Category: Blog Post

  • The Three Pointer: Awfully Casual

    Home Game #9: Los Angeles Lakers 116, Minnesota 95

    1. Losing Reason To Care

    Games like tonight’s undressing by the Lakers and last Saturday’s (blissfully blacked-out from television) pratfall on the road in Memphis are the sort of energy-suckers Wolves’ fans and the team’s PR department feared in the wake of the Garnett trade: That the ballclub would be so bad, and so lacking in interesting storylines and likeable characters while being so bad, that it would inspire apathy instead of anger.

    Succinctly put, the game was a joke. Yes, the Wolves are minus not only Randy Foye and Theo Ratliff (both of which have something strange going on in their knees that modern medicine has yet to adequately diagnose), but turned-ankle Marko Jaric and now back-surgery Coach Randy Wittman. But the Lakers themselves were sans the leviathan shot-swatter Andrew Bynum, energizer power forward Ronnie Turiaf, and Bynum’s backup, Kwame Brown. Before the game, assistant coach Jerry Sichting (the man filling in for Wittman) told his charges of LA’s absences. "I told them I thought it was a level playing field as far as injuries," Sichting noted in his postgame press conference.

    But the players didn’t seem to agree. They rolled up and died, almost from the opening tap. Coming off the embarrassment in Memphis did the opposite of firing them up; it turned them acquiescent to defeat. In the most literal sense, the Wolves had no intention of winning this game. They did not expect to win, and indeed, barely seemed to hope for it.

    And the effort was horseshit. Defensive rotations were slow-footed and dim-witted, creating obvious lanes for passing and driving to the hoop that cowardly instincts and indifferent exertion kept open. The Lakers shot 50% or better from the field in all four quarters, finishing at 54.3% FG (45.5% from beyond the arc), with an assist/turnover ratio of 28/11. The Wolves’ offense was marginally better than their defense, in part because you don’t have to try so hard to achieve minimal success on offense. But they finished with zero quarters at 50% or better and 44.4% FG overall (22.7%–a miserable 5-22, from beyond the arc), with 11 assists and 18 turnovers. There wasn’t any suspense. Anyone could see beyond the first period concluded that the Wolves would get waxed-it was up to L.A. to name the margin. Because they chose to play Kobe Bryant only 28:56 and eased into neutral gears in the second half, they only triumphed by 21.

    2. Roll Call
    Let’s hope Al Jefferson’s knee is still tender, because the rest of his game certainly seems to be during the past two outings. Jefferson followed up season lows in points and minutes on Saturday with second-worsts in points and minutes tonight. Bynum’s size had clearly bothered "Big Al" in the first Lakers game, but with Bynum sidelined, Sichting said he "wanted to see him go inside more often" and told him that, "but he didn’t." Craig Smith did, however, which is why the Rhino had just one less FGM in 8 less FGA and got to the line 6 times in 29:28 versus 5 times for the frequently double-teamed Jefferson in 30:56. Jefferson also didn’t box out very well, and rotated horribly on defense, but that last criticism could be affixed to any Timberwolf tonight.

    Rashad McCants continues to ratchet up his unlikeability factor, jacking up more shots-per-minute than anyone on the team tonight, which seems selfish and disruptive when they don’t come close to going in or are offered up without much energy spent driving to the hoop. For the second straight game, Shaddy put himself in foul trouble (his third occurred halfway through the second period when he swarmed all over Kobe Bryant after Kobe picked up his dribble-what are the odds of him getting the call on the inevitable contact?) and padded his stats when his team was hopelessly behind in the 4th quarter. "Rashad needs to get consistent," Sichting declared, ignoring the point that he has been consistently underperforming lately. "He’s not putting good games back-to-back." I instinctively like McCants, but I’m beginning to think it is against my better judgment. Tonight in the second quarter, Kobe actually got called for traveling, a situation so shocking to him he picked up a technical. The player who shot the technical free throw was McCants, who at the time was 73.3% from the line. Why not Ryan Gomes, who entered the game among the league leaders in free throws at 87.9%? These are weird pecking order things that shouldn’t occur on a ballclub this putrid.

