News Briefs

May 16-22, 2007

Leasing the Lotto?

Paying down the state’s debt without raising taxes was Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s mantra as he unveiled his revised May budget on Monday, but privatization was the underlying theme. Schwarzenegger suggested selling the state-created EdFund, which guarantees student loans, and proposed eventually leasing out the state lottery to generate more income. “We have to recognize that there is a lot more money in the private sector than in the public sector,” the governor said, stressing that public-private partnerships are the wave of the future.

He didn’t suggest immediate changes to the lottery. “This will take a lot of time to negotiate,” Schwarzenegger added, noting that many other states’ lotteries are run more efficiently and generate a lot more income than California’s state-operated version. “I think we can do much better and could therefore afford many more things and pay off our long-term debt.” The Governor assured that lottery funds for students would still be protected and acknowledged that since California’s voters approved the lottery in its present form, there could be legal hurdles to having it run by a private company. “I’m not a legal expert, but if they decide the people need to vote on it, then we will need to put it on the ballot.”

Other budget items include saving $40 million by eliminating the Williamson Act, which protects agricultural lands, and rescinding automatic cost of living increases for seniors and disabled people. The governor’s revised budget is “mean-spirited,” charges Assembly Speaker Fabin Nûñez, D-Los Angeles. “At a time of record prosperity, it punishes low- and middle-income families that are working hard and playing by the rules.” Richard Stapler of Nûñez’s office adds that legislators will need details about selling the EdFund and leasing out the lottery. “We have lots of questions,” Stapler says. “Specifically on the EdFund, the overriding concern is how this will turn out for students. We have a great many questions about both proposals, and we will be fully vetting them in legislative hearings.”

Stapler adds, “It will be interesting to see exactly what the governor is planning.”


First Bite

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May 16-22, 2007

Some locations just seemed cursed. Even when a good restaurant opens in a particular building, you know it’s only a matter of time until it goes down. That’s how I’ve felt about the little roadhouse on Bodega Highway about three miles west of Sebastopol. In the dozen years I’ve lived in western Sonoma County, I’ve watched a procession of restaurants rise and fall on this spot.

When Two Crows, an upscale diner, opened on the site about three months ago, I assumed it would suffer the same fate. But I had lunch there last weekend and now fully expect this establishment to succeed on the strength of its flavorful food, friendly service and warm ambiance.

From the moment you walk into Two Crows it just feels good. The place is cozy and homey; there are only seven or eight tables out front (a couple more in the back) and a few seats at the counter. A friend and I arrived shortly after noon on a recent Saturday and were bathed by the sounds of a live harp played by a young man in the corner of the front room. The hardwood floors were immaculate and softened by a bouquet of fresh tulips on the counter.

The woman who waited on us was genuinely kind and patiently explained which soup was cream-based and which was vegan. She recommended a butternut squash soup with pinto beans, corn and tomato that had clean, bright flavors; you could clearly taste each ingredient because the soup wasn’t overwhelmed by spices.

The falafel plate ($10; includes the soup starter) had a light tahini dressing and came with some less traditional condiments: a yogurt sauce and a cilantro-mint chutney. My friend had a pumpkin-seed mole chicken burrito with mango salsa ($12; includes side salad of fresh greens, diced cooked beets and carrot matchsticks), which was tasty though a bit bland. And when you’re spending $12 for a burrito, you’d like the amount of chicken to be a bit more generous. The tap beer selection ($3.50 a pint) includes Moonlight’s Death and Taxes, Anderson Valley’s Boont Amber, and local suds from Lagunitas and Ace Cider.

In the end, we were very satisfied because the food was vibrantly alive and the service was attentive but not invasive. We’ve heard from friends who go there almost every weekend that Two Crows shines even more brightly at brunch. I plan to return sometime for breakfast, and feel confident, despite the checkered history of the location, that Two Crows will endure for years to come.

Two Crows Roadhouse, open Thursday through Sunday for breakfast and lunch; breakfast served until noon. 9890 Bodega Hwy., Sebastopol, 707.829.5898.


