The Rake Magazine

Category: Blog Post

  • We Are All Bag Ladies

    Last weekend, in the Sunday Times, one of the meatiest, most
    interesting Style articles was found … in the business section. I also liked
    the ETSY profile in the Times magazine, but that’s a different matter-one that, I’m
    afraid, nearly inspired a very long, boring post about my preference for receiving
    hand-made Christmas gifts. In any case, the long and the short of the business section piece was
    this: Shoppers tend to hang on to the niftiest of their shopping bags. This
    inspired a reflection on my own stash:

    I purchased a beautiful pair of earring from this Parisian
    boutique back in 2003, but lost the earrings soon after returning aux etats-unis.
    The bag, however, hung around. For a good year and a half, I used it to tote my lunch. But when I realized it was starting to fray, I retired the bag to a
    safe place.

    I scored a $39 dress at Tracey Reese in NYC last summer.
    Like the dress, love this bag, which is made of a durable cardstock. I’ve used the thing twice for carrying items to and fro
    dinner parties.

     

    Any local bags in the collection?

    Stephanie’s, in St. Paul’s Highland Park neighborhood, has a decent bag.

     

    Alfred’s, R.I.P., had these flimsy but cu-ute
    bags.

    The Design Collective seems to be hand stamping theirs, thus
    appealing to the aforementioned affinity for handmade.

     

    Uh, Target makes a good bag for taking out the recycling.

  • Shop n' Nosh

    I am WAY behind on shopping. I know I’ve been writing out gift guides for y’all, but that doesn’t mean that I’m surrounded with foodies in my real life. I have to buy Bionicles and Restoration Hardware tchotchkes like the rest of you.

    But I generally hate shopping. The only way I can suffer the hours of bumping into other people, sweating into my winter coat as I stand in line, and the dearth of endless can-I-help-yous from holiday retail associates is to know that in the end I’ll be fed.

    I’m the most focused when I shop alone, and find dining alone most rewarding. Sitting at the bar of a restaurant, you’re generally not bugged by other people, your bartender is always right in front of you, and it can be a beautiful, solitary moment when it’s just you and your food. The right places will read your mood and engage or retreat as dictated.

    This is my potential week:

    If I have to go to Southdale, and fight the good fight of the mall crowds, I’m planning on ending up at Via. I might have to fight for a space at the bar, but the tomato arugula salad and prosciutto flat bread are worth it.

    My Uptown trip will include Paper Source and the Shoe Zoo, which means I’ll be very close to Lucia’s. The lack of a real bar might force this into a mid-day lunch trip which means snacking on crepes at a little table in the corner of Lucia’s Take-Home. BONUS: I can buy a giant loaf of artisan bread and bring it home for dinner, double Santa!

    Nordeast means Surdyk’s, Bibelot, Pacifier, and Let’s Cook. A big trip like that may deserve a treat at The Red Stag, though I haven’t tried them out yet. A safer bet, depending on my mood, would be a juicy burger at The Bulldog.

    Downtown, post-Macy’s, post-parade, post-Juut treatment (a girl’s gotta treat herself sometimes), I’d head to Bank. Quiet and majestic, their service is spot-on.

    Grand Ave has more than enough shopping to make me dizzy, but Golden Fig will be my main stop. If I stop at Penzey’s as well, I’ll be called into Tavern on Grand by a cold beer and a basket of fried walleye. I am powerless in this instance.

    I refuse to go to Hugedale.

    I do have one shopping date scheduled with a BFF for last minute digging on Christmas Eve. We’re planning to head to 50th/France sometime in the morning and just see how it all plays out. I’m pretty sure there will be a glass of wine at Beaujo’s and potentially another at Salut a few hours later.

    At that point, the tree should be stocked and my gullet properly tuned to appreciate the next week’s home-cooking-athon.

