King Fun

Fuck You, Kevin McHale

2007-10-10T03:25:00.000-07:00

I can't believe you compelled me to purchase this.

I Can't Wait to Read This

2007-08-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

Some (incompetent? insubordinate?) bookseller at the bookstore in very close proximity to my office (which shall, of course, remain anonymous) made the mistake of placing Denis Johnson's new novel, Tree of Smoke, out on the stacks a week earlier than its release date--and I can't thank her/him enough.

With all due respect, fuck Harry Potter. THIS is the one book I've wanted to read all year, the tome I've wanted to forcefully sacrifice my sleep for and to read well into the wee hours of the evening and early morning on a caffeine-infused bender of words. I want to inhale this book. Devour it.

And now I get to do so an entire week early--and right before a three-day weekend. Happy summer, indeed.

Thank you, you beautiful renegade bookseller. Thank you.

Happy Birthday, Bobby!!!

2007-05-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

Crazy game, eh?

2007-04-13T07:14:00.000-07:00

"I don't think I'll ever see that again," Morneau said. "Two guys on third base, and all of a sudden, two guys out. We'll take it."

You and me both, J-Dogg. You and me both.

Kurt Vonnegut, 1922-2007

2007-04-12T06:45:00.000-07:00

So it goes.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Vikes 2007-08 Schedule Released

2007-04-11T12:52:00.000-07:00

See Week 8. I'm counting down the days...

Week 1 vs. Atlanta, noon, on Sept. 9

Week 2 at Detroit, 3:05 p.m., on Sept. 16

Week 3 at Kansas City, noon, on Sept. 23

Week 4 vs. Green Bay, noon, on Sept. 30

Week 5 Bye, Oct. 7

Week 6 at Chicago, noon, Oct. 14

Week 7 at Dallas, noon, Oct. 21

Week 8 vs. Philadelphia, noon, Oct. 28

Week 9 vs. San Diego, noon, Nov. 4

Week 10 at Green Bay, noon, Nov. 11

Week 11 vs. Oakland, noon, Nov. 18

Week 12 at New York Giants, noon, Nov. 25

Week 13 vs. Detroit, noon, Dec. 2

Week 14 at San Francisco, 3:05 p.m., Dec. 9

Week 15 vs. Chicago, 7:30 p.m., Dec. 17

Week 16 vs. Washington, noon, Dec. 23

Week 17 at Denver, 3:15 p.m., Dec. 30

Random Minnesota-Centric Notes of the Day

2007-04-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

1. I fucking hate the motherfucking Yankees.

2a. It's baseball season again! I had a wonderful time last week in Minny watching our boys beat up on Baltimore in the Metrodome with a motley crew of friends and family. It was great to see you all. We really miss you all.

2b. I purchased MLB.TV's season package last night, so now I can watch broadcast-quality streaming on my laptop. Though a had a couple issues with the stream about 90 minutes into the game, I wholeheartedly endorse this wonderful product. It's a godsend to an out-of-town diehard Twins fan like me who doesn't want to throw down for DirectTV's Ext[ortion]ra Inning package.

2c. Last thing on the beginning of baseball season: I am now a Phillies season ticket holder. Yes, the Phils have a great ticket package--Sunday afternoons only--so the Little Lady and I will watch the local 9 try to stave off their current bout of incompetence about 14 times this season. Should be fun, especially if I can catch my first-ever home run ball (We're sitting in left-center). Our first game is this Sunday against the Astros. Will let you know how it shakes out.

2d. Actually, I lied. THIS is the last thing about the baseball season to mention. America's Greatest Rock Band, The Hold Steady, recently released an astonishingly awesome, Twins-centric version of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame." You can hear it here:

http://www.myspace.com/theholdsteady

3. I'm on another huge Dylan kick right now. My favorite song of the moment is "Lay Down Your Weary Tune." It's exquisitely beautiful.

4. I'm sure the main reason I'm on the Dylan kick is because I caught the current exhibit at the Weisman, Bob Dylan's American Journey, 1956-66, with my Mom when I was back in Minneapolis. I can't say enough great things about it.

AND IT IS FREE!

http://www.weisman.umn.edu/exhibits/BobDylan/home.html

Alright, so those are the Minnesota-centric things going on in this Philadelphian's head.

Oh, and I'm 60-odd pages away from finishing Infinite Jest. I'll have to post on that one when I finish it.

GO HOYAS!!!

2007-03-26T06:25:00.000-07:00

Dude, I fucking NAILED the Final Four office pool! I called all 4 teams!

Pray for a Florida-Georgetown final, with the Hoyas emerging victorious. King Fun could use some extra scratch...

Ponson: This Year's Batista?

2007-03-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

As it currently stands, the rumor is that this is the Twins' 5-man rotation in Opening Day:

1. The Greatest Pitcher Who Ever Lived
2. Silva (For the love of God)
3. Ramon Ortiz
4. Ponson
5. Booooooooooooooooffffffff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Haven't we seen this situation before? Let's see: Preternaturally gifted GM/coaching staff of threadbare team gives assurances to shakey veteran that he will start the season, despite the fact that the kids look hungry to prove their worth.

Don't get me wrong, I'm rooting for Sidney as much as the next guy, not least because I was indoctrinated in Catholic convictions like redemption blah, blah, blah, but it feels just like last year, when we struggled right out of the gate and nearly deep-sixed the season before we wised up, put Punto at third and ended our bargain-basement veteran experiment. If we get off to a woeful April, is Gardy going to pull the plug in time?

[Requisite Sidenote: Ahem. I'd like to state for the record that I'm pulling for the man currently pitching in the rotation's Number 2 spot, but all signs point to him being an impending trainwreck/strangulated hemorrhoid for us this season, too. Let's hope he touches the hem of Johan's uni and regains his gift.]

Time, alas, will only tell.

Live Nude Girls

2007-03-08T14:06:00.000-08:00

You'd think that if you were staying at the Ritz-Carlton in Philadelphia, surrounded by skyscrapers, you wouldn't take off your clothes right in front of the open window at 4:30 pm.

That's just it. Maybe she wasn't thinking.

Not that we minded the Rubensesque beauty who graced our presence this afternoon. Not at all.

There's a Metaphor in Here Somewhere...

2007-03-08T09:28:00.000-08:00

This morning the Inquirer reported that the U.S. Mint here in Philly was responsible for a colossal screw-up involving the new dollar coins. Here's the money passage:

"An unknown number of the golden coins - possibly thousands - left the mint without the much-vaunted lettering on the edge that was supposed to proclaim: 'In God We Trust... E Pluribus Unum... P 2007.'"

The coins are now being referred to, in casual parlance, as "godless dollars," which is pretty goddamned funny.

Anyhoo, if that wasn't odd enough, this week also marks--no shit--the death of Captain America. The infamous Marvel Comics issue hit newsstands yesterday.

Apparently, our Avenger Captain America is ssassinated as he walks into a federal courthouse in New York, under arrest and in handcuffs, headed to his arraignment for refusing to sign the government's Superhero Registration Act and forcibly revealing his true identity.

He was 66 years old. Captain America, may you rest in peace.

Lohse Beans Hunter

2007-03-05T07:42:00.000-08:00

I swear, Kyle, you pull that shit again and we'll feed your jugular to TC the Bear.

