The Rake Magazine

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  • Labor of Love

    Regarding “Our Controlling Nature,” [Good Intentions, October]: In September 1868, the Eastman Tunnel collapsed and the falls were about to give away. This was due to human and commercial development at the time and had nothing to do with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. In fact, the Corps’ St. Paul District, then only three years old, had to lobby Congress to be allowed to help save the falls. At the time, this was not within the Corps’ authority. In the years between 1871 and 1874, the Corps’ St. Paul District, mill owners, and private citizens labored continuously at the falls to avert one crisis after another. The Corps ended up building a dike to preserve this natural wonder. This dike is in place still today and is currently keeping the falls in place.

    Shannon Bauer
    U.S. Army Corps of Engineers St. Paul District

  • Greensleeves

    Although I can’t speak to forestry practices cited in Frank Erickson’s letter, “Forests in Turmoil,” [Letters, November] I can tell you that newspaper publishers respond to their customer base. More national publishers are asking for “greener” paper. If you want more recycled content, ask them to use it or to increase the percentage of post-consumer content. The Star Tribune uses an average of 40 percent post-consumer recycled content and the Pioneer Press uses roughly 25 percent. Many local papers use less, and they should hear from readers. One Ontario supplier of newsprint (Bowater in Thunder Bay) for Minnesota is ISO 14001 certified, which means that it complies with the highest environmental standards, and they use a lot of Minnesota’s old newspaper, magazines, and catalogs to make your newspaper. A Duluth mill (Stora Enso) makes recycled pulp used in many newspaper inserts and is also ISO 14001 certified.

    Paul Gardner, St. Paul
    Executive Director Recycling Association of Minnesota

  • Start Seeing Pedestrians

    It’s nice to read about the area you live in–makes it feel kind of glamorous, so I really enjoyed reading the article about the Midway [Sweet Spot, November]. It pretty much all rang true with me, from the eclectic mix of people and shops to the strongly represented blue-collar vibe. Just one thing was missing: The constant death threat to pedestrians that hovers over the area. Yes, a lot of people do walk in Midway, but actually it’s a miracle they do. Most motorists try very hard to ignore them, and I can’t even tell you how often I’ve almost been hit trying to cross the street with my kids at the intersection of Snelling and University avenues, when we had the green light. It’s a shame that an area that does have a lot of places to walk to is so unfriendly to people that actually do walk.

    Kordula Coleman
    St. Paul

  • James McManus

    Every Saturday, James McManus’ poker column appears in the New York Times. An odd gig, if you can get it–and even ten years ago, McManus, a novelist and teacher, would have been completely unqualified. However, in 1999 Harper’s magazine hired him to write about the World Series of Poker, and thus began his obsession with the strange world of high-stakes cards. In fact, when we first phoned McManus, he had to make sure we knew that “the rake” is a poker term (um, we did know).

    But when he’s not peering over the shoulder of a card sharp, McManus has bigger concerns. After his oldest daughter was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes, he become a keen observer of the American health care system; in 2003, Harper’s sent him to the medical mecca in Minnesota whose patients include politicians, dignitaries, CEOs, and oil magnates from around the world–that is, the Mayo Clinic. McManus signed up for what may be the most thorough physical examination available anywhere. In his book Physical: An American Checkup, he shares what the rest of us are missing.

    You got what is called the “Executive Physical” at the Mayo. Is it superior to the treatment the average patient gets?
    No. It’s the exact same physical. I was sitting next to a senator, but we were sitting amongst ordinary Minnesota citizens. But for an extra three hundred dollars, the executive patients get scheduled very efficiently. The waiting in line, the six- or seven-hour gaps between appointments disappears. The theory is that some people’s time is more valuable than other people’s time. It’s very important to note that the fees from the executive program bring in money for medical research that benefits everyone.

    Outside of the clinic, what was your impression of Rochester?
    You see a lot of sick children around town. It’s sobering to see them, especially if you’re up there with your own small children. It’s a big wake-up. I consider the Mayo one of the most beautiful things that humans have ever invented. Put aside the Mall of America and all the cathedrals; one of the most beautiful things that people can do is put together a great teaching hospital and help people who are sick.
    Also, the Arab and Muslim presence was everywhere when I was there. I stayed at the Kahler Hotel, and they had a separate Middle Eastern menu and a huge number of Arab cable channels. But that’s changed; it’s no longer easy for Middle Eastern patients to come here for treatments. When the fact-checkers were going through my book, they called the hotel to verify the cable channels and menu, and they said they don’t have them anymore.

    Although you write about how your family history of heart problems haunts you, you seem to be almost more concerned by the same issues when they affect celebrities, particularly David Letterman.
    Yeah, Letterman and Bill Clinton. When guys around my age have open-heart surgery–especially guys like Letterman, who runs every day–that really gives you pause. When he talked about what he went through, he saved lots of lives. When celebrities talk about their health, people pay attention in a different way than when their family members experience the same things.

