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  • A Moral Odyssey through Paranoid Park

    The last few Gus Van Sant films that I have seen were all part of the filmmakers’ Death Trilogy, which are best characterized as plotless trips through discomfort. Elephant was like experiencing the Columbine tragedy, Last Days a pseudo re-enactment of Kurt Cobain’s demise, and Gerry a battle of attrition, both in the desert, onscreen, and in the theater, as a viewer. So, when going to see Paranoid Park, I was expecting to be somewhat uncomfortable with the trip I was about to take. But I was pleasantly surprised by where Van Sant took me this time.

    A murder mystery wrapped into the life and times of a wannabe skate punk who gets caught-up in the investigation, Paranoid Park utilizes a myriad of production devices to take the viewer inside the mind of a troubled teenager. While I was expecting a meditative journey through the dark side of skateboarding, it was a surprise to get caught up in a murder mystery plot intermingled with teen skateboarder Alex’s struggle to cope with his insecurities, and what he is willing to do not to have to feel.

    Alex, whose journal writing (or perhaps, letter writing) helps tell the story in narration, attends a very suburban High School with a few skaters that look-up to the freedom and unruly lifestyle of the homeless and runaway inhabitants of Paranoid Park, a skate park built underneath a city overpass in Portland, Oregon. It is obvious that Alex is a beginning skater and has some reservations about going to Paranoid Park for the first time. But his exposure to the park leaves him wanting more.

    Despite being abandoned for a girl by the buddy who introduced him to Paranoid Park, Alex goes back downtown on his own at night. He sits on the sidelines until a few residents make his acquaintance, and he follows one of them, Scratch, on a freight train ride to get some beer. In the process, a security guard is killed, and Alex must deal with the impending police investigation, while also navigating the other circumstances of his life, including sex, dating, divorce, and peer pressure.

    Van Sant brings his meditative style to Paranoid Park in the form of scenes of nondescript skateboarders on the streets of Portland, filmed in Super 8, that serve as kind of an escapist fantasy that Alex imagines possible. But an interesting and twisting plot brings the viewer into Alex’s life and thoughts while navigating the minefield of coming of age. Alex’s journal writings serve as both a narrative device and healing solution to deal with his insecurities and mistakes. He uses his writing as a way to deal with the crazy, messed-up things that happen in life, allowing him to finally move forward.

    The acting may leave a little bit to be desired in this film, and some of the style changes in cinematography and music can be distracting, but the interesting plot, the exploration of Alex’s inner turmoil, and the redemptive message are more than enough to keep the story moving along.

    The thing that "makes" the film, however, is the way Van Sant utilizes music and cinematography to allow viewers to tap into the characters’ minds. His long slow-motion tracking shots, with a myriad of different musical styles, force the viewer to stop and consider what the characters are thinking and feeling in the moment. The result is a very relatable story about the insecurities of fitting in and not understanding what to do with these feelings, especially when something goes extremely wrong as a a result of a bad decision.

    Paranoid Park screens at the Walker on Wednesday, March 19th, and opens at the Lagoon on Friday, March 21st. 

  • Minnesota Naughty

    The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the Ritz Theater. Two hundred and fifty bodies leaned forward in anticipation, and two hundred and fifty sets of eyes stared straight ahead at the empty stage. The audience remained suspended in this moment as the silence caressed their ears and the darkness teased their imaginations. Then, in a sudden burst of sound, the band started playing and the tension was broken. The audience erupted into applause as Nadine Dubois stepped into the spotlight, a long silver dress hugging her curves. Dubois strode across the stage, picked up a microphone, and brought it up to her crimson lips.

    "Welcome!" she shouted. "Welcome to The Best of Midwest Burlesk! How many of you out there are burlesque virgins? Come on, don’t be shy!"

    I raised my hand along with most of the audience members.

    "Excellent," Dubois cooed. "We promise to be gentle!"

    I was hesitant to believe her. As I listened to Dubois tease the audience and tell dirty jokes, my mind filled with questions: How could a burlesque show be gentle? Weren’t women going to shamelessly strip for our viewing pleasure? Wasn’t it just another sex show?

    The very first act caught me off guard. Karen Vieno Paurus entered the stage in a long black dress and overly large, black, feathered hat. She sang. She teased. She left the stage. The act was sultry, but it was also humorous and sarcastic—something I had not expected to see at a burlesque show.

    Gina Louise followed with a short and energetic striptease. She wiggled her hips and pranced across the stage. At the end of her song, the top came off, and for a few moments she stood in sparkling pasties. The audience applauded, and she quickly exited the stage. Although her dance was sexy, Gina Louise also kept her act playful, fun, and surprisingly classy. In fact, I got the feeling that the performance as a whole was much more important than the removal of clothing. I was frankly puzzled by what I saw. It was a strange, but immensely pleasing brew of sex and sarcasm.

