Category: Blog Post

  • Waffability

    As the weather turns wicked, my automotive thoughts turn to something other than the utilitarian SUV. Or even, for that matter, the overweighted blinged out luxurious SUVs of today. My thoughts turn instead to luxury–pure luxury as it was once defined.

    Of course what makes a luxury car truly luxurious is harder to answer in an era when your average Honda rides as quietly as a Rolls Royce of the David Olgilvy era.

    Ah, yes, but have you actually ridden in a Rolls? Or, perhaps, a Mercedes prior to 1993–which, of course, was the last Big Benz engineered to spec, not cost. Both of these cars offered what Henry Royce called “Wafability.” This is a peculiar British affectation for the effortless, silent quality with which a classic Rolls (or Benz for that matter) accelerates.

    While a Rolls Royces in good kit is overpriced and hard to service for the every day driver a twenty year old Benz with a good service history will provide you with the pleasures of an endlessly flat torque curve without trimming down your bank account.

    I cannot say the same for Lexus.

  • No Comment Department

    In the Strib this morning was a photo of a Marine outpost in Iraq. On an interior wall was hand written the following: “America is not at war. The Marine Corps is at war. America is at the Mall.” (Sorry, photo is not online that I can find.)

    Also, on the Strib’s website today, The Most Read and Emailed Story top spot is held by: “Anna Nicole Smith’s death a ‘medical puzzle’”.

  • Parked

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    I have a semi-quiet Saturday ahead of me so I’m a little excited to park myself at the kitchen computer with a steamy cup of French Roast and a slice of pumpkin bread while I catch-up with my food writer reading…

    TONY rules, does he not? And thank goodness Michael Ruhlman allows him space to rant about all the gloriously eeeewy things on the Food Network.

    Have we spoken of Orangette? Or have I been keeping that one for myself? I have to admit I am a little bit in love with Seattle Molly. And she’s one of the good bloggers who actually deserves the book deal she’s got cookin’.

    I’ve been meaning to get the whole story on the Annie’s vs. Kraft mac n’ cheese discussion on Megnut. It’s a hot topic in my house because the kids sneak the Spongebob adorned Kraft boxes into my cart when I’m not looking, and they find Annie’s to be OK, but how do you fight crack-laced Spongebob?

    I am seriously delinquent on my Grub Street patronage.

    The re-design of Chowhound/CHOW mag has had loyalists in a quite a twist. I haven’t had time to really dig.

  • Disturb Your Valentine This Weekend

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    Blue Velvet, 1986. Written and Directed by David Lynch. Starring Kyle MacLachlan, Isabella Rossellini, Dennis Hopper, Laura Dern, Dean Stockwell (freaking unbelievable), Brad Dourif, Hope Lange, George Dickerson, and the original Eraserhead, Jack Nance.

    Now showing in a new 35mm print at the Oak Street Cinema.

    Valentine’s Day is Wednesday next, and it’s customary to celebrate on the exact day, surprising your gal or guy with something sweet on that oh, so sugary day. A bouquet of flowers showing up at work, a package of Russell Stover candies with the edges turned gray from age, a card you picked up at the SuperAmerica, maybe you make dinner or pick it up at Applebee’s. Then again, it might be beneficial to really tear it up on Saturday, to enjoy your festival of romance on the weekend. To celebrate, and celebrate late into the night. Have yourself a nice dinner at some joint and then, at 9:15 walk hand in hand past the inebriated college students wandering from Sally’s or Stub and Herbs and check out the best movie in town this weekend: Blue Velvet.

    Consider: what else are you going to see? You artsies could end up checking out Jude Law going down on Juliette Binoche in the flawed Breaking and Entering and afterwards enjoy a glass of fine wine in Uptown, and ruminate over what you just saw. Flip through the paper, check out the online listings, and there ain’t nothing but movies you should have seen two weeks ago, horror, and some silly romantic comedies that’ll only make you feel as if love is something that comes in a Reddy Whip can.

    Blue Velvet’s the exception. And, oh, is it the fucking exception. Something tells me most people haven’t seen it on the big screen, that giant blue velvet curtain swaying in the opening credits, almost a sexual thing in itself. The colors, the performances, Rossellini’s Dorothy Vallens stark naked and terrifying, a scene that not only will trouble you at night, but troubled the townsfolk where they filmed this masterpiece, and ended Lynch’s ability to film on the streets. Almost wrecked the picture, it did.

