Blog

  • Secure the Sewers in a Handbag

    For starters, be sure to check out photographer Nicholas Marshall’s Voltage 2008: Fashion Amplified Preview. After that, you might be ready to do a little shopping of your own.

    SHOPPING & STYLE
    Alexis Hudson Trunk Show

    Stop by StyledLife today for the first Twin Cities Alexis Hudson trunk show. "Alexis Hudson is the hottest up-and-coming handbag brand, seen on the arms of starlets like Eva Longoria, Katherine Heigl, Kate Hudson, Keira Knightley, the Olsen twins, Cindy Crawford, and more." Designer Rachelle Copeland, who recently moved here from Los Angeles, will be on hand to discuss her designs and help you find the perfect handbag.

    10 a.m. to 4 p.m., Gaviidae Common, Suite 179, 555 Nicollet Mall, Minneapolis.

    LECTURE
    Security vs. The Law: A False Choice

    Join former U.S. presidential candidate Walter Mondale for today’s National Security Forum — Security vs. The Law: A False Choice. As U.S. Senator, Mondale served in 1975 on the Church Committee, which investigated abuses by U.S. intelligence agencies. He was also chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee’s Domestic Task Force.

    Noon
    , William Mitchell College of Law, Auditorium, 875 Summit Ave., St. Paul; 651-290-6370; free, register online.

    LECTURE, ART, & EXPLORATION
    Twin Cities Underground: A Life Down the Drain

    Join veteran explorer Greg Brick this evening for a presentation on the Twin Cities underground. View images of the caves and sewers of Minneapolis and St. Paul and learn about the subterranean wonderland Brick has been exploring for two decades. It’s one way to tour the sewers without the grime and creepiness.

    7 p.m.,
    Mill City Museum, 704 S. 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-341-7555; free.

    ART
    Before Their Time: The World of Child Labor

    In January, the New York Times reported labor abuses in Chinese factories. "’I work on the plastic molding machine from 6 in the morning to 6 at
    night,’ said Xu Wenquan, a tiny, baby-faced 16-year-old whose hands
    were covered with blisters." At the end of last year, a Gap scandal revealed child-labor abuses in India. Around
    the world, an estimated 350 million children continue to sacrifice
    their childhood, their health, and their education working in
    exploitative and unsafe conditions. While we may read the
    headlines and stay abreast of the current conditions across the globe,
    the distance, perhaps, makes it all too easy to dismiss the harsh
    realities our children endure. Leave it to a physician/photographer to bring it home. Taking it upon himself to expose one of the world’s greatest injustices, David Parker
    has traveled the world, with camera in hand, photographing children
    laboring in Bolivian tin mines, Indian sweatshops, Nepal brick
    factories, Mexican garbage dumps, and the list goes on. With his new book, Before Their Time: The World of Child Labor — a collection of these photos — released this month, Parker is exhibiting his photos at the Nina Bliese Gallery from March 31st through May 2nd. Join him for the opening reception (and book signing) this evening.

    5-8 p.m., Nina Bliese Gallery, 225 S. Sixth St., Suite 100, Minneapolis; 612-332-2978.

    MUSIC
    Two Fab Shows

    You can’t go wrong this evening with two fabulous music shows. See hot Twin Cities band Tapes ‘n Tapes at First Avenue. Or catch the Anoushka Shankar Project at Orchestra Hall. "Trained by her father, Ravi Shankar, Anoushka is a uniquely talented artist, a sitar virtuoso in her own right, and a master interpreter of the great traditional music of India. Joining her is an ensemble of seven virtuoso Eastern and Western musicians, including tabla master Tanmoy Bose."

  • What is your favorite bumper sticker?

    Publisher Kristin Henning: Hang Up and Drive.

    Chief Operating Officer Matt Bartel:

    Editor Cristina Córdova: Good thing I brought my library card, ’cause I’m checking you out.

    Calendar Editor Jennifer Havrish: Baby Jesus cries every time you don’t use your turn signal.

    Advertising Director A.J. Kiefer: In case of rapture… I have dibs on your TV

    Contributing Writers
    Ann Bauer: Don’t Make Me Get Out My Flying Monkeys.
    Rich Goldsmith: There are two important things to remember about surrealism. Frogs,
    power tools, and the Lincoln Memorial.

