#2: Les femmes de la Rue Pute-y-Muse

Today I salute the women who walked the streets named "Whore-Hides-Here" and "Scabby Whore" (Rue Pute-y-Muse and Impasse Putigneaux, respectively) in 13th and 14th century Paris. These philanthropic women requested to finance a stained glass window in Notre Dame (as had other tradesmen and tradeswomen), but the bishop refused their money. Perhaps he couldn't bear the thought of Church money being laundered through prostitutes only to return once more to Church coffers?

#1: St. Geneviève

Thirty pages into Colin Jones's intriguing book Paris: The Biography of a City, I am inspired to initiate a daily series honoring interesting women from French history. For each day it takes me to read the near-500 pages of tiny print, I'll profile a woman mentioned in my previous day's reading.

Today: Saint Geneviève, patron saint of Paris, police officers, and air stewards. A strict vegetarian, Geneviève was charged by a bishop with protecting the "sanctity" of Parisian virgins. While interesting, that's hardly the most important credit to her name. She also saved the city from Attila's ravages and ended at least one famine single-handedly. Geneviève also lived to be almost 100 (419-512!), which is surely a noteworthy accomplishment for 5th century France. Vegetarian, virginal, and vitalizing. Not quite Jeanne d'Arc, but she'll do.

I Wanna Holler

In French, a “détroit” is what we Anglo-parlant folks call a “strait" -- a narrow channel of water that connects two larger bodies of water. At the risk of being make-ya-wanna-vomit symbolic, I like to think that the Detroit Cobras are a channel for connecting two different eras of sound -- older R&B/soul and newer pop/rock. Their albums are endlessly enjoyable (including their new release Baby) and have introduced a number of people to a lot of songs they probably never would have heard (and all that other sappy stuff). But, for me, one lingering question remained -- which Nagy is more talented in the spotlight: Rachel or Charles?

After Friday night's show at the Triple Rock, I can definitely say that the winner is Rachel. Sure, Charles was a 3-time all star, but did he ever have an audience at his fingertips, ready to obey all commands? If he had told the Indians' fans to stop their offensive tomahawk chop, would they have listened? Probably not.

But Friday night, Rachel was in charge. If the audience started to act up, slamming each other a little too hard for her tastes, she'd quiet us down. If the white male half of a multi-racial couple refused to dance with his "hot latte mama" of a girlfriend, Rachel would have given him hell. And when a tall man in the back of the crowd refused to move a muscle or smile, she called him out on it.

Oh yeah, but the music. Well, Rachel dominated that too. Sure, the rest of the band is pretty rocking, but there's really nothing that took my attention away from Rachel and her voice. (And that décolletage-showing button-down. Ahem.) Much like at the Sleater-Kinney show, there were points where I totally forgot myself and couldn't stop jumping around, especially on "Hey Sailor" and "99 and a Half Just Won't Do."

Plus, it’s rare to find a three-band bill that thrice delivers, but this one sure enough did. Chooglin’ performed their first ever show like the seasoned stage vets they are – apparently most of the band is former Midnight Evils. And Reigning Sound followed with a captivating performance, led by Greg Cartwright, who also co-produced the Cobras' new album and appeared on stage as a full-on band member. Their name is also pretty accurate, as the sound emanating from that stage seemed bigger than what three people could produce. Though perhaps a more apt band name woulda been "Hyper-Vibrato Frontman," as Cartwright's entire body shook while he sang, reminiscent of a clarinet or sax reed being attacked by a stream of hot air.

Yeeha, I had a good time.

From Hell to Z

Since my new employers are forcing me to learn more about comics and graphic novels as part of my job -- I know, they're so mean -- I was excited to see and explore IGN's Ultimate Bookshelf of graphic novels, found via CJ. I haven't read many (probably just one, I'm ashamed to confess), but I hope to improve my batting average soon.

Unsolicited Advice

• Visit my former housemate Sam's new blog -- Unsolicited Advice. Her choice of url (deardepartedannlanders.blogspot.com) hints at the humor that is to be found there.
• Believe Mark's review of last Saturday's show at the Entry. I mostly agree with it, though I may have enjoyed Spider Fighter more than he did -- I thought their departure from the stage was too abrupt, and I didn't necessarily miss Arzu's vocal hysterics.
• Experiment with Linda McCartney's vegetarian shepherd's pie recipe, found below. She's dead, ya know, so making this dish is like paying her homage. Do it. But add a middle layer of canned peas or corn for full tastebud acrobatics.

