News Briefs

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ISSUEDATE

night of the living wage

A family of four living in Sonoma County must earn $57,728 a year simply to meet their basic needs. So states the 2008 California Family Self-Sufficiency Standard. Napa County is slightly more costly than Sonoma, while living in Marin County drills that same four-member family for a mind-numbing $73,576 each year. And that’s just to squeeze by. With stats like this, it’s no wonder North Bay municipalities are scrambling for creative ways to keep working families housed and fed.

On Monday, June 16, the city of Petaluma considers one creative plan to measure the impacts of business growth upon members of its community. As reported earlier in these pages (“True Cost,” March 5), community impact reports, or CIRs, are being considered by Petaluma to be matched with already mandated EIRs to provide a more comprehensive picture of how any proposed development affects them. The CIRs are designed, according to the Living Wage Coalition of Sonoma County, to factor in “the potential impacts of proposed large retail projects on small businesses, public health and social services, job quality and affordable housing.”

Ben Boyce of the Living Wage Coalition describes how this works. “If a business pays substandard wages with low benefit ratios, then it’s going to have a measurable impact on public services in the form of things like affordable-housing subsidies, food-stamp usage and usage of public health facilities. So what we’re saying to public policy makers is that we need to look at all of the impacts of a particular business.”

To get a notion of how high the North Bay’s cost of living is, just compare our stats with those of Portland, Ore. Sperling’s Best Places rates Portland-Vancouver-Beaverton as being 27 percent cheaper to live in than Santa Rosa-Petaluma. And the $57,075 it takes to make ends meet in Sonoma County? Portland, one of the most desirable metropolitan areas in America, is $15,000 a year less expensive, a savings of $1,250 each month.”

This [CIR] process helps weight the decision-making process in favor of the more responsible businesses that pay better wages, provide better benefits and are less of a drain on the public sector,” says Boyce. “Our mission is to improve living standards for working people.”

The CIR meeting is slated for Monday, June 16, in the Petaluma City Council Chambers, 1 English St., Petaluma. 7pm. For details, call 707.478.9663.


An Open Letter

05.28.08

Dear Corporate Broadcasters:

Remember bombs dropping while your video footage awed us half a decade ago? Public opinion had largely coalesced around the president, pumped up by broadcast media’s unrelenting pre-war, Super Bowl&–style, whiz-bang enthusiasms. One big reason a majority of the public backed the Iraq invasion was because you in the mainstream media had failed in your mission to investigate what we now know were false pre-war claims and assertions. You traded objective inquiry for cheers and talking points.

Open societies require free, wide-ranging discourse and self-examination in order to remain open and free. These practices are especially critical when violent conflict is proposed. But those who dared question or presented facts contrary to let-’em-have-it excitations were simply disappeared, à la Phil Donahue, or not allowed on “your” airwaves in the first place.

In short, you, the entire corporate broadcast news industry, stand guilty of propagandizing We, the People of the United States of America, compelling us to support a baseless, morally reprehensible and illegal war. You overwhelmed the American public with a staccato war-mongering repertoire of lies, fear, high-tech romance, giddy bravado, lapel-pin patriotism and hormonal rage spilled from the maws of an unending chorus of financially conflicted and ethically putrefied old brass and right-wing babbleheads. And then we went to war.

Your payback? A spike in viewership, listenership and profits—and no more silly congressional talk of broadcast regulation. In fact, the Republican-dominated FCC just recently handed you yet another deregulatory plum, though that ruling is now threatened by Congress.

Broadcast media’s pompon cheers encouraged the killing of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi innocents and the destruction of a sovereign nation’s infrastructure as well as many of civilization’s seminal cultural artifacts. By “misunderestimating” war’s impact, you share blame in driving the diverse religious sects and tribal groups that we Americans can still hardly discern from each other into desperate warring factions. Consequences of these actions have led to one in five Iraqi’s being forced into internal displacement, or else fleeing their country altogether.

You, America’s corporate media, failed to adequately investigate, research, question, counter, analyze or debate a dizzying array of now proven false claims presented as fact by the G. W. Bush administration. Moreover, you ignored, prevented and continue to exclude voices of truth and reason (Ritter, Chomsky, Zinn, et al.) from participating in discourse concerning our violent overseas activities, while even today you continue to provide a forum for those who have been demonstrably wrong about Iraq from the beginning.

America’s newest showroom conflict will likely be with Iran. How well have you covered this issue so far? Aside from pieces that a Joint Chiefs leadership change might have something to do with disputed Iran policy, and vague mention that certain cabinet members might favor negotiating with Iran over bombing it, no one aside from Bill Moyers seems interested in or capable of critically examining the Iran situation.

And yet this is the law: We, the People, own the airwaves. Arms manufacturer General Electric does not. Rupert Murdoch, Clear Channel and Disney do not. You, the broadcast media, lease time on our commonly held airwaves at our pleasure and discretion. We lease these public airwaves to you, and you in turn are charged with broadcasting in our public interest. For that we permit you to produce commercial revenue. But while you do make your money, you rarely program for the public good.

Congress must reform and bolster legislation dealing with licensing corporate broadcast media, that these media sources be obliged to comply with all laws concerning broadcasting in the public interest and to make certain that the Justice Department fully enforces them. Should a broadcaster fail to comply, that license should be revoked.

These are a few media reform recommendations:

• That broadcasters pay a fair sum, which you have not, for the right to commercially broadcast.

• That the American public require all broadcast license ownership return to the commons should any broadcaster leave the air.

• That broadcasters be proscribed from engendering propaganda.

• That candidates for office receive free and equal air time.

• That commercial news and opinion programming be dramatically expanded to offer the widest range of ideas and opinions in order to assure that a more vibrant democracy might flourish and prosper.