    You’re going to be disturbed by Blue Velvet, you and your date. You’re going to go home wondering why your mate took you to this run down theater, what the living hell they were thinking, Dennis Hopper’s Frank sucking down that nitrous, that ear covered with ants, that God-damned white-faced Ben (Dean Stockwell), crooning–

    A candy-colored clown they call the Sandman
    tiptoes to my room every night
    just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
    go to sleep
    everything is all right

    Everything is far from all right, especially when Dennis Hopper’s Frank interrupts the singing to slug the hero and shout “I’ll fuck anything that moves!”

    I’ll spare you the rest of the plot. If you don’t know it, you should, and if you don’t, you’ll be all the more freaked. Which is just what Dr. Phil ordered.

    So why not put some spice into the relationship? To go home, staring at your partner out of the corner of your eye. She seemed a bit turned on by that rough play between Kyle and Isabella… Did he think Dennis Hopper was cool? The guy’s a rapist, for Christ’s sake… What the hell was my boyfriend/girlfriend thinking? Those little tests endear us to one another, my friends. A restless night’s distrust is good for the soul, and sharpens the blade of love.

    Above all, Blue Velvet is a stunner, and a must-see on the big screen, where Frank and Jeffrey and Sandy and Dorothy all loom larger than life, and stomp merrily into your nightmares. Nightmares are good–they make you curl up in the late hours with your loved one. They make you appreciate the waking hours, appreciate the familiar warm touch of your spouse’s back. What other movie will help you to appreciate that special someone like Blue Velvet?

  • What Are the Odds?

    OK, a quick tale of serendipity.

    One of the chores of covering TV and media for the St. Paul Pioneer Press was attending the bi-annual Television Critics Association press tours in Los Angeles. As routines go, Was it better than sitting in Minnesota writing giddy featurettes about, “Joe Millionare”? Yes. Were there hundreds of more interesting and amusing things I could think of doing with my clothes on? Definitely. But it had its moments. A lot of them, actually. Most involved cliches and cocktails, both served cold, and in chest-brushing proximity to someone famous for being on television.

    That was the scheduled gig. But being a model employee, I supplemented the press tour’s faux intimate schmoozing with reality TV producers and their briefly famous girlfriends with other stories from elsewhere around LA … which meant a hell of a lot of driving around in a rental car.

    So one day five years ago, over in Westwood by UCLA, if I remember right, I was listening to some self-consciously urbane rock critic on MPR’s Pasadena-based public station, KPCC. The guy was ga ga over the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ new CD, “By the Way”. “Mature”, “sophisticated”, “playful” and “adventuresome” were a few of the gush buttons he pushed.

    “Cool,” I thought. “I’ll get me one.” Even though it was LA, where the quality of the rest of your week can depend on paying close attention to traffic radio and the consequences of the latest big rig flipped over and blocking some major artery, I decided I needed some fresh, quality tunes.

    “By the Way” lived up to the hype. I played it constantly. Especially a cut titled, “Don’t Forget Me”, a kind of junkie’s lament, in which I could see, vividly, Flea and Anthony Kiedis writhing in full, imploded LA rock doper glory.

    Unfortunately, when the press tour’s siege of the Ritz Carlton Huntington finally ended, the last cocktail was sipped, the last transcript tucked in my computer bag and the last starlet cleavage disappeared down the hotel driveway, I flew home and left, “By the Way”, in the dashboard of the rental unit.

    Bummer. But, being a grossly overpaid union journalist, I had a friend of my kid’s burn me a new copy.

    Flash forward to a couple Fridays ago. Tobie’s gas station, Hinckley, Minnesota. A regular pit stop on the road north to the Lambert Fortress of Solitude. Powdered lemon bismarks? Check. Duluth News Tribune? Check. USA Today? Um, Ok. Check. Weekly World News? Anything this week on Bat Boy schtupping Hillary Clinton? No? Forget it.

    An hour later I’m sprawled out on the sofa, fire crackling, adult beverage poured and poised, leafing through USA Today. A lot of lame pre-Super Bowl “coverage”. Like there’s anything we don’t know and haven’t been told a million times about Peyton Manning. Why do they bother? So I turn to the Life section and … hmmm … a feature piece on the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Cool. Seems they’re touring with Gnarls Barkley. Cool. Seems the two bands sort of discovered kindred souls in each other. Cool.

    The story goes on and eventually gets to some quotes from Danger Mouse, a.k.a. Brian Burton, one-half of the Barkleys.

    At this point I quote from the USA Today story:

    ….. Burton, who was born in New York and schooled in Georgia, resides in Los Angeles in part because of the Peppers.

