Rodney Thomas and Duane Snow win GOP noms for Board of Supervisors

Local Republicans defied the rain on Tuesday night to nominate two candidates for the county Board of Supervisors.

After eating a potluck dinner under a shelter in McIntire Park, more than 70 county residents picked Duane Snow to run in the Samuel Miller District and Rodney Thomas in the Rio District.

The latter promised to reduce spending if he is elected—he would have to beat incumbent David Slutzky—by lowering taxes. “The taxpayers of Albemarle County should not be solely responsible for making up the shortfalls of the budget,” he said.  

Thomas ran unopposed for the nomination but Snow beat out fellow candidate Phil Melita to try to replace longtime Supervisor Sally Thomas who is retiring after 15 years on the board.

“We have county leaders that have no idea of how to run a business,” he said, calling on his 35 years of experience as the owner of Snow’s Garden Center.

Democrat Madison Cummings and independent John Lowry will challenge him for the seat.  
 

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Arts

Jungle fever

“What Not to Wear”
Friday 9pm, TLC

Remember Mayim Bialik, star of ’90s teen sitcom “Blossom”? She’s back, and she looks like shit! Bialik will be getting a makeover from style mavens Stacy London and Clinton Kelly on the season premiere of their popular TLC show. After “Blossom,” Bialik retired from acting to study neuroscience, although she’s made periodic returns to the screen (she played a lesbian on “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” a sexed-up version of herself on “Fat Actress,” and most memorably for me, was the star of the segment “Mayim Bialik American History” on ’90s MTV game show “Idiot Savants”). But it’s true that she generally looks terrible whenever she pops up. Perhaps London and Kelly can resuscitate her closet, if not her career. Just leave those Blossom hats alone!

“I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!”
Monday 8pm, NBC

Back in 2003, ABC Americanized the hit British reality show “I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!,” which is essentially “Survivor” with famous people. (Er, “famous” people—Jennifer Lopez’s second ex-husband won the first season.) The show flopped. So NBC, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to bring it back and put it on four nights a week for the majority of June. Cast members this time include Stephen Baldwin, “American Idol” joke Sanjaya Malakar, former model/professional crazypants Janice Dickinson (who came in second in the UK version), and “The Hills” atrocities Spencer and Heidi. Three more cast members have yet to be revealed, and are rumored to include Geraldo Rivera, Lou Diamond Phillips, and the wife of disgraced Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich, who was originally supposed to participate, but who got nixed by a judge. Boo. That I’d watch.

“Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien”
Monday 11:30pm, NBC

“The Tonight Show” will be watchable again for the first time since Johnny Carson retired in 1992. Unfunny hack Jay Leno has finally been shuffled off the stage along with his Dancing Itos, and offbeat ginger beanpole Conan O’Brien will finally take over tonight, bringing most of the gang from his “Late Show” program with him. The Max Weinberg 7 will remain house band, and former sidekick Andy Richter will return as announcer, having learned his lesson that it’s better to play Ed McMahon to a successful funnyman rather than toil away in increasingly awful short-lived sitcoms. First guests include Will Ferrell and Pearl Jam.

Categories
Living

First comes platonic love, then comes marriage

The first time Michael McElrath met his fiancée Crystal Stevens, he forgot her name. “He never was good with names,” says Crystal. But in September he’ll make up for the memory lapse by giving her his own. Michael was a year ahead of Crystal at UVA and involved in the IMPACT Movement, a national organization that promotes African-American leadership and spirituality on college campuses. Crystal introduced herself because she was interested in joining the organization. Through mutual friends, visits to Main Street’s First Baptist Church where Crystal’s uncle Dr. Bruce Beard was pastor, and a shared faith, Crystal and Michael’s purely platonic bond grew stronger. For two years they were best friends, like brother and sister, until Michael began developing romantic feelings. When he confessed his feelings to Crystal in February 2005, her first reaction was confused: “You treat me like a little sister.” But it turned out the big brother qualities she loved in him translated well into a new relationship. “He had an old-fashioned Southern upbringing,” Crystal says. He was the kind of guy who would walk her home after dark. He was chivalrous, sincere, and sweetly attentive. “You could tell he was hanging onto my every word,” says his fiancée.

