Blog

  • The Sheep Census

    These days you can’t turn on a television without encountering an advertisement for some pharmaceutical sleep aid, and sleep centers have sprung up all over the country. Yet for experts like Dr. Mark Mahowald, that explosion of treatment options—and the ceaseless wave of sleep-deprived patients seeking them—is both a blessing and a curse. That’s because the sheer range of sleep-related afflictions often still baffles even the most experienced specialists.

    Mahowald is the director and cofounder of the Minnesota Regional Sleep Disorders Center at Hennepin County Medical Center, and for more than thirty years he has been at the forefront of a burgeoning industry.
    Back in the ’70s, when Mahowald and fellow neurologist Milton Ettinger launched the MRSDC, sleep science was still a little-understood and largely neglected field. At the time only two facilities in the country—New York’s Montefiore Hospital and Stanford University in California—were seriously addressing the subject. Faced with a growing number of local complaints, Mahowald and Ettinger began conducting studies at HCMC using polysomnographic gear that Mahowald built in his living room.

    Today Mahowald is widely recognized for the MRSDC’s pioneering research and treatment in the area of REM sleep behavior disorder, an often dangerous parasomnia in which individuals act out all manner of dreams and nightmares, with often violent results—they drive, for instance, or choke their spouses, or commit sexual assaults. Mahowald and his MRSDC colleague, Dr. Carlos Schenck, recently published an article in a medical journal on one particular (and peculiar) class of these behaviors, dubbed “sexsomnia.” That’s part of the reason why the Associated Professional Sleep Societies, which attracted more than five thousand attendees to its annual confab at the Minneapolis Convention Center in June, asked Mahowald to deliver the keynote address. There, Mahowald and Schenck also received the American Academy of Sleep Medicine’s William C. Dement Award.

    Are we experiencing an epidemic of sleeplessness?
    Well, certainly far too many people are sleep deprived today, but a lot of the things we see in the lab are really nothing new. I don’t think most of these sleep disorders are more prevalent now, just that there was such complete ignorance in the past. We frankly didn’t have any idea what we were in for.

    So what do you know now that you didn’t know thirty years ago?
    At that time there was very little awareness or understanding of apnea or narcolepsy—we’ve learned that apnea is actually as common as diabetes or asthma—and we hadn’t even come close to identifying the broad spectrum of parasomnias [sleepwalking, sleeptalking, teeth grinding, REM sleep behavior disorder, etc.]. Even something like Restless Leg Syndrome was barely talked about in those days, and now we know that it affects something like ten percent of the population. Essentially it’s a whole new field today. An extraordinary number of treatments have been discovered, most of which have proved remarkably effective.

    Are we primarily talking about pharmaceuticals?
    Drugs, yes, but also things you can address with simple behavioral modification. And CPAP [continuous positive airway pressure] machines to treat apnea. I mean, this is a serious disease that wreaks havoc on people’s lives, and all you have to do is pump air into the nose and it’s gone. Fifteen thousand people have come through our labs who are now wearing CPAP masks at night and getting restful sleep.

    We heard recently of some guy who allegedly stabbed his wife to death in his sleep. As someone who has extensively studied the forensic ramifications of parasomnias, do you really believe that a person can commit a crime while asleep—and retain no memory of having done so?
    I do. And although it’s very difficult to prove, the defense has held up in a number of court cases.

    Have you witnessed these sorts of violent parasomnias in the laboratory?
    Unfortunately, they show up very infrequently in the laboratory.

    Then how do you prove that someone was sleeping when they committed a crime?
    You don’t. You can’t. The forensics are very difficult, but there are ways to evaluate these cases. You have to take a very careful and thorough look at a person’s medical history and determine whether there’s any background of violent or seriously disordered sleep. But there is, of course, no way to tell after the fact what exactly was happening at the time these things occurred, and we obviously have to be careful that we don’t get some character scheming to get a diagnosis of a dangerous parasomnia so they can go home and kill their spouse.

