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Arts

Film review: Total Recall

Colin Farrell fills Arnie’s shoes in the remake of the sci-fi sub-classic Total Recall. (Columbia Pictures)

And so another Philip K. Dick story gets another shot at being another movie. Funny how hard it is not to go in feeling protective and skeptical, as if Paul Verhoeven’s admittedly singular Schwarzenegger staple from 1990 were some kind of inviolable masterpiece. This version, from director Len Wiseman and a complex web of writers, seems fun enough while it lasts but in the end not totally recallable. No eyeballs about to pop, no “give deez peepul ayre,” no little man protruding from another man’s belly and demanding that you open your mind. Still, if not as camp then as midsummer popcorn dressing, it’ll do.

In a grimy, concrete city of the doomed future, a factory worker (Colin Farrell) takes a mental vacation from his job manufacturing law enforcement robots, only to find himself on the run from law enforcement robots—and by extension their boss, an evil tyrant (Bryan Cranston) with a world-domination agenda. It happens as a headlong rush of implanted memories, confused identities, and variously toxic atmospheres, not the least of which is our hero’s suddenly troubled marriage. His particular wife-or-dream-girl conundrum, with Kate Beckinsale as the former and Jessica Biel as the latter, involves the special intimacy of martial arts brawls and matching bullet wounds. (Wiseman is married to Beckinsale, and for several movies now he has enjoyed arranging and recording her action-figure poses.)

The movie’s gloomy, rainy sprawl suggests a deeper debt to Blade Runner than to its namesake, which might only mean that Wiseman isn’t fussy about sovereignty. He has vision enough: This domination-threatened world has reverted, post-apocalypse, to a very unhealthy colonial relationship between Great Britain and Australia, now connected by an enormous intra-planetary elevator. Perhaps befitting the impresario of all things Underworld, it’s a world of gravitational challenges, aesthetically intriguing for its extreme verticality of urban density, with characters tending to leap and fall more often and more articulately than they speak. One potential exception to that tendency is a tyrant resister played by Bill Nighy, but the film acts nervous around his intelligence, and squanders it.

With time, completist fans will scour minutiae for illuminating points of continuity between this Total Recall and the first one. At first glance it seems most telling that both invoke fears of accidental lobotomy early on, both find room in their dystopias for a three-breasted sex worker, and both prompt our hero to ask, “If I’m not me, who the hell am I?” Farrell delivers that theme summarizing line with adrenalized desperation, his forte. Having also been in Minority Report, he obviously feels comfortable within Dickian confines of mind-bending pulp; on the run and unsure whether to trust anyone, including oneself, he’s at his best. Farrell’s half-innocent badass beefcake seems more anonymous than Schwarzenegger’s, and that only affirms the perpetual movie-readiness of the source material. As for its cultural staying power, we’ll know more whenever the next version comes.

Total Recall/ PG-13, 118 minutes/Regal Downtown Mall 6

Categories
Arts

Summertime thrill-seeking at the demolition derby

Witnessing the massive wreckage at a demolition derby is one way to cure the summertime blues. (Rockingham County Fair)

Charlottesville has a habit of slowing down during the summer months. Most UVA students and many faculty are on summer break, cutting the population by nearly a third. Some art galleries close, concerts and performances are comparatively sparse, and many local residents take a vacation. It’s true that Charlottesville has a wealth of worthy summertime activities, from seasonal food vendors to nearby swimming holes, but sooner or later the broiling heat sets in and the remaining, sweating townies desire larger, more extravagant entertainment to appeal to our baser instincts. For this, we turn to surrounding counties for one of the most exhilarating events of the summer: the demolition derby.

As a city kid, I had never even heard of demolition derbies. Attending one for the first time as an adult, I found it to be a thrilling pinnacle of DIY, lowbrow entertainment. Summer blockbusters may provide spectacles of mayhem, but there’s nothing quite like watching two (or three or four) vehicles deliberately smashing into each other in a semi-controlled and ostensibly safe environment. Since my first derby years ago, I’ve made it a point to attend at least one every summer.

For the uninitiated, a demolition derby is basically a sport involving competitive car crashes. In a flattened dirt pit, surrounded by concrete safety barriers, the drivers compete in a series of heats in which an increasing number of vehicles are pitted against one another until only one remains functional. Any car that stays stationary, or fails to make contact with another car for a certain period of time, is eliminated.

What begins as uncontrolled mayhem —a half-dozen vehicles playing bumper cars with real cars—is soon sorted out into a competition, as the toughest vehicles and best drivers compete against one another, strategically ramming vehicles into the barriers and each other until their frames are mangled, their engines crushed, their wheels thrown askew, and they can move no more. For the derby’s final heat, all cars that can still get their engines started compete against each other, often with as many as a dozen vehicles at once.

