Ordinary Riches

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Oh, lighten up: Clark starts talking cream-top milk, and we get all nostalgic for fertility images, OK?

By Clark Wolf

Splitting his time between Guerneville and Manhattan, acclaimed consultant Clark Wolf graces these pages with the occasional diatribe from the periodic local.

My friend Michele’s idea of total luxury is standing out in the warm sunshine on a woodsy roadside, chowing down on something good from a nearby taco truck and knocking back a cold one.

Mahatma Gandhi, on the other hand, considered the notion that the ultimate in luxury was total abstinence. Nada. Nothing. Bupkis. Doing completely without was, to him, having it all.

Well, to each her or his own, but as we dig into this season of wretched excess, it seems reasonable to ponder our preferences and those realities of our luxurious lives we might sometimes foolishly overlook, forever losing their precious value.

Sometimes luxury is relative: a long, lazy morning in bed after a hard week’s work. Sometimes, as it so often is the case with food, it’s all about how much there is and how hard it is to get me some.

In the 1800s, pots and pots of river sturgeon caviar sat free for the scarfing on saloon bars all throughout California’s Gold Rush country. Its salty tang fired up a mean thirst and was cheaper than peanuts, and easier to clean up after. It was a toss-off and a come-on, now as nearly extinct as Caspian beluga.

Then there is the recent big-deal story about an organic farm in the heart of the Napa Valley. Turns out, amid the internationally owned and funded vineyards and the heart stopping estates, somebody forgot the need to grow tomatoes. The rich folks got hungry for something good to eat, so a farm was front-page news. I believe we could call that a cultural or values correction. And a good thing, too.

I have a friend who’s a famous movie star (I will not drop the name). I was her youth group leader in high school. She’s semi-retired, or removed from “the show business” as we call it, because she can afford to be.

For her, life’s greatest luxury is having the freedom and joy, not the job; to be on hand to make a morning and later an evening meal for her younger child and her husband when he’s around, each and every day.

Another pal, the widow of a retired financier, took the plunge just before turning 60 to become a now-treasured organics farmer of meticulous and brilliant result. Hard, dirty work is her life’s luxurious reward.

Nature’s plenty is fragile, no matter how hard we try to pretend that abundance is a birthright. When we organize our growing of food, it’s called farming. When we industrialize it, much is lost–or warped or poisoned. And getting back to simple purity, or the purely simple, is no mean feat.

Way back in 1980, I was at the apex of a revelation, standing in the middle of a fancy grocery in San Francisco that was the result of every available foodie’s dream. I was selling cream-top milk in bottles, hand-gathered wild mushrooms and the newly christened free-range chickens.

Even then it was widely accepted that the so-called simple pleasures of really fine food were, at times, shockingly expensive.

These days, we’re thoughtful enough to consider how food is grown and made and how everyone along the way might be treated in the process; fair trade considerations make us feel more comfortable with a $4 Frappuccino (for one prime and empty-calorie-filled example).

About that time in the ’80s, I was visited by a major New York City reporter who trailed me around the shop and asked probing questions about some of what she felt were the highlights of our emporio d’excess. Picking through what we then called precertification organics, she happened on a tub of fresh bean curd. “What do you do with tofu?” she intoned.

“Nothing in public,” I snapped back.

We’ve been friends since. But the point was that even simple, homey–and at the time considered funky/hippie–blocks of tofu could elicit a range of conflicting responses, from the rarified to the righteous to the obscure.

I’ve let go of my real interest in caviar, now that even a small amount from the deep end of the Caspian Sea (which I prefer to think of as Persia) doesn’t seem like such a good idea, and is, in a few ways–locally, nationally and internationally–illegal. (Historically, though, for some that has been of additional allure.)

These days, my personal indulgences seem to include antioxidants. I really do love to pop for in-season, Southern Hemisphere (Argentina, Chile, New Zealand) blueberries–organic where possible–that can go for as much as six bucks a half pint. I know there’s airfare and carbon use across the world involved, but it’s still money going to farmers, cheaper than a small glass of decent wine and probably better for me than a lot of things.

Which brings me to foie gras. Gavage, the practice of fattening a bird’s liver by some serious feeding, was discovered, not invented, by the Egyptians (you know the ones) way, way, way back when they found that birds self-readied for the long and strenuous (pre-Jet Blue) migratory flight across Europe and Asia. It was a found luxury, not easy to predict or control, a little like the precious morel mushrooms that seem to migrate on their own, unpredictably.