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

Ask Sydney

May 16-22, 2007

Dear Sydney, I’m friends with two people who are in an intimate relationship. I recently found out that one of them has been “hanging out” with some new guy. My girlfriend asked me not to say anything to my other friend, who is being cheated on, about this situation. But I know that if he knew about it, he would not be happy and would not consider me to be a true friend if I had not told him what I now know. I consider both of these people to be my good friends and feel pissed off to be put in this situation. What should I do?–Anonymous

Dear Anonymous: Think of the situation from a reversed perspective. Would you want your friend to tell you if you were the one being deceived? There are plenty of people who believe what goes on between two people in a relationship is their business and theirs alone. But you’re probably right, and if you say nothing, you run the risk, when your friend finds out, that he will feel betrayed by your silence.

Instead of going directly to your friend, first discuss the situation with the cheater of the party. Express your frustration with the situation and give her the chance to share her point of view. Just be aware, there’s something distinctly rotten about getting involved in another couple’s dysfunctions. Most of us have enough of our own without dealing with anybody else’s. So don’t make this your business unless you’re prepared to suffer the inevitably nasty consequences.

In the future, consider discussing this potential issue with your other close friends. Ask them how they would like you to deal with the situation should it come up. Think of it like the writing of a will; it may seem unnecessary at the time, but there’s nothing wrong with being prepared. Maybe your friends will tell you, “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” or maybe they’ll say, “You better tell me, or else.” In either case, at least then you never have to worry about being put in this predicament again. When it comes up next time, you’ll know exactly what’s expected of you, and then you can act accordingly! It would behoove most of us to be trained in “affair” etiquette, thereby eliminating the chances that we may inadvertently exacerbate the situation, hurt a friend by omission or say the wrong thing.

Dear Sydney, I have a new boss at my old office, and I run hot and cold about staying with him or not. He’s a nice guy and all, it’s just that I worked for my last employer for 17 years and it’s hard for me to accept change. I’m just not as happy now as I used to be. I applied for a different job at a local clinic, and they may be offering me a position, but it would mean a $3 an hour pay cut. I talked to my daughter about it and she said for me to ask Sydney, so here I am. My gut feeling is to stay where I am, but I’m not sure. Since the new job would be at a clinic run by the state, they offer good benefits, but what I’m really concerned about is retirement, and I think there will be a retirement plan offered to me where I am now. At the new clinic this might not be the case. What would you do?–Itching to Quit

Dear Itching: A $3 an hour pay cut is significant enough to be taken seriously. I’d look at my finances very carefully before making any sort of sudden change. I might quit anyway, but at least then I wouldn’t be shocked when my first paycheck came. Decide if you can afford and are willing to live on about $400 less per month. Then ask yourself, what makes you think the new place will be better? How unhappy are you in your current position? If you current job makes you very unhappy, and you can live without the $400, then ask the new place what their retirement packages look like. Just remember, if the difficulty lies in your inability to accept change, as you suggest in your letter, then an entirely new job may not bring you the sense of security you’re seeking. Changing jobs is a big decision, and you’re right to take it seriously, but ultimately it’s your overall well-being that is the most important–more important than $3 an hour, benefits or retirement. Try not to forget, therefore, to wager your contentment into the final calculations.

Dear Sydney, my dog had puppies and my 21-year-old son wants one. He lives in an apartment where he signed a lease that said no pets, but he says that he talked to the property owner and he said that it would be OK. My son got a cat a few years ago, and it’s been living at my house for two years now because he didn’t want to keep on moving the cat around, so he left him here. My fear is that when he gets tired of the puppy, it will be at my house too, and he denies this every time I try to talk to him about it. He doesn’t want me to talk to his property owner, but I don’t want one of my puppies to have a confusing life, and I’m not sure if it’s really OK. I’m a ridiculous compulsive animal lover. What do you think? He’s very upset (the fact that I am giving a puppy to his older sibling does not help), and he hasn’t been speaking to me for the last five days over it.–Confused

Dear Confused: To whom you give your puppies is completely up to you. You’re under no obligation. Having a dog is a huge responsibility, and you, above most others, are in the primary position to be able to assess your son’s level of preparedness. Don’t hold the cat against him, however, when making your decision. The cat was two years ago, and just because he has an abandoned cat in his closet (as so many of us do), doesn’t mean he’ll do the same with a dog. Make a checklist of the qualities he will have to demonstrate in order to be considered as a puppy owner. First, does he really have permission from his landlord? If you can’t trust him to be honest about this, then your probably can’t trust him with a dog. Second, does he have enough space for a dog? Third, does he have a schedule that can accommodate training? Fourth, does he have enough income to pay for food and vet bills? If he passes all four points, then give him a chance. If he doesn’t, then stand your ground. If he wants a dog that bad, he can always get one somewhere else, and as for his sister getting one, well, I imagine she must have passed your rigorous inspection. Too bad he has yet to do the same.