    It seems like sleep science is a pretty contentious and increasingly competitive field. You’ve got so many types of doctors—psychiatrists, neurologists, pulmonary physicians—treating patients with sleep disorders. How can people be sure they’re getting the best treatment for their particular problem?
    The increased awareness of sleep disorders and the societal costs of sleep deprivation are a good thing, but the business of sleep medicine—and I emphasize the business part—poses concerns. At HCMC we were interested in studying sleep from a medical and scientific standpoint. We didn’t think there was going to be much money in any of this. Now people are realizing that there is. I divide the field into givers and takers. The givers are giving back to the field through research and education; the takers are making money but not giving anything back. To the best of my knowledge we’re still the only sleep lab in town doing any research, not to mention education. A large percentage of medical schools still don’t address the issue of sleep.

    What bothers you about this apparent divide?
    Again, it comes back to the money, and the conflicts of interest that introduces. Obviously drug advertising is out of control; you’ve got physicians doing consulting work for pharmaceutical companies and serving on speakers bureaus that essentially promote these drugs. Stuff is being overprescribed. And a lot of these other centers generate revenue by dispensing CPAP machines—which we don’t do—so people who’ve got barely more apnea than a cadaver get sent home with a CPAP.

    Do you think there’s still a lingering belief in the medical community that many sleep disorders—insomnia, primarily—are rooted in psychological causes?
    That’s been a big change. Once we were all taught that most disordered sleep had a psychological component, or was an indicator of psychological problems. I think there’s pretty universal agreement now that the majority of these disorders are entirely unrelated to psychological disease. If anything, untreated insomnia is a risk factor for the development of depression and anxiety. It’s difficult when someone’s sitting in your office to know what came first.

    Is there a sense that sleep deprivation is sort of a societal canary in the coal mine?
    It extracts a huge toll, on the highways, in the classroom and workplace. People endure voluntary sleep deprivation for social and economic reasons, and we’ve come to view that willingness to sacrifice sleep as a sort of badge of honor, an indicator of dedication and hard work. Few people brag about how much sleep they get, and all these places are now open twenty-four hours for no real reason. I know that I would not want my car fixed by someone at three o’clock in the morning. I always tell people that if they have to use an alarm clock to wake up in the morning, they’re sleep deprived.

  • Sick People Suck

    Tom Bartel’s editorial [“To the Barricades,” July 2007] based on Michael Moore’s film Sicko, was misleading in many ways.

    The sub-headline mentions health care but the article focuses on health insurance. There is hardly a subtle difference between the two. Few would disagree that the U.S. offers the world’s finest health care, and what’s more it’s available to all, insured and uninsured alike. Twin Cities headlines are replete with daily tales of gunshot victims being treated and released at HCMC (if the Bloods and Crips are offering comprehensive medical insurance, perhaps they should serve as the model rather than Cuba). Illegal aliens flood California emergency rooms, the law stipulating that no one can be turned away.

    And before progressives scrawl angry letters claiming race- and class-baiting, rest assured that middle-class folks like me are to blame as well. On the occasions I’ve possessed “Cadillac” health insurance I’ve run to the doctor at the first sign of trouble, sometimes just to catch up on People magazine. Over-consumption is rarely cited as a cause of our nation’s insurance woes; it’s invariably Big Pharmaceutical, reviled until people need medicine or seek a sound investment for their 401Ks.

    Bartel is to be forgiven; his article clearly wasn’t intended for critical thinkers. Rather, it was aimed squarely at reactionary types who will rush to theaters and pay eight dollars for the privilege of downing three-gallon buckets of butter-drenched popcorn, slurping sixty-four-ounce sodas, and watching a 400-pound man lecture them about health.