There has been a lot of fuss about the abusive handling of animals that become our dinner. I’m all for thoughtful care, but as the lively chef Mario Batali said recently, “I’m happy to be at the top of the food chain.”

In my experience, and obviously my opinion, there are far more critical issues we as a community, a nation and a world need to address. Ascribing human feelings to animals is self-serving and disrespectful–most assuredly to the animals, especially in as much as they’re sometimes better served and indulgently overfed than our school kids, who scarf processed muck at the mall, at home and at recess. Have you never seen a bird feed its young? It’s down the gullet. It’s yet another perhaps unpleasant moment in nature some would prefer to ignore, but it’s real life.

But most importantly at a time of year and history when it’s so critical to pay attention to achieving peace wherever it may be found, I urge family and friends to enjoy the greatest luxury of all: the freedom to choose what we do, who we are and how we express it. To choose what pleases us and nourishes us when we gather at the table–limiting or eliminating whenever possible our intrusion on the practices and the beliefs of others.

So, enjoy your line-caught, heirloom, free-range, organic, artisan holiday Tofurky. And please pass me my foie gras.

Clark Wolf is the president of the Clark Wolf Company, specializing in food, restaurant and hospitality consulting.



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The Byrne Report

December 6-12, 2006

Did you know that the U.S. Northern Command just tightened its control over Northern California? “NORTHCOM” is the combatant command created by the Bush administration to control armies on the move inside the so-called North American battle space, which includes Mexico and Canada. The self-described job of NORTHCOM is to repel invaders, eliminate drug dealers and “terrorists,” and control civil disturbances. To spot these nuisances, NORTHCOM runs an intelligence “fusion center” at its headquarters in Colorado Springs, Colo. It correlates electronic data collected from military and commercial sources with duly recorded suspicions forwarded by local law enforcement agencies and neighborhood watch groups.

On Nov. 19, NORTHCOM’s 9th Reconnaissance Wing announced the deployment of the Global Hawk at Beale Air Force Base in Yuba County. On that day, the Air Force’s newest unmanned spy plane flew its first official combat command mission over the continental United States. Beale will soon host a dozen of these $132 million war-fighting machines, which can fly at 65,000 feet for 34 hours while leisurely photographing Americans and uploading their pixels to the fusion center at Colorado Springs. Privacy? Fuhgeddaboutit.

In the Middle East, the Global Hawk’s main activity is targeting houses and individuals for instant destruction by Hellfire missiles. It is difficult to conceive of a legitimate peacetime application for this harbinger of death in American airspace. Global Hawk “pilots” fly by remote control from ground-based control booths the size of shipping containers.

Concurrent with the deployment of Global Hawk, NORTHCOM ran a military-law enforcement exercise in the North Bay called Golden Guardian. The operation tested the intelligence-gathering and combat-command capabilities of local police forces and homeland-defending troops known as U.S. Army North during a simulated earthquake. Army North’s Soldiers (the S is always capitalized in Rumsfeldspeak) are charged with “interdicting” enemies of the corporate state to “protect the American people and their way of life.”

Hey! Since when did our way of life include 24-hour surveillance by Global Hawks and interdiction by Soldiers? Who is the enemy? Us?

On Oct. 26, the Army released The manual declares, “The goal of modern warfare is control of the populace.” That goal applies to domestic as well as foreign operations: “From the mid-1950s through the 1990s, the Army conducted UO [urban operations] in the U.S. . . . during civil unrest and anti-Vietnam [War] protests.”

Urban warfare doctrine targets poor inner city neighborhoods for destruction and occupation whether they are in Third World countries or festering inside the homeland. “Urban Operations” warn Soldiers that youth gangs in Los Angeles, known collectively as “Threats,” temporarily united to fight Soldiers during the policing of the Rodney King riots in 1992. Ignoring the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878, which generally prohibits Soldiers from acting as law enforcers, the manual calls for “full spectrum” urban operations (led by NORTHCOM), which combine law enforcement and military operations with air support against the Threat flavor of the day.

“Urban Operations” makes it clear that, as in Fallujah, Panama City and occupied Palestine, sections of rebellious cities will be exploded by air strikes or plastic explosives because “rubble piles provide excellent covered and concealed positions” for invading Soldiers. “Shantytowns” may be “knock[ed] down and traversed [by tanks] without affecting mobility at all.” Destruction of neighborhoods and vital infrastructure is termed “a necessary shaping operation.” It is done to keep “insurgents” from merging with and politically mobilizing the populace.

