Party to Overturn Prop. Hate

0

From the This Just In But Our Calendar’s Gone to Press Dept.:

Please join us this Friday, Nov. 28, at Art in Action, an art auction and party to benefit Lambda Legal in their work to overturn Proposition 8. Dozens of donated works of art and items from local businesses will be sold by silent auction, beginning at 6pm at Aubergine, 755 Petaluma Ave., Sebastopol.

Come join the party and enjoy/purchase original artwork, gourmet food, raffle tickets sold with the help of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. Musical guests include the Love Choir, Bret Martin, and the B Good Joes; DJ Debaster will be on hand to close the evening’s festivities.

Party is 6 pm—1 am; bidding on art items ends at 10pm. Suggested donation: $15-$25. For more information or to make a contribution, contact Trinia Cuseo at (707) 486-6338 or by email at trinqzo[at]hotmail.com.

“That’s Just The Way It Went Down, Bryant!”

0

It’s to the benefit of her legacy that the Anita O’Day documentary is not all that great. Keeps the mystery alive.
(Not glad that it was out of frame, but getting used to that by now.)
Interviews with talking heads providing no insight. Couldn’t they call up Chris Connor? Or MySpace her? Will Friedwald slams it though—who’d’a guessed he was so young?
Old twelfth-generation footage mostly seen before. Maybe O’Day was just an ordinary person? But NO! shouts the film: she was a WHITE jazz singer on HEROIN! Zzzzzzz. I’m scouring libraries for her book instead while newbies get seduced by the angle. More people listening to Anita O’Day = cannot complain.
Bryant Gumbel getting shut down is worth the ticket price.

Live Review: Of Montreal at the Grand Ballroom, San Francisco

7

Attention all those who saw Of Montreal last night:
Next time your parents tell you how they saw David Bowie, or your sister tells you about seeing the Flaming Lips, or your friend’s dad keeps talking about Genesis or your dumb uncle won’t stop going on and on about Gwar or Mr. Bungle, you now have your response.
“You know what?” you can say. “Big fuckin’ deal, because I saw Of Montreal.”
There’s no need to explain it. No need to intellectualize it, or try to extrapolate some deep cultural meaning over theatre’s role in art. Of Montreal is just a damn good mind-blowing time, and easily the best entertainment you can get for $22.50. Even if you had to pay $100 on Craigslist for a ticket in these last couple weeks, you still got your money’s worth.
To everyone else: Look up their tour schedule. Drive to the next town. Call all your friends in upcoming cities and tell them to go. At all costs.
If you haven’t already heard, here’s the deal: Of Montreal’s Skeletal Lamping tour consists of a million costume changes, a non-stop reel of theatrical vignettes, a multi-leveled set centered by a moving carousel, a psychedelic lightshow, hundreds of props and dozens of instruments. Somewhere in the middle of all this is the band.
There’s buddhas, pigs, ninjas, a tiger, a roller-derby girl, a bikini beach party, a ’20s saloon scene, a pope, a nun, a gallows hanging, a coffin filled with shaving cream, guerillas wielding machine guns, a ghetto-blaster disco mamma, a two-man horse, devils who hand-paint the audience red, a beast with oversized arms and legs, a large eagle, and crazy machines that blow feathers all over everyone at the end.
It’s not pretentious, or juvenile, or mawkish or overly corny. It’s an utterly jaw-dropping culmination of the most basic human impulse to masquerade. Everyone who’s ever been in a band knows the feeling of seeing a funny shirt in a thrift store and thinking, “Cool! I’ll wear this on stage!” Take that impulse and multiply it by twelve bajillion, and that’s what Of Montreal’s tour is like.