    My puzzlement grew as I continued to watch. Singers, tap dancers, a juggler, and several other performers who did not remove a stitch of clothing mixed with the striptease acts. And even the stripteases were not overtly sexual. Ophelia Flame, for instance, danced to the song "Tequila," wearing a giant tequila bottle and a huge bottle cap atop her fiery red curls. The audience roared with laughter as she peeled away the label and the outfit morphed into a short green dress adorned with a tequila worm. This, of course, she peeled back to reveal a pink fringed ensemble. Finally, the fringe had to go, as well, and all that was left was a pair of lime green, sparkly panties and pasties to match. The performance was silly, but simultaneously sexy. Ophelia Flame’s act mirrored the general mood of the show: ridiculous, yet sensual. Burlesque is clearly no ordinary entertainment genre.

    With all its vaudeville-style fun and laughter, the glittery exterior of Minneapolis burlesque is deceiving. It is hampered with public misconceptions, legal trouble, and a rocky past that has been hard to overcome. However, decked in tinsel and tassels lies a group of performers hopelessly devoted to their art and not willing to let it die without a fight.

    Silly Sexy

    "We had a guy at one of our shows," said Amy Buchanan, founder of Le Cirque Rouge (LCR), "that said to us afterward, ‘You know, I didn’t even get turned on.’ I told him, ‘You weren’t supposed to. It’s silly sexy.’"

    Let me get this straight. Here we have women stripping down to thongs and pasties, and their intention isn’t necessarily to turn people on? What is going on here? The more I talked to other performers from other burlesque troupes, the more I heard this kind of answer: burlesque ≠ just sex.

    Now, obviously, burlesque performances include a certain amount of sex. Women take their clothes off in a seductive, sexy manner. The performers, however, do not see themselves involved in a sex show, but rather something more sophisticated, something with a little more substance.

    "It’s satire," said Corinne Caouette, formerly of LCR. "It’s there to make fun of sex symbols and sex. In my mind it should never intend to be erotic. It’s about hinting at things, not exploiting things."

    Stan the 3-D man agreed. "It’s not a hardware show," he said. "It’s about the sizzle, not the steak." Stan himself is a testament to the variety show feel of a typical burlesque. Stan brings to LCR his 3-D Shadow Striptease, which involves a screen, a dancer, a projector, and 3-D goggles. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

    Gina Louise described their show as a "potluck party." Everyone brings their talents to the table. Sure, some of the dishes are more delectable than others, but the variety is always there: from the hula-hoop striptease, to the Egyptian mummy who slowly unravels her strategically-placed bandages. Tap dancers. Singers. Jugglers. Comedians. Ukulele players. Dueling ballerinas. Magicians. And a crazy assortment of costumes to accompany each act.

  • Still Wearin' the Green

    Pull out the green clothes and the Irish pride. Today is St. Patrick’s Day, which, according to one avid Secrets reader, is about more than just green beer.

    SPECIAL EVENTS
    Irish Ceili

    Anthony wrote in to tell us about two Irish Ceili (pronounced kay-lee) dances tonight. "My wife and I met at an Irish Ceili and were married that year at the same hall we met!" he wrote. "So these dances are just as magical as the Leprechaun!!!"

    Minnesotans for a United Ireland is sponsoring a Ceili Dance, called by Mike Whalen, with music by the Blackbirds. Arrive a half hour early (6:30 p.m.) for basic step lessons.

    7-10 p.m., Randolph Heights School, 378 Hamline Ave. S., Saint Paul; $8 (students and seniors $5), $1 off with a non-perishable food shelf donation.

    The Minnesota Folk Arts Alliance is sponsoring a Ceili Dance, called by Ann Wiberg, with music by Barra

    7-10 p.m., CSPS Hall, 383 Michigan St., Saint Paul; $9.50 (seniors and children $4.75).

    And Then There’s Always Beer

    For the typical rip-roaring St. Paddy’s Day celebration, head over to
    the Nomad for the 4th Annual Break the Seal Challenge, free beer, a tribute to U2 and the Pogues, Irish trivia, prizes and giveaways, and two-for-ones on Beamish Irish Stout from
    9 p.m. to close. Music will be provided by the
    Flaming Seamus, the Humbugs, County 79, Andrew Lynch, and the Early Effect

    4 p.m., the Nomad World Pub (501 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-6424.

    MUSIC
    Celto-delic Rock-n-Reel

    Fittingly, Boiled in Lead is also performing at First Avenue tonight — their 25th Anniversary St. Patrick’s Day concert. These guys have managed to take Irish folk to a whole new level — somewhere in the realm of heavy metal-Celtic Irish folk-punk. It’s nothing if not interesting, and it certainly gets the blood flowing. See them this evening with the Minnesota Police Pipe Band, Lehto & Wright, Wild Colonial Bhoys, Brass Messengers, Sweet Colleens, and Mark Stillman

    4 p.m., First Avenue, 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-338-8388; $12 (free admission from 4 to 7 p.m.).


    Mary Stallings

    For something a little less Irish, head over to the Dakota to hear perhaps one of the best jazz singers around these days: Mary Stallings. With a voice that has been compared to that of Dinah Washington (though I’d venture to say it’s more of a cross between Washington and Etta James), Stallings has shared the stage with some of the top jazz masters: Wes Montgomery, Ben Webster, Dizzy Gillespie, Count Basie Orchestra.

    7 p.m. & 9:30 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-332-1010; $20 & $15.

