Film Review: ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’

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Listen, HJNTIY, We Need to Talk…

If he’s not calling you, sleeping with you, marrying you—or is sleeping with someone else—it could be that he’s just not that into you. It seems like a simple enough guideline. Yet most women wish to be an exception to such rules. That is why so many hopeless romantics will be gathering up their girlfriends with rabid excitement to go see He’s Just Not That Into You, the film based off the self-help dating book of the same name. They shouldn’t.

According to script, we ladies love to have our girl’s nights, which usually include Champagne, group readings of Cosmopolitan, and sharing advice on men. HJNTIY promises all of this in movie form, but all the witty, relatable scenes are easily seen in the previews. Sympathizing with the women in the film turns out to be more depressing than eating a carton of Ben & Jerry’s when home alone on a Friday night.HJNTIY focuses on the intersecting lives of five women and the men they constantly misread. Every time one of them starts to smarten up to the man’s real feelings, their girlfriends ease them back into oblivion by saying that this one time they knew this one girl who ended up falling in love. This distorted view of reality makes many of the characters pathetic in their attempts to understand and snag themselves a man.

Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin of Big Love) sits by the phone all day stalking potential mates. Her desperate, over-the-top need to be loved causes her to pretend she is meeting men for dates and will make you think twice about calling the next guy who gives you his card. Her polar opposite Beth (Jennifer Aniston) has been dating Neil (Ben Affleck) for seven years without a ring. Affleck and Aniston are always playing down-to-earth, puppy dog characters, so it’s no surprise that their chemistry seems real and their scenes of the movie are the sweetest.

It’s hard to relate with many of the characters because, well, there is too many of them. You just can’t get that into them. They each get so little screen time that it’s hard to get to know or understand their many problems. Mary (Drew Barrymore cute as always), has a small part, but reflects the most on women in today’s society. Mary only meets and connects with men through technology like Myspace, videochatting and texting. She complains about how we don’t meet people organically anymore and how being rejected by “seven different technologies” is exhausting. Thankfully she has her gay entourage to give her advice, but don’t worry about their love lives. According to one gay character, it only takes them two or three seconds to understand if someone wants to sleep with them or not.He’s Just Not That Into You doesn’t have a fully rounded enough script for its talented actors, but it’s a cute enough movie with some decent laughs. And don’t worry, single ladies, the end of the movie reminds us that there is still hope in our sad dark lives. Attached? Don’t take your boyfriend to see this film. He might get some ideas, and you don’t want to find out that honestly, he’s just not that into you, either.Hannah Smith

Permi-Fuss

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On Saturday, August 30, officers of the Minneapolis Police, Minnesota State Troopers, Ramsey County Sheriffs, Saint Paul Police and University of Minnesota Police pulled over the Earth Activist Training Permaculture Demonstration Bus, also called the Permibus. Without providing proper justification, the police told the people to exit the bus and explained that they would be detained. The only reason the police gave was that they were conducting a routine traffic stop. The police then told Stan Wilson, the driver and registered owner of the Permibus, that they were going to impound the bus in case they wanted to execute a search warrant later on.

After more than an hour of being questioned by Stan and Delyla Wilson regarding the legalities of their detainment and their bus’ impoundment, the police informed them that the bus, which is legally registered as a passenger vehicle in the state of Montana, was being impounded for a commercial vehicle inspection. Despite these claims, the Permibus crew was not allowed to remove anything from the bus, including computers, toiletries and 17-year-old Megan Wilson’s shoes. The family-members could only remove their dogs and chickens from the bus and were left standing on the highway as their home was towed away.

The group was driving to a friend’s house in Saint Paul after teaching Urban Permaculture at the Bedlam Theatre in Minneapolis. The family had been traveling throughout the United States on their Skills for a New Millennium Tour teaching homesteading, citizenship and life skills. A donation supported project, the Skills tour is dedicated to providing tools for sustainable living, including Permaculture, to anyone who is interested.”We believe that any solution that is not accessible to the poor and urban areas is not a real solution for the future,” Delyla Wilson says. Permaculture is a design system with ethics and principles that can be applied to food production, home design and community building. The goal is to increase sustainability in food production, energy production and social systems.