    What dodo once called Ryan Gomes smart and the second-best player on the team? Gomes had zero assists and five turnovers tonight, and three of his four buckets were a variety of a give and go with Jefferson along the baseline-the lone play that seemed to click for the Wolves. He also guarded the easiest of the three swingmen-Luke Walton instead of Kobe or Lamar Odom-and yet seemed plagued by the same torpor as his necessarily harder-working teammates.

    During a Wolves’ timeout in the second quarter, Gerald Green spent the entire time well removed from the circular huddle, where, you know, he might glean some information that would improve on his reputation for not knowing where to go in the offensive and defensive sets. Instead Green was conversing with the injured Ratliff near the end of the bench. Twelve seconds after play resumed, Gomes picked up his third foul and with McCants also saddled with three, Sichting sent Green into the game. Thirty eight seconds after that, Green receives a pass just over center court from McCants for his first touch. Kobe and Lakers’ rookie Jarvis Crittenton immediately sneak up behind Green and knock the ball from his grasp, resulting in a ruthlessly gorgeous, but rather embarrassing to Green, breakaway slam by Kobe. Two or three years from now, Gerald Green will be back in his old neighborhood, alternately bragging about his NBA career and complaining how he got screwed because nobody gave him a chance to play.

    3. Silver Linings
    They are precious few, as you suspect. As the players are about to take the court, Antoine Walker stands in front of the scorer’s table with his arms wide and outstretched to hug McCants before Shaddy plays. It is one of those player rituals that connote affinity and affection on a team and McCants has always been a big proponent of it; working out bows and skits with KG last year, and a series of fists and rolling-dice movements with Craig Smith this season. But Walker’s thing with Shaddy is without the hubbub and flashing lights of player introductions, out in the open at a time when the audience is focusing, and deferential. The vet with the ring is giving it up for the microfracture guy playing for a contract extension. And after that little ceremony, Walker moves down the line, exchanging fist bumps and hand slaps with every member on the bench, a big smile on his face. He did it tonight, a game that Sichting said he personally thanked ‘Toine for playing because he knows "Antoine has a very very sore ankle." As opposed to Theo’s knee, which "doesn’t feel right," Ratliff says. But this point in the trey is "Silver Linings," so we’ll wait until Theo finds a doctor, somewhere, anywhere, who can tell him what wrong before passing judgment on his $11 million disappearing act.

    Sebastian Telfair has exploited injuries to Foye and Jaric to compile a pretty solid sample size of what he can do for this ballclub at the point guard position. He’s averaging nearly 15 points and five assists the past five games, converting more than half his shots and compiling a 23/9 assist to turnover ratio. At the least he deserves some rotations with the second unit when Foye returns.

    Craig Smith missing KG most on defense, but when it comes to putting the ball in the hole, he is deceptively effective. Tonight’s performance, 13 points on six official shots (4-6 FG, 5-6 FT), was typically efficient.

  • Love, Madness, and Drunk Santas

    MUSIC
    Love and Madness in the 17th Century

    I don’t know about everyone else, but as far as I’m concerned, the
    holidays officially begin as soon as December rolls around; and if you haven’t noticed, December already rolled in. Haven’t you notice the snow? Isn’t it obvious? Now, the trick is getting into the holiday spirit while still getting your work done, right? Simple — a lot of long lunches. It’s OK; you can show up a little earlier than usual to make up the time. (After all, it may be the only way to see some daylight.) So, kick in the holidays today with a little afternoon Coffee Concert: Music of Love and Madness in the 17th Century. Mmmmm… Sounds like a delicious lunch to me — Julie Elhard on viola da gamba, Phil Rukavina on lute and theorbo,
    Kim Sueoka singing soprano, and Jane Peck performing period dance.

    12 p.m., St. Paul Conservatory of Music, 29 E Exchange St., St. Paul; 651-224-2205.

