The Rake Magazine

Category: Blog Post

  • I'm Baaaaaaaack…

    Well, I am back from my cruise on the Mexican Riveria with my in-laws, and this vacation made my Top 5 for A LOT of reasons: beautiful weather, zip lining, and not one fight. Ok, well, maybe just ONE…

    I was a little nervous about going on this trip, because I had already decided — after "enjoying" a visit now and then to a casino — that it is in my best interest not to gamble. The first night at sea, there it was: THE CASINO, through which I had to travel for all my family meals. I knew I was in trouble!

    This whole damn thing started when I was only around 10 years old. During a family trip to Lake Tahoe, I wandered into a casino and hid in a corner to watch the adults play. I wanted in. So I paged Mr. M with an emergency phone call and told Mr. M to please put my five dollar bill down on lucky 17 at the roulette table.

    The pit bosses chased me out, of course, but Mr. M remained agreeable. I waited patiently in the hotel room to find out if my number came up.

    Well… Mr. M had been in the midst of a serious winning streak, and to be perfectly honest, my call threw his whole game off. So, after what seemed like an hour, Mr. M came up to my room and handed me back my five dollar bill, along with another five dollars in exchange for my promise to never page him again without a real emergency. He also asked that I stay in the hotel room until the adults were back and warned me NOT to spend my profit but to SAVE it for a rainy day.

    To ensure that I would not lose my original $5, he gave them to me in the form of a chip, which I, of course, could not cash in at the casino.

    When the coast was clear, I was off to the hotel gift shop to see what I could get with my five dollar chip and my new-found wealth of five bucks cash. And there they were, my VERY first PURCHASE, two of the biggest dice I had ever seen.

    I walked up to the cashier and purchased the big dice. When I tried to use the
    chip to buy another pair for my best friend Annie, the lady pointed out that I was not an adult so I could not use that five dollar chip. Well, I had tried… I ran back to the room with my giant dice and my five dollar chip.

    When Mr. M walked in the room — still not too thrilled with my "emergency page" — he told me to give him back the five dollar chip and my five bucks cash, and that he would hold it for me until the trip was over.


    Shit! What do I say?

    All I could think to say was that I had lost the cash, but that I still had the chip.

    "How could you lose $5 sitting in a hotel room?” he asked.

    With my best poker face I told him that I went down the hall to get some ice and somehow lost the bill. He knew I was lying, and I could tell, but I was determined to get home with my new big dice, which I had hidden in my luggage.

    Back in the comfort of my own home, settled into my bed, I finally took out the big red dice and felt horrible! Back and fourth in my head I tried to figure out how I could explain myself to — you guessed it — Mr. M,
    a.k.a. My Father, to whom I had lied. All I wanted was to be like all of
    the hot shot adults.

    At about 2 o’clock in the morning, after a lot of tossing and turning, I
    went into my parents room and fessed up about the whole thing. But rather than yelling and screaming at me, my parents simply asked me to please learn from the experience and understand that gambling is very serious and that is why it is not legal until you are AN ADULT.

    I learned all right, but when I flew to Las Vegas for the first time with my husband — already Legal, of course — I put a dollar into the first slot machine I saw in the airport after we landed and WON a jackpot.

    Who wins jackpots at the airport? Apparently, this genetic lottery
    winner.

    After years of being ridiculously lucky in casinos, however, my time was up.

    So… back to why there was a little fight on the family vacation.

    The second to last night, at the beginning of dinner, I told my husband that I was going up to the room to get a sweater, but I could not control myself any longer…

    I made my way toward the room, and before I knew it I was singing "mama needs a new pair of shoes" with my new gambling friends (who were college guys from USC and U of A) at the craps table. Every time I threw the dice — bada bing — my pile of chips would grow in front of ME and the guys, along with a fantastic new version of "Momma Melly just got all of our moms a new pair of shoes." I thought to myself, "Howard is going to kill me." But, hey, I had just made a lot of money.

    An hour later, I walked back to the dinner table (without my sweater) to
    see the look of complete dismay on my husband’s face, and even worse, on my kids’ faces.
    I handed Howard the cash and felt that same sick feeling that I felt when I lied the first time about gambling.
    It was NOW official: all the fun, all the cash, and even the great new cruise ship song of "Melly just bought all of our Moms new shoes" were not worth the price of disappointment that I had bestowed on my loved ones.

    The reason for the picture of the donkey and I is to show you a visual
    of how I felt after that one and only fight:

    Picture the donkey the other way around.

    The last night of the trip, when my brother-in-law Joel tried to get me to play poker with him I proudly said, "no thanks." Then I went back to the room with my forgiving husband and fell asleep in his arms to the sound of the rocking waves, the smell of the fresh clean air, and memories of all the fun things we did on our family vacation.

    I will share those pics with you when I receive them from my niece
    Katy.

    "Momma Melly" is officially in retirement right now, deleting all e-mails from college guys at USC and the University of Arizona.

  • Thoughts of Ceviche and Peru!

    I just got off the phone with Doug, the tour guy in
    Cuzco, and I’m super excited. I asked, "Is it nice out there?" I imagined him looking out
    his window over the Plaza de Armas squinting a little from the
    sun.

    "Yeah, I guess," he answered. I informed him that our spring welcome
    has been thick snow, and he just laughed… for a while.