By honoring and renewing your compact with the American people, not only does the broadcast news industry stand to regain a measure of respect and legitimacy, but you may just help save our struggling democracy.

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 [ mailto:op*****@******an.com” data-original-string=”2qEzfliG7fB4Z957O5g8pw==06a88xLefcF0HsChWdBHZfr400ogWD4+1gQnzz5YLAF1fBRfqqju2nf1BPHN6NZV1rdeAcYUP041TY+kxMQvqSGEDZHnmuD6csZ/8kUzftQ13Q=” title=”This contact has been encoded by Anti-Spam by CleanTalk. Click to decode. To finish the decoding make sure that JavaScript is enabled in your browser. ]op*****@******an.com.


Secrets and Lies

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05.28.08

This is the second of a multipart series on the state of the economy and how we got here.

About a decade ago, I was cross-country skiing in Aspen with another trader from Wall Street, a guy named Vince who worked at Bear Stearns. At the time, Vince was worth perhaps a few million dollars. Today, he’s worth about 3 or 4 hundred million.

We were as happy as blue jays as we skied through the groves of pine. At the old Independence Homesite, the once thriving mining camp and stagecoach stop along the Roaring Fork River that became a ghost town once the fast-moving trains came to Aspen and the gold played out, Vince called out to me. “Hey, Johnny,” he said. “Let’s stop for a minute.”

I turned to him.

“Wanna know something?” he asked. “There’s gonna be a new gold rush. It’s called swaps and derivatives.”

“What are swaps and derivatives?” I asked. “Never heard of ’em.”

“You will, Johnny,” Vince said. “You will.”

We leaned against a log fallen from a roofless cabin. “It’s a market that’s gonna be in the trillions of dollars,” he said. “And it’s gonna be a very esoteric market. Too hard for lawmakers and regulators to understand. So lawmakers and regulators won’t even try.

“It’s gonna be an unregulated and unrestricted market. We traders are gonna have this gold rush all to ourselves. Swaps and derivatives are also gonna be hard for auditors to value. So auditors won’t bother us either.”

I blinked stupidly.

“Swaps and derivatives are gonna be hard even for the senior executives at the companies we work for to understand. So our bosses won’t bother us. How cool is that?”

He smiled. “And guess what? Swaps and derivatives are gonna be virtually hidden from the American public. No class-action investor lawsuits. No pension funds blowing up. No stories on the front page of the Wall Street Journal. No election year calls for reform. Swaps and derivatives won’t ever be a campaign issue, because no one will have ever heard of them. At least not for a while. I’ll give us 10 years.”

Vince poked my ribs. “We’re gonna make a ton of money originating and underwriting this shit, and then another ton of money trading this shit. We’re gonna be able to gamble with borrowed money and take really crazy risks. How beautiful is that, huh?”

I nodded.

“But the really beautiful thing is that, if we get into trouble, the American taxpayer is probably going to have to bail us out.”

He paused.”That isn’t true for stocks and bonds, of course.” He winked. “Stocks and bonds are fuckin’ old school.”

The late CNBC commentator Seth Tobias once told me, “Hedge funds do not lie. They have no secrets. Investment performance over time tells the whole tale.”

Two words resonate: lies; secrets. Which brings us to swaps and derivatives.

As the name would imply, derivatives are “derived from” something else. In calculus, derivatives are measurements of how a function changes when the values of its inputs change. Loosely speaking, that’s a pretty good definition for what happens on Wall Street, too.

When traders trade derivatives, they aren’t trading on the prices of stocks, bonds, treasuries, commodities or foreign currencies—the usual stuff. They’re trading on things related to, or derived from, “the usual stuff.”

Here’s an example from football: When most people bet on the Super Bowl, they’re betting on the outcome of the game. The point spread is usually figured into the bet, so that the team not favored to win is given points or equalized with the favored team. The oddsmakers in Las Vegas calculate the spread.

But other oddsmakers are also very busy. They come up with bets, or inputs, for any aspect of the game that ultimately yields the final score. You can bet on which team has the most passing yardage or rushing yardage, which team has the most tackles or sacks or interceptions, which team kicks the most field goals. You can even bet on which team wins the coin toss before the game even starts.

Same with derivatives. On Wall Street, you can bet on anything that goes into the pricing structure of anything else that is formally traded as a registered security.

Currently, some derivatives are exchange-traded, but most are not. Most trade in secret, in markets called dealer markets, and there are many more flavors of derivatives than Baskin-Robbins ever had ice cream flavors.

I’ll pick just one letter of the alphabet. How about C? Here are just a few flavors of derivatives beginning with the letter C: calendar spreads, capital guarantees, cash-flow matches, collateralized debt obligation, commodity ticks, constant maturity swaps, constant proportion portfolio insurance, contango, contracts for difference, correlation trades, credit default swaps, credit default swap indexes, credit derivatives, credit spreads on bonds, credit spreads on options, credit spread warrants, currency futures and currency swaps.

That’s just one letter of the alphabet. The total value of derivatives in the derivative markets beginning just with the letter C is in the many trillions of dollars.

Swaps are a type of derivative. In a swap, two parties agree to exchange one stream of cash flow for another stream of cash flow generated by underlying assets. Those cash flow streams are called “legs.”

These cash flows are calculated as coming from what’s called a “notional principal amount.” The notional principal amount is usually backed by a real asset, like a bond. (But lately, a lot of junk wants to be called bonds.) Other words for popular bond-type investments in today’s Wall Street parlance are CMOs (collateralized mortgage obligations), CDOs (collateralized debt obligations) and SIVs (structured investment vehicles).