    Did you make lasting changes in your lifestyle based on what your doctors told you?
    I love these doctors and I deeply respect what they do, and I believed everything they told me about my health–but that doesn’t make it any easier if they tell you not to drink wine or eat pasta, or to get more exercise. I have managed to quit smoking; I haven’t had a cigarette since I was up there. But I still drink too much wine and eat too much dinner.

    After your physical, your book turns to the larger issues surrounding American health care. You’re clearly incensed by Bush’s decision on stem-cell research, and say that you’re getting ready to do “something rash” about it. What do you think ordinary citizens can do?
    People make jokes that writing letters to congresspeople is ineffective, but right now, this issue is before Congress, and I think many, many congresspeople are teetering between a “yes” and a “no” on America moving forward on this research. It varies state by state. California is very supportive of it. Kansas is very antagonistic; their Senator Sam Brownback is in favor of putting people in prison if they pursue this research.

    And yet rapid progress is now being made in this area in South Korea. Do you think the administration is unnerved by the fact that stem cell research is moving forward where we can’t profit from it or be a part of any big cures?
    If you base your policy on cynical, faith-based, narrow-minded constructions of the Bible, then it’s not going to make an impression. But enlightened people see that this research is actually advancing rapidly, that no one is cloning babies, and that new cell lines may give people brain or heart or nerve cells to repair damaged organs. That is astounding, and something everyone should want to help happen.

  • Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker: Once

    Dance without music would fall pretty flat, but it seems that many modern choreographers are afraid to make bold choices in this area, lest it overshadow their own work. Not Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker. The last time the Belgian choreographer came to town, in 1999, she and her company worked with Steve Reich’s thunderous composition Drumming. This time Joan Baez is her muse; more specifically, songs from Joan Baez in Concert, Part Two, which takes turns both tender and outraged as Baez responds to the Vietnam War. The folk legend’s message is relevant all over again, and de Keersmaeker, in a solo performance, demonstrates why her own work has inspired a generation of artists. 612-375-7600; www.walkerart.org

  • The Little Prince

    We grownups are very strange, indeed, and often fail to see what’s obvious, important, or interesting. So posits Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s classic tale of a world that’s best seen through the eyes of a child. We see Jeune Lune’s persistently youthful artistic director Dominique Serrand as something of a little prince himself–after all, he has been officially knighted by his French compatriots, and has a particular flair for flights of fancy; if last spring’s workshop production is any indication, le petit prince will inhabit a particularly lustrous vision of Saint-Exupery’s vast deserts and miniature planet-scapes. 105 First St. N., Minneapolis; 612-333-6200; www.jeunelune.org

  • Live at the Funky Butt Jazz Club

    Even by the standards of today’s spectacle-seeking club promoters, it’s hard to imagine a club named the Funky Butt. But in New Orleans in the early 1900s, it was the place to be–renowned for a lively, nonconformist atmosphere that bred musical improvisation. In fact, some have pinpointed it as the birthplace of jazz, having housed the earliest Buddy Bolden concerts. Those days at the Funky Butt are the basis for an original musical theater piece by Interact, a collective of artists with physical and mental disabilities. Inasmuch as it’s a story about people on the fringe finding their way through art, it’s one with which the Interact company members can relate; after seeing some fearless members in King of Hearts, we’re looking forward to seeing what the whole company does with this story. An accompaniment of professional actors and jazz musicians will help recreate the Funky Butt vibe and pay homage to America’s first city of music. 212 Third Ave. N., Suite 140, Minneapolis; 612-339-5145; www.interactcenter.com

  • The Dumb Waiter

    When Harold Pinter won the Nobel Prize for Literature a few weeks ago, it highlighted in a way how he has lately been better known for his politics than his prose. Although it’s easy for one’s art to be overshadowed when one makes front-page news for likening George W. Bush to Adolf Hitler and calling Tony Blair a “deluded idiot,” while one’s theater reviews are buried in the entertainment section. But Pinter’s early works, written in the late 1950s and 1960s, hinted at the rabble-rousing that was to come. Plays like 1957’s The Dumb Waiter explored the dark incidence of oppression and earned Pinter’s work the ominous-sounding label “comedy of menace.” In honor of his Nobel, members of Actors’ Equity are reviving this one-act starring two bickering assassins, in which Pinter was following in the tradition of Beckett–and also setting the stage for scores of imitators to come. 105 First St. N., Minneapolis; 612-730-5951

  • A Rakish Holiday: Xmas 2005

    Xmas, 2005

    Whew! I never seem to actually find the time to get this annual Christmas letter in the mail, but as always I have nothing but the best intentions. Every December I drag my typewriter down to the laundry room and spend a couple hours trying to get some thoughts down on paper, and every year the finished product just sits there gathering dust on my mother’s old sewing machine table. The post office is impossible this time of year, of course, and even jacked up on Xanax I can’t seem to drag my tired butt from the house. People just depress me, particularly when they get all lousy with Christmas spirit.

    I don’t know how long things have gone on like they have, but it’s been a long time, let’s just say that. How time flies!