    Jeremy Iggers: Practice Compassionate Impeachment.
    Melinda Jacobs: My other car is a MULE
    Britt Robson: JESUS SAVES… He Passes It To Gretzky… Gretzky Shoots… He Scores!
    Erin Roof:

    Max Ross: My other car is a car. It’s not this one. This is a different car than my other car, which is a car.
    Todd J. Smith: "It Don’t Matter to Jesus" — from The Big Lebowski
    Brad Zellar: Don’t Honk, I’m Pedaling As Fast As I Can!

    Weatherman Jimmy "Dutch" Gaines: Boycott Jane Fonda Traitor Commie Bitch

    Videogragher Tyler Jensen: ass gas or grass, no one rides for free!

    Edit Interns
    Tom Bartel: If you can read this, I’m a Minnesotan blocking traffic in the left lane.
    David Bloomquist:
    Joshua Fischer: How’s my driving? Call 911. (and) No, I’m not wasted, I’m just a bad driver.
    Hannah Simpson: What if the hokey pokey IS what it’s all about?

  • April Book Releases

  • Chillin' Out Maxin' Relaxin' All Cool

    Passive aggressive and dependent on others of their own kind, box elder bugs create havoc and annoyance when swarming in groups. Todd Sklar, a triple threat in the filmmaking business, wrote, directed, and starred in the coming of age tale, Box Elder. With a shoestring budget and 18 days of shooting, Box Elder is a promising first attempt with an entertaining story and relatable characters.

    Four best buds, followed through their college years, fail to become independent from the group and use their university experience as a time to drink, have sex, and eat sandwiches, as most college students do. Much like other movies of this genre, the story follows four characters: the hopeless romantic, the party animal with ridiculous advice, the responsible one, and the ladies man. As they stumble through classes and exams, they’re forced to examine their dependence on each other.

    The chemistry cemented by the dialogue and plotlines is reminiscent of ’90s films like Mall Rats (or any Kevin Smith film, for that matter) and even ’80s flicks like Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Improvisation and subtle humor drive the friendships and create a strong rapport between the characters, who find amusement in even the most quotidian activities — like eating sandwiches. Although the film has its share of laugh-out-loud moments, other jokes become stale after repetition and drawn-out scenes. Like an Atkin-dieters burger with no bun, the plot tends to lack enough beginning and conclusion, leaving us with a considerable amount of middle; but it’s one hell of a patty in between. Creative camera shots and editing create an interesting dynamic throughout the film and an element of randomness that mirrors the characters.

    As an independent filmmaker, Sklar is utilizing traditional grassroots marketing to promote the film. He’s currently touring with the film, and is using social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace to spread the word about Box Elder through the fans’ voices. The film even has its own YouTube channel.

    An indie story centered on a generation of misunderstood, misguided, and privileged youth, Box Elder will surely leave you entertained. Now showing at the Oak Street Cinema.

    7:30 p.m., through Tuesday, April 15th, The Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak Street SE, Minneapolis, 612-331-3134, $7.

  • It Takes a Village

    BOOKS & AUTHORS
    Chat It Up: Young Adult Literature

    With the Minnesota Book Awards right around the corner, you’ll have several opportunities this week to meet some of the finalists. Tonight, our very own Tom Bartel will be hosting a Chat It Up event featuring Young Adult Literature author Patrick Jones. Jones’s book Chasing Tail Lights explores the impact of poverty, drugs, and abuse on an 18-year-old girl.

    7 p.m., Maple Grove Library, 8351 Elm Creek Blvd., Maple Grove; 952-847-5550.

    WINE & DINE
    Empowering Women In Africa

    Enjoy a five-course meal featuring six handcrafted wines by Giraffrican Mix, and help raise funds to build Regina Pacis University for the Assumption Sisters of Nairobi, in Kenya, to operate with an option for women. The school’s first priority will be to train nurses, because there’s a great need for them in Kenya.

    6:30-9:30 p.m., Ursula’s Wine Bar and Cafe, 2125 4th St., White Bear Lake; 651-429-9600; $70.

    MUSIC
    Qwiksand

    "If Shaft was living in
    southern California and he invited Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix over
    for dinner," reads their website bio,
    "Orange County quartet QWIKSAND would make a groovy side-dish." What
    the California surf funk band fails to mention is the wonderful scent
    of salt and sun evoked by their music — so much needed in the
    land-locked Midwest as the winter lays its icy claws to rest. A jam
    band at heart, QWIKSAND serves up fun, melodic funk, interlaced with
    rap sessions reminiscent of the Spin Doctors. Though they’re often compared to the Red Hot Chili Peppers,
    QWIKSAND has actually developed a much smoother, perhaps even poppier,
    sound. Currently on tour promoting their new album, QWIKSAND delivers
    its Liquid Dream to the Fine Line. Joining them will be dEv JAna, The Limns, and The Rebelution.