But it’s not always a bond or bond wannabe that backs a swap. It could be a basket of foreign currencies. It could be a basket of commodities. Assets indexed to the price of oil are very popular right now, as oil is extremely volatile and hitting new highs almost every day.

The important thing about some of the underlying swap assets is that they can be exotic or opaque. These particularly weird assets are usually thinly traded or hard to value, and sometimes they are nearly worthless, although this is often not immediately obvious. Regardless, the underlying asset backing a swap must throw off streams of cash or cash equivalents, at least in the beginning—that’s why they’re called legs. But legs slow down. Sometimes they stop. Ideally, legs work together, like the legs of a centipede. But sometimes, the centipede goes spastic.

As the assets behind swaps are usually not exchanged between the parties, swaps can create an unfunded exposure with respect to the underlying asset or principal amount. Parties can earn profits or losses from the price movements of the assets without ever actually having to own or control them or post a penny in collateral for the notional value of the asset.

When used properly, swaps can be used to hedge against certain risks, like big fluctuations in interest rates. They can also be a sort of insurance against companies going bankrupt and their bonds going into default.

When used improperly, swaps can be used to irresponsibly speculate without ever having to put up any real cash and they can be used to manipulate markets in gross and ugly ways.

Here’s a particularly gross and ugly example pulled from a British Bankers Association report. The case study cited in the report is now used at the CFA Institute to train certified financial analysts. Here’s why I’ve come to equate swaps and derivatives with lies and secrets: “The market for credit derivatives is now so large that in many instances the dollar amount for credit derivatives outstanding for a particular bond issue is vastly greater than the actual value of the bonds outstanding. For example, Company X may have $1 billion in outstanding debt and $10 billion in credit derivatives outstanding. If such a company were to default, and the recovery to creditors was only 40 cents on the dollar, then the loss to the investors holding the bonds would be $600 million. However, the loss to the sellers of the credit derivatives would be $6 billion.

“Considering this amplification effect, unethical executives could engineer the bankruptcy of their own company, and thus, arrange for their company to needlessly default on their bonds so as to collect on their credit derivatives contracts in secret, offshore accounts. The trick to pulling this fraud off is that the bankruptcy must be sudden and unexpected, with unavoidable loss in the company’s bonds.”

Sounds a lot like Bear Stearns, doesn’t it?

Since their demise, I have heard from more than one credible source that the bankruptcy of Bear Stearns was a highly sophisticated pump-and-dump scheme. While the Bear Stearns bailout probably cost the American taxpayer something like $35 billion, Bear Stearns held credit default contracts carrying an outstanding value of $2.5 trillion.

Gulp.

Regardless of the $35 billion price tag, the rescue at Bear Stearns did nothing but buy time. The rescue did nothing to protect the broader economic system. One could even argue that the federal government’s intervention will ultimately encourage riskier, more speculative behavior on Wall Street. Maybe even corrupt, criminal behavior.

To avoid this surety, the United States must do the following, and do it quickly:

• Consolidate the regulatory powers of the Federal Reserve Bank, the U.S. Department of the Treasury and the Securities and Exchange Commission into one agency. Strengthen existing laws that are vague and ambiguous, and often lead Wall Street into what Barney Frank, chair of the House Financial Services Committee, calls “moral hazards.”

• Define, regulate and restrict swaps and derivatives. We must reconsider—and as a nation, perhaps publicly consider for the very first time—swaps and derivatives and the shadow banking system in which they trade.

• Wall Street must upgrade IT systems to reduce the backlog of “unprocessed” contracts. The notional value of these outstanding contracts must not be allowed to exceed the notional value of the deliverable bonds or other underlying asset classes which back them.

• Investment banks such as Merrill Lynch, Goldman Sachs, UBS, etc., should have to disclose off-balance-sheet risks while also making those firms subject to federal audits, much like commercial banks are required to do.

• Investment banks must set aside reserves for potential losses to provide a private-sector cushion during financial panics. The American taxpayer can no longer afford to bailout the fat cats of Wall Street.

• The originators of CMOs, CDOs, SIVs and other alternative debt must retain a portion of the loans they make, while also requiring the investment banks who securitize this debt to also retain a big portion. It is unacceptable for bad loans to be passed on to unsuspecting buyers, like many pension plans.

• Rating agencies, like Moody’s, Standard & Poor’s and Fitch must formally distance themselves from the investment banks whose products they are paid to rate.

The nice thing about George Soros, 77 years old and one of the world’s most successful investors and richest men, is that he can afford to be honest. On April 17, I flew to the Centre for European Policy Studies in Brussels to hear Soros speak. I had no other business in Brussels. Soros talked about how the proliferation of new and unregulated financial instruments, like swaps and derivatives, created the credit Godzilla that the world is now wrestling with. “Worse than wrestling,” murmured the Swiss banker sitting next to me. “More like a SmackDown vs. Raw.” I was surprised that he knew anything about the WWE.

At the podium, Soros said, “I consider this to be the biggest financial crisis of my lifetime. The superbubble that has been inflating for the last 25 years is finally bursting.” Soros warned that the hyperinflating consequences of funny money, like swaps and derivatives, may last through “our lifetime, maybe the lifetimes of our children.”

Soros saw the seizing up of credit markets at about this time last year. He bet his hedge fund on it. Seeing something that very few other people saw or intuited, he came into his office and made a few bets. By the end of the summer, the subprime mess was front-page news, and his last-minute bets paid off roughly $4 billion, a 32 percent return for his fund.

Critics generally charge that Soros has a doom-and-gloom attitude. They further maintain Soros occasionally makes statements that are variously hysterical, reckless, apocalyptic or irrational—comments that have a nasty habit of being taken seriously and spooking financial markets around the world.