‘Ask Sydney’ is penned by a Sonoma County resident. There is no question too big, too small or too off-the-wall. Inquire at www.asksydney.com.

No question too big, too small or too off-the-wall.


Pain and Passion

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music & nightlife |

By Gabe Meline

An Italian-born child prodigy who moved to the United States at the age of eight, violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg is one of the most fascinating and heartbreaking figures of the classical world. Hers has been a career that many budding young violinists dream of, complete with worldwide performances, award-winning recordings and legendary television appearances. But it was very nearly destroyed when Salerno-Sonnenberg first accidentally cut off the tip of one of her fingers, and later, in a depression, attempted to kill herself with a small-caliber firearm. Fortunately, the gun jammed, Salerno-Sonnenberg lived, and two weeks later she was back onstage at Carnegie Hall pouring out her soul in a trademark enrapturing recital.

This tumultuous period was expertly captured in Paola di Florio’s Academy Award-winning documentary Speaking in Strings, a captivating and intimate film unfortunately short on footage from Salerno-Sonnenberg’s dynamic and emotional live performance; hence all the more reason to catch this weekend’s guest appearance with the Santa Rosa Symphony. Salerno-Sonnenberg’s command of the violin is total; the actual sound may emit from the tiny hairs in a bow, but, undeniably, she plays the violin with every cell in her body. The last time she appeared with the Santa Rosa Symphony–in 1983, at the young age of 22–she relaxed between rehearsals by riding her bike around the parking lot, a baseball cap on her carefree head. The stress of fulfilling a demanding schedule was years away. Now in her 40s, she returns with a new lease on life, and most importantly, she can still play the living daylights out of the violin.

Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg performs Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto with the Santa Rosa Symphony in a program conducted by Bruno Ferrandis that includes Vasks’ Sala and Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances. Saturday-Monday, May 12-14. Saturday and Monday at 8pm; Sunday at 3pm. Wells Fargo Center, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. $27-$50. 707.546.8742.




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Letters to the Editor

May 9-15, 2007

Moving to Japan

Peter Byrne’s completely rational column (The Byrne Report, April 25) is one that any person with an ounce of common sense would agree with. Of course the gun lovers arguments are fallacious. Of course arming our citizenry to the teeth would be insane. But I learned long ago that not being realistic is the first mistake. As much as we don’t like to admit it, America is a country that loves guns and loves violence. No matter the IRA or Chief Justice Warren Burger or the Virginia Tech shootings or thousands of firearm deaths annually. If the American people believed that firearm control was important, it would have happened 50 years ago or 20 years ago or even five years ago. It has not and it will not–at least not in the foreseeable future. I have no suggestions. Move to Japan, perhaps?

John Kitchen, Kailua-Kona

Moz explained

Finally, someone has painted and his now past visit to Santa Rosa (“Moz Deft,” April 25). Of all the reviews, articles and blogs related to the current tour, David [Sason] is the first writer to show the ability to describe the Morrissey phenomenon and relevance in a fashion even nonfans can relate to. Nice article!

Machine Machine, Sacramento

Corporate stranglehold

Perhaps the most striking moment in (“Fashion Friction,” May 2) is Dave Palagi’s assertion that “We’re instilling in our kids that when you go into the corporate world, you have to dress appropriately, and school isn’t any different.” Indeed, let’s limit their personal expression early on so that they are properly prepared for the industrial-strength oppression that awaits them in the “real” world where it is the corporate way or the highway if they want to maintain their livelihood. Stifling the expression of our youth is yet another sign of our once free land caving in to those who would control us.