  • Corvallis – Home of the Beavers

    The Farmer’s Insurance Group
    issued a study of the "Most Secure"
    places in the U.S.
    this month, and I have to wonder to myself – what kind of paranoia
    has to take hold of someone that they’re actually willing to take
    advice on where to live from a list upon which Boise, Idaho is ranked
    second among large metropolitan areas? Seriously? People are so concerned
    for their lives and the potential for typhoons and other nigh-biblical
    disasters that they need to reference a list of places where shit never
    happens    ? Really?
    Are there really people so milquetoast that their fondest desire, the
    thing that makes their hips shift in a tiresomely boring man’s approximation
    of passion, is to wake up in the morning to headlines that read: "New building has
    plenty of room    "
    or "City will make tree
    goal    "? Is this
    what we’ve come to as a society? Are we on track to become a civilization
    of gutless shut-ins and risk averse pansies? This may explain the success
    of Netflix, if nothing else.

    But, I say thee nay! I can’t
    bring myself to believe we’ve fallen so far since the heady ancestral
    days of Americans tromping all willy-nilly through any number of dangerous places
    they weren’t wanted    .
    Sure, maybe some folks to our south in scenic Ames, Iowa (number 13
    on the list of small towns!), or St. Cloud (#19 on the list of mid-sized
    cities and home of
    the burning swastika!)
    harbor fond fantasies of pastoral days spent marveling at how pants-tighteningly
    dull life can be, but not I. No, gentle reader, I would miss the heady
    thrill of something – anything
    – changing (since I would go bat-shit crazy in a town where the only
    change is in the cow to human ratio). I would miss the guessing game
    I play every day as I get off 94 headed home and try to figure out what
    song the panhandler on the off-ramp is dancing to whilst strumming his
    cardboard disabled veteran sign. But most of all, I would miss the schadenfreude.
    Because in the sun-dappled Pennsylvania Dutch utopia that is Lancaster
    PA (#9 on the list of mid-sized cities!), the Amish are unfailingly
    polite, and buggy accidents are rarely fatal.

    So, in the words of local philosopher/rapper P.O.S.:

    Let me give a little cause
    to the flickering sun

    Stop, drop, then gimme props,
    gimme gunshots

    Gimme all that work, gimme
    age spots.

    Gimme all that hurt, gimme
    snapshots.

    Lemme get a photograph and
    laugh under your bad news

    And that, my friends, is why
    I live in #214 (out of 379 rated) on the list. Twisted?
    Maybe. But tell me, when was the last time a professional football player
    entertained Logan, UT residents by getting caught in a compromising situation involving strippers and illegal pharmaceuticals whilst nearby lines stretched for
    blocks to see the fruit of a once-local
    stripper’s loins    ?

  • Are YOU Killing the Food Network?

    Look, I think I’ve been honest right from the get-go.

    I’ve never been a foodie. In fact, I’ve always been a little squeamish about diehard foodies. And I stumbled into food writing because I was an out-of-work English professor who needed a job, not because I stayed up nights dreaming of the perfect creme brulee.

    God knows, I haven’t hidden this. My 2006 essay on Salon.com, Food Slut, provoked quite a stir, including daggers from Hans Eisenbeis, then editor of this very publication, who called me dyspeptic and narcissistic, and said that writers such as I "try to reduce the cacophony of their little corner of the world into a trickle valve of distilled meaning, but they must be careful not to let it be curdled by the acid of falsehood-by-simplification." (I swear, he said exactly that. You can read the entire stream of metaphor here.) And while much of what Eisenbeis said may be true, I think if he were a real, serious reporter, he would have interviewed my ex-husband to find out exactly how dyspeptic I can be.

    But I digress. . . .

    My point is, I’ve been dissing TV chefs and ice sculpture openings for years. But don’t think I’m not aware — painfully aware — that I am, in a sense. . . .all food writers are. . . .riding on the coattails of Emeril Lagasse and Rachael Ray and all those other hyper-irritating people who’ve made cooking the modern equivalent of Olympic ice dancing.

    And NOW, I read in yesterday’s New York Times that the Food Network has cancelled Lagasse’s show and plans to restructure its programming because — ye Gods! — ratings have dropped (and dropped significantly) for the first time in four years.

    Well, here’s my question: What’s your problem? Why have you — epicures of the first order who use the word chef as a proper noun (as in "Chef is one of my best friends") — abandoned the Food Network? And does this spell the end for dyspeptic, narcissistic writers who are curdled by. . . .oh, whatever. Is America’s romance with chefs and restaurants and all things "foodie" actually coming to an end?