Musically, the band was completely on point last night, and the set represented their two most recent albums, Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? and Skeletal Lamping. Kevin Barnes’ singing—with pitch-perfect harmonies by Bryan Poole—was unwavering, even on the more challenging tunes like “Gronlandic Edit” and “Wicked Wisdom,” and a solo upright piano rendering of “Touched Something’s Hollow” gave a poignant break from the nonstop thrust of “An Eluardian Distance” and “Gallery Piece.”
The nearly two-hour performance ended with Of Montreal wailing through a ridiculous no-holds barred, everyone-on-stage cover of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and the sentiment of “entertain us” was never more apt.
“Thank you, San Francisco!” said a glad, exhausted Kevin Barnes at the end of the show. “Thank you for letting us be ourselves.”
If you did not have a permanent smile on your face, or if you did not dance, or if you did not scream your lungs out, then you might want to check your pulse and make sure you’re actually alive. The shit was nuts, and one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

More photos below.

Things Overheard at the ‘Twilight’ Movie Premiere

0

Things overheard from the midnight show of Twilight in Santa Rosa on November 21, 2008, the night of its official domestic release:“Did she just say ‘Oh my gosh’? How PG.”“They don’t have Asian people in Forks!”“I really don’t approve of the casting of Rosalie.”“Or of Jasper.”“Or the clothes!”“I’m not happy with any of them except for Edward and Mike.”“Edward is a lot cuter than he is in the book. He’s kind of an asshole in the book.”“He’s not sparkly enough!”“They’re gonna make out.”“They can’t make out, it’s PG.”“Hey, they don’t drink beer in the book!”“Isn’t their house supposed to be old? And white? This isn’t how I pictured their house at all!”“Rosalie sucks! Why is she wearing those gloves?!”“Jasper reminds me of Edward Scissorhands.”“I totally pictured a different Carlisle. This guy looks like a weasely snake.”“Did he just say ‘Spidermonkey’?”“I think it was her—yeah! That was Stephanie Meyer!”“Why isn’t she cooking him dinner?”“Because if she cooked him dinner, it would be too boring.”“’Is he indie’?!”“They’re gonna do it.”“They can’t do it. They’re not allowed.”

