Dine, but no whine, please

Anyone who’s lived in the Twin Cities any length of time recognizes this area’s mewling metro-insecurity that lurks just beneath our supposedly cosmopolitan surface; kind of a “Cold Omaha Syndrome”: the fear that despite our aires of suave sophistication and our cultural icons we’re really more at home with blue-light specials than gas-light ambiance. The latest jeremiad on this theme was an article in yesterday’s Strib lamenting the demise, in quick succession, of three high-end, top chef fine dining establishments, Levain, Five Restaurant and Street Lounge, and Auriga.

Though I never ate dined at any of these places I will say I feel a little sad that they’re gone I am not inclined to press the back of my wrist against my forehead and lament that Minneapolis (few even will include St. Paul for consideration) is not worthy, or is merely a “two-star” city as one restaurateur and critic said. He’s probably right, but so what?

Make no mistake, I like to eat out and the Old Country Buffet and Red Lobster (“Dead Lobster” we call it at our house) are not the troughs of choice for my family. We appreciate good food, above-average service and a degree of imagination in the menu, but dropping $75 to $100 per person on dinner isn’t high on our list of Entertaining Things to Do. Sure, I know you can spend similar amounts and more on theater or concert tickets or even going to a Vikings, Wild or Timberwolves game and that these amusements are as transitory as a fine dinner (and probably won’t set as well) — but we don’t typically do those things either. So, would we be just as happy in Des Moines?

The fun thing for us (my wife and I, anyway) is going to some new, off-beat place we’ve never been. Heck, we’ll even dress up. It’s easier to be adventurous, however, if the entrees don’t cost as much as a tank of gasoline. My wife likes to peruse the restaurant reviews in the local papers and clip out places that sound interesting. She keeps these clippings in a folder and when we have a chance to go out we’ll consult this file and choose a place. The Reverend Mother prides herself on being willing to try anything but liver or beef stroganoff (and she has discovered that she doesn’t like catfish). I’m not nearly as daring, especially if it involves vegetables, but through our outings we’ve had goat, yak, many varieties of Indian food (her favorite) and even ordered food at ethnic places where we simply pointed at things on a steam table that looked good. We’ve also enjoyed the imagination and presentation (especially because the food was also excellent) at Muffuletta and at Zelos. If anyone has any suggestions for other places we can try, leave a comment below.

One thing we’ve learned, however, with our various outings is to call first: several times we’ve ventured out to some promising place only to find that it’s already gone out of business. Apparently it’s not just the high-end, fancy restaurants that go out of business. Who knew?

Get ’em while they’re hot

Our joy is complete — Al Franken is officially unofficially entering the race for the 2008 Minnesota Senate race. This will ensure months of blog fodder and amusement. Not that Al is all that funny himself, except unintentionally, but if his dyspeptic (and terminal) radio program is any indication I expect his campaign to provide a goldmine of material.

My friend Derek Brigham (aka “Chief”) at Freedom Dogs is even more elated: as official graphic designer of the MOB he’s already jumped in with several “Franken for Senate” bumper stickers . Go on over an order yours, or suggest slogans of your own.

“Miscarriage” of justice

Driving home last night I was listening to Jason Lewis on KTLK-FM when the news came on. One of the stories involved Dino Scott, the Maplewood man who beat his pregnant girlfriend so severely that she miscarried her 12-week old fetus (the attack was recorded by an elevator security camera – a camera that Scott had “flipped off” before starting the attack). The story reported that in addition to assault on his girlfriend, Scott was also being charged second degree murder of an unborn child under Minnesota law.

I was already familiar with the story so I was only half-listening as my thoughts turned to the apparent premeditation of the attack and whether Scott’s intent all along had been to kill the baby. Suddenly the newscast included a comment from a NARAL spokesperson criticizing the fetal homicide charge and, I believe, describing it as an “injustice”. I wasn’t immediately focused on the broadcast so it is difficult to remember it word for word, but I’ve been Googling “Dino Scott,” “NARAL”, “Minnesota” and “fetal homicide law” to see if I can find a text version of what I heard or some other statement from NARAL on this specific case. (Nothing so far, but I’ll keep trying).

I have to admit to being a bit shocked at the statement; not so much that NARAL was taking that position, but that one of their spokespeople would be willing to voice that opinion in connection with such a heinous case (read the details here). I can’t imagine that anyone would want to attach themselves or their cause to such a sleazeball. If NARAL wants to make Dino Scott their “poster child” for fighting Minnesota’s fetal homicide law, however, then my response is, “Bring it.”

Any injustice in this case — indeed, a miscarriage of justice — is at the expense of the little child who died. That child was at 12 weeks gestation; the photos below are 4D (three-dimensional plus movement) ultrasound scans of an 8-week (left) and 10-week (right)old fetuses.