For use in a derby, the vehicles are stripped down: The passenger seats and the dashboard are ripped out, the interior is gutted, the window glass and lights are removed, the doors are welded shut, safety bars are installed, and the gas tanks are replaced (often with boat tanks), holding just enough fuel to compete in the match —any cars leaking fluid, or repeatedly catching fire, are disqualified.

It’s an odd procession of vehicles, mostly cars from the ’70s and ’80s which, having outlived all other usefulness, get fixed up just enough to function in a competition that will leave them totally demolished. A few participants drive sturdier, elongated station wagons (I’ve even seen what looked like a hearse), although they have a tendency to jackknife upon heavy impact. Trucks and farm vehicles are out, as they would dominate the competition—most of the cars tend to be sturdy American-made ones (some derbies even insist on it). It’s not just rural American pride, but also an issue of practicality—most of the smaller and lighter foreign cars would be crushed immediately.

A number of websites track an index of all the scheduled fairs, and many drivers are semi-professionals, spending their summers competing around the state—the winner, after all, receives a cash prize. More seasoned drivers who are looking forward to showing down against one another may even pick off the more vulnerable or less experienced drivers before they face off. But some of the competitors are also local, often sponsored by a nearby auto shop. Many cars have advertisements or humourous slogans crudely spray-painted on their doors, and the crowd is never more riled up than when cheering for a hometown hero.
Those looking to add further debauchery to the spectacle of two hours of car wrecks can indulge in the guilty pleasure of heart-stopping fairground food: chili cheese dogs, funnel cakes, and deep-fried Oreo cookies.

There are a number of events held at various county fairs throughout the summer. Several derby events have already come and gone, but there are more to come. Albemarle County Fair, sadly, does not feature a demolition derby, but nearby Harrisonburg is hosting one on Friday, August 17 at the Pepsi Grandstand as part of the Rockingham County Fair, which runs from August 13 to 18. Tickets for the derby are $15 and under, and, like the fair, the derby is an all-ages event.

Categories
Living

Not tonight, honey, I have a…baby: Sex and parenthood

File photo.

When I was asked to write an article about how sex and parenthood mix, here’s what I ended up with as a first draft:

What sex life? I’m exhausted and there’s a toddler in my bed.

The end.

Just kidding! But sometimes it does feel that way. It’s ironic that the shenanigans that caused parenthood in the first place prove to be darned elusive once their product makes its wrinkled, screaming, miraculous appearance in our lives. Hours after my first child was born, our doctor had the audacity to ask me as I lay in the hospital bed wearing an ice diaper, “What do you plan to use for birth control at this point?” Really? I had just been through 12 hours of labor, and had somehow managed to fit a cantaloupe through a light socket, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down. It was all I could do not to yell at him: “Well, Doctor, I’m going to go with the moderately effective combo of stitches in my netherbusiness and a screaming newborn! How do you keep from knocking up the ladies?”

Now, obviously the impediments of the postpartum state eventually subside, and as parents, we get into a groove where we (in theory) can carve out time between the sheets together. However, there are a few things that occasionally get in the way of sexytime. Here is a partial list of those things: nighttime feedings, fevers, laundry, work, Band-Aid emergencies, potty training, hangnails, sleep training, packing lunches, bad dreams, “Dancing With The Stars” marathons, kids in your bed, the boogeyman, falling asleep while reading bedtime stories, cleaning up, visiting family, household tasks, grocery shopping, nighttime diaper changes, cup-of-water-getting, stuffy noses, monsters in the closet, nightlight management, and of course mind-numbing tiredness. Who has the energy to put on the Al Green CD and slip into a negligee after all that? The most provocative thing that many of us wear these days is a leopard-print Snuggie. Can I get an “Amen”?

Some moms also struggle with body image issues after pregnancy and child-
birth, which can affect one’s sex life. You might feel like those stretch marks, unshaven legs, plus all of your newly wiggly and/or southern-facing anatomy makes you less attractive to your mate. Let me tell you something about that: Do you know who doesn’t notice, or care, and definitely still wants to get laid? That guy. And even if he does notice, he would be a moron to say anything and send you running back into the waiting embrace of your flannel PJs and People magazine. Bow chicka wow-wow.

The point is, people, we parents have got to continue to get our groove on, or distance and eventually resentment can grow. Author of Rekindling: Your Relationship After Childbirth and psychiatrist Dr. Martien Snellen advises, “If your sex life is fading after childbirth, open up a dialogue about it. But never in a fight—introduce it when things are good. This prevents defensiveness, withdrawal, and anger.” (And, I’m guessing, over-reliance on flannel PJs and gossip magazines.)