Ingredients
1.5 lbs. potatoes
6 Tbsp. butter or margarine
1-2 Tbsp. milk
1 large onion, chopped
1 4.5 oz. packet TVP mince or 6 veggie burgers, crumbled
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
1.5 cups vegetable stock or water (3/4 cup if using veggie burgers)
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Directions
Pre-heat the oven to 400F. (Or not -- why do recipes always ask you to pre-heat before 'tis absolutely necessary?) Boil the potatoes and mash them in a bowl with 4 tablespoons of the butter and enough milk to give a good sticky consistency. Put them to one side.
Melt the remaining butter in a frying pan and sauté the onion. Add the TVP mince, soy sauce and vegetable stock. Simmer for 5-10 minutes. Season to taste.
If you want a thicker mixture, blend a little flour or vegetable gravy mix with some vegetable stock and add to the sauté. Cook until thickened, stirring constantly. Pour the mixture into a baking dish and cover with the mashed potatoes.
Bake for 30 minutes, until the potatoes are nice and brown.

Rolling in Harper Lee's Grave

Yesterday I overheard a pubescent boy squeak out the question, "I'm supposed to have a book on hold -- uh, I think it's called How to Kill a Mockingbird?"

Well, I don't think this is exactly the required reading he was looking for, but here's a Flash interpretation of "how to kill a mockingbird."

[NOTE: Due to technical difficulties, I myself haven't viewed said killing, but all internet reviews proclaim that it's hysterical.]

Aural Double Dutch

In Thunder, Lightning, Strike, their 2004 UK release, The Go! Team created the perfect soundtrack to go alongside memories of schoolyard days filled with sidewalk chalk and kickball. Luckily for those of us in the U.S. who balk at import prices, Columbia released the album in the states in early October -- with two bonus tracks! [Also, check out their U.S. website, which is less annoyingly Flash-based and allows you to download the neat icon to your upper left.]

Though less politically motivated than either Northern State or Le Tigre, The Go! Team inspire the same goofy grin and unconscious head-bobbing. Plus, they're more talented samplers and know how to use vocals sparingly and effectively.

"Get It Together" has lazy sunny day anthem written all over it -- until the last 30 seconds kick in and you're forced to your feet, jumping and chanting along. "Junior Kickstart" is what every '70s cop show theme song tried to be. "Friendship Update" is what every '80s cop show theme song tried to be. And "Huddle Formation" is just damn near the best new song I've heard in years.

I'd definitely be going to see them at First Ave. tomorrow night if I wasn't getting out of work three hours after the show starts. I'm crushed; still, I hope my Minneapolis compatriots will go shake their respective booties at the show for me.

NOTE: Today, I've found that in addition to a perfect schoolyard soundtrack, the album nicely accompanies celebratory dances in honor of Harriet Miers’ Supreme Court nomination withdrawal and/or Cheryl Swoopes’ coming out.]

The Final "Final Solution"

Well, I finally got around to reading Michael Chabon's Sherlock Holmes as old man in the countryside pastiche -- The Final Solution: A Story of Detection. My grade: B+.

The mere facts that Chabon used an actual Doyle story title (The Final Solution) for the title of his own novella, and that he is a Pulitzer-Prize winning, mega-popular writer put me ill at ease. I was prepared to wretch and convulse throughout the mere 131 pages at the slightest hint of snobbery or misunderstanding of Holmes's character. Luckily for me (and the pristine pages of the library book), I found no serious cause to hurl.

This was my first Chabon adventure and I discovered what many already know -- this man can write. Anyone who can use the words "echolalia" and "susurrus" without making you flinch or lose your rhythm doth know how to wield a pen. The tale he crafted was sweet, though the mystery itself was tame and somewhat boring. However, unlike Doyle, Chabon consciously pursued character studies rather than intrigue, so perhaps this lack was on purpose.

