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  • All You Need Is a Mission

    FILM

    Box Elder

    Things are changing in the film industry. It’s true. We’ve gone from indie to super-indie, or something of the sort. Todd Sklar is of this new regional indie-auteur variety — the new school of film, or should I say video? With a new HD camera in hand, and a Cine Brevis 35-mm lens adapter, there’s no stopping a man with a mission. But dreams and possibilities aside, it’s what’s left on screen that really matters. Sklar’s latest film, Box Elder, makes its Twin Cities debut this evening (and continues through next weekend). Titled after a Pavement song (Sklar’s favorite band) as well as a noisy, annoying, passive-aggressive, yet harmless insect, Box Elder paints an unrestrained picture of a generation defined by these same characteristics. See what a touch of your typical privilege, potential, and self-induced paralysis can do to four friends in their last years of college.

    Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at 7:30 p.m., The Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak Street SE, Minneapolis, 612-331-3134, $7.

    MORE FILM

    Leatherheads

    Dressed in 1920s attire, George Clooney and Renee Zellwegger began their Leatherheads tour with an appearance at the old Depot, in downtown Duluth. Now, we finally get to see the film. Directed by Clooney himself, Leatherheads
    offers a comedic tribute to the early days of pro football. Determined
    to keep his team alive after they lose their sponsor, Dodge Connelly —
    played by Clooney — brings in a college football star, better known as
    a local war hero, to recapture the country’s attention. Zellwegger, who
    plays a budding journalist, suspicious of the war hero’s
    too-good-to-be-true tales, take it upon herself to defraud the team,
    but in doing so somehow manages to make both men fall hopelessly in
    love with her. How will Dodge keep his team alive and get the girl? Go
    and see.

    AMC Southdale 16, 400 Southdale Center, Edina; 651-777-FILM.

    Under the Same Moon

    The story is nothing new: a Mexican mother goes to America, Los
    Angeles to be precise, in search of a better life for her child, whom
    she leaves in Mexico under the care of her mother. It’s "real," if
    nothing else. And it’s touching, if you’re at all moved by a mother’s
    love and a child’s determination. Director Patricia Riggen brings us a
    heartwarming tale addressing the controversial issue of illegal
    immigration. But her focus on nine-year-old Carlitos, and his physical
    journey to reunite with his mother, makes Under the Same Moon a most precious tale.

    Uptown Theatre, 2906 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-825-6006; $8.25 (seniors and children $5.75).


    Also opening this weekend, Meet Bill, starring Aaron Eckhart.

    DANCE
    James Sewell Spring Program

    Dancer/choreographer James Sewell
    made his way back home to Minneapolis in 1993, after a long stint in
    New York, bringing his company with him. Sewell began choreographing
    ballets in 1982, while at the School of American Ballet, in New York. He went on to dance with ABT II, an apprentice company of the American Ballet Theater, and then as principal dancer for the Feld Ballet. Once hailed by The New York Times as "one of
    American ballet’s best choreographers," James Sewell consistently
    delivers innovative and exciting pieces. This month, the company delivers its Spring Program at The O’Shaughnessy, with two Twin Cities premieres choreographed by Sewell himself: Social Movements and If This Then What. Also on the program are Table Waltz, choreography by Penelope Freeh, and By the Gypsy River Banks, choreography by Sally Rousse.

    Friday at 8 p.m., Saturday at 11 a.m., Sunday at 2 p.m., The O’Shaughnessy, College of St. Catherine, 2004 Randolph Avenue, Saint Paul, 651-690-6700, $31.

    MUSIC

    Bo Ramsey CD Release Performance

    While it’s all too possible you may not know Bo Ramsey’s
    name, you’re sure to have been touched by him somehow — whether as a
    musician or a producer of something wonderful you’ve heard. For
    whatever reason, Ramsey has drawn more attention from musicians than
    from the general public. Perhaps he’s simply not a limelight man, a
    fact confirmed by his many performances in the dingy, din-filled
    corners of The Deadwood,
    in Iowa City during the ’90s. But despite his understated fame, Ramsey
    has played a tremendous role in shaping the midwest blues-rock scene.
    He’s one of the original Iowa City blues-rock boys, along with Greg Brown, David Zollo, David Moore.
    In fact, Ramsey’s guitar work can be heard on their albums, many of
    which he has even produced. But Ramsey’s biggest call to the spotlight
    probably came from Lucinda Williams, who contacted him immediately after hearing Down To Bastrop in the early ’90s. So impressed was Williams with his inimitable guitar work that she invited him to play on her Grammy-winning Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, after which he joined her on tour — twice, as he went on to produce and play on her follow-up album, Essence. With his new CD, Fragile, due for release on April 8th, Ramsey is on a solo tour this time, and gracing us with his music.

