picked to click
Crazy blog idea that I just made up for anyone who wants to try it: drunkallthetime.com. Only blog while drunk. I'm totally not projecting right now. Let's check the links:
I was perusing the books lying on the floor at a prominent rock critic's house tonight and chuckled at seeing Lester Bangs sitting there. Anyway, The Onion this week: History of Rock Written by the Losers. (Oh shush, my dear, you know I'm not insinuating.)
Filmmaker Mag: Sophia Coppola's Top Ten Movies. It's buried, so here they are: All That Jazz, Badlands, Darling, GoodFellas, The Heartbreak Kid, Lolita, The Piano, Rumblefish, Safe, Tootsie. And dude, you've totally gotta see this Chemical Brothers video she starred in. BTW, the karaoke scene in Lost in Translation is utterly befuddling in its beauty. (Thanks Amy's Robot.)
GreenCine announced a downloadable movies service.
Howard Rheingold on how cell phones have accelerated urban culture. (Funny how I can hear some of my friends asking "and this is a good thing?" while I read this.)
Fashion? Yeah, I know. But at least a few of you will click when I say the words Anna Wintour interview in WSJ. (And even if it's only three of you, I'm pretty sure you're a female who will accost me at the next Candace Bushnell reading, so it's worth it.)
I'm so classy: Celebrity Tongues. I don't care what you say, I still vote for Winona.
Dancing To DJs As Mies van der Rohe
I'm not sure if this is a "DJ as furniture" syndrome, but my favorite spots to meet friends this year all had quasi-celeb DJs spinning: Wednesday night at the Imperial Room, Sunday night at Fuji-ya (half-price sushi!), Solera all week, and Kitty Cat Klub on some whack schedule. If I called these places "My Own Personal Cheers," you'd smirk like you would at trucker hats and flash mobs, but these were the post-show locales where the music community debated Riemenschneider's importance and Westerberg's quirkiness and First Ave.'s longevity and whatevva else made the music scene buzz, buzz, buzz. More of that, please, with the spicy salmon roll, double wasabi.
Triple Rock Social Club
Despite flaunting itself as an ergonomic dirty bomb -- the slanted & enchanted bar that causes pints of perfectly drinkable Summit to slip onto the unremissive pavement; the shockingly Chipotle-esque interior that makes you hunger extra guac; the always-packed, culture-clash micro-hallway between bar and club; a parking dilemma more infuriating than witnessing Block E developers slap a Hard Rock Cafe across the street from a downtown music club landmark -- Triple Rock has nonetheless been the Twin Cities glee factory of the past year. I heard the phrase "Did you see the show...?" ten-times more this year because of this off-Dinkytown venue, and that forgives any anti-Feng Shui you can throw at this music scene.