Minnesota Republican Watch today has a post detailing the few lines of computer code used to change Mark Kennedy’s website to express his phony outrage at Amy Klobuchar.
It’s funny how pathetic Kennedy and his people are, and how easy it is to puncture their lies.
When is the Strib going to cover this, btw?
The barn at Deer Lake Orchards.
Suddenly, the weekends belong to the apple orchards. They’ve figured out it’s quite a business, luring familys with hot cider, mini-donuts, jumping goats and corn mazes. My cynical side bemoans the crowds and trampled fields and toddlers with farm cats in a love-strangle. But I am renewed when, during the wagon ride around the farm, I see pampered kids get mucky while learining about flax seed and amaranth and how corn goes from field to movie theater. If they can connect their caramel apples to a place where you can smell straw and see pink baby pigs, we’re doing something right.
There are more listed on the Apple Journal, including my personal favorite Fall Harvest Orchard in Delano where we get to feed the cows.
Again, it’s a big weekend for theater: For one, Gatz is running… It’s a production I had promised myself I’d see, way back when the Walker was first announcing its performing arts season. This was to be an exercise in self-betterment, or so I thought. But now that the show’s here, however, I can’t quite bring myself to sit through it. The adult ADD persists, despite my best efforts to medicate…
Another biggie: Jeune Lune just re-opened its take on Moliere’s The Miser, which is a terrific show. (I saw it last year.) I’m not sure if it’s been written here before, but yours truly once spent about three years of her life working for l’homme at Jeune Lune. And during that time, of course, my all-time favorite theater house devolved, on the personal spectrum of adoration, from rockstar to slave driver–as any employer would, really. But there’s no need to sully my praise with personal baggage. Jeune Lune is still among my favorites. And it’s definitely the best place to take an out-of-town guest–especially if he’s a foreigner you want to convince of your city’s cosmopolitan virtues. In fact, in some instances, Jeune Lune can make you and your city look downright exotic. For example, I was able to impress a certain Hungarian last year when I suggested we meet up to see Jeune Lune’s production of Amerika. And I almost had ‘im after that night. He sprang to his feet for the standing ovation. (And these aren’t obligatory and readily handed out according to the Hungarian standard, you know…) I even introduced him to the director after the show. But then, as it turned out, something terrible occurred, and this, it seems, left an indelible mark on the hot Hungarian’s memory of our date. He offered to walk me to my car after the show, but I couldn’t quite remember where I’d parked. I could sense the disappointment as we circled through the blocks going up and down First Street. Thanks anyway, Jeune Lune.
Addendum (added at about noon): I should also note that the Dell’Arte Company, a physical theater school and performance troupe out of Cali (and thus, loosely related to Jeune Lune), are in town this weekend to perform with Danish theater company, Jomfru Ane Teatret, in their production of The Liar: The Peer Gynt Project. It all goes down at the Ritz.
How you can tell Kennedy’s lying–his website is down.
We were informed last evening of a serious security breach of sensitive Kennedy campaign information by a senior member of Amy Klobuchar’s campaign.
This was the first sentence on the new front page of Mark Kennedy’s website today, as he tries to exploit his own vendor’s stupidity to Amy Klobuchar’s detriment. He claims he disabled the website because of the “security breach,” which, by the way, was not even a breach of his site, but the site of his advertising agency, and were not done by Klobuchar’s staff, but by an independent blogger.
Isn’t there a law about lying about a political opponent?
At least Kennedy’s consistent though. You may remember him as the guy who pictured Patty Wetterling with Osama Bin Laden when he ran against Wetterling for Congress.
Hmmm, it’s definitely a movie sort of day…. For one, the Walker Art Center will preview its season of films this evening. And then there are myriad opportunities to catch arty short’uns–at the Bedlam Theatre’s Wings on a Shelf Film Festival, for example, (which begins and ends today) and at the Soap Factory’s You Were Never Here Film Series (showing through Sunday, October 8). There’s also the Viva Pedro film series, honoring filmmaker Pedro Almodovar, playing at the Lagoon…
And if you’re in need of an Almodovar primer, might I recommend Peter Schilling’s Man from La Mancha, which appeared in our September issue. You know, LAST month… The new issue, the October one, should find its way online later today.
Dear Crappy Restaurants,
I know you probably don’t care, but just in case you are having a moment of self-reflection, please go out and buy the current copy of FastCompany magazine.
The cover features the ragerific comedian Lewis Black, whom you should recognize as your typical customer: frustrated, agitated, walking away and screaming his story to everyone he meets.
The current issue announces their Customers First awards for 2006. Read about how the Mandarin Oriental Hotel does the simplest of things with the utmost class. Learn from the dudes at Burton Snowboards who hire people that care about the product and never stop learning. Study the brilliant people behind American Girl and how they read the customer, never underestimating their needs and desire, no matter how small. And don’t you dare skip the section with Danny Meyer of Union Square Cafe in NYC. He’s got a book coming out that should become the dogeared and underlined bible for all your managers.