In the past month, the Wilson’s would park the Permibus at several local businesses, respectfully contacting the appropriate precincts and receiving permission to park in their lots. In these interactions, as well as other casual discussions with Minneapolis and Saint Paul police officers, the Permibus crew found the local police to be supportive. This view changed, however, when the Permibus was seized.”If the combined law enforcement of Minneapolis, Saint Paul, Ramsey County, and the State of Minnesota can pull over and impound a vehicle and home used to teach organic gardening and sustainability, one has to wonder what it is our government really fears,” Stan Wilson says. “After all, we seek to teach people that the real meaning of homeland security is local food, fuel and energy production. For that we have had our lives stolen by government men with guns.”

As of now, the family has been unable to ascertain the current status of the Permibus despite their repeated efforts. Mr. Wilson was told that Officer Palmerranky was the inspector in charge of the case and would provide the family with more information regarding the search and seizure. Neither Officer Palmerranky nor his supervisor has yet to return Mr. Wilson’s calls.

The loss of home and possessions has been particularly difficult for seventeen-year-old Megan Wilson, who has dedicated herself to making positive changes in the world. She was the youth keynote speaker at the Local to Global conference in Phoenix AZ, has taught conflict resolution at youth shelters and is the outreach coordinator for the Skills for a New Millennium Tour, the family’s traveling educational project.”While I understand that the world we live in is not as it should be, I strive to live and teach in a way that shows the world how life could be,” she says. “What I don’t understand is why I can’t get dressed for an evening out with friends in my own home without armed men stealing my life out from under me.”

Megan’s family, along with their dogs and chickens, are currently being housed in the Twin Cities. For more information on the seizure of the Permibus, the Skills for the New Millennium Tour or Permaculture, the Wilson’s can be reached at 406.721.8427. See pictures and read stories at www.permibus.livejournal.com.To help, contact the following numbers and demand the immediate release of the Permibus:Precinct one in Minneapolis, MN: 612.673.5701

Mayor Rybak: 612.673.2100

Ramsey County Sheriff, Bob Fletcher: 651.266.9300

(Dial 311 or 612.673.3000 if calling from outside Minneapolis.)Help with the tow fee, impound fees and legal fees by sending a donation. Contact the Wilson’s for a local address or donate online at www.earthactivisttraining.org/donate.htm.

Why Go Anywhere Else to Be Cheated?

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“As far as history goes and all of these quotes about people trying to guess what the history of the Bush administration is going to be, you know, I take great comfort in knowing that they don’t know what they are talking about, because history takes a long time for us to reach.”— George W. Bush, Fox News Sunday, Feb 10, 2008

I was kicking around in the city the other day hoping to jaw with my old friend Pete Bingo. Pete bills himself the “world’s greatest salesman/tour guide/ private eye,” and no doubt is. In fact, I’ll wager Pete Bingo is the world’s one and only  salesman/tour guide/private eye. Anyway, the two of us go back a long way, but rarely agree on anything.

I’d just scoured the results of a new survey published by George Mason University’s History News Network. One hundred and nine historians were queried about GW’s presidency. I looked forward to how Pete, an ardent and undying Bush supporter, would respond to the results. He promised to meet me at 9:30, but as per normal, was 40 minutes late.

When he finally arrived it took Pete 20 minutes to wade through, shake hands with and attempt to sell a briefcase full of worthless crap to potential “victims” before ascending the corner barstool with his name embossed on it. “They call me Fanny,” Pete told me for the ten thousandth time, “because I’m always behind. But as you know, my services are well worth waiting for. Barkeep, make it a double and keep ’em comin’. My dear friend here is more than good for them.”