 

Michael and Crystal discussed getting married and even looked at rings together, but Michael still wanted to preserve some spontaneity for their engagement. “I said, ‘You pick five rings and I’ll make the final pick so it will be a surprise.’ But by the look on her face, one ring really had her heart.” He aligned the big moment with his birthday dinner last October, in the midst of Crystal’s hectic law school schedule at Emory in Atlanta (she’s an MTS/JD ’10 candidate). Characteristically for Michael, he might have gone overboard with the planning, arranging an advance manicure for his girlfriend (“Because everyone would be looking at her hands,” reasoned Michael. “What’s wrong with my nails?” Crystal thought at the time), and selecting her favorite dress for their dinner at an upscale restaurant. But he’d forgotten to plan one key element of the engagement: How would he propose?

Michael relives the crucial moment at dinner. “It’s racing through my mind how I’m going to get her this ring. I excused myself to the bathroom, pulled one of the waiters aside, and told him to present the ring on a plate, kind of dress it up.” Michael returned to the table and was surprised by a different waiter approaching him with a complimentary birthday dessert. Crystal had also pulled some strings with the waitstaff. When Michael’s accomplice arrived with a second dessert, Crystal thought she was getting crème brulée. When Michael took the ring and got down on one knee, she began laughing, as Michael had bet friends she would, and “assaulting [him] with her dinner napkin,” which was not expected. “We received some odd stares from surrounding dinner patrons,” Michael remembers. Crystal said yes, of course, and fulfilled Michael’s birthday wish: “The only thing I wanted for my birthday was for her to be with me forever.”

Categories
Arts

Terminator gets a Bale-out

It’s 2018, and Skynet, the extremely pro-death-penalty artificial intelligence network, is just about finished scouring humanity from the face of the Earth. Robots of various sizes, shapes, menace and volumes are dispatched to eliminate whatever people might be left alive from the nuclear “judgment day” of a few years earlier.

Ground control to Major Schwarzenegger! John Connor (Christian Bale) keeps the Resistance alive in Terminator Salvation.

Eliminate them, that is, or harvest their parts to make stealthier robots. How that works is a little fuzzy, especially to this guy Marcus (Sam Worthington), who thought he died on death row in 2003, just after donating his body to science, but woke up in the here and now feeling a lot like the experimental prototype of a genocidal cyborg. That’s not cool. But hey, maybe that conspicuously cancer-stricken doctor (Helena Bonham Carter) who visited Marcus’ cell to work out his dubious last-minute deal was onto something: The 2018 atmosphere is full of fallout, yet radiation sickness apparently is a thing of the past! Onward and upward!

Oh, right—the robots. With their beady red eyes, creepy electronic-whalesong war cries and ludicrously heavy artillery, they really are terrifying. Good thing John Connor (Christian Bale), the “prophesied leader of the Resistance,” is here to, well, resist them. With Marcus as a wrench in his works, or maybe a useful tool, Connor must track down Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), the teenager he’ll later send back through time to protect his mother Sarah Connor—and impregnate her, with him.

There is the suggestion that Skynet has gotten wise to Connor’s elaborately pre-emptive defense, or at least to Bale’s general aura of futility. But all is not lost: With so many time-travel plots interlocked in the Terminator apparatus by now, even sentient super computers seem prone to exploitable confusion about the chronology. It also helps that Yelchin, who also recently rebooted Star Trek’s Chekov, has such a knack for reinvigorating cherished sci-fi characters. His scrappy survivor Reese very plausibly might grow up to become Michael Biehn and throw down with Arnold Schwarzenegger in 1984.

Whatever gets him through this movie. Director McG, himself possibly named for the experimental prototype of a genocidal McDonald’s sandwich, and trained in the art of narrative mess-making through music videos and Charlie’s Angels movies, reassembles this franchise of diminishing returns in an approximation of working order, but with some pretty essential-seeming parts (such as sense) left in a pile on the floor. Amidst all the shrapnel, Schwarzenegger does make a brief, mute appearance, and it looks like just another item on the homage checklist.

Otherwise, with a grimy gun-metal monochrome to match Bale’s gravelly monotone, cinematographer Shane Hurlbut gets that post-apocalyptic look just fine; maybe Bale’s infamous on-set tantrum should’ve been aimed not at him but instead at screenwriters John Brancato and Michael Ferris, mysteriously asked back after Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. Just because a movie is about mechanical, impersonal, marauding things doesn’t mean it should behave like them.

