Letters to the Editor

01.16.08

Feelin’ It

P. Joseph Potocki, is a masterful researcher and observer of conditions in the North Bay area (“Wage Slaves in Paradise,” Jan. 23). His article on going broke while working in the midst of luxury and opulence and plenty for a few is heart-wrenching.

I had the pleasure of living in Santa Rosa for about six months. Then came the sad recognition that I could not afford it, so I returned to Denver.

However, it has ever been thus. The few control it all. How much longer can it go on? We are motivated to change only when crisis demands some kind of action. What will be that crisis?

Tell Potocki to keep it coming. Maybe someone with some clout who sits in one of those incredible homes in the hills will read and be touched. Potocki certainly has the gift for reaching people with his words.

P. F. Pingree

Denver, COlo.

change remains the same

I suppose it is your job to recommend somebody (“You Say You Want a Revolution?” Jan. 23). I was hypnotized by Barack Obama at first, too. But I’ve gotten over it. I was similarly hopeful in ’92 in the face of “outsider” Bill Clinton’s “clarity of ideas rooted in the depth of his convictions.” How long did it take for him to don the parlance of D.C.-speak (think locally, act globally) once installed in the White House? Less than one year. The only thing that changes is the rhetoric of the campaigning politician to that of the elected politician. The “rare buzz of excitement surrounding the 2008 primaries” that “Obama has been primarily responsible for” is little more than a rock-star-style PR campaign. Has he specified any of his plans yet? I don’t hear him taking preemptive strike off the table.

Ben Franklin attributed the success of our revolution in large part to an informed populace. We are oversaturated daily by a totally controlled media. But we do have the Internet, so let’s do some homework. Take a look at Obama’s (or any candidate’s) advisers, résumé, what they like to do and what they are likely to advise. The results of that research are not heartening.

The only thing that changes is the new face card fronting the ruthless agenda of this group. Bush Jr. and Reagen were ideal stooges for the task—in November, we’ll see who Diebold’s programming shall select to next “lead” this once-great nation now bankrupted by these people.

Malcolm Clark

Occidental

What a Whiner!

What a whiner (“Red Wine and Butter,” Jan. 16)! Geez! I hope Gretchen Giles didn’t go back to camp and inflict her self-focused rant on anyone else. Boot camp is not for everybody; only people who care about themselves and the people whom they love. It creates fitness, like lower blood pressure, lower resting heart rate—you know, the stuff that keeps you breathing—not just a great-looking body.

Perhaps the whiny Ms. Giles ought to put down that gargantuan sandwich, those artery-clogging chips and that scale-tipping beer and think of someone else besides her less-than-fit self. And stop complaining. Geez!

Cynthia

Petaluma

Blind Voters

All the presidential candidates must think we’re a bunch of blind voters. Why else would they espouse universal health coverage, better educational opportunities, salvaging the economy and other pie-in-the-sky promises while not addressing the fiscal, physical and emotional realities of ongoing wars in Pakistan/Afghanistan/Iraq (and the possibility of an attack on Iran). Our eyes are open; why aren’t theirs?

Jeff Coykendall

Los Gatos

Wedding books & polka-dot shoes

Accidental poetry we couldn’t refuse

Hey dancers, here are some recent items which have been left at Monroe Hall. Let me know if you think anything might be yours.

—Steve

a watch

a black scarf

wire-rimmed glasses

wedding books

polka-dot shoes & 2 thermos


Deposit Security

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01.30.08

I n the minds of most renters, interior design is the Eden-like province of homeowners, one of those nice little perks that lessen the responsibilities of mortgage payments, property taxes and homeowners’ insurance. Remodeling or changing anything to a rental unit, in contrast, is carte blanche for evil, reaming landlords and rental agencies on the predatory walk-through to make off with your cash. Time and again, the looming threat of losing one’s security deposit keeps tenants in the live-in equivalent of a hospital room—white walls, sterile décor, little or no design elements whatsoever and a TV in the corner. All because they can’t afford to own.

It doesn’t have to be this way. True, going over an itemized list of cracks, holes and carpet stains at move-out can be like pulling teeth with a landlord who wields power over the poor and pitiful poster-and-beer-sign-loving tenant who must patter pathetic pleas of “normal wear and tear.” But luckily there are some simple methods of basic design that circumvent the strict stranglehold landlords so eagerly apply on their renters. The surprise is that they’re cheap and easy.

Starting with the basics, there’s the important issue of wall color. The majority of renters are terrified of painting their walls, not only because it can turn into an expensive item on a security-deposit refund tally, but because it’s also the most obvious change. There is no possible way to hide the fact that once-sterile white walls have become indigo blue, unless your landlord is blind, in which case you are the luckiest person alive.

But if walls can become indigo blue, or banana yellow or striped green with purple polka-dots, then they can easily become white again. Depending on the size of the unit, a basic painting job usually only takes about a day, and there’s no reason not to set aside another day at move-out to paint the walls primer gray and then back to their original color. You’ll thank yourself, especially if you’re planning on living there for a while, and it can also take care of wall scuffs or holes that might end up being deducted from your deposit.