Now put this magazine down and plan your next date night. Doctor’s orders!

Discussing sex and childbirth with your kids
Parents often wonder at what age they should have “the talk” with their kids. Personally, my husband and I are
waiting until they’re 40, but you should do what feels right for your family. Here’s what else I know: If you’re not on top of it when your kids start asking the Big Questions, they’ll answer one another with about 50 percent accuracy and
100 percent certainty. The following is a conversation that went down recently between myself, my son Ben (6), and my daughter Janie (4):
Janie: How does a baby get out of its mommy’s belly?
Me: Well, when it’s time for the baby to be born, the doctor helps get her out of a special opening in the mommy’s body that opens wide enough to let a baby through.
Janie: Where is the opening?
Me: Hmmm, that is a really good question, honey. There is a special—
Ben (exasperated): JANIE, IT’S THE VAGINA. OF COURSE.
Me: Um, Ben how did you know that? (Sigh) You’re right, it is the vagina. Seriously, how did you know that?
Ben: Mom, it’s pretty much the only possible place. I figured it out. (Deductive reasoning skills are overrated and can suck it.)
Me: Janie, this is only something that happens to adult women when they are ready to become mommies. You don’t need to worry, because it’s not going to happen to you.
Ben, way too quickly: YET.
Janie: Silence. Eyes as big as saucers.
Ben: It will probably happen soon, though.
Me: Janie, that is not true. We’ll talk about this later.—M.R.

Categories
News

Charlottesville Sikhs reflect on Wisconsin massacre

Charlottesville Mayor Satyendra Huja at his home. John Robinson photo.

One wall in Charlottesville Mayor Satyendra Huja’s dining room is occupied by floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves packed with teapots of every shape and size.

“You have to work for your tea,” he said, chuckling, as he and his friend Dr. Narinder Arora settled at the table. “Pick a pot.”

The array and the invitation are evidence of a hospitality built into both men’s beliefs. Huja and Arora are Sikhs, adherants to a centuries-old Indian religion whose followers are receiving an unprecedented amount of attention after the recent shooting at a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, that left six dead and communities around the country shaken.

Sikhs in southeast Asia aren’t strangers to violence, having witnessed and been victims in the conflicts over sovereignty in India and Pakistan in the last century. In the U.S., they stand out. The turbans and full beards worn by men lead many to label them incorrectly as Muslim—which does nothing to justify the violence, Huja said. It does make them want to talk about their faith.

Huja, 70, came to the U.S. as a teenager to attend Cornell, and became Charlottesville’s city planner in 1973. Arora, 71, a pulmonologist, arrived here a year later, when he joined UVA’s medical school faculty. Neither expected to remain in the U.S., they said, but they put down roots and stayed.

Both men are accustomed to answering questions about what it means to be Sikh, and do so with passion. Huja, particularly visible as a public figure, even keeps a neatly typed, three-page guide to the religion on hand that outlines the basic tenets: Believe in one God, control the ego, respect humans equally, pray, give, work hard.

At times, they miss being surrounded by a community that shares their beliefs. The nearest Sikh temple is 70 miles away in Richmond. Arora goes weekly; Huja stays close to home and worships at Charlottesville’s Unitarian Church instead.

But they don’t mind being different. It comes with the territory.

“Sikhs are a minority in India, too,” Huja pointed out. “It’s not a problem to us. We’re used to being a minority.”

The things that make them stand out—their beards and uncut hair, their turbans, the steel bracelets on their wrists—are meant to. Symbols of Sikhism for centuries, they are the outward manifestations of the faith.

“We are who we are,” Arora said. “We are not hidden under our skin. That’s how you recognize a Sikh.”

And when you look like a Sikh, said Huja, you’re reminded to act like one.

“Your actions and deeds are more important than your philosophy,” he said. “So if I were walking down the street and threw a piece of paper on the ground, you would readily notice. A guy in a turban doesn’t do that. So I have to think about my behavior.”

Both said they’ve faced prejudice, even cruelty, especially since 9/11, when a lack of understanding and tolerance turned many Americans suspicious of anyone who wears a turban—just a hat in some parts of the world, Huja pointed out. Arora said that once, after a difficult day in the ICU, a fellow doctor shouted at him to go back to India, an encounter that left him quivering with rage, but one he resolved through peaceful conversation.

“People do say things which are not pleasant,” Huja said. In his 40 years of public service in Charlottesville, he’s experienced his fair share of slights and prejudice. “I don’t get angry,” he said. “I just try to see if I can be of some help in explaining. Most people you can talk to.”

But not all. The two men had few words to describe their feelings in the wake of the Wisconsin shootings.