    COMEDY
    Give the Pooch a Deep-Belly Roar

    What do a grinning Pomeranian and an episode of VH1’s I Love the ’80s have in common? Well, apparently, they both have a little Bill Dywer in them — tonight’s stand-up act at Acme Comedy Club. For a man who has compared himself to a Westminster Kennel Club show dog in the way in which he thrives on the public judgment of his performance, Dywer also casts a fair amount of sarcastic judgment on himself, with a polished routine that pokes fun at married life with kids, family, and responsibility. Appearing as a regular commentator on many VH1 series (including I Love the ’80s), as well as guest-starring on Ally McBeal and appearing as a contestant on Last Comic Standing 4, Dwyer has an impressive resume and is an Acme favorite. —Kate McDonald

    8 p.m., Acme Comedy Company, Historic Itasca Building, 708 1st St. N., Minneapolis; 612-338-6393; $15, $27 dinner and show package.


    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Why Settle for One?

    A play involving a DUI-sentenced Santa Claus seems perfectly suited for dinner theater at a place called Spill the Wine. And indeed Ensemble Productions delivers with one generous helping of dysfunctionally festive cheer and merriment in their new play 7 Santas. Enjoy a top-notch three-course meal and kick back a few glasses of wine while you watch Mr. Claus hit rock bottom and be sent off to rehab. Talk about some authentic holiday cheer! —Kate McDonald

    7 p.m., Spill The Wine Restaurant, 1101 Washington Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-245-8466; $20, $40 with dinner, $75 for two.

  • Dealios; Plus, Deep Thoughts on Gift-Buying

    More exciting news for all you patriots intent on fulfilling
    your duties as Americans this holiday shopping season:

    Ensemble (2812
    W. 43rd St.
    , Minneapolis
    ).
    A modest boutique inspiring immodest desires. Ensemble hosts its annual holiday
    shopping party on Thursday from God-knows-when till about, oh, about 8 p.m. That’s
    when you’ll get fifteen-percent off. Promised goods include new laptop bags by
    the Minneapolis-based Urban Junket (see below). You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you:
    These bags are pretty fabs. I only wish I had enough coin to replace the ole Timbuktu.

    Textile
    Center
    (3000 University Ave. SE, Suite 100, Minneapolis). If whimsy is what
    you’re after—but not necessarily of the red-hat ladies sort—then go to the
    Textile Center, where they’re having a holiday show and sale through December
    29, for heaven’s sake, people.

     

    Ruby3.Whenever and wherever there’s an event celebrating our local
    fashion mindustry, there’s one character
    certain to be in attendance: Ms. Anna Lee. As producer of the momentous annual
    Voltage Fashion Amplified show and founder of the fledgling mnFashion service
    organization, Lee is a reliable source of support for local designers. Not
    everyone knows it, but she’s a designer, too—of hats! Those familiar
    with her millinery know her by the flamboyant, showgirl-style headdresses. But now
    she’s unveiling an assortment of wearable winter hats, too. Get yo’ sneaks on Saturday,
    December 8 between 5 and 10 p.m. at the studio of my favorite local fashion
    photographer, Nic Marshall (2303
    Kennedy St. NE
    , Studio 402, Minneapolis). I’ll be there with the Elph to
    snap up the snaz, ya digs?

     

    Now, here’s a thought: Does anyone else know
    the sort of person who loves shopping so much she actually tries to do yours,
    too? My mom called me this week to let me know she’d found two things my kid
    brother might like: A coat rack in the form of deer antlers and a checkered barstool—“perfect
    for the garage,” she said. Now, did I, she wondered, want her to purchase these
    items on my behalf? She’d already gone over her spending limit. “No,” I
    responded huffily. I’d already picked out the perfect gift—a reasonably
    fashionable Ski-Do racing jersey—and I’d done so on my own accord, with sentiment and personal knowledge of my brother’s likes and dislikes. “Mom,” I said,
    summoning the Valley Girl within. And then I clicked my tongue as hard as I could.
    “That’s not what Christmas is all about.”