Now to the big question: was his characterization of an 89-year-old Holmes pure? I'd say relatively so. While I prefer my Holmes strong and spry, any near-nonagenarian has gotta have his creaky bones and slow habits. Chabon gives his "old man" these qualities with a quiet dignity. The role of solitary beekeeper who doesn't actually like honey nicely bridges Doyle's solitary and ironic Holmes into the land of the elderly. I didn't quite appreciate or believe that Holmes would have abandoned all of his vices though. Not that I expected him to still be shooting up coke, but I doubted his antipathy towards any kind of alcohol. The major qualm I had was his overly emotional response to people and situations, particularly his quick and easy attachment to the German boy at the heart of the story and his near breakdown at the sight of post-war London. Oh well.

Just a couple more notes:
1) I hated those goddamn illustrations. They added nothing to the story, and actually detracted from it. Jay Ryan, you ain't no Sidney Paget, and I'm not reading a children's book.
2) Chabon's attempt to slip in references to real Holmes stories bordered on overkill. You actually read all the stories, we get it and believe you.
3) I am still uncertain about the perspective of Chapter 10, but I'm beginning to think I like it. (You'll have to read it for yourself; I hate people who ruin surprise twists.)

So, anyway, I guess I actually recommend this one. Plus, unlike Kavalier and Clay, it's super short and will only suck a few hours from your life.

Fit for the Godfather

Like Richard Nixon said, "I am not a cook." I love baking, but anything requiring olive oil rather than vegetable oil is usually out of my domain. However, I was inspired to put away my bundt pans (temporarily) by a recipe for baked ziti with seitan from a Vegetarian Times cookbook. I made it last night and it was tasty. Leftovers tonight were equally pleasing. Here's the recipe in case you want to try for yourself.

Ingredients
12 oz. dried ziti
8 oz. seitan
2 cups button or cremini mushrooms (I used cremini)
1 25-oz. jar tomato sauce
1 lb. extra-firm tofu, drained, or low-fat ricotta (I used high-fat ricotta)
1/3 cup chopped fresh basil or 5.5 tsp. dried basil
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
2 tsp. olive oil
salt to taste
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
1/2 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

Directions
1. Preheat the oven to 400F. (That's a lie. Preparation takes a while; no need to preheat yet.)
2. Heat pot of lightly salted H2O over medium heat and cook pasta. Drain & set aside.
3. Chop the seitan and mushrooms until coarse and crumbly. (That's the seitan that should be crumbly, not the mushrooms.) Put the mixture in a large saucepan, stir in the tomato sauce and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and cover to keep warm.
4. Put the tofu, basil, lemon juice, 2 tsp. of oil, pepper and salt into a food processor or blender, and process until the consistency resembles ricotta. If using ricotta, mix by hand.
5. Spread several Tbsp. of the tomato-seitan mixture in a 13x9 inch baking dish, making sure to evenly coat the bottom and sides to prevent sticking. Combine the pasta, tofu mixture, the remaining tomato-seitan mixture and parsley. Fold gently to combine all the ingredients. Spread evenly into the baking dish.
6. Bake for 15 minutes, or until heated through. (Or until you've dealt with the blaring smoke alarm and turned the oven back on.) Remove from the oven, and serve hot to Don Corleone.

Lost Twin Cities

I recently watched the second installment of TPT's "Lost Twin Cities" series from the mid-'90s, based on Larry Millett's book by the same name. (Yes, the same Larry Millett who gets my hackles up whenever I think about his Sherlock Holmes stories.) While the segments about Northwest's Stratocruiser and the downfall of Porky's Drive-Ins were boringly quaint, the series really delivered when it described the tragedy of lost architecture in St. Paul and the racial unity (however brief it was) around jazz at the Treasure Inn.

Treasure Inn sax player Percy Hughes wistfully described the turning point in the Inn's life:

There was an argument. And all of a sudden there were gunshots. And I remember kneeling behind, of all things, my music stand, which wouldn't stop a bullet. No way! And a dear friend of mine was killed. He was shot. And my heart just went out to Dick and Claude and Howard [the club's owners]. But to see a club, black and white and everyone just enjoying, there's a beautiful message there. We need more messages like that right now.