Our country has maintained its strength because of the outside-the-box thinking fostered by the freedom of expression we have enjoyed here. As our environment and media landscape continue to evolve into a tapestry of logos, and the generation coming up supplies more conformists than mavericks, what is to become of us? Are we to become chattel that feed the Machine? Will we resist the national “Real ID Card” coming next year? Or do we toe the line quietly to maintain our false sense of security?

Malcolm Clark, Occidental

Yummy, yummy meat

What an ironic twist! On the very day that a militant vegan couple in Atlanta were convicted for starving their six-month-old baby to death with a wacko vegan diet, (“Vegan’s View,” Letters, May 2), this time in Santa Rosa. (They’re everywhere! They’re everywhere!)

Hope Bohanec’s confrontational screed almost put me off lunch: my once-a-month In-N-Out Big “O” Burger (three meat patties, two slices of melted cheese, animal-style–yum!). But thank goodness the churlishness of her letter wore off before dinner time. I wouldn’t want to have missed my wife’s excellent roast chicken.

Gary Dobuzynski, Petaluma

Love up

What (“Cottage Industry,” May 2). Alix McAuley’s designs are fabulous, as are her significant touches–right down to her personal wrapping on her packages.

Patricia Peabody, Fairfield, Conn.


Steady Diet of Book Deals

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May 9-15, 2007

The subtitle of Plenty (Harmony; $24), a book about what it’s like to eat only food produced within a 100-mile radius, is “One Man, One Woman, and a Raucous Year of Eating Locally.” But honestly, the year as described by Alisa Smith and her partner James MacKinnon couldn’t have been less raucous.

There’s a lot of driving around the countryside, some nice dinners with friends, a cute garden plot that doesn’t seem to need much tending, a little family trouble, many discussions about real estate and an extremely large amount of murky, nonspecific relationship tension. They try to make cheese which winds up being–get this!–too salty. They squabble over nothing while canning tomatoes and freezing corn. Wild! At the end of the winter, potatoes in a cupboard sprout and crack open the cabinet door. Whew! Raucous!

(To be fair, the Canadian, and original, title to this story is The 100-Mile Diet: One Man, One Woman and a Racuous Year of Eating Locally. But such restraint was likely deemed not racuous enough for American tastes.)

This oddly ordinary personal account of a slightly unusual year in the lives of a couple of thirty-somethings in Vancouver evokes the quiet dullness of real life. But it is precisely for that reason that for the first time–after reading dozens of accounts of ethical eating–I could almost imagine myself doing something like it. Or, more to the point, I could imagine someone who didn’t have a book contract doing something like it.

Increasingly, tales of ethical eating feel more like stunts to sell books or articles and less like real efforts to figure out the right way, or even a realistically possible way, to live and eat.

Consider the recent New York Times articles on urban foraging–squirrel and sparrow for dinner, anyone? Or what about the family living for a “year without toilet paper.” Book deals abound.

I’d like to blame Michael Pollan for all this. When I reviewed his stunt-eating book, I lamented that I hadn’t thought of the book’s premise–to trace four meals from the field to the table–first. Others, obviously, felt the same way and have entered the game with the intent to one-up Pollan. But I suppose Pollan can’t be faulted for having flawed imitators.

But if Smith and MacKinnon are going to break from the pack and be stolid and prosaic, they should have done so a little more thoroughly. How much time did food preparation take compared with a normal year? How much more money did they spend? Was working in the garden hard? Did their social life suffer? What did a typical day look like?

No such systematic accounting is forthcoming. We do learn, however, that their first 100-mile meal–one of those nice dinners with friends–was $128.87. And that getting a $1-per-pound bargain on crates of miscellaneous late-season tomatoes is evidence that “farmlands are . . . the last redoubt of a gentler capitalism.”

Then there’s the $11 honey that they buy as a substitute for $2.59 worth of sugar. The marvelous honey has been procured from a picturesque retired banker turned beekeeper on a daylong road-trip-cum-shopping expedition. Their friend Ruben is along for the ride, and at the end of a long day he muses, “If grocery shopping were always like this, it wouldn’t be a chore.”

