair, spots him ten pounds–but is nine inches shorter. McCants is 25 pounds heavier than Brewer. Ryan Gomes, who is currently splitting the small forward spot with Brewer, is 65 pounds heavier.

    It’s reasonable to expect Brewer to bulk up at least a little over the next year or two. Looking strictly at the current roster and telescoping a likely 2009 starting lineup would put McCants at the 2 and Brewer at the 3. Consequently, Wittman is force-feeding Brewer at the 3 despite the fact that Brewer’s legs look like popsicle sticks from the knees down and he lacks the upper body to compensate. The alternative is to rob minutes from McCants, or steady vet Greg Buckner (Gerald Green is already a casualty). And when Randy Foye returns, he’ll bump Marko Jaric into the 2-and-3 fray in addition to claiming a few off-guard minutes himself.

    That’s the long-winded explanation for why Corey Brewer found himself a boy among men while trying to guard small forwards Caron Butler (6-7, 228) and Peja Stojakovic (6-10, 229) over the weekend. Butler scorched Brewer for 18 points (6-7 FG, 6-8 FT) in the 22:51 Brewer was trying to guard him. By contrast, Butler had a respectable but hardly dominant 11 points (5-9 FG, 1-1 3pts, 0-0 FT) in the 23:22 Gomes played him. When it was mentioned to Witt after the game that Butler might have been a bit much for the rook to handle, the coach wouldn’t hear it, noting Butler is averaging better than 20 points per game. "He’s been doing that to everybody," Wittman claimed. Uh, not 85% shooting from the field and more than 16 free throw attempts per 48 minutes (his totals against Brewer) en route to a season-high 29 points.

    The next night, with Theo Ratliff out with a troublesome, sore right knee, Wittman upped the ante. Against the tall and rangy New Orleans front line, he could have started banger Michael Doleac on Tyson Chandler, kept Jefferson at the power forward to go against David West, and set Gomes on Peja. Nope. Jefferson slid over to the pivot opposite Chandler, Antoine Walker was tossed in against West, and Brewer started over Gomes versus Peja.

    Well, all things considered, Jefferson and ‘Toine held their own. But at the end of the first quarter, Peja had 15 points, boosting the Hornets to a 25-21 lead. For the game, Peja finished with 20 points (8-13 FG, 4-6 3pt) in 21:50 against Brewer, and 2 points (1-3 FG) in 6:51 against Gomes. And although Brewer did chip in 6 rebounds and 3 assists, he was scoreless for the game (Gomes had 12 in 26:10).

    Is playing Brewer against large veteran small forwards the best strategy? I don’t know, and neither does Wittman. But with McCants showing flashes of explosiveness and Gomes surprisingly tepid the past three or four games, I understand the impulse. Wittman has faith that Brewer is mentally tough enough to endure these whuppings and profit from the NBA court time. I don’t recommend Brewer start at the 3 for the Wolves next game, however. The opponent has a small forward, first name LeBron.

     

    2. McCants–Best When Selfish?

    In the comments section of the last trey, readers and I had a good scrum about whether the emergence of McCants might get in the way of Jefferson’s alpha-dog status in the offense and thus simultaneously deter from the Wolves’ stated "score in the paint" philosophy and smudge the pecking order enough to hurt team chemistry. Over the weekend, McCants generally put those fears to rest by often looking to get his teammates off in the half court sets. In both games, he and Jeff executed the sort of nifty, rapid-fire pick-and-roll that barely waits for the switch–Jefferson slammed home the stuff on both occasions.

    But much more frequently, McCants’ passing gambits were unwise. He committed 8 fat turnovers versus the Wizards on Friday (only two of them charges or travels), and, given that Jefferson misfired from point-blank range in the paint at least a half-dozen times while finishing a miserable 5-16 FG, probably should have called his own number more often. Against New Orleans, McCants joined the general dolor infecting the entire Wolves roster, hitting just 2-10 FG while committing another three turnovers. Yet those 10 shots in 27:04 again indicate the Shaddy was hardly ball-hoggin’. The more intriguing question now becomes, does he need to go for his own to maximize his scoring prowess?