Live Review: John Hiatt and the Ageless Beauties at the Mystic Theatre

2

(Note to the Reader: For this installment of City Sound Inertia, we welcome back guest reviewer Bob Meline! A finish carpenter by trade, longtime music fan, and secretly, a solid bass player, he’s also my dad—and one of the greatest guys I know.)
With props to Philly’s Billy Paul, John Hiatt and Sonoma County have a thing going on. The Mystic Theatre is a regular stop on Hiatt’s tour schedule and it’s definitely a two way street when it comes to this thing. Sonoma County loves him—his shows always sell out early, whether he’s performing solo or with his endless array of kick-ass bands—and Hiatt always returns the favor tenfold with nothing less than stellar shows taken from some 30 years of some of the best songwriting ever offered.
Touring in support of his latest release, Same Old Man, Hiatt’s performance Thursday night was counter indicative that the title might be autobiographical. After a few listens through his new offering, the album’s writing isn’t nearly as strong as some of his recent work and the vocals at times seem to be even more rough around the edges that fans are used to. But Hiatt was in prime form at the Mystic, his voice as clear and strong as ever while changing tempos, reworking lyrics, extending solos and exercising his endless array of facial gymnastics—definitely not acting like the same old man.
He opened the set to a thunderous ovation with a strong, determined, version of “Perfectly Good Guitar.” From the onset, he seemed to be a man happy in his own skin, extremely comfortable on stage and genuinely appreciative, if not somewhat surprised, at the raucous support of the Mystic audience. At the conclusion of the song, he spread his arms in his first of many acknowledgments of his band, the Ageless Beauties: “It’s great to be back in Petaluma at the Mystic Theatre“, he drawled, “where much mysticality always takes place.”
The band then went into a trifecta of tunes from the new album, “Old Days,” “On With You” and “Love You Again,” creating a feel that was much more fresh and lively than the studio versions.
The intro to “Cry Love” was the beginning of an amazing night of guitar work from guitarist Doug Lancio, providing a soaring, ethereal, heavenly feel that complimented the tunes’ references to “the tears of an angel.” Lancio, who has worked with the likes of Nanci Griffith, Patty Griffin, Steve Earle and Todd Snider, is the latest guitarist to work with Hiatt, who seems to have a certain magnet that attracts extremely accomplished but sometimes underrated musicians.
Born in Nashville and introduced by Hiatt as one of the original “thirteen hundred and fifty two guitar pickers from Nashville,” Lancio worked through the evening with an array of electric and acoustic guitars, a dobro and a mandolin, effortlessly providing the perfect feel to Hiatt’s tunes.
The band continued nonstop through a number of Hiatt’s classics, “Walk On,” a hard driving “Master of Disaster,” “Crossing Muddy Waters,” and the always hot and greasy “Drive South,” a terrific character study of two young lovers trying to make it work.
One would not expect a songwriter who recently received the Americana Lifetime Achievement Award for Songwriting to have the cojones to start a tune with “Well, I’m sitting on the toilet with my sunglasses on / Wondering what you are up to,” but there’s probably no more fitting intro possible to “Ethylene,” a rare gem that Hiatt pulled out of his big ol’ box of songs as a gift to the audience. Hiatt expounded on Ethylene herself after the song, letting everybody know they could find her at a diner in east Tennessee, where they have the best bologna and cheese on white bread sandwiches anywhere—because they slice the bologna fresh right in front of you. And with a can of Diet-Rite cola and a bag of peanuts for dessert (dropped into the can, of course), well, there you are. It was a nice peek into the window of Hiatt’s oft-times offbeat songwriting brain.
The Ageless Beauties expertly transformed the classic “Memphis in the Meantime” from a catchy country rock feel to a full-bore rock and roll number. The two other Beauties, bassist Patrick O’Hearn and drummer Kenny Blevins, provided a solid rhythm section, albeit at times Blevins’ drums seemed to be a bit loud for some of the softer songs. O’Hearn filled the bottom end working from standup, acoustic and electric bass.
Hiatt rounded out the evening touching all the bases—the crowd pleasing “Tennessee Plates” (introduced as “a song about grand theft auto“), “Paper Thin,” “Slow Turning” (with a modified monologue and homage paid to the younger vote: “It’s their time now”), “Feels Like Rain,” and an extended “Ridin’ With the King,” giving Lancio the front and center one more time.
The band encored with—what else?—“Thing Called Love,” wherein Hiatt again gave Bonnie Raitt her due for both her having made the song as popular as it is and, as a very nice side benefit, having helped to put a couple of his kids through college. A keyboardless “Have a Little Faith in Me” closed the show.
Throughout the night, Hiatt was as appreciative of his audience as they were of him. During his encore, he thanked the audience again for coming, noting that it was especially appreciated “during these hard economic times.” And with the trademark ear-to-ear Hiatt grin, he promised that he’d be doing this as long as he was able—even if, he joked to the crowd, it reached the point where he’d have to arrive onstage on a motorized mobility scooter.
It looks like this “thing” may be going on for a long time.
Robert Meline

Santa Barbara’s Tea Fire: A Personal Account

0

Catherine from Graton forwards this message from a friend recounting how he and his wife fled from, survived and found a miracle in last week’s Tea Fire.Blessings of the BodhisattvasFinding meaning in the Santa Barbara wildfires

By Gary Hill

It was about 5pm on Thursday, just getting dark, and Helena reminded me that the full moon rise the previous night had been spectacular. Tonight we should make sure to see it from our front balcony looking out over the ocean and the chain of mountains running North east along the coast of Santa Barbara.

A siren sounds up in the hills but close by. Helena says it feels like fire. Warm sun-downer winds gusting hard against the patio doors pop one open with a bang. Startled, our dog Loki barks. Helena goes to see the moon rise and calls urgently. We look out at a bright orange plume of fire, 20 feet high, up on the ridgeline two miles to the northeast. The wind is blowing down the canyon, the flames flick and jump into the air.

Helena springs into action. “We need to evacuate, now! Where is the list of what we need to take?” I try to calm and assure her. The fire is moving away from us. There has been no order to evacuate, but to pacify her, I stoically start into action. Pack the computers, the photos and the camera. Calls start to fly in. Helena’s friend network is in full cry. I am annoyed and tell her, “If you are going to pack, pack. Take the portrait of your mother. Put it in the camper.” I check to see if the camper starts. Helena is grabbing the silver, the contents of the safe, her grandmother’s plates. Loki is anxious. Helena is frantic. I put my work in the brief case but don’t close it. I expect to do more work after things calm down.

