Projection: Excellent

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11.19.08


T he projection booth of a movie theater is always a cluttered area, but in the case of the one-screen Cameo Cinema in St. Helena, “cluttered” only begins to explain it.

Along with the projectors, the upstairs also serves as the business office, booking office, storage room and break area. Files for special events cover the walls above desks covered with order forms. Boxes are piled in corners, and file cabinets tower over what little walk space is left leading to the narrow staircase. It’s a bit like being inside a secret control chamber or a hidden outpost where important decisions are put into motion.

But downstairs, the part the general public sees, the Cameo is a veritable jewel of the Napa Valley. With candelabras on either side of a large curtained screen and just 140 cushioned wooden seats, the atmosphere is at once classic and intimate. Built in 1915, the Cameo boasts an art nouveau façade with a vertical sign and V-shaped marquee. It is the oldest continuously operating independent single-screen movie theater this side of the Mississippi.

One year ago, all of this teetered on the brink of disappearance when the Cameo was put up for sale. Since saved by new owners Shawn LaRue and Cathy Buck, the theater has risen from its imminent closure to now boast a program calendar almost as beautifully cluttered as this upstairs office, but filled with art films, family films, horror films, speaking engagements, 3D movies, live bands and, most recently, opera broadcasts.

“When we came on, we were committed to more than just film,” LaRue says, sitting in a nook of the Cameo’s upstairs office. “We were committed to fleshing out the art of storytelling. That, in our view, is a much more fundamental concern to people. People love to hear stories, and we realized that there are so many ways that people tell stories. Music. Opera. Dance. City arts and lectures. Film, of course—different kinds of film. So committing ourselves to that meant that we had to really expand. It was pushing a new paradigm.”

“We’re making this more of a town hall,” Buck adds. “We wanted to bring back that old sense of a gathering spot for people.”

And yet the Cameo doesn’t have a sterile, community-center feel. The walls in the lobby are painted a bright purple and gold; brass balustrades line the hall; the bathroom doors are labeled “Guys” and “Dolls”; and a faded poster found in the attic for a forgotten film called The Secret Nest adorns the lobby. In the back of the theater, serving as reminders of so many first kisses inside the Cameo over the last 93 years, are loveseats for two.

Touches like this ensure that loyal patrons will still enjoy going out for entertainment, even when the Cameo sometimes doesn’t have the multiplex muscle to open a movie until a week or two after its national release. While home entertainment is more available than ever, the perseverance of small one-screen movie theaters is undoubtedly one of the great American narratives. The story of the Cameo’s recent resurrection involves another American tradition: the exchange of information at the barbershop. LaRue was getting his hair cut when he heard the news.

“My head was in the sink, and—you know how the person who cuts your hair is on the pulse of everything?—it was just one of those, ‘Gosh, it’s really too bad about the Cameo,'” he recalls. “That was the news. I said, ‘What do you mean? What’s happening to the Cameo?'”

LaRue, who had never even worked at a movie theater before, let alone owned one, called up Buck, whom he’d met at a winetasting; the two shared common interests and a love for the movie Fiddler on the Roof. “And I said, ‘Let’s try it!'” Buck remembers. “Four months later, we were proprietors and stewards of this little sleepy theater.”

“One of the things that we really wanted to impress upon the community was that we were stewards of this space,” LaRue emphasizes.

That’s due in part to the fact that when the two purchased the Cameo, the theater had already been a beloved cornerstone of Napa Valley culture for decades. Once known as the G&G Theater, then the Liberty and the Roxy, the Cameo is an officially registered landmark building. Many valley residents remember their first movie or their first date at the theater. For Buck and LaRue to charge in and make drastic changes would have been disastrous.

But the new owners quickly decided that they needed to change two things: update the projection and sound system, and figure out a way to enhance programming. Those goals, it turned out, went hand in hand.

Buck shows off the theater’s new Barco digital projector, a large, black boxy thing that looks like a NASA module. Connected to it is a rack of different options for playback, with everything from BetaMax to BluRay. Next to the rack sits the future of movie-projection mediums: a hard-drive player, which more and more theaters have been switching to in recent years.

But LaRue and Buck honor filmmaking’s traditions with the theater’s Century Super Lume-X projector, a 35mm silver beauty that looks like it was made the same year that The Sound of Music came out. It’s still in routine use—not all films ship to theaters digitally yet—ensuring that the slowly dying art of film projection stays alive. In fact, to accommodate the platters that hold the large reels of film, they installed the large Barco on a special three-foot movable track so that it can roll out of the way when spools of film rush by.