    8 p.m. (QWIKSAND goes on at 10:30 p.m.), Fine Line Music Café, 318 1st Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-338-8100; $3, or go here for a free ticket.

    SPORTS
    Squash Those Hornets

    And of course, you can also go see the Minnesota Timberwolves play the New Orleans Hornets. I know we’re all pro-New Orleans these days, and with good reason, but let’s put that aside for the night. Let’s show those Hornets we have just as much to lose. (And let’s see if we can win another darn game, guys.) The season is quickly coming to an end, so don’t delay.

    7 p.m., Target Center, 600 1st Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-673-0900; tickets starts at $10.

  • The Three Pointer: Unprepared

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by Kent Smith/NBAE via Getty Images)

    Game #77, Road Game #38: Minnesota 119, Charlotte 121

    Season Record: 19-58

    1. Plenty of Blame To Go Around

    Coach Randy Wittman thought the Minnesota Timberwolves came to play without passion or commitment tonight on the road against Charlotte, and he was spot-on. I wasn’t there to ask any of the players–and they wouldn’t tell me anyway–but I imagine they thought Wittman’s stubborn smallball strategy put them in a position to lose, if not outright embarrass themselves, and that might have had something to do with the half-assed effort. At the end of the night, the only mystery was how this wretched ballclub found itself with a chance to win the game on its last two possessions.

    Let’s deal with Wittman and smallball first. I’ve stopped writing about it because it’s arrogant and boring to be a johnny one-note when you have no influence on the outcome and the team has lost 39 more games than it has won–it’s not like there aren’t any other foibles to point out. But on a game like tonight, when the small lineup was immediately and definitively proven to be disastrous choice of matchups, it probably serves a purpose to grab some of the nearby factual ammo to highlight the stupidity, and then remind folks that it really doesn’t *have* to be this way.

    On Charlotte’s first two offensive possessions, center Nazr Mohammed fed an interior pass to power forward Emeka Okafor who shrugged off Ryan Gomes (if he noticed him at all) and laid the ball in. After the first time, color commentator Jim Petersen chuckled ruefully and said that Okafor would be a tough matchup for Gomes tonight. No kidding. Okafor is three inches taller than Gomes and much stronger in the upper body. He likes to score in the low block, mostly because he’s good at it. Meanwhile, on the other side of the lane, Mohammed was abusing Jefferson to the tune of 9 points in the first 5:40 of action.

    The first time Charlotte scored off a jump shot, they already led 21-12, having scored 21 points in the paint in a cool 6:21, which works out to about 80 points in the paint per 48. Petersen, who is paid to be diplomatic, began calling for Chris Richard to join Jefferson and Gomes on the front line. Instead, Wittman subbed out his entire front line, bringing in Richard, Craig Smith and Kirk Snyder for Jefferson, Gomes and Brewer with the score 27-12 and 3:26 to go in the first quarter.

    Randy Wittman is a hard guy to defend. Indeed, one could make the case that, even with personnel that has been mediocre to inferior in terms of overall talent, he has underachieved on that talent level pretty much every year he’s been the head coach in this league. I don’t know why he has continued to deploy Jefferson at center, but after 76 games and a couple weeks’ worth of steadily declining production, Jefferson finally said "uncle!" over the weekend and declared himself physically and mentally toasted. And how did he say he was going to prepare himself to play with more rigor next season? By losing weight. Now does that sound like a guy itching to remain in the pivot with the leviathans, or somebody sending a message that he’d like to go back to his natural power forward slot next year?

    Now, I didn’t say Wittman was an impossible guy to defend, and if I’m going to club him for the smallball, I owe him a little context. Jefferson *has* come out relatively weak and unwilling to mix it up the past three first quarters. He could barely dribble straight countenancing doing his patented spin moves and dipsy doodles against Shaq and a rejuvenated Amare the other night, and laid an egg in the first 12 minutes against Memphis and Darko, of all people. Tonight it was passive D on Mohammed and an inclination to settle for 15-foot jumpers.