This is one of the more hilarious sentences in the book. Because, of course, if you had to drive 30 miles “though the ‘burbs, the industrial parks, the outer ring of big-box mosques, Buddhist mega-temples, and ticky-tacky churches [through] the tunnel that plunges under the main arm of the Fraser River” every time you needed sweetener, grocery shopping would soon seem like quite a chore. Especially if, as is the case in Vancouver, not every day is a deliriously perfect spring day with “chocolate-colored cats sunning themselves on the dikes.” Or, say, if you don’t have a car.

Smith and MacKinnon address this argument briefly. Alisa goes to visit Sunny, a local eater in “pine country Minnesota,” to prove that local eating is possible anywhere. As Alisa gives a mildly disdainful account of Sunny’s friends’ “fermentation experiments” with plums and “a jar of shaggy fungus in a muddy brown liquid” called mushroom tea, the reader feels a sudden kinship with the author. Yes, she’s involved in this insane experiment, but it’s not nearly as insane as some. Her life may be boring, but that’s sort of the point.

Ridiculous subtitle aside, you can do what she and James are doing and still have a normal life. In contrast, Sunny’s small collective is preparing for the Mayan apocalypse in 2012. “It’s so nice to meet someone who has the same values I do,” Sunny says wistfully, “but doesn’t think the world is coming to an end.”

Plenty contains minimal ranting about fossil fuels, limited anti-SUV rhetoric and only passing mention of the horrors of factory farms. They know who their audience is; they’re writing for the converted. Instead, about three-quarters of the way through, the formerly vegetarian authors realize that their 100-mile diet isn’t totally pure once animal products are introduced for much-needed protein. After all, where did the feed come from?

Then they realize that even veggies are fraught. Could they limit themselves to veggies that were only grown in the manure from cows that had eaten grass or feed grown within 100 miles? No. That was impossible. It wasn’t desirable to limit farmers, who already have it hard enough, that way. And it didn’t really matter for their experiment. Instead of going on a rant or a well-researched and fascinating essay, as Pollan does, they just shrug and move on, quoting Carl Sagan: “If you wish to make an apple pie truly from scratch, you must first invent the universe.”

There’s a telling moment later, when the authors have already achieved a measure of fame in the blog world for their experiment. They are invited to a chef’s dinner to test out a new 100-mile tasting menu. The grapes that went into of the wines, the publicist sheepishly reveals, are actually from “nearly 200 miles away. We just couldn’t find a local red that had the strengths to pair with lamb,” he says.

And so, out of nowhere, here is the big question, the ultimate conundrum of the 100-mile diet: Why bother? There was a bottle of good red wine on the table. Did we have to turn it into something more complicated?

The authors, who were “trying to be agreeable about the red wine, murmured supportive nostrums.” But they were dining amidst food purists who wound up getting the lamb course and its offending wine stricken from the menu. James chalks it up to “a sense of adventure.” This explains the increasingly absurd experiments in ethical eating underway elsewhere better than anything else I’ve heard.

Some of the escalations in über-ethical eating at the haute cuisine level are just the slow dawning of inevitable conclusion from certain premises. The environmental illogic of importing Italian bottled water to a restaurant based around local produce has finally penetrated, with Chez Panisse’s Alice Waters recently announcing her intention to serve tarted-up tap water instead of their usual offering of imported Santa Lucia.

After their first pricey dinner, Alisa worries that the experiment “might not even be possible.” It has taken the better part of a weekend day and $130 to make. She is worried about price, something none of her competitors in the ethical stunt-eating field give more than a passing nod to in their accounts. But she’s also worried about time. Even a freelance writer and a novelist have to work sometimes. The acquisition of three cases of corn takes up “one half of a precious Saturday.” Of an outing for berries with a girlfriend, followed by canning, she says, “Making jam had taken up all afternoon and evening, but the last thing I’d call it was work. It was living.”

This is a legitimate point: Those who defend the pleasures and economies of modern life against the romanticizers of a zero-impact, local-eating, fresh-fruits-and veggies past often overemphasize the soul-numbing drudgery of rural life. Picking berries and turning them into jam while chatting with a friend has been one of womankind’s great pleasures for centuries. But just because it isn’t awful doesn’t mean that it isn’t time-consuming labor. And in modern times, laying a hand on local berries in the first place can be pricey, U-pick or not.