    I feel lucky to
    be working with Southern Crossings because of all the adventure tour
    experience they have, leaving all of the culinary details to me!

    My
    uncle is part of a culinary school in Lima, so it will be fun to teach
    classes in Miraflores and experience four individual types of Peruvian
    fusion cuisine. Plus, I am friends with Paloma La Hoz, and we have
    arrranged for her husband, Andres Prado, to play in Lima while we are
    there! He’s pretty hard to book!

    After I got off the phone I couldn’t
    help thinking about how I would really rather be there than here at
    this time. So, in my mind I have gone and am now having thoughts of ceviche,
    papa a la huanciana, causa, anticuchos, aji de gallina, and of course my
    childhood favorite, Arroz con Pollo — although now I prefer Arroz con
    Pato, which is made with duck instead of chicken, then finished with
    Peruvian dark beer! Well, you get the idea!

    I am
    trying to coordinate the arrival of Peruvian seeds to be plated here in
    Minnesota, so that we can make traditional Peruvian foods with local
    ingredients. Ah the thoughts continue, and soon it will be sunny and I
    will quit thinking of leaving the country—or not.

    Check out http://www.peru-tours.com/culinary%20peru.htm or go to www.chefrachelrubin.com to see the itinerary.

  • First Day of Rehearsal Jitters

    Rehearsals for my play at Gremlin Theatre begin this evening. For a playwright, rehearsals are the beginning of a particular kind of hell. For an actor, rehearsals are sometimes the best experience of the play. Anything is possible in a rehearsal room. You don’t know the character yet. You start crawling in to the skin of another person and playing around – like Tom Hanks in Big, only better. For a playwright, there is very little to do now except worry about what needs to be fixed. When playwrights go to rehearsals, we wind up hiding in the corner somewhere, biting our nails or trying to keep our legs from jittering loudly while we watch the actors play around, discover, explore, stumble, experiment, etc. All the while, we’re wondering whether the reason that they can’t seem to say a particular line effectively is because, “I am the worst writer on the face ofthe planet! What was I thinking?!?!” Personally, neurotically, I wear hats to rehearsals so that I have something to hide under and, also, perhaps, as a disguise. If the actors can’t recognize me, then, I figure, they can’t blame me.

    Other kinds of writers probably never experience this unique type of torture. Like all writers, the playwright has to confront critics who believe the writing isn’t up to par. Oddly, we sometimes confront those people live and in person as they are experiencing the work itself. In a room full of 100 people or more the odds are high that at least one person is going to despise whatever is happening. Really despise. Like, want to get revenge despise. Playwrights, theater people in general, invite all those people into the same room, join them in that room, then shut ourselves in together. (As I write these words, I suddenly realize what sadomasochists we must be. That’s a revelation that’s gonna smart.) The overarching torture of being a playwright is that, no matter how good or bad we are, we’re dependent on so many other people to put the words – and the world of the play those words create – out to the audience successfully. I confess this to you now, but trust me, you’ll never hear me say it again. It’s incredibly bad form, when someone criticizes your play, to point petulantly at the lighting designer and say, “It wasn’t my fault! It was her! Of course you can’t enjoy the lines when you can’t SEE the people saying them! You don’t understand! It wasn’t my fault! I swear!”

    Of course, the reason I am a playwright is because I actually love actors and theater and the unique and dangerous energy in a roomfull of diverse people who have come together, live, in order to see a show and create a show. The best experiences I have ever had with any kind of art have always been in theaters where I felt as though I could quite precisely feel exactly what the character on stage was feeling. Watching an actor in Dario Fo’s We Won’t Pay! We Won’t Pay! reach slowly toward his chest, I could feel – even though I was 50 feet up in the most ridiculously steep theater seating in the world – I could literally feel the heartache that the character felt. In other situations, I’ve felt clarity or sensuality or anxiety or confusion. Fear, delight, desire, and tragedy. But more clear and transcendent in a way that I can’t comprehend in everyday life. I’ve felt – not often, but enough– that somehow the confusing and overwhelming chaotic truth of life has been distilled like crack cocaine into the very air around me. I’m not kidding. Like, the world in a bottle in my hand, in my lungs, in my blood and my brain. Universes of emotion and understanding that I could never experience in my day-to-day, moment-to-moment, who-walked-the-goddamned-dog-this-morning life. If I hadn’t felt that, then I’m confident I would have given up theater years ago – and probably been happier or, at least, more financially prosperous.

    What am I saying? I guess . . . playwrights are like sadomasochistic, nail-biting crack addicts with shaky legs. O, and some of us like to wear silly hats.

    Tracey and JohnWait! Go see my play! Have I mentioned this yet? Seriously. Don’t take any of the above rambling as an indication that the play isn’t worth seeing. Getting you to see the play is the reason I’m writing this blog. Buy tickets. The reservation number is 651-228-7008. It’s called Everywhere Signs Fall, starring Tracey Maloney (incredible actress!), John Middleton (amazing actor!), and Paul Cram (I don’t really know his work yet, but he gave a heartbreaking audition, and he seems like a serious guy!). It runs from April 18 to May 11 at the Loading Dock Theater in St. Paul. It’s produced by Gremlin Theatre. And it’s directed by Leah Cooper, who I’d praise to high heaven for all her various talents, but she also happens to be my wife, so, you know, if I tell you too much about her charms, you might try to steal her from me. Yes, while you may think positively of her already because you may know that she used to run your favorite Minnesota Fringe Festival, I really need to keep her true brilliance secret, so that I can keep the competition manageable.