    But Wittman hasn’t backed down. He called out Jefferson after the Memphis game and benched him alongside Gomes and Brewer. At halftime, Jefferson had gotten just four seconds more burn than Craig Smith, and less playing time than Gomes or Randy Foye. And for whatever reason Wittman did not play him for one second at power forward beside Chris Richard. Now do I think that’s stupid coaching? Yes, I do. But in Wittman’s defense it must be stated that Jefferson came out and destroyed Charlotte in the second half on offense, scoring 29 points on 12-13 FG and establishing himself as a horse that the Wolves’ rode to an amazing 68 points in the paint and 51.5% shooting for the game. The only shot he missed in the second half was a desperation jumper from the corner with .7 seconds left on the clock. It wasn’t like the team was running its offense through the guy who happened to register 40 points: 10 of his 18 field goals were unassisted, included 4 putbacks.

    So if one buys the argument that Al Jefferson is really the only sure thing this franchise has to work with, than an argument can be made that Wittman is tempering him with fire and ice and everything in between, wearing his ass out in the paint against bigger and stronger personnel. I don’t know if this is true, but nothing else makes sense. And to the extent that Jefferson is gathering himself up and rising as best he can to the occasion–and 40 points is a pretty good response–the drill sargeant bit is working.

    To continue along this track, Gomes is arguably the second best player currently on the roster and is also being fed a steady ration of pounding in the low block. Again, the only way this makes sense is to enhance Gomes’s toughness and durability over the long run. Personally, I’d argue he needs more time and seasoning at the small forward slot, learning how best to use his size and bulk out on the perimeter. Tonight, after Wittman did finally relent to the point of playing Smith at the power forward and Gomes at the 3 (prompting the Wolves’ comeback, not coincidentally), Gomes did some posting up of Jason Richardson, who, as a strong, athletic 6-6, probably isn’t used to defending it. Gomes customarily quietly had 24 points, 5 rebounds and 3 assists tonight.

    Of course neither the coach nor the players operate in a vacuum. Wittman is justified in castigating his players for coming out flat and essentially losing the game in the first five minutes. But his smallball very obviously lessened the odds of his team’s success, something the players know better than anyone. And as he cracks the whip on a 19-win team 77 games into the season, is he surprised that some, if not most, of the players are rebelling is ways both passive and aggressive? On the other hand, while the players are justified if they note the coach blew the matchups and don’t appreciate the demonstrative scenes he makes on the sidelines in response to their mistakes, they aren’t coming out ready to deliver a solid night’s work either. Bottom line there is plenty of blame to go around.

    2. A Gold Star for Buckner, A Lump of Coal For McCants

    Both Petersen and Strib beat writer Jerry Zgoda appropriately lauded little-used reserve Greg Buckner for his catalytic performance (PiPress writer Rick Alonzo was less effusive but didn’t neglect Buck). After not playing for a month, Buckner climbed off the bench and delivered a game-best plus +17 (six better than second-best performer Raymond Felton of Charlotte) in 31:05. Even watching on television, you could see that Buckner was operating at a higher gear than every one of his teammates, a scathing indictment of their effort that almost certainly raised their caliber of commitment. Along with his example, Buckner provided a rare semblance of defense (Charlotte shot 62.3%, led by a combined 23-29 FG from Okafor, Mohammed and shooting guard Matt Carroll), and nailed 3-4 treys and 5-9 FG overall. Amid all the gushing, however, the cavaet must be inserted that Buckner fell prey to his primary weakness–trying to do too much once he gets on a bit of a roll. In a game decided by just one or two possessions, it would have been nice to see him deemphasize his offensive contribution in shooting and dribbling. Ditto Ryan Gomes, who let fly with a trey from the corner
    and another jumper that I’d really wished he’d pounded into Jefferson.

    Rashad McCants was among those not ready to play tonight. With the Wolves down 9 after just 6:21, Wittman threw him in for Foye and it took Shaddy all of 12 seconds to dribble around two opponents out on the perimeter and jack up a trey. After that, his only smudge on the box score was for two silly fouls, the first catching Carroll on the follow-through to his missed jumper, the second simply crowding his man too much in the corner. Wittman sat him after that and never brought him back–he played a scoreless 3:11 and was a minus -8 during that brief period. After the game, according to the beat writers (again, I wasn’t there), Wittman said he didn’t bring Shaddy back due to a lack of professionalism and was quoted as saying that McCants knows what he did. For his part, McCants left the locker room before the media could reach him.