The overhaul seems to have worked. In a county where residents are often starved for culture, reaction to the “new” Cameo has been overwhelmingly supportive. Earlier in the day, in fact, three people stopped by to say how much they loved the Cameo’s presentation the night before of the Royal Opera’s Carmen.

It’s through a grant underwritten by the nonprofit center Nimbus Arts that the Cameo is able to showcase much of its programming at low prices. Art films are only $5, and opera presentations, usually in the $20 range at other theaters, are just $10 thanks to Nimbus Arts’ involvement. “Their primary concern, in everything they do for us, is keeping the cost to the consumer down,” LaRue says. “They’ll do whatever it takes to support us to the point where we’re able to offer these things at a low price.”

Especially laudable are the Cameo’s live music presentations, a rare treat in an area hugely underserved by live music. A recent series paired live bands with a digital 3D viewing of U23D. And then there’s the Coppola connection. The Cameo has been the Coppolas’ hometown movie theater for years, and both Francis Ford and Sofia Coppola have opened films here. The Cameo recently did a Coppola series with prints from the director’s personal vault, and Eleanor Coppola appeared recently to talk about her latest book.

But change can be hard on some.

“St. Helena is still, I believe, in some way, used to the little Cameo being the sleepy little Cameo,” LaRue says. But appreciation is growing. LaRue laughs, “Honestly, there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t hear gratitude from the community. Initially, it was just ‘Thank you for keeping it open.’ But then we threw 20 balls up in the air when we first got our footing, creative ideas that we thought about and put out there. Some of them dropped, and some of them took flight and have prospered.”

He smiles. “It’s that programming model that people are talking about now.”

‘Carmen’ makes a special encore screening at the Cameo on Saturday, Nov. 22, at 11am. 1340 Main St., St. Helena. $10. 707.963.3946.


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Animal Pharm

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11.19.08


On Sept. 18, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration released guidance on a regulatory framework for approving the entrance of genetically modified (GM) animals into the nation’s food supply. The term “guidance” is agency speak for “the law will look something like this.” Put another way, the FDA has offered advice, considerably weaker than legally enforceable regulation. With the announcement, a 60-day period for public comment was opened.

The only GM animal currently licensed for sale in the United States is the glow-in-the-dark zebra fish, a pet. No humans are expected to consume the fish, with the exception of a few drunken frat boys, and the creature’s need for warm water precludes any possibility of it escaping into the wild. But the glowing zebra fish will soon have some GM company in stores near you.

The new guidance is primarily directed at animals genetically modified for food-production purposes, but it’s based on the approval process used for animals that are genetically modified for pharmacological purposes, such as pigs designed to grow human livers or goats that produce insulin in their milk. Under the guidance, all GM animals, be they of the farm or pharma variety, will be classified as drugs.

Technically, the drug is the bit of foreign DNA that’s spliced into the animal’s cells, and the FDA will grant or deny approval to just those bits of DNA, not to the whole organism. This creates a dangerous regulatory gray area, says Jaydee Hanson, a policy analyst at the Center for Food Safety, who calls this arrangement a “fiction.”

“The gene is in every cell of the animal, and regulating the animal is the only tool they have to control these genes, but they say they’re only regulating the gene, not the animal,” he says. “Drugs don’t get loose and breed with each other. Animals do.”

As a case in point, he mentions the AquAdvantage line of GM salmon created by Aqua Bounty Technologies of Waltham, Mass., in 2001. The regulated “drug” in this case is a gene that makes salmon secrete extra growth hormone, causing the fish to reach maturity in 18 months instead of 30.

Should any of these fish escape into the wild, they would take their recombinant genes with them, posing unknown—and therefore, Hanson says, unacceptable—risk to wild salmon stocks and the ecosystems they inhabit.

It’s rumored that AquAdvantage salmon will be the first GM food animal approved for sale by the FDA. Meanwhile, a growing number of GM animals are being developed for the food market, says Hanson, and given this fact he thinks an approval process is long overdue. But while steps toward the creation of a regulatory framework for GM food animals are steps in the right direction, he says the FDA’s guidance as currently written leaves much to be desired.

“They’re not offering good peer review, because the drug-approval process is held in secret,” he says. This is ostensibly to protect trade secrets, but it’s still a bad idea, says Hanson, who suggests that lack of transparency could compromise the integrity of the approval process.

“The genetically modified food industry is a small world,” he says. “You’re going to have someone who used to work for a company who now works for FDA, or serves on its review panel, in the position to approve something from their former company.”