  • Cosmic Connections

    There are things you don’t know, truths you have yet to understand. You may think what you’re experiencing is just a series of events, but there is no such thing as coincidence. The world has a plan for each of us and it’s all in the connections. To become englightened, simply take note.

    For instance, in winter 1991, I was a recent college graduate and the mother of two baby boys living in Duluth. My husband was a small contractor, there were three feet of snow on the ground by November, and we were going broke. So I called up the News-Tribune and offered to write for them from home. I’d give them humorous columns about what it was like to be young and impoverished and scrappy: the joys of shopping consignment and milling your own baby food. That kind of thing.

    Strangely, they bit. It must have been a slow news season. In any case, January ’92, my debut column appeared. It was about how we’d sold our home without using a Realtor before moving from Iowa to the Iron Range. I was paid $35 for this master work. Then all hell broke loose.

    The Realtors, it turned out, bought about a third of all the advertising in the Duluth News-Tribune. . . .up until the day of my column. That afternoon, they pulled all of it, every cent, and went to the local shopper with their business. The newspaper fired me (very publicly), and the editor ran an apology for my work, which he claimed had slipped through the editorial process unchecked. My husband mysteriously lost the part-time job he’d picked up. We got strange, threatening phone calls at all times of the day and night.

    The Columbia Journalism Review covered it. Then-Star Tribune staffer Doug Grow interviewed me. Everyone was on my side. It didn’t matter. Eventually, we went under. And then, of course, we couldn’t sell our house. It took us six months and cost us everything we had (and then some) before we finally got out of town.

    Years later, I would sit in a theater in late December [also winter, if you’ll notice], watching the Lemony Snicket movie A Series of Unfortunate Events, and hear Meryl Streep (as Aunt Josephine) confess her deathly fear of Realtors. I tell you, I had a little shiver of empathy right there in the Willow Creek 12.

    And just last night, I found myself around nine o’clock feeling a familiar possibly-paranoid-but-potentially-founded fear: of Scientologists. My article on the local Church of Scientology, the one in which I very much implied that it is a cult based on the cunning ravings of a pulp genre writer, had come out roughly seven hours before. This time, I trusted the publication completely and knew the editors would stand by me. But other elements of my situation were eerily similar to Duluth.

    Three readers had sent me the same news story in which a reporter told about how she wrote an article critical of Scientology and then was sued into ruin. There were several hang-up calls. Now, mind you, this could have been my daughter’s fellow 13-year-olds, bored with MySpace and looking for something to do. But every time the phone rang, my son would lock eyes with me and say in a Bela Lugosi-like voice, "Oh Jesus, it’s the Scientologists." (He is known for mixing his metaphors.)

    It unnerves a woman, you know? Like Realtors. So I opened a bottle of Bogle Old Vine Zinfandel. This is my comfort wine. It’s a tiny bit sweet and juicy and peppery; it tastes the way pot roast smells, not fine so much as homey. But it’s better than pot roast — even my Mom’s, which is awfully good — because it has 14.5% alcohol. And do you suppose it was just luck that I happened to have this wine on hand? I think not.

    So around ten, after a glass or two, I called my ex-husband, the former marine and hardcore addict who served a little time for some Robin Hood-like crimes and once stole my furniture back from the Israeli mob in Providence. "You’ll watch out for the kids?" I asked.

    "I’ll kill anyone who even comes near ’em," he said, and I felt even more comforted by the fact that he was 100 percent sincere.

    But I still haven’t gotten to the really freaky part — the part that makes me have faith. So here it is: Today, after a couple hours of answering e-mail that contained various things including threats and accusations of yellow journalism and one message from a very good friend with the subject line, "You are SO not a Thetan," I received a note from someone offering me tickets. . . .completely out of the blue. . . .to the Minnesota appearance this week of Daniel Handler, a.k.a. Lemony Snicket — the author of A Series of Unfortunate Events and creator of Aunt Josephine.

    And if that doesn’t make you believe in the cosmic connectedness of the universe, I just don’t know what will.