    Saturday at 8 p.m., The Cedar, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-388-2674; $18.

    Also on Saturday night, Black Blondie and Maria Isa will play at Trocaderos Nightclub.

    BOOKS
    Sharp Teeth, by Toby Barlow

    After the wretched transformation of Beowulf to film,
    the time is ripe for a modern-day monster tale we can all read and
    imagine (rather than ruin with trite images). And try as I might to
    disassociate Toby Barlow’s debut novel from this timeless classic, Beowulf keeps coming to mind. Clearly, the title, Sharp Teeth, could have something to do with this. As could the subject matter: werewolves in Los Angeles. But beyond that, Sharp Teeth
    is written entirely in blank verse — an odd choice perhaps, but Barlow
    masters it so effortlessly that we hardly notice, except to feel its
    commanding flow hastening us forward through the multiple plotlines.
    Granted, Sharp Teeth offers no mead, but if you’ve read John Gardner’s Grendel — a rather nihilist monster-POV rendition of Beowulf — you’ll recognize the strangely non-heroic approach to an epic tale. As in Grendel,
    Barlow’s tale has no true heroes. There is no clear sense of right and
    wrong; there is only the gray in between, and how you choose to
    navigate it.

    Saturday at 7 p.m., BirchBark Books and Native Arts, 2115 West 21st St., Minneapolis; 612-374-4023.

  • Meet Aaron

    Aaron Eckhart doesn’t like too much attention. It makes him uncomfortable, which oddly enough, isn’t such an odd thing for an actor. Sure, there are artists that live for the limelight, but then there are others that live for the art (not that you can’t live for both, mind you). Eckhart is not a spotlight fiend. That much is clear. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, mind you, but he tells me so; and it’s clear from his quiet, pensive approach that he’s not out for the big headline, that he’s not going to flex his muscles to impress me. If I’m not impressed by his soft-spoken, steadfast approach, by his honesty, by his glorious chin, well, too bad for me.

    Now on tour, promoting his latest film, Meet Bill, Eckhart is going through the arduous task of interview upon interview. Somehow, he remains unresentful. Sure, it’s his job (I guess), but I caught the man coming straight out of one interview, into the next, and then on his way to another. How much fun can that be? And when I questioned him, he simply replied, "I never say the same thing twice. Maybe that’s a bad thing."

    "A bad thing?" I asked.

    Sure. "They always use the same thing anyway, so it really doesn’t matter what I say."

    And, yes, we do. Don’t we?

    "It’s a vicious circle, but on the other hand if the circle works why make it a square. You know what I mean? See I’ve never said that before. Why make a circle a square?"

    Why make a circle a square? Good question. And yet, I know he’s worried that I’ll take it out of context somehow. Why make a circle a square? Somehow, I’ll pose a question about his new film. ‘Your character is clearly confused and dissatisfied. He goes through a number of changes, and yet at the end I didn’t quite get the sense that he has truly arrived somewhere new. Why didn’t he blah, blah, blah?’ (Eckhart likes his blah, blah, blahs.) Why make a circle a square?

    I try to reassure him that I won’t do this, that somehow, I’m different from all other journalists (I’m not), but why make a circle a square?

    "What I say as a dry joke just comes off flat," Eckhart continues. "In print things don’t translate."

    And he’s right. Few know that better than The Rake, I think, recalling our vain attempts at humor and sarcasm, recalling the negative feedback, all the people who just didn’t get the joke.

    While Meet Bill is a fun physical comedy — far better than I might have imagined, based on the seemingly cheap Jessica Alba trailers — it’s still a slapstick comedy, and I’m left wondering why Eckhart is listed as executive producer, why a man with such interesting acting experience and only one production credit (a co-production credit, at that) under his belt, would take this on above a more nobel endeavor.

    I’m naïve, of course, to ask the question.

    "I have to say, my producorial involvement is minimal," answers Eckhart. "I don’t want to pretend that I was instrumental in this movie at all. When I come on or do a movie, I guess, that’s one of the perks that I get. Maybe sometimes it helps in casting. It’s a gift."