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News

Doctor's in

Dear Ace, I read that the University of Virginia School of Medicine just graduated 21 students of internal medicine this year. But I’m confused; isn’t all medicine internal?—Tangled Innards

Dear Innards, You obviously have not attended medical school lately, because you are forgetting about acupuncture, dermatology, and telemedicine (similar to phone sex but with a less gratifying clinical angle). There’s also the possibility that internal docs are just practicing medicine on themselves, not on other people. But in the case of UVA, these 21 young internists are distinguished from 20 pediatrics trainees and 15 students of emergency medicine, among other specialized doctors making up the 139 members of the Class of 2009. Congratulations Class of 2009! Now Ace can track you down at parties to tell you about his aching spleen.

Internal medicine is defined as “the branch of medicine dealing with the diagnosis, management, and nonsurgical treatment of diseases, especially of internal organ systems.” But in practice an internist is basically a go-to physician, the primary care doctor you consult whenever things go awry in body or mind, or when you want to prevent malady in general. In today’s hospitals, however, an internist might refer you to a more specialized doctor, depending on your problem. Subspecialties of internal medicine include nephrology (think kidneys), endocrinology (think hormones), cardiology (think heart), and gastroenterology (think digestive system, then giggle). Internists licensed in these specialties have usually completed an additional several years of training, as if the usual eight-year track of medical school plus residency isn’t enough. In contrast, Ace is grateful that his private investigation diploma is nothing more than a sign on the door and an ad in the paper.

All this doctor talk reminds Ace of an old joke: “Q. What’s the difference between a general practitioner and a specialist? A. One treats what you have; the other thinks you have what he treats.” Well right now Ace has a case of loneliness that can only be treated by “Mandy” and her 1-900 number. There’s a reason specialists earn so much money.

You can ask Ace yourself. Intrepid investigative reporter Ace Atkins has been chasing readers’ leads for 20 years. If you have a question for Ace, e-mail it to ace@c-ville.com.

Categories
News

Poetry conversation for dummies

“Are you familiar with the works of Jung, Hans?”
“I am…aware…of the works of Jung, Herr Oberst.”
—The Eagle Has Landed

No greater intellectual gaucherie exists than to learn a subject too well, no profounder vulgarity than to admit to such depth. Poetry in its being idiomatic, inscrutable, obscurantist, and judged by the most extreme relativist standards makes it terrifically malleable to the purposes of experts and other boors. Any adult who ever hoists a cocktail will at some juncture be cornered by a Ph.D. vaporising about William Blake (Kevin Costner in Bull Durham: “William Blake?  William BLAKE?!”). While best to walk away shaking your head, an occasion may arise in which you must endure or even engage: your thesis advisor, a pal of your significant other, your hostess. Here, a few extemporizations to pull you through until the gin kicks in.

The Browning Gambit

Listen attentively and wait for the speaker to pause. Draw out a “Yessssss…” while staring into your cocktail, then when all eyes and ears are upon you, look up at the speaker coyly and quote: “When it was written, God and Robert Browning knew what it meant; now only God knows.” Look enigmatic as silence falls and you stalk away.

The Waugh Gambit

From the novel Scoop, whenever Lord Copper asked his assistant if he’d read a certain author that he had not, the lackey would respond “Up to a point, Lord Copper.” Make this your mantra. Dithering poet-fancier: “Blah-blah phallic symbolism  blah-blah you know Heine, right?” You: “Up to a point, of course.” This keeps you in the game, but allows you to continue making grocery lists in your head.

Earlier Works Gambit

Memorize an obscure line or two from a decent poet. Blathering professor rambles on about fave poet. Listen attentively, raise an eyebrow. Professor stops to sip Moet, say you’ve always preferred the poet’s earlier works, as “more terse and emotive.” Recite your verse, eyes closing, trail off into silence. Speaker assumes you know the poet in great depth, is stumped by the verse, rarely restarts monologuing. This snippet of Shelley has foiled a dozen grandstanders speaking on poets from Milton to Rod McKuen:

“The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere each vapour that obscur’d the sunset’s ray
As pallid evening twines her beaming hair in duskier braids around the languid eyes of day…”

Gambit of Misdirection by Irrelevance and Authority

Never refer to the poet under discussion. Never refer to the theme in question. Always trump a minor with a major poet.

Two examples:

 

Poet: Angelou

Theme: Earth Our Mother

Your move: “I’d always thought Wilde a greater aphorist than dramatist… was he also a poet? Too many irons.”