Many other food activists, policy analysts and interested parties are also taking issue with the FDA’s stance, contained in the guidance, against the labeling of foods containing GM animal products. Only foods that can be shown to have dietary properties different from their non-GM counterparts require labeling.

“They’re talking about pigs that are going to have mouse genes in them, and this is not going to be labeled?” says Jean Halloran, director of food policy for Consumers Union, which publishes Consumer Reports magazine. “We are close to speechless on this.”

Another concern is how the proprietary rights associated with modified genes will be enforced. Because genetic modifications are easily traceable, small livestock producers who introduce GM animals into their herds—or who acquire animals with modified genes unintentionally—might someday receive an unexpected bill for the use of those genes if they are traced to future generations of animals.

Producers of GM seeds have already sued farmers on such grounds, including cases in which the defendant’s crops were contaminated by someone else’s GM pollen from neighboring fields. Hanson says most cattle growers aren’t paying enough attention to the prospect.

“The breeding industry is mostly concerned with tracking animals descended from clones,” he says. Clones are genetic copies of other animals, but don’t necessarily have foreign DNA inserted. But most GM mammals, Hanson points out, are clones. “Once you get it right,” he says, “you clone it.”

On Sept. 19, the day after the FDA’s “Draft Guidance on the Regulation of Genetically Modified Animals” was released, the USDA announced a call for public comment on the need to regulate the movement of GM animals to ensure they don’t mix with wild animals or other livestock.

For producers and consumers alike, the onslaught of new biotech developments and the rapidly expanding world of associated potential consequences presents a near-overwhelming amount of information to digest.

But if ever there was an important time to comment on food and food safety, Hanson says, “this is it.”

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.

Jubilee! It’s Bankruptcy

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11.19.08

NO EXIT: National bankruptcy filings are exponentially increasing, and increasingly more difficult to enact.

By P. Joseph Potocki

S houlders squared, jaw thrust defiantly out, I reached for the door to the Federal Bankruptcy Court in downtown Santa Rosa. It was a warm and sunny late May morning. I’d spent months plowing through paperwork, pulling out clumps of hair and reconditioning my backbone, preparing for this very moment. A strange psycho-kinship with Bert Lahr’s Cowardly Lion had grown inside me as I prepared to engage a similarly great, powerful and really scary wizardry. Having for many months played out alternately ruminative and then self-loathing excitations, as though completing this process required each day for my yin to duke it out with yang, finally, my paperwork was assembled and I was set to enter the vestibule leading to the federal crypt of my financial ruination.

My plan was to swing open the door, beeline it to the clerk’s counter, plunk down the fee, file for debt relief and slither away incognito. Instead of making a quick break to the counter, I was greeted by two uniformed officers, each smiling knowingly and laconically, instructing me to remove my belt, empty all pockets and place everything, including my wretched ream of requisite paperwork, onto an X-ray conveyor belt.

That’s symbolism for you, subtle as the plague. But only just now has that symbolism dawned on me, fully six months after the fact. Perhaps that’s because when soliciting bankruptcy’s scarlet letter, one is more inclined to focus on the deed’s radioactive fallout than on some ethereal symbolism, no matter how blatant the empty-pocket motif. Still, I swear I could hear insolvency’s cosmic jester squealing himself silly with glee at my filing, for yet another poor mortal schlub had just checked into his Hotel California.

Or, well, maybe not.

A Nonexclusive Club

According to the National Bankruptcy Research Center, October’s consumer bankruptcy filings skyrocketed 40 percent from the year before, fully 20 percent higher than September. From the first of this year through Halloween, over 900,000 people filed for personal bankruptcy. And looking back, 2007’s numbers far surpassed those filed in 2006, it being the first full year the highly contentious Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act of 2005 was enforced. This draconian legislative gem, a credit-card-industry-writ wet dream come true, makes qualifying for Chapter 7 bankruptcy a far more costly and difficult affair.

Consider for a moment that somewhat more than 300 million Americans are breathing and buying stuff today. As of July 2008, our combined national credit card debt stood at $962 billion and rising. That means, on average, each household carries about $11,000 on credit cards alone, never mind mortgages and other ongoing financial commitments.

Chapter 7 leaves the debtor with a nearly clean slate when all is said and done. However, while Chapter 7 provides individuals relief considerations, one’s credit is toast for at least seven years. But, once bankruptcy is granted, should one work hard, live frugally and, as penance for sins against capital, endure years of want and consternation, one reemerges a credit-worthy phoenix, ready to gingerly reengage the credit-debtor mainstream.