Another basic problem is wires, those pesky exposed power cords lumpily shoved under throw rugs, poorly hidden by houseplants or saddle-stapled along the perimeter of doorway trim. In an increasingly wireless age, the sight of jumbled wires everywhere comes off as gauche and claustrophobic. How about getting them out of sight completely?

Speaker wire, firewire cables and phone lines can be easily run underneath the floor, and all it takes is a drill and a willingness to brave the unit’s tight, dank crawlspace. Pry the baseboard and/or carpet off with a crowbar where the wires will both disappear and reappear, drill a hole large enough to accommodate the wires directly where wall meets floor (angling the drill downward, naturally), and place a flashlight shining down the holes for easy visibility. Underneath the house, inching along the dirty ground, pull the wires from one hole to the other, and wriggle back to the land of the living to reattach the carpet or baseboard back inside. Follow these steps backwards upon move out, and you’ll live pleasantly without wires hanging off every wall and bordering every room; plus, the concealed holes will be invisible during the walk-through.

Sometimes a space requires wall shelving, but the resulting holes in the wall would be a dead giveaway. You could put the shelves in anyway and patch the walls later with spackle or drywall compound, but if the job isn’t done smoothly, the landlord’s eagle eye will suss it out, and deposit deductions can ensue. Amazingly, landlords rarely inspect ceilings for damage, which is important to know when modifying a unit. Shelves that are hung from the ceiling by a chain, for example, are much less of a liability than wall shelves, and they look unique.

What about that treacherously ugly faucet—plastic spiky knob and all—that you’re dying to get rid of? Walk down any hardware store fixture aisle and you’ll be dismayed to find that the shower heads and faucets used in rental units are always the cheapest and flimsiest. If it’s worth the money to you to change the fixtures—swapping them back, naturally, when you move out—then you’ll be surprised at how easy it is to do it yourself. Get a good wrench, some plumber’s tape, plumber’s putty and a little bit of know-how, and you can keep the same good-lookin’ fixtures with you wherever you may move.

(As for that “know-how”: the book is out of print, but used copies of Time-Life’s Complete Fix-It-Yourself Manual can be widely found for under $10 online, and no house should be without it. Its chapters on appliances, plumbing, electricity and home electronics are written and illustrated in the simplest, easiest-to-understand way, and can save you the humiliating annoyance of calling the evil landlord and dealing with bumbling repairmen for basic fixes.)

Venetian blinds are one of the cruelest atrocities widely forced on renters, and they’re surprisingly easy to replace without doing significant damage. With just some J-hooks, curtain fabric, clamping curtain hangers and a simple wooden dowel, a room can be completely transformed from a plastic-looking office cell to a warm, cozy space by jettisoning those horrible, dust-collecting contraptions.

First, remove the sliding covers at the top to disassemble the blind from its cartridge, and unscrew the cartridge from the window casing. Attach two simple J-hooks to the wall above the window, and place the wooden dowel, cut to size, across the hooks. Cut and hem the fabric to the size of the window—slightly larger if you want a ripple effect—and clamp the hangers at 6-inch intervals across the top. Slide the hangers on the dowel and—voilà!—basic, inexpensive curtains that make a huge difference to the room, with only four patchable holes to deal with afterwards.

Even getting rid of the smallest and seemingly unobtrusive ugliness can make a healthy difference to a room when inexpensively swapped. A close examination of gaudy light switch covers, dingy cabinet handles or tacky glass lighting domes can reveal an easy, low-impact solution to sprucing up and modernizing your personal space. New stainless steel towel holders, for example, are cheap, and replacing those bulbous oak monstrosities along your merry renting way will make you happier than you can imagine.

Rental units may belong to someone else, but ultimately it’s the place where you live. Basic interior design doesn’t have to be an unattainable luxury, and with a few simple steps, a fearless but smart approach and a couple hundred dollars, an otherwise imposing hospital room can be transformed into a cozy home—and that’s something everyone deserves.

Former landlords can contact Gabe Meline at gm*****@******an.com


All Ears

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01.30.08

S anta must have thought I was a good girl last year, because for Christmas he brought me an iPod. I am now officially caught up with the rest of my generation.

I like the thing, but I haven’t found much of a use for it yet. The iPod is delightful to listen to when I drive the truck Mr. Bir Toujour and I share, particularly when it’s just me in the cab and the truck becomes a roving music bubble of early ’90s hip-hop and every song is like a funky, miniature audiobook.

But these instances are rare, as I typically take the bus. The iPod should be a bus rider’s salvation, and many of my co-passengers indeed sport the slender, telltale twin white wires descending from their heads. If you have to spend time on the bus, why not spend it commiserating privately—intimately—with the music of your choice? Handily, it not only drowns out the banter of crazies and grumps, it also discourages lecherous overaged creeps from starting up conversations.

But I learned to cope with all this in my pre-iPod days, and over time I’ve come to appreciate the ample slices of life the daily bus commute offers its hapless riders. My bus line is particularly savory, passing as it does multiple addiction-recovery centers.