    I’ve been accused of being both a McCants-lover and a McCants-hater and I plead guilty on both counts, and suspect Shaddy wouldn’t have it any other way. It is certainly possible McCants did something Wittman considers unprofessional, but it would frankly surprise me if it was heinous or malicious–until the situation gets explained further, there is no way to know.

    What I do know is that Wittman and McCants mix like oil and water, for obvious reasons of temperament and personality. I also know that this is a situation engendered by the front office. When Kevin McHale selected McCants in the draft three years ago, he openly acknowledged that Shaddy had some baggage but that the Wolves, unlike at least a handful of other teams, believed his talent was worth the gamble. Then a year and a half ago, the same McHale tabbed Wittman to replace Dwane Casey because he felt the team needed a little discipline and a kick in the pants. So you gamble on the volatile McCants and then you hire a taskmaster coach and everything is supposed to go well?

    I find it disappointing but not surprising that Wittman met with both Jefferson and Foye, but pointedly not McCants, the other day to talk about what is expected of them as future leaders of this team. In a comparison of Foye and McCants, I believe Foye is the more likely player to put together 6-8 solid seasons in the NBA, but that McCants has more star potential. True, he is a gamble, which is precisely why a team like the Wolves–who are looking at pretty formidable competition from Portland and Seattle in the next 5 years–need to cultivate him. I see the scowls and the ball-hogging and all the rest. I also know that McCants has produced as many important assists–synergistically creative ball-sharing–this season as Foye. Granted, Foye hasn’t played as much, but on the flip side, Foye is supposedly a point guard.

    Yes, Foye has been felled by injury. But that doesn’t change the fact that, flat-out, McCants has been a better player than Foye on the Wolves thus far this season. Or that he is the team’s best perimeter scoring threat–it isn’t even close. Now, does that mean McCants is or should be superior to Foye on the pecking order of this ballclub? No, not necessarily. But consider that tonight in crunchtime, with the Wolves down three with 30 seconds to play, Foye bulled his way to the hoop and tossed up a too-strong airball layup that was fortunately rebounded by the Wolves and converted into a Jefferson bucket. Consider that with 12 seconds to play and the Wolves down one, Foye turned the ball over on a misguided feed to Jefferson–flashing it too strong and not realizing Jefferson had a bad vision angle because he was visually screened by the man guarding Foye. Consider that Foye continues to have difficulty stopping dribble penetration and has increasing difficulty executing his own dribble penetration because defenders properly seek to take away his right hand.

    This is not to say that the Wolves should abandon Foye, who had a solid 19-6-7 and was plus +2 in over 40 minutes of action tonight. But it is to point out that his play does not suggest him to be a sure bet as a team leader. And to add that if he is regarded that way, to the point of publicly announcing meetings with just him and with a no-doubt leader like Jefferson, then somebody ought to consider that McCants would be offended. I don’t know if that was related to the recent spat or "unprofessional" behavior that Wittman views Shaddy as having committed. But if you are going to go buy a can of oil and a jug of water, don’t be surprised if they don’t mix–and think long and hard about which is more valuable or what else can be done to improve the situation.

    3. Nice Guy Finishing Close To Last

    Of all the players wishing the season would end, Corey Brewer is probably near the top of the list. After a brief stint of decent accuracy, Brewer has shot 3-13 FG over his past three games and increasingly seems to be melting on defense as well. Jason Richardson had about as much regard for his physical prowess as Okafor had for Gomes tonight. A year from now, Brewer needs to be in conversations about "most improved player." Right now he is hurting the club more often than not when he steps on the court. He hustled down floor on the fast break tonight and finger-rolled an airball. Just by watching him this season it is hard to imagine him as anyone other than a proud, hard-working professional who is used to being respected and rewarded for the results he creates. This must be a hellish spring for him.