I grimaced, but nodded, wasting no time going for my pound of flesh. “You’re a history buff, Pete. Take a look at this. One hundred and seven out of 109 professional historians rate Dubya’s presidency an abject failure!””Who cares? I don’t care. Do you care? Have you noticed? Nobody cares nowadays.””Sixty one percent of them say he’s the worst president of all time.””Everybody’s gotta be somethin’.””We’re talking about the guy you called the workingman’s friend, who you voted for twice, the guy who claims to be ‘The Decider’—you know, the leader of the so-called Free World.””Like I always say, he who hesitates is lost.””Pete, what the hell kind of idiotic response is that? We’re talking about the future of humanity here.””You and me, both.””Alright then, I’ll read you one historian’s survey response: ‘No individual president can compare to the second Bush,’ he says. ‘Glib, contemptuous, ignorant, incurious, a dupe of anyone who humors his deluded belief in his heroic self, he has bankrupted the country with his disastrous war and his tax breaks for the rich, trampled on the Bill of Rights, appointed foxes in every hen house, compounded the terrorist threat, turned a blind eye to torture and corruption and a looming ecological disaster, and squandered the rest of the world’s goodwill. In short, no other president’s faults have had so deleterious an effect on not only the country but the world at large.’ And, I might add—he’s a world class liar. So how do you respond to that?””Well, he may not tell the truth, but he does twist the facts.”

Pete was beginning to annoy me. “What’s with you? Are you so disassociated from reality you can’t see what’s stands plainly before you?””What’s with me? Well, I’ll tell ya, son. Someday they’re gonna write a book about me. Picture this—2,700 pages long. Four feet high. But no covers. Ya wanna know why? Cuz I got nothin’ ta hide. I say it all on the ass-end of my business cards. GTM—Get the Money!”

With that I slapped down a pair of 20-spots and made for the door. I could hear Pete’s foghorn voice, even over the dive din. He’d already cornered a new victim.”Why go elsewhere to be cheated?” Pete asked him. “See me first!”P. Joseph Potocki 

Here’s What You Do If. . .

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Here’s what you do if you’re Larry Ellison: You buy a 23-acre site in Woodside for $12 mil. Invest another $190 million “improving” your new property, and then, in an era when middle-class homes values plummet but rich folk “luxury” estates like yours are still going gangbusters, you go hat-in-hand to local officials begging for a devaluation of your property by more than 60 percent—and get it!  Save yourself a retroactive $3 million, and another cool mil a year from then on. And, believe me, you really need that extra loose dinero, since you’re only worth $25 billion.Here’s what you do if you’re J.P. Morgan: Conjure up a plan called Zippy Cheats & Tricks. Foist off sub-prime loans on as many suckers as you can. When you run low on marks, illegally goose the income figures on no-pay-to-play losers you’d normally not give the time of day to in order that they, too, are victimized by you and your fellow rapacious home loaners. You get your commission, and quickly get out. Oh, yeah—and don’t worry about the law, we got Republicans in that thar Department of “Justice.”Here’s what you do if you’re 22-year-old American arms dealer Efraim E. Diveroli: Make up a name for your business. Call it AEY, Inc. Hire a buddy as your company VP whose “arms” experience consists of rubbing limbs in his former profession as a licensed masseur. Next rent yourself an unmarked office in a gawdawful gaudy building in Miami Beach. Score $300 million in contracts from the U.S. government because you and your brand spanking new business are, well, time-proven and certifiably reliable. Now fulfill your U.S. government contract, sans oversight, shipping our faithful Afghan allies half -century-old “junk” ammo from former Soviet bloc countries, the same ammunition that our own government is actually paying these former commie governments to destroy because it’s worthless crap. Beat up two girlfriends and claim immunity from prosecution due to the “national security” nature of your quarter billion dollar-plus taxpayer rip-off. Know you’ll never get caught by the government, but hope and pray that by the time you launch your next criminal venture, the profession of investigative reporter will have been entirely eliminated from the media landscape.And finally. . .Here’s what you do if you live on Mars, but just happen to be the current President of the United States of America: You stand behind a podium at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force and tell everyone who will listen just how wonderful things are turning out in Iraq on the very day a major oil pipeline has been hit, the number one spokesperson for your Iraqi puppet regime has been kidnapped—in broad daylight and despite his own onsite armed bodyguards—and major fighting has escalated in Basra while Bagdad explodes into widely scattered violence and the Green Zone looks like London during the Blitzgrieg. Ignoring all that, you say: “When it takes time for Iraqis to reach agreement, it is not ‘foot dragging,’ as one senator described it. . . . They’re striving to build a modern democracy on the rubble of three decades of tyranny.”