I’ve come to recognize two gentlemen in particular; when they talk, their conversation evokes bulldozers facing off at a construction site. It’s sort of sweet, them hanging out~and shaking their habits together, their favorite topics being the horrors of drug use and nostalgia for drug use.

One day, one of the bulldozers started talking about Metallica. “So in ‘Master of Puppets,’ the master is the dealer and the puppets are the addicts, see?” he said. Then he sang half the song, sounding like James Hetfield if he sang through one of those throat-cancer voice-box thingees. I have never wanted a tape recorder so badly.

No one else on the bus noticed the special moment, though. They were all plugged into their own music—it’s even remotely possible one of them was listening to the Metallica version of “Master of Puppets” right then!

Every year when I was young, my parents would drive our family from Ohio to South Carolina for summer vacation. It was a 12-hour journey, which I happily passed by listening to the Beatles’ 20 Greatest Hits and The Beatles 1967&–1970 over and over again in my Walkman, witnessing rolling hills become green mountains and then gradually spread out into southern flatlands, all to the same precious soundtrack. The images from the songs and the scenery mingled together in my thoughts, so that I’d tunnel through the songs into the passing landscape to make it my own. For a dozen hours in the backseat of my parents’ monstrous diesel-engine Cadillac, the world was my oyster.

It’s possible that for all of the iPod users, the daily bus ride becomes a compressed version of that 12-hour slog, and as the same sights pass faithfully by to favorite songs, they gain a special significance that illuminates an otherwise dreary aspect of life.

But I think about the time a mentally challenged woman sat next to me and offered to paint my fingernails pink (I let her); or the time a woman jumped onto the bus, breathless, commanding the driver to move fast because her boyfriend was going to kick her ass (the boyfriend didn’t make it on, though he pounded at the window, cursing, as we pulled away); or the bedraggled man who boarded without a pass and proceeded to tell a convoluted story about getting shoved through a glass coffee table and getting discharged from the emergency room with glass still in his leg (by the looks of him, that’s probably what happened).

I listen to the iPod now when I run, which is of course much less safe than listening to it on a sedentary bus ride. But I finally got to the point where I want to be there for the ride, not escape from it. And no way will I miss hearing that guy sing “Master of Puppets” again.


Juxtapose

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01.30.08

L ike a museum or an art gallery, the items on display at St. Helena’s Martin Design Showroom change on a regular basis. Over Christmas, the massive tire from an 18-wheel truck lorded over the room, placed standing alone on an oversized antique wooden table. Industrial link chain was used to hang rough-hewn wooden planking from the ceiling as shelves. Nautical rope as thick as a man’s fist tied paintings and other artifacts to the walls. Art books devoted to Dutch designers covered another table; white ceramic bottles were clustered artfully and antlers formed the inspiration for a set of candlesticks. In the center of it all, a “curtain” entirely composed from fresh-strung marigolds about five feet wide cascaded from the ceiling to the floor.

But unlike a museum or art gallery, there is no regular schedule to the changing look at Martin. That depends upon the fresh-faced whims of designer Erin Martin, the resident genius behind this contemporary space. Someone who Martin met on the street in L.A. was going to discard that tire, if that can be believed. She arranged to have it shipped up. Unaware that the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art is currently showing a curtain entirely composed of strung fabric flowers that cascades from ceiling to floor, she and 12 friends sewed together their marigolds in honor of India’s day of the dead celebration and to better meditate on a friend who had just passed away. (The showroom’s cleaning lady didn’t know what to make of it and tidily cut the bottom of the curtain straight off.) When a new shipment of artifacts Martin has collected arrives, the whole suite tumbles over again.

“The showroom is a mix of everything that we love; it changes all the time,” Martin says by phone while driving through Marin to meet a client in the wealthy East Bay enclave of Atherton. “It could be super French, and then it could go industrial. Right now, it’s big coffee tables and this great chaise that I’ve found that just makes me crazy with pleasure. We had a good shipment come in this past week, so we’re really excited, including a whale bone from the rib of a whale, which really reminds you how small you are in this world and how amazing it is to experience all of this.”

To say that Martin, 35, is aware of how amazing it is to experience all of this is an understatement. Raised in the Palm Desert area of Southern California by an architect father and interior designer mother, Martin skipped out on college, finding her education in four years of travel to such countries as Israel, Hungary, the bloc governments of Eastern Europe and to Morocco. With an eye and aesthetic trained by her parents from birth, Martin seems to have a fearless approach to the pleasures of both life and design. The showroom is for fun, and it certainly draws clients, but Martin’s real meat is full-scale home interior design.

Juggling between eight and five clients at a time, Martin is careful to ensure that the results aren’t too mannered. “I’ve really tried, but I can’t create nostalgia,” she says. “It doesn’t come from me but from someone’s life and the stories they can tell. At the end of the project, there’s space for clients to put their own things. The things that make you laugh or remind you of your dad or make you cry—those are the things that are truly special and make a house a home. [Interior design is] not brain surgery, but it is creating a place where people have refuge and Thanksgiving dinner and wake up in their beds and find a peaceful place. Living’s the good part.”

