Another movie night… On one hand, we have the Women’s Human Rights Film Series, which provides a smattering of documentaries about the various plights of women… And, on the other hand (the far other), we have rumor of a documentary about snuff films airing at IFP’s Cinema Lounge tonight… Another bet is 49 Up, a project that’s screening at Lagoon (through tomorrow). The premise is that a group of British filmmakers started, 42 years ago, with a group of seven-year-old boys ‘n girls. And they’ve interviewed ’em every seven years since.
Category: Blog Post
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Do I Repeat Myself? Very Well, Then, I Repeat Myself
All right, everybody get in line and listen up. I want you fellas to get some shut-eye so we can all be up and ready to hump it at first light. We’ll be traveling seven miles to the east over rugged terrain. Word has it we might be in for some heavy weather as well, so pack accordingly.
We’ll have six men to a piano, and each of these pianos is worth more than $50,000, so I want to make good and damn sure that everyone in this room understands the importance of taking all the care and precaution necessary to insure the safe delivery of every single piano in our possession.
I don’t need to tell you that nobody has ever carried a piano –let alone nine pianos– over this mountain, and I’m not about to stand here and sugarcoat the serious dangers and risks involved in this operation. Every one of you has endured months of grueling training, and I wouldn’t send you out there if I didn’t have absolute confidence in your ability to bring this difficult mission to a successful conclusion.
Our most recent intelligence suggests that we can expect fierce if sporadic resistance from the local guerrillas. These people resent the incursion of very expensive pianos into their territory; most of them have never seen a piano in their lives, and the value of these instruments is more than most of these folks will make in their lifetimes. We can expect them to give us everything they have. I don’t want anyone going into this with a false sense of security just because these local characters don’t have much more than rocks and sticks and old surplus Daisy rifles to defend themselves with.
I’ll remind you that when the British tried to bring a piano over this mountain back in the 1950s –and this was one piano, mind you– they were badly routed and the piano was destroyed and burned by the natives.
I expect nothing less than one hundred percent success from this mission. I want you to defend these pianos with everything at your disposal, and, well, boys, you know what they say about making an omelet. Be vigilant out there, and expect a tough battle.
And let’s all keep in mind what we’re up to here: these are poor, backwards people, and they’ve been drumming on rocks since the stone ages. They can’t even begin to imagine the gift we’re bringing them. We’re gonna give these miserable savages music, and you can be damn sure that even if we have to shove it down their throats they’re going to thank us for it one day.
Lights out, boys. Tomorrow morning let’s make the folks back home proud.
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In thrust you will trust
I was asked to contribute to this blog due to a fear that cars are losing their manliness.
Before you go all Angela Dworkin on me here let me make it clear that women can be manly. In fact, I know many women who are far more manly than men, the late Ms. Dworkin included. The most manly woman in history may well be CoCo Channel who said that in life there is work and then there is “passion” and no other time.
Therefore when people talk about manly cars they are really talking about automobiles that are passionately engineered. They are cars that remain slightly irresponsible. They are describing cars that if properly anthromophosized would eschew “Mommy Politics” and probably vote for the late Harry Browne.
The manly car is governed excusively by the laws of locomotion. Not convention (unless to defy it). And never by an opinion greater than than one.
If you have ridden in a Countach, for example, you cannot even see the car in back of you (where other cars will remain). If you have ridden shotgun in a “real street” Chevelle on a drag strip, you will see nothing, except, perhaps, God.
Best of all, with hybrid technology you can now drive a hybrid as fast as a petrol-powered vehicle with far more fuel efficiency. Lexus is ahead of the curve on this one with their 430 HT. While the car lacks a visceral punch, it shows what can be done. Fortunately Carrol Shelby, creator of the most manly car in history (that would be the 427 Cobra), is working on a similar type of car.
Which all leads me to say that people can lose their fears about the manly car being led to extinction. Just keep reading The Road Rake, have faith, and remember that in thurst you must trust.
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An SUV?
Ford is essentially a truck company. That is why in spite of calling 2005 “The Year of the Car” they could not muster much more than a reskinning of the Volvo 80 platform to create the unpowered, boring as butter Five Hundred Series (which have sold poorly).
Sadly, Ford of Europe manufactures cars that people want–namely the new Focus ST. But for now, in America, its all trucks.
On the other hand, if you really care about their contribution to our economy and the like, then you might appreciate the fact that Ford can spin out the best truck concepts (at least) around. If you really, really care, then write to them and tell them to produce the following truck–The Super Chief. I am told it is more economical than Neil Young’s bio-diesel powered Hummer and consumes enough steel to put Cleveland and Youngstown back on the map.
P.S. The interior is made from a solid piece of wood. Think land yacht. Why not?
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Feelin' Philly
Dateline: Philadelphia
I’m here in the City of Brotherly Love for a few days and I have to say this is clearly a food town. Maybe not a food town like San Fran or New York where it’s almost a tourist trade, but more like a food town full of serious eaters.