  • In Defense of Street Art

    I
    was a street artist. If you prefer, I was a vandal. I started out, as
    most artists do, humbly. A can of russet Rustoleum with a couple of
    friends, scrawling vague leftist slogans on the abandoned railroad factory
    buildings in my hometown. Alleyway dumpsters and streetlit governmental
    properties were my first canvases. Then came small stencils: a tiny
    smokestack to spray on the outside of the asbestos-stuffed empty shells
    of our small town’s industrial past. They were just little gestures,
    not even aesthetically pleasing, but to us it was the start of
    something incredibly thrilling. We were honor students, very straight-laced
    for the most part, and no one would have suspected that we were living
    double lives, our backpacks and car trunks filled with neon ordnance.
    We learned the lore of the street here and there and on the internet.
    Don’t breath in the paint. Carry the paint and stencils in an empty
    pizza box. Use spray-adhesive to attach the stencils to the surface.
    Spray carefully to avoid overspray. From the small stencils, the tiny
    disobediences, we moved on to bigger, more ambitious projects.

    But as we matured we grew to realize that street art is much more than
    scribbling your name on an alt-weekly dispenser box or sticking your
    priority mail sticker in a bathroom stall. After working on the street
    for some time, I became convinced of the legitimacy of the medium. Because
    just what is the role of the artist? Is it purely aesthetic? To politicize?
    To inform? To provoke, to offend, to educate? Just what makes someone
    an artist, anyway? When do they become an artist? Certainly, there are
    very many varied reasons and motivations that drive each individual.
    But something every artist has in common is their primary responsibility
    to follow their vision, wherever it may lead them, even if that is into
    alleys and train yards. And at that time in my life, that’s where
    my vision was leading me. I had never considered myself an "artist"
    before, didn’t take any classes in school, but I saw a way that I
    could help make the world more beautiful (or at least more interesting)
    and relieve the monotony of my small-town life at the same time.

    For
    a year or two, I worked exclusively in stencil graffiti and wheatpaste
    media. I have since moved on to new media, but it was an exciting and
    informative time in my life. I vandalized dozens of public places and
    broke many laws; yet I feel that the gifts I and my associates gave
    the public outweigh whatever laws we broke. But I won’t claim that
    the desire to give beautiful art to the public is every street artist’s
    motive. Of course there will always be those people who just want to
    scrawl obscenities in alleys and on storefronts. Just remember, everyone
    has to start somewhere, and often people graduate from crudities to
    more expressive works.

    Working
    on the street has many virtues. If you choose your place wisely, many
    more people will see it than in one of the many small galleries that
    the average artist can reasonably expect to be exhibited in. Think of
    some of the busy intersections in downtown Minneapolis: if an artist
    was enterprising and determined enough, he could have more people see
    his work every day than do pass through the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa.
    The street is an unintended refutation of the insular art world; most
    street artists do not have the advantage of an expensive art education
    and contacts within the industry. An abundance of good art often does
    not get exhibited, for whatever reason. Many artists do not want to
    spend time applying to galleries, making friends in the industry, and
    waiting months or years for a show. They want people to see their art
    right now, as soon as possible.

    Think
    of the high cost of starting to paint- you have to buy oils, thinner,
    brushes, canvas, etc. Then you have to learn to paint, which is typically
    requires an expensive art education if you want to learn with any proficiency.
    All the street artist needs is a cheap can of Krylon from the local
    hardware store. And who’s going to teach them? The only way the street
    artist learns is through practice and self-motivation. There is no street
    artist’s college (although the Minneapolis College of Art and Design
    does teach a class on street art, and as artists such as Banksy and
    Shepard Fairey gain prominence in the art world, perhaps it will become
    an accepted BFA program somewhere). This need to figure out everything
    for themselves leads to innovation, technical prowess, and self-sufficiency.
    Street art is the most egalitarian of art movements. One cannot go to
    art school for it, the production costs are much more affordable, and
    the artist can choose to exhibit wherever he or she pleases.

    And
    what interest they create on bland surfaces! Last year I lived in Marcy-Holmes,
    one of the most "graffitied" neighborhoods in Minneapolis. Walking
    through the neighborhood was a constant fascination, viewing the struggle
    between the area taggers and the maintenance men. The back and forth
    between the whitewashes, paint pens, spray cans, and stickers was like
    a hyperaccelerated archeology, in which eras of art could be seen day
    to day. It’s the logical continuation of the cave paintings at Lascaux.
    Each side tries to evade the common tautology; the cycle of life on
    the street. The artist seeks to innovate by creating new visual forms
    of expression in new places (up telephone poles, underground, skywriting),
    and the street-cleaner seeks to establish more effective modes of repression
    (increasing the police force, new paint removers, neighborhood watches).
    The street artist has an almost unlimited opportunity for exhibition,
    scrawling a sociology on the walls of our caves.