I hate to disagree with the prez, but just maybe the Iraqis are actually striving to simply survive in the rubble of five years of unprovoked illegal invasion and brutal occupation.P. Joseph Potocki

George Carlin at Wells Fargo: March 1, 2008

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Now that he’s attained the septuagenarian rank of “old fuck,” and like old fucks since humanity’s rude beginnings, will next become a dead fuck, it’s pardonable to take the long view of a George Carlin show and cite a few precedents. But first a rundown Saturday night’s “It’s Bad For Ya,” concert, broadcast live for HBO from the Wells Fargo Center for the Performing Arts. It was a sellout. Carlin got a standing ovation—twice; once in the beginning and once at the end of his hour-long performance.

Carlin still hates humanity, and that’s good. We deserve it. Last night Carlin laid waste to Dr. Phil, families, growing old, Lady Liberty, human rights, Lance Armstrong, ethnic identity, Alzheimer’s, dying, biblical fantasy and other such pufferies currently deluding our species. Carlin’s Bush family digs felt obligatory, but were anticipated and well-received. All in all, Carlin expelled a well-paced load of good ol’ fashioned misanthropic obscenity, which is what we’d all come there to hear.

So on to the precedents. George Carlin comes from that rarified but ill-bred family charged with social criticism and satire. Picture Lenny Bruce shooting up, then reading and regaling our Constitution before a sellout crowd at Carnegie Hall. Lenny was Carlin’s dad. But Lenny never knew his comedic father. Lenny was so obnoxious as a kid that Dad abandoned him. Rumor has it that Lenny’s father was a Hitler look-a-like named Chaplin. And Charlie Chaplin was begot by Twain, and if you’ve never read Letters From Earth, you won’t know what I’m really talking about—so get a copy, and also by Ambrose Bierce, the infamed author of the Devil’s Dictionary, who was begot by Swift, who was begot by that randy monk Rabelais, then before him Chaucer, Boccaccio, Persius and everyone’s favorite Greek cynic, Aristophanes. Somewhere out there, right now, Carlin’s own kid is stirring up shit. I don’t know who he is, but just like the Dalai Lama, we’ll know when it comes time to pass the torch, cuz like Carlin and his seven Supreme Court words, and every last one of his son-of-a-bitch forebears, Carlin’s kid’s headed straight for the kind of trouble and no good that’ll have us rolling in dark, morbid hilarity, ironically illuminating our entirely pathetic existence.

Like Carlin says, “It’s all bullshit. And it’s bad for you.”P. Joseph Potocki

YES WE CAN!

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HASH(0x1c4c8a8)

Meth Actor

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the arts | stage |

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Portrait of pain: Deborah Eubanks helped her daughter fight meth addiction and turned it into art.

By Patricia Lynn Henley

She glitters as she moves across the stage, strutting audaciously. With a sweep of her hand or the breeze of her musical breath, she influences the actions of others. Blending the personas of Shakespeare’s mischievous Puck with the ominous emcee in Cabaret, her name is Crystal Meth.

From the darkened front row, Petaluma playwright Deborah Eubanks watches Crystal avidly. Eubanks’ short blond hair is barely visible as she leans forward to focus intently on the actors and then leans back to immerse herself in the reactions of the opening-night crowd in downtown San Francisco. She explains afterward that she felt both excited and extremely vulnerable.

“I felt like a bug coming out from under a stone, and everybody going, ‘Look, that’s her life.’ I kept girding my loins and saying this is for the greatest good. People need to know this. You can’t fight the enemy unless you know it, unless you know its power and its force.”

The enemy is methamphetamine, and Eubanks is intimately familiar with its dominating presence. Her oldest daughter went through a heartbreaking but ultimately successful effort to extract herself from meth addiction. Eubanks has transformed the family’s roller-coaster journey with the drug into the performance play Crystal Daze, the centerpiece production of this year’s DIVAfest at San Francisco’s Exit Theater.

“It transcended my expectations,” Eubanks says of watching Crystal Daze on opening night. “It was much, much more of a pure art form than when I saw it in my mind’s eye, because it’s so close to home. It’s so close to who I am.”