    I think the content of the play is pretty phenomenal too. I really do. All playwrights do. We wouldn’t write the plays that we write unless we thought that they were going to blow your mind into the next time zone. At least, I hope we do. That’s why I write plays. I assume that’s why other people do too, because I know for a fact that they don’t do it for the money. I personally cherish the experience of having my mind blown, and I want to share it. I believe we all have a mind-blowing pleasure node in our brain. It may be buried deeply underneath the stare-at-the-internet-for-no-good-reason pleasure node or the television-is-shiney-too pleasure node, but it exists. I’m sure of it.

    I’ll talk about the specifics of the play more in upcoming blog posts. I’ll introduce myself in some more concrete detail. And I’ll give more details of the odd stuff that happens in a rehearsal room. But seriously, call now – 651-228-7008. Make reservations.

    Because while I love a good rant, I really wouldn’t be writing this blog if I didn’t hope that you, Rake reader, can be convinced to spend an evening with this play. I’d rather not have the personal attention really. I prefer to translate what I’m feeling and thinking in to actual, creative narratives that aren’t about me, serve you a good evening of entertainment, and, just maybe, blow your mind. Unless you have the Guthrie’s budget, howe
    ver, its pretty hard to market theater. So I’m writing this blog, getting the word out. Because it isn’t really theater unless there are people in the audience for it. Not just a few people but a bunch of people. I don’t know what the precise number is, but somewhere over 50% capacity, the experience of the play changes completely for everyone involved, audience and performers. Have I mentioned the theater’s phone number? Why haven’t you made a reservation yet?
     
    I really don’t blame you for missing all the other great, intimate productions that get produced on a monthly basis in the Twin Cities. How were you supposed to know which ones were good? And I bet you feel that there are few experiences worse than bad theater. You’re trapped. You can’t step over people to escape. You’re forced to laugh occasionally at some lame joke because you feel so bad for the actors who are standing 10 feet from you, live, and trying so hard. You start to wonder whether your watch has stopped – and the time-space continuum has been forever mangled right there during that insufferable show. Meanwhile, on stage, you know the playwright is lecturing at you about some news item that you were hoping to ignore until your monthly utility bills got paid and your goddamned dog got walked. You’d actually like to stick forks in your eyes in order to dull the pain of the play you’re watching and the experience you’re having. Bad television is never this bad.

    But with great risk comes great reward. At least that’s what my fortune cookie said last week. And this play is great. At the very least I can promise you that I don’t lecture in my plays. I rarely write directly about current events. I think people are more important than issues. Or, at least, issues are subordinate to people. And the multitude of people in this world and how we all try to live in this world is enough fodder, the only real fodder, for the best art. I don’t need or want to whack you over the head with a metaphorical pedagogical baseball bat. If I did, I’d be a well-paid and infinitely useless political pundit.

    Mostly, I just love the real spinning of real good yarns. Really, good, engaging, complex, active stories. – This is a great play. I’m not kidding. If you go, you will stroke the pleasure node in your brain that likes complex intellectual and emotional engagement. I’m telling you, so now you know. No excuses. Call for reservations right now 651-228-7008. It’s produced by Gremlin Theatre at the Loading Dock Theatre in St. Paul. It’ll be worth it.

    Future blog posts will be more brief. Today’s verbose rambling is brought to you by my "first day of rehearsal" jitters.

  • Last Tango for the Cul-de-Sac of Love

    The Minneapolis-Saint Paul Craig’s List is a colder and more
    lonely place these days as foreclosures reach a feverish pace in otherwise
    sleepy places like Anoka County.
    Cul-de-sacs once buzzing with activity and excitement now lie fallow. Residents
    no longer stumble, drunk in hedonistic delight, from house to house, relieving boredom and ennui with the
    aid of wives, friends and longtime acquaintances in true bacchanalian tradition.
    No longer will promotions be celebrated with swing parties of legendary
    proportions, catered by P.F.
    Chang’s     and lubricated with the unholy trinity of Franzia boxed merlot,
    Leinie’s Honey Weiss, and industrial-sized tubs of AstroGlide on these subdued
    side streets. Reality has come crashing down in Maple Grove and points north,
    south, east and west, not in unwanted pregnancy or odd burning and itching
    sensations, but in the fuzzy math of adjustable rate mortgages and the American
    dream stretched too thin.

    Traditionally bastions of stability, fiscal solvency, and late-night
    Cinemax-style     extra-marital hijinks, nearly 57 percent of foreclosures are
    now taking place in the suburbs. Anoka County alone accounted for 190
    foreclosures in January. So where will these stricken swingers live? Will they
    venture bravely forth into the city they fled, seeking low rents and a more
    diverse group to foist pasty white love handles and a bottle of Reunite on?