  • The Unlubricated Hand of Government Intervenes Again

    The status quo is almost always a warm, comforting feeling.
    No matter how often people complain about Minnesota’s
    interminable winters
    , or Cyndy Brucato’s mummy-like visage
    staring soullessly from KSTP evening newscasts, eternally hungering for the
    blood of Amy
    Hockert
    , they would still be profoundly disturbed these constants were
    suddenly stripped from their lives.

    This is why our fair state, Democrats, Republicans and
    disinterested bystanders alike, should take comfort in the fact that the
    legislative and executive branches of our government have once again
    demonstrated that the grand tradition of willfully and maliciously idiotic
    governance is alive and well in Saint Paul. Perhaps a winged unicorn floated
    down from the heavens to convince legislators that they could easily pass a $925
    billion bonding bill through the governor’s office when they had already vomited forth
    approximately $293 million in bonding for transportation projects and the
    University of Minnesota bioscience initiative – for a grand total of about $1.2
    billion in bonding – far more than the 3 percent of the state’s revenue that
    has been the rule for so many years. This profligate spending not only
    endangers the state’s credit rating, but it will likely bring a plague of lesbian biker gangs down upon the state.
    Lesbian biker gangs are wont to frequent locales of questionable taste and
    credit, after all.

    Compounding this circus of stupidity was Gov. Pawlenty, his
    eyes alight with the fire of ineptitude, wielding his veto pen with the
    judicious approach normally associated with crack-addled nymphomanical
    squirrels. With but a stroke of red ink, away goes the gorilla habitat at the
    Como Zoo – those damn dirty apes should expect nothing but the same great gobs
    of crap they fling at zoo-goers. A simple slash to funding for those savages in
    Red Lake – how dare they expect help from
    the state in the form of a loan to the school district! And a quick twitch of
    the wrist spells a monumental "fuck you" to the DFL controlled metro area,
    where the Central Corridor, a project Gov. Pawlenty has been on board with, loses
    the $70 million in bonding earmarked for it.

    Now, I’m against excessive bondage as much as the next guy.
    And the legislature obviously expected to bend over for a severe spanking after
    being warned repeatedly by Pawlenty that exceeding the $825 million level would
    bring justice as swift and as sure as the Hulkster has 22" pythons – for lo,
    Gov. Pawlenty doth bring the thunder. But the cuts to the Central Corridor
    light rail line funding are baffling on the surface. Even more so because this
    loss of funding jeopardizes the $400 million federal dollars for the line. No
    federal funding means no rail line, since Minnesota can’t afford new toys all by
    itself, and Tim seems insistent on taking
    his and going home
    .

    There are, of course, any number of people crediting
    Pawlenty with political genius, saying that with time left in the legislative
    session, an agreement can be hammered out to save light rail. That the governor
    made a strong statement aimed at bringing the pure cold light of reality to an
    out of control group of legislators. In reality, rather than making sensible
    cuts to get the budget down to a level he deems reasonable, according
    to Senate research
    , he seems to have vindictively targeted DFL controlled
    districts for his cuts. 98 percent of the budget cuts came from DFL districts.
    And while the taut buttocks of the state’s volleyball players will suffer
    little from the loss of a planned addition to the National Volleyball Center in
    Rochester, the cut to the Central Corridor is an unwelcome visitor to the much-vaunted
    nethers of Minnesota we call the metro area.

    Luckily, our politicians have, over time, inured us to the
    bizarre sensations that accompany these unwelcome visitors. For what would Minnesota be without the
    cold, unlubricated hand of government intruding in parts unknown and heretofore unexplored?

  • Milwaukee & Franklin Avenues

    The
    antithesis of Milwaukee Avenue—the Seward neighborhood’s secret
    boulevard of late 19th century homes—is the Cedars 94 apartment
    complex, located just across from Milwaukee on Franklin’s north side.
    Where Milwaukee Avenue has dozens of brick homes with low front porches
    and gingerbread gables, the apartments have faded wooden shingles and
    a chain-link security fence. Where Milwaukee Avenue has forsythia, lilac,
    and crabapple trees along its center, Cedars 94 has cement courtyards
    and is bound by the roar of traffic from Franklin and Interstate 94.

    But
    both places share a similar legacy. Milwaukee Avenue’s homes, built
    between 1883 and 1895, were intended for Scandinavian immigrants who
    labored in the nearby railroad yards. Crowding as many homes as he could
    onto narrow lots, developer William Ragan created the first planned
    workers’ community in Minneapolis, and got the most for his buck.
    Then, Milwaukee Avenue was a starting place for newcomers—not a destination.