The most heartbreaking segment was about the callous destruction by St. Paul officials of the culture and homes at Swede Hollow on the east side of the city. Tucked away in a ravine that you can only access through an old railroad tunnel -- and towered over by brewer magnate Theodore Hamm's mansion -- Swede Hollow was the home of numerous waves of immigrants who couldn't afford to live anywhere else. Sure, the Hollow probably wasn't the safest or healthiest place to live, but why slash and burn (quite literally, by the way) when you could help the residents build safe homes up to public health standards instead of shipping them all off to apartments?

On the upside, at least Minneapolis' Urban Adventurers, the Action Squad, have found pleasure in exploring the abandoned ruins of Hamm's Brewery. Until the brewery gets razed by the city, that is.

Frankly, Big Papi, I Don't Give a Damn

It’s Oscar time for baseball. Soon, overly muscular men will strut their stuff on the red carpet of the media (or at least sports journalists and the players’ PR reps will) to prove why each one is or is not deserving of the Cy Young, MVP, Rookie of the Year, and Manager of the Year awards. These awards seem as meaningful to me as a juicy filet mignon sitting on my plate -- not very. I can never remember who won the previous year’s awards, nor do I care to.

But I am intrigued by the debate stirred up this year (and in past years too, I’m sure) about the relative merit of giving the MVP award to a DH rather than to a player who participates on both offense and defense. Fans and journalists are pledging their allegiance either to Alex Rodriguez or David Ortiz for the AL MVP; most for Rodriguez are citing Big Papi's less than frequent stints on defense. Despite my Red Sox love, I don't really care who wins. But if pinned down to choose, of course I'd say Ortiz. The argument (thank you Scott Miller) kinda goes like this:

Normally, I subtract points for a designated hitter. I know the argument -- hey, it's in the rules that a guy can use the stick but not his glove -- but a DH still is not a complete player. However, Ortiz has been so money for the Red Sox over the past two seasons -- and particularly this year -- that I believe his summer has been special enough to warrant the award. Of his 47 home runs, 20 have either tied the game or put the Red Sox ahead. As Ortiz himself might say, that's a lot of clutch homers, bro.

Beyond what this discussion means for the MVP debate (cause I don't care, remember?), I'm more interested in the potential implications for Hall of Fame inductions, which I do care about. In 2003, when the debate was raging about Edgar Martinez, I remember staunchly refusing him a ticket to Cooperstown by arguing that as a DH he didn't belong. Now I realize that what I meant to argue was that EdMar shouldn't be in the Hall because of his lack of stellar accomplishments, not because of his position.

If Ted Williams had been a DH and hit in the same way, I would have wanted him to be inducted. Same with Pete Rose. (Oh, right.) Just cause you're a DH doesn't mean you can't be the most valuable player or Hall of Fame caliber. It just means you have to be pretty damn awesome to overcome the fact that you're sitting on the bench for more than half the game. I think Ortiz has it in him to do just that.

[Oh, and since I mentioned it, I may as well officially say on record that Pete Rose has my backing to be in the Hall of Fame. Anything he did while a manager isn't any more greedy or harmful to baseball than any number of moves made by players, coaches, and managers nearly every day. He just got caught. It shouldn't affect his status as one of the greatest players of all time. (In 1999 Sporting News selected him as the 25th Greatest Baseball Player, ahead of Sandy Koufax, Tris Speaker, Rod Carew, Mel Ott, and Yogi Berra, among others.) Hell, they let violent assholes into the Hall, so why not a gambler?]

You Mean I Can't Buy Condoms with That?

Congratulations to Dr. Dora Mills, Director of Maine's Bureau of Health, and Governor John Baldacci for continuing to refuse federal abstinence-only "sex education" money. Their decision has brought the grand total of states that refuse to take such funds to a whopping three; Pennsylvania and California complete the trio.

Unfortunately, Dr. Mills (and future state funding for the Bureau of Health) are now under attack by conservative members of the state legislature:

"First of all, the bureau's director, Dr. Dora Mills, is not a policymaker or elected, like legislators, so I continue to object to policy being made by bureaucrats," [State Sen. Debra D.] Plowman said. "Second, I hope that she's going to find that $161,000 somewhere in her budget to continue the program she has been involved in, because we're not making it up. So she best not be asking for any increases in her budget next year, or the two years after that for that matter. If she can unilaterally turn away money, then she can't be in too difficult circumstances. She, and the governor, should have run that one by the Legislature."