    If they do, they stand to be disappointed. The foreclosure
    crisis has left a legacy of awesome ice flows
    in suburban townhomes and ramblers, but in some neighborhoods of Minneapolis,
    the housing boom lured investors to take on project homes, renting them out
    until they could sell them at a profit. Of course, many of those same investors
    had all the home improvement and property management skills of an inbred ground sloth,
    and were twice as likely to spend their time quaffing low-end lambrusco in Maple Grove
    trying to get better acquainted with the ladies of Target’s merchandising
    division as they were to maintain their properties. And after the bank foreclosed? Lenders have a habit of studiously ignoring properties, making them breeding
    grounds for squatters, thieves and R.T.
    Rybak    , among other undesirables. As a result, the Greater Metropolitan
    Housing Corporation estimates as much as a third of north Minneapolis’
    foreclosed housing stock should be razed. And while I loves me some wanton
    destruction, that won’t leave much room for the looming wave of homeless Anoka
    libertines.

    Of course, there’s a simple solution at hand. The Minneapolis city
    council is now backing extended NRP funding,
    with two options currently on the table. Should either proposal pass, these
    funds could be used to create new zones on the North Side, loosely based on
    Gov. Pawlenty’s now defunct JOBZ program.
    These areas would be called Beneficial Lateral Orientation Job Opportunity
    Building Zones (BLO JOBZ). These zones would be used to cheaply resettle the
    suburban refugees looking for homes with a minimum of disruption to the region.

    BLO JOBZ would assist in the gentrification of
    the North Side, as well as provide a soft landing for these happily humping bon vivants, who would likely be willing to work to improve the housing stock in
    the neighborhoods. Plus, if all goes well, as the newly displaced suburban
    population settles in the designated zones and gets friendly with their
    neighbors, a new era of racial and ethnic understanding could be reached through BLO JOBZ.
    Truly, a visionary program.

  • Covering the Goods and Grooving My Soles

    The
    billing was Ray Bonneville with Tim O’Reagan: Blues for a Good Friday
    or Good Blues for a Friday. Good grief, anyway you phrase
    it, the show covered goods and grooved my soles.

    A
    flock of roughly 200 audience members braved a spring snowstorm to hear
    Tim O’Reagan, former drummer for the Jayhawks, morph into a solo guitarist as the opening act at the Cedar on Friday,
    March 21st. O’Reagan took his seat on stage. He picked
    up his flossy red electric guitar and struck the strings. His amp sounded
    disgruntled, coughing back some congested noise. "The amp’s cooking
    up," O’Reagan said. (The imagery of a gleaming guitar and a finicky/rickety
    amp would even bring a grimace to Oscar the Grouch’s face.)

    Out
    of nowhere, a second later, the opening rock guitar notes pounded atop
    the audience, like random diagonal snowflakes. Then O’Reagan squinted
    and laid down a high puissant pop vocal, holding the last word of the
    phrase — "time" — as a temperamental youth would after a fierce argument
    about toys. No clowning around, O’Reagan’s rendition of "Tinseltown"
    blended elements of rock and pop, fusing it into a masterful opening
    song.

    O’Reagan
    simply said of the second song, "This one’s written by a friend
    in Topeka." The harmonica droned, adding a calming Neil Young-ish texture
    to the music. Again, the vocals were sung in a carefree fluttery fashion,
    perfect pop for the shower (more commonly
    known as the poor man’s recording studio).

    O’Reagan, decked in dark blue jeans and a chunky block striped shirt,
    had that special quality; he looked like a regular guy. Yes, he played plenty of good music, but he seemed like he could play a stand-up
    comic routine just as well. For instance, before the third tune, O’Reagan
    said, "I’m going to do a song I’ve wanted to do for awhile, a
    cover song. I’ll bet you someone out there remembers Tim Harden."
    The middle-aged audience responded, "Yeah."

    While
    most nodded, my thirty-year old mind thought Who?

    The song started
    with a strong emphasis on the first word "gone" before fading out. O’Reagan stopped playing and singing altogether. "This
    is a John Sebastian song. I was going to do a Tim Harden song, but I
    wussed out. Well, we all know John Sebastian has done a lot of good
    songs." The audience laughed politely. "Go ahead. Yuk
    it up," O’Reagan said before diving into an era of decades past.

    While his self-titled Lost Highway album has gained
    critical acclaim, one couldn’t help but wonder why O’Reagan didn’t cover his own songs. A couple covers later, he said, "I’ve
    got a CD here, and…"

    "Why
    don’t you play some?" a man’s voice puled.

    "Bored.
    I’m tired of playing them. There were so many good pop songs before
    1980," answered O’Reagan before breaking out into a Badfinger song.

    The set of covers wound to
    a close. O’Reagan finished the night by inviting his friend Mike to the stage. Sadly, Mike lost a whole song to a pick "incident." With his pick stuck underneath
    the strings of his banjo, he fumbling wildly, like ex-Viking Troy
    Williamson     fumbling a perfect pass. Fortunately, he made up for it by skillfully
    plucking the hell out of the last song for a home run.


    On with the Show

    Whenever Dylan’s name is uttered, especially in Minnesota, you must pay attention.
    Like an amber alert, it’s the law. Ray Bonneville, blues poet, draws
    the Dylan comparison based on wordsmithing: one line ends a chapter,
    and the next line begins one. On this note, the comparison rings true.
    (Bonneville has no odd phonetics or speech abnormalities, so Dana Carvey won’t be salivating with an over-the-top impersonation
    opportunity.)