  • Sunny Kwan's Fortune Cookie Recipe – Revealed!

    I got Sunny Kwan’s secret fortune cookie recipe – and I am
    going to share it. Sunday night, the missus and me stopped off to take on a
    little ballast at the Keefer Court Bakery and Café at Cedar and Riverside before our pilgrimage to the
    annual Brave Combo Christmas concert at the Cedar Theater — you wouldn’t want
    to do the chicken dance on an empty stomach, don’t you know.

    We ordered the beef chow fun and shrimp and vegetables with
    pan-fried noodles, (which were both delicious) and then, as often happens in
    little Chinese hole-in-the-wall restaurants like the Keefer Court, we spotted
    the owner, Sunny Kwan, eating something that wasn’t on the menu – lobster. "You
    serve lobster?" I inquired. Yes, said the waitress – it’s a daily special – and
    handed me the daily special list, written in Chinese. Then she handed me the
    English version, which showed that in addition to lobster ($19.99) they also
    had sea bass ($12.99) and Vancouver (Dungeness) crab for $15.99.

    We soon learned that Keefer Court started serving a full
    Chinese menu at Cedar and Riverside after they moved the fortune cookie
    machinery into their expanded production facility at 26th and
    Minnehaha Ave. S. Carol casually mentioned that it would be interesting to see
    how fortune cookies are made, whereupon Sunny abruptly ran out the front door,
    returning a few minutes later with an 80’s era VCR in one hand, and a video
    tape in the other.

    It turns out that Keefer Court’s fortune cookie factory was
    featured on a 1997 segment of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood — which is how I come to have
    the fortune cookie recipe. The video clip showed an employee putting about 200
    pounds of flour (that’s just a guess) into a giant mixer, followed by a big
    bucket of beaten eggs, and a smaller bucket of food coloring and vanilla
    flavoring.

    When the batter is all mixed up, it gets squirted onto a
    heated metal conveyor belt, which bakes the cookies. While they are still warm
    and pliable, another impressive piece of gadgetry, imported from Osaka,
    Japan, blows the fortunes into the
    cookies, and folds them over.

    Okay, I realize the amounts I have given here
    aren’t exact, and I missed the part where they added the sugar, but with a little experimenting, you should be able to figure it
    out. The tricky part, though, is assembling the little cookies. Or maybe it
    would just be easier to buy them by the bag ($1 a dozen) at the bakery, which also offers a
    good selection of Chinese and Western cookies and pastries.

    Keefer Court Bakery & Cafe, 326 Cedar Ave. (at Riverside), 612-340-0937.

  • Soul, Improv, and Ideals

    MUSIC
    The Queen of Soul

    After forty years in the business, soul singer Bettye Lavette is finally getting the attention she deserves. Her 2003 release, A Woman Like Me, helped Lavette win the W.C. Handy Award in
    2004 for Comeback Blues Album of the Year, as well as the Living Blues
    critic pick as Best Female Blues Artist of 2004. And
    her latest CD, Scene of the Crime debuted at the number one spot on Billboard’s Top Blues Album chart in the first week of its release.

    7 & 9 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club & Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet, Downtown Minneapolis, 612-332-1010, $30 & $22.

    Tuesday Night Music Series for Free Improvisation

    George Cartwright
    has a reputation as one of the great unsung composers in modern jazz and a treasure in the Minnesota music scene. Rather proficient as of late, his Gloryland Ponycat ensemble (featuring Fog’s Andrew Broder) recently graced the Cedar’s stage with a meticulous set of fiery free jazz, subtle micro-tonal compositions, and rock-inspired dirges. He’s also released a new CD that is getting rave reviews. For the unfamiliar, Cartwright’s brand of avant-garde jazz is in a lineage beginning with Ornette Coleman — which is to say that his noise is passionate, intense, and heady. Here at the Acadia — as part of the Tuesday night series for free and improvised music — he is scaling back and performing as a duo with Davu Seru on percussion. Expect this performance to be Cartwright at his most experimental and unhinged. Also performing is Gerald Prokop on circuit-bent keyboard and 100% Certified. You won’t find a more far-out evening of music on a Tuesday. —Christopher Hontos

    8 p.m., Acadia Cafe, 1931 Nicollet Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-874-8702; $3.