    Tom Bonnett, St. Paul

  • Egg on Our Face (a Correction)

    Dear Rake,
    The author of your July fiction piece—which I edited—was actually Dan Hendrickson, and not Don Hendrickson as was printed. I’m sure you regret this embarrassing error as much as I do. I’m also sure that you, like I, would very much like to apologize to Dan Hendrickson, his friends and family, and everyone he knows. I realize that this is in no way an adequate defense, but I can only tell you that from the very moment I received Dan Hendrickson’s fine story, “Dog Day,” I was incapable of thinking of its author as anyone but Don Hendrickson, to the extent that I actually changed the byline on the man’s own manuscript, certain (for some inexplicable reason) that he didn’t even know his own name. I believe I may even have called Dan Hendrickson “Don” in a phone conversation or two, but, polite fellow that he undoubtedly is, he didn’t bother to correct me.
    Somewhere in the past I knew a Don Hendricks. That’s my only possible excuse, and it’s not a very good one.
    I really am sorry.
    As, I’m sure, are you.

    Brad Zellar, Senior Editor

  • Norway

    We love it when readers take us along on trips to the world’s loveliest places. (We also get a kick out of the occasional dispatch from seedier destinations.) Siri and Bent Iversen of Northeast Minneapolis recently toted The Rake to one of Norway’s great geological wonders. While visiting Bent’s homeland of Vågsøy, an island off the country’s west coast, the couple carved out some quality reading time as they checked out the great, mushroom-shaped Kannesteinen Rock. It’s “actually bedrock,” explained the Iversens in their accompanying missive. As it turns out, the oft-photographed formation assumed its unusual shape after a thousand years of being battered by the surf.

    Siri and Bent Iversen

  • Nothin’ but Love for Nonprofits

    Cheers to The Rake for recognizing that bicycling (and walking) is indeed taking off in the Twin Cities; one need only look to the streets to see how many people are using their own two feet (and increasingly creative wheels!) to reach their destinations. As you mentioned in your June 2007 issue [“Twin Cities on Two Wheels”], the Bike/Walk Twin Cities initiative will bring $21.5 million in funding to the Twin Cities. What you didn’t mention was that a local nonprofit was managing the program. After a community engagement effort that involved neighborhood organizations, nonprofits, small businesses, citizen activists, elected officials, and government agencies, Transit for Livable Communities’ board of directors recently allocated $7 million to 31 innovative projects to improve bicycling and walking in the region. Ever seen a bicycle roundabout? Colored bike lanes? Check out our website (www.tlcminnesota.org) for more projects, and give us call to find out how you can be involved in Bike/Walk Twin Cities!

    Katie Eukel, Transit for Livable Communities, St. Paul

    Katie Eukel

  • No Place for the Creative Thing

    Among the 14 Pioneer Press employees who took the latest buy-out and departed last Friday was Matt Peiken. Perhaps not a household name like Joe Soucheray or Bob Sansevere, Peiken, 44, is the sort of character who shouldn’t be completely out of step with modern newspapers, but is.

    I first met him in 2000, not long after he joined the PiPress. Back when papers like the one in St. Paul had full-time employees to cover things like classical music and books and TV, Peiken was installed as a kind of general assignment “arts writer,” something that today is an unheard of luxury. Not being particularly alert, I couldn’t figure out what he was covering from week to week, only that he had a hell of a lot of opinions on how things ought to be going down in the PiPress and the A&E/features department.

    Like most staffs we had weekly meetings to get things on the schedule and supposedly dissect each other’s work. That last part always went over like a cast iron balloon. For myself and a few others who liked the idea of getting in, scheduling the next “feature” (translation: 18″ preview), grabbing our mail, and getting back to work, we were regularly thwarted by Peiken, who, as I said, had an astonishing lot to say about everything … TV, pop music, comedy, theater, bio-science, Boolean valued function, bo-tox, you name it. Most of it was kind of amusing and not entirely irrelevant. But there were times I wanted to strangle the bastard.

    What was unequivocal was that Peiken cared. He was sincerely passionate about doing stories that were different and would draw an audience. Like so many others now migrating out of newspaper work, Peiken had a subversive streak that he employed to put a novel spin on the rote and ordinary stories he was assigned and to keep himself fresh.

