Nick Hook never envisioned himself as an editor. When he was thrust behind the helm of the Whittier Globe in April of last year, he had virtually no writing experience. Nick had been shuffling between gigs as a rocker with Vinnie and the Stardusters and a lackey in the corporate world when he decided to submit an article to his brother and then-Globe-editor, Jamie. Suddenly, Jamie was fired or quit, depending on whom you ask. And since the Globe’s two-member board president, Ralf Runquist, a spry eighty-four-year-old, had no interest in managing the paper, he allowed Nick to take control on a temporary basis. After three months, another Hook was officially in charge.
CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: THE OLD MARRIED COUPLE
Tom Letness could cease his never-ending renovation of the Heights Theatre, in Columbia Heights, and it would remain the finest movie house in the Twin Cities, bar none. Yet he keeps fiddling with it. He knows its history inside and out—from a bombing back in the late twenties at the hands of a disgruntled former projectionist, to its dark days as an ugly second-run theater. As the theater’s current owner, operator, and sometimes beleaguered caretaker, he’s also familiar with all its quirks and charms in its present-day incarnation. Letness didn’t have to dig out the orchestra pit or hire an organist, but he did. He didn’t have to put 152 hand-painted reproduction Edison Mazda bulbs in the chandeliers, but he did. Bringing in the Wurlitzer organ and finding someone to play the thing wasn’t easy, but he did it.
Posted in Conversations Real & Imagined, Lost in the Temple: Movies
Tagged Conversations Real & Imagined, Heights Theatre, Tom Letness
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CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: NO ONE IS SURLY AT THIS BREWERY
Like any budding artisan, Omar Ansari spoke with great pride when he offered a visitor a taste of his creation. “Try that,” he said, pulling a shot of Furious Ale from one of the giant stainless steel tanks. “What do you think?” I think the Surly Brewing Company, the Twin Cities’ newest producer of craft beer, is on to something. Its name derives from the notion that one becomes surly when offered a mediocre beer. Furious Ale is a beaut: With each sip your tongue is greeted with a sweet malt flavor that is almost immediately chased by an astringent hoppiness, which lingers like a pleasant daydream. When asked if he thinks there’s a market around here for yet another microbrew, Ansari answered without hesitation: “Oh, we can always use more beer!”
Posted in Conversations Real & Imagined
Tagged Conversations Real & Imagined, Surly Brewing
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CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: EARNED OBSOLESCENCE
There’s usually no problem finding a good movie to see in the Twin Cities—between the imperiled Oak Street Cinema, the Heights, Walker Art Center, and Landmark Theatres, there’s plenty to choose from that doesn’t insult one’s intelligence or batter one with sound and C.G.I. Sometimes, though, you get the urge to shut down your brain and settle in with something genuinely awful. For the worst, most bizarre—and by their very nature obscure—movies in history, there is no better local source than Joel D. Stitzel’s Cinema Slop, the eccentric movie program that screens the second Tuesday of every month in the Dinkytowner Cafe.
“We present rare and unusual movies that aren’t commercially valuable,” Stitzel explains of his free program, now in its fourth year. “It’s questionable as to why people would release these in the first place.”
Posted in Conversations Real & Imagined, Lost in the Temple: Movies
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CONVERSATIONS REAL & IMAGINED: VETERANS IN THE FAMILY
“Yeah, when I was eight I saw my Grandpa burn a flag. In an old trash can he had, but in the heat of summer. Boy did he sweat. This was 1976, the Bicentennial year, and the flag was older than I, something he’d had and flown for many years.
“It was ragged dirty, but what sealed its fate was a replica of what was called a “Bennington” flag, a half circle of stars surrounding an antiquated ‘76’. Grandma bought it for him. Real cotton. Both were real cotton.
Posted in A Raging Gallimaufry: Everything Else, Conversations Real & Imagined
Tagged Conversations Real & Imagined, Dad, The Magician, Veterans
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GOD BLESS YOU, MR. VONNEGUT, OR, FATHERS READING VONNEGUT WITH SONS
I want to write about Kurt Vonnegut and what his work means to me and my father, a man I call Dad, Pop, or Duff (but only on the phone). Except that I barely know what to say. Except that I read Vonnegut because my Dad reads him. And because he’s wonderful.
Kurt, that is, though my Dad, too. For his 61st birthday, I bought Dad a copy of Vonnegut’s newest book, A Man Without A Country. Dad was thrilled: he repeated Kurt’s quip that he was going to sue the Brown & Williamson tobacco company, maker of his unfiltered Pall Mall’s, because right there on the package they promised to kill him.
Of course, Vonnegut’s not dead. “The last thing I ever wanted was to be alive when the three most powerful people on the whole planet would be named Bush, Dick, and Colon,” Kurt wrote. Dad laughed and laughed. “I love him,” he said. “Me, too,” I said.
That is more than we’ve said about each other in a very long time.
Posted in The Magician: Stories of My Dad
Tagged Kurt Vonnegut, Peter Schilling Sr., The Magician
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CURTAIN CALL
Robert Altman didn’t see much of Minnesota. During his month-long stay in St. Paul this summer, he ventured beyond the Fitzgerald Theater and his hotel but once or twice. He came, though, and even if he didn’t see much, it seems as if he was out to conquer. He left for Hollywood with footage for a film in which, reportedly, the Fitzgerald Theater gets demolished, at least one character dies, and, most important, our beloved public radio program ceases to be. Who is this guy? And what does he want with A Prairie Home Companion?
For Prairie Home is not just the pride of Minnesota, but a refuge from the anxieties of television and a return to the relaxing pace of radio. For me, the show was a Midwestern haven when I was living in the San Francisco area, where people can’t afford lawns and the leaves never change. After work on Saturdays, I would collapse on my bed and listen to Garrison Keillor’s monologue, which was as soothing as a hot bath and a cold beer.
TRIUMPH OF THE HECKLER
The spirit of Pete Adelis* was present in the Metrodome today. For those of you unfamiliar with Mr. Adelis, he was affectionately known as the Iron Lung of Shibe Park and thrived as the preeminent heckler in Philadelphia, causing no end of psychological turmoil to the Phillies, the A’s, and anyone who happened to come their way. I’ve read of Adelis with great interest, especially since I used to think the art of heckling has gone the way of Shibe Park… nothing but a memory.
Personally, I miss what I imagine were the ear-wringing noises of Ebbets Field’s Hilda Chester, Adelis (when he was nice–see below), and, of course, Tiger Stadium’s Joe “the Brow” Diroff, who I got to witness with my own eyes (and ears–he screamed as part of his routine… scary.)
However, I am also pleased to report that heckling thrives at the Metrodome, at least for one day. For a change of pace, I decided that I was going to sneak into the sweet seats this afternoon, as opposed to my usual binocular view in upper right. Sneaking in is easier if you’re a season ticket holder. With that package your advantage is a little card that states that the party in question is a season ticket holder. This gets you past the old lady guarding the “down” staircase (the gateway to the prime seats) on the assumption that you’re going to enjoy stale popcorn and slices of greasy prime rib in that barely-finished basement room which serves as a members-only club. This also gets you access to the entrances to the lower deck.
There, I circled around until I found that weak-kneed college student guarding one entrance, a youth who looks as if he’s been bullied a lot as a kid. Serendipitously, today one of these lads was guarding the entrance between the first base sections 117-118. Nonchalantly, I joined the vast crowds, walked right on through and camped myself in the top row of 118, right below the suites, with a perfect view of the game. Perfect.
Posted in The Noble Sport: Baseball
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Posted in A Raging Gallimaufry: Everything Else
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