I’m not going to weigh in on the whole Philly Cheese Steak, Pat’s vs. Gino’s, thing yet. That’s lunch tomorrow.
What I do love is the proliferation of “hot trucks” on every corner. Hot egg and sausage sandwiches, Italian grinders, sausage and peppers all nicely wrapped in foil for easy noshing as you walk by Independence Hall or check out the Franklin Museum.
And the Philly pretzel will be my thickening downfall. Doughy, salty, hot, somehow better than the weak and plastic-like knots in New York that always smell burned.
Stephen Starr is the local restaurant luminary, owning a small empire that includes Buddakan which he has recently exported to NYC. Cocktails at The Continental Midtown were fun and sassy, but small. A quick bite at Jones was satisfying and comfortable, but still innovative (potato pancakes, crispy calamari salad). Next: Morimoto and sushi love.
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Don't take your good health for granted…
More fodder from the chick who’s too sick to do nuthin’: (Ah, there’s not much going on today anyhow…) another fantastic concert from the Minnesota Sur Seine Festival, a show that’s a little tripped up thanks to some problems de la Visa, and perhaps the Art of Horror exhibition at Altered Aesthetics. Because, who doesn’t love a Halloween-themed happening or two?
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Conversations Real and Imagined: Brushes With Fame (Minnesota Stargazing Edition)!
Detail from “Brushes With Fame!” by Steve Willis (scroll down link for bio).
So I saw Donald Sutherland wandering down Lake Street one night, and I’m thinkin’, what the hell’s this guy doin’ wandering down whore alley? Get this, so I yell out “Hey Donald, lookin’ for Klute?” What? I thought the whore was the Klute? He’s Klute? Son of a bitch, man I sounded like an idiot…
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We bought this kitten, you see, this little thing, cute as a button, and my wife, she goes “Let’s name it Tippi!” And I said, “No way am I gonna name a kitten after a girl I dated.” And my wife goes, “What do you mean?” And I said, and not without some pride, “Well, you know I dated Tippi Hedren back when I was in Junior High.” And she goes, “No!” And I said, “You bet.”
So the cat’s name is Boots.
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So I guess Meryl didn’t like our f—kin’ pizza. Sat right there and gave her and her whole f—king family a large pie for free. F—king ingrate.
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I was telling Matt, that’s Matt Damon you understand, that the only way to drink a boilermaker is to drop the shot glass into the beer. And I told him that Old Grand-Dad used to be the best, in part because it had that somewhat… astringent aftertaste that one associates with the art of making boilers. I’ve drunk my share of Old Grand-Dad, but never with someone like Damon, of course. You can tell celebrity, even in a darkened tavern, my boy. It’s the teeth. They glow. Like white inside a room lit by a black-light bulb. Their celebrity radiates off their teeth, no matter how awful they’re supposed to appear.
Now, per our agreement: buy me a double of Maker’s Mark. It was worth it, no?
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Ned Beatty came in here to get a tuna sandwich. I was, like, my God, it’s Ned Beatty. And he was pretty cool. He was impressed that I liked him in Nashville. But then I lean forward and go, “So Ned, tell me–” And he cuts me off. “Don’t!” is all he said. “But I’m just curious,” I said.
“Forget it,” he tells me. The guy’s old, but he’s lookin’ mean.
But it’s the only time in my life when I’m going to talk with Ned Beatty, right, so I’m like, “Ned, just tell me about Deliverance, man. I mean–” And he walks right out, leaves his tuna sandwich behind, which he’s paid for. Crazy.
I enjoyed that sandwich, let me tell you.
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I saw Amy Adams in “Brigadoon”, which I hate, and all I remember is that this guy said afterward, “Amy, you’re going to get an Oscar someday.” And I thought, oh, yeah, for what, “Brigadoon?” Well, technically, she still hasn’t won a damn Oscar.
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I knew a guy who was a sign-painter for North Country. Does that count?
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Ford Fairlane Rides again
Yo, the namesake of this cinematic masterpiece has been resurrected. The “Fairlane” nameplate will return as a 2007 Ford SUV with sheet metal slicker than fistful of Alberto VO5. A word of caution to Ford, however, if the interior receives the typical tupperware treatment it will bomb like the Dice Man.
(I’ll be sending you pictures that I can confirm are production-ready.)
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Sick weather fare
Today, the Friends of the Minneapolis Public Library embark on a film series to explore the life and influence of Frankenstein director James Whale. Use it to tide you over since you missed last week’s screenings of Infamous… Me, I’ll be at home, still trying to nurse this crud-of-a-cold.
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Ouch…
Good film criticism is hard to find in this world, but if you want to read a really great review of a really great film check out Anthony Lane’s awesome take on Infamous. My only complaint is that it–the review–is too short. Scroll down past his wacky look at Marie Antoinette, which I’ll be seeing this afternoon, no doubt with Lane’s marzipan prose weighing heavily on my mind…