     

     

  • Abbreviated Three-Pointer: No Tanking Here

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by Sam Forencich/NBAE via Getty Images)

    Game #64, Road Game #31: Minnesota 121, Seattle 116

    Season Record: 15-49

    1. Engines In the Backcourt, Stoppers Up Front

    My decision to keep a life and hold off on getting League Pass this NBA season is biting me this weekend, as the Wolves were short-circuited by a double-overtime hockey game (U of M vs. Mankato) that allowed me just 5 minutes of second quarter action (the hockey intermission between OT and 2OT) and then the last 20 minutes of the game (after Mankato St. won it, 1-0), from the 7:55 mark of the third onward. And tonight against Portland is blacked out. Hence the abbreviation of this trey.

    But as luck would have it, the television feed clicked in just two minutes before the Wolves exploded for a 23-5 third-quarter run that transformed a 69-77 deficit into a 92-82 lead in just 5:26, the turning point of the ballgame. And they accomplished this with a lineup that almost certainly had never been deployed before, prompted first by Chris Richard subbing in for Al Jefferson, then Rashad McCants entering the game for Marko Jaric. Suddenly the Wolves had defensive stoppers as two out of three front court personnel–Richard and Kirk Snyder, with Ryan Gomes at the 4–and a couple of sticks of dynamite on the perimeter in Randy Foye and Rashad McCants.

    Sonics coach PJ Carlissimo tried to staunch the outburst, using everyone in his 9-man rotation during that 5:26 stretch but Luke Ridnour, to no avail. McCants in particular found the sweet zone between sharing and selfishness, getting 11 points on 2-3 FG while drawing enough fouls to earn 6 trips to the line. Foye fostered ball movement and kicked off the burst with a trey. Gomes had five points, Richard and Snyder a pair of free throws each. But it was on the other end where the change really happened: With Richard/Gomes/Snyder all active in the paint, Seattle mustered just 2-9 FG, and their 5 points in 5:26 stood in stark contrast to the 116 they scored in 48–meaning they got 111 in the other 42:34.

    Sounds like a simple plan: Spread the floor on offense with perimeter threats–Foye, McCants and Gomes all nailed treys in that 5:26 burst–who can also penetrate and either dish for open looks or draw the foul. Yes, Seattle is horrible defensively, but 23 points in 5:26 is good work against the junior varsity–it’s, ah, about 200 points per 48. And on defense, put a pair of sweat equity guys (Richard and Snyder) between the savvy Gomes and instruct them to negate the paint. Presto: Zero points in nearly 4 minutes of action for Chris Wilcox, who’s murdered the Wolves in all four games he played against them this season. Zero points for Kevin Durant, whose inability to solve Snyder has done more to raise Snyder’s defensive profile than any player in the league this season. Just two points for Nick Collison. Just 3 points for the backcourt of Gelabale and Watson. And that was the ballgame.

    2. Another Rant About Jefferson At Center

    There was a disheartening story in the Strib this week about Craig Smith–not the Rhino himself, of course, who is something of a feel-good tale, albeit one that won’t totally turn the frog into the prince. No, the head-slapping part was how the braintrust has told Smith they want him to work on his midrange game so that when he slots in alongside Al Jefferson in the frontcourt, they won’t be ruining each other’s spacing in the low block. The implication, of course, is one that the Wolves have been making in a dozen different, equally perplexing ways this season–that they foresee Jefferson as their center of the future.

    Now there are times when the Jefferson-Smith tandem has been more effective than I would have imagined. It can be an interesting wrinkle, part of a lineup rotation that falls somewhere between a gimmick and the team’s bread-and-butter. But I fear the Wolves Jefferson in the pivot of whatever go-to quintet they assemble. Their quartet of relatively legit centers have been purposefully sliced and diced into discontinuity: Chris Richard leads with 310 minutes, followed by Theo Ratliff with 214, Michael Doleac with 206, and Mark Madsen with 130–by comparison, Randy Foye already has 632 minutes since returning from injury about a month ago. Obviously the idea of getting Jefferson accustomed to the center slot is more of a priority than keeping him at his natural power forward position. Meanwhile, the primary alternatives at the 4 have also been relative pipsqueaks–Craig Smith (6-7 is generous), Ryan Gomes (6-8 with small forward instincts) and Antoine Walker (6-9 outside gunner).

    Normally smallball is designed to pick up the pace and ambush teams with quickness in transition. To push the polemic a little bit, however, what the Wolves have done is create a frontcourt that is both small *and* slow. That’s why they are 29th in blocks–at 3.65 a game ahead of only the listless Knicks–and 27th in scoring; not only 28th in fast break points but 29th in allowing fast break points, and 28th in creating points off turnovers–they get screwed on both ends of the small-and- quick versus large-and-slow equation. They *do* rank in the top 5 in second chance points, mostly because they grab more than 50% of the available rebounds despite their miserable FG%. These things are a tribute to Jefferson’s tenacity.

    To update the argument, let’s go to some pretty stunning numbers versus Seattle last night. As usual, rather than playing a defensive-minded center like Richard beside Jefferson in a large duo, Wittman and the front office subbed one in for the other. And the numbers give a pretty good indication when Jefferson does not belong as the main man on defense beneath the hoop.