    “I was living in London and came out to California to do some recording,” Burton recalls. “I rented a car and somebody had left their By the Way CD in the car. I put that CD in and had it in there for the whole week. When I got back to London, it was freezing and raining. I put that record in and knew it was time to move to California.”

    The adult beverage remained on “poise” for a moment. I re-read the paragraph. And then I asked myself, “What are the odds?”

    How many people left “By the Way” in a rental car in LA in 2002? Ten? Twenty? One?

    Then, just for laughs, what are the odds Danger Mouse would recall that particular incident for the USA Today writer … who decided it was interesting enough to put in his story … and it survived editing … and I … who may possibly have once owned that particular CD … picked up a copy of USA Today … like I do maybe every two weeks, at the most … and on that night read an A&E feature instead of just the usual politics and football coverage?

    The odds are what?

    Pals I’ve told this story to invariably say, “Oh, you’ve got to write them! Gnarls Barkley! And tell them.” Tell them what? That I want my CD back?

    I say, “Invariably”, because of one buddy whose reaction was, “Sue ’em!”

    Huh? “Yeah. See, they’re playing together because of you. Demand a cut of the tour profits!”

    Show biz. Brings the best out in everyone.

  • Time for a Few Basic Questions

    Following up on the recent, “New Rules for Journalists” post via Dan Froomkin and the Nieman Center, (see below), here’s an excellent set of questions newsroom managers ought to be asked relative to their performance prior to “Shock and Awe”.

    By Gilbert Cranberg
    cranberg@verizon.net

    As the war in Iraq nears its fourth anniversary, and with no end in sight, Americans are owed explanations. The Senate Intelligence Committee has promised a report on whether the Bush administration misrepresented intelligence to justify the war against Iraq. An explanation is due also for how the U.S. press helped pave the way for war. An independent and thorough inquiry of pre-war press coverage would be a public service. Not least of the beneficiaries would be the press itself, which could be helped to understand its behavior and avoid a replay.

    Better a study by outsiders than by insiders. Besides, journalism groups show no appetite for self-examination. Nor would a study by the press about the press have credibility. Now and then a news organization has published a mea culpa about its Iraq coverage, but isolated admissions of error are no substitute for comprehensive study.

    The fundamental question: Why did the press as a whole fail to question sufficiently the administration’s case for war?

    More specifically:

    Q. Why did the Knight Ridder Washington Bureau’s “against-the grain reporting�? during the build-up to war receive such “disappointing play,�? in the words of its former bureau chief?

    Q. Why did the press generally fail to pay more attention to the bureau’s ground-breaking coverage?

    Q. Why, on the eve of war, did the Washington Post’s executive editor reject a story by Walter Pincus, its experienced and knowledgeable national security reporter, that questioned administration claims of hidden Iraqi weapons and why, when the editor reconsidered, the story ran on Page 17?

    Q. Why did the Post, to the “dismay�? of the paper’s ombudsman, bury in the back pages or miss stories that challenged the administration’s version of events? Or, as Pincus complained, why did Post editors go “through a whole phase in which they didn’t put things on the front page that would make a difference�? while, from August 2002 to the start of the war in March 2003, did the Post, according to its press critic, Howard Kurtz, publish “more than 140 front-page stories that focused heavily on administration rhetoric against Iraq�??

    Q. Why did Michael Massing’s critique of Iraq-war coverage, in the New York Review of Books, conclude that “The Post was not alone. The nearer the war drew, and the more determined the administration seemed to wage it, the less editors were willing to ask tough questions. The occasional critical stories that did appear were…tucked well out of sight.�?

    Q. Why did the New York Times and others parrot administration claims about Iraq’s acquisition of aluminum tubes for nuclear weapons when independent experts were readily available to debunk the claims?

    Q. Why did the Times’s Thomas E. Friedman and other foreign affairs specialists, who should have known better, join the “let’s-go-to-war�? chorus?

    Q. Why was a report by the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace accusing the administration of misusing intelligence by misrepresenting and distorting it given two paragraphs in the Times and 700 words in the Post (but deep inside), with neither story citing the report’s reference to distorted and misrepresented intelligence?

    Q. Why did Colin Powell’s pivotal presentation to the United Nations receive immediate and overwhelming press approval despite its evident weaknesses and even fabrications?

