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  • Why My Novel Is Set in Minneapolis

    I lived in Minneapolis
    for a few years, some years ago, and during that time I came to love
    the town and the quaint Midwestern customs of its citizens. People
    smiled at you on the street—without asking for money. If you were lost,
    they gave you directions—without asking for money. They even assisted
    the elderly across the street; in DC, we use them as decoys for the
    onrushing traffic.

    Minneapolis was
    especially inspiring for me as a writer. You could write about the
    Human Drama of Snow. Or use Snow as a Metaphor for the Universal
    Condition. Or hurt your back shoveling Snow so that you had more Time
    to Write.

    As Shakespeare wrote:

    Snow is the Winter of our Discontent.

    But during my residence
    there, the aspect of Minneapolis that I loved most was the chain of
    lakes inside the city limits. The prevailing theory is that a glacier
    created the lakes, though this story is less than credible to me since
    never once during my stay did a mile-high wall of ice come down from
    Canada.

    Two separate paths
    circumnavigate the lakes of Minneapolis. The Outer Path is for
    Speeders: bikers, inline skaters, and other mobility enthusiasts. While
    I admired their balance, dexterity, and tight clothing, I always
    thought it was odd to be in such a hurry when you are traveling in a
    circle.

    The Inner Path around
    the lakes is for Footers: joggers, walkers, and plodders like me. The
    Inner Path often floods during the spring thaw, forcing both Speeders
    and Footers onto the same ground. This is a recipe for disaster.
    There’s just no getting around me.

    I lived in the top two
    floors of a Victorian house only two blocks from my favorite of the
    lakes: Lake of the Isles, known for its urban wildlife. In the winter,
    around the south side of Lake of the Isles, you could sometimes sight
    the rare Snow Serpent, a Norse American cousin of the Loch Ness Monster
    who hibernates in summer and prowls the icy lake in winter. Many a
    snowman has been devoured by this sly leviathan. In the spring, an
    armada of Canadian geese invades the lake. Each evening, the royal navy
    embarks from the lakeshore to their island harbor, a squadron of
    goslings in regal tow.

    Lake of the Isles is
    also known for, well, isles-two of them near the northwest lakeshore.
    The island closest to land is very close; I always felt that I could
    jump across the narrow channel, or in January, slide across. But
    I never did, because there was a small sign standing akilter near the
    shore and nearly covered by the tall grasses. The sign read ‘Game
    Preserve’, in wavering letters that might have been painted by webbed
    feet.

    Of course, in my imagination, Game Preserve
    referred to some place magical and forbidden, to a Velveteen Rabbit,
    Puff the Magic Dragon, Chutes and Ladders sanctuary in a clearing
    hidden deep in the interior of the tiny island. How I wanted to ignore
    the sign and explore! But I never did.

    After I left
    Minneapolis, the magical island continued to feed my imagination. I
    could never forget the lake, and the sign, and my urge to break the
    rules, step onto the island, and discover that forbidden sanctuary just
    beyond the tree line. So finally I created a character who could.

    I wish there had been a
    bench, there where the path curves and the shore and the island almost
    touch. I think I might be there still.

    Stephen Evans is the author of The Marriage of True Minds, a novel set in Minneapolis, to be published in May by Unbridled Books. He will be reading from his new novel on Saturday, June 7, 2008, 7 p.m., at Magers & Quinn, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis.

  • Annihilating a Collective Memory

    "Hitler believed modernists
    couldn’t see color as it was in nature, or humans as they were in
    life," remarks one of the scholars interviewed in The Rape of Europa
    —     a documentary on the artistic pillaging perpetrated by the Nazi
    army during World War II. "He viewed this as a racial deficiency."

    And with that, we learn yet
    another aspect of the Führer’s demented psychological make-up, thoroughly
    extrapolated over the two-hour course of this captivating film. Religion,
    race, politics, and apparently artistic leanings – Hitler was thorough
    in his prejudices. And with art, just as with all his other biases,
    his distastes seem to stem from his own insecurities.

    In 1907, an eighteen-year-old
    Adolf Hitler was rejected from Vienna’s Academy of Fine Arts. The
    film would have it that this occurrence was the seed for his misanthropic
    leanings: "Many of the members of the academy were Jewish," we’re
    told, and it’s suggested that this may have fueled his resentment
    later on. Perhaps it’s a tad over-speculative, but nevertheless one
    wonders what path young Hitler might have taken had he been admitted
    to the school.