“I was shocked,” Huja said. “It’s just senseless, whether Sikh or anybody else. It’s just very sad that people have to get to that stage.”

Arora stared into his teacup for a moment before speaking. “There were 100 people in that temple,” he said, all preparing for the weekly meal offered to anyone who walked through the door. “Children were learning Punjabi. They all had to be pushed away.”

The temple president tried to stop the gunman, Arora said, facing the killer head-on with the short, curved knife many observant Sikhs wear, a symbol of divine power and a reminder of battles of old, when Sikhs defended the Punjab region from invading warlords.

“He came to protect everyone,” Arora said. “Then he was shot two times.”

It’s part of their faith to love everyone, Huja and Arora said, but they’re afraid that despite Sikhs’ efforts to quietly teach others about their way of life, there are some people no one can reach, people whose minds are turned to hate.

“There are people like that living all over the country,” said Huja. “They’re amongst us here.”

“But good people are much more available everywhere you go in the world,” Arora interjected gently. “The bad are few and far. They make the headlines, maybe, to show they exist.”

True, his friend said. And the good, the majority, must keep conversing their way toward greater understanding. Keep smiling and talking to the child who points and says, “Are you a genie?” Keep pouring tea for friends and strangers alike.

“People need to learn that the solution to problems is not killing each other, it’s talking to each other,” Huja said. “If you don’t talk to each other, you can’t understand each other.”

Categories
Living

Cool beans: The buzz on local iced coffee

Promises, promises. The folks at Shenandoah Joe say their iced brew is the best you’ll ever have. Photo by Andrea Hubbell.

When a hot afternoon turns sleepy, iced coffee’s the perfect pick-me-up to get you through the rest of the day. Aficionados seem to be split over which method makes better iced coffee. Some say coffee needs to be cold-brewed to temper its bitterness. Others insist that hot coffee-turned-cold is the only way to maintain its strength and body.

We asked our own coffee guru, Shenandoah Joe’s Dave Fafara, what side of the iced coffee camp he’s on, and he was all abuzz over the new cup-at-a-time option. “This is the best iced coffee you’ll ever have,” said Fafara, who recently started offering the choice in addition to their original iced coffee that’s simply hot-brewed at 1.5 times the strength before being cooled down and refrigerated.

Here’s how the cup-at-a-time works. First, you select your coffee from the blackboard listing the single origins or blends available that day. Next, your barista grinds the beans and puts 1.85 ounces into a cone filter that sits atop an ice-filled cylinder which rests inside a graduated flask. He pours water that’s 30 seconds off the boil gradually over the grounds allowing them to “bloom.” In a minute or two, the hot coffee trickles over the ice, cooling it instantly, and becoming 20 ounces of glorious iced coffee.

Shenandoah Joe’s regular iced coffee is still far from your average joe (they go through 16 gallons of it every Saturday at the City Market), but this cup-at-a-time is smooth, strong, and, well, the best iced coffee we’ve ever had.

When coffee’s not your bag
If tea’s more your cuppa, here are three ways to perk up your parched palate.

On City Market Saturdays, $2 will buy you a colorful iced tea (and straw) at Gilbert Station Farm & Edibles, where several flavors—like peach ginger black tea, raspberry rose green tea, and honeysuckle white tea—grace a row of dispensers each week.

Sweet and fragrant Moroccan mint tea gets chilled during the summer months at Aromas Café, making it the perfect accompaniment to a chicken shawarma wrap or a Barracks Road shopping spree.

Choices abound up the stairs at the Twisted Branch Tea Bazaar, but you can always count on their homemade iced chai to be on the menu and to be the tastiest around.

Sweet and simple
If you take your coffee or tea with sugar, you’ll need to switch up your sweetener when you’re drinking it on ice. Make a simple syrup by dissolving equal parts of sugar and water in a small saucepan on the stove, let it cool, and store it in the refrigerator for a month. It works in cocktails too, so make double.

Cold as ice
Making iced coffee at home seems simple enough until you realize that pouring a hot cup of coffee over ice turns it acrid and that your tepid morning dregs poured over ice end up tasting muddy at best. A drinkable cool brew requires some planning—12 hours to be exact —but you’ll be smoothly rewarded for mornings to come if you follow this simple recipe.

Cold-brewed coffee 
Makes 3 cups of coffee concentrate
Place one cup of coarsely ground coffee in a quart-sized jar. Using a funnel, fill the jar to the brim with cold, filtered water. Cover and let steep in the refrigerator overnight or for 12 hours. Strain through a coffee filter, a fine-mesh sieve, or a sieve lined with cheesecloth. Or, pour the contents into a French press and slowly depress the plunger. In a glass filled with ice, mix equal parts coffee concentrate and water, varying the ratio to taste, adding milk and/or sweetener as desired. Store for up to two weeks in the refrigerator.