Can't Hardly Wait

2007-03-02T14:42:00.000-08:00

From MLB.com:

In his second plate appearance of Grapefruit League action, Howard punished a pitch from Cleveland's Rafael Betancourt. He sent it over the batter's eye in center field and over a second fence beyond that at Bright House Networks Field. The ball landed 15 feet in front of a pond beyond the stadium.

I Guess They Want People to Fall Asleep at Funerals Now, Too

2007-03-02T07:38:00.000-08:00

From Reuters:

Catholics call time on long-winded eulogies

By James Grubel

Keep it short, and don't mention sex or drunkenness -- those are the new rules for eulogies at funeral masses in Australia's Catholic church.

An increase in the number of inappropriate comments at funeral masses has prompted Australia's most senior Catholic, Cardinal George Pell, to impose a five-minute deadline on eulogies and deem some areas of a person's life off limits.

The move is designed to cut back on the number of long-winded eulogies by friends or family members at funeral masses, and to ensure the funeral mass keeps its main focus as an act of worship to God and a place for prayers for the deceased.

"On not a few occasions, inappropriate remarks glossing over the deceased's proclivities (drinking prowess, romantic conquests etc) or about the Church (attacking its moral teachings) have been made at funeral masses," Pell's new guidelines say.

He said the comments often embarrassed the priest, the family and the congregation and become the focus of the service.

The Catholic church in Ireland and most of the United States ban lay people from giving eulogies at funeral masses, but the church in Australia allows for a few short words of remembrance from a family member or friend near the end of a funeral mass.

However, Pell's guidelines, obtained by Reuters on Friday, make it clear the eulogy must never replace the officiating priest's homily, or sermon, which should focus on God's compassion and the mystery of the resurrection of Jesus.

The "words of remembrance" should last no more than three to five minutes, or one typed page, and should focus on a person's human qualities and faith," the guidelines say.

"The reflection should be prepared beforehand, and ideally be reviewed with the priest or presiding minister beforehand, to avoid undue length or embarrassing situations," the guidelines say.

The new guidelines say anecdotes, poems or songs, might be better kept for services at the cemetery or crematorium, or for a vigil prayer service the night before a funeral.

The Catholic church is Australia's biggest, with about five million followers, followed closely by the Anglican church with just over four million.

Arcade Fire Live on Cinco de Mayo

2007-03-02T07:14:00.000-08:00

I just scored tickets to see Arcade Fire at the Tower Theater on Cinco de Mayo! Woo hoo!

I Heart Copywriting

2007-03-01T14:50:00.000-08:00

Philly Soul: Home of the Throwback Jersey

2007-03-01T14:12:00.000-08:00

This morning I was inquiring about where to find a Ryan Howard jersey tee for my little brother's upcoming birthday, and in the course of the entire sports apparel morning banter with my colleagues, I discovered that if I take a left and walk about, oh, 50 feet outside of my office, I arrive at Mitchell & Ness (est. 1904), the original home of the entire throwback jersey craze.

And yes, it's a treasure trove of cool shit, a flossing hip-hop artist's wet dream. They didn't have my Ryan Howard jersey tee (I found one at City Sports, and yes, I bought one for myself to root root root for the home team this season), but they had this FUCKING AWESOME North Stars kelly green satin track jacket ($125) and the classic home and away Killebrew '65 replica jerseys like the one in the picture above ($250).

I'll be saving my pennies, boys and girls.

Powerball: I won $7

2007-03-01T07:03:00.000-08:00

No jackpot, but 2 numbers + Poweball = 7 dollar dollar bills, y'all, for El Rey de Diversión.

I'm going to the movies.

Tallking Baseball

2007-02-28T07:52:00.000-08:00

Some Random Thoughts on the Twins 2007 Season

1. I think Lewwwwwwwww might be throughhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I hate to say it, given that he's a sentimental fave, but after hearing this morning that he's probably going to need arthroscopic surgery on his right knee (this, after having it on his left knee in the off season), I just can't see him getting playing time/at bats at the expense of Jason Tyner, who was a total kingpin at the end of the season. Tyner deserves the chance, and Lew's had a ton of chances. In addition, I feel like we have too many outfielders as it is. T, Cuddy, Kubel, Rondell, Lew, that new kid Denard Spain (who my not make the Opening Day roster, but will be up at some point this season--I'm really excited about him). Do we really need 3 guys platooning in left?

2. T and Kubel look good/great

Both say they're a lot healthier than last year, and early reports seem to confirm that. Can you imagine if we have T and Kubel dropping bombs and Morneau, Mauer and Cuddy keeping it up? We might have 4 dudes who hit 30+ home runs! Can you imagine? The Mighty Minnesota Twins. I just laughed out loud typing that.

3. Why oh why did we give Jesse Crain a three-year deal?

Okay, so he's 24 and has a rocket arm, but let's face it, the guy is a moron/mental case. There's always that 1 guy on your team that galls you to no end, and last year it was Crain (As you well know, it was Morneau the year before that--I am a forgiving man and a firm believer in redemption/those who finally fulfill their potential). He could only pitch well in garbage time or when he had a HUGE lead to work with. If there is any iota of pressure out there for him to contend with, Crain folds. He chokes, and chokes gloriously, including--notably--in the playoffs last year. He cost Boof at least 3 wins last year. I could go on and on. And on and on and on...Everytime I see that Billy Goat's scruff of his, I go red with dread and rage and then I pass out. And when I wake up, the Twins are down by 4 runs. And we gave him three years?

I will, for the moment, bow to Terry Ryan's genius, but I am not happy about this one.

4. Poson's visa woes. What does that portend?

Speaking of redemption, it doesn't reflect well when you can't get it together and make it to spring training to fight for a roster spot. Now perhaps it is all beyond his control, but it may also be a reflection of Ponson's spotty character/record of irresponsibility. I know that we had to gamble with the rotation, especially given Radke's retirement, Silva's freefall, the overall youth of our other starters and--let's not forget--the outrageousness of the free agent market for starting pitchers (I mean, the Royals--THE ROYALS--gave Gil Meche $55 million!!!), but now I'm as nervous as the guy who cashed his paycheck and put all of it on black at the roulette table. Sheesh. Please prove me wrong, Sidney. I'm begging you.

5. ETC.
What's going to happen to Silva?
Since Rondell won't be a DH from the beginning of the year and will get to play, will his production numbers by up this year? Or will we all be drinking for cheap at the 400 Bar?
Will Old Man Pohlad open up the wallet to keep Johan?
Will Liriano be smart and patient or will he get frustrated and do something really, really stupid?

Chase Utley Rules

2007-02-26T09:17:00.000-08:00

From MLB.com

Utley fights for the environment: Chase Utley's next goal -- after a winning a World Series -- is to make the world a cleaner place.

The All-Star second baseman was affected after seeing Al Gore's movie, "An Inconvenient Truth," and has become an advocate for stopping global warming. He joined an online movement to spread the word.

"Until I saw the movie, I never paid attention to it," Utley said. "It opened my eyes. We're not heading in the right direction as far as helping the environment. I'm trying to find ways to help, and trying to get people more aware. One person can't change it. I just hope to educate people a little bit."

Utley joined a growing list of celebrities and published his thoughts online at www.stopglobalwarming.org. Other concerned celebrities include the Barenaked Ladies, Blue Man Group, Christie Brinkley, Gen. Wesley Clark, Gov. Edward G. Rendell, Huey Lewis, James Taylor, Leonardo DiCaprio, Sheryl Crow, Larry David, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sen. Barack Obama and Sen. Hillary Clinton.