It’s not that hard, you could be brilliant, too.
xoxoxox
SM
There’s not much in terms of exceptional after-school activities today; unless you count the special screening of Meet Me In St. Louis, with a very special guest, the former child star of that film, Ms. Margaret O’Brien (i.e., Tootie). It all happens at the Heights Theatre tonight.
What strikes me, however, is that a lot of fashion events are coming down the pike: Glamorama, Collage, even a Rake Appeal event starring the trendmaster, Ms. Robyn Waters. Thinking about it all yesterday, I started choreographing my own little imaginary fashion show. Funny thing is that I don’t seem so concerned with what it would look like as I am with what it would sound like: everything from “Dedicated Follower of Fashion,” by The Kinks, to “I’m Not Wearing Underwear Today,” from Avenue Q. How’m on doing on cheese factor?
The reason for my current music obsession should become apparent tomorrow when the online version of our October issue goes live. It’s all about music, see.
Al Franken: God Spoke, 2006. Directed by Nick Doob and Chris Hegedus. With Al Franken, Franni Franken, good sport Henry Kissinger, Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity, Michael Medved, and Walter Mondale (all as themselves, obviously).
Now showing at the Uptown Theater. Franken will appear tonight after the 7 o’clock show for a Q and A.
There are a number of very telling moments in the documentary Al Franken: God Spoke that should raise red flags for us liberals. At a speech in Minneapolis following the 2004 election Mr. Franken mumbles “I’m… thinking of, uh, running in 2008 against Norm Coleman.” Despite facing a crowd of enthusiastic supporters, Franken can barely look up from the podium and sounds as if he’s telling his neighbor that his cat just killed their parakeet. On other occasions Al is outgunned by the likes of Anorexic Ann Coulter and Michael Medved the Movie Critic. In fact, Al Franken: God Spoke seems to accomplish the very opposite of what its makers surely intended. For the film gives us an Al Franken who is shrill, arrogant, often misguided, and who might just be the worst candidate for Senator in Minnesota come 2008.
Al Franken: God Spoke begins with Franken the bestselling author and follows our intrepid comedian/pundit as he helps start up his radio show, on whose shoulders the beleaguered network Air America rests. From here we go back to the hell that was the 2004 Presidential Campaign, made even worse because Franken believes, seemingly wholeheartedly, that Kerry’s going to whomp Bush. The film then follows Franken as he wades into the political tidepool and thinks about running for Senate. Then we get our man and Walter Mondale eating lunch and solemnly discussing just how dastardly the Republicans will be against brave old Al.
The worst thing about God Spoke is its utter tedium. For a film that is about a former comic with a political bent, it is surprisingly short on good jokes or humorous moments. Mostly, it’s a campaign film: it is the second film this summer to serve as both a warning and an early political ad for two candidates with the same first name. There’s a fine moment when Franken impersonates Henry Kissinger… for Henry Kissinger himself (who looks baffled). But, for the most part, we get footage of Al as Saddam at a USO function, Al on a book tour, Al at the Republican Convention, and Al on the radio.
As the film progresses, and begins to address its much more serious task of revealing the future Senatorial candidate, difficult questions begin to arise. Al Franken stands for… what? He certainly hates Bill O’Reilly, and God Spoke does a stellar job of giving that loathsome creature ammunition. In fact, it makes you wonder if, in the interest of being fair, the filmmakers gave O’Reilly, Hannity, and Coulter some choice barbs against Franken and left our hero looking flustered. In debates the guy starts slamming his fist on desks, demanding apologies, performing his jujitsu (as he calls it) by tossing out a barrage of facts that he can barely articulate without rambling. But the film succeeds only in making him sound like the aforementioned Al Gore . Which is not a good thing.
So Mr. Franken has a strong position on… what? Al Franken hates the right-wing pundits. So do a lot of us, but here’s some news: Norm Coleman is not a right-wing pundit. In fact, like it or not, Coleman is doing a moderately decent job of not appearing to be entirely in the President’s front pocket (as opposed to Mark Kennedy, who is doing a lovely job of sailing his ship into icebergs) and will make a formidable candidate in the next election. We know Franken hates Bush, and dislikes Republicans. Is this enough? Is it enough that Coleman is a jerk, a whiny bastard who only sits in his Senate office because of the death of the beloved Wellstone? That’s lousy, sure, but why would Joe Schmoe vote for Al Franken? Why would anyone in a primary against legitimate Democratic candidates? Because he hates Coleman more than anyone and has a radio show? That’s hardly enough.