    There are signs, you know. My co-blogger, Jeremy Iggers, recently wrote a piece about Zagat, the popular everyman’s reviewing system which has been picking up a head of steam. But also, consider this:

    On Tuesday, I went into a Juut Salon at Southdale. But this was not just any Juut; it was the one occupying the former Louis XIII space. Now, Treize (as it was called in the business) was the most anticipated new restaurant of all time — according to many — the year I started writing about food. Its owner, David Fhima, was sexy and long-haired and he had a suave accent. Everyone wrote articles about him and talked about his genius and showed him in Spandex, jogging around Lake Calhoun, while his palatial, Spectacurama restaurant on the edge of Southdale was being built.

    When Louis XIII finally opened, after a series of delays, there were chandeliers and velvet drapes and an $1,800 bottle of Remy Martin cognac socked away in the wall. That was 2004, during food’s heyday. Now, can you name a single restaurant opening in Minneapolis or St. Paul that will get the same level of media coverage or bring the glitteratti out to mingle while holding mango duck lollipops on a stick?

    Also, in case you missed this part, Treize has since closed and they’re now doing bikini waxes in the place where the kitchen used to be. It’s my assessment that the wave has receded. Restaurants are fast going back to being establishments where we, uh, eat. Damn.

    Seriously, folks, if you’ve found things to do that are more important than watching the Food Network — say, reading a book or taking a walk or having really good sex — I can get behind that. Narcissistic as I may be, I’m hoping you have more to do than sit rapt while Rachael Ray smacks her lips. And if this means the end of my free ride restaurant reviewing career, then so be it. I’ll find something else to write about. Don’t worry about me.

  • From the Scrap Heap: Richard Kunkel's Christmas Pageant

    A lot of folks around town thought there was something special about
    Richard Kunkel. Big things were expected of that poor fellow. Certainly
    no one believed that such a fine, bright boy as Richard Kunkel would
    stick around a tiny little jerkwater village like ours for the rest of
    his life. Many assumed Kunkel would follow his fathe into the Armed Forces, and would rise quickly through the ranks. Others thought
    certain that with that fine voice of his he would become a supper club singer. He was always getting up to sing at parties and special
    occasions around town, and he knew all the songs from the famous
    Broadway shows. As for myself, well, I thought perhaps Richard Kunkel
    would carve out a place for himself in the political arena. I always
    pictured him smiling and blowing kisses from the back of a train, waving
    goodbye to that little town of ours forever.

    But, no sir, it turns out that our Richard Kunkel didn’t have the
    ambition God gave a field mouse, and he never went anywhere. As he grew
    older it was always one odd job around town after another. The fellow
    couldn’t seem to hold a position to save his soul, and it was the death
    of his poor mother. After a time rumors began to circulate that Richard
    had a fondness for liquor and played cards with the priests for money.
    He never married, but he never did stop being the same friendly,
    outgoing Richard Kunkel the town had known as a boy. He never amounted
    to a hill of beans, either, which saddened all of us. You like to see
    your bright young people go out into the world to make something of
    themselves.

    Then one year Richard Kunkel did an unusual and entirely unexpected
    thing, a rather scandalous thing in our little scheme of things.
    Richard recruited some children from the church youth group and mounted
    a Christmas pageant from a play he had apparently written himself,
    based on some of the questionable stories regarding St. Nicholas of
    Myra. In actuality the play had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do
    with Christmas and focused almost entirely on the legend of St.
    Nicholas’ resuscitation of three boys –Timothy, Mark, and John– who
    had allegedly been slaughtered, pickled, and sold as meat during a
    fourth century famine. This peculiar incident was described by Richard
    Kunkel –and most clumsily enacted by his rankly amateur players– in
    obsessive and grotesque detail, complete with much shrieking, writhing,
    and the liberal spilling of false blood.

    This inappropriate production was staged as a prelude to a chili
    dinner in the church basement, and needless to say whatever point
    Richard was trying to make was entirely lost on the horrified
    spectators, most of whom were elderly folks from the local senior
    citizen center who had come expecting some celebration of the spirit of
    the season.