    In
    1974, the quaint homes, in disrepair and slated for demolition, were
    listed on the National Register of Historic Places and gradually revitalized,
    some with mind-blowing color schemes: a yellow brick home with buttercup
    yellow gables, sky-blue trim, and tangerine accents. Part of its charm
    today lies in its relative silence—a pedestrian-only urban avenue
    where it’s possible to hear the wind in the trees, the faint tinkling
    of glass wind chimes, or nothing.

    In
    the window of Charles A. Hoffman Handmade Guitars and Stringed Instrument
    Repair, on the corner of Milwaukee and Franklin, a young man bends over
    a honey-colored guitar and gently restrings it. Mr. Hoffman builds 25
    guitars per year and runs a brisk repair business. On a Saturday morning
    the small shop, fragrant with the sharp, clean smell of wood, is warm
    and musical as customers try out guitars. Easy, a black poodle with
    a ‘70s afro, pads behind the counter where an ornate silver cash register
    sits beside a flat-screen monitor and ergonomic keyboard.

    The
    Swedish potato sausage and lingonberry jam that might have been here
    100 years ago have given way to green tea spices and spongy disks of
    Ethiopian flatbread at the Shabelle Grocery and Meat Market and to the
    Seward Community Coop’s dark and leafy organic produce. At the 2nd
    Moon Coffee Café, two poets, bathed in the blue haze of a Mac screen,
    discuss publication: "Do you have any work out there?"

    "I’m
    still struck (as when I saw my first Pasque-flower)/Now at the single
    soft shoot of daffodil arching, slow/Through the face of the rock-like
    ground and on: up: through/The flinty shingle of March-blown sleet and
    snow/On the winter-wasted ice-bound lawns of Milwaukee Avenue."

    The
    lyrical, hardscrabble poet Thomas McGrath lived in Cedars 94 in the
    1980s until his death in 1990. The first-floor, single-level apartment
    was easier for him to manage, and he chain smoked and wrote poems like
    "The Black Train" in longhand at his dining-room table. Many afternoons,
    he crossed Franklin to Tracy’s Saloon for a hamburger and a Scotch.
    It seems unlikely that he would have been out on Milwaukee Avenue on
    such a March day, negotiating the slick sidewalks with his cane and
    unsteady gait. More likely, he was at home, looking out of the sliding
    glass doors to his own winter-wasted concrete patio, imagining something
    beautiful rising up out of the snow.

    Notes:

    1. Paragraph 2: Building
      dates for Milwaukee Avenue, developer and reference to Scandinavian
      workers: Minnesota Historical Society; Rail workers reference from "Milwaukee
      Avenue
      " by Gary Hiebert, 2001. Reference to Scandinavian immigrants
      also found in "History of Milwaukee Avenue," Milwaukee Avenue Homeowners
      Association.
    2. Paragraph 3: Date
      for listing on National Register of Historic Places: Minnesota Historical
      Society.
    3. Paragraph 4: Reference
      for number of guitars built each year by Charles Hoffman-conversation
      with Mr. Hoffman on January 6, 2007.
    4. Paragraph 6: Lines
      from "The Black Train," by Thomas McGrath, from Selected Poems:
      1938-1988,
      Copper Canyon Press, 1988; page 156.
    5. Paragraph 7: Notes
      about Thomas McGrath are my own personal notes. I worked for Tom from
      1986-1988, transcribing his poems and letters in his apartment at Cedars
      94.

  • Please, Oh, Please, No!

    This month I went to various locales, frantically searching for The Rake, which I
    could not find. It is the best publication I have seen around
    here for a long time. I am quite addicted to it and begin to look for it at the end of each month. A teenager told me that you had stopped printing it, and now it is only online.

    I want to plead with you to not do that. It does not seem smart to
    neglect the many people who enjoy sitting in an easy chair, in bed,  or
    travelling with their copy. Admittedly, I am a baby boomer. There are
    so many of us who feel that way, even if we are internet savvy. But even
    the teenager said he felt it was not good to have it only online,
    that it is limiting. Please re-consider your decision. I will sign up for a subscription — promise.

    Thank you for letting me express this concern.

    Victoria Amaris, Minneapolis
    Letter