Born and raised in England, Eubanks trained at the Harold Pinter Studios, designed and ran theater workshops and taught at Covent Garden Art Center before moving to the United States when she was in her early 30s. She’s been a director and artist in residence at Petaluma’s Cinnabar Theater, has taught voice and Shakespeare at ACT and drama at a private high school in the North Bay, and spent the last four years teaching at the Berkeley Repertory Theater.

Eubanks’ journey toward the creation of Crystal Daze began several years ago with the difficult realization that the eldest of her two daughters was hooked on meth. Emotionally exhausted by watching her daughter’s descent into a drug-induced hell and by her own increasingly desperate search for solutions that ultimately led nowhere, Eubanks began journaling to express her innermost thoughts and feelings.

She recorded her joys, when her daughter seemed to be making progress, followed by her deep despair when the drug once again took over their lives. Eubanks used her writing to rage against the harshness of proffered advice–throw her daughter out of the family home and let her sink or swim on her own–and her agony when she eventually made that difficult decision.

“When you can look into the face of someone you love so much and you see only the drug, you look and you see only that chemical dancing its wild fire against every muscle, every bone, when you look and see only that, then is the moment when you can’t do it anymore,” she says. “Then is the point when you say, ‘I’m done.’ It’s the hardest thing in the world to turn your back on the embodiment of that person.”

Slowly, her writing evolved, becoming less personal, gaining more of a voice and almost a three-dimensional shape. Deeply immersed in theater all her life, Eubanks naturally began to see theatrical possibilities, a way to share her story and her perspective in a familiar form.

Eagerly throwing herself into research, Eubanks spoke with DEA officials, meth-addicted inmates and her own young students. She chatted endlessly online with others who had family members hooked on the drug and read everything she could find about it. Eubanks immersed herself in the drug’s subculture, learning its language and its black humor. And as her daughter finally began to turn her life around, Eubanks more and more saw her journal writing as the prelude to a play, a highly stylized performance piece exploring meth’s deep roots in our society and how the drug tears mother-daughter relationships apart.

Applying to Exit Theater’s DIVAfest, Eubanks was selected to write Crystal Daze, which is the only fully staged production in this year’s schedule.

“Out of over a hundred submissions, her play kind of jumped out at me because of the subject matter,” says Exit artistic director Christina Augello, who portrays one of the mothers in the current production. “It’s a very timely subject matter, and it’s also a true story, which makes it very compelling.”

Written from the heart-rending perspective of two mothers whose daughters have been seduced by the character of Crystal Meth, the play underscores how addiction affects not just the addicts but all the people around them.

“Crystal Meth is a character in the show, and there’s a competition for the daughters,” Augello explains. “The mothers are fighting to save their daughters, and Crystal Meth is fighting to keep them.”

The play emphasizes that it’s the drug that’s the culprit, not the daughter.

“It’s important to distinguish that. You always have to look at it that way, as a mother. You have to remember and try to get her back to that person she was before she was kidnapped by the drug,” Augello adds. “The play is hopeful in the respect that it believes there is a way of reaching into the soul and spirit of people addicted to drugs and somehow to help them return by keeping the distinction between the drug and the person.”

Jessica Fudim did the choreography, not just the opening dance where Crystal Meth takes two beautiful young woman and toys with them until they’re nearly unrecognizable in skin-crawling withdrawal, but all of the physical action throughout the 90-minute play. “Movement is really a major piece of how the story is manifested,” Fudim explains.

Light and set designer Armanda Ortmayer created an exceptionally visual series of translucent sliding panels that evoke images both of the smoke that mesmerizes meth addicts and the ubiquitous baggies in which the drug is sold. Costume designer Lisa Eldrige creatively clothed Crystal Meth in a series of skimpy but glittering outfits, the mothers in subdued hues that reflect their emotional battering, the daughters in clothes that make them appear alternatively angelic (as in their mothers’ memories) or increasingly demented (while in meth’s clutches).