    I called him last Friday as he was packing up. How, I wondered, did he judge his creative satisfaction over his last years at the Pioneer Press as that paper, following the lead of so many others, elevated predictability to a high virtue?

    “I tried to make it work,” he said. “I really did. And really that’s all [taking the buy-out] is about. I was close to taking it the last time [Thanksgiving ’06]. But this time my gut was screaming for me to take it. So I did. Because, the way I see it, it really is all about me asking how much faith I have in myself?”

    In 2005 Peiken was transfered out of the arts writer job into something called an “urban reporter,” which in fairness, was somebody’s idea of letting Peiken’s innate idiosyncrasy stir up stories from wherever he found them in the city. That lasted a little over a year, at which point he was sent over to the editorial pages, which had been decimated to the point where today it is literally a one person staff, veteran Jim Ragsdale.

    “That business with the editorial board was really just through the election cycle,” Peiken explains.

    With the campaigns over, the airlock began to slide shut. Peiken was assigned to the suburbs, specifically 12 cities in northern Ramsey county. No matter how much smoke publishers and editors pump, the reality of suburban coverage is that A) Papers don’t have the staff to cover the suburbs adequately; B) As they pretend to cover 12 cities with one or two reporters they are pulling resources away and neglecting topics of interest to almost everyone; and C) Since they’re faking “coverage” with skeleton staffs they will most often settle for rote and predictable coverage of school boards, cops, and developers. Very few suburban reporters get either time and/or encouragement to take time mining and writing stories outside the formula.

    There are exceptions of course. But the exceptions will almost always prove the rule.

    “I want to be clear. I am not angry, and I’m not a victim,” says Peiken. “In fact, when they told me I was going to the suburbs I told them they had the wrong guy. Obviously I could cover it. But the stories I like to do take more time than a couple days. But they said, ‘We need bodies out there.’ So I went.”

    Unlike some suburban reporters Peiken says he actually drove around his area looking for something other than just cops and schools material. (Despite the urgency of their focus on the suburbs neither the Star Tribune nor the Pioneer Press has anything resembling a bureau in any suburb. Suburban reporters mostly cover their beat by phone from their desks downtown.)

    [[CORRECTION: This just in from Star Tribune designer Chandra Akkari: The Star Tribune does operate a bureau for its South section in Burnsville, near the Heart of the City development. An editor, three reporters, and one photographer work out of this bureau four days per week, and the office has been in use since November of 2006. Star Tribune South is available Wednesdays inside the Star Tribune in suburbs south of the Minnesota River. The section was started in October 2003. There are also two other suburban weekly sections, North and West, though there are no bureaus at this time for those staffers. The combined circulation of the suburban weeklies is about 120,000.]]

    It didn’t work out so well for Peiken. As a guy who, in addition to editing a website for performance poetry has performed in the Fringe Festival, in a show based on a smarmy self-help guru character he wrote a book around, Peiken got jazzed by the talk (“talk,” mind you) of on-line newspapering with all the video bells and whistles. Driving around led him to whip together a couple videos he dubbed “Suburban Satanic,” clearly off-beat takes on life in ‘burbia.

    He says he played them for his superiors at the PiPress. And … “They never went anywhere.”

    Since Peiken doesn’t strike me as a guy who works blue I’m wondering how bad they could have been that the PiPress wouldn’t … at least … say, “Not bad. But what if we do this.” I mean, don’t you say something to encourage the rare guy who goes and cooks up something entirely on his own time and dime?

    Instead, it was the all too-familiar sound of nothingness. No feedback. Nothing. Or in the unspoken … “Cops, schools, developers.”

    “That was a sign to me that I had to move on.”