    Richard –playing a filthy and half-dressed pawnbroker (St. Nicholas
    being the patron saint of pawn brokers, or so Kunkel explained in the
    program notes)– narrated the play with a disturbing and incoherent
    zeal. There was much speculation that Richard was, in fact,
    intoxicated, speculation which was perhaps fueled by the fact that his
    character was swilling messily from a large bottle of whiskey
    throughout the production. A prop, Richard later claimed, but there
    were few believers.

    People need to recognize the effect one untoward incident can have
    on a man’s reputation in a small town. I’m not saying it’s always fair
    and square, but after Richard Kunkel’s little lark at the church dinner
    people’s attitudes towards him changed. He’d been a bit of a
    disappointment to that point, but this was something else entirely.
    Richard Kunkel went from a boy of failed promise to the sort of
    mystery nobody really wanted around. It’s sad, but that’s the way of
    the world.

    He finally left town a year or so later, and the word around
    here is that he’s working at a Fleet Farm up in Rochester these days.

  • The Three Pointer: Miami Vice

    Game #23, Road Game #12: Minnesota 87, Miami 91

    Season record: 3-20

    1. Sabotaged At the Two Guard

    The Miami Heat look terrible. Shaq is shockingly old, his hands lacking grip, his knees unable to help him stop on a dime–he committed two or three fouls (and fouled out) tonight simply bowling people over with uncontrolled momentum–not from passion by lack of muscular restraint against his enormous body mass. Dwyane Wade is obviously not close to 100%–he walks with a hitch and looks five years removed from NBA Finals MVP instead of 18 months. He clanged jumper after jumper. The Heat’s best player on the floor tonight was glue guy Udonis Haslem. And Wolves fans need not regret waving goodbye to Ricky Davis and Mark Blount.

    And yet Minnesota still spit the bit on this eminently winnable game. And this time around, it was the dysfunctional two-guards, Marko Jaric and Rashad McCants, who let them down the most. What happened to Jaric? Was it just a week or 10 days ago that he was playing the best ball of his NBA career, penetrating for layups, dishing off that penetration, and hitting clutch hoops in addition to his usual kamikaze defense? Well, he’s back in the tank. For the second straight game he was held without a field goal, had two of his three FGA blocked, and committed four turnovers, at least three of them simply stupid passes. Wittman yanked him after one such careless perimeter giveaway early in the third, and only inserted him after Rashad McCants fouled out late in the fourth. In no stint was he effective. The mystery continues.

    On a team that has trouble getting out of the 80s in terms of scoring, the ability of McCants to hit jumpers from the outside is desperately needed. Tonight he strode on to the court late in the first quarter and starting raining sweet j’s, ringing up 8 points that included a pair of treys in just 2:47. At the half he had 13 (5-7 FG), neatly counterbalancing Al Jefferson’s 13 in the paint and the Wolves owned a six point lead at the break.

    Any Wolves fan that wasn’t cursing at McCants in the third quarter must have been too busy switching over the Vikings game. Time after time–five times, actually, four of them from long range–the ball was either swung or otherwise found its way to Shaddy stepping up in perfect rhythm for an uncontested jumper. And every single time, the shot didn’t go. The stats will show that the Wolves lost just two points of their lead to the Heat in that 12-minute span, and headed into the 4th still up 64-60. But anyone watching know that the Heat, 2-8 at home and a patently past-their-prime patsy just waiting to be put out of their misery, had actually gained a little ground while consistently trying to give the game away. If McCants just hits two or three of those wide open looks. the lead is double-digits heading into the final frame and Minnesota wins that game.