Aside from the petty linguistic criticism of Plowman's contention that one can make a unilateral bureaucratic decision in conjunction with a state elected official (the Guv at that!), this quote is pure schoolyard battle drivel. "She best not be asking me for an Oreo after thumbing her nose at Mrs. Smith's Soft Batch chocolate chip cookie yesterday." What, is Debra Plowman 9 years old?

Of course, I'm anti-abstinence-only funding, so I'd agree with Mills's and Baldacci's decision regardless of the conservative response. But if I were a Maine resident and read Plowman's asinine threats, I'd be incensed that this woman was ever elected to the legislature. Mills wasn't overstepping her bounds as a bureau director by acting in conjunction with the Administration to refuse that funding. She was being smart and principled and demonstrating that not all state officials are out for more federal money to stuff their own coffers.

La Haîne

Here are some folks who recently have received spit-laced invectives for committing various "crimes," some great, some small, and some imaginary. You decide which is which.

• God-and-country-lovin' John Denver fans turn violent when Mark writes a review exposing the irrelevance of their beloved'’s music.
• After implicating teammate Miguel Tejada in his own embarrassing steroid controversy, Raffy Palmeiro is asked to leave the Orioles' locker room and to not return for the rest of the season. Oddsmakers put it that no other team will ask him to ride their bench next season either.
• Police in Ciudad Juarez receive fiery criticism for their gross incompetence in investigating the murder of 350+ women in the city and surrounding area.
  
• New York Yankee Derek "I-I-I-I-I-get-around" Jeter receives more hate mail for dating white women.

Walk, Don't Run to the Playoffs

For other ailing Red Sox fans out there, I have a temporary cure for your playoff worries: the toe-tap inducing guitar-and-drum goodness of The Challengers. It's hard to find an objective history of the band, but check out bassist Randy Nauert's nifty summary and Challengers Cartoon Book.

Though not the most famous of the surf rock bands of the '60s, these guys knew how to play the genre well and outplayed some of the original bands on the very tunes that made them so famous (The Ventures and The Surfaris, to name just two). Seriously, check out The Challengers' version of "Wipeout." It may stave off fears about the Red Sox, who are in danger of doing just that.

You gotta have balls to call 'em

Do you go to a French restaurant expecting the head chef to have been born and raised in Provence? Or are you more concerned that the chef cooks your “moules avec frites” to perfection? According to “Breaking into Baseball: Women and the National Pastime” by Jean Hastings Ardell, the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues (NAPBL) demonstrated its allegiance to pure French ethnicity in a 1968 lawsuit concerning the contract of Bernice “Bernie” Gera, one of the few female umpires to break even the single A ranks of professional baseball:

Leisure [the NAPBL Wall Street-trained lawyer] likened the NABL’s need for male umpires to that of a French restaurant’s need for a French chef or a religious organization’s preference for a salesman of its own creed.

Hmm...isn't an employer hiring based on preferences for her/his own group characteristics illegal (in theory, anyway)? The New York State Human Rights Commission agreed that it was, and Gera eventually did win the battle -- after 5 years of stress and attorney fees. So, how come the situation of female umpires in professional baseball has not improved since Gera’s case almost 40 years ago?

For example, Pam Postema – who had accumulated 12 years of professional umpiring experience, including 6 in triple A – was set for a historical promotion to the majors in 1988. However, after a controversial media attack against her led by born-again Christian/ Houston Astros pitcher Bob Knepper, Postema was “released” from her duties for ejecting too many people and a “worsening” attitude. [Insiders knowingly blamed these foibles on a bad case of PMS, I'm sure.] Postema's fate was sealed by a tell-all expose of major league baseball (which I've gotta read) and questions surrounding her sexuality. She would never call a game in the majors -- and neither would any other woman.