In God Spoke, Franken and company exist high in the political stratosphere. We see him schmoozing at the Capital City Grille, hanging out with Hillary Clinton, making senators laugh, drinking wine in Newsweek’s wine cellar (who knew?) and being on the air with Michael Moore. We learn that his parents were staunch Republicans who became staunch Democrats when Barry Goldwater was the nominee in ’64. They did so because of Goldwater’s refusal to support the Civil Rights movement. It is interesting that, for a guy who brings this up as often as Al does, he is surrounded almost entirely (if not entirely) by whites… and if this were a film about, say, Norm Coleman, we’d certainly be braying about his ‘lily-white’ entourage.
Al Franken believes passionately about… what? The movie never really says. He is a comedian, a smart man, and a pundit. He has a crack staff of fact-checkers that put the right-wingers to shame. But does he have a history of public service? What does he think about education? About Iraq? About terrorism, health care, you name it. It’s not enough to just assume that there are left-wing answers to these concerns and that Al Franken is a better man than Norm at addressing these issues. Will the guy actually do his job? Introduce legislation? Or will he just gripe all the time… kind of like he does right now.
So what does Al Franken believe? Perhaps Al Franken believes that he is the liberal response to the Republican’s Hollywood onslaught. Maybe he sees that the right has successfully co-opted the movies and politics, giving us the right honorable Ronald Wilson Reagan in the performance of a lifetime, and now A. Schwarzenegger as the California Gov. They’ve raised the curtains on Fred Dalton Thompson and Fred Grandy (oddly enough, both guys are from Tennessee). Conservatives have learned the lessons from the media, from television and radio and the movies; now perhaps we have learned and are serving up a likeable face of our own.
But is this a good thing? Is it enough to simply detest a candidate and be amused by another? Isn’t it better to feel as though your man or woman has a vision, like Wellstone’s, someone utterly comfortable wandering amongst the crowds, maybe even someone who’s accomplished more than just acting like Stuart Smalley and barking into a microphone. Even if his facts are correct.
So when watching Al Franken: God Spoke it’s entirely fair to wonder just what Al Franken stands for as a candidate. And then to ask: can’t we do better than this?
I was trying to remember where I’d seen the guy before, and it was driving me crazy. I had an image in my head, but I couldn’t quite find the proper context.
Was he the sullen waiter with the black eye who’d recently served me at that awful new Italian restaurant in St. Louis Park? Or was he the bass player in Jews in Orbit, the band that had played a friend’s wedding reception back in July?
I decided he was the Jews in Orbit guy. I was almost certain.
Resolve is what’s called for here, I heard him say. It was clear from his deadpan delivery that he was being ironic.
The youngster at his side confessed that he didn’t understand the meaning of resolve. In his mind, he said, he pictured a television advertisement for…what was it? A laundry detergent?
The other fellow –a still youngish man, some kind of father, I suppose, but it was obvious to even the boy that he was in way over his head– said, Steely resolve. You need to learn to exercise some self control, to check your desires.
It’s my money, the boy said.
The man shook his head sadly and continued to flip through the racks of CDs. He was wearing a dirty Boston Red Sox cap, a tattered Feelies tee-shirt, long, baggy shorts, and flip-flops. At no time during this brief exchange had he diverted his attention from his browsing. He didn’t so much as look in the direction of the boy who was bouncing anxiously at his side.
The boy had thick black eyeglasses and an unruly head of brown curly hair. It’s my money, he said again. I want to buy this Iron Maiden CD.
The man finally turned and addressed the boy directly.
I want you to understand this, he said, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Are you listening to me? If you buy that Iron Maiden CD I can guarantee you that there will come a day in the not so distant future when you’re going to feel very, very stupid. Do you understand what I’m saying? That is a guarantee.
It’s my money, the boy said.
The man snatched the disc from the boy’s hands, shoved it back in the rack, and resumed flipping through the CDs.
The seed of what follows was planted yesterday, when I blogged, in passing, about the band Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin. Pretty cool name for a band, huh? And there’s more where that came from in today’s concert listings: Mel Gibson and the Pants. The latter of these plays the Nomad this eve. But what I’m more interested in, at this moment, is plumbing the depths of my (our?) fascination with band names that reference famous peeps? Reiner Maria is a favorite example, of course, if only because the band refers back to a poet I obsessed over in my younger years. And I bet more than one of us is thinking of the Dead Kennedys. Then there’s this other thing: On the way into work yesterday my mind wandered, for whatever reason, to an old bluesy local band called Wallace Hartley (named after the dude who rocked the Titanic). A stranger example: my buddy Matt Foust (better known as one-quarter of the Love-Cars) was once in a Beloit College band called Willis Smoked a Guy–an obvious reference to Diff’rent Strokes star-gone-wrong Todd Bridges. What to make of this? In cases such as Reiner Maria, the band name means reverence. In others–Mel Gibson and the Pants–it’s something of a gag. But, can an unknown band ride the wave of someone else’s name recognition? And what of the bands who took their names from famous somebodies who later faded from the consciousness or went out of fashion? Smart or dumb move? Hmmmmm.