Categories
News

Was UVA COO Strine’s position untenable after failed Sullivan ouster?

Michael Strine
Michael Strine announced his resignation six weeks after Teresa Sullivan was reinstated as UVA President. Photo courtesy of UVA Public Affairs.

Leonard Sandridge spent 44 years as chief operating officer of UVA. His successor, Michael Strine, was on the job for 13 months. Initially hailed as an effective leader whose experience as chief financial officer at Johns Hopkins could put the University and its medical center on firm financial footing, Strine’s brief tenure serves as a reminder of the collateral damage caused by the turmoil that shook Grounds over the summer after the failed ouster of President Teresa Sullivan.

Strine’s close professional relationships with Rector Helen Dragas and Vice Rector Mark Kington were laid bare in e-mails recently released under the Freedom of Information Act, and featured prominently in news reports during the two weeks prior to his abrupt resignation.

Dragas frequently made it clear she approved of Strine’s performance in e-mail exchanges, warmly praising his ability to manage the implementation of a new financial model that pushed budget decisions down to deans—sometimes at the expense of his predecessor, Leonard Sandridge. In February, she and Strine exchanged 11th-hour e-mails about a finance report.

“I’ll never complain about getting something at the last moment that in prior years I wouldn’t have gotten at all,” Dragas wrote. “Thanks for working so hard to fix a broken system.”

Strine often played the role of liaison between the administration and the Board, reporting back to Dragas and Kington about Sullivan’s feelings on various governance issues.

“Just a heads up in case Terry calls you about the matter,” Strine wrote to Dragas in November after Sullivan trumped a Board decision on just how recalcitrant the University should appear in a press release on the controversial removal of magnolia trees outside the Rotunda. “I made clear via e-mail that several board members were surprised and not happy with the statements that usurped decision making and were inconsistent with comments made in the recent meeting.”

In January, Strine and Sullivan shared a car to a meeting with state legislators in Richmond, and discussed a recent meeting with the UVA Board. “As we drove, Terry and I debriefed on yesterday’s meeting and the strategy document,” Strine’s e-mail to Dragas later that day reads. “I have some insights I can share.”

The e-mails show Strine and Dragas enjoyed a friendly personal relationship as well. Strine was invited to a post-Thanksgiving party at Dragas’ Keswick farm last year, and their families shared seats at a football game in January.

In the aftermath of the surprise announcement of Sullivan’s resignation, Strine took on a key role in controlling the official information coming from the University. On June 12, he circled the wagons in response to an interview request from a Washington Post reporter, coordinating a possible reply with Dragas, Kington, Provost John Simon, and top UVA spokesperson Carol Wood.

“I recommend it be a balanced conversation of academic and financial admin leadership (John and me) and perhaps one or both of you at the same time in the same meeting with key points we wish to make well thought out and articulated in advance,” he wrote.

But no amount of message control was able to keep the Board’s plan for a leadership shakeup on track. Sullivan was reinstated June 26, and six weeks later, it was Strine who was announcing his resignation. Strine’s wife, Sharon, also resigned last week from her position as senior director of strategic marketing in UVA’s Office of Development and Public Affairs.

What drove his decision to step down isn’t clear, as none of the official communications from UVA offered a reason. But because the abrupt announcement came shortly after news reports revealed Strine and Dragas’ close cooperation, and due to the language of Sullivan’s own statement upon Strine’s departure—that he “recently determined that it would be in the best interest of the University that he step down and allow me to do some necessary internal restructuring”—some speculate Sullivan wanted to clean house.

“We’re sort of reading tea leaves here,” said Virginia Assembly Minority Leader David Toscano, who publicly criticized the Board for its handling of the ouster. It’s hard to know how involved Strine was in the decision to force Sullivan out, and if questions over his loyalty drove the president to ask him to leave.

But Toscano pointed out that there’s precedent for the COO to work very closely with the Board. Sandridge did so, he said, and managed to remain on good terms with then UVA president John Casteen.

“It’s a very difficult line to walk, but it’s what makes the University work,” Toscano said.

UVA officials said last week that a search for someone to fill the critical role of top financial leader is underway. Toscano said he thinks the University will keep quiet on the matter from here on out. “I don’t think you’re going to see a lot of people making any more statements about this,” he said. “My feeling is people are trying to move forward.”

Dragas appears to be one of those people. Her only public comment following Strine’s resignation put her squarely in support of Sullivan’s desire to restructure. And compared to her earlier effusive praise, her statement following his resignation sounds almost chilly: “In his work as an officer of the Board of Visitors, Michael Strine brought to bear those leadership skills and enthusiasm referenced by President Sullivan,” she said. “We share her optimism that his commitment to higher education will serve him well in his future endeavors.”