Helena’s energy propels us forward. The camper is packed haphazardly with random keepsakes. I grab a duffel and toss in the most precious of our Buddhist art and a Tibetan rug. At the last minute, I stop in front of the jade quan yin just purchased to honor the birth of our first grandchild. Should I take her to keep her safe or leave her to protect the house? I am leaving lots of Buddhas, Bodhisattvas and quan yin’s behind, sitting on altars and standing guard in doorways, patios and gardens. I grab the jade. There is really no reason to leave. The fire is to the east of us but now is a long line stretching like an arrow toward the south. Its light dwarfs the brilliant moon above it. I feel no sense of hurry and no sense that what we are leaving behind will be lost. I throw my bike in the station wagon and Helena and I set off in tandem for our friends the Pollocks; we hosted them for three days when they evacuated from fire in July.

On the Stereo: Anita O’Day’s Golden Era

0

Anita O’Day was at the very top of the most thrilling jazz singers to ever walk the face of the earth, and I’m glad to see that she’s finally gotten her due with a documentary, Anita O’Day: The Life of a Jazz Singer. Though I love her singing, all I really know about Anita O’Day’s personal life is that she once claimed while drunk that her dog was her manager, usually barked condescending orders at whatever band with which she appeared, and had her uvula accidentally cut out of her throat in a tonsillectomy accident when she was a child, resulting in her characteristically husky voice. Oh, and that she was a heroin addict. But everyone knows that.
The definitive live footage of Anita O’Day remains her performances of “Sweet Georgia Brown” and “Tea for Two” from the great film Jazz on a Summer’s Day, a beautifully artistic documentary of the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival. (She admits to being high on heroin during the concert.) But this documentary sounds pretty good, and in anticipation of the film opening at the Rialto in Santa Rosa this Friday, I’ve been throwing her records on the turntable every night this week. Here are her best, and yes, they’re all on Verve.

 

Anita Sings The Most (1957): This is O’Day in great style with a supremely great backing band of Oscar Peterson’s quartet with Ray Brown and Herb Ellis. A wonderful song selection and fantastic performances. The whole album is loose with plenty of interplay, and O’Day is especially inventive on songs like “’S Wonderful”—and rips it up on “Them There Eyes.” A too-slowed-down version of “I’ve Got the World on a String” is the album’s only misstep, especially coming just before the perfect closer, “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.”

 

This is Anita (1955): Anita O’Day’s stellar first album for Verve Records—and in fact, the very first album released by Norman Granz’s then then-brand-new Verve Records. Contains O’Day’s incredible version of “Honeysuckle Rose”—it saunters like syrup—and a buoyant take on “You’re the Top” revised with jazz references to Charlie Parker, Lester Young and Art Tatum. A delicate “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” is the quintessential wintertime song, with wonderfully drawn-out consonants and vowels. If you don’t have any Anita O’Day records, this is a damn good place to start.

 

Pick Yourself Up With Anita O’Day (1956): Still one of my favorites, after all these years, not the least because it contains her well-known version of “Sweet Georgia Brown” from the film Jazz on a Summer’s Day. Make sure to hit up the lesser-known tunes on this fantastic session: “I Never Had a Chance,” “I Used to be Color Blind,” and the bouncy “Let’s Begin.” Buddy Bregman is the arranger, adding a Latin feel to “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” (and Ellington interpolations here and there), and overall, O’Day rides along smoothly with skill and frivolity. Yes, it looks like she’s shoplifting a toaster on the cover.

 

Anita O’Day Swings Cole Porter With Billy May (1959): As close a pop album as O’Day ever came to, combining the widely recognized songwriter with one of the brawniest arrangers of the day. The results work remarkably well, and May’s creative arrangements keep the jazz spirit alive and well. “Just One Of Those Things” kicks the album off like a horse out of the gate, and it rarely lets up from there as O’Day dominates Porter classics like “”I Get a Kick Out of You,” “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” and the wink-wink “All of You.”

