Jim Hall recently brought his Red Cowboy Hat trio to the KUMD studios for a Live from Studio A session. They performed this tune, perfect for a sub-zero windchill day in Duluth. Audio of the full session with Jim and company is available at kumd.org.
Fans of all things cured and smoked will rejoice in knowing Northern Waters Smokehaus has opened its much-anticipated Woodland location. While the new restaurant offers some familiar lunch items from the Smokehaus, the menu is more expansive and includes alcoholic beverages.
In the March issue of The Atlantic, James Fallows once more talks up Duluth while town-hopping across the country, this time as an example of “hopeless” places reinventing themselves (full article). Scroll down to the subheading “Despite the ‘Big Short,’ Talent Dispersal is Under Way,” where he uses Epicurean/Loll to illustrate the same kind of deliberate migration that Lucie Amundsen so elegantly described in her Saturday essay.
When it comes to picking the best indoor concert venue, there are a lot of things to consider — seating, acoustics, general vibe, etc. There might be plenty of room for argument on just about any criteria, but in one facet Duluth has a clear winner. It would be tough to dispute that any local concert hall, club or coffee house has consistently brought more high-caliber talent to its stage in the past two years than the Red Herring Lounge. Among the top four in PDD’s poll, the Herring pulled out a clean win with 35 percent of the vote.
Since next week is Valentine’s Day, our theme will be “Love, Duluthian Style,” whatever that means to you. Send your suggested quiz questions (and answers) to lawrence @ perfectduluthday.com by noon on Wednesday, Feb. 10.
My husband and I had established careers and moved our young family out of our Minneapolis duplex and into our forever house in a first-ring suburb. An Atomic rambler with thick plaster walls, on a corner lot in an award-winning school district, it was lovely. Add in large, southern-exposed windows, a fireplace and a finished basement large enough to raise Shetland ponies, well, it was the “Beige Rambler of my Dreams.” Jason and I planned to watch our children grow up in their award-winning school district, as we grew old in the safety of one-floor living.
And though my husband had truly wanted this house and all its middle-class trappings, our suburban lifestyle had Jason on the verge of a boredom aneurysm.
That’s when a Duluth headhunter found him; a vulnerable adult constricted by a place where lawn maintenance was competitive sport. Given we lived on the boulevard (a term invoked with a disturbing reverence) there was pressure to perform to Olympic levels with chemical sprays, lawn services and street-long coordinated Christmas light displays. In contrast, curb appeal in the Northland is scarcely an intramural.
Clean is a construct; an aspiration more than an actuality, demanding as much scrutiny as that which we deem dirty. Each term requires criticality, and attempting to understand the world from broader contexts. Likewise, while we could use more rituals like the Roman’s annual Februa purification festival (from which I drew our theme) we could well abandon their plutocratic, militaristic ways.