But what do critics know? They aren’t multibillionaires like Soros, are they?

Money talks. Bullshit walks.

And guess what? It gets a federal bailout, too.

John Sakowicz is a Sonoma County investor who was a cofounder of a multibillion-dollar offshore hedge fund, Battle Mountain Research Group. Ryan Morris and Andy Schexnaydre assisted with research for this article. Next up: The New Master Race.


The Thin Man

05.28.08

E ach Wednesday and Sunday at 7pm until June 22, the Smith Rafael Film Center honors Jimmy Stewart’s 100th birthday by screening some of the best of his classics. Here are two short reminders of what you don’t want to miss .

‘The Shop Around the Corner’ (June 1)

Ernst Lubitsch’s 1940 classic with Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan, The Shop Around the Corner , is a romantic comedy in the finest classic style—light, sophisticated and glowing with William Daniels’ creamy lighting. Alfred Kralik (Stewart), dyspeptic from some inferior goose-liver pâté, is the best salesclerk at Matuschek and Company, a small notions store. On this day, a woman he thought was a customer, Klara Novak (Margaret Sullavan), turns out to be just another job seeker. To Alfred’s disgust, Klara is hired on as a saleswoman.

The rivalry between the two clerks is the backbone of the story, yet the film is actually a heavenly romance. Both Klara and Alfred are conducting affairs through letters with strangers; neither ever realizes that his/her soul mate is actually the colleague he/she is spatting with all the live-long day. (Shop was remade by Nora Ephron as the Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan vehicle You’ve Got Mail .)

Lubitsch was bold to make a Christmas movie about retail work, a reminder of how love and generosity have to fight for a place amid pestering customers, sagging sales and mandatory overtime. Speaking of work, Nora Ephron certainly had her work cut out for her.

‘Rear Window’ (June 15)

When Alfred Hitchcock’s devastating classic Rear Window was released in 1954, it was greeted as the perfect trifle. As was said of Max Ophuls’ films, it’s superficially superficial. Rear Window , since re-released in a beautifully restored print, tells the story of an affable voyeur, a news photographer named L. B. Jefferies (James Stewart).

Laid up in a wheelchair in his studio apartment, recovering from a broken leg, Jefferies spies on his Manhattan neighbors across a courtyard. The action, confined entirely to that courtyard, takes place during a heat wave, when the neighbors’ windows are open and their lives are revealed to him. One day, he sees evidence in a neighboring apartment that a husband has murdered his wife.

Rear Window ‘s boundlessly clever techniques mirror the same mystery that a good film provides, and it comes to a terrifically simple point. In an instant, Jefferies is transformed from a watcher to the watched, the focus of all eyes in his courtyard. And the moral, according to Jefferies’ nurse, Stella, played by the all-wise Thelma Ritter, is “Someday, you’ll see something out the window that’ll get you into trouble.” It’s a caution every moviegoer ought to heed.

Sure, it’s all a trifle—or it would be in the hands of any director less troubling than Hitchcock. This gorgeous thriller boasts a strong subplot about a man who has had one leg in a trap for weeks and is anxious not to get the other one caught. Jefferies is under pressure to marry his affluent girlfriend, Lisa (Grace Kelly). Wordlessly, Hitchcock relates the backstory of how Jefferies broke his leg by casting his lens over a few framed photographs. We see that Jefferies is a man who has photographed wars and auto races; we see that he’s being urged into marrying Lisa and starting a new career as a society photographer.

As a sort of joke, Jefferies has framed the negative of a glamour photo of Lisa. She has white pupils and black teeth—it’s a portrait as romantic as a jack-o’-lantern. As he tries to hold the insistent Lisa back, Jefferies watches a pageant of men and women through the windows of the other apartments. (“Everything [Jefferies] sees across the way has a bearing on love and marriage,” Hitchcock once explained to his interviewer François Truffaut.)

John Michael Hayes’ screenplay, from a story by pulp genius Cornell Woolrich, never got the praise it deserves. (“I thought the rain would cool things down—all it did was make the heat wet.”)

And the older you get, the better Hitchcock’s films look. What dignity Hitchcock gives middle-aged angst here—as in Vertigo , which begins where Rear Window ends, with Stewart dangling over the abyss.

In addition to the above screenings, the Rafael tribute schedule includes ‘Winchester ’73’ (May 28), ‘Anatomy of a Murder’ (June 4), ‘Harvey’ (June 8), ‘Mr. Smith Goes to Washington’ (June 11), ‘The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance’ (June 18) and ‘Two Rode Together’ (June 22). 1118 Fourth St. San Rafael. 415.454.1222 .


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We’re All Just “Fools”: Strummin’ and Drummin’ with Meric Long of the Dodos

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  The Dodos: Meric Long & Logan Kroeber

A friend of mine, we’ll call him the Music Guru (he’s where I go for all the fresh insider info from the alternative music scene), feverishly texted me late one night about a month ago. He had just seen a show at a small New Haven club and told me that he had seen the sharpest set he had seen in a long time, played by a new band called the Dodos. A short time later, the name kept popping up everywhere. I would be surfing an old friend’s MySpace and the signature track “Fools” from Visiters, their debut album as the duo, began playing in the background. NPR did a feature on them, their list of tour dates keeps growing and growing and now they’ve taken off to Europe to charm more avid music fans. The Dodos. Where on earth did they come from?

Win-win-win

05.28.08

I love the Bohemian, and now I really love it!

Thank you so much for your article by Stett Holbrook in your food and drink section on the hazardous effects of eating meat and dairy (“Low-Carb(on) Cuisine,” May 14).