Far cry from the tone set by a note she sent Kington in April, when they were hashing out an upcoming Board presentation that Strine was set to present.

“Where would we be without Michael?” she wrote.

Categories
Living

In historic Louisa County home, the past lives in layers

Photo: Stacey Evans

“How do we touch this and not mess it up?”

That was the question that Tim Burgess asked himself in 2010 as he and Sharon Shapiro considered buying an 1860 Louisa County farmhouse. The house wasn’t a museum piece; previous owners had installed a modern kitchen and loft. But the historic nature of the property was certainly intact. Even more important, Burgess said, its sheer proportions were extremely pleasing. Though the couple (a chef and a painter) knew they’d need to add square footage, they wondered how to do it appropriately.

For answers, they went to Ted Nelson of Design Build Office (DBO)—the same firm that had, 6 years earlier, put in the kitchen. While that had been a renovation project, this one involved constructing a brand-new wing on the back of the house. Nelson found a way to provide Shapiro and Burgess with the master suite they required while striking a tricky balance between the classic and the contemporary.

The house now seems to embody 150 years of American history, stretching from the Civil War to the present. Its form resembles a technology—the train—that was rather new during that earlier era but still flavors the region today. The “train” is made of three separate buildings connected by narrow passageways or bridges, with the “caboose” being the new master suite.

While the exterior is unified by a single paint color and traditional detailing, the interior speeds toward the more recent end of the timeline. One can enter through the front door of the original two-over-two farmhouse, which probably looks much as it did in the 19th century, and walk straight through to the back doors, where daylight pours through a wall of glass into a thoroughly modern room.

“Country chic”
Shapiro and Burgess married in 2010, combining their families—she has one child, he has five—and were soon on the hunt for a home. “We needed something that was just ours,” said Shapiro, unlike the Rugby Avenue house where she’d lived for a dozen years.
They wanted a country home, but they didn’t want to tackle the long process of building. The Louisa house, located in a rolling landscape of cornfields and stoplights, wasn’t quite big enough. “We weren’t going to do it without the addition,” said Burgess. They came to see the house as “a good blend,” said Shapiro: They’d share the experience of hiring an architect to design for their needs, but they’d also get to move in as soon as they wanted to. And, as a professional artist, she was attracted to the standalone studio on the property.

Nelson, who consulted with the couple before they finalized the decision, knew the place had the right ingredients. “It was easy to envision it as a hip space,” he said. “Some country houses are so doily-laden.” He’d already worked hard to modernize and preserve the house when previous owners asked him to transform what was then its rear portion.

Standing in that part of the house, now a sleek kitchen, he recalled what it looked like when he first saw it in 2004. “This was a pre-Civil War cabin”—originally located elsewhere on the property—“that someone moved and stuck on the back of the house. It was a storage room and had a huge fireplace up through the middle of the building. It was decrepit. There were old weird upholstered things in it.”

He and his crew set out to make it into a kitchen (downstairs) and bedroom (upstairs) while salvaging as much of the original material as possible. “We had to strip it to bare studs,” he said. Even as DBO stabilized it structurally, it insisted on a slight lean, which is still just visible. Modern windows and insulation made it comfortable.

The clients had asked for a “country chic” look, Nelson said: “rustic materials, but the lines are more contemporary.” He accommodated by, for example, installing wood paneling on the walls (which “felt like a cabin”) but whitewashing it for a clean appearance. The palette of materials also includes Buckingham slate countertops, Ikea cabinets, and stainless steel appliances—along with a large central island clad in wood recycled from the structure.

The floor is inch-and-a-half maple, reclaimed from a Brooklyn sewing factory and stained nearly black. On the ceiling, white beadboard fits between exposed unpainted joists; custom-fabricated metal railings lead upstairs to a roomy loft bedroom, where the crisp black-white-and-gray scheme continues.

Shapiro and Burgess—the co-owner of two Downtown restaurants—have changed very little about their kitchen. It was the key to envisioning the next stage for the house. “We liked how this had the old and the new,” said Shapiro. “Tim is more into old and I lean more toward contemporary.”

Burgess especially loved the form of the house from the outside: two boxes, set at right angles to each other and connected by a narrow breezeway. He wondered where an addition could go. “You can’t add on by going up, or on the side. The two-over-two is so classic, you can’t touch it,” he said.

For Nelson, the solution was in a window at the rear of the kitchen, overlooking the large open field behind the house. “That’s how we’re going to get to whatever it is,” he thought.