    —So there was no financial backing?

    "None whatsoever. It frankly kind of embarrasses me that it’s on there. But it’s one of the things that people do because it looks good. I don’t want to offend the other producers by taking credit. On small movies like this, because they don’t have a lot of money to give you, this can be another incentive. That’s kind of what it is. I just acted in the movie."

    Now it all makes sense to me. Eckhart has no interest in producing.

    "I’d rather go clean toilets than produce movies," he jokes. "What producers have to do — probably a lot of your job, too — is call people, follow up on people, try to make people honor their commitments. It’s hell. You know?" (Yes, I know.)

    "Filmmaking is tiresome. It’s a long, arduous job, and you have to be a marathon runner to do it. For an actor, you just get in and get out. You don’t have to deal with pre-production. You don’t have to deal with post. You don’t have to deal with the money people, the pressure, the business, selling it. I’m far away from all that sort of stuff.

    "I’m an actor. I have a lot to accomplish in acting, things that I want to do as an actor. I admire people like Clooney and these guys who do the whole enchilada. They do everything, and they make a great product. It’s unbelievable. And a lot of actors do that. Maybe another time. Maybe I’ll direct a traffic commercial. Like a PSA or something. On the environment." (He’s joking again, of course, though it may not be a bad idea.)

  • Sake That's Still Alive!

    As with seasonal fish, seasonal sake is something often overlooked, or unfamiliar. Most Midwesterners are used to sake served warm, and cold sake is still new and unfamiliar.

    Namazake is still fairly rare in the United States, especially here in the Midwest. Namazake is unpasteurized sake, fresh off the press and not aged.

    I have been fortunate to taste a vast variety of great sakes, but this Taiheikai Shiboritate namazake genshu nigori is just amazing!

    It’s amazing because it is a namazake, but it is also a shiboritate (undiluted with water) and a nigori (unfiltered), which brings this sake to life literally, because it is actually alive.

    It is alive because it is still fermenting, and that is why the bottle cap has a hole — so that gases can escape. Otherwise, the bottle would explode.

     

     

  • Sei Moa Me

    You may not know this yet but there is a woman out there that will drive little men like you crazy. I say little men because she is a woman of stature that does not need a car to prove her worth.

    But what rides she owns.

    She favors late ’60s muscle car cruisers that look good going down the boulevard and fast when you slam them to the floor.

    Her name is Seimone Augustus and she’s a whole lot more than a female basketball star. She’s relatively young but she already knows enough to favor the "old school" when it comes to rides. You’ll sei moa them soon right here. They’re almost as stunning as the woman herself.

    I’ve included a photo of the neighborhood around New Orleans where we snapped some photos of Seimone. This should give you some indication of the car culture in the Big Easy. The day was overcast and the dealership was closed but I did see some cherried out rides. 

    Ms. Seimone, as I noted, is partial to smooth cruisers that offer just enough torque to gently adjust the spine. I tend fo favor overpowered modern-day muscle cars that are loud enough to announce my arrival.

    Why do I feel this way?

    Perhaps I am just another little man. 

    And she remains the Giant.  

     

  • Going Wilde

    I have to admit, when Wilde Roast Cafe first opened its doors back in 2004, I was a little underwhelmed.

    It was, for one thing, hidden — at the tail end of the "working" segment of East Hennepin, and turned sideways so it was hard to spot. Inside, it was quaint and roomy, with a fireplace and Victorian-style furnishings, plus high tables and Wi-Fi and monstrous desserts. But I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

    There were salon nights, for one thing: gatherings to discuss books and topics of one kind and another. There was coffee, there was wine and beer. A limited menu of quick items. But unlike some of the other breakfast-to-bar-time spots that had opened in the same general time frame (Zeno comes to mind), there was nothing edgy about Wilde Roast. It was part library, part sandwich shop. I liked it, but I didn’t think there was anything special about the place.

    Boy, was I wrong.

    First, Wilde Roast is not just a coffeehouse that happens to serve desserts. It’s a restaurant that makes some of the most sumptuous pastries and cakes in the Twin Cities. You don’t have to take my word for it — I’m easy and would hock my grandmother’s silver for a slice of their amazing carrot cake — you can also call up the cover of the September 2006 issue of Bon Appetit, which featured "La Bete Noire," a flourless chocolate cake made on-site.