For his part, Utley said he plans to buy a hybrid car that would get profoundly better gas mileage than the trucks owned by teammates Jon Lieber and Aaron Rowand. Lieber's custom-built Ford F-650 gets 12 miles per gallon.

"I don't think we're really on the same page," Utley said. "Maybe I'll show them the movie."

Utley plans to watch another film, "Who Killed The Electric Car?" a documentary that explores the birth, limited commercialization and eventual death of the battery electric vehicle in the U.S., specifically the General Motors EV1 of the 1990s. The film explains the role of car manufacturers, the oil industry, the U.S. government and consumers in squashing the development of the technology.

Infinite Jest Update

2007-02-19T09:00:00.000-08:00

Page 491. I'm officially halfway through.

Tonight: LOST Returns

2007-02-07T12:31:00.000-08:00

As usual, I was late to the party on this one. In fact, I openly resisted getting sucked into LOST, despite the protestations-cum-cajoling of people whose cultural feelers I respect. It was one of those odd things that metastasized into this stupid, prideful/snobbish chest-thumping exercise in futility. "No, of course I don't watch LOST. Why would I waste my time on that?" As if I was doing something suprememly edifying, like taking lute lessions or brushing up on reciting Icelandic sagas from memory, uh, in their original language.

Well, anyway, LOST is now like crack to me, and I've been jonesin' way, way too long for the next fix. And we (as in, America) get our fix tonight. Yippee.

So, will Kate and Sawyer escape the Island to make sweet, sweet love and leave Jack to ponder the depths of his tortured, Whartonesque New England soul and implacable code of right and wrong? Will anybody die? All I'm saying is that after waiting this long, we better get a fucking fireworks show tonight.

The. Illest. Halftime. Show. Ever.

2007-02-05T07:02:00.000-08:00

All last week during discussion of the Super Bowl, people would ask me, "So, who are you rooting for?"

"I'm rooting for Prince."

We all know who really won last night.

Progress Report: Infinite Jest

2007-02-03T05:17:00.000-08:00

Currently on page 272. I know, not a helluva lot of progress after a full month, but I'm hoping to knock out most, if not all, of this great [big] novel by the end of the month.

One of my other resolutions this year is/was[?] to slowly ween myself from reading multiple books at the same time. Perhaps one can't change his reading habits after reaching two decades' worth of indoctrination, but I'm trying--and, well, failing miserably.

So far this year, i.e. in the interval between starting I.J. and , uh, now, I've also read the following books:

American Noise by Campbell McGrath
Home Land by Sam Lipsyte
How to Breathe Underwater by Julie Orringer
District and Circle by Seamus Heaney

Granted, two of those books are volumes of poetry, one's a short story collection and the last one's a slender novel, but...See! This is what happens! This is me rationalizing my behavior! This is me, bargaining in my head, saying things like, "Well, if I have just one BIG book to concentrate on at a time, then I can read several little books..." Crap.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that I also abandoned The Sportswriter (by Richard Ford) at page 143. Great writing, but nothing was going on. Maybe when I get older and domesticated, I'll pick it up again.

Anyway, I'm really, really enjoying Infinite Jest--more so than I ever did in my previous attempts at reading it--and so maybe I should honestly attempt a monogamous relationship with the novel (With the explicit caveat that I do, as has been my habit for a long, long time, read a short story every day). We'll see how it goes.

I'll keep you posted.

Recommended: The Met Live in HD

2007-02-03T05:03:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the best cultural phenomenon of 2007 so far (if you don't count the hysterical Aqua Teen Hunger Force Boston terrorism scare, that is. I mean, come on.) is the Met's live matinee broadcasts in HD in movie theaters across the globe. I've hit up two of these so far, I Puritani and The First Emperor (pictured), and they were spectacular. The sound and picture were crystal clear, and with multiple cameras showing the pit, backstage, the chorus, the main players, etc., you really do get a comprehensive perspective of all the frenetic majesty of a live opera production.

So: You're getting an orchestra seat for under $20, AND you can eat popcorn and drink Cherry Coke. It's really great. Check it out.

Only 33 More Days!

2007-01-16T07:42:00.000-08:00

Pitchers and Catchers report February 18.

New Year's Resolution: Infinite Jest

2007-01-04T07:49:00.000-08:00

Okay, so this is the year: Despite its immense readability and capacity for dispensing pounds upon pounds of brain candy like Shakespeare in a Santa suit, Infinite Jest is, as we know, simply a motherfucking mountain of a book, clocking in at 1100 pages or so. I have tried in the past and I have failed. About 4 times.

Not this year! For this expedition, I have assembled my team of bookworm sherpas to successfully ascend to the summit. We will not founder on the crags of page 200, or the treacherous crevaces of 450! We shall persist! And we shall prevail!

I'm on page 110 right now. Wish me luck.

Get On Up

2006-12-29T06:50:00.000-08:00

Climate Change is Awesome

2006-12-01T06:32:00.000-08:00

Today is December 1.

It is currently 68 degrees.

I walked to work in a T-shirt.

I love Philadelphia.

Nate Wiley, R.I.P.

2006-11-28T07:19:00.000-08:00

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

Nate Wiley, saxophonist and bandleader of the incomprable Nate Wiley & The Crowd Pleasers, died last week. He was 83.

I had only seen Nate perform once, this past April when my friend Matt took me down to Bob & Barbara's for a quintessential Philadelphia experience--to drink some PBR and Jim Beam and listen to this modest little combo lay down the funk (It's the MPLS equivalent of taking an out-of-towner to Nye's to watch Lou Snider play the piano). We sat at the bar, surrounded by a pirate's booty's worth of Pabst paraphenalia, and Nate Wiley, this classy man in a smart suit, started playing his funky horn accompanied by an electric organ. I remember thinking, "This is so incredibly badass."

And yes, I can admit that it was one of those moments that ultimately snookered me into moving to this town, because I thought that if there are places like Bob & Barbara's that exist in Philadelphia, with men like Nate Wiley that exist within them, then perhaps Philadelphia is a town that I should take a chance on. Perhaps Philadelphia is the place for me.

So, thanks, Nate. I had a wonderful time, and I'm really glad I got to witness a Philly institution when I had the chance.

Tryptophan Hangover

2006-11-24T08:28:00.000-08:00

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I presume that I wasn't the only one last night who laboriously lumbered, staggering to the couch for the annual postprandial veg-out session. Undid my belt and watched the universe unfurl before my very eyes.

Not that I didn't have visions of little turkey sandwiches on white bread (with mayo!) leaping over fences to aid my sleep -- or maybe that was just a hallucination. I was moaning in bed like a beached whale in a cholera ward.

You know it's bad when food starts giving you the spins. God bless America.

Here We Go

2006-11-20T01:37:00.000-08:00

Okay. So, I'll readily admit that I was in a prolonged funk after watching my beloved Twins make an early exit from the playoffs this year, and then I got off track, getting preoccupied with things like, uh, getting acclimated to my new adopted home. (That, and doing my small part to administer the long awaited and glorious "thumpin'" to the Republican Party. Woo hoo!)

Anyway, it's high time to get back on the blogging mechanical bull and start recording my observations of Philadelphia and the wider world. Expect more to come very soon.