With her work frequently featured in the gloss of House Beautiful, Home & Garden and even in the ultra-luxury pages of the Robb Report , which calls her “ubiquitous for her wine country interiors,” Martin seems more self-styled Zen artist than snob. She gamely took on the Trading Spaces reality show that forced her to designer-up a room for under $1,000 in less than eight hours. She foraged in the neighborhood, finding an old church sign with the word “Jesus” on it that was refashioned into a door. And her use of ready-mades, such as plunking an 18-wheeler’s tire in the middle of things, is inspired.

Yet one of Martin’s most effective design tools is absence. She’s not one to rush to fill up a room with stuff. “Sometimes you just have to leave the space alone and let it tell you what it’s going to be,” she says.

“All you can do is try and see how it works. It’s OK that not everybody else gets it. If you get it and it gives you joy and makes you smile, then why the hell not?”

Martin Design Showroom
1350 Main St., St. Helena
707.967.8787


Crazy People

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01.30.08


Before playwright David Lindsay-Abaire got into the Pulitzer-winning business with 2006’s achingly grounded, Tony-nominated Rabbit Hole, a stunning look into the lives of a family following the death of a child, the Boston-born writer made a very different name for himself writing unhinged, experimental comedies peopled with teenagers afflicted with rapid-aging diseases, amnesiac housewives, foul-mouthed sock puppets, phantom schoolgirls and other cartoonishly off-kilter oddballs who resemble everyday human beings only in peripheral, symbolic ways. In plays like Kimberly Akimbo, Fuddy Meers and Snow Angel, Abaire built a reputation on his whimsically sick and twisted imagination and his talent for inventing situations and spinning dialogue that are both funny-weird and funny-sad at the same time.

As a playwright, Abaire tends to write in broad strokes, with Rabbit Hole standing at one end as the least broadly drawn of his works, and with 2000’s Wonder of the World, which just opened a three-week run at Spreckels Performing Arts Center, standing at the opposite pole, a prime example of Abaire at his broadest, wildest and weirdest—and least convincingly human.

That said, this production by Pacific Alliance Stage Company, directed with obvious delight and fun, visual flair by Hector Correa, makes up for the play’s lack of depth and penetrating insight by emphasizing its outrageousness.

Cass (Alexandra Matthew) is a young married woman who discovers something shocking in her husband Kip’s sweater drawer (there’s no way you’ll guess what it is, it’s so astonishingly weird). She is accordingly shocked into a state of manic energy in which she seems to have lost all sense of tact, decorum or sensitivity. Armed with a long bucket list of things she hopes to accomplish before she dies, she is packing to leave when Kip (Michael Barr), befuddled and prone to tears, suddenly comes home for lunch. After imploring him to stand in the corner out of the way while she packs, she tells him, “I think I made a mistake.” When he wants to know when, she replies, “Remember that time you proposed—and I said yes?” And with that, she’s off to Niagara Falls, where she intends to catch up with the life she might have had were it not for Kip.

She soon adopts a sidekick (that’s one of the items on her list: get a sidekick) in the form of Lois (Tara Blau), a casually suicidal alcoholic who plans to drown herself in Niagara Falls. Lois initially resists Cass’ manic, motor-mouthed intrusion into her self-destructive weekend (“You’re kind of all over the place, aren’t you?” she asks early on), but eventually joins her as Cass takes helicopter rides, buys wigs off of strangers and initiates an affair with Capt. Mike (Michael Wiles), the sweet, lonely pilot of a Niagara tour boat.

What Cass doesn’t realize is that Kip has hired a pair of affably bickering husband-and-wife private investigators (Sylvia Anderson and Joseph Cicio), who, disguised as bellboys, are literally and figuratively carrying a lot of baggage of their own. All of this ultimately leads to Kip’s appearance, and a bizarre, six-person group-therapy session conducted like an episode of the Newlywed Game.

Into all of this mayhem wander a series of local oddballs, all played with maximum vigor by Shannon Veon Kase; this whole one-actor-playing-several-parts thing, which has become commonplace in modern theater, is beautifully satirized win a brilliant late-in-the-day revelation that is nothing short of brilliant.

The cast is certainly committed, with Blau and Matthew turning in the most nuanced performances, not an easy task with material this thinly drawn. Wiles and Barr are convincing as troubled men with deep, wounded feelings, but Cicio and Anderson, as the private eyes, seem to have given up on trying to find any shades or layers in their characters, playing them as the big one-note cartoons they are, while nailing the comfortable glee these two accomplices have found in each other’s presence.

One of the chief wonders of Wonder is the set by Elizabeth Bazzano, with bedrooms and hotel suites gliding on and off among puffs of mist, with docks, helicopters, boats and barrels cleverly and playfully suggested as they float, glide and bob about the stage. (Note to stage manager: you might want to keep the crew quieter backstage; the audience could hear them talking and thumping things into place on opening night.)