    In the first quarter, the Sonics were 12-17 from the field until Richard replaced Big Al with 1:26 to play in the first, at which point Seattle shot 2-4 FG. When Richard was logging the 6:26 of the second period, Seattle shot 6-15, or 40%. When Jefferson came in to play the remaining 5:36, Seattle was a perfect 8-8 from the field. Got that? First half stats: Seattle shoots 8-19 FG with Richard in the game and a whopping 20-25 FG–80%!–with Jefferson as the last line of defense. Go the second half, which included that 2-9 FG stretch for the Sonics mentioned in the first point of this trey. With Jefferson on the floor for the first 3:07 of the third, Seattle shot 3-4 FG, which actually reduced the percentage the Sonics were shooting against him. When Richard too over for the final 8:53, Seattle shot 7-18. Okay, so after three periods, it is 15-37 against Richard and 23-29 FG against Jefferson.

    Richard finished his night helping Seattle go 0-2 FG in the first 1:22 of the 4th quarter, by which point the Wolves had grabbed a commanding 101-88 lead. Understand that Jefferson is a proud man, who could see the disparity that was occurring between he and Richard on the court as keenly as anyone. In his concluding 10:38 of the game, he worked really hard on that end of the court, frequently biting on up fakes and making a determined effort to deny penetration, two things that provoked 3 fouls in that 10:38–all of them greeted with a passionate protest from Jefferson. But the good news is, Seattle shot only 8-20 FG during that 4th period, giving Jefferson a final mark of 31-49 FG, or 62%, versus Richard’s 15-39 FG, which works out to 38%.

    Obviously these stark numbers are not quite that simple. There were always four players besides Jefferson or Richard working the defense, and that needs to be considered. But to me, the more glaring stat is the 0:00 that a limited scorer but hustle guy defender like Richard spent alongside a gifted scorer who has trouble on D like Jefferson. Finally, on the plus/minus end of things, Jefferson was minus -12 in 29:30 (despite shooting 8-13 FG, committing t
    hree steals and blocking two shots) and Richard was plus +17 in the remaining 18:30.

    3. Not Tanking

    There will be the usual controversy about what teams are dogging it for the lottery and what ones are not. Right now, the Wolves will almost certainly finish ahead of Miami, and last night’s win puts them in a win tie with Memphis, just one behind Seattle. The Knicks are also in their sights. The arguments for and against tanking have been made ad nauseum. But for what it’s worth, I just want to give the ballclub credit for continuing to work hard to maximize their production on the court. Perhaps karma will reward them. Because it certainly seems karma has punished them the past two seasons, robbing their tank-centric draft picks of a second productive year in the league two times in a row (McCants and Foye).

    Okay, the Portland tilt is on tap and I am sans visuals. For those who catch the game, educate us about it in the comments.

  • The Bread Wars of Orvieto

    I spent my 42nd birthday on a motorcycle, riding through the hills of Umbria and stopping for a late lunch in a beautiful little village called Orvieto. It was, from beginning to end, magnificent.

    Famous mostly for Classico, a distinctive white wine blend, Orvieto is slanted straight up and home to a remarkable cathedral that has striped stone walls and streaked, marbleized stained glass, and a chapel with the entire book of Revelations depicted in glorious paintings by Luca Signorelli. John and I stopped briefly but had only a few minutes to look. Then we found Ristorante Antica Cantina, a savory-smelling little trattoria, where we ate homemade pasta with ragu and truffles — one of the best simple meals I’ve ever had.

    We left Rome the next day, bound for Florence, and decided to take the train directly back to Orvieto. We wanted to spend a full hour or two in the cathedral. And lunch had been so spectacular, we were both anxious to try dinner there.

    But the train to Orvieto was a bit late [where IS Mussolini these days?] and by the time we got in, bought a bottle of Classico for €3.50 (a little over $5), and found a nice hotel, we were beat. Also just a tad over budget. We’re taking a beating on the dollar-euro exchange rate, of course. And well. . . .there is all this wine and food to experience. . . .

    So we sat in the hotel room, drinking the entire bottle which was crisp and semi-sweet and full of tropical fruit: banana, kiwi, and lime. Then, for the sake of ease and because we’d so loved it, we headed back to Antica Cantina, anxious — cost be damned — to see what the full dinner menu would bring.

    We walked in right past the owner, who had served us the day before. He scowled — a large, bearded man, rather like Stromboli in Pinnochio — and we assumed it had nothing to do with us. We sat. A waiter came to take our drink order. And when he brought us the tiny half-flask we had asked for (mostly out of politeness, because we’d had enough wine), he also set down a bread basket. That’s when I realized I was really hungry, queasy almost, and had had a bit too much Classico on an empty stomach.

    So, I reached for a slice of bread and asked for some olive oil. . . .

    Utter mayhem ensued. The owner was sitting at a neighboring table, drinking himself (who knows how heavily?). He heard my request, jumped out of his seat, bolted to our table and said, "Order now!"

