Category: Blog Post

  • He Had Many Fine Qualities As Well, But Yes…

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    Everything requires careful consideration if one is to understand it. In ancient times, as I recollect, people often ate human beings, but I am rather hazy about it. I tried to look this up, but my history has no chronology, and scrawled all over each page are the words: ‘virtue’ and ‘morality.’ Since I could not sleep anyway, I read intently half the night, until I began to see words between the lines, the whole book being filled with the two words –‘Eat People.’

    –Lu Hsun, “Diary of a Madman”

    There are cases at the present time in which the practice of using human flesh for food is customary on a large and systematic scale. On the island of New Britain human flesh is sold in shops as butcher’s meat is sold among us. In at least some of the Solomon Islands victims (preferably women) are fattened for a feast, like pigs.


    –William Graham Sumner, Folkways

    I have in my possession a song of one of these prisoners, which contains this challenge: that all come boldly and gather to dine of him, for they will be eating at the same time of their own fathers and grandfathers who have served to feed and nourish his body. ‘These muscles, this flesh and these veins are yours, poor fools that you are; you do not see that the substance of your ancestors’ limbs is still contained in them; but savor them well and you will taste the flavor of your own flesh.’

    –Montaigne, “On Cannibals”

    One unusual feature of Hangzhou in that period (the Song Dynasty) is that there were establishments that served human flesh. That of women, old men, young girls, and children was served in separate dishes, since each had its own distinctive taste. The food in general was referred to as ‘two-legged mutton.’

    –Alasdair Clayre, The Heart of the Dragon

    None of the tribes of West Africa eat human flesh, but the interior tribes eat any corpse regardless of the cause of death. Families hesitate to eat their own dead, but they sell or exchange them for the dead of other families.

    –Sumner, Folkways

    I don’t intend to stand here before you and attempt to deny that my client did, in fact, cook children and eat them. The preponderance of evidence on this point is clear and overwhelming, and though the prosecution has chosen –for what I would maintain are purely the purposes of pandering to public outrage– to emphasize the cooking and eating of children, it should be noted that my client has also acknowledged that he cooked and ate many others as well –many, many others, as you have heard.

    He has cooked and eaten adults –the able-bodied, the elderly and infirm– as well as children. And while I cannot defend my client’s actions, I will attempt to show that, as offensive as this behavior may well be, and perhaps rightfully should be, to our modern sensibilities, it was not, in fact, all that long ago that the predilection for human meat was common in many parts of the world.

    Indeed, there are reports from the field of anthropology that indicate that this practice is still being carried out in some areas of the globe today.

    As such I would maintain that my client’s crime is the product of a rare atavistic condition, and purely genetic in nature; you have heard evidence that the practice of the cooking and eating of children was long a tradition in my client’s family. For many generations his family has largely subsisted on human flesh.

    That said, we make no excuses in pleading for your leniency. My client takes full responsibility for behavior which doubtless strikes many of you as reprehensible, yet given his otherwise exemplary conduct –he has raised four productive children of his own that he did not cook and eat, and who do not themselves cook and eat children– and his years of political service to his country, I would ask that you recognize his potential for full reform in considering his sentence.

    It is my belief that a moderate prison term, during which my client would be subjected to a strenuous program of dietary reeducation, is in society’s best interest, and will insure that he is eventually and successfully reintroduced in full standing to the human community, where his leadership skills and winning charisma can once again be utilized for the greater good and the benefit of his many political constituents.

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  • Two holiday shows

    If you’re managing to keep in the holiday spirit, you might want to know about that a couple promising Christmas shows open tonight. Both are reprises. There’s Ballet of the Dolls’s irreverent take on The Nutcracker, which bears the telling subhead (Not So) Suite. This plays at the Ritz. There’s also The Seven Poor Travellers, local actor/writer Charlie Bethel’s one-man adaptation of Charles Dickens’s short story, which plays at Illusion Theater. I saw it last year, and was rather enchanted by the generous spirit of the thing, which still managed, against all odds, to avoid too much earnestness or sap. (Sentimentality is a constant criticism hurled at Dickens. But in this instance I don’t find that to be the case.) It’s thick on words though, so it should only be considered by fierce lovers of florid Victorian prose. I can’t seem to locate the year-old freelance review I wrote about the show for the St. Paul Pioneer Press. But I do remember quoting something I overheard in the lobby later that evening: “That was a perpetual language machine,” remarked a young, and probably fairly hung-over, theatergoer. But even a perpetual language machine can be endured when it’s only an hour long.

  • Bacon Plus One

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    like it even needs embellishment…

    I thought I knew what I would make for those little holiday gift bundles of hand-made goodies that simply must be handed out.