The play was developed collaboratively with the technical team and cast members Augello, Sadie Lune, Lizzie Sell, Joelle Wagner and Cheryl Smith. When personal reasons forced Eubanks to withdraw as director in March, Michelle Talgarow stepped in as co-director. That turned out to be for the best, Eubanks says, because she was simply too close to the subject matter. “They far, far exceeded what I could have come up with.”

Meth is the ideal drug in our speeded-up society, Eubanks asserts, and its impacts are more far-reaching than most people realize. In the opening dance of Crystal Daze, the daughters rip open angelic-looking nightgowns to reveal dark, sleeveless T-shirts adorned with images of young girls with huge eyes. The girls are climbing out their bedroom windows next to the words “party all night.” Costume designer Eldrige found the shirts in the juniors department of a major chain store. The eyes on those “cute” T-shirts are meth eyes, and images of meth permeate our world, Eubanks charges.

“When I tell people this, they look at me like I’m a conspiracy theorist. People don’t know what they’re selling sometimes. It has infiltrated in ways that I think we can’t even bargain for.”

One of her neighbors teaches kindergarten. The woman recently confided in Eubanks that methamphetamine is a growing problem among the parents of her young students.

“That shook me,” Eubanks says thoughtfully. It also makes her glad she wrote Crystal Daze.

“If this play can shift people’s awareness, awaken them with regard to methamphetamine and the growing woes of this terrible drug, that’s wonderful.”

Standing on a stage that is extremely simple and yet still seeped in signs of meth, one of the mothers in Crystal Daze declares, “I’m tired of hearing people refer to my daughter as ‘the addict.’ My daughter has a name.”

The play gives a voice to those who love meth addicts, down to the occasional but quickly repressed thought that a daughter’s death might be better than her continued agony. Crystal Daze is a cry for help from an often indifferent society, and a call to drop the stereotypes and remember addicts’ humanity.

“I want other people to understand, empathize and begin to consider new and potentially more successful approaches to addiction and to this drug in particular,” Eubanks explains with passion in her voice.

She just doesn’t know yet what those new methods might be.

“We need to shift gears and ask more questions than just offering ready-made answers. I don’t think we as a society know what the ramifications of this drug might be. I do know that we can’t continue watching the ramifications culminating in human debris on street corners.”

She’s already planning some rewrites, and another theater company is considering including a reading of Crystal Daze in its 2008 schedule. Even after the DIVAfest ends, Crystal Daze will continue to offer its perceptions and insights, and its call for new solutions. The answers, Eubanks says, can’t be one-size-fits-all.

“Every meth addict has a name and a family who loved them and lost them. Somewhere, there’s got to be a mother who birthed that meth addict.”

Performances run through May 26 at the Exit Theater, 156 Eddy St., San Francisco. $12-$20, 415.673.3847, www.theexit.org. The DIVAfest also includes free staged readings of four new plays by women.



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First Bite

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First Bite

Central Market

By Gretchen Giles

Editor’s note: First Bite is a new concept in restaurant writing. We invite you to come along with our writers as they–informed, intelligent eaters like yourselves–have a simple meal at an area restaurant, just like you do. This is not a go-three-times, try-everything-on-the-menu report; rather, this is a quick snapshot of a single experience.

Those contemplating marrying on a Saturday should remember that, barring leap year, the second anniversary (appropriately, the “cotton” celebration) will fall on a Monday. And so, we duly set off on a recent gray Monday to celebrate the joint tax returns and shared medical benefits that wedlock has brought over the last two years.

Mondays can be a terrific night for enjoying a terrific restaurant. Places aren’t packed, the chefs aren’t banging pots and servers are presumably relaxed and able to give attentive service. At Petaluma’s Central Market, some of the servers indeed seemed able to do so. Unfortunately, the affable young woman who helped us wasn’t one of them.

Opened in 2003 by former Ernie’s and Ravenswood Winery chef Tony Najiola, Central Market is all about sustainable, local foods, often prepared in the Mugnaini wood-burning oven that dominates the open kitchen in this large, airy restaurant. And while our server left us sitting before and during the meal for inexplicable lengths of time, a meal at Central Market is not easily forgotten.