    BOOKS & AUTHORS
    The Spectacular Rise of a Black Power Icon

    Well, it’s certainly not the ’60s anymore, and perhaps we’ve lost a fair amount of our rebellion, but I have to believe the ideals still exist… somewhere. Right here in our backyard, or rather at Macalester College, one woman struggles to keep the ideals alive. "In Framing the Black Panthers, cultural historian Jane Rhodes examines the extraordinary staying power of the Panthers in the American imagination by probing their relationship to the media. Rhodes argues that once the media and pop culture latched onto the small, militant group, the Panthers became adept at exploiting and manipulating this coverage–through pamphlets, buttons, posters, ubiquitous press appearances, and photo ops–pioneering a sophisticated version of mass media activism. Paradoxically, the news media participated in the government campaign to eradicate the Panthers while simultaneously elevating them to a celebrity status that remains long after their demise."

    7:30 p.m., Magers & Quinn Booksellers, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-822-4611.

  • Beauteous Munch, Popular Show Dog

    One
    night long
    ago in a once-upon-a-time world there was a little lost dog in a
    faraway forest. The dog was alone and hungry, and it was a bitter winter in the
    forest. The little dog was settling into the cold den he had burrowed for himself
    in the snow around the roots of a tree, and as he curled up there in the
    darkness he heard the distant shimmer of bells and, a moment later, voices
    carrying in the forest, a great many voices joined in some happy song. The dog
    had never known anyone to pass through the faraway forest, not once in his lost
    time in that cold and lonely place had he heard voices like these, or the
    beautiful and wondrous stamping of bells.

    The
    little dog crept to the edge of his den and sniffed, peering, in the direction of
    the music. A moment later, light from the many torches of the travelers crept
    dimly into the clearing outside the den, then chased completely the darkness
    before them, becoming full, woofing light. The dog watched in wonder as the
    brightly clad travelers paraded into view, a moving cloud of steam and smoke
    rising above them, carrying within it much laughter and song.

    There
    were many tiny acrobats and a great thin fellow toddling upon stilts and
    several laughing jugglers. There were five shy horses pulling bright clattering
    wagons, and interspersed amongst the parade were dozens of chattering clowns.
    At the very end of this colorful parade, lagging almost outside the very last
    of the torchlight, there was a small and limping sad-faced clown, leading an old
    and slow donkey. As the dog crept from his hiding place in the snow and the
    roots of the giant tree, the happy songs and jangling bells of the travelers
    were already fading away into the distance and the darkness of the faraway
    forest.

    The
    dog trotted along after the parade and soon found himself beside the limping
    clown and the old donkey. When finally the sad-faced clown became aware of the
    dog’s presence, a look of surprise and happiness came over his face and he let
    out a cry that startled the little dog. The clown crouched in the snow
    alongside the donkey and clapped his hands and called out, and when the dog
    came into the clown’s arms the little clown began to laugh and the small, laughing clown held the dog in his arms, rocking him gently.

    The
    clown carried the little dog in his arms -murmuring and giggling happily all
    the while-as they brought up the rear of the noisy and colorful and clanking
    parade.

    They
    traveled that night until the torches had all burned down to darkness, and then
    they stopped and set up their camp alongside a frozen river. It had grown quite
    cold, and the travelers bundled together under their blankets beside roaring
    fires, with the horses and the donkey huddled stamping and steaming just
    outside the circle of jugglers, acrobats, and clowns.

    The
    clown had swaddled the lost dog in an old wool blanket, and he held the dog in
    his arms and rocked him as the others told stories and laughed and gradually
    drifted into silence and sleep.