Laying it on the (non-binding) line

In keeping with the spirit of the times the Minneapolis City Council is the latest to offer a resolution that’s about as binding as a sackful of White Castles ingested after bar-closing — and even less meaningful. Their call for “an orderly, rapid and comprehensive withdrawal of United States military personnel from Iraq” garnered the headlines, but what was missed was what the Council did after hammering out that gripping piece of political theater.

Moving on to other important business, the Council passed resolutions calling for:

  • Great Britain to give the Falklands back to Argentina
  • The NFL to redistribute Bill Belichick to the Vikings
  • The Prairie Chicken be named the state bird of North Dakota.

These resolutions all passed unanimously. Another resolution, banning President Bush from attending the 2008 Republican Convention in Minneapolis, passed 11-0 with two abstentions. The abstentions came from members who said it wasn’t appropriate to vote on the measure because George Bush wasn’t really the president of the United States.

A final resolution, condemning the blast of Arctic air headed for Minnesota later this week, had to be tabled because of arguments arising over whether or not to call for a fence to be built at the Canadian border to keep the cold air out. In a compromise measure, the Council unanimously declared that “winter was mean” because it has a disproportionate impact on the poor and minorities.

By the time these resolutions were passed the Council was out of time and couldn’t act on an agenda item calling for withdrawing law-abiding citizens from the “quagmire” of North Minneapolis.

I totally don’t know what that means — but I got it!

Jessica Simpson didn’t have to kick me in the throat to get me to think about High Definition (HD) TV because for some time I have been longing from afar (for HD, not Jessica). The cost of HDTVs, however, made it about as likely for me to find one of these in my rec room as it was for me to have Ms. Simpson calling me from the grocery store to say she’d looked all over the meat department but couldn’t find Chicken of the Sea so would it be all right if she just made tuna casserole for dinner.

I am, however, a patient man (that sound you just heard was my wife snorting). I know that when it comes to technology you just have to bide your time and the price will come down as the “early adopters” drive the market toward the new newest, greatest thing. I learned this lesson long ago before I was even married when I paid more than $600 for a VCR with “breakthrough” 4-head technology for the highest resolution. Now my forehead is what I slap whenever I see a brand-new VCR going for $19.95 at Wal-Mart. Of course, you can fall too far behind the technology curve: I used to really want one of those thin, pricey RAZR cellphones — now companies are giving them away like Skittles and I wouldn’t have one.

Anyway, the HDTVs finally came down into the range where value and opportunity were within hailing distance, and wouldn’t you just know it happened to be right before the Super Bowl? I was able to find an HD-LCD TV with a home theater system for about half what a similar set-up cost this time last year (yes, I was looking last year, too — I told you I’m patient). At last, a big, sharp picture (to compensate for my fuzzy eyesight) and multi-channel surround-sound speakers (to compensate for my fuzzy hearing) and a huge screen (never mind) — if I could just work on my fuzzy logic.

I still had to get the idea past my wife, the Reverend Mother, who also has another title: The Finance Minister (I’m the Minister of Fritter & Waste). She’s also someone who, if it were up to her, wouldn’t even have a television and would never allow one to take up residence in the living room (except when company is coming specifically to watch something on TV). Obviously I wasn’t going to be able to make the case that this was a necessity (“Didn’t I just let you buy a TV three years ago?”) and there wasn’t time for an subtle, extended, Ralphie-like campaign (“You’ll rot your eyes out!”). That left me with … puppy eyes. Or something. I’m not sure just what it was that wore her down, and if I did know it would probably have to be kept a state secret anyway.

I raced out immediately and picked up the TV and accessories last Saturday and set to work getting everything set up in the living room (for the group coming to watch the Super Bowl). I had opted for a 32″ LCD screen based on cost, the size of the room where the TV will normally reside, and the size of our existing entertainment center. I got everything hooked up and brought my wife in. “What do you think?” I said, beaming with pride. She appeared to be underwhelmed.

“I thought it would be bigger,” she said.

Oooh, that left a mark. Not only that, but the next afternoon I was booted out of the living room right in the middle of watching Tiger Woods reel in another tournament so that she and the Mall Diva could watch a chick flick with their friends on the new TV and home theater (very “estrogenic” as the MD would say). That’s okay — it’s the Super Bowl this weekend, bay-beee!

Happy Ecker-versary

Kevin Ecker reached the five year anniversary of the EckerNet blog yesterday, which is a nearly unheard of milestone in the blogosphere considering how many bloggers don’t even make it to five months — and when you consider what the technological limitations were back then. Kevin had to do the equivalent of pounding rocks together when he started; kind of crude and ugly, but then nobody was reading blogs then anyway. Today the blog is still crude and ugly, but that’s more a matter of attitude than a problem with the design or the hosting platform.

