The Rake Magazine

Category: Blog Post

  • Brenda Buys a Car. (not a Prius nor around Paris*)

    We all know Brenda, don’t we? (see: urban, organic, goddess.) If you don’t, you should, because Brenda Langton is an entrepreneur who has successfully fought commonism for years.

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    Brenda in crisp white jacket and soon chillin’ white ride.

    Brenda owns two joints with her totally cool husband, Tim. One of their places, Cafe Brenda, just started serving grass-fed beef. (Yep. In an organic restaurant. Talk about fighting commonism). The other is a lovely little spot called Spoon River. The only thing common about it is that does not take American Express (why is that becoming so common? its frustrating).

    The other day Brenda let it slip that she wants to buy a car.

    The commonly-inclined (those who live and think in little boxes) probably cannot see Brenda driving anything faster than a bicycle but that will never do. I see her in something between a Prius and a Porsche . I am currently seeing her in a new BMW X3 (photo is not actual, seems like the old model) wagon in arctic white, but something about it feels too common.

    I will be shuttling between offices this week, so I’ll leave the first picks for Brenda’s ride up to you. Stop into either Brendas or Spoon River and tell her what you think. We’ll get around to driving them probably sometime next week.

    * Just checking to see if you read the headline first. Generally people interested in Paris Hilton will not read this blog. We prefer Paris, France. . That does not make us better than you, just less common (and that is sad).

  • A Damn Fine Product, Come What May: The Golden Years

    Remember the Dark Ages?

    I sure do.

    Man, do I ever, and, holy shit, were they ever painful.

    Remember 1996, the season that began with the announcement of Kirby Puckett’s forced retirement? That team went 78-84 (not that bad, really, all things considered), but the pitching staff had an ERA of 5.28, the third straight year the Twins had an earned run average above 5.00. No Twin hit 20 home runs –Marty Cordova was the club leader with 16. Cordova also somehow found a way to drive in 111, and Paul Molitor drove in 113. A lot of that had to do with the continued presence of Chuck Knoblauch in the lineup. Knoblauch scored 140 runs in ’06, and three other guys scored more than 90 (Molitor, Cordova,and Rich Becker).

    Yeah, Rich Becker. Remember him? The guy actually hit .291 that year, with 31 doubles, four triples, 12 home runs, 19 stolen bases, 92 runs, and 71 RBI.

    Frankie Rodriguez led the staff with 13 wins (13-14, 5.04 ERA). Brad Radke went 11-16 (4.46).

    The Twins were even worse in 1997 (68-94), despite the fact that Radke won 20 games. They still had Molitor (.305 BA and 89 RBI) and Knoblauch (117 runs), though, so they were at least capable of impersonating a Major League team on some nights.

    Molitor was still around in 1998, but he was playing out the string (.281, 75 R, 69 RBI). Knoblauch was gone. Matt Lawton had a little breakout year with 36 doubles and 21 home runs. Todd Walker hit .316 and had 41 doubles. The pitching was atrocious: Radke, at 12-14, was the only guy on the staff to reach double digits in victories. Latroy Hawkins went 7-14, Eric Milton 8-14, Bob Tewksbury 7-13.

    Yet somehow the Twins were even worse in 1999 (63-97). Ron Coomer was an All Star, and Justin Morneau had more home runs and RBI at the break this year than Coomer had all season (16 and 65). Cordova led the team with 70 RBI. Not one starter had a winning record, all five finished with double-digit losses, and Radke was again the leader in victories (at 12-14). Nobody came even remotely close to scoring or driving in 100 runs.

    Nobody scored or drove in 100 runs in 2000, either. Nobody hit 20 home runs. Radke won 13 games to lead the staff, and the Twins finished at 69-93.

    You get the point. If you were around, you remember all too well how bad this team was, and in how many ways, and for how long. It really was brutal. Every year the Twins somehow seemed to find a way to be even worse. Eight straight losing seasons.

    We’re spoiled now. Six straight winning seasons, four Central Division titles. There are just four players (Cuddyer, Hunter, Rincon, and Santana, and Cuddyer and Rincon were just getting their feet wet) remaining from the 2002 squad that won that first title.