    Second, the baristas here KNOW HOW TO MAKE A DECENT ESPRESSO. Sorry to shout. But I had a cup of the most godawful tepid water squeezed through inadequately ground beans at the flagship Caribou Coffee (44th and France, in Minneapolis) this morning, and I am sick and tired of paying $2.60 for a coffee drink that tastes like it came out of my teenage son’s shoe. I’m appalled by the way most shops fail to clean and time their espresso machines. But you can get a cup of something real — kaffe with a half-inch of beautiful tan crema on top — at Wilde Roast. Plus, they’ll put it on a doilied plate with a nice little wafer cookie on the side.

    However, the best thing about Wilde Roast is something I couldn’t fully appreciate at the time it opened.

    Because four years ago, we still had Oddfellows. Boom was operating. And there were one or two other clubs in town where straight couples and gay couples and straight singles and gay singles mixed together like they were all just, er, people. I miss that.

    Today, there are gay clubs and straight clubs. Gone is the sweet little restaurant where two dads would hold hands and discuss their son’s soccer team at a table next to the one where a silver-haired man and wife were celebrating their 50th anniversary. There is nowhere else I can think of where it so wholly does not matter who you are or who you love or who you bed, you’re never on the outside.

    I had high hopes for Pi, but frankly all those were dashed when my husband and I stopped by late one packed weekend night and were [glaringly] the only white, middle-aged, heterosexual couple in the entire place. Don’t get me wrong. Everyone was nice, the music was great, no one told us we should leave. But I’d been hoping for a true melting pot.

    That, to me, is the real beauty of Wilde Roast. It is authentically inclusive. Here, you can step inside, have your perfect cup of espresso and a devilishly good pastry, then a glass of red wine, and feel as if we Minnesotans really maybe actually can get over ourselves and our stupid boundaries and mix like we’re all just weird, lost, fallible humans who need a soft chair and someone to talk to.

    "Society exists only as a mental concept," said Oscar Wilde. "In the real world there are only individuals." In fashioning Wilde Roast, the proprietors Dean Schlaak and Tom
    DeGree have achieved something we all need: a place where the society is made up of individuals. Imagine that.

  • Everywhere Signs Fall

    photos by Rose Johnson

    Finally, for my last blog post here at The Rake, we have rehearsal photos. Above: Paul Cram and Tracey Maloney. See more below.

    Everywhere Signs Fall — "The most exciting play you’ll see all year!" I actually do believe this to be true, but I’m willing to put it out there for debate. Come see the show. Tell me I’m wrong.

    In a hot motel room in Phoenix, a brother and sister lead an ominous investigation into the reasons that their lives have gone the way that they have. (Don’t we all wonder that sometimes?) They record and analyze and replay memories in an attempt to understand the meaning of the events that have changed their lives. (Cool! I’ve always wanted to be able to relive and rewrite my memories!) When they bring a down-on-his-luck bartender back to their room for an interview, their investigation takes a dark, deadly turn. (Cue music: Dun dun Dum! Call now, 651-228-7008). Everywhere Signs Fall is a thrilling psychological rollercoaster ride through mystery, tragedy, and romance, filled with sharp dialog and raw but humane passion.

    John MiddletonHere’s John looking all film noir-y and handsome, even with a script in his hand. He plays the down- on-his-luck bartender. Over the course of the last two years, I’ve seen him in plays from Torch’s Thousand Clowns to Our Town at the Theater Garage to King Lear at Starting Gate Theater. His performance in Gremlin’s Petrified Forest is still one of my favorite performances ever in the Twin Cities. I’ve tried to see everything he’s been in since then, but he works so much, I’ve missed a lot.

    Tracey MaloneyI think Tracey Maloney is one of the most intoxicating actresses in the Twin Cities. (You may have seen her as Laura in the Guthrie’s Glass Menagerie, among other shows.) She has an insightful intelligence combined with raw, emotional, instinctual energy that’s hypnotic. We’ve worked on small plays together at Thirst Theater, where the actors mingle with the audience in a bar as they perform, and I have literally seen mouths drop open around the bar as people watched and even fell a little for her. (No pressure, Tracey.) Sorry that the image is blurry.

    Paul Cram is an emotionally available, smart, brave actor with a wide range of experience in film who hasn’t seemed to find it hard at all to adjust to the differences in theater.