The authors have the good grace to admit that their household may have started to seem a bit “unusual.” James sees the house through his brother’s eyes in November, nine months into the experiment. Alisa has just bleached the walls to rid the house of weevils and other tiny wheat-dwelling bugs. The kitchen is full of the scent of rotting apples and homemade sauerkraut, which is basically fermented cabbage and smells “not unlike the smell of an unflushed urinal at the end of a long summer day.”

They also admit that they don’t ever have to grapple with real scarcity, real privation. When an inconvenient potato blight that devastates the harvest of many farmers in their area. They find a few potatoes, and everyone else just eats potatoes flown or trucked in from elsewhere.

Smith and MacKinnon know that they’re not going “back to the land” or “starting a revolution.” They aren’t in the business of polemics. Their experiment–as with most of the spate of ethical stunt-eaters (even Barbara Kingsolver is not immune) is modest, and, indeed, it succeeds modestly.

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.

First Bite

AVA stands for American Viticultural Area, meaning where a domestic grape is grown. The AVA of a wine is said to dramatically influence its quality and flavor profile (that terroir term we’re all so fond of tossing around these days). Marketing hype or truth? It helps for the taster to have superb sensory skills, but actually, a grape raised in a posh neighborhood can be remarkably superior to one born into a poor house.

AVA is also the name of a hot new restaurant on the main street in San Anselmo. Brought to us by husband-and-wife team Dan and Holly Baker (owners of the popular Provincial French Marché aux Fleurs in Ross), it focuses on one of America’s richest culinary AVAs: its own backyard. Main ingredients are strictly sourced from within 100 miles, meaning poultry comes from Petaluma, striped bass is hooked in our own Pacific waters, cheeses are contributed by happy animals across the NorCal counties and even the salt is harvested from the sparkling Sonoma Coast waters.

We’re supposed to be impressed that all the meats and fish here are sustainably raised and caught, breads are artisan fresh-baked and much of the produce is purchased directly from local farmers at the Marin County Farmers Market.Truth? This terroir treatment is terrific. It’s impossible not to taste how remarkably superior ultrafresh, well-cared-for ingredients can be to mass-marketed stuff trucked in after sitting around in a warehouse somewhere.

I wouldn’t have ordered something as fragile as roasted celery root soup ($8.50) otherwise. But this creamy, thick purée is vibrant, rustic and delightfully tart-crunchy with garnishes of chopped green apple, croutons and crème fraîche. And while virtually every California-style restaurant lately has a strawberry, bleu cheese and hazelnut salad, AVA’s version is extraordinary thanks to its top-notch arugula, Point Reyes bleu, crisp hazelnuts and brilliant Watsonville strawberries ($9.50).

It would be easy enough to make a meal of AVA’s delightful “nibbles,” paired with a glass or several from the list of California family-owned-only wineries. There are Marin root radishes with butter and sea salt ($4) and a fun Redwood Hills goat cheese fondue with croutons and Marin honey ($5). A tiny plate of dates ($7) is like savory candy, the fleshy fruit stuffed with St. George cheese and wrapped in Hobbs bacon.

This is not to say that high-end ingredients can save AVA’s periodically careless cooking. Fresh from Petaluma or not, the fried chicken ($16) featured a massive chicken leg still connected to its thigh that was salty and greasy and unwieldy, paired with salty green chard tossed with shallots and salty pancetta. And while a toss of pappardelle, artichokes, Bellwether Farms ricotta, pea tendrils and Meyer lemon sounded positively exquisite, what showed up was disconnected, oddly flavorless and clumsy to eat (toppings simply slid off the too chewy, wide noodles).

Happily, pan roasted Olsen pork loin ($19.50) was perfect, plated with rhubarb and a big hunk of decadent bacon that’s really just glorious, braised fat. Entrées include one side dish, and my choice of potato, cauliflower and Carmody cheese gratin was intensely satisfying.

Even with a few missteps, here’s another truth: AVA is a wonderful addition to any neighborhood.

AVA, 636 San Anselmo Ave., San Anselmo. Open for lunch and early dinner, Tuesday-Saturday. 415.453.3407.