Do You Believe in Miracles?

2006-10-01T18:29:00.000-07:00

God, I fucking LOVE this team!!!

Recording: The Hold Steady Live @ Lollapalooza

2006-09-21T08:09:00.000-07:00

Do you like rock music, boys and girls? Do you like drunken lapsed Catholic wildman Twins partisan poets who hail from Edina and were reared on Metrodome hotdogs, Grain Belt Premium, the inhumanly heroic exploits of Kirby Puckett, the 'Mats and lonely nighttime teenage drives listening to KQRS?

Do you like things that FUCKING KICK ASS?

If so, then pick up the live recording of the Hold Steady's show at Lollapalooza this past August that iTunes has for sale. It can't replicate the screaming, monsters-of-rock excitement of witnessing a live show, but it comes pretty close to harnessing the lightning.

Anyway, pick it up to whet your appetite before the band's new record, Boys and Girls of America, drops on October 3 (just in time for the Twins' World Series run!). I, for one, will be blasting it in my car tomorrow afternoon en route to a weekend in Batimore watching the Future World Champions eviscerate the Orioles. Rock 'n' Roll!!!

Don't You Dare, Wilf

2006-09-21T07:56:00.000-07:00

From today's Star Tribune:

Who gets Dome: Vikings or Twins?

If the Twins have a home playoff game on Oct. 8, the Vikings might have to move the Detroit game to Oct. 9. However, the Vikings might challenge the Twins' right to the Dome.

Greetings From Minnesota

2006-09-21T07:30:00.000-07:00

Not only is he the titleholder for World's Greatest Mustache, ladies & germs, but Mike is also now THE MOST MINNESOTAN MAN ALIVE.

Congrats, Mike. Hrbek has nothing on you.

THE TEAM OF DESTINY!!!

2006-09-21T07:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

You know when you experience that feeling, that chill-inducing moment of clear specificity, of experiencing something unexplanable yet something that needs no explanation, the feeling of ineluctable knowingness, of absolute positivity, of:

"This. Is. It."

I experienced that violent synaptic-cum-cardiac jolt last night the second Torii Hunter smacked his 28th HR last night, a 3-run BOMB to give the Twins the lead in the top of the 8th & eventually beat Boston. It's one of those moments that compresses fear and ecstasy to the point where a mere spoonful contains the density of an entire star.

This is it.

We're going all the way. I know it. I just do.

Happy Birthday, Roger Angell

2006-09-19T06:12:00.000-07:00

Roger Angell, aka The Greatest Baseball Writer of All Time, is 86 today. Tip your cap to him (and go read his books, for the love of God), ladies and gents.

Once It Hits Your Lips, It Tastes So Good

2006-09-19T05:15:00.000-07:00

Failed Presidential candidate traipsing around Iowa, or your slightly narcoleptic anthropology professor who inexplicably shows up at your parties and insists you "call me John."?

You be the judge.

The Horror, The Horror

2006-09-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

Oh, God.

Welcome to Philly

2006-09-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

I have been here for 3 whole days, and so far:

1) I received a $26 parking ticket & was subsequently told by the Philadelphia Parking Authority that since I don't have, ahem, official and proper proof of my residency yet, I therefore cannot receive a temporary parking permit. So instead of incuring a daily $26 donation slip for the Philly Municipal Coffers, I am parking outside of my new neighborhood until I can rectify the problem.

2) Unbeknownst to me, construction on the block shut off the water in my place this morning -- and yes, right before, and I mean right before, I was about to jump into the shower. The guys outside (who, I have to admit, were some of the nicest construction workers I've ever met) explained that they were fixing the water main and would be done in a couple of hours. I guess I'll be catching up on my Internets bidness until I can get cleaned up.

Cynical kvetching is part of the Philly way, and I'm starting to feel like a native.

Nevertheless, I have to admit that as grating as byzantine bureauracy and big city insanity can be, a part of me is actually charmed by all of it, because it is, truly, a big crazy city. The Philly Native Goon perched on my shoulder is saying, "Whayddid you expect, huh?" and I have to admit that he's right.

King Fun East Campus is Now Open

2006-09-06T10:41:00.000-07:00

I am living in Philadelphia now, having left Minneapolis this past Labor Day weekend to follow The Woman to her hometown and engage in what shall now be referred to as The Totally Awesome Co-habitation Experiment.

So far, so good. I arrrived in town on the other side of midnight early Monday morning and am taking a few days to relax and acclimate before plunging headlong into life here. Of course, some things won't change: One of the first things I did was set-up MLB Gameday audio so I can listen to WCCO Twins broadcasts streamed online.

Anyway, I can't tell you how tickled I am to discover that this week, the very week I arrive in my new home, is "Philly Loves Rocky Week." Talk about cultural signifiers! Apparently Ben Franklin's going to knock on my door and welcome me to town sometime this weekend, too...

This morning the City Art Commission voted 6-2 to return the statue of Rocky to a base at the bottom of the famed Art Museum steps (You have to admit that it's a helluva lot better than Mary Tyler Moore). Sly Stallone is reportedly going to show up at an unveiling ceremony this Friday night, and some statue booster expects "hundreds of thousands" to show up. We'll see.

You can read all about it here: http://www.philly.com/mld/philly/15451955.htm

Road Music

2006-08-23T17:19:00.000-07:00

I'm attempting to get set for a life-altering cross-country roadtrip (more on that in a later post), and besides hydrogenated corn chips and diabetes-inducing quantities of cola, I'm going to need that other roadtrip essential for a 1,100+ mile journey: tunes.

CDs galore! Friends at work have been allowing me to rape and pillage their iTunes, and my frontseat will be loaded with discs of all kinds of stuff that makes the miles through the amber waves of grain tolerable.

Anyway, if you have any recomendations for my roadtrip, feel free to holler. I'll have to let you all know what I play on the drive out.

You know you're in the know when you're in The Onion

2006-08-07T11:31:00.000-07:00

I was reading the August 3-9 issue of The Onion this week when I noticed "Dave Jordan" and "Sally Kagan's" wedding announcement in the "Weddings" section and I realized that, lo and behold, I went to college with Dave Jordan's real life doppelganger. Congrats, "Dave."

That sure as hell beats making the Sunday Times' "Vows" section, Charlotte York be damned.

I Can't Believe I Tried Yoga

2006-08-04T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm sure my Dad would regard my continuing experients with new activities as more evidence to add to his screed against "the increasing pussification of American society" at large, but hey, that's what crochety old men are for, right? (Happy 50th, Big Poppa!)

Nevertheless, finding myself purchasing a yoga mat at Target this week of, ahem, my own free will, makes me realize that Pops is onto something. And even if my employer is subsidizing yoga classes at a can't-beat-it $5 a session, and even if I do like to try everything at least once, and even -- no, especially -- since I kinda liked my class and the attempt to make myself bend like The Human Gumby kicked my ass, I suspect I scored a 8.2 on the self-emasculation scale.

Did I mention that I was the only guy in my class? Hell, did I even have to mention that?

And yes, for the record, I am going back next week. But I have seven days in between to drink bourbon and kill people with my bare hands. You better watch the fuck out, 'cause I'm limber now.