    For me, great theater is passionate, smart, interesting, mysterious, and unique. More heart than mind. A journey and experience that is as worth leaving your house for as much as a exotic trip outside of Minnesota. A story about people in extreme, interesting circumstances that illuminates the struggles and passions we all share. Honestly, you may not understand everything you see in this play, but you will feel a lot, and — we hope — you’ll be talking about what you feel and what you think for a while after you see it.

    We certainly have the cast to pull it off. Hope to see you there.

    Thank you for reading.

    —Alan

    And here’s one more picture of John in the rehearsal room — just because the whole "come hither" posture amuses me.

  • Auralee's Playlist

    Auralee Likes is co-owner of Hymie’s Records, one of the few places in town where you can still unload a box or two of records, or stumble upon some amazing finds.

    While processing records in the store we get exposed to zillions of records in every genre imaginable, but this list is the stuff I crank up time after time, mostly when I’m alone. I’m a shoegazing-country-folky-punk-funk-disco freak. My first 45 was Blondie’s Heart of Glass, in second
    grade.

    The Fall, Extricate, 1988
    I love everything they’ve ever put out, but lately I keep going back to this album, especially the song "Littlest Rebel." I never tire of their dynamic, angsty dance music, or Mark E. Smith’s snotty accent.

    Dog Faced Hermans, Mental Blocks For All Ages, 1991
    I saw this agressive group from Amsterdam playing in the basement of Motor Oil Cafe/Speedboat Gallery (R.I.P.), in Minneapolis back in the early ’90s. Apparently, one fan could not contain his enthusiasm and so treated the crowd to what would be my first, only, and hopefully last witnessing of full-on public masturbation, front and center on the floor at singer/trumpette Marion’s feet. The band didn’t miss a beat as he was hauled away. After the show I found him up in the gallery, to my horror, sitting next to my mom as she was reading a book. He asked, "Is that your mom?" I nodded, and he slurred, "I think your mom and me are a lot alike." Great first experience of a punk show for a Wisconsin mom.


    Big Black    , Atomizer, 1985
    Sonic terror, menacing and abrasive. I have a tape of this, with Cop Shoot Cop on the other side, in my truck, but I can’t even listen to it since the speakers suck; you can’t listen to this stuff quietly. And for some reason, if I play it at home it seems to make my dog nervous.

    Beangirl, Boner For a Beer
    The heyday for witnessing this local, kooky, hippy, bar rock spectacle is long gone, as singer Steph Dickson morphed into the slightly more sophisticated Tulip Sweet and Her Trail of Tears and moved her kazoo to NYC. A few band members still lurk around these parts, so maybe you can score a copy of this nonstop teenage river party tape. Or call the radio stations and request that they play "Donut Trailer."

    Meat Puppets, Up On The Sun, 1985
    This was the first alternative band I latched onto back in my high school daze. Wait, I don’t think alternative was coined as a genre yet. Well, it was alternative to listening to classic rock radio for me. Kurt Kirkwood’s monotonish vocals and the rambling shimmering guitars still have a timeless appeal. Favorite song: "2 Rivers."

    Slits, Cut, 1979
    Naked muddy fun dub punk gal heroes. Completely underrated.

    Charles Manson, Lie: the Love and the Terror Cult, Awareness Records
    This record contains acoustic alienation recordings prior to the murder splurge. I’m afraid, had I met him back then, I would have fell under his spell, shaved my head, and baked him muffins every day — as opposed to carving up people. He’s a unique voice and talented song rambler. Whenever I play this it seems like folks really dig it until they ask who it is and get all weirded out. His stuff recorded in Vacaville Penitentiary is great, too.

    David Candy    , Play Power
    For all of spastic-gospel-punk-screecher Ian Svenonius’ incarnations (Nation of Ulysses, The Make-Up, Weird War), this is his switcheroo to sophisticated, eerie, dream soundtrack easy listening. His recitation of an entire exotic pudding recipe provides a great introduction to his recent pocketbook offering The Psychic Soviet (Drag City).

    Lungfish
    This is my favorite Dischord band. See local band Thieves for an instrumental approximation. Last time I saw Thieves, at Medusa, I couldn’t escape Lungfish vocalist Daniel Higgs’ conscious vocals seething in my head while they were playing, and if I had any guts I would have quickly grown an Abe Lincoln beard, channeled him, jumped on stage, and grabbed the mic.