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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.

Monkeys to Men

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May 9-15, 2007

The most overhyped British band since oasis emerged in ’94, Sheffield sensations the arctic monkeys return with their much-anticipated sophomore release Favourite Worst Nightmare, and the goods are loud. The album kicks off with the frenetic first single “Brianstorm,” a cryptic ode to an eccentric businessman the band met on their travels. Featuring a rapid-fire dual guitar attack from frontman alex Turner and lead player Jamie Cook, it sounds near heavy metal before settling into the more familiar danceable, midtempo rhythm.

Most of the album follows suit, in fact, sounding like a musically heavier and more lyrically oblique version of their U.K. sales record-breaking first album, last year’s Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. While certainly not as infectious as their debut’s blend of twitchy guitars, jangly funk breakdowns and tales of urban oddities, Nightmare boasts flashes of a new lyrical coyness.

This works especially well in “Teddy Picker,” where Turner comments on their rapid ascension with a lack of pretentiousness to match his accessible stage persona. Seemingly eager to actually earn their place in the spotlight, he fears divulging “the punch line before they have told the joke” and mentions not making “the Top 100 list,” a playful self-deprecating jab at their debut’s notoriously frivolous accolade by U.K. publication NME.

Sure, Nightmare resembles the clichéd, in-your-face element of second albums, but the arctic monkeys survive the slump by not pushing too far and keeping tunes catchy enough to placate their fans. and having already accomplished much at such a young age, the rest of the Monkeys’ twenties could bear even better fruit.


Meth Actor

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the arts | stage |

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

By Patricia Lynn Henley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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Size Matters

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Photograph by Rory McNamara
Fuming and funds: While the SBA is ostensibly devoted to aiding small business, Lloyd Chapman discovered that Bechtel and other megacorps also benefit hugely.

Four years later, Lloyd Chapman is still steamed.

On May 8, 2003, Chapman appeared before a Capitol Hill hearing, convened at his instigation, of the House Committee on Small Business. He was there to challenge the Small Business Administration’s practice of awarding government contracts intended for small American companies to multinational corporations instead.

Even though the hearing did not turn out to be the watershed exposé he had envisioned–he now calls it “a government pep rally”–it still drew considerable attention, and Chapman was confident that the issue would soon be addressed.

And, in a way, it was.

“Since that time, there have been 12 to 15 federal investigations and two private studies,” he says, spreading documents out across a conference table in the offices of the Petaluma computer firm he cofounded. The most damning report, issued by the SBA’s internal inspector general in February 2005, states that “one of the most important challenges facing the Small Business Administration and the entire federal government today is that large businesses are receiving small business procurement awards.”

But one, two, three years passed, and there was no legislative response.

“It’s unprecedented for a problem of this magnitude to have been exposed at this level and not addressed,” Chapman fumes. “Think of the power you’ve got to have in Congress to shut down something like that. That’s some juice. That’s impressive.”

Part of a modern business park in Petaluma, Chapman’s office has a wall full of photographs taken with political and pop culture figures from presidents and governors to racecar drivers. (It’s also the headquarters for the American Small Business League, the trade and lobbying association Chapman formed in 2002, which now boasts 100,000 members.) A lifelong Republican and productive entrepreneur, the San Antonio native was taken aback when Margie Walker, one of his staff members at GC Micro, came into his office on a summer day in 2002 with tears streaming down her face. She had been working for weeks on a complicated bid for a federal contract for computer controllers. The contract was a “set-aside,” meaning it was designated specifically for smaller companies to bid on. But, Chapman relates, Walker had just learned “she had lost it to a company in Amsterdam with 20,000 employees and operations in 20 countries. I was so mad I couldn’t take it.”

Suspicious that this might not be an isolated instance, Lloyd quickly began to search the SBA’s database of companies with which it has contracts. “I found 600 of the biggest companies in the world,” he snorts, among them AT&T, Hilton Hotels, Nike, Sprint, Barnes & Noble and the now infamous Halliburton, along with multinationals from Switzerland, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom.

Those findings were clearly at odds with the Small Business Act of 1953, which set a goal of directing 23 percent of the federal government’s contracts to the nation’s small businesses. Half a century later, the law remains in effect.