Jesus' Son

2006-07-14T08:05:00.000-07:00

INCONTROVERTIBLE PROOF: THE SON OF JESUS

From Star Tribune, 7/11/06:

Pitcher Johan Santana brought his brother to the 2005 All-Star Game. This year he brought his mentor, his father, Jesus, who last week called Santana after a rough start in Kansas City to motivate him.

"This is so great, to have my father here with me," Santana said. "This is a very special day."

Sojourn in God's Country

2006-07-14T07:56:00.000-07:00

Just got back from here, and it's a minor miracle that I decided to come back to Minny at all. Soon the sweet, languorous summer pixie dust should wear off, and I'll regain my blogging mojo. Until then, I hope all you kiddies out there are enjoying yourselves, too.

~KF

The Weekend, etc.

2006-06-26T13:36:00.000-07:00

"So much on my mind, I just can't recline..."

Q: What happens when you have a weekend of no social obligations?

A:
Movies Seen
Nacho Libre
The Village
She Hate Me
Friends With Money
United 93

Field Trips
Diane Arbus exhibit at Walker
Twins vs. Cubs 6.25.06

Good Eatin'
Barbette
Hell's Kitchen

Etc.
Hours languidly reading the newspaper, drinking coffee;
Cooking dinner with The Woman;
Ice cold beer on a nice warm couch (THAT should be the alternative title of this blog);
a little more Saul Bellow;
Afro-Cuban jazz;
Nowhere to be!!!

Random Thoughts
1) Will have to soon provide capsule reviews on stuff I saw, etc...However, you really need to see the Arbus exhibit. It's amazing.

2) Yes, part of the reason I went to Barbette for a late lunch Saturday was to give them a little love after their recent food poisoning scare. I hope you all realize that all restaurants, no matter how excellent and amazing they are, inevitably have some kind of problem like this at some point in their history. It really is The Law of Averages for a restaurant, and you just have to give them the courtesy benefit of the doubt, especially if you love the place. And I love Barbette.

There's my Good PR Deed of the Day.

3) How much does it really, really suck to be a Cubs fan?

I mean, their popular national image as the "Lovable Losers" is calcified into some sort of baseball orthodoxy, and yes, they do play in a holy cathedral of a ballpark, but oh my Harry Carry, these guys are just awful. I watched them commit 3 official errors and a handful more that didn't count only because their incompetence prevented them from even touching the baseball.

I've been a more than a slightly casual Cubs fan ("above average observer" is a more operative term) since a) my Dad spent a bit of his childhood living in Chicagoland and informed us that the Cubs were "our National League team" and b) because of hundreds of childhood hours were wasted watching WGN broadcasts. But the Cubbies have never been My Team, and thank the everloving Christ for that.

Watching Sunday afternoon's game in the Dome finally brought home to me the grave reality that being a real, true-blue Cubs fan is not endearing. It's not cute. It's not fun. This is what it is:

Being a Cubs fan is consigning oneself to a life of ritual disembowelment every baseball season, for all of eternity.

Now, how fucking awful is that? To love, to really, truly give your heart and soul to a team like the Cubs takes such masochistic patience. I can't imagine having to live and die by a team like that.

I pity the fool.

PUSHed to the brink

2006-06-14T11:38:00.000-07:00

I spent the past two days at the PUSH conference at the Walker Art Center and was treated to lectures from some brilliant--utterly, staggeringly brilliant--minds from around the country, discussing everything from gaming to philosophy to film to trends to physics to alleviating systemic poverty via architectual design.

As well as, uh, a million other cool things.

I am completely dizzy; my head is spinning from the blitzkrieg of information (It's like receiving a semester's worth of education in the span of two days). Anyway, I'll be writing the play-by-play soon. In the meantime, be sure to check this site out:

www.pushthefuture.org

ursprache

2006-06-02T08:35:00.000-07:00

Q: What is the etymology?
A: That would be Klingon.

Hacienda

2006-06-01T10:35:00.000-07:00

Alright, it's high time for King Fun to dig out his velcro-clad blue fabric triptych wallet (circa 1988) and flash his nerd credentials: The National Spelling Bee is currently broadcasting its early rounds LIVE on ESPN, and outside my office I can hear those English language cruelties foisted upon the kiddies, along with their accompanying appeals for pronunciation, definitions, parts-of-speech clarifications, etc. etc., before plunging headlong into awful public silence as the flotsam of letters stream through their prepubescent brains like falling, acid green Matrix code and the desparate prayers of everyone that somehow it all works out fine on the other end of things and they live to see another ten-dollar word. The Triumph of Victory! The Agony of Defeat (signaled by, no less, the awful mincing *ping* of a hotel reception desk bell)!

It's high drama indeed (No wonder it's being broadcast in primetime tonight on ABC. Holla!), and I am HOOKED. The celebration of competition, of poignant memories of our own gawky youth, of the indelible effect that misspelled words have on us in that nerve-shredding moment--it's all there and more.

Why do you think I'll remember "hacienda" for the rest of my life? Why do you think there's that one word that haunts you in your sleep?

Ladies & Gentlemen, Your New AARP Coverboy!

2006-05-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

Dylan turned 65 last Wednesday. Happy belated birthday, Bobby.

Movie: Game 6

2006-05-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

"People are dependable! Life is good!"

At the very least, Game 6's scene of Red Sox fan Nick Rogan (Michael Keaton) watching the final, fateful half-inning of his beloved team's historic collapse in the 1986 World Series is worth the price of admission. Though it's been well documented thousands of times by thousands of New England masochists (But really, is there any other kind of New Englander?) and the outcome is inevitable nearly 20 years after the fact, watching Rogan's pitch-by-pitch reaction on screen -- his manic swings of anxiety and relief and elation, to the final, it-all-comes-crashing-down horror -- during that infamous, eternally bloody Caravaggio of chokes that now hangs in The Museum of All Time Chokes, is truly a viscerally excruciating experience for any baseball-loving moviegoer. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat the entire time, loving every second of it.

I was elated when the Parkway Theater screened this movie, not only because it's an intelligent, funny flick about art and baseball and, well, life in general, but because Don DeLillo, one of my all time favorite authors, wrote the screenplay. And it has his fingerprints all over it. The story structure is borrowed from his latest novel, Cosmopolis (Or more accurately, it's the other way around. Apparently DeLillo wrote the screenplay years ago.) -- a tale about a man who spends a large part of a single day in the back of a car (This time it's cabs instead of a limo.), preoccupied with getting a haircut. It's just that this day happens to be both opening night of Nick Rogan's new play and Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

Anyway, Nick ultimately ditches his play to watch the historic game in a bar, and a lot of things happen in between. It's not a perfect movie -- there's too much of that overbearing PORTENTOUS WEIGHT OF HISTORY smack that DeLillo likes to peddle in his work -- but, like all of DeLillo's books, the movie has that succession of pitch perfect moments, characters and phrases that steadily accumulate to forgive any flaws the work of art as a whole possesses. And if half of all American movies had a mite of the moxie and magic that this one has, we wouldn't be wondering why so many movies suck.

Rooting for Barbaro

2006-05-24T08:04:00.000-07:00

"What he loved in horses was what he loved in men, the blood and heat of the blood that ran in them. All his reverence and all his fondness and all the leanings of his life were for the ardenthearted and they would always be so and never be otherwise."

--Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses

My mind has been on, among many other things, the fate of Barbaro ever since I saw that colt's hindleg bent at a gruesome, incongruous angle during the Preakness this past weekend. In thoroughbred racing, one's initial reaction, after feeling that involuntary frisson of pure horror from vicarious, bone-snapping pain, of course, is, "I hope to God that they don't have to kill him."