    Fresh off his latest CD, Goin’
    by Feel    , on Red House Records, Bonneville has put his foot down and
    left his mark as the tremendous God of Groove. I don’t know if the
    roughly 275 audience members could feel it, but I felt something hit
    me in my fourth-row seat that night. It started from the moment Bonneville
    took the stage and lasted throughout his performance. The man’s kinetic
    blues is something you feel. It clamors, and if you care to notice,
    it tinges your toes. A moment later, another jolt hits your feet, traveling
    slowly into your soul. Again, the vibrations ripple your feet, and your
    head bobs with the groove, making you smile. Over and over, until you
    realize you’re heeding the beat of Bonneville’s foot pounding the amplified
    plywood floor. Yes, it resonates. (By the third song, "Goin’ by
    Feel," an empty beer bottle tips itself over and rattles onto the
    floor.)

    Most mainstream artists’ songs let themselves be heard, then quickly fade into the air. It’s a slippery slope to be musically political and achieve
    class, rather than something crass. But when it is done right, you’re left with substance. Not one to shy away from the present day influences in the media, and having been a
    New Orleans resident in the ’80s, Bonneville touched on the Katrina travesty
    and evoked a sense of forgotten pride. "I was
    born in the levy, centuries ago. My daddy was French. My mother Creole,"
    said Bonneville.

    The passion behind his new CD made for a spellbinding performance. Bonneville blew every ounce
    of breath he could muster into his harmonica, almost swallowing and
    consuming it in the process.

    His cause doesn’t end in New Orleans, however. "Carry Them Home" has blatant
    imagery of the Iraq conflict. "It’s been five years, now,"
    said Bonneville. Excited onlookers tried to provoke more from him, calling out, "Bush. Bush."

    Bonneville simply played the song.

    In
    an age of bullhorns and blaming, what more do you want? Bonneville wrote a
    whole song about boxes with flags coming home.

    He is the hope from the sun. Enough said.

  • From Minnesota to Italy to Vegas — I Do!

    BOOKS & AUTHORS
    The Natural Wonders of Our State

    Learn about the natural wonders of Minnesota and explore the human and environmental characteristics that define our home. Join University of Minnesota geography professors John Fraser Hart and Susy Svatek Ziegler this afternoon for a discussion of their new book, Landscapes of Minnesota: A Geography. Illustrated with hundreds of maps and color photographs, the book traces the development of the state’s natural environment through the lives and livelihoods of its people. Learn about "the growth and decline of Minnesota’s small towns, the expanding urban arc of the Twin Cities, and the surprising growth of a baby boomer retirement belt."

    2 p.m., U of MN Bookstore, Coffman Memorial Union, 300 Washington Ave. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-626-0559; free.

    WINE & DINE
    The Legendary Wines of Piedmonte, Italy

    Well-known as one of Italy’s great wine-growing regions, Piedmonte is home for two of the best reds in the world: Barolo and Barbaresco. But it also produces fantastic Barbera, Dolcetto, and Moscato. Join the Wine After Work crowd for an evening of legendary wines, and learn about the culture and food of Piedmonte, Italy.

    5:30 – 7 p.m., W.A. Frost and Company, 374 Selby Ave., Saint Paul; 651-224-5715; $40.

    FILM
    Blackjack: 21

    Anybody that gambles dreams of finding a way to beat the house. Sure, we’ve all heard of counting cards. But who among us has dared (or been able) to pull it off? Throughout the 1990s a group of math students from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, under the tutelage of a professor, took Vegas casinos for millions through the art of counting cards. Now director Robert Luketic has taken their story to the screen in 21, starring Jim Sturgess, Kate Bosworth, Kevin Spacey, and Laurence Fishborne. See an advanced screening tonight.

    7:30 p.m., Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-331-3134.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    The Drowsy Chaperone

    This is the last week for The Drowsy Chaperone, and I’m thinking a Tuesday trip to the Chapel sounds like a novel idea. "A totally original new musical within a comedy, The Drowsy Chaperone has ‘more laughs per minute than any new show on Broadway’ (WWCR-TV), the most Tony Awards® of any musical on Broadway, and the New York Drama Critics’ Circle and Drama Desk awards for Best Musical" How can you go wrong? Of course, last Satuday’s show included a real life wedding!

    8 p.m., Ordway Center for the Performing Arts, 345 Washington St., Saint Paul; 651-224-4222; $25-$60.

    MUSIC
    Keston and Westdal

    Today also marks the release of electronic duo Keston and Westdal’s latest album, One Day to Save All Life (ODTSAL). The album is clearly quite a bit different from their previous two, but the precision and the funky guiding beats let you know who you’re dealing with. "Westdal’s bass is beautifully morphed and Keston’s keys and digi work have stepped over the horizon with a definable expertise," writes Chris Lindsey, of Slackline Radio.

  • Rakish Dinner at Via

    This Thursday, I plan to be at Via Café and Bar in Edina, along with my co-blogger and wine connoisseur Ann Bauer, for this month’s Rake World Flavors dinner. This should be a fun evening – not just a great dinner, but also a chance to meet other Rake foodies, talk to Ann about wine, and her recent trip to Italy, or talk to me about food, dining and whatever else is on your mind. Chef James Foley’s menu includes a warm cheese sampler with apricot chutney and roasted garlic; a braised baby artichoke salad with organic garden greens; smoked-coffee rubbed Kobe beef brisket accompanied by fingerling potatoes and roasted baby vegetables, and chocolate pot de crème and sour cherry biscotti for dessert. Cost is $60 per person, including wine pairings; you can purchase tickets online here.