Not only does eating meat and dairy contribute more to global warming than any SUV, it is horrific for the animals. We now know that eating a plant-based diet excluding any meat and dairy products is the healthiest diet and lifestyle; eating a plant-based diet is a win-win-win situation. It saves the animals from horrific and deplorable suffering on factory farms and slaughterhouses, it helps the environment and it is the best for your health.

Thank you again for the wonderful article. We look forward to more like it!

Lisa Soldavini

Petaluma

I just read “Trawling for Answers” by Alastair Bland (May 14), and I have to say that his assessment is spot on. The MLPA issue has been out of the public eye for too long. I believe that Mr. Bland has exposed this process for what it really is. Kudos to Mr. Bland and the Bohemian for printing this article.

Michael Caporale

San Jose

Alastair Bland’s article “Trawling for Answers,” regarding the MLPA Blue Ribbon Task Force considering placing restrictions on the north coast fisheries, hit home. Bland writes, “In fact, many anglers have suspected all along that the public MLPA process has been a done deal from the start.”

The anglers’ “suspicions” are 100 percent correct. The MLPA is no different than any other corporate-funded public body: corporate-owned commercial trawlers that destroy thousands of miles of ocean habitat aren’t on their hit list, only the individual commercial and sport fisherman who use sustainable practices are. Before the fisherman and their allies even showed up to the meeting, the MLPA had already made their decision to restrict the waters off the North Coast—they are just going through the motions of holding a faux public hearing.

Several months ago, I observed a meeting of the Central Coastal Commission where a fisheries expert presented the results of a two-and-a-half year-long scientific study performed in restricted waters adjacent to a Central Coast marine sanctuary. The purpose of the study was to prove that newly developed methods of fishing would reduce or eliminate by-catch, meaning that some of the restrictions to fisherman should be removed.

At the end of the presentation, a woman on the commission asked the question that drove a stake through the heart of the study: “How many dolphins were taken as by-catch during the study?” The expert responded, “Amazingly, only one dolphin was caught during the two-and-a-half-year study.”

When she heard his response, the woman started ranting about the dolphin, with several other members of the commission chiming in. They had their excuse to invalidate the study and to make sure that restrictions remained in place for commercial and sport fishermen (no mention of corporate trawlers). Nowadays, going before public commissions is like betting on a fixed horse race. You lose!

Michael Murphy

Kenwood

Why bother voting in a party primary when there is only one candidate, running unopposed, like Lynn Woolsey is on June 3? I’ve always supported Woolsey because of her strong opposition to the war in Iraq and her consistent support for progressive issues that I believe in, but her continued public support for Hillary Clinton during the Democratic primary is unacceptable to me.

In addition to the fact that Woolsey’s district voted predominantly for Barack Obama, it is unacceptable because Clinton’s campaign rhetoric has included:

• Praising McCain’s qualifications over Obama’s

• Threatening to “obliterate” Iran with nuclear weapons

• Stoking racial fires to cut into Obama’s support

• Participating in misleading smears about Obama’s religious beliefs and patriotism

• Suggesting she is staying in the race because something might happen to Obama

This time, although Woolsey is running unopposed and will clearly move on to the general election, I have an opportunity to send her a message when I step into the voting booth on June 3.

If you are also discouraged by Woolsey’s continued support for Hillary Clinton throughout the current Democratic primary season, please join me in not voting for Lynn Woolsey on June 3!

Steve Enos

Cotati


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The Boys of Summer

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05.28.08

I only had to see the previews to Iron Man to know we’d all been duped. According to the hype, the film is about some right-wing wacko named Tony Stark who becomes a POW and simultaneously turns both liberal and invincible after tricking his captors into letting him weld together a bad-ass metal suit. Once outfitted as the mighty Iron Man, he is able to fly at warp speed and have sex with Gwyneth Paltrow—a pretty nifty superpower, but not exactly what the movie is about. At all.

With apologies to my fellow comic-book nerds, Iron Man is about one thing and one thing only: Robert Downey Jr. finally catching a break. The fact that this über-talented actor has managed to stave off drug addiction long enough to remind us of his talents is some sort of miracle, one that fans have been praying for ever since the star of Chaplin and Air America disappeared into the L.A. correctional system in 1996. The fact that the Hollywood of Downey Jr.’s prime—the one that contained a pre-24 Kiefer Sutherland and pre-shoplifting Winona Ryder—now belongs to younger men (like Tobey Maguire) just makes his career resurrection all the more poignant. Like Iron Man’s transition to the silver screen, it has been a long time coming.

This summer is a surprisingly fragile time for movies. After Heath Ledger’s shocking death earlier this year, moviegoers have a chance to reacquaint themselves with this marvelously talented actor, who appears as the Joker in Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight. Fans of the Batman saga will recall that resurrection plays a large part in Joker mythology, a macabre similarity to Ledger’s posthumous performance.

In the same movie, the often-overlooked Christian Bale disappears under the skin of Batman—this time literally. The Hollywood hype machine has largely neglected Bale’s performance as a selling point; the previews for the movie showcased far more of Ledger’s eerie American accent and Chelsea smile than any of Bale’s brooding. And then there’s Downey Jr., a larger-than-life actor who, much like Tony Stark, rises from the ashes of his illicit past to take on a mantle of heroic sobriety.

What this summer’s multiplex screenings offer is not so much a chance to escape into the popcorn-scented bliss of an air-conditioned fantasy land as an opportunity to consider several surreal instances of art imitating life. Who can behold Ledger’s haunted supervillain and not see the star of Brokeback Mountain wrestling with his own very real demons? Who can see Downey Jr.’s hardened face and not think that the pain reflected there has more to do with being down-and-out in L.A. than down-and-dirty as an iron welder? And what movie fan can possibly stand to see Christian Bale stuck back in the cinematic shadows, his long delayed ascension to superstardom quashed, yet again, by a series of unfortunate events?