    But now that I know of the existence of chicken fried bacon, I might have to re-think.

    WARNING: Don’t be surprised by the dizziness and dull ache in your chest, it’s merely a heady mix of temptation and revulsion.

  • The inside track on Pedro Almodovar's weird world

    Tonight, the Lagoon Cinema is hosting a free, advance screening of Volver, Pedro Almodovar’s latest film starring Penelope Cruz. I haven’t seen it yet, so I can’t offer my personal endorsement. However, our much-trusted film guy, Peter Schilling, seems to like it. On the other hand, plenty of critics have panned the thing, as is often the case with Almodovar’s work. For example, I did overhear a remark made by another prominent local film critic. (I was eavesdropping on his conversation with Landmark Cinema’s local PR guy.) His basic assessment was a confused “What?!”

    In any case, you’ll need a pass to make good on these free tickets. According to an ad in our December issue, passes are available at Puerta Azul, a restaurant in St. Paul. But we here at Rake Media Worldwide are big fans of Almodovar as well, and so we happen to have a stash at our front desk–while supplies last. You might quietly enter our suite, tell the receptionist what you’re up to, and swiftly take one away.

  • An Inconvenience, Really, Is What It Is

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    I have a drain where my brain ought to be. Everything that comes into my head runs straight down into my stomach, where it gets churned into mulch. The drain is a rickety thing. When I shake my head I can hear the drain rattling around in my skull. If I sleep on my side I can feel it fluttering up against my ear whenever I snore.

    The drain puts me in a bit of pickle, particularly as I have urgent work to do, work that requires some careful thought.

    The problem is this: I built a duck, and now I need to create some sort of pond in a hurry or I fear the duck will die. I’ve been keeping it in the kitchen sink for the time being, as I already have a red-headed mermaid living in my bathtub and she’s threatened to eat the duck if it tries to encroach on her space.

    The mermaid’s been living in the tub for almost a month now, after escaping from a shampoo bottle that I dropped while taking a shower. I guess I’d have to describe the mermaid as malevolent, or at the very least ill-tempered, at the very least ornery as all get out. It’s possible, I’ve decided, that she has a bit of dragon or sea serpent in her, based on her generally aggressive manner and the amount of time she spends thrashing around in there and roaring imprecations. She creates so much steam that some days it feels like I’m living in the clouds, and I’ve grown so afraid of her that I’ve taken to pissing in the sink down in the laundry room.

    I’ve thought about killing the mermaid somehow, but every time the idea starts to take shape in my head it gets gurgled straight away down the drain.

  • Pumphouse Gift

    Didja know that Pumphouse Creamery has decided to stay open all year long?

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    Come on, I know that baby it’s cold outside, but what’s your deal with not eating ice cream in the winter?

    Pumpkin ice cream, oatmeal cookie ice cream, Guiness ice cream, for godness sake, are all appropriate post-feast options.

    Plus, HELLO FORTY DEGREES! Give me a break, you know you considered wearing shorts on Sunday so go. Just go.

  • Car movies (a long blog tm)

    Back in my day, you know, before tabbed websites and wikis, parents generally dreaded the long road trip. Today they seem to dread the lack of communication with their IPODed, vidiotic little brats (not recognizing their complicity in the process).

    I comment about cars. I have no idea what it takes to be a parent. I do know, however, that most parents rarely consider the idea of watching a video by themselves while driving long distances. Did you realize, for example, that the navigation screen on your Toyota Prius can also become a swell DVD player for your bored spousal passenger?

    Yes, you too can watch movies in the car. If you read this blog then you can already go to IMDB and search for the latest Hollywood titles to entertain yourself. I will therefore go back to an earlier mindset and consider a few picks that the late, great Pauline Kael would have approved for long car journeys. I think I will start with Japanese flim (to keep it exotic while you drive across Nebraska.)

    Akira Kurosawa is often the first and last name that comes up when you fall into conversation about Japanese film. The same could be said about Sajiyt Ray (sp?) and Indian film. But why watch what everyone else watches? If you want exotic, try this film: Onibaba (available from The Criterion collection).

    Onibaba was made in 1964. It is a film made after a Buddhist fable about chastity and the passions that arise over sex. If this sounds boring, then I’ll provide the Cliff notes here.

    An old lady and a much younger one live in a hut in the mid-1300s. The two women attack lost and wounded samurai then kill them and make a living by selling what they steal. That’s the simple story.

    The entire movie is shot in what seems to be an endless grassy marsh. The grasses sway back and forth througout the film as the story unfolds to symbolize rage, passion, confusion and so on.

    Once the women have killed the samurai they throw the corpses down a large open hole in the middle of the swaying marsh. Obviously the large open hole symbolizes all kinds of things. It is an orofice, and I’ll leave it at that.