 

Anita O’Day and The Three Sounds (1963): Sounds crazy but after all these years of listening to Anita O’Day, I reach for this album most frequently. In 1962, O’Day was saddled with drug problems and just about through with her Verve contract. She only sings on about half of the songs here, with the Three Sounds providing instrumentals for the rest. There’s something addictive about O’Day’s detachment on this record; it’s the very rare sound of her “phoning it in,” which of course sounds better than most singers when they’re trying. I consider it Anita O’Day’s equivalent of Neil Young’s Tonight’s the Night, providing the most beautiful wrinkles in a wasted fabric. I’ve talked to other O’Day fanatics who have the same feeling of affinity for it. Worth seeking out.

 

Anita O’Day at Mister Kelly’s (1958): Recorded in her hometown of Chicago and opening with the rarely-heard verse of “But Not For Me,” this nice nightclub date is notable for containing three tunes by Joe and Eileen Albany: “I Have a Reason For Living,” “My Love For You,” and the poignant “Loneliness is a Well.” O’Day goes out of her way to introduce the composers on each of these songs, causing one to wonder exactly what kind of backroom deal she struck with the Albanys. The person who previously owned this LP wrote an exclamation point on the track listing after “The Song Is You,” but it’s actually kind of a wack closer. Still, a good live record.

 

An Evening With Anita O’Day (1956): Hell yes, a very great nightclub recording from early on in her Verve contract. Stellar guitar work by Tal Farlow and Barney Kessel runs a close second to O’Day’s own impeccable singing on songs like “From This Moment On” and “Let’s Fall In Love.” The recording quality is outstanding, the songs are well-chosen, and O’Day even chimes in with an original—“Anita’s Blues.” It’s amazing how perfect O’Day’s voice could be in concert.

American Idol

0

11.19.08

The great Patsy Cline died more than 45 years ago, at the age of 30, and since then the Virginia-born country singer’s life and music have become the stuff of pop-culture legend, with numerous books, tribute albums and movies exploring the dark interior of Cline’s tumultuous life, hardscrabble childhood, abuse-tinged marriages and bouts with depression. There must be a law that every biographical effort focusing on a famous country singer has to be a tear-stained, gut-wrenching, emotional downer. If there is such a law, then consider it broken, because Ted Swindley’s Always, Patsy Cline—now playing at Santa Rosa’s Sixth Street Playhouse—is about as undepressing a show as you are likely to see, a rousing, humor-filled celebration of Cline’s music and personality that at times is more like a party than a play.

Unconventionally structured and playfully surreal, Always, Patsy Cline was inspired by a real-life, two-year-long correspondence between the singer and Louise Seger, a boisterous Houston-based fan who, after bumping into Cline before a concert in 1961, invited her to spend the night at her house after the show. Though Seger never saw Cline again, that one night of homespun female bonding sparked off a pen-pal friendship that lasted until the plane crash that ended Cline’s life in 1963.

While this is pretty slight stuff to hang a whole show on, playwright Swindley, who’s made a career of packaging everything from country tunes to bachelor pad music into bouncy-fluffy stage revues, has nevertheless created a thoroughly entertaining two-woman musical, a winning combination of great songs and down-home yarn-spinning, with just a dash of pathos to keep things grounded in reality as the action slips back and forth between Patsy Cline singing her most famous tunes and Louise engaging the audience to tell the story of that one big night when she met her American idol.

As Patsy and Louise, Sebastopol actresses Mary Gannon Graham and Liz Jahren, respectively, take turns stealing the show from each other. Graham, backed onstage by a six-piece country band, convincingly channels Cline’s throaty contralto and laid-back stage presence, and though she has almost no spoken lines—even in kitchen-table conversation, Patsy reveals her feelings through her songs, microphone and everything—Graham also effectively captures the singer’s off-stage insecurity and sweet, slightly wary ordinariness.

It’s been a strong year for Graham, who started 2008 by playing the title character in the Sonoma County Repertory Theater’s hit production of Shirley Valentine, and then appeared as Kate in the Rep’s record-breaking all-pirate version of The Taming of the Shrew. A longtime player on the Sonoma County theater scene, Graham rarely gets to sing onstage, and her performance here is likely to make people wonder why that is; even suffering from the flu, as she was last Thursday night, she proves herself to be a powerhouse singer as she performs more than 20 of Cline’s most memorable tunes.