When director Christopher Nolan’s first Batman movie, Batman Begins, premiered in 2005, Roger Ebert called it “the Batman movie I’ve been waiting for.” Under Nolan (the visionary director behind 2000’s Memento), the film was a marvel of cutting-edge special effects and charismatic acting. Everyone from Michael Caine to Liam Neeson rose to the occasion. There was only one flaw: Katie Holmes. Holmes’ unremarkable performance as damsel-in-distress Rachel Dawes was blamed for any and all of the movie’s failings. As a result, she has been replaced by the edgier Maggie “I’m not fricking Katie Holmes!” Gyllenhaal in the sequel.

Batman Begins still did extremely well at the box office, but without a spunky babe to match his brooding sexuality, Christian Bale may have been denied the chance to become, as Tobey Maguire did in Spiderman, a household name. To this day, the talented Bale is known more as “the guy from American Psycho” or “that kid from Newsies” than the powerhouse leading man of a $400 million franchise.

Blaming the delayed rise of Bale’s star on Katie Holmes is, of course, going a bit far. Like Colin Firth, appreciated by a select group of female film fans who have had the good sense to notice him, Bale is a specialized taste. He’s handsome, but he’s no Brad Pitt. There is, indeed, something about his appearance that lends itself to instability. Depending upon the inclinations of the makeup artist, he could be a hot romantic lead, as he was in 1994’s Little Women, or a sleep-deprived freak, as in 2004’s Machinist. In fact, other than Batman, the most gorgeous Bale has ever been was as serial killer Patrick Bateman in the 2000 film adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho, where, clad only in a pair of glowing white Reeboks, he famously pursued a shrieking prostitute with a chainsaw.

Bale has had more crowd-pleasing roles. As in Ellis’ novel, his Batemen repels at a fundamental level, the subject matter surely earning him zero points on the Heartthrob-o-Meter. But the combination of deceptively clean-cut sexuality and cruel vapidity he brought to American Psycho will surely go down in movie history as the work of a daring and brilliant actor. It is fitting that he should be cast alongside Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight, because his career is incredibly similar.

Like Bale, Heath Ledger made a name for himself by playing against type. Pegged as a matinee idol for his work in films like 1999’s 10 Things I Hate About You and the following year’s Patriot, he seemed on his way to becoming an entertaining but not particularly hefty actor. Then he took a small but affecting role as Billy Bob Thornton’s son in Monster’s Ball. While Halle Berry shrieked her way to an Oscar win, Ledger’s quiet despair as a lost young man seeking comfort in illicit sex is a far more masterful performance. His next role, as the lovelorn Ennis Del Mar in Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain, was even better.

Playing against type seems to either work (Charlize Theron in Monster) or not (Jennifer Aniston in Derailed). It’s the Hollywood equivalent of separating the wheat from the chaff. Actors like Bale and Ledger happen to excel at it. Bale has sung in Newsies, slain futuristic dragons in Reign of Fire and starved himself to death in The Machinist. Ledger has, of course, portrayed Ennis from youth to middle-age in Brokeback, jousted to Queen in A Knight’s Tale and, in one of his quirkier roles, played a high school rebel rumored to have “sold his lung on the black market to buy a speaker” in 10 Things I Hate About You. That these two titans of young Hollywood were set to appear in a film together should have been an occasion for joy.

Then, of course, the unthinkable happened.

Ledger’s passing reminds us that, in an age where anyone on YouTube can become famous, true talent is a distinctly different and precious thing. Whether or not you think artists are important to society, most of us will be touched by the work of one of them over the course of our lives. When you see Ledger sink to the floor, cradling his dead lover’s jacket in Brokeback Mountain, it doesn’t matter that he’s really a Hollywood actor with money to burn. It only matters that he’s plugged us back into the human experience that desk jobs, gridlock and all the other evils of the world constantly distract from.

So when I heard that Ledger had died, I began to think that The Dark Knight had just gotten a little darker. Anticipating an acting showdown between two of my generation’s greatest talents, I watched the teaser trailer and thought, “Heath doesn’t look happy.” His tortured-looking Joker reminded me of all the rumors I’d heard: that he committed suicide, that he wasn’t sleeping, that he was, in fact, human. If Christian Bale does emerge as Ledger’s successor, it will have to be somewhere down the line. Before it even opens, The Dark Knight is Ledger’s movie. And it ought to be that way.

When the lights go down and the shadowy images of Gotham City go up, I’m afraid it’s those sort of thoughts that, far more than brooding superheroes and special effects, are going to haunt me.


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Beer Mistress

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05.28.08


T he best brewer of beer does not necessarily leave his trademark upon the product. To the contrary, he may be a humble man and a servant to cherished styles. A seamless transition as a new beer man takes over for an old at a neighborhood brewpub is among the strongest testimonies there is to a brewer’s understanding of his science and mastery of his craft.

Or hers.

Just a handful of women in the Bay Area and a scant dozen in the United States brew beer professionally, and Moylan’s Brewing Company in Novato has one of them, though Denise Jones doesn’t dwell on the novelty of it all.

“I don’t think people look at me, taste my beer and say, ‘That’s pretty good for a woman,'” she says. “Beer is really about the beer.”

Moylan’s was founded 19 years ago, in which time customers have come to know, expect and enjoy its list of familiar ales. So when owner Brendan Moylan hired Jones in October of 2006, he was not looking for an overhaul of the beer list; on the wet end of the tap, it’s still just business as usual.