    As frustrating as this team can sometimes be –and I guess you have to keep in mind that every year during this recent run the Twins have been frustrating intermittently, or even for prolonged stretches– it really is nice once in a while to step back, to flip through some old scorebooks from those dark ages, and to recognize how good we have it right now.

    Once upon a time we had to make due with guys like this: Dan Masteller, Scott Stahoviak, Lenny Webster, Willie Banks, Alex Cole, Carlos Pulido, Matt Walbeck, Pat Mahomes, Rich Robertson, Scott Klingenbeck, Dan Serafini, Scott Aldred, Joe Mays, and Doug Mientkiewicz.

    Now we have Johan Santana, Joe Nathan, Carlos Silva, Pat Neshek, Matt Guerrier, Joe Mauer, Torii Hunter, Justin Morneau, Michael Cuddyer, and Luis Castillo.

    Hell, Jason Tyner and Lew Ford would have played 150 games for some of those late ’90s teams.

    Actually, imagine this, if you can: Ford played 154 games and got 569 at bats with the 2004 club that won 92 games.

    It boggles the mind.

  • Yet Another Review of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

    by Danielle Kurtzleben

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    Let me start by pronouncing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix the best Harry Potter film yet, by a long shot. Then again, this isn’t much of a pronouncement. There was a lot of room for improvement after the saccharine, slick, and over-produced first four movies. Director David Yates, though new to the franchise, seems to have grasped this, and has finally grounded Harry’s world, both emotionally and physically.

    One wouldn’t be entirely wrong in arguing that there is just better material to work with this time around. We’ve all heard ample chatter about how dark this film is in comparison to its brethren, but it’s not just darkness for its own sake. Phoenix presents us with a downright depressed, all-too-human Harry who has tired of the spotlight, as well as a Voldemort who finally transcends his cartoon villain status and becomes convincingly evil. Daniel Radcliffe and Ralph Fiennes play these respective roles with depth, while sparing us the melodrama.

    Order of the Phoenix’s emotional accessibility is complemented by a grittier look as well. The usual CGI overkill has been dialed back a step or two, and is also tempered this time around by jumpier camera-work and a grand, sweeping score.

    Good performances abound in Phoenix. Radcliffe has matured as an actor, as has Rupert Grint (Ron Weasley), and they play Harry and Ron’s teenage-boy friendship without lapsing into silliness or sentimentality. Imelda Staunton is a riot as Professor Dolores Umbridge, turning Rowling’s rather flat character into an unthinking, rule-obsessed menace. And the other all-star adult cast members — Alan Rickman, Maggie Smith, Emma Thompson, and new addition Helena Bonham Carter — each perform gloriously in the (sadly) short time allotted them.

    Which brings us to Phoenix’s greatest failing: it’s just too short. The over-600-page-long book has been whittled down into just over two hours of film. Though the story is wisely streamlined in many ways — there is no Quidditch, little intrusion by annoying house-elves — the story is too clipped, and non-devotees of Rowling’s books will likely find themselves lost among numerous plot-holes. Even the most important plot point — the prophecy on which the entire Phoenix story hinges — lacks an adequate explanation.

    In many ways, Phoenix allows non-stop action to trump story-telling. But one must give it credit where credit is due — where previous Harry Potter movies might have had us rolling our eyes at childish silliness, this one at least leaves us with a tear or two to dab away.

  • A Tragicomedy of Human Existence

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Looking at Our Town through a Different Lens

    ourtown_menfolk_066.jpgI guess one Pulitzer Prize is never enough. Ten years after winning the Pulitzer for The Bridge of San Luis Rey (in 1928), Thorton Wilder won another one for his play Our Town. The play, inspired by his friend Gertrude Stein’s The Making of Americans, was way ahead of its time in its self-awareness. Call it postmodern, even — though, frankly, I would argue that Shakespeare used a similar technique before him (and that postmodernism doesn’t even exist, for that matter). Wilder uses a Stage Manager character — much like the Chorus in Shakespeare’s Henry V, or his oft repeated play-within-a-play structure — to weave in and out of the fiction in a new brand of Shakespearean deconstruction. Whew! That’s a mindful. Anyhow, the point is this: Craig Johnson, director of Girl Friday Productions’ current staging of the Wilder classic, has chosen to eliminate this vital character and dole out the lines to the play’s other characters. Interesting. Though certainly a gutsy move, perhaps a much-needed one in order to offer a fresh perspective. Tonight is industry night — which basically means you get to pay what you can — so go check it out for yourself. You’re sure to have an opinion, one way or another.