As Louise, Jahren almost sets the stage afire, playing the Texas divorcee as a life-loving, over-the-top Southern belle with a loud voice and a fearlessness that, if it’s anything like the real Louise Seger, must have been part of her appeal when Cline met her at the bar of the Esquire Ballroom. If Graham-as-Patsy is the heart of the play, then with 99 percent of the spoken lines, Jahren (last seen in Sixth Street’s Sweetest Swing in Baseball) is literally the voice, spinning the Cliff’s Notes version of her own life, as well as Cline’s.

The show is playfully co-directed by Elizabeth Craven and Elly Lichenstein, and following its Santa Rosa run, will move to Petaluma’s Cinnabar Theater for a three-week stint beginning Dec. 31.

One could not say there is much drama in Always, Patsy Cline, and it truly does slip into the realm of the surreal whenever Cline, hanging out in Louise’s house or loitering near the jukebox, produces that microphone and starts singing, but, unconventional as it is, this is a surprisingly upbeat, truly feel-good show. Even when mention comes, late in the play, of Cline’s tragic death, the lingering feeling is one of celebration and gratitude—gratitude that her amazing voice once graced the world and that, troubled or not, for one night way back in 1961, she was able to share an evening of camaraderie and warmth with a crazy fan from Texas, touched forever by the friendship of a truly good soul.

‘Always, Patsy Cline’ runs Thursday&–Sunday through Dec. 7 at the Sixth Street Playhouse. Thursday&–Saturday at 8pm; also Saturday&–Sunday at 2pm. 52 W. Sixth St., Santa Rosa. $14&–$30. Call the box office at 707.523.4185.


Museums and gallery notes.

Reviews of new book releases.

Reviews and previews of new plays, operas and symphony performances.

Reviews and previews of new dance performances and events.

Growing Real Change

11.19.08

President-elect Barack Obama is starting to draw up names for various cabinet positions. The secretaries of state, defense and treasury will be the first appointments he makes. The secretary of agriculture, never a high-profile position, will surely come later. But now that our long, national nightmare of George Bush is about to come to an end, I’m hoping that Obama will give some serious thought to how we feed ourselves. I’d argue that the secretary of agriculture post and an overhaul of our food policy need to become top priorities.

Writer Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food, has become one of the leading voices in America for food policy reform. He wrote a provocative cover story in the Oct. 12 New York Times Magazine in which he offered some suggestions to the then unknown president-to-be. The basis of his advice is the belief that our food policy has become a national security issue. Because the centralized production and distribution of food in America is based on petroleum in the form of pesticides, herbicides, fertilizers and gasoline-powered distribution, this system is not only fouling the environment but it exposes our dependency on foreign oil and our vulnerability to domestic terrorism in the form of food tampering. And what we produce and the way we eat are primary factors in the skyrocketing rates of obesity and chronic diseases such as diabetes.

Unless we remake our food policy, he argues, our next president will not be able to make significant progress on the healthcare crisis, energy independence or climate change. Among other things, Pollan calls for the “resolarizing” of the food system, switching from monocrops (corn, soy) that depend on petroleum-based chemicals to more holistic, diversified agriculture that relies on the sun instead of oil. And I love his idea of ripping up five acres of the White House south lawn and replacing them with fruit and vegetable gardens to spur Americans to grow their own food.

Obama reportedly read Pollan’s “memo,” and I hope he takes the advice to heart. But there’s another writer who has some words Obama should read, Watsonville farmer Andy Griffin, who runs Mariquita Farm with his wife, Julia. Griffin is also a gifted, tell-it-like-is writer who pens a bimonthly column in his farm newsletter, The Ladybug Letter. (Mariquita means “ladybug” in Spanish). In his Oct. 28 column “Daisy Chains and Milkmaids: An Open Letter to Michael Pollan,” Griffin took Pollan to task for what he saw as a glaring omission in his Times story. Griffin had high praise for Pollan with one notable exception: nowhere in his 8,324 words did he mention farmworkers, the basis of our entire food system. He wrote about the creation of “green jobs” in a post-oil agricultural system, but farm laborers didn’t merit a mention.