‘Wonder of the World’ runs Thursday&–Sunday through Feb. 10. Thursday at 7:30pm; Friday&–Saturday at 8pm; Sunday at 2:30pm. Spreckels Performing Arts Center, 5409 Snyder Lane, Rohnert Park. $17&–$20; Thursday, $15. 707.588.3400.


Museums and gallery notes.

Reviews of new book releases.

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

Reviews and previews of new dance performances and events.

Dollar Logic

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01.30.08

A ccording to Dec. 21, 2007 figures, here’s how the top candidates in the Democratic and Republican primaries are spending their—and your—money.

Hillary Clinton

Last year, the Clinton campaign shelled out large for strategist Mark Penn, paying him some $1,860,611. Clinton’s other biggest expenditure? Donation refunds, to the tune of $1,778,494. Shame on you, Norman Hsu. Clinton had to return some $850,000 as Hsu prepares to go to prison on felony charges.

Clinton’s PR spending broke down to $3.8 million by year’s end, the majority of which, 56 percent, was spent on “other.” Of the rest, 16 percent went to Internet campaigning, on which she spent $204,000 to build her website when your kid could have done it for $199,000 less and only spent $406 on print media.

John Edwards

No news here. Edwards’ disastrously expensive haircut appears on his year-end statement, with Torrenueva Hair Designs, Beverly Hills (listed under “Political Consultants”), coming in at a sharp $800. Edwards also spent $346 for office supplies from Iowa Prison Industries.

The Edwards campaign spent $4.1 million on PR efforts in 2007, with 59 percent for telemarketing/direct mail and the teeniest 4 percent for Internet presence. Edwards paid former Howard Dean manager Joe Trippi a weirdly small $65,000 stipend (see Axelrod’s six figures for the Obama campaign) while blogger Amanda Marcotte got the web .02 rate: $1,500.

Rudy Giuliani

Mr. Nine Eleven lavished some $3.8 million on the Karl Rove-related consulting firm of Olsen & Shuvalov and somehow went all Ahab on the Moby Dick Airways, spending $288,448 for their air services. For PR purposes, Guiliani had spent $2.7 million by the end of 2007, of which a whopping $208,000 was spent on photography.

Mike Huckabee

These two campaign expenditures read like an Arkansas poem:

Mattress King: $963;

Christian Party Rental: $846.

Duncan Hunter

Who?

“Flag Expense: $764.”

What?

Alan Keyes

We had to look up information on this moral conservative from Texas who liberally uses ancient Ronald Reagan quotes to support his campaign. In 2007, Keyes mostly had to give money back, making donation refunds totaling $25,302, some 54 percent of his campaign’s total expenditure.

John McCain

McCain spent a total of $2.8 million on PR last year, with the majority of it (66 percent) going to telemarketing and direct mail efforts. Just 16 percent of his money was extended to media consultants, 12 percent to “other” and a mere 6 percent given to online marketing.

Barack Obama

In 2007, Obama paid former John Kerry consultants GMMB a whopping $3,518,225, while political strategist David Axelrod commanded $704,630 to help the campaign. The stress must have gotten to our man, which would explain the expenditure to Blue Turtle Yoga for $20.

Obama spent $9 milllion on PR activities in 2007, with 40 percent of that devoted to telemarketing/direct mail and 37 percent to broadcast advertising. The remaining monies were spent on the Internet (10 percent), to media consultants (8 percent) and the ubiquitous “other” (5 percent). Obama paid Google $193,000 for online advertising and was the candidates’ top broadcast spender, expending some $3,280,000 on TV and radio messages.

Ron Paul

The Liberatarian from Texas actually and truly spent campaign monies in 2007 on such as “Peters Cut Rate Liquor: $259” and “DJ Dad/MC Mom, Cedar Rapids, Iowa: $100.” Who could make that up? No wonder he’s such a hit with the frat crowd.

Mitt Romney

Romney makes one’s own personal gaffes seem easy to pull off, particularly after one learns that he easily spent $114,528 on photography—including $4,358 for framing—last year from his campaign funds. And meanwhile, the family that travels together never makes it out of the Republican primary together, as proven by the $61,436 spent on an RV for Romney’s five sons.

As with Clinton, an enormous amount of Romney’s PR spending (62 percent) went to the amorphous “other” category. Spending only 1 percent on media consultants, Romney spent $17.7 million last year on PR, including $614,000 on those horrendous robo-calls.

Fred Thompson

Like McCain, Thompson focused his promotional expenditures the old-fashioned way, with some 51 percent of $1.9 million spent in 2007 going to telemarketing/direct mail. His campaign rented mailing lists from the Florida GOP ($1000,000) and Students for Life ($650), which makes renting out lists sound like a very lucrative pastime. But Thompson’s most interesting 2007 expenditure was for $13,082 to the Sentimental Journeys limousine company, auspiciously named, as it turns out, as that’s what the campaign was for Thompson.

Stats reprinted with permission from the January 2008 ‘Primary Colors’ issue of ‘Mother Jones’ magazine.