“It wasn’t my job to come walking into Moylan’s and make sweeping changes to the beer or even leave my signature on the beer,” Jones, 43, says. “My job was just to tighten up a few loose ends, increase the balance here and there, and increase the shelf life for the bottled beers.”

Moylan’s has seen a growth in its bottled-beer program as the brewery gains renown across the country. The beer is distributed to 15 states, and Jones calls the long and winding road of national distribution the “beer torture chamber.” It must travel from tank to filter to bottle to truck and, finally, to retailers across the nation, where poor staff handling and balmy stockrooms can potentially damage the product, if transport hasn’t already.

Meanwhile, Jones feels beer is best served on draft over the counter, when it’s just days or weeks old, an unusual philosophy in the midst of so much buzz over barrel-aging, vertical vintage tastings and ancient ales pulled from the cellar. But Jones grew up on fresh beer. She learned to brew in brewpubs and was never even a home brewer, which is the way that many, if not most, brewers begin.

She has almost always made beer to be served onsite, moving the majority of the product from tank to keg to glass, all within 30 feet and two weeks of its point of origin. Jones enjoys this close relationship between brewer and buyer, as she receives immediate feedback, criticism, praise and questions.

Yet she remains behind the scenes most of the time, brewing beer without end. In fact, to compare the art of winemaking, the Bay Area’s other specialty in artisan beverage making, to that of brewing paints a telling picture. Winemaking is a vintage activity that arrives each fall in a flurry of mild panic. Brewing, on the other hand, is a steady, repetitive effort that occupies a professional day in and day out, much like a chef’s.

Which isn’t so unusual. In merry olde England, beer was considered “women’s work,” something done in the kitchen to feed the men. Asked why not many women helm the kegs today, Jones considers. “I think it’s always been an engineering-type job, and more men are usually engineers than women,” she says. “It also requires physical strength—muscular strength—and that’s usually men. In the latter part of history, men have just been the brewers, but I never approached it as a man’s job. I just approached it as a function of creativity, and for that I really enjoy it.”

Good thing, because last year, over a thousand barrels of beer were served across Moylan’s bar.

Jones says that the greatest challenge of beer-making, especially for familiar locals, is meeting the demand for consistency.

“Brewers must diligently watch the beer, and it has to taste exactly the same each time you put a new batch on the shelf, whereas the winemaker will say that 1997 tasted like this and 1999 was a little more of that. Winemakers say nature gives them a different product each year, but nature gives us different products, too. It’s shifting sands with barley, and it’s shifting sands with hops.”

Drinking the stuff is easier, though caution is advised when tipping back some of Moylan’s whoppers like the Hopsickle Imperial Ale, a triple IPA. Buffed up to over 9 percent alcohol by volume, it’s a tempest of flowery aromas, caramel in the mouth and stinging alpha acids. The imperial stout goes 10 percent and bubbles with black fudge, smoky dark chocolate and peanut butter. The Old Blarney Barleywine is just as strong, a deep dark brown, and layered with caramel, butterscotch and candy flavors. And there’s the 8 percent Kilt Lifter, a sweet Scotch ale that blends the nutty flavors of wild rice, rye, wheat and corn. On the lighter side are the Dry Irish Stout, the Tipperary Pale Ale and the fruity, red Wheat Berry. A dozen or more beers are available on draft at any time.

Yet some 70 percent of the brewpub’s forecasted 4,000-odd barrels of beer will be shipped outward to 15 states this year. With national distribution comes national acclaim, and Jones is getting it. She has won nearly 20 awards since arriving at Moylan’s 18 months ago, and among the nationwide fraternity of craft brewers, Jones is becoming an increasingly recognized name and face who has taken several medals at the Great American Beer Festival.

Jones attended the American Brewers Guild in Davis, received her master of styles degree in Chicago, studied in Munich, has attended national and international beer and wine conferences and has received training in sensory analysis. Still, she’s not done.

“Constantly learning is really important to me,” she says. “I will not be complacent in my craft.”

She calls her job a “highly worthy career,” made interesting by the daily challenges, the customers, the feedback, the balancing of art and science, and her team of assistants.

“It’s a job. It’s a career. It’s something I have passion for. There’s plenty of room for women out there in brewing. I’d encourage anyone—if you’re a man or a woman, young or old—to go into brewing if that’s what you like. Maybe it’s a blinded, sexist attitude, but I belong to one of the most fraternal orders of people, and I really don’t think I encounter sexism among brewers.”

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

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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.

First Bite

E ditor’s note: First Bite is a new concept in restaurant writing. This is not a go-three-times, try-everything-on-the-menu report; rather, this is a quick snapshot of a single experience. 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 .

My guy, Doug, and I have passed through many doors in the 12 years we’ve been together, so it was fitting that we would enter the red door of Portelli Rossi to celebrate our anniversary. Located in Novato’s old town, Portelli Rossi was formerly known as Kitchen 868, and though it still has the same owner, Henry Hautau, and the same executive chef and managing partner, John Ruggieri, it has changed its style and focus. Which, come to think of it, is a little like me and Doug, who were together before, and now are again in a great, new way that will B-4- evah ! Are you sensing a pattern here? Good.

Portelli Rossi focuses now on Italian food with dishes in a more affordable range than previously offered (most are under $20). In an attempt to broaden their appeal, they even have a menu for the bambini with such whine-stoppers as chicken fingers ($7) and steak and fries ($9). Doug and I went for lunch and didn’t bring our own bambini, it being a day to celebrate our just us-ness, and a school day at that, hurrah.

It’s cozy and intimate inside with golden walls, a red ceiling, a jumble of modern art and what looked like beer coasters or decals framing the mirrors—but on such a nice day, Doug and I chose to sit on their new brick patio. That seemed to be the place to be, with a view of the foot traffic on Grant, heat lamps for cool evenings and strings of lights.