“It’s an interesting oversight, but I can’t imagine you left the farm workers out intentionally,” Griffin writes. “The role of the farm worker is simply too much of a symptom of and poetic metaphor for of the chaos of our food system for a man of your learning not to notice. . . . It is precisely because Mexican peasants can’t afford to buy corn and beef in their own country, or compete with multi-national food corporations and sell their produce to their friends and neighbors in Mexico, that they come here to work. Changing our food policy is key to unlocking the dungeon that is our immigration policy.”

I don’t have a solution to our immigration challenges, but Griffin’s insistence that we own up to the reality of food production in America is a good place to start.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

Flag Day

0

11.05.08

It was the morning following the election, and I kept hearing distant winds as if another fall storm was on us, but I was wrong. In fact it was a nation-wide, collective sigh as this election season wound down. Some election seasons seem endless, but after years of Romney and Hillary, rabble-rousing preachers and moose-killing governors, I think It’s safe to say we are exhausted.

On this historic election day, Nov. 4, when we were all turning blue and holding our breath, I wanted my eight-year-old daughter to experience voting first-hand, to see what this brouhaha is really all about. So on that cool fall day, my wife and I bundled up our two girls in sweaters and strolled to our local polling place, with Reno the dog pissing on nearly everything in sight along the way.

My daughter joined me in the voting booth with pen in hand. She carefully filled in the ballot as instructed, asking all the right questions about the various propositions. And when we laid it all to rest, she dropped it into the ballot box and proudly wore her “I Voted!” sticker as we left.

Wrapped in blankets in front of the TV that night, we watched as the pundits tried to get in the last word while the numbers slowly told the story. We played state geography as one poll after another closed and the winner was finally named.

As a testament to the power of saturation advertising, even three-year-old Miriam recognized John McCain when he gave his conciliatory speech. Somewhere along the campaign trail, she discovered she could seriously annoy me simply by chanting “John McCain. John McCain. John McCain.”

McCain, true blue through and through, was gracious as he thanked all for their work. Obama was presidential. That remarkable oratorical gift of his brought disenfranchised young voters back to the polls. Record numbers of Mexican-Americans voted for a black man. In a litmus test of Bush fatigue, red states turned to blue. More blacks voted than in any previous election. Obama’s got a miserable job ahead of him. I really don’t see him sleeping well anytime soon, but I’m an optimist. I still believe there’s a pony in the pile somewhere, even after eight long years of shoveling it on.

I was reflecting on the campaign this morning, and once again I just bristled as I recalled Gov. Sarah Palin calling Obama’s patriotism into question, inferring that parts of the United States were not as American as the mid-central crowd she was addressing. I’ve lived in Texas and Los Angeles, the East Coast and Sonoma County, and I seem to recall a flag flying wherever I went.

History may come to show that the divisiveness that seems a prerequisite to being a Republican candidate turned like a cranky old moose and bit the GOP in the butt this election. When did it become unpatriotic to complain loudly and often that our politicians are bums and should be tossed out on their ears? That’s as American as apple empanadas and goat-cheese tamales.

So when I awoke the morning after election night, finally exhaling after long years of pounding and merciless electioneering, I felt that I needed some closure, especially with Gov. Palin. Un-American? Was she talking to me?Unshaven and still in pajamas, I stumbled into the garage and banged around looking for a treasure that I had packed away, hidden somewhere in the piles of old books and train sets, camping gear and 15-year-old wedding gifts still in their boxes. But I found it. It’s a beautiful American flag, yellowed with age. And it’s large. A good 20 feet in length, it is perfect for hanging from our balcony.

As I was securing it in place, a neighbor shouted up from the street, “Is it Flag Day today?” I smiled and said, “It is for me,” and carried on. When I was finished, I went with coffee in hand to stand on the sidewalk and admire my work.

There’s really nothing quite as inspirational as an American flag. It just sings to me, especially this one, my old one. It’s slightly faded because it’s an antique like me and over 50 years old. I chose it because it has only 48 stars. This was Old Glory before Alaska and Hawaii joined the union.