    7:30 p.m., The Minneapolis Theater Garage, 711 West Franklin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-729-1071; $18 (students and seniors $15).

    MUSIC
    Shake & Bake

    T&R.thumbnail-1.jpgI always understood “shake & bake” as druggy terminology (or nasty instant foodstuff): you wake, you shake, you bake. Basically, it comes down to “smoking up” before you even take your morning pee, hitting the ganja before brushing your teeth, numbing the mind before your morning coffee. Why the reference then? Hmmm. Are they catering to the true shake and bake crowd, or is it simply meant to be cute? Dance and grill doesn’t sound nearly as interesting. How about Boogie BBQ? Groove and Grill? Beat and eat? Hmmm. Maybe not. Shake & Bake it is. Turns out there are actually many different uses of the phrase (including a dual-space direct-methods procedure for determining crystal structures from X-ray diffraction data). Who am I to judge the name of a show that has managed to remain on the air for 19 years? Can’t get enough of them on Monday mornings (KFAI, 1-3 p.m.)? Shake your booty to the world beat rhythms of DJ Nite Nurse and Tony Paul this evening at the Nomad. Enjoy the Afro-Beat, Reggae, Latin, Boogaloo, Soul, Arabesque, and Bhangra beats. Take advantage of the 2-for-1 drink specials all night long. And bring along anything you’d like to toss onto their grill, free of charge, for your consumption. If you do it right, this could be one hell of an evening. I recommend getting a game of Bocce in while you’re at it as well. Sure, none of this has anything to do with baking, but maybe the baking is best done at home. You can take some cupcakes along for the DJs.

    5 -7 p.m., The Nomad, 501 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-6424; free.

    Harry, Who?

    hatp01small133.gifNot many of us are going to get away with ignoring the new Harry Potter flick. Love it. Hate it. You’ll still probably see it. What the hell, you might as well go all the way. Make it a full Harry Potter experience this evening. You don’t have to don your wizard hat or your graduation gown — thought you certainly may, if you feel so inclined — but do bring along your sense of humor, and a magic wand to make it all disappear once you’ve had enough. Why is this entry in the music section? You know how it goes. Nothing ever remains in one medium anymore. I already spent all day playing with my Voldemort doll. (Yes, I had to look up the name.) No dolls for you, though. You get to rock out this evening with Harry and The Potters. Woohoo! A band that sings about loving books: “This book is so awesome. This book is so awesome.” I don’t know what to tell you. But don’t you feel even minimally compelled to find out what it’s all about? Weirdness.

    6 p.m., Pershing Park, 3523 W. 48th St., Minneapolis; 630-6025 or 370-4928; free.

    FILM
    And of Course… The Order of the Pheonix

    Harry3.jpgOnce the music has warmed you up and whet your appetite a bit, it’s time to move on to the movie itself. Yes, it’s no joke; I’m actually telling you to go see Harry Potter and the Order of the Golden Phoenix. Why fight it? You’ve come this far already. And doesn’t this mean it’s over? Not yet? Oy! How old are these poor kids going to get before they’re done filming these much-loved kids’ books? And how many more body parts can little Daniel Radcliff expose before the next release?

    7:10 p.m., Heights Theatre, 3951 Central Ave. N.E., Columbia Heights; 763-788-9079; $8 (children and seniors $5).