That’s because capitalism requires we prodigal sons and daughters return to its fold in order to ensure capitalism’s own survival. Perhaps authors of the Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act forgot this. I say this because were he not rehabilitated, but instead permanently vanquished, the debtor would be lost to agencies of credit forever, made an outlaw, hermit or kook, and thus be unavailable to institutional juice rackets for future capital bleeding.

But even after a Chapter 7 bankruptcy discharge, not all debts go away. Back taxes, child support and student loans do not get eliminated by Chapter 7, though unsecured debt (i.e., credit cards) pretty much does. That’s the reason why credit card companies aren’t too keen on folks filing Chapter 7.

The plastic camp’s comeback was to write, lobby hard for and, after innumerable legislative disappointments and with Blue Dog Democratic support, ultimately shove a bill through the 2005 Republican Congress, gifting the credit card companies by screwing the consumer. George Bush, no doubt, took enormous delight in inking this class war declaration.

Though we’re closing in on three years since its passage, this bill, commonly referred to as the “New Bankruptcy Law,” imposes higher filing fees, mandates that a petitioner pay for and complete credit counseling, and  lards on additional paperwork, compelling most attorneys to double fees for essential bankruptcy services. Most notably, by injecting “means testing,” which is designed to disqualify many people who wish to file a Chapter 7, those turned away, should they still insist on going belly up, have been obliged to seek the far more costly and drawn-out [insert horrific organ shrills and a deep bass dum-de-dum-dum] Chapter 13 bankruptcy instead.

Earlier modern-day bankruptcy laws were designed to give a fresh start to those whose debt load was so heavy they’d never get out from under it. The idea isn’t so much an altruistic or magnanimous one as it is a rational understanding that people with crushing debt are a drain on society as a whole. The deeply indebted may even pose serious threats to the social fabric, should they engage in illicit activities, taking desperate actions to relieve their condition.

Still, while the intent of this most recent bankruptcy legislation was to inhibit folks from filing, it’s failed big-time. The scheme was to punish those who insist on filing by creating smaller, higher and more numerous new hoops for them to jump through, and by levying additional fees while providing a bogus alternative route to debt settlement via industry-funded “nonprofit” debt-collection agencies, established to surreptitiously do the credit card industry’s dirty work.

But get this: With a month and a half left in 2008, the first 10 months of this year’s bankruptcy filings already far eclipse those of 2007. What this means is that by year’s end, more than a million Americans will have chosen to lose or will have filed to lose significant chunks of their worldly possessions—fair, square and legal. All this even before George W. Bush’s Orwellian “ownership society” expels its last ghoulish gasp.

(And, it seems, Dubya’s pals, the very same guys who literally conceived, designed and implemented our “New Bankruptcy Law,” and have driven the world economy to ruins, won’t face bankruptcy themselves, but can be found instead feasting on bailouts ladled out by Henry Paulson at the taxpayer trough.)

Strike, Struck, Striken

“Hold on one darn second there, fella,” comes the fair-minded retort, “aren’t you just excuse-making with fancy smoke and mirrors, aiming to defray your own fiscal missteps and shortcomings at the expense of easy targets? How about addressing your own mistakes and taking personal responsibility for your actions?”

OK, then. You’re absolutely right. I take 100 percent full credit for my personal financial tribulations. While we as a culture have plenty to blame an inequitable financial system for, my personal misadventures in capitalism were definitively of my very own making.

That’s partially because I knew better, and screwed up anyway. I tunneled my way into credit default after a lifetime of scrupulously avoiding plastic and massive debt.

Here’s how it happened. My wife was working at a brokerage firm and doing pretty well. This allowed me the luxury of a few years of research, writing and lecturing, which, shall we say, didn’t exactly pay the bills, even though her work did. Finally, it was gently suggested I find the means by which to supplement my meager income.

I first cast about for ways to bring home the bacon that didn’t necessarily involve hard work. There wasn’t much to choose from. Taking stock of my skill set, it occurred to me that I was passably good at least three things, namely: reading, writing and holding forth. San Francisco being our residence at the time, it struck me that visitors might actually pay me to drive them to and fro, regaling them with fun-filled facts, figures and fables regarding our most famed and beautiful Bay Area environs. I’d provide high-end, personally customized tours of the city, Monterey, Yosemite and wine country to cultured individuals with really deep pockets. Hallelujah, these tourists were aching, I was certain, to pay me fat, easy money for a really good time!

Jeez—the impenetrable depths of self-delusion. All it took was the two-week 2004 San Francisco hotel strike and its subsequent seven-week lockout aimed at all but one of the hostelries at which I’d curried concierge favor to bring my little business to its knees.