The New York Times recently ran an interesting, if oblivious, article asking why so many strangers would deign to care about Barbaro, or for that matter, any animal they weren't immediately connected with.

The obvious fact is that we care about strangers all of the time (US Weekly, anyone?), whether they be animal, vegetable or mineral. We're attracted to their beauty and passion and their achivement and to the fickle kleig lights of fame and fortune. Barbaro possessed all of these things in spades, drawing us to him, but ultimately his prodigious, breathtaking speed and charismatic magnificence weren't enough to prevent a small, single misstep that might just conclude his brief and brilliant life with a precipitous bullet in the brain.

It's cruel and abitrary and, well, implacably fragile.

How naive is it to think that Barbaro's story couldn't be interpreted as an immensely catharatic saga? Doesn't it fill you with terror and pity? Doesn't it move you in any way?

In this respect, Barbaro is not "just a horse." And I pray to God that he gets to live out his days walking on a repaired leg and munching on clover and sugarcubes, being the big stud he deserves to be.

Talk Dirty To Betty

2006-05-22T12:51:00.000-07:00

Two friends of mine have transformed their old college sex column into a new World Wide Internet sex column. In fact, their motto could be something like,

"Tell Betty: The sass is back -- with 5 years of real world experience."

I can say without any reservation that it's going to be great. You need to check it out:

http://www.tellbetty.com/

High Times, 12, The New Yorker, 4

2006-05-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

Apparently, there's a softball league in NYC comprised of the area magazines, because Gawker reports that the High Times' Bonghitters defeated The New Yorker, 12-4, in Central Park. It was the stoners' 8th straight win over the literary luminaries. Looks like the Bonghitters will take winning ways to Vanity Fair, whom they play on the 25th.

Can you imagine? Updike struggling with his limp-wristed pitching, Malcolm Gladwell collecting the dandelions in right field and Seymour Hersh exasperatedly punching his sweatstained mitt repeatedly, shouting, "C'mon, you fucking pussies! We're not even high! Let's play some goddamn softball for a change!"

http://www.gawker.com/news/softball/media-softball-high-times-smokes-the-new-yorker-172805.php

Is it wrong...

2006-05-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

...to hope that Kyle Lohse (slant rhymes with "douche") blows his start tonight in Texas, so that he gets bumped from the rotation in favor of Liriano? Does this make me a bad fan? A bad person?

Over the years, I have given Kyle so much, and he has given nothing but excruciating exasperation and temper tantrums. And yet he still makes $4 mil a year.

Not that I want our boys to lose, mind you. Just give me a 8-6 comeback Twins win, where the boys rally from the six run-deficit Lohse (slant rhymes with "douche") gave up in 2 1/3 innings.

Then we would all win.

We Now Return to Our Scheduled Program

2006-05-10T11:48:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the self-imposed blogging hiatus is ov-ah. Had an epic (and I mean EPIC) vacation to Philly/NYC--details on that to come--a couple of weeks ago, which fortunately spared me from watching my Twins falter through their late-April Baatan Death March, though was still constantly checking my phone for text messages of scores and updates in Brooklyn bars, much to the chagrin of college buddies and The Little Lady (I swear, this team is going to kill me. BTW, big thanks to Pauly & Ames for their vigilant, albeit outraged and deflated, messages).

Other than that, it's been a week or so of the post-vacation re-acclimation shuffle, shucking and jiving through the avalanche of paper at work, as well as chasing the muse at the dining room table, working on material for the upcoming spring/summer fiction contests.

Expect some more substantive posts very soon...

Amen

2006-04-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

http://www.slate.com/id/2140038/?nav=tap3

THE GREATEST (regular season) GAME EVER

2006-04-17T08:19:00.000-07:00

Trust me: I, better than anybody, understand that this blog is starting to take on the monochromatic complexion of All Twins All the Time, and while I do have many other recent and entirely worthy preoccupations to blather about (I do! I really do!) like say, the new Flaming Lips album, Henderson the Rain King, my impending EPIC trip to Philly/NYC--Leaving in three days!--the Kurosawa movies I watched this weekend and those random observations of human thruths that amuse and confound us all, the cold hard fact of the matter is that baseball season is a veritable 7-month solar eclipse in la vida loca de King Fun that stunts my general sociability, any and all sense of ambition and general interest in, well, just about everything else. What can I say? After banishing my id for a long walk through the cold woods last October, he has returned, giantic and hirsute and monstrosly hungry, craving nothing but Twins baseball. Chained to the wall though he may be, I still have to feed the beast. I have no choice.

That said: Saturday night.

Twins: 6
Yankees: 5

And I was there.

Oh. My. God. OH! MY! GOD! How many superlatives can we apply to nine innings of madness, disapointment, righteous fury, anxiety, true blue drama and then the ultimate ecstasy of refulgent, holy holy glorious victory? During Easter week, too! The Passion of Justin Morneau! If we were to take months, perhaps years analyzing this single game, could we create a work of art that explained everything that makes this human comedy worthwhile? I bet we could. A patchwork quilt of irrational hagiography entitled something like this:

Do You Know The Meaning of Being Sanctified?: April 15, 2006: The Night Everything Beautiful & Right With Baseball, America & Life in General Occurred in Minneapolis

Understatement Alert: It is so, so satisfying beating the Yankees in the bottom of the ninth, watching Riviera blow a save in front of 40,000+ fanatic, screaming partisians (See? There is something that can turn all of these docile Lutherans insane). It is a singular experience that's virtually indescribable, rendering witnesses inarticulate by their own happiness, like when one sees the dopey, winsome, hangdog grins of people attempting to describe what it means to fall in love to a small child or something. The point is, well, you just have to experience it for yourself.

Nevertheless, I shall try: The thing about rallying in the bottom of the ninth to beat the Yankees is that it's a quintessential experience of righteousness defeating the darkness of evil. It's deliverance from the unremarkable denoument of seemingly nasty inevitability by a shining miracle that's as pure as the driven snow. It's the incarnation of baseball grace.

When the Twins blew a 4-run lead late in the game and it seemed as if the status quo would prevail and the Yankees' usurpation of the lead via rather boring and mechanical means reinforced their fans' preening, self-righteous expressions of exceptionalism and entitlement ("Well, of course we were going to take the lead and win. We're the Yankees."), it was, uh, really, really--I mean practically murderously--galling.

I have sat through way, way too many of these games (including Game 4 of the 2004 playoffs, which is, without a doubt, the single most disheartening game I have ever seen as a Twins fan). Here we go again, I thought. The clammy feeling of defeat due to the inexorable forces of rampant, ruthlessly coldblooded capitalism. The Yankees are the stupendously arrogant and greasy, gimlet-eyed robber barons; The Twins are the feeble, naive yet noble belief of farm systems and equal opportunity and meritocracy. It's a battle of The America That Is vs. The America That Could Be. Reality vs. The Dream. Why can't we do it? Just once, for the love of Puck? Just once?

Well, The Dream finally broke Reality's heart on Saturday night. And it was so beautiful, you wanted to cry.

I almost asphixiated from the noxious green clouds of eau de triumphalism rising from the bodies of Yankee fans sitting around me as Riviera strode to the mound for the ninth. But I held my breath and held onto my faith, standing on my feet and shouting with the rest of the crowd.