Dinner began with a generous smoked trout salad ($8.75) and a crisp baby romaine salad studded with bacon lardons, blue cheese and chopped egg ($8.50). The firm, sweet trout certainly hinted at Najiola’s renowned way with fish. Looking nosily around, as one sometimes does on married dates, it provoked longing to see that our neighbors had all opted for the white corn and clam chowder ($8.25), which was served with bacon and spring vegetables, and evoked a hot desire to try this on the next visit.

Under the “butcher” category on the menu, pork is well-represented by the house-cured, double-cut pork chop ($21) served with a spinach cake and creamed mushrooms. But it is the crispy pork confit ($17.50) to which religions should be raised. Three insanely delicious portions of pork are cooked in their own fat, creating crispy and tender shreds alike as one’s fork cavorts about the plate. The accompanying potato “crouton” and the roasted peppers are unnecessary with such a wealth of crispiness and meltingness, and the potato was so waxy and underdone (thus its state as a “crouton,” one supposes) as to be inedible.

We also tried the seared Angus hanger steak with blue cheese ($19.50), which featured six strips of individually grilled rare steak, served with a traditional potato gratin that was the definition of cheesy richness. As with the side dishes served with the pork, the accompanying olive salad was a messy, unnecessary affair.

Central Market offers a sparkling wine from Alsace ($7.75 glass), which was simply golden, lip-smacking love; red and white winetasting flights ($18); and designates its varietals as “floral,” “rich,” “fruity” or “ripe,” making it easy to make a match with the market plates on the main menu.

Fairly drugged on pork confit and hanger steak, dessert was deemed an impossibility. As often happens, our largely absent server became a model of efficiency when presenting the check, and we stepped out into the misty Monday night, well-fed and contented, ready to weather the insurance co-pays and tax challenges of a marital third year–traditionally known as the, um, leather year.

Central Market, 42 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. Open for dinner daily from 5:30pm. 707.778.9900.

From the June 29-July 5, 2005 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© 2005 Metro Publishing Inc.

Film Review: ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’

Listen, HJNTIY, We Need to Talk…If he’s not calling you, sleeping with you, marrying you—or is sleeping with someone else—it could be that he’s just not that into you. It seems like a simple enough guideline. Yet most women wish to be an exception to such rules. That is why so many hopeless romantics will be gathering up their...

Permi-Fuss

On Saturday, August 30, officers of the Minneapolis Police, Minnesota State Troopers, Ramsey County Sheriffs, Saint Paul Police and University of Minnesota Police pulled over the Earth Activist Training Permaculture Demonstration Bus, also called the Permibus. Without providing proper justification, the police told the people to exit the bus and explained that they would be detained. The only...

Why Go Anywhere Else to Be Cheated?

"As far as history goes and all of these quotes about people trying to guess what the history of the Bush administration is going to be, you know, I take great comfort in knowing that they don’t know what they are talking about, because history takes a long time for us to reach.”— George W. Bush, Fox News Sunday,...

Here’s What You Do If. . .

Here's what you do if you're Larry Ellison: You buy a 23-acre site in Woodside for $12 mil. Invest another $190 million "improving" your new property, and then, in an era when middle-class homes values plummet but rich folk "luxury" estates like yours are still going gangbusters, you go hat-in-hand to local officials begging for a devaluation of your...

George Carlin at Wells Fargo: March 1, 2008

Now that he's attained the septuagenarian rank of "old fuck," and like old fucks since humanity's rude beginnings, will next become a dead fuck, it's pardonable to take the long view of a George Carlin show and cite a few precedents. But first a rundown Saturday night's "It's Bad For Ya," concert, broadcast live for HBO from the...

YES WE CAN!

HASH(0x1c4c8a8)

Meth Actor

the arts | stage | Portrait of pain: Deborah Eubanks helped...

First Bite

First BiteCentral MarketBy Gretchen GilesEditor's note: First Bite is a new concept in restaurant writing. We invite you to come along with our writers as they--informed, intelligent eaters like yourselves--have a simple meal at an area restaurant, just like you do. This is not a go-three-times, try-everything-on-the-menu report; rather, this is a quick snapshot of a single experience.Those contemplating...
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