    When it is all said and done, McCants is on the team because of his ability to stick a jumper from the perimeter and display enough penetrating skills to burn defenders who attempt to jam up that jumper. His line tonight, 19 points on 7-18 FG, doesn’t look as bad as the zero assists and four turnovers, but the simple truth is that Minnesota didn’t need Shaddy to move the ball tonight; the way the game played out, what they craved was for McCants to do what he is supposed to do–burn opponents who don’t cover him on the perimeter, and make them pay at the free throw line if they do get a body out there. Wade sank one fewer FG on four more attempts, but Wade also got to the line a whopping 20 times, including 14 FTA in the second half. McCants was 1-2 FT; Wade was 18-20. That’s how Wade got 30 and won the game while Shaddy got 19 and lost it. And no, I don’t expect McCants to be the second coming of Wade. But as the Wolves’ designated gun-slinger, it sure would be nice to watch him put a team away. It’s happened exactly once, versus Sacramento when he went off for 33. If he’s going to clang 10 of his last 14 attempts, he needs to draw more than one foul in the act of shooting for the entire game.

    By the way, Corey Brewer likewise rolled a goose-egg into the points-scored column, missing all four of his shots to run his current bricklaying to 2-17 over the past two games. Together, Jaric and Brewer produced more than 45 minutes of scoreless play tonight. Brewer did do a nice job hounding Wade however, and Ryan Gomes continued his modest but steady resurgence back from the doldrums of November and early December. Given that the Heat frequently played the two swingmen, Davis and Wade, together, it would have been a good time for Wittman to bump Brewer back to the two-guard slot and play him beside Gomes for a change.

    2. Dinosaurs Roam The Hardwood Again

    Michael Doleac got the start tonight, presumably because he spent the past year or two guarding Shaq in practice and also happens to be the tallest, heaviest MF Minnesota could throw at the Diesel. Handed the opportunity to once again play against his peers at power forward, Al Jefferson predictibly went off 13 points (6-9 FG) and 7 rebounds in the first half, then added 9 points and 13 rebounds even when Pat Riley threw Shaq on Jeff and had Haslem guard Doleac in the third period. I realize some folks think I rely on the plus/minus figure too much, and I really do understand its deficiencies. But when it keeps reinforcing a point, it behooves us to pay attention–especially when it provides statistical confirmation for what we witness with our own eyes. And our eyes tell us that Jefferson thrives at the 4 and struggles at center. Tonight, Big Al was plus +2 in the 26:42 he played alongside either Doleac or Chris Richard, and minus -5 in the 10:37 he played beside Chris Smith.

    3. Silver Lining

    If you’re reading thus far about a 3-20 squad, you probably deserve a little hope and positive thinking. Well, if the point of this season is to sift the talent and see who is skilled and tenacious enough not to fall through the cracks, there are a couple of players who deserve attention. The first is Jefferson, who went off for 22 and 20 and even chipped in a couple of assists, dominating Haslem and contributing to Shaq fouling out.

    The second is Sebastian Telfair, who has gone from suspiciously not sucking to warily pleasant surprise to maybe he’s not bad to a little, dare we say it, reliable play at the point guard position. I’m really beginning to enjoy Telfair’s shot selection and his mixture of jumpers and layups; his increasingly competent doubling-down on big men and his signature strip-down moves on players driving to the hoop. Bassy is playing all 94 feet and despite getting hammered–what should have been a flagrant foul on a straight push to the chest from Shaq on one drive, and crashing into the endline photographers while creating a turnover on the Heat–keeps the motor running. Tonight he had 17 points, 6 assists and just two turnovers in more than 37 minutes. In a perfect world, Telfair would continue to thrive, and Foye would come off the bench a la Manu Ginobili. The Timberwolves’ world is nearly the opposite of perfect, but this Telfair character is doing his part to prolong the fantasy.

  • FREE: Composers on Green Prozac

    LECTURE
    Learn How to "Green the Ghetto"

    With her motto “Green the Ghetto,” environmental justice activist Majora Carter has
    been working to eradicate America’s urban public housing problems in
    environmentally friendly ways. Carter will be the guest speaker at
    today’s 6th annual event Changing the Face of Housing in Minnesota, at
    St. Catherine. Come down to O’Shaughnessy and learn how we can improve this
    major national problem in an eco-conscious way. —Kate McDonald

    9 a.m., The O’Shaughnessy at the College of St. Catherine, 2004 W. Randolph Ave., St. Paul; 651-690-6700; free.