    I explained in my five words of acquired Italian that I needed just a moment to consult the phrase book, that we’d been in for lunch the day before — didn’t he recall? — and would like to try something else. But the menu was all in Italian and difficult to parse.

    He heard all this (or not), and raised his voice this time: "You order NOW!"

    He was not in the business of bread, he went on. He was in the business of bruschetta and pasta and zuppa. He pointed to the piece of bread out of which I’d taken a bite, leaned down into my face and screamed, "YOU ORDER NOW!!!"

    Well, we did. John and I ordered exactly the same dishes we’d had the day before, down to the mixed salad. Five minutes later, our meal was literally thrown on the table in front of us. We ate like prisoners being watched. And the moment we’d put our forks down, the dishes were cleared and a check slammed onto the table along with a pen.

    I take from this experience three things: One, that I did not do my homework properly. I made a cultural gaffe in asking for olive oil before ordering my meal, and for this I feel sincerely stupid. Two, that the tourism industry is suffering from the exchange rate that has us — and nearly every other American tourist — discussing finances before they sit down to a European meal.

    And three? That there is a completely insane restaurateur running loose on the streets of Orvieto.

  • Making Coeds Cry

    Like Jabba the Hutt, whose only purpose was to give George
    Lucas an excuse to put Princess
    Leia in a slave bikini    , this year’s $1 billion budget deficit seems only to
    exist to further divide a legislature already spoiling for a fight. And much
    like the epic struggle between Empire and the Rebellion, the battles are pretty
    damn fun to watch, but the fallout is pretty painful for
    those affected by the proposed cuts.

    Now, there are any number of groups making their case to the
    legislature, whining and mewling like the drunken
    babies Arne Carlson is trying to preserve funding for     as the state
    government digs deep for beer money. And while it’s tempting to sit back and
    laugh at the knee-jerk responses that treat the former governor as if he were
    just another political opponent running for office, accusing him of supporting
    tax increases and questioning the size of his genitalia, there are more
    important things at stake here.

    Among many others, our state’s system of universities is particularly hard hit
    under the proposed budget cuts and faces having $54 million
    summarily hacked from its coffers. $27 million of this money will come directly
    from the U. University of Minnesota President Robert Bruininks has stated that
    such cuts could well raise tuition, reduce the university’s ability to invest
    in research and technology, and force the University Extension Service to start
    selling the primo weed the master
    gardeners have been growing (for purely medical purposes) to cover expenses.

    Strangely, the response to these issues was to call the
    university fat, and accuse it of carrying too
    much dead weight in the administration    , saying that dropping a few pounds
    would do it some good. Now, the state government would seem to not have much
    room to talk in that regard, but rather than comparing one group’s Rikki Lake
    to another’s Kirstie Allie, we can do some quick and dirty analysis. Ohio
    State, a Big 10 school much like the U and roughly on par in terms of student
    population, had expenditures of more than $4 billion last fiscal year. The U,
    in comparison, is operating with around $2.5 billion. OSU, of course, charges
    nearly $6,000 per year for tuition at the least, while the U charts in about
    $1,300 less and is already falling behind in research rankings. So maybe further
    starving Ms. Lake isn’t wise. She looks thin enough as it is.

    Of course, the true victims here are the coeds of the
    university system. Everyone knows the hale and hearty Minnesotan male will be
    able to hunt food to
    survive     when tuition rises and they’re no longer able to afford a quality
    education. However, the gentle females of our fair state, still in need of an
    education to survive, will turn to stripping and prostitution to pay their
    tuition and buy enough beer to make sleeping with the males left at the
    university moderately palatable. They will flood the Warehouse District in
    competition for the limited funds available in our economic downturn and lure
    our congressional leaders into sensibly priced motel room trysts — because charging Emperor’s Club prices just wouldn’t be right for a nice Lutheran girl.

    With this phenomenon will come inevitable moral and economic
    decay, our great cities deteriorating until we’ve become nothing more than a
    poor man’s Amsterdam – albeit with shitty mass transit and more difficult
    access to quality recreational pharmaceuticals. $54 million seems a small price
    to pay to avoid such a fate.

    Just as disturbing is the potential assault on the
    criminal justice system. $11.9 million of the proposed $16.52 million in public
    safety cuts is aimed directly at reductions in budgets for courts and public
    defenders. The right to a fair trial is quickly sauntering toward a brutal slaughter.

    Caseloads are at an all-time high for the state’s public
    defenders – sitting at twice the ABA’s standards. Now, when the Board of Public
    Defense was already looking at a deficit of $2.1 million dollars, the proposed
    cuts put them even further in the hole – at $4.8 million. And since the office
    has already instituted a hiring freeze and cut administrative staff, all that’s
    left is lawyers. According to the Talmud, that’s one of the portents of the
    coming apocalypse.

    Now, in the case of an apocalypse, tradition says the
    moral few would be whisked away    . But those of left behind may still be
    thinking that our public defenders will be so harried we may see more criminals
    put away. But along with that possibility comes longer waits for trials, so the
    accused are out on the streets longer. Not to mention the increased chance of
    success on appeal, mistrials, and other assorted legal entertainments of the
    sort most Minnesotans have heretofore only enjoyed whilst watching omnipresent Law & Order reruns on
    TBS.