Taking a lesson from the Pentagon, “Urban Operations” warns, “[T]hreat forces may not abide by international agreements, such as the Geneva Conventions.” Nor will the idle, young, politically active, dark-skinned criminals necessarily play fair with Global Hawk budgets: “Threats will [use] decoys to absorb expensive and limited precision-guided munitions as well as cause misallocation of other critical Army resources.” Hint, hint.

Even worse: “[A] disgruntled civilian population may attack or disrupt commercial activities as a political statement against the United States.”

Beware: “[T]errorist elements . . . may also employ ‘rent-a-crowds’—civilians paid or incited to demonstrate against military forces armed with only sticks, stones and Molotov cocktails.” Taking a cue from Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, “Urban Operations” recommends that Soldiers use sports stadiums as interrogation centers and holding facilities for the disgruntled masses.

As a final warning, Soldiers are reminded that video is a two-edged sword: “[N]egative visual images of military operations presented by the media can change political objectives. . . . Commanders should . . . induce cooperation between the media and Army forces . . . successfully engaging the media as a force multiplier.”

And that is why you knew little or nothing about NORTHCOM and Global Hawk until today. Force multipliers don’t report on those things.

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No Place Like Home

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November 29-December 5, 2006


Chef Octavio Barrera isn’t exactly a gushing conversationalist when he sits down for an interview with me one recent sunny fall afternoon. We’re parked at a comfortable table on the patio, under the lacy shade of trees, and he’s brought me a bottle of chilled Pellegrino, which he politely pours into my glass.

He smiles at me, properly chef-handsome with his dark hair, dark eyes and a well-groomed goatee, then folds his hands in front of him.

I grin at him, poise my pen and wait. I’ve just asked him what I think, after the countless celebrity chef interviews I’ve conducted over my years as a restaurant writer, is the ultimate interview floodgate: “Tell me about yourself.”

Normally, this is the cue for a chef to let loose with all kinds of fantastic childhood stories. Romantic tales are most common: dragging on Mother’s apron as she whipped up feasts fit for royalty using only a humble chicken (raised in her own yard, of course, with its neck wrenched by her very own slender hands), herbs (plucked seconds ago from her own garden) and perhaps a tablespoon of olive oil (pressed from a tree she raised from a sapling that she hid in her bosom as she voyaged from some faraway homeland).

Except now. Barrera smiles silently, the seconds ticking slowly by, until I finally prompt, “Your background. How did you get into cooking? Why did you want to be a chef?”

His mouth flickers upward, he nods happily and my pen fingers grip in anticipation.

“I like to cook,” he says.

The topic I’m pursuing is Barrera’s new restaurant, Cuvée Napa. Since opening last April, the restaurant hasn’t exactly received a flurry of glowing media coverage. Its accolades in the few publications that mentioned it included words like “familiar,” “comfortable” and “giving diners what they want.” Its food has been described as “standard fare” and “pleasant.” Its theme is defined on Cuvée’s own website simply as “new American favorites.”

Yet I’ve come here, drawn like some bistro groupie, not so much for the menu–the typical chicken, salmon, lamb, steak and such–but because the space has a blessed address.

It’s cradled in the bosom of Napa’s burgeoning downtown, in the heart of the city’s rapidly growing culinary epicenter made up by the COPIA campus, sophisticated restaurants like N.V. and Pilar, and trendy wine bars like the new Stave.

More importantly, for a recent Arizona transplant like me, it’s the former home of Restaurant Budo.

As NorCal foodies will remember, Budo was the fanciful Asian-California creation opened by chef James McDevitt in 2004. McDevitt, like me, was a Valley of the Sun escapee, and when he left Scottsdale for Napa, it was like someone had stolen our favorite toy. In the late ’90s and early ’00s, McDevitt’s Scottsdale eatery, Restaurant Hapa, was the place for creative dining in Arizona, offering something we desert rats had never really seen before: fusion cuisine.

Upon hearing his new home was in Napa, I, like other Arizona food writers, imagined an Oz–über-glamorous wine country! Budo was to be next to a “luxury boutique resort,” I recall reading, “part of the COPIA culinary showcase.” One Phoenix restaurant writer gushed that McDevitt was “heading to Napa big time . . . making a national splash.” It was quite the circus.

Except now I’m here, and that “resort” is just the River Terrace Inn, looking like a nice roadside hotel. McDevitt’s fusion concept was a bit too outrageous for down-home Napa, it seems; while critics liked the place, the dining crowds never showed, and after the New Year’s floods did their damage, McDevitt closed it this spring and moved to Le Cirque in New York.