Anyway, EckerNet is a daily (or more often) stop for the Mall Diva and I as we stop in to see who Kevin is picking on today, to view pictures of his latest gun, or to enter one of his caption contests. Visiting EckerNet is one of our favorite forms of entertainment, right up there with watching Mythbusters on TV. In fact, we see some eerie parallels between Kevin and one of the Mythbusters’ hosts, Adam Savage: they’re about the same age, size, have similar hairlines and kind of look alike. Could they have been separated at birth? Let’s examine (Kevin on the left, Adam on the right below):

The similarities are amazing:

  • Both use the motto, “I reject your reality and substitute my own!”
  • Both get paid to figure out how to blow things up. The difference is Adam Savage shows you how to do it on TV; if Kevin showed you how it’s done he’d have to kill you. (Go here for links to Mythbusters’ greatest explosions.)
  • Adam busts urban legends that “everyone knows are true” using physics, curiosity and some cool gear; Kevin blows holes in generally accepted liberal “facts” and thinking using reason, research and a lot of attitude.
  • Adam once tested the effects of a mannequin urinating on an electrified rail; urinating on an electrified rail is how Kevin wakes himself up in the morning.
  • Adam goes to great lengths to test the limits of science and knowledge; Kevin goes to great lengths to try to buy my daughter beer and test the limits of my patience.

I think it’s conclusive, folks. Add a goatee, a little reddish coloring and perhaps a bit more restraint to Kevin and you have — Adam Savage. Busted!

Stop, children, what’s that sound…everyone look what’s going down

Fairness Doctrine? What a bunch of pikers. Those who are serious about bringing back the so-called Fairness Doctrine are either flat-out ignorant or disingenous about their real motives (place your bets). To find out what they really mean, simply look to Venezuela where the darling of the American left, Hugo Chávez, has already nationalized the energy and telecommunications companies, declared — following his (un-Constitutional) third inauguration — that the country “requires a deep reform of our national Constitution” in order to become a socialistic republic and is now threatening to shut down the last vestiges of a free press.

Yet the predictable celebrity “psycho-phants” like Cindy Sheehan, Harry Belafonte, Danny Glover and Princeton professor Cornel West knock the paté out of each other’s hands as they jostle to have their picture taken with this man of the people. Presumably they do so because political dissidents, artists and academics such as themselves have historically fared so very well under totalitarian “socialist” regimes. No, wait, that’s not the reason: they love Chávez because he taunts and insults George Bush — and they hate George Bush, too, reportedly because he’s a meanie who is ravaging our Constitution and destroying free speech.

Nevertheless I’m sure Tim Robbins, Susan Sarandon and the Dixie Chicks felt a distinct chill come over them when this article by the Chairman of Radio Caracas Television (who’s livelihood and possibly his life are being jeopardized) appeared in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal (WSJ subscription required for full article).

Remote Control
By MARCEL GRANIER
January 24, 2007; Page A12

CARACAS — The president of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, Hugo Chávez, has verbally announced his decision to shut down Radio Caracas Television (RCTV) — our TV station, the oldest in Venezuela as well as the one with the largest audience.

So continues a long series of attacks against journalists, employees, management and shareholders of many independent media companies. The aim of all this is to limit the citizens’ right to seek information and entertainment in the media of their choice, to impede public access to those media where they might express or encounter criticism of the government or their proposals for reform, to stifle the pluralism of opinion in news and talk programs, and to cut off the free flow of information and debate in Venezuela. Instead, the Chávez government seeks to install a system that it has described, without apparent irony, as the “communicational and informative hegemony of the state.”

On June 14, 2006, President Chávez — dressed in military fatigues — gave a speech on the occasion of the delivery of a batch of Kalashnikov AK-103s to an army battalion. He brandished a weapon, then pointed it at a cameraman and said: “With this rifle, which has a range of 1,000 meters, I could take out that wee red light on your camera.” Moments later, he declared: “We have to review the licenses of the TV companies.”

In the weeks that followed the incident, various government officials repeated the same threat and started to monitor the editorial positions of the media. “There have been qualitative changes in programming, in news selection, and in the editorial line” of some media, an official observed; “[but] there are other cases in which we have not seen this change, this rectification . . .” He reminded us all that the government “has the ability not to renew a [media] license.”

On Nov. 3, 2006, a month before the Venezuelan presidential elections, President Chávez repeated his threat: “I’m reminding certain media, above all in television, that they mustn’t be surprised if I say, ‘There are no more licenses for certain TV channels.’ . . . I’m the head of state.”

On Dec. 28, 2006, President Chávez, again in military uniform, declared that the broadcasting license for RCTV would not be renewed: “The order has already been drafted, so they should start shutting down their studios.”

Apparently President Chávez is the only one who knows what is best and can be trusted to watch over what happens to the people’s resources, whether it’s oil revenues, electric power … or what they hear or see.