“So I started calling everyone in Washington,” he says. He finally found a sympathetic ear at the General Accounting Office. “They launched an investigation based on the information I had given them. That lasted six months, and they found out I was right–that billions of dollars in small business contracts was going to big companies.”

That investigation led directly to the May 2003 hearing at which Chapman testified. Briefly. “The hearing lasted five and a half hours,” he recalls. “I spoke for seven minutes, the gentleman from the General Accounting Office spoke for seven minutes, and another small-business gentleman spoke for seven minutes. The rest of the time was people from the government talking about what a great job they were doing with small businesses.”

Still, the hearing helped prompt several further investigations, including three that identified official malfeasance. Chapman ticks them off on his fingertips: “The SBA’s own inspector general found fraud in ’95; they found more fraud again in March of 2005; the SBA Office of Advocacy found ‘vendor deception,’ and then the rest of it are actually policies the government has passed to intentionally allow this.”

Among those policies are complex rules regarding the multimillion dollar contracts that require dozens of subcontractors and a stunningly lax system of monitoring who is allowed to bid on what. Chapman asserts that many corporations are “intentionally misrepresenting themselves in order to receive these federal small business contracts. I can think of one company, they told their stockholders they weren’t a small business in February of 1998, and in 2004 they received $500 million in federal small-business contracts.”

The abuses are so widespread, he alleges, that “it could be as much as $100 billion a year in federal small-business contracts that are being diverted to large companies. At a minimum,” he estimates, “it’s $50 billion a year.”

Kathryn Seck, press secretary for Sen. John Kerry, D-Mass., who chairs the Senate Committee on Small Business and Entrepreneurship, attributes part of the problem to rolling reductions in the SBA budget, including cuts of 40 percent under the current administration. “In the 1980s, there were well over 200 procurement center representatives,” she notes. “Today, there are approximately 50 individuals monitoring and reviewing $340 billion in federal contracts.”

But aside from a general antipathy for massive corporate pork, why should anyone who’s not bidding for those deals care? Chapman avers there was a good reason Congress created those small-business set-asides 54 years ago.

“The U.S. Census Bureau tells us that 98 percent of all U.S. firms have less than a hundred employees; around 89 percent of all American companies have less than 20 employees; and the average American firm has about 10 employees,” Chapman explains. “So when you’re talking about diverting $50 billion a year away from the firms where most Americans work, that’s going to be felt in Rohnert Park and Santa Rosa and Novato and every city in America.”

Frustrated by the lack of congressional response on the issue, Chapman aggressively backed Democratic candidates in 20 key districts across the country in the 2006 midterm elections, feeding the local newspapers stories of the Republican incumbents’ inaction on his pet issue. Nineteen of those candidates won.

Following the partisan shift in Congress that resulted from the 2006 midterm elections, Rep. Bruce Braley, D-Iowa, introduced H.R. 1873, the “Small Business Fairness in Contracting Act,” which sailed unanimously through the House Committee on Small Business on April 24. The bill, whose 28 co-sponsors include 10 Republicans, is intended to end abuses and tighten loopholes in the federal contracting process.

“It red-flags businesses which have been found to be other than small” in the government’s contracting database, explains Kate Gilman, a committee staff member. She adds that the intended result is “pruning all the non-eligible entities and prevents businesses that have been discovered [to be wrongly coded as small] from re-registering in that database.”

Another key provision would require the companies seeking the small business contracts to affirm each year that they are still qualified to do so, a notable change from the five-year recertification cycle proposed by SBA chief Steven Preston.

Chapman’s primary complaint is that the new bill does not address the thousands of mis-awarded contracts already on the books, although he concedes it should prevent new ones from being added to the list. But his greater indignation is reserved for the recertification process.

“The scam is, it’s just for new contracts, not existing contracts,” he grumbles. “It’s designed to let the five-year recertification plan stand.”

H.R. 1873 also contains a provision that would increase that 1953 allocation of federal contracts for small businesses from 23 percent to 30 percent. But Chapman remains unimpressed. “It’s smoke and mirrors,” he snorts. “If you’ve got Boeing and Bechtel and Northup and Lockheed in there, what difference does it make?”


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