    If I’d ever gotten around to sending out last year’s Christmas letter you would have heard all about my big plans to open a World of Kittens kiosk at the mall, but the deal fell through when Bobby wrecked his snowmobile last winter and had a string of “bad luck” at the casino. Bottom line: We maxed out our credit cards, and the bank refused to sign off on my loan.

    I ended up going on eBay and selling most of the cat trinkets I bought at the Dollar Store, which was a learning experience. Cat people, it turns out, are for the most part difficult customers. Most of them, in fact, are crazy, and I got so much nasty feedback that the jerks at eBay terminated my account.

    To be quite honest with you, Bobby’s been a mess (see above). I’ve been reading self-help books I pick up at the Goodwill, but it looks like Bobby might be a special case. That’ll come as no big surprise to most of you, of course, and at this point I guess I’ll just have to live with my mother’s “I told you so”s until the undertaker finally yanks the oxygen tubes out of her nose for good. Bobby had his first colonoscopy back in March, after he started throwing up even when he wasn’t drinking. They didn’t find anything wrong with him, and I suppose I should be grateful. It would almost be a relief, though, to find out that there was some medical explanation for his shiftless behavior.

    I’m still trying to finish my novel about a Wiccan private detective that I started about ten years ago, but I’ve been stalled at fifty pages forever. I can’t seem to figure out a way to deal with the murder scenes that doesn’t give even me the creeps, and I recognize the need to make my detective more physically attractive so that I can spice things up with a romantic entanglement with the local deputy sheriff.

    Gary, our oldest, became the first member of the family to graduate from college (an associate’s degree from Floyd Valley Junior College). Lord knows what that boy has had to overcome. He’s been living at home while he looks for a job, and it looks like he’ll be going to work one way or another after the first of the year. He takes after his mother in so many ways, and wants to be a writer. He apparently has offers from a number of trade publications (Insurance Pro, Midwest Concrete, and Polymers), and just has to make a decision. Gary’s still hoping to find a newspaper job at the last minute, but I tell him that right now it’s just important to get his foot in the door somewhere. All he has to do is look at his father to see what becomes of a man who never gets his foot in any doors.

    I’m at my wit’s end with poor Candace, our seventeen-year-old. The girl never wanted a thing in the world other than to be a cheerleader, and that didn’t pan out (too heavy, not cheerful enough, I guess). Now she does nothing but listen to terrifying music and run around with a bad crowd. I’m hoping it’s just a phase, but at this point I’m preparing myself for the worst; she’ll probably have a baby in her belly long before she ever has a wedding ring on her finger.

    Bobby Jr.’s fifteen now, and there’s a case of the apple not falling far from the tree if ever there was one. He’s been in and out of trouble in school, and can’t seem to keep it in his pants. When he’s not out chasing tail he sits around in his room playing video games. I realize he’s my son, and I should feel terrible admitting this, but I don’t feel a thing in the world for Bobby Jr.

    One day this spring an albino squirrel came down the chimney into the house. It scared the living daylights out of me, and I got it into my head that something like that—a white squirrel with pink, beady eyes coming down the chimney—had to be some kind of sign or omen. I mean, that sort of thing will give a person the creeps.

    I sometimes feel like there are demons in the world. I wonder if maybe I have too much hair, like the sun can’t get through to my head and my head can’t feel the light.

    Back in the fall, before the darkness swallowed everything up, I was walking down to the Holiday store for a gallon of milk when I felt the bowels of the earth trembling beneath my feet. Dark angels descended into the uppermost branches of the trees along the sidewalks and, shrieking, began to shake loose leaves that were scattered on the wind. I swore I could hear, beyond the terrible shrieking of the angels, the howling of dogs and the rattling of china and silverware from behind the closed doors and windows of the houses up and down the street. I felt stepped upon, and collapsed in the grass alongside the sidewalk. As I lay there I thought I heard, from some place distant, a choir, which I hoped, perhaps, was a good sign, an indication of some blessed intervention. Perhaps, finally, God would erase my mind.

    I’m always amazed at how much dust gathers in this house, heaps of it running along the surfaces and rims of everything. I can’t seem to do a thing about it.

    I probably shouldn’t watch so much TV. And I wish that oven mitt would just shut the hell up.

    Anyway, merry Christmas to you and yours. Hope you have a great New Year!

     

  • Hansel and Gretel

    Do you remember how Hansel and Gretel came to be lost and wandering in the woods? Consulting our Brothers Grimm, we read that they were sent there to die when their parents didn’t have enough food for them–an act that renews our appreciation for civilized society and its social safety net. Add to the starving children some mysterious beasts and a witch with a taste for young human flesh, set it at a prestigious venue like Orchestra Hall, and, by jove, you’ve got a fantastically festive holiday production! With a puppet ensemble from In the Heart of the Beast Puppet and Mask Theatre–whose creations, even the lovable ones, are always slightly disturbing–this could be a new tradition: something fresh, a little spooky, and slightly twisted. Sopranos Christina Baldwin and Jennifer Baldwin Peden lead the lineup of local vocal stars, which includes the Minnesota Boychoir. 612-371-5656; www.minnesotaorchestra.org/orchestra_hall