So now I’m sitting in a restaurant that, while quite charming, looks like any other restaurant. Gone is the lavish interior that was Budo, the refined dining room stripped down to more causal banquettes and wood tables. There are no breathtaking dishes, like Budo’s signature rack of baby veal with crisp sweetbreads in a pool of fresh water-chestnut purée and edamame foam. On any given night, Cuvée caters to folks noshing on staples like fried calamari, iceberg wedge salads, pork chops and spice-rubbed skirt steak.

And I’m trying to pull a lavish, Food Network-style story out of a chef who obviously would much rather be back in his kitchen, working.

So where’s the hook? I ask Barrera. What makes this place special?

He looks at me like I’m from another planet. As we’ve been chatting, his restaurant has been filling up with diners. Reservations are a must.

“I like to cook,” the St. Helena native repeats. “I just do it better than anyone. Wine country, modern American food. It’s what people here want to eat.”

While other chefs may jump through crazy culinary hoops to gain acclaim in their town’s rapidly expanding spotlight, Barrera is pure Napa. He focuses on simple but stunning chipotle-honey barbecue ribs with orange and jicama salad, buffalo mozzarella with marinated sweet peppers, and grilled lamb sirloin with ratatouille. He emphasizes big rib-stickers like filet mignon with grilled zucchini and wild mushroom red wine sauce, and eternal favorites like a hulking, beefy, 14-ounce rib-eye fancied just a tad with Argentine chimichurri sauce and paired with thick herb fries.

Cuvée is all about local diners, Barrera explains. Regulars who want a neighborhood place where the chef shops the farmers market around the corner, and offers specials like “3 [courses] for $30 Wednesdays” and a daily “Napa cheese steak” with a pint of beer for just $8.

After my first dinner there, I finally get it. When food is this sumptuous, it doesn’t require a “big time” splash or circus. This is real, gorgeous Napa cooking. It’s why the place is packed.

Finally, I do get Barrera to admit that, yes, he did have a beloved grandmother who loved to cook for her huge family. And, yes, he got a kick out of helping her out at her many parties. He’s got that fabled chicken dish, too; his is pan-roasted golden in lemon herb butter, flooded with natural juices and paired with grilled corn, sweet peas and fava bean succotash.

But ultimately, he’s not here to help me–a silly newbie from Scottsdale–craft a romantic chapter in my Napa-Oz novel. He’s got a busy kitchen to tend.


Cuvée Napa

Address: 1650 Soscol Ave., Napa

Phone: 707.224.2330

Hours: Open for lunch, Monday-Friday; dinner, nightly

From chef Octavio Barrera, Cuvée Napa

Barrera makes his chorizo from scratch, but home kitchens will appreciate the ease of store-bought. For an even easier recipe, use packaged roasted tomatoes.
2 pounds Manila clams, cleaned
6 ounces best quality chorizo sausage
2/3 c. roasted Roma tomatoes
2 tbsp. garlic, sliced nickel thick
8 ounces extra virgin olive oil
1 medium Yukon gold potato, parboiled until soft, cut into small cubes
6 ounces dry white wine such as a Spanish Albariño
salt and pepper to taste.

Method

One day in advance, roast tomatoes. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Cut a small amount of each end off tomatoes, then cut in half crosswise. Stand each tomato half cut-side up on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Drizzle each tomato with olive oil, salt and pepper, and a pinch of dry oregano. Place in oven for two hours or until shriveled and 1/3 original size. Slide skin off tomatoes, crush them roughly in your hands and set aside in refrigerator.

Remove chorizo from casing and crumble meat into a nonstick skillet over medium heat. Let cook until fat has rendered and meat is cooked, but not fried crisp. Set aside.

Fry potato in 2 ounces olive oil in a nonstick skillet until brown and crispy. Season with salt and pepper, then remove from pan and drain on paper towels.

In a medium-heavy saucepan with a lid, add 4 ounces olive oil and heat to medium. Add garlic and cook until lightly brown, approximately 45 seconds (if garlic gets too dark, it will be bitter). Add chorizo and roasted tomatoes, and continue cooking for another 45 seconds. Add clams and white wine. Cover and cook until clams open. Season with salt and pepper and add potatoes. Give the dish a quick stir, then divide evenly into warm soup platters. Drizzle remaining olive oil over dish and serve. Serves two as a main dish, four as an appetizer.