Me being rust-belt born and bred, I had and still maintain well-defined sensitivities to labor. I never, ever cross a picket line. This, however, was the first time my support for labor actually cost me mine. That said, I don’t regret it. Self-dignity, too, is pricey.

I conducted not one tour during the nine-week course of this strike. Once the matter had been settled, the concierges I had so fawningly cultivated were perfectly content to ladle out tours I might have conducted to other tour firms who’d shown no compunction about crossing picket lines in the service of the moneyed caste. It was all quite understandable, but understanding it didn’t address my ever-mounting debt. And with debt came it’s attendant demons: vodka, filterless coffin nails, mounting fat, marital anguish and severe depression. My cholesterol and blood pressure skyrocketed, and I was on the verge of diabetes. I could see no possible way out. I even briefly fantasized a really terminal solution.

Fortunately, we decided to cut costs, move up to Sonoma County and do the conventional work thing. But even with steady work, the bills kept mounting. Credit agencies assured me I’d not be forgotten, and I could barely make it out the door to work each day. The remainder of my hours I drank, slept or shoved that day’s stack of bills atop its growing sibling’s mountain. I even took a meeting with a kind and thoughtful credit counselor who told me, “You’re fucked.”

And it’s not like I didn’t see the train wreck coming. Fact is, prior to this, I’d long been philosophically opposed to living beyond my demonstrably simple means. I knew credit cards were nothing but trouble, but came to a point in life where I joyfully deluded myself into believing I was ripe to try my hand at hardscrabble “bizness.” My foregone conclusion was that success would be mine, reflecting on potential negative repercussions every bit as long and thoughtfully as Sarah Palin reflected on the offer of the vice presidential nomination.

I seduced myself into believing that by signing up for one, two, three, four—or even five, hell, who’s counting—of the siren-sounding offers landing in my mailbox each day would merely jump-start my can’t-miss business. I’d use plastic scrupulously, pay off my debts each month, then cut up the cards and be done with them, using them but briefly to launch me toward that first hard-earned million.

So here I was, embracing modern credit innovations, keeping up with the times and going with the flow. I’d bought my own bullshit, and on high-interest credit. Indeed, I’d finance my small business the new-fashioned American way: naively and stupidly. Damn, it was so quick, and so insanely easy, using credit cards to keep my tiny concern afloat, while fate tap-danced all over it; using plastic to make van payments, sky-high commercial insurance payments, promotional costs, travel expenses, state fees, taxes; finally, even using plastic to meet basic living expenses, awaiting the big payback, while medical bills piled up and my ultraspecialized business sank into the dead zone.

Bankruptcy Chic

Early-American debtors hardly relished being locked in public stockades, suffering the taunts and produce projectiles launched their way. Others spent all their time ensconced in prisons. These unfortunates, in addition to fielding ever-mounting room and board charges to cover their own imprisonment, compounded debts that got them there, with interest. Colonial and even post-Revolutionary imprisonment featured small, stark, stank and drafty jail cells, the so-called gaols, derived from the Latin word for “cage.” Disease was rampant, and like this Bush era, you could be tortured. Not surprisingly, a good many died while confined in debtor prisons.

Back then, one’s former high standing, philanthropies and-or exemplary national service counted for nothing against owing a buck. Take for example one Robert Morris, chief financier of the Revolutionary War and signer of the Declaration of Independence. Morris was our nation’s first Superintendent of Finance, but none of this meant squat when, in his latter years, his investments turned sour. Morris was sentenced and subjected to four brutal years in an American debtor’s prison, prisons which weren’t closed until well into the 1830s.

I don’t claim membership to this earlier vanguard movement but do feel part of a recent groundswell. Call it “bankruptcy chic,” though with numbers climbing madly it’ll be hard to keep it an exclusive club for long. The way it’s going, bankruptcy’s destined to become as commonplace as Kleenex.

But for now it remains a timeless and even fashionable club, one whose eminent membership includes Henry Ford; Donald Trump and fruit-juice maven Anita Bryant (each of whom went broke twice); Milton Hershey, Henry John Heinz and Meat Loaf; industrialist Charles Goodyear; kings Edward II and Phillip II; Rembrandt, Handel, Mozart and Gutenberg; presidents Jefferson, Lincoln, McKinley and Grant; sporting greats Bjorn Borg, Lawrence Taylor, Steve Howe and Johnny Unitas; showbiz stars Lynn Redgrave, Richard Harris, Randy Quaid, P. T. Barnum, Larry King, Mickey Rooney, Debbie Reynolds, Buster Keaton, Margot Kidder and even Donald Duck’s dad, Walt Disney; songbirds Tom Petty, Toni Braxton, Mick Fleetwood, Natalie Cole, Merle Haggard, Jerry Lee Lewis, Cyndi Lauper, Isaac Hayes, Marvin Gaye, Tammy Wynette and Willie Nelson—not to mention most of the Jackson clan.