    More disturbing (and convincing)
    than the film’s psychoanalytic probing into Hitler’s iniquity is
    its analysis of raw data and records. We see the dictator as he composes
    a list of paintings and sculptures he wants for his collection, which
    he will eventually exhibit in a national museum of the Third Reich.
    Before raiding a given country, a team of art historians and forensic
    specialists pinpoints what masterpieces to plunder before letting the
    troops wreak their havoc. According to the film’s website, by the
    end of the war, the Nazis had looted one fifth of all the known artworks
    in Europe. (Perverse as it may be, I found myself wishing that our nation’s
    leaders had such a high regard for the fine arts.)

    In addition to dismantling
    their military and political infrastructures, Europa
    clearly depicts Hitler’s desire to dismantle nations’ cultural infrastructures,
    too. In France and Italy a certain delicacy is shown (as Hitler respected
    their traditional artists), but in Russia and most of all in Poland,
    the seizing of art is meant to symbolize the felling of an ‘impure’
    society. Decimating a population is one thing, but annihilating its
    art is tantamount to annihilating its collective memory; Hitler contrived — actually contrived — not just to destroy countries, but their
    histories as well. Cultural obliteration is usually a by-product of
    war; here it was the plan. This is exactly what made Hitler so evil,
    and The Rape of Europa for the most part does an effective job
    showing it.

    Speaking now strictly from
    a cinematic standpoint, the film endeavors to be perhaps a bit too thorough.
    While all the stories herein are captivating, they do get repetitive.
    The evacuation of Russia’s Hermitage Museum, for example, is a reiteration
    of the Louvre’s evacuation, which is shown earlier in the movie. While
    both have their tragically fascinating aspects, and both were incredibly
    important events, on screen one does not reinforce the other, but merely
    echoes it.

    Later on, the narrative strays
    when we come to Italy, and the Allies are shown to be the ones destroying
    the art in the air raids on Axis positions. In this instance, the destruction
    is     incidental, and the segment does little to prove the documentary’s
    central thesis of art appropriation being an integral part of the Nazi’s
    plot.

    Nevertheless, this meandering
    by no means detracts from the overall impact of the film. The Rape
    of Europa     is a shocking — but easily palatable — study of an
    otherwise unexplored phenomena of the Holocaust, and proves (yet again…despite
    what certain Iranian politicians might say) that we still feel the reverberations
    of World War II today.

  • Kevin Spacey. Naked.

    I usually take my coffee black. I prefer the same color in comedies, and particularly in that rare dark comedy that can be called a film.  

    As you raid your video store or netflix account this weekend, finding a good dark film can be difficult–particularly when they are packaged as standard-blend comedies of the Carey/Farley/Sandler variety. 

    Swimming With Sharks,* produced in 1994 is that rare film in the wrong wrapper. It is a comedy of the darkest shade–with stellar, emotionally raw performances from Kevin Spacey, Frank Whaley and Michelle Forbes.

    The film was written and directed by George Huang, who, along with Richard Rodriguez were two "hot young director" names to drop at Chateau Marmont in the mid-90s.

    RR hit payday later but I am not quite sure what happened to GH. All I do know is that he directs Kevin Spacey in a role that strips comedy to the bone. It’s not very funny. And that’s just the point.  

     (* If you want the story line and reviews you can read the link.)

     

     

  • Are You Lonesome for Me, Baby?

    All day a dragon in a rented crow costume was installed in the tree outside my house, shrieking imprecations and keeping me at bay.

    A few months back I reversed the mat on my doorstep so that each time I opened the door I would encounter the word “WELCOME.” My hope was that this would somehow strike me as a greeting or an invitation from the world. So far it hasn’t quite had the desired effect. If anything, in fact, it’s made me increasingly self conscious about what seems almost like a gesture from a self-help book.

    Two days ago I was out walking my dog when I encountered two little girls in matching pink princess costumes selling rocks from an excavation going on in the yard behind them. I asked them how much rocks were going for these days.

    “It depends,” one girl said, “on whether they are space rocks or indian rocks.”