    My Dad Is Dead, Chopping Down The Family Tree
    I found myself drawn to this mysterious cardboard-covered CD at Inner Sleeve Records, in Wisconsin, around 1991. I liked the name and abstract art, so I took a chance. I fell for Mark Edwards’ direct, forlorn, hopeful lyrics and was impressed by the big sound coming from what is mainly a one-man band. If you dig Interpol you might enjoy this. The 33-rpm EPs on Scat Records are special re-recordings, different from the LP versions.

     

  • Take It to the Water

    MUSIC
    Tristan Prettyman

    In Jack Johnson tradition, San Diego singer/songwriter Tristan Prettyman traded in her surf board a few years back for a guitar and a notepad, and has been serving up song ever since. But much like Jack, she can’t seem to get those waves out of her songs, lending a lulling quality to their music — a beautiful addition to the acoustic guitars and quiet melodies. Prettyman — most definitely pretty, though nothing like a man — brings her unadorned folk-pop to the Twin Cities tonight.

    7 p.m., Varsity Theater,1308 4th St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-604-0222; $15.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Metamorphosis

    Theatre Pro Rata has been getting quite a bit of attention for their big-splash production of Metamorphoses. It’s no wonder. Playwright Mary Zimmerman’s adaptation of the Ovid classic calls for a big pool of water in the middle of the stage — a minor detail that created quite a challenge for director Carin Bratlie. With water as a pivotal element of change, you’lll enjoy glimpses into numerous classic tales: King Midas, Cupid, Pyramus and Thisbe, Eurydice. This is the play’s last weekend, so don’t miss out.

    7:30 p.m., The Loading Dock Theater, 509 N Sibley St., Saint Paul; 612-874-9321; $14-$28.

    ART
    Printmaking from Soviet Estonia

    When Estonia fell under Soviet rule in 1940, art became heavily
    censored. That was the case with “major” art forms like painting and
    writing, at least, but the apparatchiks largely ignored printmaking. In
    retrospect this seems ironic, given how the medium is suited to mass
    production and has a history as a tool of dissent. That’s exactly the
    point of this exhibition; culled from a collection at Rutgers
    University, its forty-one works from 1922–91 range from the surreal
    folk art of Jüri Arrak to the geometrical abstractions of Leonhard
    Lapin and Raul Meel—clear evidence of how artists in this medium
    persisted and even thrived under the radar of state-sanctioned
    Socialist Realism. The exhibit’s highlight and its clearest critique of
    force-fed Russian culture are Vello Vinn’s scathing, Ernst-like
    photomontages. The show runs simultaneously with (and is fittingly
    located a floor beneath ) an exhibit of Russian Impressionism. —Christopher Hontos

    Museum of Russian Art, 5500 Stevens Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-821-9045.

  • Stupid Sex

    Sex is the great equalizer, for does not the rich man
    conduct his doggy-style in much the same way as the poor man? Granted, the rich
    man conducts his to the tune of $5,000 per
    night     while the poor man’s might’ve cost him a bottle of Strawberry Hill at
    the liquor store down the block, but in the end, both situations result in
    guttural noises and a tattered
    web of ego-salving lies    .

    But there’s a dark side to the equalizing power of sex.
    Minnesota may be the 13th smartest state, according to the last
    round of the Smartest State Awards, but once the subtle, nigh ultrasonic
    rustling sound of frilly underwear hitting the floor causes blood to rush south
    to engorge parts unknown and the sheets are stained with fesenjoon,
    we’re every bit as willfully, soul-crushingly stupid as Arizona, #50 on the
    list. As a result, the occurrence of sexually transmitted diseases has risen
    steadily in Minnesota, since as far back as 1996.

    Now, to be fair, it’s quite possible that Minnesotans strip
    down and make like crack-addled bunnies significantly more often than your
    average Arizonan, especially given that our fair state goes for approximately
    six months without seeing sun nor experiencing warmth, so it’s natural for us
    to seek solace and body heat in mind-numbing
    bacchanalia    . But that’s no excuse for a nearly four percent gain in cases
    of syphilis, chlamydia, and gonorrhea in just the last year. And of course,
    that doesn’t include the rampant crabs, trichomoniasis, genital HPV infection
    and other assorted cooties generally associated with icky
    boys    .