Of course there are reams of famous bankrupt writers, including the wizard himself, L. Frank Baum, Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, Raymond Carver, Daniel Defoe, Don Quixote’s Cervantes; and bona fide characters like Aleister Crowley, Buffalo Bill and John Wayne “Where’s my weenie?” Bobbitt; even geniuses like Bucky Fuller, Stan Lee and Nikola Tesla, not to mention a host of past and present local lights, including Satanist Anton LaVey, Emperor Norton I, Melvin Belli and Francis Ford Coppola.

So in the end, what’s going bankrupt taught me? Well, it’s led me into a great job, where I’m paid to think. I’ve dropped 30 pounds, exercise daily, have better than optimal blood pressure, take no medications and show no signs of diabetes. I no longer drink, smoke or suffer depression. I’m a recent vegan convert. Our family lives in comfortable “affordable housing,” I’ve crawled out from my cave and have made new, exceptionally wonderful friends, and I look forward to a long winter of writing, reading, plotting, scheming and dreaming—all well within my financial means. Life today is filled with hope and optimism. If that’s a fate worse than debt, well, I’ll live with it.


Live Review: Whispertown 2000 at Susie’s House

It was a good sign when Whispertown 2000 soundchecked with “Look at Miss Ohio,” but it just got better from there: tight, country-soul harmonies from the two frontgals; full-on kazoo solos; a drummer that astonishingly played guitar, drums and harmonica simultaneously; a bassist that managed to quote “Dazed and Confused” without malice; and basically a shitkickin’ good time. The two gals kinda reminded me of Those Darlins, and hey, didja hear one of ‘em is a Nagler? And that she was on Punky Brewster? No shit.
Polaroids, stitching, paintings and collage art hung on the walls, all of it excellent; cassettes and horses. Out in the kitchen, vegan cupcakes for sale, and the most gigantic mushroom I’ve ever seen in my life. Slung from a side door, $3 cocktails mixed on the spot. Dancing in the halls. “Bring it on Home to Me” on the stereo. (Thanks for the Darondo tip, Nick.)
All in all, a sweet way for the residents of the house to go out with a bang, seeing as they hafta move at the end of the month. And a fine way for Paul Haile and Lauren Harkins from Not to Reason Why to celebrate their just-announced engagement—the diamond ring was busted out on Saturday at Crane Creek Park! Congratulations, you crazy kids.

The Prop. 8 March in Santa Rosa: Yes We Will

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Just got back from downtown Santa Rosa, where thousands of people demonstrated and marched today in Santa Rosa against Proposition 8, the initiative passed last week which stripped same-sex couples of their constitutional right to marry in the State of California. The enormous crowd, as diverse as it was well-behaved, was a beautiful sight of relief for anyone crushed by the passage of Prop. 8.

If there’s any silver lining to the dark, sinister gut-punch that is Prop. 8, it’s that people, finally, are starting to get it. They’re understanding that “Protect Marriage” is a hollow slogan of fear, a preposterous implication that the institution of marriage is somehow being threatened by the inclusion of same-sex couples. They’re understanding that they have nothing to lose whatsoever simply by spreading a little happiness around to couples who so desperately want it.

Like so many others, I had a hard time celebrating on Election Night because of Prop. 8. And yet even the next morning, I knew that hope was not lost. We will win this. Patience, diligence, and education are the order of the day. Even the Mormon Church’s $20 million can’t change the fact that love will prevail. Keep in mind, too, that the younger generation is firmly on the side of equality. To them, marriage for all is a self-evident right, the way it should be.

It’s becoming clear that the passage of Prop. 8, disheartening though it is, has actually created a movement inching ever closer to its goal. In the week before the election, only 50 or so people stood with “No on 8” signs in front of Costco in Santa Rosa; an even smaller crowd stood outside the Republican Headquarters in Petaluma.

Today in downtown Santa Rosa, the crowd numbered well over 2,000, stretching out to three blocks long along the sidewalk.

Think about it: This happened in cities all over America today.

I stopped and talked to ten different groups of people along the parade route. Here are their stories.