    “How about this one?” I asked, taking a rock in my hand.

    “That’s a space rock,” the girl said. “It fell to earth during a moon storm. Let your dog smell it.”

    I dutifully held the rock to my dog’s nose, and he dutifully gave it a sniff.

    “See?” the girl said. “One dollar for a moon rock.”

    I handed over a dollar, and as I went on my way I heard the girls erupt in laughter behind me. I was momentarily chilled by the unmistakable cruelty in that laughter.

    Now, though, it’s late. A fox is frozen in me, paralyzed at a point in a journey beyond which I cannot yet take him. Perhaps, I thought earlier, his fate has something to do with the charms of the night sky, but I now see no reason in the world why it should.

    I would so love to do something extraordinary.

    But who wouldn’t?

    You reach that point where when you look in the mirror you sort of do so with a very evasive, soft-focus glance –you’re essentially looking right through or around yourself, trying, perhaps unconsciously, to work your way back into time and memory. When you’re most successful at this you manage to see not the person you’ve become, but the person you once were, or –even better, or maybe sadder; I can’t decide– the person you most hoped you’d become.

    My sleeping dog raises his head and briefly peers across the room through eyes a half step removed from dreams. As if he seeks reassurance that this is still the same world that he closed his eyes on an hour ago, that the man in the green chair is still there, keeping watch and squinting into his book, more lost than ever beneath a giant cowboy hat that makes him feel exceedingly small and foolish.

    Somewhere in the world tonight, I’m sure, someone is playing an accordian and people are dancing. Somewhere a broken man is wide awake and screwing up his nerve to do something entirely unexpected and perhaps even extraordinary. All over the world couples are curled up together in bed. Some of them are completely unaware that only one of them will wake up to see another day. Ambulances are streaking through the universal night, through sleeping cities in every country on the earth, their drivers speaking urgently in a hundred different languages. And in every one of those same countries, under one improbable moon, thousands upon thousands of hands are folded and stricken faces are searching the dark continent behind their eyes, and the huge sky beyond, for God.

    This morning –or later this morning, when and if the sun makes things official– I’m going to listen to James Brown.

    I’m going to take my dog for a walk.

    I’m going to take another crack at the world.

    And when all is said and done, well, I guess all will be said and done.

    Hey there. You.

    See me.

    Take a look at me now.

    Take a look down here.

    I’m on top of the world.

     

  • Get the #Q)*?!#$ Off My Lawn

    On the well-manicured lawn that is the Democratic primary,
    there resides a two large groups of little old men shouting epithets at
    one another, screaming for "these kids" to get
    the fuck off their lawn    .

    Sadly, these arthritic individuals aren’t Edina’s most senior residents, as one might
    expect of these wizened figures glowering at any who would dare trespass on
    their pristine grass. No, these crotchety creatures shaking their fists at one
    another are the splintered remnants of the once proudly unified Democratic
    party. Now, after months of spewing bile and vitriol in the most closely fought
    primary in U.S.
    election history, the party is split – a camel toe on the hot pants of American
    politics, if you will.

    One group sides with the party’s Luke Skywalker – Barack
    Obama. With the Force as his guide and a lightsaber wit he has
    systematically thwarted the ambitions of his opposition in most states without
    a reputation for incest or goat
    love    . Up until a few months ago, Hillary Clinton was the presumptive
    nominee – basking in the collective adulation of the left-hand of American
    politics with a nigh-unbelievable midichlorian count. Now she has been pushed off her pedestal and is seeking to parlay her
    grip on America’s crotch into a last
    desperate hope for a presidential nod.

    Regardless of who is eventually chosen as the Democratic
    nominee, the party is in trouble. With a significant percentage of each
    candidates’ saying they’d
    never vote for the other    , what used to look like a potential majority in
    congress along with a nigh-certain seat in the Oval Office, complete with
    nubile interns ready to provide service with a smile, is turning into a potential tossup if
    Democrats embittered by the primary stay home or vote Green. Minnesota is a prime example of this phenomenon, with thousands of Obamites crying for blood in the event of what now looks like an unlikely Hillary win.