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Civil Death

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Lock and key: Conjugal visits and family time are shown to dramatically decrease recidivism in inmates. Nonetheless, such privileges are on the decline.

By Eugene Alexander Dey

Stripped of all rights during confinement, prisoners have long suffered under the doctrine of “civil death.” Epic struggles for humane treatment in places like Attica and San Quentin prisons did, at one time, coalesce with the larger Civil Rights movement. In fact, over the course of eight years, beginning in 1968, California broke from precedent and codified an inmate’s bill of rights. By the 1980s, before these liberties had a chance to take full effect, a tidal wave of tough-on-crime measures led the opposite way, resulting in an unparalleled prison-building boom, heavy-handed sentencing measures and an eventual repeal of the innovative treatise.

From all these steps backward, prison families lost the most. Even though the state still officially recognizes what it terms “the value of visiting as a means to establish and maintain meaningful family and community relationships,” the actions of corrections officials throughout the state would suggest otherwise.

Clyde T. Gambles Jr. is a married father of two. Serving a 15-year sentence at the California Correctional Center in Susanville (CCC) for second-degree robbery committed in Solano County, Gambles maintains his family bonds through collect phone calls, letters and the occasional visit. “Currently, I’m not eligible for family visiting,” the 28-year-old says, explaining that this revision in his rights is linked to a 1997 misdemeanor conviction for sex with a minor. “I was 18 and a senior in high school,” he shrugs. “She was a 15-year-old in 10th grade.”

In-prison visits, particularly conjugal visits, are one of the few programs known to lower inmates’ rate of recidivism. While technically still in existence, only a fraction of California’s 173,000 inmates qualify for visiting rights under the numerous–and growing–revisions to this privilege.

“My family and I participated in the family-visiting program for a whole year before I was prohibited from participating and placed on close custody on 2002,” Gambles explains. In addition to having his freedom even more restricted, he’s now also denied contact with minors, including his children. By no means the exception, Gambles believes that the “system is designed to tear families apart.”

Though the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) claims to recognize the value of fellowship, including trying to house prisoners close to their homes, most prisoners end up in facilities hundreds of miles away from any close contact.

For Raymond Shipley, whose wife regularly drives 600 miles from their home in Los Angeles to his placement in Susanville, maintaining a relationship is plagued with innumerable impediments. Serving a sentence of 15 years, Shipley has been placed on “close custody” like Gambles. This classification level is a primary exclusion that bars long-term and life inmates from visitor eligibility. With a 2010 release date incurred for his multiple counts of shooting at an occupied building, and ineligible for conjugal visits until 2008, the 26-year-old Shipley covets any and all contact with his wife.

“The six-and-one-half-hour visit with my wife is my whole life, and every time the guards ruin it, the pain is excruciating,” Shipley says, adding that he loathes having guards hovering over him like insolent chaperones. “The state is the antithesis of close family ties. They do everything in their power to hinder our relationships at every given opportunity.”

Of course, regular visits are better than nothing. Having moved from the North Bay to Reno, about a hundred miles east of Susanville, Gambles’ wife is able to come see him two or three weekends a month. Such a commitment comes at a huge sacrifice. Relocating is not an option for Shipley’s wife, who works and goes to college full-time. She pays for the expensive collect calls and foots the bill for the gas, lodging and other miscellaneous expenses incurred when going to see her husband, a privilege that might be revoked at a moment’s notice.

Numerous racial incidents at the CCC, mostly involving white inmates, have prompted the prison’s administration to totally sequester the wards. “There are no visits if your race is locked down,” says Shipley. “Some prisons are slammed for months, if not years, before an inmate has the opportunity to see his family again.

“Currently, we’re locked down, and there is no end in sight.”

Blanket reprisals against an entire ethnic group is how California prison officials regularly address, not solve, racial unrest. As the most violent, intolerant and gang-infested incarceration system in the country, California’s segregated prison system is distinguished by institutional inequality. Under such a policy, loved ones of well-behaved inmates suffer enormous anguish and frustration. Shipley’s wife wrote in a recent letter to him, “I really would love to just be able to talk to you. It kills me not to know when I will be able to kiss you again. I am beyond tired of this nonsense.”

Severed family ties are not limited to married inmates. Erik Wick, a white inmate also on indefinite lockdown, is a regular in the prison’s visitor program. His parents live in Reno, but, as in Shipley’s case, he’s been denied all contact with family for most of the year.