 

Poet: Dylan

Theme: If any, obscured by harmonica

Your move: “Whitman likely discovered his homosexuality when serving as a medic in the Civil War…”

Categories
Living

The City Market chef show

If you’re an early bird to the Saturday City Market (a 7am-er), you’ve probably been indulging in a little treat that few of your late riser friends probably even know about—free samples of seasonal, locally-sourced dishes courtesy of chef and L’étoile restaurant owner Mark Gresge. That’s right. Free. This is the third year Gresge has set up his own stand at the market to give shoppers a taste of what’s possible with the local bounty plus a recipe for trying the dish at home. A couple of weeks ago, it was Dixie cups of chilled English pea soup that earned rave reviews; Gresge ran out of all five gallons he’d made by 10:30am. This past week he distributed greens from Roundabout Farm braised with bacon he’d cured and smoked himself served over Bird Mill Grits from Ashland.

L’étoile’s Mark Gresge (seen here in the restaurant garden) has been preaching the local-food gospel for years, and now he’ll be doing it over the airwaves.

Gresge admits there’s a bit of self-promotion in his freebies, but when he tells us he also just wants to share his knowledge “with people who wouldn’t know what to do with fresh spinach,” we believe he’s sincere. After all, Gresge has been showcasing local products at L’étoile for more than 10 years—that’s well before “Buy Local” became a popular bumper sticker. And even now, he doesn’t reference this or that farm on his menu as a way of touting his commitment to local and seasonal ingredients from the likes of Polyface and Planet Earth Diversified, because it’s just a given that he would use the freshest and best ingredients available. “Any good restaurant does that,” he says.

This year, Gresge is also co-hosting a radio program from his City Market stand with radio personality Joe Thomas of WCHV 1260 AM. If you see Gresge walking around with white chef coat and mic, let him and all the listeners out there know how much you love local strawberries and those Bagelini things.

Tavola to open; Ventana to expand

The latest word from Michael Keaveny is that Tavola, the restaurant he will open in the old Crush space in Belmont, will have a mid-June debut. The latest word from Michael Fitzgerald is that Ventana, his tiny “Modern Mexican” small plate and fancy drink pad in the alley on Fifth Street SE, will take over the space next door vacated by Migration: A Gallery earlier this year. With the assistance of architect Michael Stoneking, who owns the building, Fitzgerald plans to knock out the wall between the two spaces, expand the kitchen and create a full dining room and lounge. In addition to tripling the number of seats and gaining the capacity for full-scale dinners and private parties, Ventana is also getting street frontage on Water Street where Fitzgerald plans to create open air seating. Local chef Sebastian Jack will take over as executive chef when the newly expanded Ventana opens “by August 25,” says Fitzgerald.

The larger space will accommodate an expanded menu of small plates, salads, appetizers and entrées as well as a Thursday-Saturday fixed “degustation” menu. Fitzgerald says prices likely will be in the range of $8-12 for small plates and $15-25 for larger dishes, with a few feature items listed at $30-plus.

Fitzgerald tells us Ventana likely will close around mid-July while the contractors make two spaces into one. Though he admits this is an interesting time to be making such a major expansion, the availability of an adjacent space was something he just couldn’t pass up. “Would this opportunity come up in a good economy?” he asks.

Categories
Living

New noise from Devon Sproule and a super Nice Jenkins

If last Sunday’s auction at the former Gravity Lounge venue was the final spring cleaning of the year, then this week rang in the glut of summertime, a belt-buckling binge after so much purging. Don’t fill up on rolls, people, until you get the rock from these two new albums.

Heavens! Hurry for Devon!

From Silver to gold? Devon Sproule releases her latest album, Don’t Hurry for Heaven, on iTunes.

First, a new batch of ditties from one of our favorite local pretties. If Keep Your Silver Shined was Devon Sproule’s “getting married” album, then Don’t Hurry for Heaven, recently released on iTunes, surveys the emotional landscape of Sproule’s old Virginia block from as nearby as Belmont Park and as far away as Far East, the studio where she and husband Paul Curreri recorded some initial tracks for the 10-song album.

And thanks to a distribution deal with Now Forward Music, Don’t Hurry for Heaven may cover just as much ground. In November, Now Forward signed a two-year distro and marketing deal with City Salvage Records, the label founded by Brooklyn art-country musician Andy Friedman, who was also Curreri’s college roommate. During a January interview with Feedback, Friedman said that Now Forward’s Kindred Rhythm imprint, distributed by Koch Entertainment, would place albums by some City Salvage artists in music retailers like Best Buy for the first time.