    Normally, this all or nothing mentality would seem to be
    something to be respected, or at least be a compelling argument for instant
    runoff voting    . And I have nothing but admiration for those who are willing
    to shoot themselves in the foot to take a stand against a cause they believe to
    be immoral. However, in this case it’s not shooting themselves in the foot so
    much as it is packing their collective rectum with C-4 and handing the
    detonator to the Evil
    Midnight Bomber What Bombs at Midnight    .

    Voting Green isn’t equated with explosive asses as a general
    rule, but those are the stakes set by Democrats this year. According to
    virtually every one of them, this next election is the one that will determine
    the country’s position on the world stage – a plausible theory given that
    Canadian money is now as valuable as the U.S. dollar. If that’s not a sign of America’s
    pending doom, what is? But why is such a significant percentage of Hillary
    Clinton and Barack Obama’s supporters so willing to throw away the chance to
    set the direction of the country for years to come when the candidates’
    policies bear incredible similarities, especially when stacked up against the
    Republican competition?

    The bottom line is that the entire election campaign has consisted
    of talk about the necessity of change, about change for the better, about the
    country being unable to afford four more years of the same failed foreign
    policy. So why are so many Democrats already so bitter that they’ve made up
    their minds before the chosen candidate, whoever it may be, has a chance to
    make his or her platform known without getting a Democratic donkey punch
    after every speech – thus risking the very change they claim to want more than
    a sweaty night on a circle
    bed     with Scarlet Johansson and the winners of The
    Rake’s Most Beautiful People at the Capitol contest    ?

  • Hmong Cuisine, Six Buck Hank, and More

    The menu at the new Red Pepper in Saint Paul combines
    Vietnamese, Thai and Hmong dishes, but since the first two cuisines are pretty
    widely available elsewhere, I decided to try one of the Hmong dishes. Number
    27, sweet pork belly with eggs, turned out to be a savory stew with big chunks
    of roast pork, (not nearly as fatty as I had feared), hard-boiled eggs, red
    bell pepper, fresh pineapple green onions and ginger, in a rich brown slightly
    sweet gravy accented with star anise (I think), served with steamed rice.
    Delicious, and served in very generous portion.

    There is a lot more on the menu that I would like to try,
    including the squash curry, made with butternut squash, bamboo shoots, peppers,
    onions and coconut red curry sauce, available with beef or chicken ($7.50),
    shrimp ($8.50), or a combination of shrimp, squid and scallops for $10.50. The
    whole fried tilapia with sweet pepper curry sauce ($10.50) also sounds
    promising. A friend reports that when she ordered the kow poon, a Hmong/
    Laotian dish made with shredded chicken, bamboo shoots, red curry and
    lemongrass, the broth was delicious, but she couldn’t find any actual chicken
    in the dish. Still might be worth a try, but I would ask about the chicken
    first.

    Otherwise, the menu offers a variety of familiar southeast
    Asian dishes – Vietnamese pho (beef noodle soup), plus variations with seafood
    and crispy pork belly ($5.50-$7.95); pad Thai ($7.50-$10.50); green papaya
    salad ($5.95 / $8.50 with beef jerky), and a variety of stir-fried noodle and
    fried rice dishes.

    Red Pepper Cafe, 864 University Ave., St. Paul, 651-292-8800. Closed Sundays.

    Six Buck Hank?

    Henry Chan at Giapponese Sushi in Woodbury is starting a new
    promotion this Sunday: selected wines for $6 a bottle. Here’s the fine print:
    the offer is open to everybody on Sundays, and to people in the hospitality
    industry on Tuesdays. As soon as the outdoor patio is open – Chan says that’ll
    be a couple of weeks – the offer will be good on the patio every day.

    Don’t expect Chateauneuf-du-Pape at these prices – the
    labels are trustworthy old cheapies like Oxford Landing Chardonnay and Shiraz,
    Penascal Sauvignon Blanc, Stella Pinot Grigio; and Shiraz, Riesling, Chardonnay
    and Cabernet Sauvignon from from Banrock Station, an Australian winery that
    donates a share of its proceeds to environmental causes. Still, a great deal.

    What Would Gandhi Do?