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Wine Tasting Room of the Week

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T ime was when folks could drive up to their local winery, bring their empty gallon jugs and have them refilled straight from the barrel. In fact, time was not so long ago when one of these old family wineries still offered the bulk-gallon deal in this century. I thought that that operation was gone, replaced by a “brand name” transplanted in time and place. But just as Martin Ray is there in name and spirit only, it seems that the old Martini & Prati winery has gone in name only. On an rainy day mission to investigate, I found that this old local favorite is a genuine, friendly and renewed favorite in its new guise.

Martin Ray believed he could make the world’s greatest Cabernet in the Santa Cruz mountains, and spent decades from the 1930s to the 1970s pursuing that task. Blackstone winery owner Courtney Benham discovered Ray’s legacy in 1990 and acquired rights to the name. After selling Blackstone in 2003, he hung the Martin Ray sign plate on Laguna Road at the Martini & Prati site, which has been in continuous operation since 1881. The winery now releases a quality midrange line, Angeline, from North Bay appellations, and revived its namesake’s focus on mountain Cabernet. And continuing the old tradition, folks can pick up a gallon of hearty Round Barn Red for $13.

Due to a label change, some of Martin Ray’s Angeline wines, normally a good value, are even more so right now. The Angeline 2005 Mendocino County Dry Riesling ($10) is a crisp quaff with mineral undertones, and aroma of green apples and blond raisins. Fresh and lively without acidic sting, the Angeline 2006 Russian River Sauvignon Blanc ($14) appears green-tinged to the eye, if only because of the lemongrass and honeydew melon information delivered to the tongue. A Russian River vs. Santa Barbara Pinot Noir taste-off may be offered; and those who have not the aptitude for the gallon can pick up a one-liter jug of 2003 “Red” California Table Wine ($14.99), a robust and balanced blend of Tempranillo, Syrah and Cab that makes a splash with cherry fruit steeped in vanilla oak, finishing sweet and fine. The Martin Ray 2005 Cabernet Sauvignon ($20) from the Napa Valley is easily bested by the 2003 Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve ($60). Steeped in mint and eucalyptus, dusted with cocoa powder, with a complex palate of blackcurrant and tobacco, it is a product of high on Sonoma Mountain. Martin Ray himself would not be surprised.

Martin Ray Winery, 2191 Laguna Road, Santa Rosa. Winter hours, Thursday–Monday, 11am–4pm for four complimentary tastes. 707.823.2404.



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Monster Beers

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01.30.08

N o one would have believed in the last years of the 20th century that the West Coast beer market was being eyed closely by a monster brewery with ambitions far greater than our own esteemed Lagunitas or North Coast breweries could begin to imagine. That, as we busied ourselves marveling at international bitterness units (IBUs) of 60 and alcohol percentages of 10 or 11 percent, while we touted ourselves as torchbearers to the craft brewing revolution—yes, while we were so self-absorbed—we never noticed that beers with twice the power were spreading across the Eastern seaboard, mobilizing for an invasion of California.

In 2008, the monster has arrived: Dogfish Head, an East Coast microbrewery with a distribution of several beers beginning on the West Coast this winter. To start, Californians will be liquored up with their relatively docile 90 Minute IPA, a 9 percent ABV brew, and the Midas Touch, also 9 percent and made from a honey-saffron recipe reconstructed from oily residues found in a drinking vessel in the very tomb of King Midas.

Dogfish Head was founded in Delaware in 1995, and the company has exploded until it is now the 36th largest brewery in the United States. Dogfish Head is responsible for such bruisers as the World Wide Stout (18 percent ABV), Olde School Barleywine (made with dates and figs) and the illustrious 120 Minute IPA (brewed to 20 percent ABV and containing a majestic 450 calories per 12-ounce bottle).

While the beers suggest that owner Sam Calagione is insane, his purpose is benign: to make beers that can age for decades and that pair well with food. Buying good beer is not a hobby limited to the elite.

“World-class beer is an affordable luxury,” says Calagione.~”You can walk into any liquor store in the county with 20 bucks and walk out with a six-pack or two of the world’s best beer. Try doing that with wine.”

Calagione’s 90 Minute IPA is among the country’s strongest beers in its category. A prominent sweet grain character melds with a not-too-hoppy drinkability, and with 294 calories per 12-ounce bottle, 90 Minute feels like a square meal. Try the sweet Midas Touch for dessert, with its rich almond flavor and creamy herbal honey notes. Watch the aisles, too, for Palo Santo Marron, a brand new big brown ale of intriguing vanilla and caramel scents. At 30 IBUs and 12 percent ABV, it’s still a baby for Dogfish Head. Eventually, they’ll send the big guns.

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.

