The Scottsboro Boys at the Guthrie Theater

I spent a delightful evening at the Guthrie with my own white guilt. The Scottsboro Boys is a delightfully difficult couple of hours. This vaudevillian production is brutally honest and shockingly satirical. The Scottsboro Boys examines one of the most shameful episodes in American justice with jovial songs about racism and an energetic tap dance number about being fried in the electric chair.

A Broadway spectacular? Yes. This play has it all.

Too soon to find humor in this? Possibly.  I was uncomfortable to find myself laughing at times….perhaps that’s exactly what they are going for.

Holy Guacamole, training camp starts today!

I’m joining a fantasy football league.

This is strange because I don’t particularly care for football. I don’t have even a vague comprehension of football plays or stats. And I don’t know (nor do I care to learn) the difference between “off sides” and “false start”.

What I do seem to have developed, is a bizarre obsession for watching organized sports and the corresponding commentary that accompanies them. I’ll watch anything. Football, Baseball, Golf, Tennis, Soccer, Bicycling, Competitive Juggling. I just can’t seem to get enough of the competition.

I just finished the 3 week television marathon that is the Tour De France and now football training camp is already here.

I’m looking forward to football season. Waking up at 7:00am on Sunday, turning on the early morning analysis and watching it 4 times on repeat before noon kick-off. I want to put on my slippers and my comfy jeans and my purple long-sleeved t-shirt (Go Vikes!) and get psyched about meat heads and their barbaric needs to hit each other. I can’t wait for Jimmy and Terry and Howie to tell me who the better team is going to be and then be dead wrong about it.

I can’t wait to make homemade guacamole.

  • 3 Avocados, peeled, halved & seeded
  • 1 lime, juiced
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1/2 teaspoon cayenne
  • 1/2 medium yellow onion, diced
  • 2 Roma tomatoes, seeded and diced
  • 1 tablespoon chopped cilantro
  • 1 clove garlic, minced

Directions

In a large bowl place the scooped avocado pulp and lime juice, toss to coat. Drain, and reserve the lime juice, after all of the avocados have been coated. Using a potato masher add the salt, cumin, and cayenne and mash. Then, fold in the onions, tomatoes, cilantro, and garlic. Add 1 tablespoon of the reserved lime juice. Let sit at room temperature for 1 hour and then serve.

Dirty Pickle

Certain people have a thing for pickles.
Let me specify. Certain people in this household have a thing for pickles.

Dirty Pickle Martini

  • Ice
  • 8 oz. gin (vodka if you want….*heavy sigh*)
  • splash dry vermouth
  • 1 oz. chilled dill pickle juice
  • 2 pickle spears

Add ice halfway up the cocktail shaker. Add gin, vermouth and pickle juice. Shake well and strain into 2 martini glasses. Garnish with a pickle spears.

Chicago: my mixed media review

Chicago in summertime is like a breath of hot air. The kind where someone hugs you from behind and breaths gently on your neck. It’ s comfortable and romantic yet at the same time sticky and confining. We had a lovely time exploring the city and the people and the food. Personal highlights were the Lincoln Park Zoo and Al’s Italian Beef. The hugeness of Chicago makes it a great world to get lost in and meet intriguing people. Still the mid-west predictability, offers the comfort that around any corner is a post office and a Miller Lite.

Here are a few of my pictures of Chicago.

This postcard arrived at my house….

It was recently brought to my attention that my Elvis show is embarrassing the family. I now realize that the conditions for love have a direct correlation to a certain family member’s aversion to sequin jumpsuits.

I thought we had a mutual understanding that I wouldn’t hassle you about being a corporate whore, desk jockey and you would leave me to impersonating the King of Rock and Roll. I wasn’t going to mention this, but you’re kinda stealing my thunder with the coke habit and the getting fat and the over sized Gucci belt buckle.

You can’t dance and you can’t sing, otherwise I’d invite you to team up for the Bronstein bar mitzvah next weekend.

Listen Emily, I’ll quit the Elvis impersonations when you do.

love, Dave