    Peiken says he has found the first flush of freedom, “Really exciting. I’ve got all these ideas of things I want to do, a couple non-fiction book proposals, other writing, that it just didn’t make sense any more to stay with the paper. It’s not like I’m wealthy, but for me writing for the paper was always about something more than the check. And for whatever the reasons, my personality didn’t match up with where the paper is going.”

    Peiken reiterates that he doesn’t feel like he was pushed out. Rather the institutional voice and perspective of the Pioneer Press was evolving further and further away from what kept him intellectually refreshed and eager to write.

    In other words, “A bad fit,” as every manager says who resents spending time getting square pegs to fit in round holes.

    Peiken, who will also be attending poker-dealing school, believes this quarter’s PiPress buy-outs will likely require the paper’s management to raid more from what is left of the paper’s features section, in further pursuit of suburban “coverage.”

    Maybe the most interesting thing Peiken said was an aside: “You know, never once in all the time I was there, not once, did my editor ever come up to me and ask, ‘What do you think of this?’ I think that’s kind of odd, don’t you?”

    Yeah, I do. Maybe they didn’t ask because the loquacious Peiken already told them. But I’m guessing it is something else. Something blander, duller and resigned. Curiosity — or just simple cross-checking — used to be a virtue in newspapers.

  • Why We Fight (Every Day Of The Week)

    I came up with a rule, of sorts, that I would refrain from talking about cars on Sunday. But heh, I am also a modernist (at times) and modernists don’t follow every rule (even their own).

    Modernism (and schmodernism) aside, here’s another way of looking at it. What’s a man to do when he spots a Maserati GranSport in the parking lot of a shopping mall? Well then you just have to break your own rules and bring it to your readers.

    I trust you will agree.*

    FILM NOTES: One of only two Maserati GT Gransports in Minneapolis (I keep calling it a Ferrari).


    BONUS FILM NOTES:
    Fifteen minutes later, I came across this equally cool ride — a WS-6 Firebird candied up to 405 RWHP. The owner was a Ranger recently returned from Afghanistan. Here is the car:


    BONUS FILM NOTES:
    And in this short take, the owner of the Pontiac describes how Porsche drivers are easily emasculated. He also touches on the difference between (this link is a little generous) flywheel and rear wheel horsepower–important to note when you hear a Porsche owner start waxing about his/her wheels. I also answer to one of my own friends on this score at the end of this take–he keeps bugging me to sell one of my cars–a slightly candied up 2003 Mustang Cobra.

    (* Not that it matters, but I also went a house of worship today. I notice that Garrison K.– fountain of morals — likes to tell us that he goes to church, old-testament-style, too. Good for you, red shoe.)

  • The Simpsons Movie

    by Peter Schilling Jr.

    simpsons_movie.jpgThis could be the best episode ever and still not live up to the hype. After all, the movie is, what, nearly twenty years in the gestation? Give Matt Groening and company credit for assembling the best writers from seasons’ past and pulling in David Silverman, co-director from Pixar’s superior Monsters, Inc., to help them launch this behemoth. Already acclaimed by British critics as brilliant, the plot is ostensibly about the environment, but reports have it that Green Day, Al Gore, “President” Arnold Schwarzenegger, the religious right, and the New Age left are all skewered. Rumor has it that the story also includes a romance between Lisa and an angst-ridden Irishman, Bart skateboarding in the nude, and the end of the world as we know it.

  • Passion Play

    privatelivescut copy.jpg

    If you’ve ever fallen in love too quickly or divorced with ire or married the same person twice or threatened to maim your new spouse on your honeymoon (and meant it), you must see Private Lives, the 1930 Noel Coward comedy now showing on the McGuire Proscenium Stage at the Guthrie. As someone who’s done all of these things, I feel uniquely qualified to tell you that the story holds up incredibly well and — until the last act, where events devolve in traditional screwball mode — feels current nearly 80 years later.

    More important, the theater is a simply gorgeous place, cloaked in brilliant red with a remarkable set that makes you feel sorry for all those poor New Yorkers who must make due with Broadway while we have this lush, stunning venue plus the brilliance of artistic director Joe Dowling (who did not direct this production, but had the good sense to hire Peter Rothstein) AND it costs only $5 to park. . . .