Categories
Living

Bodacious burgers: Get your hands around one of these

Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce? Trust us—you’ll want the White Spot’s legendary Gus Burger with all the fixins’, including the fried egg. (Photo by Ron Dressel)

When a burger craving strikes, little can be accomplished until you’ve got your hands around a bun with meat juices dripping down your chin. Here’re 10 big-league, non-chain burgers that satisfy (and inspire) the meanest of cravings.

Boylan Heights’ Room 121 tops an organic beef patty with American cheese, bibb lettuce, beefsteak tomato, bacon, diced onions, and its sweet and spicy signature sauce.

Brookville’s burger’s not on the menu, but in-the-knowers know that a towering burger that involves 11 ounces of local beef, a fried local egg, McClure gouda, and bacon marmalade, is well worth seeking out.

Citizen Burger Bar’s namesake burger puts local grass-fed beef, gruyère cheese, blackened onions, rosemary aioli, iceberg, and tomato on a brioche bun that’s anointed with a fried pickle spear.

Penny-pinching, burger-lovers will dig Henry’s Heavy Burger which gives you two American cheese-covered six ounce beef patties with classic toppings for under $10.

The Local’s burger melts Virginia’s Mountain View swiss over local organic beef, then sweetens the deal with applewood-smoked bacon and caramelized onions.

Positively 4th’s 4th Street burger’s local organic beef topped with cheddar, onion straws, housemade pickles, bacon-onion marmalade, and roasted garlic mayo.

Rapture’s half pound of local grass-fed beef gets covered with your choice of cheese (from blue to pepper jack) and applewood-smoked bacon and portobello mushrooms if you so choose.

Riverside Lunch’s bacon cheeseburger has a rockstar following that swears by the sum of its humble parts—especially when they include double patties and double bacon.

Timberwood Grill’s Al Capone gussies up its patty with grilled onions, applewood-smoked bacon, smoked cheddar cheese, white truffle horseradish mayo, and a pretzel bun.

You can’t go to the White Spot without ordering its legendary Gus Burger, a classic American cheeseburger topped with a fried egg.

A better burger
With several cattle farmers in our area, making burgers at home’s as easy as firing up the grill. We asked Steadfast Farm’s Brian Walden what makes grass-fed beef better and how to make it into a badass burger: Grass-fed beef contains 10 percent fat, with a greater ratio of omega-3 to omega-6 fatty acids. It’s free of hormones and antibiotics and is higher in beta-carotene, vitamins E and B, minerals, calcium, magnesium, and potassium than conventional beef.

Mix ingredients [1 pound Steadfast Farm grass-fed beef (find it at the City Market), 1 egg, well beaten, ¼ cup panko bread crumbs, 3 cloves of garlic, crushed, Salt and pepper to taste] thoroughly and form into four patties. Make slight indentations in the center of each burger to avoid “burger bulge.” For enhanced flavor, grill over hardwood charcoal.

Where’s the beef?
The new style of veggie burger—one that tastes like veggies rather than imitation meat —is as crave-worthy as its beefy brother. Charlottesville’s got some dynamite locally-made options that’ll happily feed veg-heads and carnivores alike.

Boylan Heights combines quinoa, zucchini, spinach, sundried tomatoes, corn, black beans, white bean purée, ritz crackers, spices, and hot sauce into a veggie patty that’s coated in almond flour before it’s sautéed.

Citizen Burger Bar’s vegan burger looks like rare beef from its mixture of raw beets, quinoa, and millet.

NoBull Burgers (find them at the City Market and retailers and restaurants around town) pack lentils, barley, carrots, spinach, onions, spelt, egg, and wheat free tamari sauce into a dense, superfood patty.

Dressed up for dinner
Burgers have gone glam and toppings like cheese, lettuce, and tomato just don’t cut the, er, mustard anymore. Facebook fans have spoken and they’re a fancy schmancy bunch. Here are their gourmet requests: wild mushrooms, ghost peppers, feta, tsatziki sauce, and fresh tomatoes (on a lamb-garlic burger).

Categories
Arts

T.V.: “2012 Summer Olympic Games,” “Animal Practice,” “Comedy Central Roast of Roseanne Barr”

“2012 Summer Olympic Games” 
Through Sunday, NBC
We’re in the home stretch of the 2012 London Olympic Games, and I think we can all agree on one thing: NBC’s coverage has been pretty dreadful. From the decision to cut away from the memorial section of the opening ceremonies to spotty coverage of fan favorite events to the continued presence of Ryan Effing Seacrest—no ma’am. No ma’am. The last few days will be dominated by track & field, platform diving, and the long-awaited finals for beach and indoor volleyball. The closing ceremonies air Sunday 7-10:35pm and hopefully feature absolutely no narratives about teens texting.