And in flying this flag that morning, I sliced Alaska right the hell off the map. I’ll make it up to Hawaii somehow. Maybe put a little colored umbrella in my glass of red or something.

Open Mic is now a weekly feature in the Bohemian. We welcome your contribution. To have your topical essay of 700 words considered for publication, write op*****@******an.com.

 


Party to Overturn Prop. Hate

From the This Just In But Our Calendar's Gone to Press Dept.:Please join us this Friday, Nov. 28, at Art in Action, an art auction and party to benefit Lambda Legal in their work to overturn Proposition 8. Dozens of donated works of art and items from local businesses will be sold by silent auction, beginning at 6pm...

“That’s Just The Way It Went Down, Bryant!”

It's to the benefit of her legacy that the Anita O'Day documentary is not all that great. Keeps the mystery alive. (Not glad that it was out of frame, but getting used to that by now.) Interviews with talking heads providing no insight. Couldn't they call up Chris Connor? Or MySpace her? Will Friedwald slams it though—who'd'a guessed he was so...

Live Review: Of Montreal at the Grand Ballroom, San Francisco

Attention all those who saw Of Montreal last night: Next time your parents tell you how they saw David Bowie, or your sister tells you about seeing the Flaming Lips, or your friend’s dad keeps talking about Genesis or your dumb uncle won’t stop going on and on about Gwar or Mr. Bungle, you now have your response. “You know what?”...

Things Overheard at the ‘Twilight’ Movie Premiere

Things overheard from the midnight show of Twilight in Santa Rosa on November 21, 2008, the night of its official domestic release:“Did she just say ‘Oh my gosh’? How PG.”“They don’t have Asian people in Forks!”“I really don’t approve of the casting of Rosalie.”“Or of Jasper.”“Or the clothes!”“I’m not happy with any of them except for Edward and Mike.”“Edward...

Live Review: John Hiatt and the Ageless Beauties at the Mystic Theatre

(Note to the Reader: For this installment of City Sound Inertia, we welcome back guest reviewer Bob Meline! A finish carpenter by trade, longtime music fan, and secretly, a solid bass player, he’s also my dad—and one of the greatest guys I know.) With props to Philly’s Billy Paul, John Hiatt and Sonoma County have a thing going on....

Santa Barbara’s Tea Fire: A Personal Account

Catherine from Graton forwards this message from a friend recounting how he and his wife fled from, survived and found a miracle in last week's Tea Fire.Blessings of the BodhisattvasFinding meaning in the Santa Barbara wildfiresBy Gary HillIt was about 5pm on Thursday, just getting dark, and Helena reminded me that the full moon rise the previous night had...

On the Stereo: Anita O’Day’s Golden Era

Anita O'Day was at the very top of the most thrilling jazz singers to ever walk the face of the earth, and I’m glad to see that she’s finally gotten her due with a documentary, Anita O’Day: The Life of a Jazz Singer. Though I love her singing, all I really know about Anita O’Day’s personal life is that...

American Idol

11.19.08The great Patsy Cline died more than 45 years ago, at the age of 30, and since then the Virginia-born country singer's life and music have become the stuff of pop-culture legend, with numerous books, tribute albums and movies exploring the dark interior of Cline's tumultuous life, hardscrabble childhood, abuse-tinged marriages and bouts with depression. There must be a...

Growing Real Change

11.19.08President-elect Barack Obama is starting to draw up names for various cabinet positions. The secretaries of state, defense and treasury will be the first appointments he makes. The secretary of agriculture, never a high-profile position, will surely come later. But now that our long, national nightmare of George Bush is about to come to an end, I'm hoping that...

Flag Day

11.05.08It was the morning following the election, and I kept hearing distant winds as if another fall storm was on us, but I was wrong. In fact it was a nation-wide, collective sigh as this election season wound down. Some election seasons seem endless, but after years of Romney and Hillary, rabble-rousing preachers and moose-killing governors, I think It's...
11,084FansLike
4,446FollowersFollow
6,928FollowersFollow