Nibbling on the home-baked rosemary bread, we broke our adoring gaze just long enough to survey the menu and decide among smoked bacon and white bean soup ($6); mozzarella di buffalo antipasti ($8); fried artichoke salad ($11); prosciutto di parma, formaggi or eggplant panini ($9–$13); or clam linguine ($11/$17).

Displaying his usual good taste and judgment, Doug chose the caesar salad ($9), a carryover from Kitchen 868 days, and no wonder. A lemony anchovy dressing lightly coated long spears of cut romaine, croutons and grana padano ; for actual anchovies, Doug tossed in an extra $1.50. For our second course, I ordered the pancetta-wrapped rock cod ($17), which was slightly salty and crunchy, but moist, on a bed of white beans, chard and capers. Doug went for the ravioli funghi ($16), a full order, which turned out to be only five pockets (pity those who order the half) filled with velvety portabella mushroom and covered in brown butter sage sauce, so good we wished there were more .

With our lunches, I drank an Inzolia ($8), my first time with the delicious Sicilian wine. Doug quaffed a $9 glass of Starry Night Zinfandel. (Did I mention Doug’s likeness to Van Gogh, in the artist’s two-eared phase, that is?) We traded spoonfuls of our desserts, a classic custardy crème brûlée ($6) for Doug, and, for me, a spicy ginger cake with brandy and butter hard sauce ($7)—their flavors reminiscent of the times we’ve had together lingered as we went out through the red door and into our 13th year together.

(I promised Doug that, in honor of our anniversary, I would write him a paean in the form of this review, mentioning his name 12 times, one for each glorious year together—and with this, Doug, I have!)

Portelli Rossi, 868 Grant Ave., Novato. Open for lunch, Tuesday–Saturday; dinner, Tuesday–Sunday. 415.892.6100.



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Quick-and-dirty dashes through North Bay restaurants. These aren’t your standard “bring five friends and order everything on the menu” dining reviews.

Wine Tasting Room of the Week

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Malbec, the red grape that is seldom invited to party with Cab and Merlot in Bordeaux, and then only as a 2 percent wallflower, is king of the dance floor in Argentina. Recently, I took a gander at the signature wine of down under and over (“The Malbec Diaries,” May 7), and found it cheap and plentiful but darn hard to get a taste of. Also, quite far away. Here at home, an adventuresome shopper with a piqued palate will find that imported Malbecs are priced upwards of $7.99—and who wants to take a chance with money like that? If we could only just pop down the road, and as though through a looking glass, enter a bucolic valley where dramatic mountains tower over cattle grazing on green pastures, and find a hearty Malbec at every winery.

I’m telling you there is such a place.

Bienvenidos a la Vallee de la Luna. Malbec has a small toehold in the area between Glen Ellen and Kenwood, where at minimum five wineries, conveniently lined up along one stretch of Highway 12, make it. The only problem with making a little expeditionary survey of Malbec here is that there isn’t nearly enough of it.

Mayo Family Winery’s Reserve Malbec is so popular it’s sold-out until the next release in October. Ditto for Arrowood Winery, whose 150 case-lot of 2005 Malbec will mainly ship out to its wine club. At Chateau St. Jean Winery, eschew the crowded tasting room and gift shop, walk briskly through the manicured gardens, stride confidently into the sumptuous wood-paneled Reserve Room, and ask straightaway for the Malbec. Staff may be bemused, but accommodating.

The 2004 Sonoma County Reserve Malbec ($60) is a pleasing example, supple and well-rounded, like a better Merlot with bright cherry, plum and spice, but with characteristic Malbec undertones of Red Vines and rubber. Three hundred cases of St. Jean Estate Vineyard Malbec ($50) come from the volcanic hills just above the winery. They call it more “Argentinean” in style, and, lo, it’s sold-out.

On the valley floor, St. Francis Winery & Vineyards is also getting into the game with a new estate planting. Its McCoy Vineyard Malbec—a rich and warm wine, if not varietally typical—is sourced from the Mayacamas, and is crazy limited. Even at a single vineyard tasting for the industry, it was only brought out from under the table slyly, like contraband absinthe. Blackstone Winery’s 2003 Lake County Malbec ($25) has changed in price and flavor in half a year. At first taste, I noted that its chemical bouquet of “industrial cherry fruit” was enticing; now that’s more like a squirt of chocolate essence in port, with acidic, intense red berries accenting a lush, balanced palate with a lingering finish.

More prevalent than a novelty, Valley of the Moon Malbec is almost a trend. Winemakers here have done their homework with this heretofore novelty grape, and they seem to have got it right. Is it true to the Argentine? Muchos veces, creo que mas mejor.

Mayo Family Reserve Room, 9200 Sonoma Hwy., Kenwood. 707.933.5504. Open daily, 10:30am to 6:30pm. Arrowood Winery, 14347 Sonoma Hw., Glen Ellen. Open daily, 10am to 4:30pm. 800.938.5170. Chateau St. Jean, 8555 Sonoma Hwy., Kenwood. Open daily, 10am to 5pm. 707.833.4134. St. Francis Winery & Vineyards, 100 Pythian Road, Santa Rosa. Open daily, 10am to 5pm. 888.675.9463. Blackstone Winery, 8450 Sonoma Hwy., Kenwood. Open daily, 10am to 4:30pm. 707.833.1999.



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Beer Mistress

05.28.08T he best brewer of beer does not necessarily leave his trademark upon the product. To the contrary, he may be a humble man and a servant to cherished styles. A seamless transition as a new beer man takes over for an old at a neighborhood brewpub is among the strongest testimonies there is to a brewer's understanding of...

First Bite

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