Propaganda 101

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01.30.08


H illary Clinton has what pollsters call “high negatives,” which essentially means that lots of people really don’t like her and never will. But her supporters have long argued that she is a formidable candidate despite these negatives because those numbers aren’t likely to go any higher. As the theory goes, Americans are already well-acquainted with the Clintons’ dirty laundry—Whitewater, Monica, etc.—and as a result, any more mud slung at Hillary isn’t likely to stick. Unlike the less-seasoned presidential contenders, she’s been through the mill and is still standing. But the recent Washington premiere of Hillary: The Movie is any indication, this particular case for Clinton the candidate is wishful thinking.

Created by the conservative political group Citizens United, the anti-Hillary movie makes the Democratic primary season look like a polite college-debate tournament. Moreover, it doesn’t simply recycle the old anti-Hillary stuff; it raises a slew of new charges to spin the New York senator as a cross between Machiavelli and Lady Macbeth. The movie offers a preview of what the general election could look like should Clinton become the Democratic nominee.

Hillary dips briefly into some of the old Clinton scandals, including Bill’s well-documented skirt chasing. An alleged victim of the former president’s sexual advances, Kathleen Willey appears in the film a decade after her moment on the national stage, reprising some of the material from her recent book, Target: Caught in the Crosshairs of Bill and Hillary Clinton. In a taut-lipped interview, she suggests that after her name surfaced in the Paula Jones sexual-harassment lawsuit against Bill Clinton, the Clintons arranged to have her kitty assassinated. She says a private investigator tipped her off that the White House was having her investigated. (The investigator, a pockmarked Jared Stern, also appears in the film like some sort of Deep Throat, interviewed in a parking garage.)

To great effect, the film also digs into the tale of Billy Dale, the former longtime head of the White House travel office who was allegedly sacked on Hillary’s orders so that she could staff the office with cronies boasting Hollywood connections. According to the movie spin, the White House falsely accused Dale of embezzling thousands of dollars from the travel office as justification for the firing. He was prosecuted and acquitted by a jury in two hours.

Of course, unsaid in the film is that there was substantial evidence in his trial that Dale had mismanaged the travel office; that he was getting freebies—like sporting-event tickets—from contractors; that he had diverted $54,000 in refund checks into his own bank account; and lost track of $14,000 in petty cash. All solid reasons to fire the guy.

But the movie’s producers smartly skip over most of the ancient history from the Clinton administration and stick to fresher material, much of which will be unfamiliar to the average viewer (or voter). The fundraising scandals alone provide a mountain of fodder, and Hillary makes great use of the video footage from the 2000 “Hollywood Farewell Gala Salute to William Jefferson Clinton.” The star-studded event was organized and paid for by Peter F. Paul, a repeat felon and con artist who had cozied up to the Clintons in the waning days of the administration. Aiding him was Aaron Tonken, another con man who was later convicted of defrauding charities, and who helpfully provides an interview from prison.

Paul, who is interviewed extensively in the movie, paid $1.2 million to put on the gala, which raised money for Hillary Clinton’s Senate race. Her Senate campaign, however, reported to the Federal Election Commission that the event only cost $523,000. (In-kind donations such as hosting a party count toward candidate spending limits.) The FEC eventually fined Clinton’s campaign $35,000 for underreporting the cost of the party. Hillary Clinton’s finance director was tried and acquitted for his role in reporting the event cost.

After the Washington Post reported on Paul’s criminal history, which includes drug charges and all sorts of financial shenanigans (even defrauding Cuba, if you can imagine the level of criminal ingenuity that would entail), Clinton distanced herself from him. But Hillary showcases lots of footage and chummy photos of the former first lady with Paul, even a video of a conference call she made to him. All this suggests a close relationship that’s going to be tough to avoid addressing if she ends up facing off with a Republican next fall.

The criminal past that makes Paul a problem for Clinton also makes him a problem for the filmmakers. To address this issue, Citizens United hired a professional polygrapher to administer a lie-detector test to Paul on film, which of course he passes. It’s a laughable scene, and it’s tempting to dismiss the guy’s story, except that a lot of it is true. The Clintons have still never explained how they hooked up with him. You don’t need to be James Carville to see how the episode may play out in campaign ads next summer.

The film, however, goes overboard on conspiracy theories about how the Clintons have tried to suppress information that Bill Clinton failed to kill Osama bin Laden when he had the chance. The documents Berger destroyed, Hillary suggests, were part of that effort. But the fact that Berger is now advising Hillary’s presidential campaign is a legitimate issue that can’t be brushed off as right-wing propaganda.

And, finally, you can already see the making of the campaign ads in the film’s segment on Bill Clinton’s pardoning of 16 members of the Puerto Rican terrorist group Fuerzas Armadas de Liberación Nacional, which the film lays at the feet of Hillary. The film tries to jerk some tears by interviewing Joseph Connor, whose father was killed in a Fuerzas Armadas bombing of the Fraunces Tavern in New York City in 1975, when Joseph was nine years old. There’s lots of lip-biting, and overkill is the operative word, especially given that none of the people Clinton pardoned were personally responsible for the tavern bombing.