    Coming Tuesday to 27th and E. Lake: Gandhi Mahal, a
    new Indian restaurant, next door to Midori’s Floating World. The menu seems to
    be pretty much the standard north Indian repertoire, but owner Rahman Arshad –
    whose family also owns the Little Taj Mahal in Dinkytown, and several Indian
    restaurants in New York City – is promising some unusual touches, including a
    lassi bar, serving several flavors of the traditional yogurt beverage, plus a
    tapas-like assortment of Indian finger foods. A lunch $9.99 lunch buffet will
    be offered daily, and eventually, live music on weekends.

    The restaurant
    will be decorated with images of Mahatma Gandhi, who might not have approved of
    the meat and seafood dishes on the menu – the Indian spiritual leader
    was a strict vegetarian.

  • ¡Viva la Música!

    SPECIAL EVENT
    ¡Vive Minnesota!

    The first-ever annual Vive Minnesota…El Festival® — a three-day Latino music, art, and food festival — hits Harriet Island this weekend with some seriously hot local acts performing salsa, reggaeton, Latin Jazz, and more, on two stages. The line-up, which consists of 30 musical acts spiced with Latin dance performances, includes Salsa del Soul (with two of the hottest percussionists in the region), Ticket to Brazil, Maria Isa, Andrés Prado, Desdamona, and Michael Hauser. (Co-founders Mario Duarte, Michael Robles and Alberto Monserrate hope to bring in national acts as well in the coming years.) An elevated Corona VIP skybox includes VIP parking, food, beverage, and a perfect view of the Main Stage. A dedicated kids’ play area features a Titanic Thrill Slide®, a 65’ Rock Climb Challenge Obstacle Course, a Moonwalk, Hoop Shots, and all sorts of fun and games for the little ones. And everyone is invited to enjoy (and gorge on) the eclectic mix of Latin American food and culture.

    Saturday and Sunday from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., Monday from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m., Harriet Island Regional Park, downtown Saint Paul, free.

    MUSIC
    Bella Sol Music Festival

    The free love floweth in Harmony Park this weekend! Well, perhaps it’s not
    exactly free, but $90 gets you three full days of music, live art installations,
    sun ceremonies, fire dancing, camping, camaraderie, and much, much more.
    A ridiculous number of bands are set to rock the park, including Buckethead
    (yes, that guy that wears a KFC bucket on his head), God Johnson, Desdamona (who clearly has a busy festival-hopping weekend in store),
    the North Mississippi All Stars, The Big Wu, and Dance Band — to name
    a mere few. This yearly Festival is the perfect kick off to summer,
    so pack up your patchouli oil, practice saying "Hey Man,"
    and head to Geneva, MN for a memorable celebration of the
    Sun. —Kate Iverson

    Friday 9 a.m. – Sunday 9 p.m.,
    Harmony Park, Geneva, MN, $90-$145.

    And of course, don’t forget Minnesota Sur Siene. The Fine Line presents A Night in Ethiopia, with Mahmoud Ahmed, on Saturday night.

    Pierre-Laurent Aimard Directs His Final Program of the Season

    French pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard will direct The Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra this weekend in his last concert of his second season as an SPCO artistic partner. Aimard will conduct Haydn’s Symphony No. 101 in D, The Clock and Ligeti’s Chamber Concerto for 13 Instrumentalists (not included in Jazzed-Up Friday) from the podium. Then, from the piano, Aimard will direct Beethoven’s Concerto in C for Piano, Violin, Cello and Orchestra, Triple with performances by Associate Concertmaster Ruggero Allifranchini and Principal Cello Ronald Thomas. The May 23rd evening performance is a Jazzed-Up Friday. While Ligeti will not be performed, audience members can choose to return to the concert hall after intermission for Beethoven’s Trio in B-flat for Violin, Cello, and Piano, Archduke, featuring Leslie Shank, Joshua Koestenbaum, and Lydia Artymiw. Or, they can listen to live jazz in the Marzitelli foyer with The Laura Caviani Trio.

    Friday at 10:30 a.m. and 8 p.m. [Jazzed-Up Friday], Saturday at 8 p.m., Ordway Center for the Performing Arts, 345 Washington St, St Paul; 651-224-4222. Sunday at 2 p.m., Benson Great Hall, Bethel University, 3900 Bethel Drive, St. Paul; 651-638-6333. Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra, 651-291-1144; $10-$48.