    Q. Why did the British press, unlike its American counterpart, critically dissect the speech and regard it with scorn?

    Q. Why did the Associated Press wait six months, when the body count began to rise, to distribute a major piece by AP’s Charles Hanley challenging Powell’s evidence and why did Hanley say how frustrating it had been until then to break through the self-censorship imposed by his editors on negative news about Iraq?

    With Congress jump starting long-overdue hearings on this disaster it would do the credibility of the mainstream media a world of good if it examined its’ work, or consented to an examination by informed critics … in an open and public way.

  • The Sad and Lonesome Story of What's His Name

    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.

  • Always Wrong and Always Right

    There is an illuminating little spat going on between Jeff Cohen, a former producer for MSNBC and one of the founders of Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting (FAIR), the lefty media site and Jonah Goldberg, the syndicated right-wing columnist. (Goldberg’s mother is Lucianne Goldberg, the arch-conservative who convinced Linda Tripp there was money to be made in doing her patriotic duty by taping her “its just us girls” chats with Monica Lewinsky. The Republic owes the Goldbergs an immense debt.)

    There is no doubt that Goldberg bet $1000 that Iraq would not fall into a civil war, would have a viable constitution and that in two years time a majority of Iraqis and Americans would agree the war was worth it. There is also no doubt that Goldberg, like Bill Kristol of The Weekly Standard (and thousands of hours of cable news air time) and so many other pundit-hawks have been stunningly wrong about almost everything they’ve ever said about Iraq. But that never puts a dent in their standing with “balance”-driven mainstream media.

    And, sadly, there is no doubt whatsoever that mainstream newspapers like our Star Tribune will continue running Goldberg’s stuff out of a misplaced sense of balance, I guess. You know, a little Molly Ivins (RIP), who was accurate on damned near everything she said, counterbalanced by the Jonah Goldbergs of the pundit-sphere, reliably wrong about everything that escapes their brain.

    But all that withstanding, by refusing to pay on his bet, Goldberg looks about as no-class as that Chicago Bears player who stiffed the cable access schlub on the training camp promise to get the guy tickets if the Bears made the Super Bowl. The way the modern media game is SUPPOSED to go is: You shoot your mouth off and win, and your publicist gets to hype it all over the planet. You’re a hero for 15 seconds. But … if you shoot your mouth off and lose, you pay up, make a joke and insist you’ll get even tomorrow … but YOU PAY UP.

    If you don’t pay up and admit defeat/error like a man, you get righteously hounded — “tortured” isn’t too cruel a word — in the shiny, bright accountability chamber of the world wide web.

    Goldberg is of course a putz. The kind of guy who is probably always in the john when the check comes. But what’s the Tribune Syndicate’s excuse for not paying the $1000 for him? Cohen’s description of the Tribune vulture-culture is spot on. They’ve got huge credibility problems everywhere they look. $1000 to a charity could buy a few hundred bytes of good will.

    But the larger question is, “What responsible purpose are you — mainstream media institution — serving by continuing to run alleged ‘think pieces’ by people whose thinking has been proven to be consistently flawed and erroneous? ‘Both sides of the debate’, is one weak excuse, and sure, everyone is wrong occasionally. But don’t you have a higher responsibility to the truth than continuing to run stuff that the judgment of time has rendered so conclusively foul?”

  • Feelin' Fishy

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    Are you a land lubber or a sea lubber? Or do you actively lub both, as I do?

    Well, according to the National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) even though there was a slight decrease in seafood consumption in 2005, we spent $65.2 billion on seafood products, a $3 billion rise over 2004.

    We were hungry enough to consume 4.8 billion pounds of seafood in ’05, and are the third largest consumers, behind China and Japan, of course.

    Per person, the average amount eaten over the year was 16.2 pounds, and 25% of that was shrimp! Shrimp is king, and ’05 exports reached a 10 year high of 95.5 million pounds.

    Canned tuna consumption dropped a touch, which is too bad because I’m beginning to expand my horizons on canned tuna, and what can be wrought from a beautiful canned fish.

    I love the NOAA. The agency began 200 years ago with the establishment of the Survey of the Coast by Thomas Jefferson in 1807. With the formation of the Weather Bureau and the Commission of Fish and Fisheries in the 1870’s, plenty of science that we know today began with the NOAA. Plus, whenever there’s a hurricane, they have the coolest pictures.

    And now I’m hungry for fish tonight. So I might thaw some scallops I have in the freezer if I’m feeling lazy, but more likely I’ll pop down to Coastal and see what looks good. A bright and sharp tuna ceviche might be just the ticket to cut through the ridiculous perma-chill.

  • Fashion Weak

    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?