    Now, these are dire predictions, to be sure. But take heart,
    fellow tundra-dwellers. The DFL majority in the legislature is eager to score
    points with you by restoring quality legal services and ensuring our state’s
    ample population of drunken coeds give it away to drunken frat boys, not
    well-heeled legislators like the Sex
    Hog    . Just do your best to ignore their attempts at raising taxes to pay for
    all of it.

    Or, like me, you can just pray for a robot
    uprising    .

  • War Dance

    Now that it’s actually warming up a bit, try to get outside this weekend, even if it’s just for a short walk. It’s about time we start easing our way out of hibernation and stripping off a layer or two. We certainly need it. Fortunately, Saturday is a big day for outdoor activities — both serious and festive — so we can avail ourselves of the excuse and motivation to leave the nest.

    PROTEST
    Five Years Too Long

    Tired of the war in Iraq? Sick of needless deaths, worry, and fear? Join other like-minded people this weekend to demand an end to the war and the return of our troops.

    Saturday at 1 p.m., corner of Hennepin Ave. & Lagoon Ave., Uptown Minneapolis.

    HOLIDAY PARADE
    Saint Patrick’s Day Parade

    Of course, if you’re looking for a "lighter" (less noble) cause, you can join the Saint Patrick’s Day debauchery in St. Paul. Ok. True. Saint Patrick’s Day isn’t until Monday, and it’s not really about debauchery (no, really, it isn’t), but this year’s Saint Patrick’s Parade is being held two days early in order to "avoid conflicting with Holy Week." Conflicting with Holy Week? Why would a saint’s day celebration conflict with Holy Week? Could it be the green beer? Could it be the booze? I’m guessing it has little to do with little green men and four-leaf clovers.

    Saturday at Noon, 4th Street, from Sibley to Broadway, St. Paul.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Nine Parts of Desire

    I’m not usually a big fan of one-woman shows. Granted, there’s often a good deal of talent involved. I just have a hard time digesting the cookie-cutter feminist rhetoric that seldom fails to emerge: one woman traversing generations and circumstances to reach a common experience that somehow results, revolves, and depends upon her politicized body. Oy! And yet… and yet… somehow… 9 Parts of Desire pulls it off splendidly. For starters, Kate Eiphrig is spectacular. With little more than a sheet as a prop, Kate manages to portray nine different women — each in such a unique way that even when she brings all their voices together, toward the end of the performance, you know exactly who is doing the talking. With war all around them — or threatening their families — these nine characters bring to life the experiences of Iraqi women both in Iraq and in America. But what we see isn’t the usual pretty package, with a bow on top. Perhaps this is why it works: it addresses the subleties and nuances without trying to hit the audience over the head with answers and explanations. There are no answers in a world wracked by war and oppression. No one person is so astute as to escape effect and internalization. And a character’s truth is as much the truth as our own — it’s amazing how well we can lie to ourselves in times of dire need. Well, lie to yourself all you want, but don’t miss this show. It’s the best show I’ve seen yet in the Dowling Theater.

    Friday at 7:30 p.m., Saturday at 1 and 7:30 p.m., and Sunday at 7 p.m., Guthrie, Dowling Studio, 818 South 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-377-2224; $22-$30.

    MUSIC
    Jonathan Richman and Vic Chesnutt

    This odd but spectacular double-header pairs two veteran
    singer/songwriters from opposite sides of the emotional spectrum. At
    one end is the naively optimistic Jonathan Richman,
    known for his playful and charmingly inane simplicity. Even if he
    doesn’t dive into his classic songbook from his days with the Modern
    Lovers, he can draw upon nearly thirty years of consistently wonderful
    solo albums. At the other pole is the noted cynic Vic Chesnutt.
    His albums are significantly darker and deeper, traits stemming at
    least in part from his perspective as a paraplegic. This date will be
    an intimate solo appearance, without the members of Godspeed You! Black
    Emperor and Fugazi, who helped transform Chesnutt’s latest record into
    a moving and chaotic masterpiece. —Christopher Hontos

    Friday at 8 p.m., Cedar Cultural Center, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-2674; $16.

    Boyd Conducts Schumann

    The Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra promises a spectacular series of shows this weekend with artistic partner Douglas Boyd at the helm. Boyd will conduct a program of Schumann (Symphony No. 4 in D Minor) and Weill (Concerto for Violin and Wind Instruments) — with concertmaster Steven Copes on the latter. “It’s the same sound world as the young Hindemith," says Copes of the Weill piece, "wild, obsessive rhythms and lush, strange but beautiful harmonies everywhere.” While Friday night’s Jazzed-Up programming includes Ravel’s Trio in A Minor for Piano, Violin and Cello and vocalist Christine Rosholt, the other two performances include Debussy’s Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun.

    Friday at 10:30 a.m. and Saturday ay 8 p.m., Ordway Center for the Performing Arts, 345 Washington Street, Saint Paul; 651-291-1144. Sunday at 2 p.m., Ted Mann Concert Hall, University of Minnesota, 2106 S 4th St., Minneapolis, 612-626-1892; $11-$59.