    Gordon Johnson GJ4 CD Release Party

    Gordy Johnson is a connoisseur of jazz piano trios, and not
    coincidentally the format is his metier as a bassist. As its title
    implies, GJ4 is the fourth time Johnson has mixed and matched trios
    from his impressive connections with national stars and local
    luminaries who are drummers and pianists, and it is arguably his best
    foray into this self-defined realm thus far. My favorite songs on the
    disc are the pair with Johnson musically astride the restless,
    harmonically acute ivory stylings of precocious local Tanner Taylor and
    the surprisingly restrained yet simmering beats offered up by
    ex-Journey and current Vital Information drummer Steve Smith. Don’t
    miss Matt Wilson’s innovative drumming on the Dewey Redman tribute,
    "Joie de Vivre" and the Alec Wilder composition, "I’ll Be Around," or
    the hushed delicacy of Johnson with Bad Plus timekeeper Dave King and
    the exquisitely pensive ex-pat Minnesotan Bill Carrothers on piano on
    the closing "Sleep Warm." Taylor will be on board for this CD release
    gig at the Dakota, along with Monkish pianist Laura Caviani, who
    contributes the gently burnished "The Return" on GJ4, and pianist Bryan
    Nichols    , who is featured with Johnson and Wilson on those Redman and
    Wilder numbers. The beats will be ably rapped out by Phil Hey, who has
    pretty much set the gold standard for local jazz drummers the past two
    decades. But most of all, these trio CD releases are the rare occasions
    when Johnson’s penetrating bass lines and solos are as much the star as
    the character actor complement to the prevailing music, an
    assertiveness that both rewards and reminds us of his talent. —Britt Robson

    Sunday at 7 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-332-1010; $5.

    Also on Sunday night, Dave Brubeck at Orchestra Hall.

    THEATER & PERORMANCE
    The Ugly One Makes U.S. Premiere

    A hilarious, yet reflective
    tale about a man named Lette who suddenly discovers that he’s ugly — and
    subsequently his life, job, marriage, and self-esteem begin to unravel.
    However, beauty can be bought, and Lette comes face to face with his
    identity, and the consequences of giving it up. The Ugly One is a last minute and welcome addition
    to the Guthrie’s 2007-2008 season. Written by rising star Mariu s von Mayenburg of Berlin, and directed by Benjamin
    McGovern, this production makes its U.S. debut on Saturday, and runs through June 1st. —Kate Iverson

    Saturday at 7:30 p.m. and Sunday at 7 p.m., Dowling Studio, Guthrie Theater, 818 2nd Ave. S, Minneapolis, $18-$34.

    FILM
    Standard Operating Procedure

    How much of a story can be told by looking at a photograph? What is
    considered fact and proof? Is seeing truly believing? The documentary
    film Standard Operating Procedure breaks apart these questions by delving into the lives of soldiers stationed at Abu Ghraib prison, in Iraq. Academy Award winning director Errol Morris
    uses photographs and stories of American soldiers to depict the stained
    and corrupt system within the interrogation centers in the Middle East.
    Although it may feel uncomfortable and gut wrenching at times, this
    documentary is an important exposé on the war. The 118-minute film
    leaves you with some unanswered questions, but like the photographs,
    the documentary is up for some interpretation from the audience. —Hannah Simpson (read full review and interview with Errol Morris)

    Opens Friday, May 23rd at Landmark’s Lagoon Cinema.

    DANCE
    Celebrate National Tap Dance Day at MOA

    In 1989, Congress passed a bill declaring May 25 National Tap Dance Day. I bet you didn’t know that. Why May 25th, of all days? It’s the the birth date of Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, who began performing in saloons at the age of six and went on to become one of the best-known vaudeville tap acts of his era. Celebrate his legacy and National Tap Dance Day at the Mall of America this Sunday with Keane Sense
    of Rhythm     and various dance schools around the Twin Cities. Guests are invited to enjoy live tap dance performances presented in a historical context.

    Sunday from 12-4 p.m., Mall of America Rotunda, Bloomington.

  • What Fresh Hell Is This?

    Sidney Ponson?

    Come on, seriously: Sidney Ponson?

    You have to be kidding me.

    Truly, there is very, very little that could give me more displeasure than seeing that fat Aruban hump toss a complete game gem in the Metrodome.