     

     

  • Ask the Experts

    CONFERENCE
    Mondale Speaks on the Vice-Presidency

    As we continue to watch what has proven to be a very interesting presidential primary race, one question will become more and more important: who will the candidates choose as their running mates? Now is the time to start the guessing game, so perhaps it’s a good time to learn about the various factors that influence the selection. And who better to hear it from than a former vice-president himself. This morning, Walter F. Mondale will join leading experts from across the country to discuss the selection of vice presidential nominees. What should we look for in the next vice president? You decide.

    8:30 a.m. to noon, Cowles Auditorium, Hubert H. Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs, University of Minnesota, 301 19th Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612 625 3421; free.

    LECTURE
    MPR Presents Bob Garfield

    If money is the root of all evil, advertising is the horse manure that ensures its growth. Yeah, that’s silly, but perhaps a fair introduction to a man who has been an ardent advertising critic for over a decade, Bob Garfield. Don’t get me wrong here, a critic is often an industry’s staunchest supporter: the man has done much for the advertising industry, both good and bad. But more than that, he has helped us to understand it. He has enlightened us. And he has entertained us. In addition to serving as co-host of National Public Radio’s On the Media, Garfield writes "Ad Review," a TV-commercial criticism feature for Advertising Age and maintains his own blog, called The Bobosphere. (See, he MUST be important.) He has written for some of the country’s top publications — including big important ones like Sports Illustrate — and he even cowrote a song with Willie Nelson. Whoop. Whoop. (Try as I might, I couldn’t find a video of it for you.) Maybe you can ask him to sing it tonight.

    7 p.m., Weyerhaeuser Memorial Chapel, Macalester, 1600 Grand Ave., St. Paul; free, but tickets are required and are available at Bibelot Shops.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    King Lear

    While dual-roling was common in Shakespeare’s time, this meant that one actor often played two roles — not that two actors played one role, as in the Minnesota Shakespeare Project’s current production of King Lear. Ok, this is just a little misleading. At first I thought, really? It takes me long enough to figure out who is who and follow the story, and now they’re going to throw multiple actors at me? Interesting. But it’s not that complicated at all. It’s just a double role rotation, so that you can actually see the performance more than once and get a whole new experience — and so that the actors can mix it up and have some fun with different roles, of course. And who doesn’t love a perfect tragedy?

    7:30 p.m., Old Arizona, 2821 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-871-0050; $22, student and seniors $20 (tonight is industry night).

    MUSIC
    One, Two, Three Days Grace

    Start your week with a jolt tonight with a triple-whammy alt metal show at the Target Center: Three Days Grace, Breaking Benjamin, and Seether. Three Days Grace took the rock world by storm five years ago when their self-title album produced two number one hits: "I Hate Everything about You" and "Just Like Her." Then two years ago, in 2006, they struck gold once again when the first three singles off their One-X album topped the charts — all of them! It doesn’t get much better than this. Of course, Breaking Benjamin seems to be on a similar path, with a number one single from their 2007 album, Phobia, which made it to number two on the Billboard 200 last year. And though their success is perhaps a little newer than the others, Seether is still riding high with the release of their last album, Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces, which debuted at number nine on the Billboard 200 last October.

    6:30 p.m. (doors 5:30 p.m.), Target Center, 600 1st Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-673-0900; $35.

     

  • The Three Pointer: 3-1 for Patsy Week

    AP Photo by A.J. Olmscheid

    Game #68, Road Game #33: Minnesota 113, Indiana 124

    Game #69, Home Game #36: New York 93, Minnesota 114

    Season Record: 18-51

    1. Illusions of Mediocrity

    Let’s start with the good news. Over the last five or six weeks, Timberwolves coach Randy Wittman has challenged the team’s three most prominent building blocks to upgrade their respective games in specific ways. For Al Jefferson, it has been better defense; for Randy Foye, more overt point-guard related behavior; for Rashad McCants, less holding of the ball and more dish or penetration. And all three have made tangible progress in these areas, with the sort of slow, steady improvement that creates optimism about the future. Much more than in the previous three seasons, the Timberwolves do indeed look like they are putting specific pieces in place and rebuilding the right way–from the ground up.

    But here’s the nasty chaser: Despite its 13-17 record over the past two months, and 8-10 mark since Foye claimed the point guard slot in the starting lineup, the Wolves continue to be routinely trounced when playing quality ballclubs. Over the past 30, their record is 9-5 against sub-.500 teams, 1-0 against the .500 Philadelphia 76ers, and 3-12 versus teams that have won more than they’ve lost. In the 18 since Foye took the point guard reins, those figures are 6-3 versus sub.500, 1-0 against Philly, and 1-7 against over-.500 ballclubs.

    This week offered a pretty decent view of whether the Wolves could achieve mediocrity. They faced four sub-.500 opponents. Three of them are absolutely horrible ballclubs at the present time: A Clippers team with Chris Kamen out, Al Thornton dinged, and Sam Cassell released (not to mention Elton Brand, shelved for the season with an injury); a Memphis team that unloaded Pau Gasol for nickels on the dollar; and a wretched Knicks outfit that is destined to produce at least two or three best-selling accounts of the abject stupidity, mendacity and incompetence of their dysfunction. Almost by default, then, the gut check game for the Wolves this past week came on the road against an Indiana Pacers team still improbably in the hunt for an Eastern Conference playoff spot despite what at the time was a record of 27-41.