    MUSIC AND A MOVIE
    Sultry Nights: The Sounds of the City and the Films of Douglas Sirk

    AllThatHeavenAllows_01039_jpg.jpgNo Harry Potter for you? You’re in luck. Tonight is the first night of the Walker’s Summer Music & Movies series in Loring Park. This year’s selection features the films of director Douglas Sirk. Explore the ’50’s general air of rebellion as Sirk’s characters toss convention aside in order to express their individuality and live as they like. Tonight’s film, All That Heaven Allows, will be preceeded by a performance of Black Blondie, a hip hop, trip hop, jazzy soul girl band with a whole lot of panache and a whole lot of fun — a great way to start the season, in fact. The movie that follows is one of the original I-fell-in-love-with-the-gardener stories, featuring none other than Rock Hudson as the gardener. Somehow, suggesting that Rock Hudson’s age and class make him a less than suitable lover, seems a bit silly at this point; but it’s up to you to try to stretch the imagination a bit. Maybe the night air will help. Hopefully, the rain will hold, though, until it’s all said and done. If it does rain, the event will be canceled, unless otherwise noted.

    7 p.m. (movie at dusk, around 8:45 p.m.), Loring Park; free.

  • Manhattans in Minneapolis

    Back when Zeno opened, its New York owners — two attorneys, no less — thought they’d make millions bringing their ultra-hip wine bar-sandwich shop-coffeehouse concept to Minneapolis. And they might have, if they’d stuck it out with their flagship storefront in Uptown for more than about 30 seconds. Instead, they rushed to open a second store in a risky Hennepin Avenue location and made plans to expand to the suburbs. By 2006, their tiny empire came crashing down.

    Enter Daniel Gelb, president of Plaza 1, Inc. He and his partners were smart. They bought the law guys out, closed the Uptown Zeno briefly and re-opened it under the same name some weeks later. But the downtown restaurant — an odd split space with a bar facing Hennepin Avenue and a separate seating area across the hall from Palomino — stayed vacant for a while.

    Last month, Gelb took advantage of the weird layout to open Manhattans, a clubby restaurant and martini bar designed to feed the State Theater crowd. It’s decorated in olive green and charcoal gray and features a “boardroom” for private dining. The wine list is varied, with a lot of robust California options, but some others — including a Spanish Albarino and a Tuscan Chianti — and the drinks menu features cocktails so complicated they require a “mixologist.”

    Currently, Manhattans is serving dinners only — and here’s a lineup of good, solid standards: steak, pork tenderloin, pasta in vodka sauce. For those who want to re-live the stock market boom of the 1980’s, I suggest you make a reservation. Leave today’s real estate crisis behind, order calamari, a Caesar salad, maybe a NY Strip. And imagine your portfolio growing. . . .

  • Barry Bonds, Barry Manilow, and Bill.

    On the Seventh Day you are supposed to take a break. With that in mind I’d like to write about something other than cars for just a day. I’d like to write about the difference between stars and heroes. Its a little diddy about two men named Barry and a boy named Bill (I’ve changed his name a little).

    One of these Barrys is going to break a record soon. This Barry is named Bonds. And this Barry is a cheat.

    The other Barry is a guy who played piano for a woman in New York in the early 70s and probably was disliked by big boys like Bonds. This Barry is named Manilow. And this Barry is well, Barry Manilow.

    These two Barrys have a few things in common however, like stardom, fame and a whole lotta hits. Which brings me to a boy named Bill.

    Bill also plays baseball. He is not a star, he’ll probably never be famous nor feel the pride of belting one out of the park. Because Bill, you see, is a diabetic, disheveld outsider on my Little League baseball team.

    But he knows what it takes to win.

    I’ve learned from Bill this season. I’ve admired the simple way in which, deficits and all, he has delivered for our team. In fact, he got a clutch hit last week and became a bit of a hero. And he has done it all without cutting corners and or caring too much what other people think. Because this Bill is comfortable in his own skin.

    Which is why although I might be uncomfortable with what Barry Manilow considers music I also admire his grit. He might be odd but he does not seem like a cheater and he seems to keep his fans.

    Which is something the famous star Barry Bonds just never seems to have. In fact, I don’t a kid on our baseball who doesn’t think him a creep. Because winners just don’t cheat. (And Mandy doesn’t count.)

    Which is why Mr. Bonds could learn something from Mr. Manilow and his doppelganger named Bill. I gotta hunch they’d tell him to stop cheating, fess up and become something bigger than he is right now.