The conservative chattering class are all here: Bay Buchanan, Tony Blankley, an utterly vicious Dick Morris, Robert Novak, Michael Barone, Larry Kudlow, as well as such luminaries as Indiana congressman Dan Burton, for whom Citizens United president David Bossie worked in the 1990s, Newt Gingrich and Buzz Patterson, a retired lieutenant colonel who carried the “nuclear football” as the senior military aide to Clinton but who has since churned out a host of books attacking his former boss for wrecking the military.

The odd man out in all this is former New York Times reporter Jeff Gerth. In contrast to everyone else in the film, Gerth’s comments are measured and mostly refer to the research from the book he recently co-authored, Her Way: The Hopes and Ambitions of Hillary Rodham Clinton. His biggest knocks on Clinton are that not one of the 200 speeches he reviewed addressed counterterrorism, and that she is constantly wrestling with her own identity. But Gerth’s appearance in the film will bolster suspicions among those in the Clinton camp that the reporter was in cahoots with the vast right-wing conspiracy to bring down Bill with his reporting on Whitewater.

Whether anyone outside the Free Republic universe will actually see the film is another matter. While it will be screened in theaters across the country, federal election law has prevented Citizens United from advertising the film on the grounds that it is a campaign ad. Bossie has sued the FEC, arguing that it should be protected commercial speech and thus exempt from the campaign laws, which would require the group to disclose its donors, something it clearly doesn’t want to do. A panel of federal judges recently heard arguments in the case, but no decision has yet been made. For now, Bossie will have to rely on Sean Hannity and word of mouth for promotion, which in a way is too bad.

Democratic primary voters ought to watch it, just to make sure that they fully understand that a vote for Hillary is also a vote to bring back the people behind this film. The Clinton-haters are alive and well, and in fighting form. It’s clear that the American public won’t be able to have one without the other.


Creative Classical

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01.30.08

T ime may not have dealt too kindly with the high-minded and outer-worldly aims of the brilliant Russian composer Alexander Scriabin (1872&–1915), but the fact that he has both been exalted as a genius and condemned as a charlatan proves the uncommon and enduring qualities of his tantalizing output. Rife with sexual connotation, his later compositions, upon which he is most judged, sought to cohere the aural and visual arts. Scriabin claimed to “see” tones as colors, even creating a “keyboard of light” to aid his technique. Scriabin died at age 42, having successfully developed his famed “mystical” chord of fourths, but his cosmic output has long been overshadowed by his uncanny philosophies—Igor Stravinsky, for example, called Scriabin a “musical traveler without a passport.”

Naturally, with the advent of the 1960s psychedelic era, the world eventually began the arduous task of catching up to Scriabin’s peculiar vision. (Scriabin’s piano sonatas represent perhaps the best classical music to listen to while on drugs.) The Poem of Ecstasy has remained his best-known piece, a tone poem marrying 19th-century romanticism to 20th-century technique. The composer once wrote in a letter that the piece “offers a small hint of what I wish my principal work to be.” It is performed by the American Philharmonic—Cotati along with works by Brahms, Tchaikovsky and Franck, on Sunday, Feb. 3, at the Wells Fargo Center. 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. 3pm. $20 reserved; general admission, free. 707.546.3600.

A more literal approach to sexuality is explored through music and dance when the Santa Rosa Symphony kicks off its impressive Latin Waves festival this weekend, promising an exhilarating array of flamenco, bossa nova and mariachi performances over the next three months. South-of-the-border sabor musical is soon to arrive via artists such as Claudia Villela, Robin Brown, Elena Marlowe, Randy Vincent and Mariachi Champaña Nevin (who dazzled in an outdoor appearance last year at Santa Rosa’s Juilliard Park), but this weekend it’s all about Argentina’s tango tradition in a joint performance of the Symphony Chamber Players and the guest dancers Miriam Larici and George Furlong (above).

Exploring the roots of modern tango with compositions from the masters Astor Piazzolla and Anibal Troilo, the evening also promises added excitement: two works by modern Argentinean ass-kicker Osvaldo Golijov. The Santa Rosa Symphony has championed Golijov’s music before, having premiered the composer’s beautiful and challenging Dreams and Prayers of Isaac the Blind for orchestra and clarinet in 2006. Golijov himself was on hand that night; something tells me that the fiery undulations and precise passion of world-class dancers Larici and Furlong will more than suffice on Saturday, Feb. 2, at Jackson Theater. 4400 Day School Place, Santa Rosa. 5:30pm. $23&–$31. 707.546.8742.


Letters to the Editor

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Propaganda 101

01.30.08H illary Clinton has what pollsters call "high negatives," which essentially means that lots of people really don't like her and never will. But her supporters have long argued that she is a formidable candidate despite these negatives because those numbers aren't likely to go any higher. As the theory goes, Americans are already well-acquainted with the Clintons' dirty...

Creative Classical

01.30.08T ime may not have dealt too kindly with the high-minded and outer-worldly aims of the brilliant Russian composer Alexander Scriabin (1872&–1915), but the fact that he has both been exalted as a genius and condemned as a charlatan proves the uncommon and enduring qualities of his tantalizing output. Rife with sexual connotation, his later compositions, upon which he...
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