Live Review: Marnie Stern’s Kissing Booth

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I had heard about Marnie Stern’s Kissing Booth idea a couple hours before tonight’s show with Gang Gang Dance in San Francisco, and sure enough, when we arrived at Bimbo’s, we discovered this sign at the merch stand:

Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!
Apparently, in addition to the speeding tickets, some seatbelt violations were involved as well, which can get pretty expensive (“Michigan, man,” said Stern). Discriminating kissers will note the detailed price breakdown: $3 for a peck on the cheek, $10 for full lips, and $100 for the big-spender French kiss.
So — were there any takers?
At the end of Marnie Stern’s set, a sizable group of people crowded around her side of the stage, declaring their love and asking for hugs. But to my dismay, I went out in the lobby later on and witnessed a similar group of people just, uh, standing around. And though the kissing offer was literally on the table, they were just, uh, awkwardly talking to Marnie Stern. And, um, buying a shirt, I guess. And, do you. . . think I could have another hug?

It was excruciating. Goddamn indie hipsters are a bunch of pansy-ass Holden Caulfields who can’t get over their own imagined degradation of giving a girl $10 for a kiss, I grumbled to myself. Whatever happened to all the fun in the world?!
But after about 10 minutes, a good sign walked into the room. To be precise: a tall mid-20s boy, with a slender face and large eyes. Lanky, plaid shirt. He approached the table and conspicuously pointed to the sign.
“Is the kissing booth open?” he asked.
Finally! Marnie Stern jumped up, pointed her arms in the air and let out a “whoo-hoo!” while doing a small, excited dance. A customer!
The boy pointed to the “lips” option, and handed a $10 bill to Stern, who was more than willing to deliver the goods. Boy, did he get his money’s worth:

Yowza!

I chased him down afterwards. “I had to,” he told me. “She’s beautiful, you know? It was awesome.” He was beaming from ear to ear.
Please, indie rock nation: more kissing booths!

Photos: The New Trust, Ole Hole, Anchor Down at the Casbar

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The New Trust.

Ole Hole.

Anchor Down.
———
The place is looking good, folks.
Mad props to Ephriam Nagler, for making it sound way better than ever, and to Jayshree, for holdin’ it down.

Schwarzenbach, Cometbus, and the Thorns of Life

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Well, shit, here we go: Blake Schwarzenbach has started a band with Aaron Elliott and Daniela Sea called the Thorns of Life. No joke. There’s photos posted here from the band’s grand debut at the Jerk House in Brooklyn this past weekend.
What does the band sound like? According to a recent punknews.org post, Blake is said to have written via Facebook that “I can say only that it’s loud and tender and we’re called the Thorns Of Life. whether it’s more Jetsesque or Breaker-like I honestly don’t know; It sounds like a storehouse of fond hatred from the last few years and in the now.”
It’s tempting to pessimistically predict that they’ll play three more house shows, record a 7” and then break up; however, in a message to fans recently, Blake said he looked forward to coming “to a town near you.”
Needless to say, this is exciting news.
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UPDATE, 11/15: Thorns of Life played again last night at another house show in Brooklyn. There’s three videos below. More on the band by clicking here.
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UPDATE, 1/31: My interview with Blake regarding the band is here.
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Free Tickets: No Age in San Francisco

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This just in: No Age is playing a launch party for Shockhound on Thursday, Dec. 4 at the Rickshaw Stop, and tickets for the show are FREE.
All you have to do is click here, fill out a simple form with your name and email, and you’re on the list +1.
Are you down? I’m down. Everybody’s Down.
I’ll keep this post up for as long as tickets seem available.