“Animal Practice” 
Sunday after the Olympics, NBC
NBC is determined to take advantage of its massive Olympics ratings by launching a slate of new series during or immediately following the games. Among them is this new sitcom starring Justin Kirk (Andy on “Weeds,” but also an amazing dramatic actor, as seen in HBO’s “Angels in America” miniseries) as a veterinarian who loves animals but hates people. His gonzo animal hospital is brought to order when his ex-girlfriend (JoAnna Garcia Swisher from “Better With You”) takes over, and of course they butt heads, as sitcom leads do. Also starring Tyler Labine (“Reaper”) and Crystal, best known as the monkey from The Hangover Part II, but forever in my heart as Annie’s Boobs from “Community.” You can also get a sneak peek of the new Matthew Perry comedy “Go On,” on Wednesday after the Olympics primetime coverage.

“Comedy Central Roast of Roseanne” 
Sunday 10pm, Comedy Central
Roseanne Barr has become a pop-culture punchline, and I would argue that’s unfair. She made the terrible error of being a loud, outspoken, opinionated, and occasionally kooky public figure, and that’s not OK for women. It’s bullshit, especially when you consider that Barr’s eponymous sitcom was a hugely influential TV show in the 1990s, boldly chronicling the realities of lower-middle-class life while simultaneously being incredibly funny (and it still holds up). Thing is, I don’t think she gives a damn what anybody thinks of her. Which is why this roast should be amazing. Jane Lynch will serve as roastmaster and comedians Jeffrey Ross and Amy Schumer will take their shots, along with actresses Sharon Stone, Katey Sagal, and Carrie Fisher. And when they’re done, Barr will sit back, cackle, and read them all for filth! And you will love it.

Categories
Arts

Film review: Beasts of the Southern Wild

Quvenzhané Wallis stars as Hushpuppy in the survival fantasy Beasts of the Southern Wild. (Twentieth Century Fox)

The feature debut from writer-director Benh Zeitlin, working with playwright Lucy Alibar and a New Orleans collective, rides in on a murky flood of festival hype. And what caused that anyway? The inevitable Sundance-stamped confluence of poverty porn and indie quaintness?
Wow, already this is sounding cynical, but Beasts of the Southern Wild has a habit of inviting audience push-back. For starters, it’s called Beasts of the Southern Wild; right away one senses some amateur anthropology going on, apologized for or at best compounded with amateur poetry. Still, the amateur operates from love, and Zeitlin has that. However patronizing, his reverie aches to be watched, and on as large a screen as possible. It says: Behold!

Newcomer Quvenzhané Wallis steals the show as a brave 6-year-old who yearns for her missing mother, copes with her ailing father (Dwight Henry), and navigates the archly magical-realist realms that lurk amid the muck and grit of her doomed, levee-locked Louisiana bayou. Hushpuppy is her name, and she dwells in a fishing boat rigged from a pickup truck’s rusted rear-end, and she is tough and tenacious, and she has visions of melting ice caps. Behold: the innocence, the resilience, the retrospectively peculiar-seeming fortitude of childhood, galvanized by apocalyptic anxiety. Too much?

Wait, there’s more. Her father is called Wink, as if the movie were just kidding when setting him up as an epitome of rough parental neglect, for in fact his declining health reduces—nay, enlarges—him to a heap of tender devotion. Meanwhile, the aura of romanticized dysfunction extends to the entire community, seen drunkenly and communally weathering an allegorical storm and subsequent flood. Presumably the beasts in question aren’t just Hushpuppy’s half-imagined pack of enormous prehistoric wild boars (set free from that melted ice), but also the central characters themselves—poor, black, modernity-deprived, and too-preciously resilient. In which case, are we not saying that they are animals? At any rate they are marginal to our society, and best kept that way, so as to be fawned over through a magic movie magnifying glass.

To authenticate his and Alibar’s laboriously folkloric calculations, Zeitlin uses nonprofessional actors. Good idea, as the last thing this needs is actors seeming actorly. But playing with regular folks can, and does, backfire because, well, they’re not professional actors. Not helping matters, Wallis gets a voiceover narration full of aphoristic wisdom and philosophy-jive, which only betrays the great cinematic discovery of her face and unflatteringly emphasizes the film’s theatrical origins. As for originality, it’s here, but in quotation marks.
Preferring pseudo-mythology to political seriousness, this amounts to a flamboyant indomitable-spirit demonstration, with undeniable vitality, but also a sort of heavy, beastly dullness. Zeitlin has talent and guts, yes. Ultimately, though, he inspires not wonder or awe so much as our awareness of the pride he takes in his own presentation.

Beasts of the Southern Wild/ PG-13, 93 minutes/Vinegar Hill Theatre