    The
    limping little clown’s name was Munch, or so he was known to his fellow
    travelers, and now he whispered to the dog in his arms, "I shall call you
    Beauteous Munch." Together they sat up until the bonfire had died away to
    embers, and together they saw a sky above them where there was no darkness at
    all, where there were millions upon millions of bright stars. The clown sang
    quiet lullabies and interrupted himself at one point to say, "Look, there goes
    a shooting star! Sweet dreams,
    Beauteous Munch."

    And
    that night, as he lay curled up beneath the blankets with the little clown,
    Beauteous Munch was warm and slept without shivering for the first time since
    the long ago day when he had first found himself lost in the faraway forest.

     

    There
    had been
    a time when Beauteous Munch was a puppy living contentedly with his
    mother and his brothers and sisters in a wooden box in a small town. One day an
    old man and woman had come to take him away to live with them in their house.
    They were loud and unhappy people, and try as he might Beauteous Munch could
    not make them any less unhappy. The old man was impatient with Beauteous Munch
    and shouted at him often.

    All
    day Beauteous Munch would sit at the window staring out at the children playing
    in the street and passing by his house. Then one day when the nights were
    beginning to get cold, the old man put Beauteous Munch outside and it was
    raining very hard, and cry as he might and scratch at the door as he did,
    Beauteous Munch could not get the old man or woman to open the door for him so
    he could come in out of the rain. Beauteous Munch sat on the steps of the house
    for a long time that night, until he saw the lamp in the front room
    extinguished and it was dark up and down the street and the rain was beginning
    to turn to snow. That was the night Beauteous Munch wandered away and
    eventually found himself exhausted and lost in the faraway forest.

    The
    first night in the faraway forest Beauteous Munch tried to sleep, but he was
    wet and cold and lonely. He was a sad little dog, and he missed his long ago
    once-upon-a-time life. He peered up through the big, wet snowflakes that were
    cart-wheeling out of the sky and he found a star there barely twinkling, a
    little star that looked lost and distant and alone. And as Beauteous Munch
    closed his eyes he wished upon that lost and distant star, wished that
    somewhere there was another wish lost and longing for a dog, and that attached
    to that wish was someone special with quiet magic in his hands and a soft voice
    and a smile that could wag a little dog’s tail.

     

    That
    same night
    , far away from the faraway forest, Munch the clown was bundled up in
    a blanket next to his donkey, listening to the laughter and the songs of his
    traveling companions. He was stout and not as graceful as any of the others,
    nor as skilled. Even as a clown his only real role was to lead the donkey and
    the horses around the ring, and to assist some of the others with their stunts.
    He could not sing, and because he spoke with a slight stutter he was the
    quietest of the troupe, and tended to settle by himself into the background,
    talking quietly with the donkey and the horses.

    And
    so it was that that very same night the little clown looked up into the
    sky and wished upon a small and distant star; Munch the clown closed his eyes
    and showed his crooked little teeth to the moon and offered only the simplest
    and most humble of wishes: Please, he
    whispered, Something Nice. Something happy. A small, happy thing.

     

    And
    now Beauteous
    Munch and the little clown were together, and that first night as
    they curled up together beside the fire and Beauteous Munch was warm and happy
    for the first time in a great many days, the little clown saw the beautiful
    shooting star tumble all the way down the sky and he thought to himself, So that is what happens when two wishes
    collide
    with one another: An old star
    is freed from the heavens and falls into a distant sea where it becomes a
    thousand bright and shimmering fishes. A wish come true is a gift that sets the
    stars free
    .

     

    So
    that is
    the story of how Beauteous Munch came to live with Munch the sad-faced
    clown. Together they learned many tremendous and difficult tricks and Beauteous
    Munch learned to ride on the old donkey’s back and walk across a rope and leap
    into the arms of Munch the clown, and all the signs the performers took around
    and posted in the towns and villages now said "BEAUTEOUS MUNCH -POPULAR SHOW
    DOG!" He was very popular indeed, and people everywhere would come from far and
    wide to see the little clown and his astonishing dog.