    Wolves’ fans should cross their fingers and hope the answer is no. Instead, let’s offer two more reassuring explanations. First, McCants is neither a point guard nor should be expected to play like one. With the likes of Telfair and especially Jaric, however, he increasingly finds himself compelled to "set something up" out on the wing (hat tip to Garwood Jones for the original insight). Now at the rate things are going, Wolves fans are going to expect the return of Randy Foye to cure cancer–it certainly has been to go-to answer for every other thing ailing the Wolves and humanity. But in this instance, the return of Foye should be of great service to Shaddy, in part because Foye’s penetration and (hopefully) kick-out will provide McCants with a bevy of open looks from the perimeter, and in part because McCants will be freed to operate in shoot-first mode more often when he gets
    the rock. It will be Foye’s job to foster ball movement.

    The second explanation is that, after nailing so many sweet jumpers versus Sac, McCants forgot that scoring in the paint off the dribble is an important–and vital to his good standing with Wittman–part of his game. Just one of Shaddy’s seven baskets (in 16 attempts) was a layup against the Wizards. Versus the Hornets the next night, he simply didn’t score from the perimeter, registering his only points on a reverse slam in the first period and a spectacular left-handed jam over Tyson Chandler in the third (he egregiously traveled on the play, but no whistle so no harm).

    In short, by dishing to Jefferson in the first 85 seconds of play on Friday and looking for his teammates most of the weekend, McCants showed he wants to operate within the context of the club’s offensive schemes. And when Foye finally returns and McCants does the up-fake and go more often as a play off his jumper, the turnovers will diminish and the field goal percentage will rise. Maybe.

     

    3. Silver Linings

    It’s a shame the Friday night tilt versus Washington wasn’t televised, for the Wolves put forth a much better effort than the dog-like performance on Saturday. The key was the performance of the bench in the second quarter, with Telfair, Brewer, Buckner, and Walker joining Jefferson for a smallish quintet that swung the ball with verve and then moved after the pass to foster more ball-movement opportunities; rotated crisply on defense, especially doubling-down on passes into the paint, and generally played with a sense of fun, purpose and electric energy perhaps not seen since the opening quarter of the season opener against Denver.

    The quiet leader by example in all of this was once again Antoine Walker, reprising his role from the previous game versus Sacramento. Watching Walker’s on-court intelligence makes one wince in recognition of how clueless almost all of his teammates are by comparison. (No disrespect intended, but when ‘Toine is the brains of your outfit, your team is in very deep shit.) For example, knowing the multi-misfiring Jefferson was starting to swat at the mosquitoes buzzing his psyche, Walker fed Jeff in traffic for an easy layup he could have converted solo. Little things like that go a long way toward demolishing Walker’s checkered reputation.

    He also has a knack for a maneuver that I haven’t seen a Timberwolf do well since Fred Hoiberg enabled KG: Caught in a double-team, Garnett would dump it to Hoiberg. Freddie would wait just half a beat, perhaps make a feint like he was going to the hoop, then immediately zip it back to Garnett, now facing only one defender and no longer stuck on his pivot foot. Walker executed a similar "get it, wait a sec, give it back" twice with Jefferson to perfect effect (that is, if Jefferson could have hit any shots on Friday). And on offense, ‘Toine had the perfect mix of quick-release treys, and up-fake dribble penetration plus quick snap passes. Bottom line, he had 11 points and sparked a 16-2 Wolves run in the first 6:10 of the second quarter.

    The other Wolves’ player who boosted his internal standing over the weekend was Telfair. The differences between Bassy and Marko at the point, particularly with respect to pace in transition and probing in the half-court, were obvious. Two cavaets: On both Friday and Saturday, Telfair’s first stints in action much more productive than his second stints. And Telfair’s fabled defense was not in evidence on Saturday when New Orleans blew open the game in the second half. Neither Telfair nor any other self-respecting point should let the likes of Jannero Pargo waltz down to the foul line before seriously picking him up. That laxity was typical of the entire Wolves defense, which generated a mere 4 turnovers despite the absence of Chris Paul from New Orleans’s lineup. In any case, it is hard to lavish too much praise on any point who helps enable Pargo to go off for 15 points and 7 assists with just a single turnover.