    There’s plenty of blame to go around for the fact that
    double bagging it will soon be standard practice when picking up moderately
    attractive drunks     in front of the Lone Tree Bar downtown. We’ll start with
    the modern-day Pandora’s box that is the state government, of course. A paltry
    $1.3 million in state funding was proposed for STD screening and public
    education in the legislature. Of course, in these days of instant
    gratification, the funding was cut. $1.3 million is too much to spend on a
    program that would likely take a few years to return the investment in the form
    of healthier babies, reduced cancer rates, and a dramatic drop in Nietzsche-esque
    insanity and sibling lust     – a condition HMOs are often loathe to cover.
    Plus, think of the horrific janitorial costs as thousands of men shift
    uncomfortably, attempting vainly to hit the urinal whilst their collective
    crotches are on fire.

    There are certainly other reasons for this steady decline in
    pubic health. These include:

    • pediatricians and family doctors
      reluctant to talk with their patients about sexual health for fear
      of finding out just how the lollipops handed out after each visit are
      truly used by oversexed teenagers,
    • abstinence-only
      sex education programs – because preventing kids from learning about how
      to protect themselves in the event they want to bang their way through the
      cheerleading squad/football team/woodwind section of the school orchestra
      seemed like such a good idea at the time

    The
    bottom line is that half of high school seniors and more than 75 percent of
    college students in Minnesota are happily humping their way through their
    academic careers, and many of them think that love is all the antibiotic they
    need. That’s not even mentioning the staggering fact that 25
    percent of girls 14-19     in the U.S. have an STD. A problem with this scope
    may require a bit more than good intentions, a subscription to Penthouse and
    the occasional call to DTMFA from Dan Savage.

    To put an even finer point on it, before he started
    gnawing on the furniture and frothing at the mouth (but after he started
    chasing his sister’s skirt), Mr. Nietzsche said that, "…if a woman seeks
    education, it is probably because her sexual apparatus is malfunctioning."
    Given that we’re inexorably headed toward a day when the entire state
    experiences a burning
    sensation when it pees    , it may be wise to offer the education before the
    girls, or boys, have a chance to request it.

  • The Three-Pointer: 3rd Quarter Fold

    Game #74, Road Game #36: Minnesota 100, Utah 117

    Season Record: 19-55

     1. One-Way Jefferson

    Those who check the box score will surmise that Al Jefferson had one of his worst games of the season tonight as the Wolves were routed by Utah, who turned a close and enjoyably contested first half into a blowout with a 38-22 pasting in the third quarter en route to a 117-100 final. I’m posting this quickly and thus am unaware if Jefferson was benched for the entire 4th quarter because he was ailing, or Wittman was displeased with his performance, or merely because it was the frustrating back end of a two-nighter that the Wolves weren’t going to pull out in the final 12 minutes anyway.

    The line shows Jefferson with a remarkably anemic two rebounds, zero assists and 12 points on 5-13 FG and 2-2 FT in 27:49 of action. What the box score doesn’t reveal is that Big Al had one of his more dedicated and effective defensive performances of the year, limiting Carlos Boozer to 5-12 FG and just 12 points (although Boozer did grab 7 rebounds and pass for 4 assists). There weren’t any of the gaudy blocked shots that have raised the shoddy reputation of Jefferson’s defense in recent weeks (although he had a beautiful block that Joey Crawford, a once-great ref who had another in a series of bad nights in recent years, ruled a foul). But there was a stauch commitment to preventing points by the opposing team’s top scorer. For all the times I ripped Jefferson’s D while he was posting 24 and 15 in a mid-winter Wolves loss, I owe him the nod that he did himself proud on one end of the court once again tonight.

    And there’s the rub: Although not to the dramatic extent we saw tonight, there seems to be a correlation between the improvement in Jefferson’s defense and a slight dropoff in his points and rebounds. I remember two or three years ago when the Wolves started asking Trenton Hassell to play a larger role–a #2 or #3 option–on offense, and he told me in the locker room that quality defense took so much out of him that he wasn’t sure he could step up like that. (Hassell’s scoring did improve fairly significantly during that experiment and his defense dipped slightly.)