    To Minnesota’s credit, the club took care of business against the weakest trio of patsies. This is not to be discounted: I think it’s fair to say that two months ago, the mark versus these same Clips/Grizz/Knicks would have been at best 2-1 and probably 1-2 (there is probably no point in their season when they couldn’t have beaten these professional imposters known as the Knicks). But the loss to Indiana is just as meaningful a gauge of the apparently limited ceiling of this club. The Pacers play horrible defense, and with Jermaine O’Neal out, the don’t have a reliable low-post threat. Yet they were able to blitz the Wolves for 66 points in the first half, largely because Minnesota’s "small" lineup was still too slow for the rapid ball movement that usually resulted in made treys–the Pacers racked up 16 assists (6 by backup point guard Travis Diener, who was plus +18 in 15:20) and Mike Dunleavy and Troy Murphy nailed 7-8 from beyond the arc. All this in one half.

    Meanwhile, the ever-underrated Jeff Foster and the relatively tall lineup that enabled Indiana to bring size to the double-teams frustrated Al Jefferson into just 5 points. The other Wolves didn’t necessarily pick up the slack. although a stupid foul in the final seconds of the half enabled Foye to hit three FTs and finish with 12 at intermission. Jefferson, Foye and McCants were a combined 5-20 FG. The Wolves were down 17 at the break, and, despite some gunner heroics from McCants in the second half, were doomed by Jefferson’s foul trouble and the ongoing inability to the Pacers perimeter game.

    Aside from building a little confidence, the Knicks game was a waste of time. There hasn’t been a worse performance by a ballclub thus far this season than what the Knicks showed at Target Center Saturday night–no mean feat when you consider the Wolves are half of every matchup there. All the hullaballoo about Jefferson’s improved defense looked silly when David Lee and Malik Rose took turns abusing him down low. (After blocking four shots and taking a charge in the first half of the Pacer game, Jefferson played more like the guy leery of picking up cheap fouls a la the second half in Indiana.) But it didn’t matter that Lee and Rose were a combined 14-19 FG (led by Lee’s perfect 6 for 6), because "point guard" Jamal Crawford was busy chucking up 19 field goal attempts all by his lonesome and making only 6.

    Jeffeson’s weak D was not the only example of how the three and a half quarters of garbage time that comprised the Knicks game allowed the Wolves to engage in half-assed habits without penalty. Take Shaddy McCants’s Jekyll-and-Hyde halves versus Indiana and New York. On Friday, McCants was 0-5 FG in the first half, and defended poorly as well. But his saving grace was ball movement, with 4 assists, including a gorgeous bounce pass to Chris Richard, in just 8:48 of action. Then, in the second half, McCants went off for 8-12 FG, including a couple of unbelievable shots over the Pacers’ tall perimeter pressure. After he nailed a pair of treys to bring the Wolves from 17 down to 82-93 after three, Indiana ratcheted up the coverage, especially when Jefferson was sidelined with foul trouble. McCants squeezed off two Js he had no business releasing, let alone converting, as he went up in perimeter traffic: the first a step back two-pointer to make it 90-103 with 7 minutes-plus to play and the other a prayer-bomb for three to pretty-up the margin to 106-120 with about two minutes to play.

    This is the rub with McCants, that he gets hot when it doesn’t matter. While that may be so thus far, particularly compared to Jefferson and Foye, there is no denying his passing and overall teamwork have taken a quantum leap forward lately, which is why his second half of the Knicks game was so negatively funky. After some shooting practice against New York’s nonexistent defense–he shot 9-13 FG, giving him 41 points in the four quarters comprised by the Indy second half and the New York first half–he clanked for 1-8 FG in the second half, making him 1-13 FG in the wrap-around halves to that 41-point middle. The difference yesterday was, zero assists in 16:46 of the second half. Asked to explain the difference between the two Knicks halves, Wittman replied that "he settled more. He attacked in the first half, and got to the free throw line for those 15-foot, 18-foot shots. In the second half it was more threes." And less vision. Oh well, at least he wasn’t holding the ball–just chucking it.

    To return to square one from our wayward path on this point, the Wolves now face six straight opponents with over-.500 records. By the lights of even their recent "surge" (and yes, the word match is intentional), they figure to win but one of these games, going into the final 7 with 19 victories. The draft pick isn’t going to the Clips, in other words, but karmic intervention will be necessary (or very shrewd talent evaluation) to land a collegiate or foreign-born stud.

    2. What’s Needed

    Different folks have different ideas about the abiding priority for this club, in part because there is clearly more than one glaring need. I maintain that it is a defensive-oriented center who can step out and hit a midrange jumper on occasion. And no, I don’t mean Craig Smith, who has upped his quotient of 8-to-15 footers in response to advice from the team’s braintrust on how to be a better complement to Jefferson on the front line. I mean a center, who can snuff David Lee when he gets past Jefferson on the baseline, and slide ov
    er to cover when Big Al is inevitably too slow returning from the show on the pick and roll. Is it a coincidence that as Jefferson’s blocks and defensive focus has gone up that his scoring has dipped some? Don’t know, and don’t want him to get a pass at the defensive end, but when someone is as gifted at putting the ball in the hole from the paint as Jefferson is, you want to ride that horse as much as possible. A guy like Marcus Camby would be ideal–tremendous on-ball and help defender who mostly shoots midrange jumpers–but since Cambys don’t grow on trees, any large, stanuch defender who can keep defenses even a little honest will do nicely.