Incarcerated since 1989 for two counts of first-degree murder, the 38-year-old Wick remembers when the push began that eventually suspended the inmates’ civil liberties. “Part of the ‘tough on crime’ movement of the 1990s was to take family visiting away from lifers,” he explains. “From a rehabilitative standpoint, the one prison demographic that desperately needs to maintain close family ties are the lifers.”

Eligible for parole in 2013, Wick continues, “The state’s policies in fact impede inmates’ attempts to maintain relationships. Visiting days have been cut from five to two days a week. Since visiting is now a privilege, the CDCR has no statutory obligation to provide it–and indeed, takes away and impedes visits frequently.”

In fact, CCC administrators take one of the hardest lines on visiting of any prison in the state by totally denying all locked-down inmates any visiting privileges. “When the CDCR makes a policy of locking down an entire race at a particular facility, the vast majority of those inmates are in fact losing their visits for others’ wrongdoing,” says Wick. “I thought we left that ugliness in the last century.”

Serving a life sentence for a nonviolent drug conviction under the ‘three strikes’ law, writer Eugene Dey is an inmate under lockdown at the California Correctional Center in Susanville. His memoir, ‘A Three-Strikes Sojourn,’ received a 2006 honorable mention from the PEN American Center.


Dark Green

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November 29-December 5, 2006


If there were a television commercial for marijuana, you could imagine it featuring some good-looking adults passing a joint around a dinner table, laughing and having fun while a pro-pot celebrity like Woody Harrelson or Lenny Kravitz walked on with a knowing smile and made a pitch for smoking herb. “Pot. It’s natural. It’s organic. The way nature meant it to be.”

Society no longer regards marijuana as the devil weed. While once reviled as a fast ticket to an underworld of crime and vice, the days of “reefer madness” have evolved into tolerance. In California, possession of under an ounce is a misdemeanor that carries a $100 fine. Since the passage of Proposition 215 in 1996, people with medical conditions are relatively free to smoke, possess and grow pot as long as they have a doctor’s note. For everyone else, it’s still naughty, but much of society seems to regard pot as an entirely different drug than cocaine, methamphetamine or heroin.

Showtime’s hit series Weeds, about a suburban mom who deals pot to make ends meet, is a further indication of how social mores have changed. There’s no way the show would be as popular if it featured a lovable crack dealer. And then there’s Willie Nelson, perhaps the country’s best-known dope smoker and legalization advocate. “I think people need to be educated to the fact that marijuana is not a drug,” Nelson has been quoted as saying. “Marijuana is an herb and a flower. God put it here. If he put it here and he wants it to grow, what gives the government the right to say that God is wrong?”

Nelson is not alone in his live-and-let-live views on marijuana. After alcohol and tobacco, marijuana is the third most popular drug in America. According to government surveys, marijuana has been used by approximately 80 million people. Twenty million people smoked pot in the past year, and 11 million smoke it regularly.

It’s just pot, right? What’s the big deal?

The big deal is this: In spite of widespread social acceptance and evidence that smoking marijuana is less harmful than consuming alcohol or tobacco, pot has an ugly side that shatters its happy hippie image as an innocuous herb.

The reality many recreational smokers don’t want to hear is that pot can be a dirty, bloody business. While there are countless backyard growers and small-scale pot farmers who stay clear of the nasty side of cultivation, the marijuana trade is increasingly controlled by Mexican drug-trafficking organizations. That’s especially true in California, the No. 1 pot-growing state. While once controlled by relatively benign hippie growers and opportunists in the “emerald triangle” in Humboldt, Trinity and Mendocino counties, Mexican drug syndicates have muscled into the business over the past years, government authorities say, ratcheting up production and profits as well as violence to protect their crops.

“The same people who have been bringing you cocaine, meth and heroin are now bringing you marijuana,” says Rich Camps, a task-force commander for the state Bureau of Narcotics Enforcement. “They’ve added it to their portfolio.”

What’s more, the growers who have set up shop in the state’s wild lands are fouling the environment by piling trash, siphoning local creeks for irrigation and dumping pounds of fertilizer, pesticides and human waste into the water table and sensitive habitats.

“It’s a serious pollution issue,” says John Nores, a warden with the California Department of Fish and Game.

It’s not just law enforcement that decries black-market pot. From the other side of the aisle is Valerie Corral. She’s co-founder of the Wo/Men’s Alliance for Medical Marijuana, a nonprofit collective that provides marijuana to the seriously ill. She’s been arrested three times on marijuana charges and is an outspoken critic of current marijuana laws, but she too condemns the criminal underground that has turned pot into an organized-crime industry.