“I almost felt like Steve Martin in Three Amigos, when he gets shot with a real bullet and he comes back to Chevy [Chase] and Martin [Short], saying, ‘It’s real!’” joked Friedman at the time.

Don’t Hurry for Heaven bears little resemblance to Silver: Sproule still spreads her lyrics around like a tasteful interior decorator with a pocket full of tchotchkes, but she arranges ’em with a softer vocal touch on tracks like “Bowling Green” and the recent live staple “Ain’t That the Way.” Gone are the rough edges of Sproule’s guitar, rounded by reverb. And Heaven was produced by Curreri, who seems to’ve hit an emotional and aural stride of sorts on his missus’ material.

Is it shinier than Silver? Feedback is going to sit on that question for a week or so; keep listening for more.

Brock me, Amadeus!

No, it’s not a typo; things aren’t always what they seem, readers. Take singing drummers, for example—they’re not all as harmless as Don Henley, you know. And Adam Brock sure as sheeeit ain’t no Eagle.

A longtime member of The Nice Jenkins and part of the current, superlative incarnation of The Invisible Hand, Brock is one of Feedback’s favorite local kit killers. So Feedback was thrilled to grab a copy of a six-song EP from Brock’s solo project, a band and album dubbed “Borrowed Beams of Light.” Stay tuned to the Feedback blog for more on the album.

Categories
Living

What would Bukowski drink?

If the early part of this century was an economic drinking binge, then the past year has been the inevitable retching that follows. With the average American city reporting a 12 percent increase in homelessness between 2007 and 2008, and unemployment hitting a 16-year high, many wine lovers may be staring at a future as winos. The good news is there’s a whole world of cheap wine for the homeless enophile to explore. The bad news is, the New Depression seems to bring with it a New Prohibition—at least as far as the really harsh stuff is concerned.

Nonetheless, let’s explore the world of bum wines. Picture a burning trashcan surrounded by men in fingerless gloves. What would they drink? Cheap, sweet and high in alcohol, bum wine bottles litter country roads and urban lots. Many beverages may fit that description, but only five are considered classic bum wines by aficionados: Cisco, Richards [sic] Wild Irish Rose, Night Train, Thunderbird, and MD 20/20.

And here, a digression: Both Night Train and Thunderbird (and the now defunct Ripple) are made by E & J Gallo. Established in 1933, Gallo is the largest family-owned winery in the country. Gallo introduced Thunderbird in 1957, but doesn’t seem very proud of it. There’s mention neither of Thunderbird nor Night Train on the website, and the Gallo name is missing from both labels.

Now, back to bum wines: Technically, they’re fortified wines made from grapes or other fruits. Alcohol, sugar and God knows what else are added. But the most important ingredient is alcohol, bum wines mostly registering at or near 18 percent. So yes, they are wines in a nominal sense, though that gets harder to believe the closer the neon liquid gets to your lips.

Bum wines are marketed and sold exclusively in low-income areas, and some claim that the high alcohol/low price wines encourage alcoholism and vagrancy among the poor. In 2001, do-gooder cities Tacoma and Seattle, Washington established Alcohol Impact Areas, where sales of bum wines (as well malt liquor) are illegal.

The bum wine prohibition doesn’t make much sense. The bans only apply to specific brands, so all manufacturers have to do to circumvent them is give products new names. And it’s not like there aren’t other options. One merchant was quoted in Seattle saying that his customers simply “switched to Bud.”

At $5, Thunderbird isn’t much cheaper than the numerous $6-8 wines now flooding the marketplace from countries like Chile. Nor are the alcohol levels in bum wines as extreme as they’re made out to be. Most “legit” wines these days are at least 14 percent (compare to MD 20/20, which is a measly 13 percent) and many California Zinfandels routinely push beyond 15. What sets bum wines apart seems, primarily, to be the people buying them.

Categories
News

Poetry: the last bargain

The Poetry Foundation
A national non-profit supporting poetry and producing Poetry Magazine.

The Writer’s Almanac
Garrison Keillor brings you a poem of the day, and you can even have it sent to your e-mail.

The Library of Congress’ poetry page
Proof that the government may actually care about the arts (maybe).

Poetry Daily
These people spoon-feed you one great poem a day.

Poetry Aloud
So much of poetry is its sound, this site lets you listen.

The Electronic Poetry Center at SUNY Buffalo
e-poetry was all the rage for a while, including hyperpoetry and this site provides a decent archive.

The Academy of American Poets
Fancy sounding group has a great archive.