And then Castillo gets an infield hit. And then Joe Mauer hits a single and makes it to second on the throw. No outs, runners on second and third. A single wins the game. We could do this! I thought. We could really win!

But then Rondell White strikes out on a pitch aimed straight at his head (which is a whole 'nother rant altogether), and then Torii Hunter looks at a third strike right down the heart of the plate to go sit down (ARRGGHH!!!). And then, ladies and gentlemen, our collective hope for salvation was left in the dubious, precarious hands of Justin Morneau...

The baseball gods said to me, "You want drama? We'll give you drama!"

And each individual cell in my body called out in a resounding Greek chorus of nerves, responding, "Um, we think we're all going to simultaneously throw up now."

Morneau! My relationship with J-Dogg is, say we say, complicated: This is the same Morneau who, earlier in the same game, ran home on a grounder hit to the left side of the infield and was promptly thrown out (Don't they teach fundamentals in Canada?), the same underachieving Morneau who has the hapless expression of a retarded puppy on his face all the time, mirroring his performance on the diamond, a performance of manifest incompetence that dominates the rare flashes of everything everyone says about his physical gifts and the claims that he is in the incipient phase of entering the pantheon of baseball gods. Morneau? Really? He's more like Johnny Fontane abjectly asking for Don Corleone's help in The Godfather. You just want to pick him up outta his chair and slap him around a bit, screaming, "You can act like a man! Act like a man!" Morneau sent to save us! Of all people!

In my fit, my bursting paroxysm of indignation and pleading, I shouted, "C'mon, Justin! You owe me, buddy! YOU OWE ME!"

And then, on the first pitch, he hit a single to right field, and two runs scored, and we won the game. Morneau got a hit! A real hit! We actually won! Riviera blew a save! We won!

The Twins mobbed the field; the 40,000+ screamed the wild screams of sweet, orgiastic transcendence; and all of the Yankee players and fans looked down at their shoes with fixed, tearful gazes for a very, very long time. And then they all took out their infinitesimal, bite-sized hearts and quietly ate them.

I believe in the beauty of this world. I believe in miracles. I believe in my Minnesota Twins.

The Home Opener is Today

2006-04-11T10:58:00.000-07:00

It's bigger than Christmas!!! I can't help but clockwatch, waiting to bail from the Corporate City glass tower and race down to the Little Wagon for some pre-game festivities before spending a lovely spring evening inside the Teflon Terrarium of Total Victory.

And God, if you can hear me, all I want--all I've ever wanted--is to win The Hormel Row of Fame...

Paltrow Has Baby Boy

2006-04-10T12:25:00.000-07:00

She named it Moses (just in time for Passover, too), which is fine, but wasn't there some kind of contractual obligation forcing her to name her newborn son Banana?

http://movies.msn.com/movies/article.aspx?news=220786&GT1=7701

On the Way to 161-1

2006-04-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

Well, crap. The Twins drop the season opener. What can you do?

We all know that it takes a little while for Johann's Invincibility Machine to heat up after he turns it on, so the fact that he hung a couple of pitches up in an April game should surprise nobody--nor should it worry any of us in Twins Territory. And the offense wasn't completely anemic, which was nice (though not as nice as a win).

But you know what was nice, better than nice, what was frickin' awesome? That baseball season is BACK; that thousands of us out there were grilling hotdogs and drinking beers and sitting on couches while we screamed at the TV and at each other as we talked all things baseball. In the face of this, last night's loss hurts about as much as a flu shot.

It's baseball season! Woo hoo! Woo hooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah @ 400 Bar

2006-04-03T16:04:00.000-07:00

Saturday night. It's like a fishing tale: I went to the 400 Bar and I once saw a line THIS BIG. The gaggle of young and eager beavers sinuously snaking down the length of the sidewalk, anxiously waiting entry into the Four Hundo. We opted for biding our pre-show time indoors with a couple of beers instead and skipped off to the Town Hall where a couple friends were about to eat dinner.

The Brunettes opened, which was like finding a $20 bill on the sidewalk. My brother and I saw them open for The Shins at First Avenue last year, and they won our "Best Opening Band of the Year" award. Just a fun, cute pop band from New Zealand that I will always have a lot of affection for. Their music makes you want to pinch their cheeks.

The beautiful thing about Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and something I didn't notice until I saw the show (which surprised me, since I'm one of those guys who probably scares the crap out of small children on the highway with my boisterous rock-god/soul-crooner-in-the-car-solo singalongs), is that they are the best band around for throwing your voice out there. Just toss your voice across the room like a ragdoll. It's incredible.

For instance, take part of the lyrics from the refrain of the band's song "Upon This Title Wave of Young Blood," which looks like this, pallid and sterile in print:

But upon this tidal wave
Oh god oh god
But upon this tidal wave
Oh god oh god

Now, when you sing it like it's sung, it's more like this:

But upon this tidal waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh goooooood ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh gooooooooooood
But upon this tidal waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh goooooooooood ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh goooooooooooooooooooooood

And when approximately 300 people are doing this in unison in a cramped and sweaty cavernous bar with a great band, you experience that frisson of elation, that communal pleasure that only unified, democratic action provides (Why do you think Irish drinking songs are so much fun to sing?).

It's moments like this that remind you why you go to rock shows.

They are child stars...child stars...child stars...

God Bless The College Tobacconist

2006-04-03T13:17:00.000-07:00

Doug Grow's Saturday column in the Star Tribune profiles Tiny's, the venerable Northfield cigarette & hotdog purveyor, and the recent removal of the establishment's "nefarious" snooker table. Check it out below:

"Taking Cue From Customers, Tiny's Breaks From Pool Past"
http://www.startribune.com/465/story/344461.html

Here's an excerpt:

"Just a couple of them were causing the problem," Sellers said. "I'd say, 'Let's watch the language.' It would be fine for a while, but then you'd hear a 'damn.' Then, it would just keep getting worse and worse."

Very Lake Woebegone, sho' 'nuff, but recalling the hundreds of hotdogs and packs of cigarettes I purchased from this fine establishment on my way to class warms the cockles of my black lungs.

You Heard it Here: The Twins Are Going All the Way

2006-04-03T07:05:00.000-07:00

What a great weekend. I spent most of it compiling more proof that I lead a preposterously charmed life--Friday night: I scored two free tix to see Brian Jonestown Massacre/Tapes 'n Tapes show on May 7; Saturday: a 4-hour midday nap and a great Clap Your Hands Say Yeah show that night at the 400 Bar; Sunday: Saw T-Wolves OT win against the Golden State Warriors (Marcus Banks was on fire) with three of my brothers and then incredible, comfort food-filled Sunday night dinner at Dad & Stepmom's.

Nevertheless, there is a more pressing matter at hand: Twins baseball begins tomorrow.

This year, we are going all the way. You heard it here.

The sunny beginning, the proverbial clean slate, should always be a time for wildly optimisitc predictions and passionate, irrational partisianship. I will not take this moment to get all Ken Burnsy on you and rhapsodize about spring and baseball and the ubiquitous theme of renewal (Don't you notice how all that stuff sounds like a stoned hippie girl trying to write like Lorca? "The spring! The dewy grass! The pristine virgin baseball diamond! I hope! I hope!"), but if you call yourself a true Twins fan, you should believe that you will be waving your Homer Hankie and spraying celebratory Primos all over your friends and family when the Twins win it all in October.