    And, of course, Bruce Sprinsteen is playing at the Xcel on Sunday.

    ART
    The River to Infinity Tapers Off

    In River to Infinity-The Vanishing Points, Andrea Stanislav
    comments on Manifest Destiny, among other topics, via video images of
    mirrored obelisks in Utah’s Great Salt Flats. This is the exhibit’s
    last weekend, so don’t miss out.

    Friday and Saturday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., MAEP Galleries, Minneapolis Institue of Arts, 2400 Third Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-870-6323.

    FILM
    Funny Games

    Word has it that controversial director Michael Haneke (The Piano Teacher, Caché) simply remade his original 1997 shockfest shot by shot. But who cares? The original Funny Games
    is hands-down one of the most disturbing films ever made; and if this
    one has Naomi Watts in the lead we’re, well, game. With the story of a
    bourgeois family who, while vacationing at their lake home, are
    attacked by a pair of young men clad in what appear to be Wimbledon
    tennis outfits, Haneke managed not only to raise the tension, ever so
    slowly, to unbearable levels; he also made us, the audience, feel
    culpable. The ’97 version is a masterpiece and possibly the worst date
    movie ever. The remake promises to be equally unsettling. —Peter Schilling

    Opens Friday at Lagoon Cinema, 612-825-6006.


    Fly Me To The Moon: Animation for All Ages

    Once again, the library’s very own cinema sprites, Deb Girdwood and
    Isabelle Harder, bring your lucky kids some of the finest animation in
    the world—and we’re not talking Saturday-morning corporate fare,
    either. Drag the offspring to the library for such inspired lunacy as
    “Petalocity,” a story of “a little girl who goes to extremes of bravery
    in order to keep her potted plant safe.” These shorts could very well
    rouse your children to write, draw, sing, and maybe even embark on
    their own heroic endeavors. And that’s far better than further
    inflaming their desire for Happy Meals, no? Part of the Childish Films
    series, this show will be introduced by local animator Ben Bury. —Peter Schilling

    Saturday at 10:30 a.m., Central Minneapolis Library, 300 Nicollet Mall; 612-630-6000.

    DINNER, A MOVIE, & MORE
    Milonga Night

    It’s a form of music. It’s a dance. It’s a tango party. It’s Milonga night — with dinner and a movie. Live it up tonight in true Argentinean style. Begin the evening with a wine tasting of Alfredo Roca Pinot Noir Mendoza, from Salud America Wines. Then settle in for a three-course Agentinean dinner from Restaurant Alma as you watch Herencia, an Argentinean film about an unlikely friendship between an
    ornery 60-year-old woman who owns a restaurant and a 24-year-old German
    man looking for a girlfriend. Dinner includes a mixed green salad, a plato de asado with various grilled cuts of beef served alongside chorizo and empanadas, and a fabulous flan for dessert. Once the belly is full and the mind is at peace, treat the body and soul to a special Tango performance by El Toro Tango, followed by an all-out Milonga-style dance party. During the music, live statues dressed as gods and goddesses of love from Vox Medusa will fill the balcony of the Suburban World, while break dancers and fire dancers entertain the crowd.

    Saturday at 6 p.m., Dinner and Film at 7 p.m., Tango show at 9 p.m., and party at 9:30 p.m.;     Suburban World Theatre, 3022 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 952-451-1400; $39 plus tax and gratuity (without wine, $34), party only $10, VIP $125.

  • Minnesota Couples: Beware IKEA!

    Sex. Money. In-laws. To the enduring
    litany of couples’ dilemmas, I nominate a new entry: IKEA.

    IKEA does not discriminate. IKEA’S troubling
    influence transcends race, religion and sexual orientation, requiring
    only two people in a relationship. Like all archetypal clashes of domestic
    life, it’s wicked inevitability starts innocently enough.

    Here it is: You and your significant
    other decide to spend a Sunday alone together relaxing and affirming
    all that is good between the two of you. Things proceed wonderfully
    at first. You linger in bed, then spread out the Sunday Star-Tribune
    in the sun room, with a pot of steaming Dunn Brothers coffee and two
    chocolate croissants to nourish your bodies and souls.

    Then (one of you): "I wish we had
    a better chair for this room."

    A pause. A silent moment at the precipice
    when sanity could reign. Oh, yah.

    The reply: "We could go to IKEA
    and get a better one."

    Because we are talking human nature,
    the rest is inevitable, a slippery slope of denial and desire. You must
    have a new chair, and it must be today.

    In no time, you are racing down the highway,
    clutching your IKEA catalogue, earmarked to the exact chair you will
    purchase. You begin your doomed avowals:

    "We’ll go straight to the chair
    section and be out in forty-five minutes."

    "No meatballs this time."

    "We will absolutely avoid the kitchen
    region."

    You arrive fresh with hope and determination.
    But wait: it’s Sunday afternoon. You have finally arrived, but so has
    one-third of the population of the Twin Cities.