    Nevertheless, Telfair had his best back-to-back outings of the season, and, if he maintains the momentum, should receive the bulk of the backup minutes when Foye returns. He also has a special chemistry with Brewer on the court–they find each other, and feed off the other’s energy–which made Wittman’s decision to start Brewer and not include Telfair on Saturday all the more perplexing.

  • Nature Porn

    Here’s a lil’ sumpin for you nature lovers. Urbanolas. Gore Gurls. Whatever you call yourself.

    A roll between the bouldersUntil this year, all Jeep vehicles were "trail-rated". This has required all vehicles to finish the Rubicon Trail–the most muderous off-road route on the planet (see image). From a design perspective this requires a ladder frame and a solid rear axle (among other things). While this technology is dated, it still has not been surpassed for off-road travel.

    That makes a vehicle like the new SRT-8 Grand Cherokee positively obscene, with 425 horses on tap. As if that were not enough, when surgically-enhanced by Hennessy Motorsports, the Cherokee SRT-8 becomes the fastest production SUV ever made.

    You can thank me now for telling you this. While there are better ways to experience nature, what else could feel this dirty?


     

  • Trash Can Turkey With White Wine

    It’s been my experience that people under stress generally respond in one of two ways: they either shut down, sleep more, become lethargic and gain weight; or they become frantic, insomniac, impossible to calm and they lose.

    I’m a loser.

    When my first husband left our family — out of frustration and addiction and through little fault of his own — I was in my last year of grad school and I found myself, suddenly, the single, unemployed mother of three. Nights were particularly scary; I lay awake and panicked. Mealtimes made my stomach clench. So I paced and pushed the food around on my plate and ran miles each day in an attempt to burn away the fear.

    I dropped 20 pounds in less than 8 weeks. About half my hair fell out, I failed a bone scan, there was a long sore on my back from where my bones poked through my skin. It pains me to tell you that women would stop me on the street to tell me I looked fabulous and ask me how I’d managed to lose the weight. The men I knew, by and large, asked if I was OK and plied me with food. I suspect it is no coincidence that my son, Maxwell — a caretaker even at 10 — became a great cook that year.

    On Sunday mornings, he made authentic Irish scones, which he served with tea and cream. Evenings, it was vegetarian Thai curry, pasta stuffed with pumpkin, and once, an authentic Cuban meal of black beans, peppers, hot sausage, and rice. Max got so good, friends of mine would hire him to make appetizers or desserts for their dinner parties. He watched the Food Network and talked about his plan to attend either Johnson & Wales or the CIA.

    At Thanksgiving that year, it was just the four of us. I had no idea how to roast a turkey — this had always been my husband’s area of expertise — and it really wasn’t in me even to try. But before I could even investigate alternatives, Max announced he was planning to brine a 20-pound bird. He had me buy him a brand-new 5-gallon trash can, then filled it with sugar, salt, peppercorns, red wine vinegar and water, and slipped the turkey in. He set his alarm and at 4 a.m., he got up briefly to stir.

    "Because it’s an aqueous environment, the vinegar and salt get into the pores of the turkey," Max told me. "It helps moisten the meat." I have no idea where he learned to speak this way. . . .

    The meat was, indeed, excellent, as I recall. Though I’m pretty sure anything this stoic little boy had put on the table would have filled me with pride. And I remembered that November of seven years ago today, when I ran across a recipe for Brined Roasted Turkey Breast with White Wine Sauce from Chef Ethan McKee of Rock Creek at Mazza, in Washington D.C.

    For me, life got better. I found a job, bought a house, got my kids into a great school system, started dating again, and published a book. Thanks in large part to Max, I put the 20 pounds back on (plus a couple more); my hair grew back, my skin healed, and my bones somehow survived. More important, I watched my kids pull together and I learned that a brave ten-year-old who’s just lost his father can find the wherewithal to make a holiday turkey in a can meant for trash.

    Over time, Max’s plans have changed. When he leaves for college next fall, he’ll be pre-med rather than a student at a culinary school. But I’m struck by how similar theses courses are: he’ll be taking care of people one way or another — feeding them or healing them. It’s very much the same.