    Early in the film a neighbor returns from the war. Things get interesting when the neighbor tells the two women that he saw the younger woman’s husband die in the war over a scuttle with bandits. The viewer questions why the neighbor lived to tell the story, but that’s all forgotten once the younger woman develops an interest in the man. The older woman tries to stop her but fails.

    Soon the younger woman is running through the marshes every night to the hut of the neighbor to make boom boom. The older woman becomes distraught by this and soon tries to offers herself to the neighbor only to be rejected (great scene). This pisses her off so much that the the older woman resorts to scaring the younger woman into chastity. The old woman steals a mask from another samurai that she kills and taunts the younger girl on her nightime runs.

    Soon all hell breaks loose. The swaying grasses, the open hole, and the stark, naked shots of the actors all combine to create wicked, palpable tension. This effect is heightened by a soundtrack that mixes the mating sounds of pigeons with Kabuki drums and urestrained saxophone (yeah, all back in 1964).

    More stuff happens, but I hope you get some feel for the picture. Its not an easy flim to watch, but it is allegorical and unforgettable. Its also not that long. Which is something I cannot say for many of the flims Kurosawa was making during this period.*

    * The best of which is The Bad Sleep Well. Based on an Ed McBain novel–like most of his early 60s films.

  • Degenerate Music

    Today’s my 31st birthday. If I weren’t already set to enjoy a home-cooked dinner, as made by my fabulous boyfriend, and then drinks-upon-drinks with my closest friends, I’d probably want to spend the evening at Walker Community Church, where I’d detail and repent the very many sins I’ve committed this past year. Just Kidding! This is a Methodist Church, my friends. I don’t believe they deal in reconciliation. It also happens to be the venue for Nautilus Music-Theatre’s latest Rough Cuts concert. Tonight’s program of “Twentieth Century Degenerate Music,” as sung by Christina Baldwin, JP Fitzgibbons, and other such fine, classically-trained singers, isn’t limited to that which was deemed inappropriate by the Nazi government. (This, I believe, was the original definition of the term “degenerate music.”) The bill includes disgusting, offensive, and just irritating tunes by Marc Blitzstein, who composed the great depression-era musical, The Cradle Will Rock, as well as Bob Dylan, Randy Newman, Kurt Weill, and Frank Zappa. Showtime is 7:30 p.m.; call 651-298-9913 to make reservations yours.

  • Lucifer and the First Noel

    It’s the rare Monday night on which a worthwhile theater production takes place. The not-often seen (not often anymore) Open Eye Figure Theatre will present its version of The Nativity Story–and the Virgin Mary promises to be a lot punchier than in Catherine Hardwicke’s playing-it-safe film version. Another thing to note about the show: although this telling of the Christmas is done from the perspective of Lucifer, rest assured that it’s quite kid-friendly. It was written and is directed by ace puppeteer and Open Eye artistic director Michael Sommers, which means it’s visually interesting. It stars such great performers at writer/performer Kevin Kling, Jeune Lune regular Sarah Agnew, and the not-often-seen-anymore, but delightful, Luverne Seifert. There’s even a backup brass band. The Holiday Pageant plays tonight and tonight only at the Pantages Theater. See the Pantages website for more information.

  • Ghosts, Rejoicing

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    Them poor sick creatures going up the street at two in the morning, dancing with bells on their shoes, wailing and baring their broken teeth at the moon, just throwing them heads back and shaking them devil sticks. It’s a racket, I can’t say it isn’t, but I wouldn’t go so far as some of the others and say there’s anything terrifying about the spectacle. Doris, the woman across the street –so dramatic– tells the man from the television news, “It makes the hair stand up on my arms.”

    No, them ghosts or whatever they is don’t scare me. Pitiful, is all it is. They’re all so skinny and bat-shit loony that I can’t imagine they could hurt a fly. I wish they’d keep more reasonable hours if they’re intent on making a public fuss every other week, but that’s not the nature of their business, I guess. They’re late-nighters. Always was.

    They say drugs took most of them, or guns in the hands of wicked imbeciles broke-down-crazy on drugs. We see a lot of that around here. We’ve been seeing a lot of that for quite some time. First they turn themselves into poor, helpless children or animals, then savages, and then, finally, ghosts.

    Up at Our Lady they do the best they can. They bury the poor creatures in the cemetery for folks without money, but trouble is the sisters can’t keep ’em buried. They crawl their way back out of them holes and go jingling’ and devil-stickin’ up and down all the old streets where they was children once upon a time.

    Just last week I seen one of ’em out in my backyard, flopped on his back and giggling like a wild boy. He was making an angel in the snow.