    Personally, my second priority would be an uber-athletic small forward. I resist a strong internal pull for lanky, defensive-oriented point guard–a Rondo type would really be good–because Randy Foye has shown enough at the point in recent weeks to see if he can continue to develop. Make no mistake: Foye at the point is a vital part of the Wolves’ foundation in that if it doesn’t work out, the rebuilding scheme could easily come tumbling down. If Foye is ensconced at the point, Brewer and Gomes can swing from 2-3 and 3-4 respectively without squeezing McCants out of the picture because you need to play Foye more as a combo 2. If Foye can’t hack it serving a majority of his minutes at the point, McCants is more redundant, and Brewer, Gomes and Jefferson must contend with more smallball or fall by the wayside. A stud small forward, on the other hand, makes Gomes a valuable 7th man at both forward slots and lets Brewer defer shots and score more in transition running the floor with Foye and the new guy.

    Teams don’t do well in the playoffs going 6-10 and 6-7 in the frontcourt. And they don’t do well without someone who can both pounce in transition and run the half-court with aplomb in the backcourt. That’s why, even during their recent hot streak, the Wolves are losing at least 5 out of 6 to over-.500 opponents.

    3. Quick Hits

    Jefferson’s family was here for the Knicks’ game (and presumably for Easter). I assumed the guy with the very prominent, Al Jeffersonian brow had to be his biological father, but a recent City Pages feature said his father had died. In any case, this guy was impassive; whereas the three females in the group about a half-dozen rows up behind the Wolves’ bench boisterously clapped and hollared for everything pro-Jefferson and -Timberwolves, the father-figure clapped only when Jefferson dished for an assist. And wouldn’t you know it, Big Al set his career high with a half-dozen of those dimes versus the Knicks.

    One thing about Gomes at the 4, he can step out on a big and hit that midrange, and then when the guy comes out to greet him, can put the ball on the floor and create. As Gomes’ confidence in his offense increases, we are seeing more and more of that. Despite his 8 rebounds to go with his game-high 26 points yesterday, however, Gomes is less impressive defending the paint, especially on-ball defense.

    Tough times for the Florida duo. I’ve been on the Chris Richard bandwagon all season, but it is hard to ignore his delayed reaction when a big flashes into the paint on him. He’s a piece of oak in the low block–precious few backing him down are able to sneak through, and must resort to the baby hook or something–but slow to react to good perimeter passing. But Brewer is the real disappointment lately. After displaying pretty savvy shot selection all season, he seems determined not to let his accuracy woes affect him–only to have it affect him by his pulling the trigger too soon (and thus way too foolishly) on the shot clock. His clanking was a significant factor in the snuffed comeback against the Pacers and he hasn’t made more than a third of his shots in four straight games. Worst of all, Kirk Snyder pushing ahead of him in the rotation seems to have affected his Flying Wallendas defensive persona.

    By contrast, Snyder is playing with great confidence and carving out a spot for himself on somebody’s roster next season. An unrestricted free agent in less than 4 weeks, it will be curious to see if he can bag anything more than the $1 M exemption from anyone looking for a relatively hard-nosed 24-year old with an intriguing upside. Snyder barged into the rotation by becoming a hairshirt on Kevin Durant in the February Seattle game. But lately he’s impressed with his ability to get to the rim (and/or the free throw line) via dribble penetration, and his throttle-down mindset when he snags a rebound on the defensive end. He could be a sleeper-steal in the trade for the already cut Gerald Green, or a fleeting footnote in Wolves history.

     

  • Cribbage Night at the Grand Café

    I’ve got a great week of eating ahead of me, and I hope some of you will be able to join me.

    On Monday, (March 24th) I am planning to stop by at the Grand Café,
    (3804 Grand Ave. S., Minneapolis) for their first ever cribbage night.
    (I actually majored in bridge in college, but I minored in cribbage.) I
    haven’t decided yet whether I am actually going to compete in the
    double elimination tournament and compete for the fabulous prizes (gift
    certificates and other stuff, I am told) but I do want to dip into the
    buffet, which will include a lamb stew, vegetarian stew, cheese board,
    fruit, bread and crackers, and the Grand’s legendary pignole (pine nut)
    cookies for dessert. The excitement starts at 6 p.m.

    Here’s the
    fine print Cost is $25 plus tax and tip, with tap beers on sale
    for $3 a glass, and wine for $5. Reservations are required – call
    612-822-8260 – and you are requested to bring your own cribbage board
    if you have one – they’ll supply the cards. Owner Mary Hunter cautions
    that this tournament is not sanctioned by the American Cribbage Congress,
    and that you need to already know how to play the game – lessons will
    not be provided. (It really isn’t all that complicated: you can find
    the rules online.) Ordinarily, the Grand Café is closed on Monday
    nights, so don’t show up two weeks from now looking for hot card action.