    The parking lot is a vehicular battle
    zone. The escalator groans with the weight of the masses, ascending.
    The air smells of meatballs, and the adults around you are emitting a
    strange vibe of anticipation and dread. Some are fidgeting, like hyperactive
    children. You can barely look at the actual children, who are hanging
    precipitously from the escalator. You begin to tremble.

    Really, you meant well. But you do not
    head straight to the chair area. In fact, you must now look at nearly
    everything. You check out bookcases and entertainment centers and couches
    and nesting coffee tables. You inspect bizarre dayglo plastic furniture
    you wouldn’t buy for your nephew’s dorm room. You ponder towel racks
    and toilet paper holders. Finally, you are in the kitchen region, designing
    an entirely new kitchen from scratch.

    Three hours later, dazed and confused,
    you go to the chair section and try out twenty-three possibilities before
    selecting the one you earmarked in your catalogue. You eat the meatballs,
    with gravy and mashed potatoes, then get some cheesecake for dessert.
    You snap at each other about who gets the last bite of cheesecake. You
    understand you are regressing. You realize with horror that you must
    escape. But families of heavy people have formed blockades in the aisles
    in front of you, staggering zombie-like and moaning incomprehensibly.

    You push past the poor victims of IKEA,
    and find a cart, then proceed to the furniture pick-up area. Despite
    the fact that you once again have chosen a listing cart with a bum wheel,
    you make it to the check-out line, which is longer than one promising
    a blessing from the Dalai Lama. You snap at each other about which credit
    card to use. You leave in pretty good shape, however, with only two
    chairs, a bookcase, a lamp and a kitchen cart with a nifty wine rack.
    Everything surprisingly heavy and unwieldy.

    You race home, too tired to say much.
    You arrive home.

    Is it over? Of course not. It’s just
    begun.

    Together, you will now assemble the furniture.

    Linda Morganstein is a personal trainer
    and freelance writer who lives in Saint Paul, 5.3 miles from IKEA. Meet her on Saturday, March 22nd, at the Sixth Annual Write of Spring Conference     from 1-2 p.m.

    Saturday, March 22, 2008 from 12-4 p.m., Once Upon a Crime Mystery Bookstore, 604 W. 26th St., Minneapolis; 612-870-3785.

  • Tsukiji fish market, Kinmedai

    With the end of winter around the corner this is a great time for some of the best tasting fish. Smaller fish, such as seabream, Akoudai, and Kinmedai, are at their best, as these fish pack on the fat for the cold winter months. Now, at the end of winter, they are plump and tasty!

    The kinmedai I recived today is an amazing fish. Wild, caught from a hook and pole in Japan, it is amazing that it ended up in Woodbury, Minnesota with the hook still in its mouth!

    Kinmedai (Golden Eye Snapper, Alfonsino) has a very distinctive look
    because of its large eyes and its bright red skin. Kinmedai is a deep-sea fish, usually living in the range of 650 to 2700
    feet deep in the ocean. This is the reason why this fish’s eyes are
    enlarged; they are necessary to capture the slightest light at such
    depths. It grows to about 12 inches in 3 years and can grow to as much
    as 24 inches. Kinmedai has a long life span, believed to be as
    much as 14 years. The season for Kinmedai is in winter, from the end
    of December to the end of March, when the tasty white meat contains a
    lot of fat.

  • Cat-Man-Do in Saint Paul, Dancing Ganesha in Minneapolis

    I was pleasantly surprised by my lunchtime visit to
    Cat-Man-Do, the new Nepali-Tibetan-Indian café at 1659 Grand (just west of Snelling Ave.) in Saint
    Paul. The menu is pretty limited, compared to most of the local Indian
    restaurants, with their endless variations on the theme of tandoori, masala,
    vindaloo and jalfrazee, but Cat-Man-Do does offer some dishes that aren’t often
    found elsewhere.

    These include chat, a traditional Indian street food made from
    crushed samosas with onions cilantro, garbanzos, tamarind sauce and yogurt
    ($6.95) and lamb or chicken choyla, a traditional Nepalese dish often prepared
    with mustard oil and a dry spice rub, as well as a green jackfruit curry and a
    side dish of potato achaar, a spicy side dish of potatoes pickled with banana blossoms,
    cucumber, jalapenos and cilantro.

    What the $7.95 lunch buffet lacked in variety,it made Cat-Man-Do Plateup
    for in quality. Everything on the small buffet stand seemed fresher and more
    flavorful than the usual Indian steam table offerings – a savory eggplant curry,
    a richly seasoned goat curry, a vegetarian biryani rice, ungreasy deep-fried
    veggie pakora, served with a tamarind dipping sauce, and roasted spiced
    potatoes, plus fresh homemade puri.

    Speaking of Indian cuisine, the former Willie’s Wine Bar on
    Harmon will soon be home to Dancing Ganesha, a new upscale restaurant that will
    combine traditional Indian cuisine with some sophisticated French touches. It’s
    owned by Bombay Vegan, the same company that operates Nala Pak (the former Udupi Café), a South
    Indian vegetarian restaurant in Columbia Heights. Vish Nadig, one of the partners, says they are
    still working out details on the menu, but he promises a "four-star"
    restaurant, with prices set a little lower than the nearby Temple Restaurant and Bar.