There Are Girls Camping Out For The Hanson Show

Mary Wieczorek has been sitting on this bench, outside the Phoenix Theater, since Monday afternoon. Wrapped in a sweatshirt and red coat to keep away the evening chill, she’s first in line to see Hanson, who are playing here Wednesday night. All told, from the time she arrived here yesterday at 2pm, with a sleeping bag, to the time Hanson plays their first note on stage, she will have waited 56 hours in front of the Phoenix Theater.
Sound strange? She’s not alone. There’s people here lined up from Los Angeles, from Gilroy, from the other side of the country, all camping out on the sidewalk for the Hanson show tomorrow night.
Mary is from Vallejo. She doesn’t go to school. Instead, she drives around the country seeing Hanson; this will be her 51st time seeing the band. Explaining why she would wait for so long in front of a venue for a show that is definitely not sold out, she offers two simple words: “Front row.”
Mary first heard Hanson during the “Mmm-bop” era. On August 16, 1998, at 1:54 in the morning, she met Taylor Hanson outside of a hotel in New York City after she and her mom followed the Hanson tour bus for three hours. He was wearing a tight blue shirt, dark blue tight cords, silver boots, and had a red rubber band in his hair. Ten years later, he’s still her favorite Hanson.
Sitting on the same bench, wrapped in a coat, is Mary’s mom. She stirs some takeout soup in a Styrofoam container, keeping warm. “It’s fun,” she says.
How does Mary think this Hanson show in Petaluma is going to be any different than the 50 or so shows she’s already seen? “There’s not a big crowd the night before,” she says, looking down the length of the sidewalk. “And there usually is. So yeah, I’m, like, wondering what’s going on.”
Getting ready to sleep on the next bench down is Nicole, from Philadelphia, who has been following the band for the last two and a half months. By the time Hanson takes the stage in Petaluma, she will have waited 30 hours outside the theater. Nicole, who does not want to give her last name, estimates that she’s seen Hanson 300 times.
300 times.
Explaining what she would be doing back home in Philadelphia were she not following Hanson around on tour, she, too, offers two simple words: “Being sad!”
Like Mary, Nicole has met the band numerous times; they often recognize both girls. She says that she likes all of the band members equally, but that her favorites sometimes change: “It depends on the day,” she says, “and their attitudes.”
Nicole admits that most Hanson shows are the same—“they throw in a curveball every now and then,” she says, “but for the most part, it’s pretty standard.”
So. . . why is she camping out overnight for the show?
“They’re the greatest band ever!” she gushes. “They make me happy.”

Projection: Excellent

11.19.08T he projection booth of a movie theater is always a cluttered area, but in the case of the one-screen Cameo Cinema in St. Helena, "cluttered" only begins to explain it.Along with the projectors, the upstairs also serves as the business office, booking office, storage room and break area. Files for special events cover the walls above desks covered...

Animal Pharm

11.19.08On Sept. 18, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration released guidance on a regulatory framework for approving the entrance of genetically modified (GM) animals into the nation's food supply. The term "guidance" is agency speak for "the law will look something like this." Put another way, the FDA has offered advice, considerably weaker than legally enforceable regulation. With the...

Jubilee! It’s Bankruptcy

11.19.08 NO EXIT: National bankruptcy filings are exponentially increasing, and increasingly more difficult to enact. By P. Joseph PotockiS houlders squared, jaw thrust defiantly out, I reached for the door to the Federal Bankruptcy Court in downtown Santa Rosa. It was a warm and sunny late May morning. I'd spent months plowing through paperwork, pulling out clumps of hair and reconditioning...

Live Review: Whispertown 2000 at Susie’s House

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Just got back from downtown Santa Rosa, where thousands of people demonstrated and marched today in Santa Rosa against Proposition 8, the initiative passed last week which stripped same-sex couples of their constitutional right to marry in the State of California. The enormous crowd, as diverse as it was well-behaved, was a beautiful sight of relief for anyone crushed...

Live Review: Marnie Stern’s Kissing Booth

I had heard about Marnie Stern’s Kissing Booth idea a couple hours before tonight’s show with Gang Gang Dance in San Francisco, and sure enough, when we arrived at Bimbo’s, we discovered this sign at the merch stand: Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Apparently, in addition to the speeding tickets, some seatbelt violations were involved as well, which can...

Photos: The New Trust, Ole Hole, Anchor Down at the Casbar

The New Trust. Ole Hole. Anchor Down. --------- The place is looking good, folks. Mad props to Ephriam Nagler, for making it sound way better than ever, and to Jayshree, for holdin' it down.

Schwarzenbach, Cometbus, and the Thorns of Life

Well, shit, here we go: Blake Schwarzenbach has started a band with Aaron Elliott and Daniela Sea called the Thorns of Life. No joke. There's photos posted here from the band's grand debut at the Jerk House in Brooklyn this past weekend. What does the band sound like? According to a recent punknews.org post, Blake is said to have written...

Free Tickets: No Age in San Francisco

This just in: No Age is playing a launch party for Shockhound on Thursday, Dec. 4 at the Rickshaw Stop, and tickets for the show are FREE. All you have to do is click here, fill out a simple form with your name and email, and you're on the list +1. Are you down? I'm down. Everybody's Down. I'll keep this post...

There Are Girls Camping Out For The Hanson Show

Mary Wieczorek has been sitting on this bench, outside the Phoenix Theater, since Monday afternoon. Wrapped in a sweatshirt and red coat to keep away the evening chill, she’s first in line to see Hanson, who are playing here Wednesday night. All told, from the time she arrived here yesterday at 2pm, with a sleeping bag, to the time...
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