I'm calling you out, Star Tribune! I'm calling you out, Mpls-St. Paul Magazine! Both of you predicted a third place finish in the AL Central? With a "maybe" for contending for the AL wild card? What's wrong with you? These feeble prognostications of mediocrity for our beloved squad will not stand! And don't try and shield yourselves behind some dubious explanation
of "objective journalism." You should know where your bread is buttered.

Take it from Murray Chass. A real journalist from a real paper. He knows the score:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/02/sports/baseball/02alcentral.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

The road to Title Town begins tomorrow night in Toronto. See you there in October.

What The Young People Are Listening To

2006-03-31T15:21:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while my Brother and I will make mixes for my Mom and Stepdad because they're curious as to "what the young people are listening to"--not in that cloying Boomer "I'm trying to stay young and current and cool" way, but in a "Sons #1 & #2 give us fun tunes; Huh, I wonder what's on this CD" way.

Hence a continuing series of mix CDs entitled, tongue firmly affixed in cheek, "What The Young People Are Listening To." And yes, I do make considerations/concessions for songs they will actually like (As funny/disturbing as the thought of my Mom bumping to the new Ghostface album in her Chevy Malibu hatchback sedan on her way to work is, I am declining to tempt fate). Although much of it isn't up-to-the-minute current music, I doubt the commandos at Pitchfork will be impailing me upon their eponymous weapons of massively destructive snark for this mix. At least I hope not.

Anyway, here's it is. Make one for your own Mommy & Stepdad. They just might like it.

"You Only Live Once" The Strokes
"Girl" Beck
"Stevie Nix" The Hold Steady
"Don't Take it Personal Dave" The Cops
"Going Through the Motions" Aimee Mann
"Goods (All in Your Head)" Mates of State
"For Today I am a Boy" Antony & The Johnsons
"Me & Mia" Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
"You Are The Generation That Bought More Shoes & You Get What You Deserve" Johnny Boy
"Young Pilgrims" The Shins
"Like Dylan in the Movies" Belle & Sebastian
"That Teenage Feeling" Neko Case
"I Summon You" Spoon
"The Engine Driver" The Decemberists
"The Greatest" Cat Power
"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" Death Cab For Cutie
"Chicago" Sufjan Stevens

Have a wonderful weekend, everybody.

Listen: Jeff Tweedy Acoustic Show

2006-03-31T11:19:00.000-08:00

Jeff Tweedy & Nels Cline play a live acoustic show at the U of Chicago's Mandel Hall. You can listen to it at the link below:

http://wilcoworld.net/roadcase/index.php

Movie: George Washington

2006-03-31T07:38:00.000-08:00

A quiet evening last night at Hacienda del Rey de Diversion with mi novia. Check out this undergraduatesque repast: hotdogs and Annie's Mac & Cheese enhanced by a pinch of green curry powder (What are we, 19?). Oh, and a few ice cold Primos, but that goes without saying.

I am wavering on Netflix at the moment. Not because I don't like the service, mind you, but because of Minneapolis/Hennepin County's superior library system. A cursory search of the Hennepin County Library online catalog currently yields 293 movies from the Criterion Collection alone (Your tax dollars at work. Talk about a persuasive argument for voting Democratic...). And, since the library catalogs are online, you can simply punch in your library card #, reserve materials, be informed via email when they arrive and pick them up. Cheapskate cinephiles should take note, if you haven't already.

http://www.hclib.org/
http://mplwebcat.mpls.lib.mn.us/

Anyway, I saw this little gem of a film last night, which I had been meaning to see for quite a while. Wow! David Gordon Green does his star turn as Orson Welles, making a movie like this at the hoary age of 25 and inspiring clammy feelings of inadquacy among us all.

I don't want to be a spoiler, so I won't write much about it, but it's poetic, funny, tender, incredibly eerie film that's also chock-full of Southern Gothic, which I love. A dense film that begs for mutiple viewings--something I'm looking forward to doing in the near future.

Review: Neko Case @ First Avenue 3/29

2006-03-30T15:14:00.000-08:00

The fine print on ticket stated a 9:30 p.m. start time for the show, but when we arrived (around 9:30) the set sheet taped to a pillar in First Avenue informed us that opener Martha Wainwright's set actually started at, ahem, 9:15. (Since when does a rock show start early?) Ms. Wainwright is already part way through her wonderful, searing kiss-off tune, the song my friend once referred to as "that one 'You Bloody Dirty Motherfucker' song" in a case of failed recall. And (inevitably) that's the one song I really wanted to hear from her that night.

Cue: The piercing banshee wail of indignation (in basso profundo, of course).

Martha Wainwright has a voice that sounds as if her vocal chords have been slowly shaved by a serrated blade--or as if she's spent too much time as an adolescent mooning in front of her bedroom mirror in her underwear pretending that she's Marianne Faithful. Nevertheless, she is awfully affecting at times, and I really admire her when she's on, which she was last night. Martha's performance also reminded me of just how good she is with an acoustic guitar in her hands, and just how much she ruined her debut LP with a lot of ornate filligreed background crapola music (Leave that stuff to your brother next time out, okay sweetie?).

And, I have to say, that the spell of her allegedly raw, heart-pouring transparecy that she cast was endearingly broken when in between songs she indulged the crowd with narcotic maunderings that somehow passed for banter.

My brother turned to me, wolfishly smiling, and said, "Oh, she's not high at all."

Then she would go back to trying to break your heart.

An act--and a helluva good one at that.

The Main Event: Neko Case

Why? Why oh why oh why oh why oh why would you ever shell out $16 to stand and yammer at a show, ESPECIALLY when you have an angel singing on the stage? I wasn't aware that I was surrounded by the nihilist demimonde of Twin Cities hipsters who clearly had better things to do last night. And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is the source of my outrage: that one would have the temerity to attend the show and then think that there could possibly be something more important than standing there, silently listening to a voice that could give you a glimpse of how much beauty exists in this world when you happen to be, uh, sitting in the same fucking room as her. That you would willingly ignore music like that. Because if you do deign to rip your dollar bills on the floor and disrupt the emotional lift and general good times of the soulful proletariat, then you simply don't like living. You're an idiot babe--it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

Go home. Really. Just go home. Fuckers.

Anyway, I finally fought away from the disruptive fringe and into a place in the crowd where the only noise you could really hear was coming from the stage. And at that moment, the very moment I got situated and could hear clearly, Neko started to sing "I Wish I Was The Moon," my favorite Neko song.

I wasn't late. In fact, I was right on time.

Dig If You Will, A Contest

2006-03-30T14:32:00.000-08:00

http://www.3121countdown.com/rules.html

My Dad, Mr. Salt, has stopped the workers at the factory from shelling peanuts & insisted that they open whole cases of Prince CDs until I get my Purple Ticket for the private show at his house in L.A.

Daddy better find me that Purple Ticket. The factory floor is littered with cellophane!!! I want the world...I want the whole world...

When they get me my ticket, I'll let you come as my special guest. Scouts' honor.

Hey Hey, It's Another Blog

2006-02-23T09:35:00.000-08:00

So, yes, I'm late to the party (as usual), but here's a new blog to add to the ether. Let's see how this goes...me too! Me too! Me too! Me too!