    My displeasure wouldn’t be much diminished even if he had been wearing a Minnesota uniform.

    (Here’s an aside from the Department of Incredulity: You all surely know that Sir Sidney Ponson was knighted in 2003 by Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands. Still, though, that fact continues to boggle my mind, and I must confess that I didn’t even know that the Netherlands had a Queen, let alone a Queen named Beatrix. A year after being knighted, of course, Ponson slugged an Aruban judge and spent eleven days in jail. Five years later he should have been out of baseball and working in an Aruban Arby’s; but, no, there he was, the human grease trap, once again making a hazardous waste dump of the pitching mound and throwing a complete game against the Minnesota Twins, the team for which, in 2007, he posted a 2-5 record with a 6.93 ERA. Sometimes baseball sucks so much it can make you throw up your microwave burritos.)

    As for the Twins, well, fellow fans, things aren’t exactly looking cheery for the local nine of late.

    You all want to get your panties in a bunch about Delmon Young? Come on. We’ve got a whole lot of big problems that are a whole lot bigger than Delmon Young. Has he been a disappointment? Sure, but why pick on the new kid when there are so many of the old kids (Michael Cuddyer and Jason Kubel, for starters) deserving of your ire? The bottom of the order is –just as I feared– even worse than last year’s bottom of the order.

    It seems like every day there’s another mangled or broken thumb or finger, and there are an awful lot of guys on that pitching staff of late who would look right at home in a Sid Ponson mask (the 2004-2007 model).

    For years we’ve been spoon fed a party line that insisted the Twins played the game the right way. Something about that always struck me as 80% unreconstituted horseshit, but I’ll be damned if this current outfit hasn’t gone and kicked in the additional 20% and made me almost miss Tom Kelly. The defense and the bullpen –regarded as the strength of the team throughout the Gardenhire era– have been mostly brutal, and night after night we’ve been subjected to fundamental lapses that would give even a Legion coach fits.

    Right now this team is next to last in the AL in homeruns, first in homeruns allowed, 12th in OBP, last in walks, and next to last in fielding percentage. They have a leadoff hitter who’s fifth in the league in strikeouts, ahead of Richie Sexson. All of those numbers would sure as hell seem to be a recipe for disaster.

    Yet somehow the Twins are hanging in there at .500 and holding on to second place in the Central. If they’re going to maintain even a .500 pace, however, they for damn sure are going to have to stumble across some good news that’s a whole lot better than the bad news they’ve been running into on an almost daily basis.

  • The Greatest Gift: The Unknown

    It should come as no surprise at this point, to regular readers of my blog, that I am not shy about sharing with you what makes me… ME.

    This morning I saw a DVD that I had been waiting for, sitting on my counter in the kitchen — images from my family’s Zip Lining experience in Mexico four months ago.

    What got to me were these two photos:

    These pictures were taken 350 feet up in the air, with nothing more than our trust in the guides that supplied us with the equipment and our belief that we could enjoy the beauty of what was beneath — Rocks, Trees, Rain, Bugs, and god forbid… the unknown — all at just $35 per person. 🙂

    Is it not the greatest gift to watch the people you brought into the world through love, make choices that you wished you had had the guts to make, but never did?

    In My case… well… it took me until now (at 40 years old). But in my kids case… well… you can see from the pics that they don’t have the legs of a 40-year-old. 🙂

    There is only one area in which I still have to work really hard on at this point with my kids—who understand that everything their Mom and Dad do is simply a byproduct of Dad doing what he has to do and Mom doing what she has to do. We are who we are.

    But it’s hard to explain to them how a 40-year-old woman who has experienced so much can topple under the weight at times — how my brain goes into overdrive to the point where eating, sleeping, and functioning do not come to me in the same way they do to most. This is a difficult thing to explain to my two most important reasons for living, to my two most important and loving gifts — my son and my daughter — to whom I am so lucky to be Mom.

    Last night on 60 Minutes I watched a report that kept me up most of the night.