“I think people don’t see the harm caused by the illicit market,” she says. Just as purchasing petroleum products or fast food can have negative social consequences, so does buying marijuana grown by drug traffickers, she believes. “I think the important thing is to observe our impacts as consumers.”

While there’s not yet a fair trade, organic brand of marijuana for conscientious pot smokers, Corral urges like-minded people to educate themselves about what she sees as the value of legalized marijuana and to take a stand for better access to marijuana for those who need it.

New Green Gold Rush

There are different theories about why Mexican drug traffickers are now growing pot on California soil in such large quantities. Some say it’s because clampdowns at the U.S.-Mexican border have made smuggling the drug harder, making it more practical to grow it here. However, Camps believes law enforcement’s efforts to shut down methamphetamine labs in California by restricting the sale of the chemicals needed to make the drug have left a criminal “workforce” without work. Growing weed has filled the void, he says.

“There’s big money to be made in marijuana, and that’s why they’re figuring it out,” he says.

The infiltration of Mexican pot growers into California rural lands has ushered in an era of low-intensity warfare between the growers and law enforcement. California’s Campaign Against Marijuana Production (CAMP) began in 1983. It’s a multi-agency task force that flies helicopters all over the state looking for pot groves and chopping them down. Since CAMP’s inception, plant seizures have gone up almost every year. Last year’s eradication of 1.1 million plants was a new record, and in October, with about a month left to go in the 2006 season, CAMP had already set a new record with 1.7 million plants, valued at more than $6.7 billion. Of those, Sonoma County had some 74,000 plants seized; Napa had 31,300 and Marin had at least 20,000 plants grabbed, many of them found growing on the municipal water district’s land. What’s more, growth and harvest in the South Bay continues to enlarge, with some 47,000 plants taken this year.

Unlike North Bay counties south of Humboldt that divert police and sheriff power to marijuana detection and eradication, the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Office this year received a state grant to create its first-ever marijuana eradication team (MET). The team is on the job all year long. During the spring-to-fall growing season, they fly over the hills in helicopters trying to spot gardens and hike across rugged terrain with topo maps and GPS devices in hand to sniff out illicit pot farms. During the winter months, they explore sites they may have missed and reconnoiter gardens they plan to hit during the next growing season.

Pot Cops

The MET deputies don’t want their names revealed, as a precaution against retribution. Both are former patrol deputies and members of the sheriff’s office SWAT team. One is a baby-faced deputy with a buzz cut and a quick smile. His partner is the more reserved of the two. He’s an intense man with glasses, a thin build and a calculating stare.

As big as this year’s haul has been, the shorthaired deputy says there’s a lot they’re not finding. He estimates they’re missing 60 percent to 70 percent of the pot growing in the county. “It seems like it’s wildly out of control,” he says. “These guys will do it anywhere and spare no expense.”

The deputies say they have no interest in raiding medicinal marijuana gardens. Under Proposition 215, medical marijuana patients or their caregivers are allowed to have six mature or 12 immature plants. As long as medicinal pot growers can provide a medical marijuana card, they leave the gardens alone, they say.

“We respect state law and respect the right of people to have medical marijuana,” says the shorthaired deputy.

But with 23 raids of large-scale illegal gardens under their belts this year, these antipot commandos are more than a minor irritation to the illicit growers.

“It’s getting more and more violent every year,” says the bespectacled member of the eradication team. “I could use another five guys on my team and use them seven days a week. There’s just so much [marijuana].”

Going to the Grow

On a recent foggy morning just before dawn, the scene in the parking lot of a Los Gatos church was enough to make an early rising parishioner whisper a few Hail Marys and run for cover. Six men in camouflage fatigues and bulletproof vests stepped out of unmarked vehicles and began to unsheathe various semiautomatic weapons. The MET deputies and other deputies assigned to help them smeared on dark face paint and racked their rifles, chambering rounds with a series of metallic clacks and pops.

A few weeks earlier, one of the deputies flew over the area with a pilot in the sheriff’s department’s sole helicopter. Both deputies received training in aerial marijuana spotting in Mendocino County, the state’s best outdoor classroom for learning such a skill. Banking over the rugged, steep terrain above the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve, the MET deputy saw a telltale patch of green that was much brighter and lighter than the manzanita, oak and chemise that forests the hillsides here. After flying over it a few times to confirm what he saw (but hopefully not close enough to arouse too much suspicion of anyone hiding out in the garden), he marked the site with his GPS device and added it to an ever-growing list of gardens he wanted to hit.