    And
    on clear nights, as Beauteous Munch and his friend the clown
    curled up and drifted off to sleep, they would stare into the sky above them
    and watch with drowsy wonder as star after star tumbled through the darkness
    and somewhere, they knew, wishes came true.

  • Carpe Latinitatem

    I was walking around the office the other day and overheard one of the Rake’s ad reps telling two more reps that he’d just sold an ad contract. I opined, in passing, that his customer must be a very perspicacious sort. That, of course, brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

    "What the hell does that mean?" he asked. So I told him wise or perceptive, and that it was from the Latin perspicio, which means to see through or to see thoroughly, and that perspicio, in turn came from per (through) and specio (to look) and that someone who could see through things tended to be wise, hence the connotation.

    "Perspective comes from the same roots, and you can change the inflective prefix and come up with introspective, inspect, respect, aspect, and so forth," I continued.

    Of course, by that time, the group had moaned, much like my children do when I go all Latin on them, and had gone back to their offices to sell more ads. At least I hope so.

    I thought of all this when I noted that on the NY Times today, the most emailed story was A Vote for Latin. The article is a good read, and makes a good argument for studying Latin. I am basically of the opinion that, if Thomas Jefferson thought is was worth knowing, it probably is. After all, as far as presidents go, he was the very summit of perspicacity.

  • Fashion That Gives Warm Fuzzies

    More eye candy from my fave local fashion photographer, Nic
    Marshall
    . These latest pics were styled by the ladies of Eclecticoiffeur. The
    model, I hear, is from Vision. Don’t you just lurve the eye-popping color? I, for one, also like the bucolic backdropseven if they are reminiscent of
    the much loathed Anthropologie catalogue.

  • The Very Serious Incident of the Gift Basket

    It was last year when the UPS man left the box by our front door. As always, when unexpected boxes arrive, there was excitement and a flurry of dancing about the foyer. Upon quick and furious destruction of the box, we discovered a gift basket.

    It was a large gift basket, and once we removed the cellophane, rather fragrant. The quick once-over revealed various sausages and cheese among the fruit, not to mention a chocolate tucked here and there. The overwhelmingly beefy smell was wrapping around me as I picked up one of the yellow logs and realized something was very, very wrong: it was a tube of Ched-Onion Cheeze Food.

    I quickly scrutinized the other items (teriyaki beef sticks, spreadable parmesan, something called "chutter") and my head began to spin: I had been gifted an entire mountain of processed foods. And not even the good kind.

    It had to be a joke. No one who actually knew me would do something like that unless they were hoping for a good chuckle. After all, a bunch of my college chums have successfully re-gifted a box of smoked salmon spread for at least ten years running.

    But there was no card.

    There was no card, no note, no acknowledgement of sender, no indication of a hardy-har-har. Even if it was a serious gift, why wouldn’t they want credit? I had no idea who had sent the gift, nor a clue as to their intention.

    Thusly, I felt duty-bound to at least try some of the goods. Peeling back the wrapping on the "chutter", I grabbed a cracker and topped it with a healthy schmear. At first, it was actually creamy and a bit yummy in that cheese-dip kinda way. I was truly considering another crackerfull when the waxy mouth coating started to bloom. That was enough. The fruit was eaten, the chocolates left for the mailman and the sausages incorporated into a house game in which you might discover a plump package under your pillow or furtively placed in your shoe.

    If you gave this basket to me, know that it was enjoyed. Maybe not in the manner intended, maybe so. Please know that you have become known as the Mad Basketeer who Gifts on the Sly and with every UPS truck that pulls up, we wonder if you have struck again.

    Resources for those who actually wish to attach their names to a gift basket:

    Pears and Stilton from Harry & David

    Tapas Party Gift Box from La Tienda

    Anything from Zingerman’s

    Exotic Truffle Collection from Vosges Chocolate

    Fig Gift Box from Norm Thompson (plus hard to find peppermints!)

    Noon Whistle from Dean and Deluca

    Belgian Chocolate-Covered Oreos from Red Envelope