It is true that Postema's goal eluded her and that few women followed in her path. Melvin Driskoll, of Jim Evans's Academy of Professional Umpiring, said they have a hard time attracting women. [Do they even try?] Between 1977 and 2002, thirteen women attended Harry Wendelstedt's school, with only Postema and Theresa Cox making it into the minor leagues.

If professional experts are supposed to reflect their charges or clientele, can someone explain why so many women’s basketball/ hockey/ volleyball/ curling coaches are men? Or why so many gynecologists and obstetricians are men? Cause last time I checked, men don’t have vaginas.

But It's Only 10 Miles from I-80

Since Mark has already brilliantly documented the highlights of our semi-cross country trek, here are the coulda-been highlights -- if we had had two more weeks to make the journey and a shitload of money:

Our first tangential stop was to Wheatland -- "Where Presidential History Comes to Life." Oh boy, and did it ever. I will never forget traipsing through the rooms that once housed James Buchanan.

We then headed west to Altoona, PA to visit the famous horseshoe curve. I had been there before, but wanted to ride that crazy "Funicular" again.

A couple hours into our trip, we stopped at Frank Lloyd Wright's classic woodsy architectural haven, Fallingwater. I bought this T-shirt.

Next, Mark wanted to stop at the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. We spent a couple hours gazing at Marilyn and a bunch of soup cans and then combed through the archives.

In our continuing search for presidential paraphernelia, we had barely crossed the border into Ohio before hitting the McKinley Memorial Library and Museum. We even got to sit next to McKinley, who was daintily perched on a red velvet couch.

After leaving McKinley behind, we hightailed it to Cedar Point Park, where two full days were spent riding roller coasters. We probably felt a combined 500 G's pushing and lifting and generally propelling our bodies in all directions. I left a happy woman.

At this point, we decided to make a beeline for Minneapolis, and only allowed ourselves one more (ridiculously expensive) stop -- at Taliesin, the Wright house and compound located in Spring Green, WI. Super pretty and worth the money if you happen to have it bulging out of your wallet.

Aaahhh...then home once again.

Tennis Rocket Battles

Dear Lord. And to think Andre Agassi used to be at the top of my "I hate you" list.

Agassi over Blake 3-6, 3-6, 6-3, 6-3, 7-6 (8-6).

I sure wish Pete were still playing, so we could compare their mid-30s tennis capabilities. And their adorable schlockiness:

At 1:15 in the morning for 20,000 people to still be here, I wasn't the winner, tennis was.

Stalled at the Start

How is a person supposed to start boxing up books and clothes when the fascinating U.S. Open match between Rafael "I-can't-decide-if-I-prefer-black-or-white-capris" Nadal and James "Thank-God-my-face-is-no-longer-paralyzed" Blake is taking place?

Blake's currently serving at 5-4 for the first set after having just broken Nadal. Oh, what I wouldn't do for Blake's inside-out forehand.

Blake just won the first set. Please let him knock that pretty Spaniard out.

Hometown Pride

In honor of the anniversary of the first day of the Great Textile Strike in Woonsocket (Sept. 1, 1934), take a look at this Illustrated Timeline of Woonsocket Labor History. Those fiesty Canucks!

I am also proud to report that the University of Minnesota library has the book published by the Industrial Trades Union of America that is pictured at left.

Snoozin' Song Tag

Okay, so Bob Mould didn't exactly tag me personally, but I've visited his Whole Foods a couple times in the past week and maybe I touched a nectarine that he gently nudged with his knuckle while reaching for the grapes...

Here's the deal: List ten songs you currently are obsessing over -- any genre, any format, etc. If you have a blog, do it there; if you don't, do it here. Then tag five people or so. Here are my songs, in no particular order:

Arcade Fire: Wake Up
Kleenex/Liliput: You
Rufus Wainwright: One Man Guy
Bikini Kill: Feels Blind
Will Smith: Switch
Imperial Teen: Teacher's Pet
The Go-Betweens: Heart and Home
Missy Elliott: Lose Control
Guns N' Roses: Mr. Brownstone
The Positions: Back to Me

Okay: Mark, Eli, Jon, Ezra & Alex, Kate & Eden, Emily, CJ, Ross, and Liz -- consider your nectarines gently nudged by my knuckles.