    The point is, Jefferson expends an enormous, and underappreciated, amount of energy getting his points. He’s scoring in the toughest part of the court, the paint, against teams whose top defensive priority is to stop him, usually with two players and/or specific schemes. And being an undersized center all year long, he’s also had to battle folks as big or bigger than him for rebounds. Throw in the bump and grind of deterring a gritty and wily low post scorer like Boozer on the tail end of a home-road back-to-back and it’s not surprising that the man came up short.

    2. Foye or McCants

    I am becoming convinced that there are Foye people and McCants people. Both players have really excitable and excreable aspects to their games and honest appraisals of both should resemble a roller coaster, given how inconsistent both players have been and how capable they are of engendering hope and disgust not only from game to game but stint to stint within games. I know I’ve lauded and lambasted each one with a yo-yo regularity.

    I confess that Foye has genuinely raised my ire more often this season, despite the fact that he’s played fewer games than Shaddy, and I think it’s because I believe Foye is more a part of the future firmament for this franchise than is McCants. I don’t imagine the Wolves are going to keep both players around for the next two or three years and if a choice is made, McCants will be the one packing his bags.

    The reason I feel this way is because when the team wiped the slate clean with the KG trade, much was made internally about getting high character guys who mesh in the locker room and on the court and foster the kind of synergy required to be a perpetual playoff team. And Shaddy’s volatility doesn’t fit that definition as well as Foye’s comparative "maturity" and magnanimity. Now there is a good chance this intuitive thinking on my part is inaccurate (for example, the entire dynamic may change if a stud point guard falls to the team in the draft or another ballclub likes Foye or McCants enough to make an attractive trade offer). That’s why I haven’t raised it before, and wouldn’t be talking about it now, except that I have to acknowledge that Foye’s foibles are more irksome to me than Shaddy’s.

    Like his complete inability to guard his man. A night after rook Rodney Stuckey showed him up, he stepped up in class in a major way going against Deron Williams, and Williams toyed with him. Sure, as happened last night, Foye posted decent numbers, and finished with 15 points and 6 assists. But after three quarters, Williams was a perfect 7-7 from the field, and had 13 assists and no turnovers. Can a defender be undressed any more thoroughly than that? D-Will’s dribble penetration consistently broke down the Minnesota defense, setting up a large advantage in points in the paint *and* better than 50% shooting from behind the arc. That’s why after three periods, Williams had a game-best plus +21 and Foye had a game-worst minus -21.

    Given that Foye is more the rugged type of point guard at 6-4, 213, and is coming off a significant knee injury, one might think a quick opponent like Stuckey would give him trouble. But then he should be a better matchup for Williams, who is 6-3, 205, and quicker of thought than he is of foot. Nope, resoundingly nope. So if Foye can’t guard Stuckey (27 points last night) and Williams, who can he guard?

    Now folks who are aggravated by McCants were probably throwing things at their televisions when Shaddy was ignoring his teammates and jacking up treys, or coming up a step slow on defense himself on occasion. It certainly felt that way on occasion. But the thing is, McCants made more than half his shots (6-11 FG), including his treys (3-5 from 3pt), and, as usual, posted a plus/minus (minus -5) that was relatively better than most of his teammates, an ongoing phenomenon that has occurred whether he’s starting or coming off the bench. Announcers Tom Hanneman and Jim Petersen frequently mentioned that McCants had a bad game last night against the Pistons–and he did shoot 1-9 FG. But I thought Foye’s performance was more injurious in the loss, and there was no mention of Foye’s bad game versus Detroit. Maybe Hanny and Pete are "Foye people."

    3. And As For the Small Forwards…

    Kirk Snyder has taken a step back since Wittman’s decision to reinsert Corey Brewer into the starting lineup. Tonight, defending Matt Harpring (the matchup that prompted Witt to give him more minutes early in his Wolves tenure), he was outhustled in the paint and in transition more often, and just didn’t have that spark he showed in his first few appearances off the bench and then always as a starter.

    Meanwhile, Brewer continues to be a high energy, high IQ performer who is a suspect shooter, to put it charitably, and physically overmatched on many occasions. Tonight he popped for a decent 4-9 FG and got to the line 4 times (albeit three of them in garbage time), but had just one rebound and zero dimes in 24:24.

    Bonus fourth point: J-Pete noted how Jefferson was being bodied by Mehmet Okur on D, who was also able to wrest rebounds away from Gomes down low, and called for a little Jefferson-Chris Richard tandem on the front line. It was a temporary plea to short-circuit the smallball. But I’ve talked about that enough already.