    MUSIC
    Not as Deep as R. Kelly

    Although I like the slant rhyme in the new alternative band Prozac Rat’s name, what really sold me on the band was the description of their sound on their myspace page. It was there where they boldly proclaimed their sound similar to R. Kelly‘s "Trapped In The Closet," without all the depth. For me, as well as for any good American, it really feels implausible to imagine the stylings of one Mr. R. Kelly minus any substance, and I firmly believe that one would have to hear it for themselves in order to believe it possible. You have a chance tonight at Prozac Rat’s free performance at the Uptown Bar. The event will also feature the musical beats of KITCAR and Mankato band the Common Era Cast-Offs. —Kate McDonald

    9 p.m., Uptown Bar, 3018 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-823-4719; free.

    American Composers Get the Zeitgeists to Perform for Free

    For coming on thirty years, the Zeitgeists have been spreading their "passion and integrity" around town. See them tonight, as part of the American Composers Forum. As always, they’ll make their percussion, piano, and woodwinds sings out in support of community-based performance programs and local composers, which is what tonight’s event is
    all about. —Kate McDonald

    7 p.m., Studio Z, 275 E. 4th St., Suite 100, St. Paul; 651-755-1600; free.

  • Let the Good Times Roll

    I always become sappy this time of year because of the Holidays, and because I get to catch up and see how my friends are doing through the ART of Holiday Cards.

     

    I just received this Holiday card from Quincy Jones, and it inspired me to reflect on the fun memories I have growing up knowing such an incredible man.

    I promised you all that I would share with you stories that are personal and insightful about people whom we all "read about," but whom I have been lucky to know.

    Here is one of my favorite Quincy Jones Story. 🙂

    Many years ago, Quincy Jones was staying with my family while Michael Jackson was on tour and performing in Minneapolis.

    OK … so, yes, Quincy is a family friend; but he is also a genius when it comes to spotting talent.

    Q had just finished producing a pilot for TV called The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. He asked my family and I to watch the pilot show and tell him what we thought. Well, after laughing to the point of stomach aches, we told him that we LOVED the show but were curious about the Fresh Prince, a.k.a. Will Smith.

    Quincy told us that Will Smith was not just an upcoming Rapper but a
    very talented young man who could sing, dance, act, and was hungry. 🙂

    As the man that made Michael Jackson a household name and had us all dancing to "Beat it" and "Thriller"…….. How could he be wrong?

    Well, he wasn’t!

    Will Smith was a hit on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air — which is now at the top of the ratings in re-runs — and now he’s a Box Office God on the big screen.

    Did you see I am Legend? Well, even if you didn’t, a lot of other people did — which is why it is number ONE at the box office!

    As much as we all, as a society, resist ceding credit — and more money — to the rich and famous, maybe we should all remind ourselves of this: Will Smith was just a young rapper with a dream. He got discovered by the RIGHT person and is now a SUPERSTAR
    with another number ONE movie at the box office.

    You too have the same opportunity to be discovered.

    How? … Well, come up with a great idea. … Be willing to knock on A LOT of doors. … And to quote Will Smith, "Be genuine." You never know who will discover you; and if THEY do, NEVER take your lucky break for granted, because there will always be someone right behind you that is just as hungry and willing to work just as hard.

    Don’t take my word for it. Just look at Will Smith: He’s the perfect example of how hard work, talent, and appreciation can pay off personally and financially!!!

  • Boned

    Noam Chomsky says a well-informed
    populace is a necessary ingredient to any democracy. In other words,
    we’re boned.

    Newspaper readership is down,
    and showing no signs of reversing the freefall. And since
    they’re not reading, Americans are forced to rely on such reliable
    political indicators as gut instinct, party affiliation, and the ever
    popular "he’s kinda cute in a presidential way" vote. Even more
    frightening, any attempts to address the problem have only compounded
    the issues.

    Here in Minnesota, redesigning
    our leading paper to include coloring
    pages     (sponsored
    by Crayola, naturally) hasn’t done a whole hell of a lot to improve
    the landscape, as evidenced by the recent layoffs (which Sid Hartman’s
    "close personal friendship" with Lovecraftian Powers have shielded him from, to date) and
    consolidation. Of course, this is further evidenced by the fact that C.J. still writes
    a gossip/grammar column
    for the Star Tribune, no one actually reads the City Pages for anything
    but restaurant
    tips    , advice on safe B&D play, and where to find the
    aforementioned B&D play    ,
    and the
    Pioneer Press    ,
    well, the Pioneer Press is in St. Paul. I hear they have hockey there
    these days.