    And that just might be his last day as a star.

    And his first day as a hero.

    (P.S. I don’t think this little diddy needs links.)

  • Buying Books For The Road

    I am planing a little road trip this suumer. I hope I end up somewhere better than this steel internet kiosk in O’Hare. The seat is as comfortable as a prison toilet.

    That being said, I once wrote a piece about groovy books to buy. If you could find a librarian these days, they would have a better system, but for now here’s mine.

    ” Groovy books generally fall into six categories: 1) History. 2) Books on theory (any genre). 3) The rare “novel of ideas,” i.e. the novels of Ayn Rand*, Camus, Sartre. 4) Writers worth studying for their literary style, not their storytelling, such as Hemingway, Graham Greene, George Orwell, Nelson Algren, Jack Kerouac, Tom McGuane, Vonnegut, Pynchon, etc. 6) Technically plausible and relevant futurism.

    Pressed for time? Cull this list back to history, theory and the “novel of ideas.” And if you have only one day? Start and end with history. Here’s why: truth, by and large, is much stranger than fiction. (The last tune Rasputin heard was a scratchy gramophone recording of “Yankee Doodle Dandy”. Try to put that in a novel.) This makes horror stories more shocking. Love stories more passionate. Tragedies more poignant. History, in short, holds the world’s best stories.”

    * Just kidding. She once called O Henry the “very apogee of art” more or less.

  • Maybe? No, Not Maybe: The Best Pitcher In The Game

    You don’t believe me? All right, well then maybe you’ll believe William Shakespeare:

    Base men by his endowments are made great.

    —Richard II

    Get it? Base men.

    No shit, Sherlock (or Shylock).

    And then there’s this all-purpose taunt of opposing batters (useful for whenever The Great Santana takes the mound), from Love’s Labor’s Lost:

    Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,

    Thou canst not hit it, my good man.

  • La Libertine for everyone but me

    Libertine_01.jpg

    Yes, my little obsession with Target’s GO International lines persist … I actually liked Patrick Robinson’s boho beachwear better than I suspected I would. I even ended up buying this dress and these shorts – both of which get positive reviews from the likes of me, even if the fabrics leave much to be desired. But the cumulative purchase price of these items was under forty dollars, for crying out loud. What do you expect?

    To answer that question: Not much. On Sunday, Target launches its next line: a bunch of Hamptons/school girl numbers from the usually artsy-punk-and just a lil’ bit prep LA-to-NYC design team known as Libertine. (Their design process usually involves re-cut, screen-printed, and then re-assembled vintage pieces – but not this time around.) I wasn’t too impressed with these pics from the Target pressroom (including that above – which, believe me, is the best of all). But Style.com showed a little love today. And the clothes certainly look a lot cuter, if somewhat cuddly, in the film-fantasy-ad on the Target website. Wait ‘n see, I ‘spose.

  • Lucky Day

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    It’s a luck day, chums, if you know where to look.

    I found a very agreeable Cobb Salad. I think that’s very lucky as some Cobb’s can go sadly wrong: not enough bleu cheese, or old nasty bacon, or odd additions like carrots. The Cobb at French Meadow Bakery is lovely. The bleu cheese is plentiful and fresh, the turkey is nicely roasted and real (not like something pulled off a Lunchables tray), and the bacon is applewood smoked and crispy. It’s all dressed in a soft avocado-lime dressing that sets the mood. Yessir.

    You’ll discover in the neighborhood, as luck would have it, that Common Roots Cafe is now open. Taking over the space that was Soba’s, Common Roots is all freshness and brightness brimming with ethics and a good sense. I was sadly full from my Cobb to enjoy one of the bagels or neat sandwiches, but luckily enough, there was a small, dark chocolate truffle with my name on it. Oh and a slice of walnut banana bread.

    On the way back from the market this morning, I spied a billboard for Miller’s new Chill beer. Having had something called a Chelada on my last night in Denver, I was intrigued. The chelada I had was a beer poured over ice with a lime and salted rim (yes, extra salt please), but others tell me there might be Tobasco added or even Clamato juice to make your beer a chelada. Summer beer drinkers, you may be lucky indeed.