    Private Lives is the story of a divorced couple, Amanda and Elyot, who just happen to meet up five years after parting when they are each on their second honeymoons — in adjoining hotel rooms in France. It sounds like a Frank Capra set-up; and, indeed, Coward had a great deal in common with the beloved American director of romantic films like “It Happened One Night.” Only the British playwright was deliciously nasty about the whole messy deal. “Certain women should be struck regularly, like gongs,” says Elyot in reference to Amanda. And when his new young wife is mewling: “I’d like to cut off your head with a meat ax.” There’s also a beautifully-drawn scene of the two ex-spouses discussing their sexual liaisons, in which Elyot says, “It doesn’t suit women to be promiscuous.” Politically correct this is not, but it does capture a variety of passions. And two things save this play from sinking into misogyny.

    The first is, of course, context. Period costumes and a bizarrely frequent use of the word “gay” to mean carefree remind you that this is a different era — one in which a man in high society could demonstrate his love for a woman by spanking her. The other is Amanda herself, a strong, sharp-tongued woman (unlike the bafflingly stupid romantic heroines of today), who spanks right back and responds with, “It doesn’t suit men for women to be promiscuous.”

    It is for both of these reasons — context and the character Amanda, who is played by the absolutely marvelous, smoky-voiced Veanne Cox — that I recommend you try Amanda’s Ambrosia. The Guthrie came up with this cocktail specifically for the run of Private Lives: a canny concoction of sparkling wine, Campari, and puréed passion fruit.

    Frankly, it looks pretty awful in the glass, all murky and orange-ish and rather thick. But it’s an odd thing about this drink — though I don’t care for the intensely tropical taste of passion fruit (which, by the way, has been proved to help lower blood pressure) and I’m bored by the majority of cheap sparkling wines, together, these ingredients become weirdly interesting. The effervescence of the wine softens the acidic quality of the passion fruit; and it, along with the Campari, stiffens the candylike wine just a bit. As in the case of Amanda, her namesake ambrosia is an acquired taste: aggressive and unique, bold, colorful, and unapologetic. But even if you don’t care for passion fruit or sparkling wine or slinky but outspoken women, it’s well worth a try.

    It’s also a great way to get into the spirit of the play, where brandy flows and glasses shatter while two people locked forever in a tumultuous love affair pummel one another before breaking into a kiss.

  • Car Talk (of the Uncommon Kind)

    Here’s something for all you folks reading the Saturday paper (and getting really mad that there is nothing of substance to read) or perhaps streaming that silly show “Car Talk” online.

    I say silly in a good way. The two guys are a hoot. However I think they discuss really boring cars for the most part. The Road Rake will bring you car talk that is far less common. Which brings me, once again, to the French.

    As I said before, I attended Bastille Day at J. Leune a few weeks back. Once the world catches up to “instant journalism” I would have filed these videos more quickly. And yet, perhaps, French cars are the kind of thing that require patience and understanding. With this mind, let me file, as time permits, some of the interesting things I “raked up” during the Citroen Car Show across the street.

    FILM NOTES: This first video is narrated by the Treasurer of The Citroen Car Club of Minnesota. He describes a car light years ahead of its time–the Citroen Traction Avant.



    FILM NOTES: The back seat of the Traction Avant. This video does not adequately capture the spaciousness (better yet, capaciousness) of this interior. It really was the first station wagon of sorts. Unibody construction too–unheard of in the 1930s–today everyone does it.

    FILM NOTES: The engine bay of the the Citroen Maserati (the most complicated car of the 70s). This is narrated by a few people and the sound quality is not good. While its a little like watching paint dry, once you understand what you are looking at, and realize the Italians and French tried to do this, you begin to understand madness*

    * Focault was a controversial yet brilliant guy. Not mad, mind you, just uncommon.