On Jan. 13, in his annual address to the National Assembly, he changed his tune again and said: “The transmission signal belongs to the Venezuelan people and will be nationalized for all Venezuelans.” He added: “RCTV has only a few days left . . . they can scream, stomp their feet, do whatever they want, but the license is finished. They can say whatever they want, I don’t care, it’s over.”

(SNIP)
President Chávez has violated the presumption of innocence and has denied us due process…The actions against RCTV of President Chávez and his subordinates are in violation of the Venezuelan constitution, the American Convention on Human Rights, and the Inter-American Democratic Charter. They are a clear example of abuse of power, and violate the right to work of all those in the media industry, not to mention a violation of the freedom of thought and expression of millions of citizens who seek information and ideas of their own free choice.

We are faced, in effect, with an aggressive campaign to extinguish all thought that differs from that which is officially dubbed “revolutionary.”

I added the bold-face emphasis above about the airwaves “belonging to the people” because it is also a central theme for those advocating a return to government control of what is “appropriate” political commentary and discussion of issues. Admittedly, the marketplace can be an ugly monster depending on your perspective, spawning Rush Limbaugh and Howard Stern, though in terms of ideas it has been harsher on the lefties who through incompetence, intellectual barrenness and their own corruption have failed spectacularly in attracting a paying audience.

When the market has brought forth something I’ve found to be offensive, the typical response has been “you don’t have to watch/listen to it.” I find that an emminently “fair” solution that leaves the power in my hands. No matter how ugly things might be without the “Unfairness” Doctrine, it is nowhere near as ugly or scary as putting the government in charge of deciding what I can or cannot listen to (I know, that’s kind of a “liberal” position).

The idea that the government can create a marketplace of ideas is as flawed and demonstrably untrue as the belief that the government can produce wealth.

I need a new sport



Carp, it’s that time of year again. Football is almost over and I need to find something else to do with my Sunday afternoons. Unfortunately, the local basketball squads (college and pro) are unwatchable and the hockey team is always playing late on the West Coast – and none of these are usually on on Sundays anyway.



Maybe I don’t have to watch anything; I can get outside and do stuff. Winter in Minnesota — there’s got to be something I can do.



Ice-fishing?







Yeah, that looks real exciting, and I told that guy not to put his tongue on the ice. (Photo by Jim Gehrz, StarTribune)




Oh — how about cross-country skiing?







Wee, doggies that looks like a lot of fun. Actually, it looks like a lot of work. Pass.




Maybe I could go back to Broomball. Slippery, hard surfaces and people flailing around with clubs in their hands. I don’t remember why I ever quit this game.







Oh, yeah. Now I remember.




Hey, maybe I can take up snowboarding. The Mall Diva has been wanting to try that. Why not?







Oh, that’s right, I’m old enough to know better.




You know, I really don’t like winter all that much anyway. Give me sunshine and warm breezes, or at least the chance to see these on TV. Oh yeah, I know what I want to watch:







Wake me up in May.

Just waiting: January 24, 1997

by the Night Writer
At the end we were just waiting for the practiced heart, which had betrayed him years before and now seemed to want to make amends, to finally lie back and take its rest.

Halfway across the country I listened and could still sense the beat. I also listened through the phone lines as his children gathered and told me of each regression that certainly had to be the last but wasn’t; his life force stretched as implausibly thin yet as miraculously effective as the fiberoptics that carried me into that room as they described sound and color.

Scarcely a week since I had been there to see for myself: told to hurry, and arriving to clasp the withered hand, to see the chalky color, to hear the faint voice, to kiss the papery skin, and to smell…to smell the rubber and the medicine and the institutional disinfectant…and that one scent that they seemed to want to cover up but I could still detect in the back of my throat as I stood at the bedside.

Just waiting, back at home, I stood by another bedside, listening to my wife breathe. Undressing, I fit myself in beside her, our heads touching, our arms around each other, and we talked about the great moments of one’s life — the excitement before a birthday, the joy before a wedding — and how those fall short of the momentous anticipation and anxiety of the days leading up to the birth of a child, of going to bed wondering if this will be the night that everything will change and we awaken to bring forth a new life, at once shuddering in both the hope and the dread of the joy that would be set before us and the trial to be endured. We spoke also of the hope we have in Christ, and of the days leading up to the joy/dread in some distant but nearing future when we go to bed wondering if that will be the night that everything will change and we awaken into new life.

I traced the warm, round firmness of her hip with my hand and sniffed as her hair brushed under my nose, her skin smooth and her lips soft. Still touching, we lay in our temporary cocoon and I remembered that some song describes time as a willow tree, bending over to reach the water, but I knew that the songwriter was wrong. We are the willows, and Time is the river, and we bend and it just goes on, but in that moment we laughed and I said “Naked I came into this bed, and naked shall I go out!”

And from down the hallway came the sound of the telephone. Ringing.