     

    The report was about a sacred area, foreign to most of us in America. A part of the world where nature is untouched by all things we think we can’t live without. A place where the sounds of the rain hitting the leaves cannot be duplicated with musical instruments, where a never-before-seen male bird turns from a little shy guy into fricken BATMAN to woo a female bird — and to top off the whole incredible experience the male bird gives the female bird 20 minutes on a small dark branch in the middle of nowhere after spending 23 hours building a stack of branches and laying out a variety of colorful rocks just to get her attention. And if he’s lucky…

    It was too much for my brain to handle — and also too much for me to try to explain to my son and daughter that no matter what happens in life and how many chances we make, we should always look forward to the unknown. The one thing about nature that will never change is that it will always be the one place that we all, as humans, can’t control but can admire.


    To the Men and Woman that will not understand this short story:     I have no comment.
    To the Men and Woman that do get this short story: it’s about time!
    To my Son: If you have to wear a colorful coat and dance for the girl of your dreams, it’s worth it.
    To my Daughter: If you have to wear a colorful coat and dance for the man of your dreams, it’s worth it.

     

  • Bye Bye, Gallbladder

    As I bare my flesh to the knife today and have an evil, pesky organ removed from its familiar home-turned-battleground, I shall come in and out of consciousness thinking about the pool opening today in my courtyard. I shall be thinking about the sun, beating on my belly, rather than a knife. Truth is, I’m more disturbed by missing the first pool day than by losing an organ. I mean, you can take the organ to the pool, but you can’t take the pool to the organ. (And they haven’t even given me the good stuff yet.)

    MUSIC
    MOSAIC International Marketplace

    I love summer in the Twin Cities! OK, it’s not summer. Not technically — technically not until the end of June. But socially — socially it’s summer. Unofficially, it has reached its official start (heh): Memorial Day Weekend is at our fingertips. What does this mean? It means
    outdoor music, outdoor movies, outdoor dancing, outdoor, outdoor,
    outdoor — free! Lovely. Yesterday afternoon, we had free live music at
    Peavey Plaza in downtown Minneapolis, and — you know how it is — the other plazas don’t want to be outdone. This afternoon, enjoy the Jawaahir
    Middle Eastern Dancers     at Xcel Energy Plaza as part of the Minneapolis Mosaic preview series.


    11:30 a.m.-1:30 p.m., Xcel Energy Plaza, corner of 5th Street and Nicollet Mall, downtown Minneapolis; free.

    SPECIAL EVENT
    PA. PA, PA. PA-PA — Gallery Grooves

    Groovy as our Gallery Grooves nights usually are, we seldom have live percussion. Oh, yeah. Now that’s groovy — bringin’ down the beat. Grab your black beret — whether donning the beatnik or revolutionary flavor — and strut your way down to granola town (Ok, Seward) to sample and savor: art, jazz, wine, and even food. What could be greater? Contemplate The Figure and the Landscape (artwork by Nick Legeros, Brant Kingman, Roger Junk, Will Agar, Doug Beasley, Chris Faust, and Jeff Korte). Massage the brain a bit with an artists’ discussion panel. And then get the blood pumping with a performance by the Progressive Percussion Ensemble, led by Wallace Hill, in the Drums & Art studio. Crash Bam Boom with Red Alarm wine sampling from Artisan Vineyards and food samplings by—mmmm—Be’wiched. And of course, enjoy the riveting conversation of KBEM’s Kevin Barnes.

    6 – 9 p.m., Vine Arts Center, 2637 27th Ave. S., Minneapolis; free.

    THEATE & PERFORMANCE
    Pulitzer Prize Finalist Makes Area Premiere

    It’s opening night at the Pillsbury House Theater tonight, and this one has all the makings for success — a Pulitzer Prize-finalist drama, a Tony Award-nominated director, an awakening that’s impulsed by a strong social message — race, family, love. Tada! Frankly, I’m just turned on by the idea of a character who can "read the future through water" — especially when it’s somehow a product of being abandoned to the river as a child (like Moses). Bulrusher, written by Eisa Davis, tells the story of a young African American woman coming of age in a small Redwood country town in the ’50s. Under Marion McClinton’s direction, actors John Catron, Christiana Clark, Jodi Kellogg, Sonja Parks, Mark Rosenwinkel, and James A. Williams bring to life a powerful story about the possibilities of love.

    7:30 p.m. (May 22-June 14), Pillsbury House Theatre Mainstage, 3501 Chicago Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-825-0459; $18 (students/seniors $13).