     

    But what does this mean? What doom and plagues could something as innocuous as poor
    newspaper readership and content as fluffy as Anne Hutchinson left in the dryer for a day and a
    half bring down on our tranquil Midwestern existence? At best – a
    zombie apocalypse. At worst…a future in which Katherine Kersten serves
    as the Star Tribune’s first ever Page 3 girl. The truth is likely somewhere in
    the middle of these bleak predictions, but do you really want to risk
    it?

    Granted, I’ve already engaged
    in three of the five cardinal blogger clichés (bonus points to anyone
    who can name them in the comments below!), so I’ve probably already
    blown my wad of credibility into the digital Kleenex that is the Internet,
    but for the next week I’ll be doing my best to stave off the impending
    holocaust of the walking dead and mind-rending photography by taking
    a fresh look at the news of the day and providing some analysis. Or
    at least offer completely unconstructive viewpoints and commentary.
    And since I have nothing but disdain for Democrats, Republicans, Anarchists,
    Green Party members and those wacky Independence Party hosers (they’re
    Canadians, right? Only Canadians would put forth him as a gubernatorial candidate), I don’t
    have to choose my targets carefully. Or even aim, really.

  • Hark! Angels Are Slam Dancing in the Underwater Manger

    HOLIDAY EVENT
    Scuba Santa

    Make the standard mall visit to santa an extreme underwater adventure this year at Underwater World, in the Mall of America. Practice your underwater communication skills
    in order to tell santa what is first on your list this year. —Kate McDonald

    12-5:30 p.m., Underwater Adventures Aquarium, 4715 W. Broadway Ave., Bloomington; 952-883-0202.

    MUSIC
    A Capella with Holiday Cheer

    Who needs instruments when you have Christmas cheer? The group Tonic Sol-Fa
    is a college, a cappella, cult favorite, and their holiday tour promises to
    show that pure human voices are all you need to drum up
    festive merriment. Hark! These herald angels sing sans harps. —Kate McDonald

    7:30 p.m., Orchestra Hall, 1111 Nicollet Ave S Minneapolis; 612-371-5656; $20-32.

    Another Holiday, Another Year. Go Back 20.

    If holiday music isn’t your thing — perhaps you haven’t quite gotten the bug yet — why not indulge yourself a bit by traveling back a couple of decades. It’s time to bring out the angry girl of the ’80s. Remember her? She somehow managed to get you bouncing with her screams. Odd, no? Well, this angry girl was probably born in the ’80s, while the original angry girls were busy screaming, but The Friendly Enemies sure capture the mood. They’re no strangers to the Twin Cities. They play around town rather often, in fact. But somehow, in the midst of all the holiday cheer, they seem appropriate.. and fun.. a way to let off a little holiday steam. It ain’t easy, after all.

    9 p.m., Triple Rock Social Club, 629 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-333-7399; free.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    The Holiday Pageant

    This gypsy-style retelling of
    the nativity story is well on its way to becoming a camp classic. Open
    Eye Figure Theatre’s     mastermind Michael Sommers created the rather
    scrappy production, which features an endearing blend of puppets, child
    actors, and marginal musicianship—not to mention the acting chops of
    local luminaries like Kevin Kling, Luverne Seifert, and Sarah Agnew. If
    these virtues aren’t enough to make you buy a ticket, then consider
    this: Sommers himself will appear onstage; and he’s grizzled and kind
    of hot. (In fact, Frank Theatre’s Wendy Knox recently named him one of
    the sexiest local actors    .) Playing Lucifer, Sommers appears onstage in
    red pleather and fur pants. But this glorious spectacle is all too
    fleeting, my friends. The Holiday Pageant plays for one show only—and
    that’s tonight. —Christy DeSmith

    7:30 p.m., Pantages Theatre, 710 Hennepin
    Ave., Minneapolis; for $25 tickets without the fees, visit the Pantages
    Theatre box office in person.