While the GPS certainly helps locate a “grow,” as the deputies call pot gardens, two of the most reliable signs are decidedly more low-tech: foot trails and black irrigation pipe. The heavy rains this spring could be part of the reason for this year’s bumper crop. Growers lug in miles of the plastic pipe and divert water from creeks and drainages to feed their thirsty crops. Find a black pipe snaking along the ground and follow it downhill, chances are good you’ll find a garden. And where there are gardens, there are often gardeners.

Once at the grow, what they found was typical of these large-scale marijuana operations. The area around the garden was heaped with garbage and toxic waste. There was evidence of the growers’ camp, including a dismantled tent, blankets, camping stove, empty fuel canisters, food wrappers, plastic water bottles and empty cans of food. Scattered throughout the camp were empty jugs and bags of fertilizer and pesticides. Nearby, the growers had dug two pits and lined them with heavy black plastic and piped in water from a nearby drainage to create a makeshift irrigation tank. The basins are often filled with fertilizer and other chemicals, creating a toxic soup that leeches into the ground and, potentially, back into creeks and groundwater supplies.

“Whatever makes it downstream or underground is toast,” says Nores of the Department of Fish and Game.

As for the weed itself, about a thousand chest-high plants were growing from individually dug holes. They were several weeks from budding, so rather than haul them out, the deputies simply clipped them with pruning shears and let them lie where they fell. Once cut, marijuana plants won’t grow back.

In addition to the trash, the growers left something else that reminded the deputies of what they were up against each time they raided a pot garden: a gun holster and empty boxes of .357 caliber hollow-point rounds. Once they enter the body, the bullets are designed to splinter and cause maximum damage.

Just a few miles away from this grow was the scene of a raid last year that didn’t go as well. The MET deputies, two state Fish and Game wardens and other sheriff’s office deputies were walking through a dense garden of marijuana when they were ambushed by two men hiding in the plants armed with AK-47s. Shots rang out and Fish and Game warden Kyle Kroll was struck by a bullet that went through both his legs. The deputies returned fire and hit one man. The other suspected pot grower escaped into the woods and was never found in spite of a huge manhunt. Kroll spent three hours waiting for an airlift. He’s since recovered from his wounds. By the time a medical team arrived, the wounded suspect was dead.

Camps, the task force commander with the Bureau of Narcotics Enforcement, said he later learned the suspect was part of the Michoacan-based drug-trafficking organization. The man’s family never claimed his body.

Legalize It?

Advocates for marijuana legalization say prohibition and profit drive the illegal market. Even though California has decriminalized possession of marijuana, it ensures illegal cultivation will flourish, says Corral, co-founder of the medical marijuana cooperative.

“It helps proliferate the illegal market,” she says. “We don’t look at the far-reaching impact.”

Dale Gieringer, California coordinator for the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, believes that only when growing marijuana is legal will the violence and nefarious nature of the illegal drug trade stop. What’s more, he says a state-controlled marijuana industry could rake in huge sums of money through taxation.

“This is a multibillion industry that’s being lost to the state through criminality.”

But until the laws change, the war against the growers has to continue, he says.

“As long as you have this dumb game of prohibition, [law enforcement] doesn’t have much choice.”

For his part, the shorthaired deputy with the marijuana eradica tion team doesn’t lose sleep over the legalization debate or the efficacy of what he does. His job is to enforce the law, and growing pot is illegal.

“If it wasn’t a felony tomorrow, we’d find something else to do,” he says.


Ottocrat’s Honor

November 29-December 5, 2006

People complain, as people ought to do, about the MPAA’s rating system, but it replaces a system that was even more restrictive than what we’ve got now. Producer and director Otto Preminger, a constant warrior against censorship, is celebrated with a four-film fest of newly restored films running Dec. 1-3 at the Smith Rafael Film Center.

“The Ottocrat” was known and feared as one of the most sulfurously tempered of directors. As an actor, he was a natural, playing shaven-headed Prussians in The Pied Piper and Stalag 17 and Mr. Freeze on TV’s Batman. As an early and especially independent producer, his work anticipates the indie films of today.

Where the Sidewalk Ends (screening Dec. 1) is a euphemistic title meaning “the gutter,” and that’s where NYPD cop Dana Andrews will end up if he can’t get help from Gene Tierney. One of Preminger’s least known films, this is a reteaming of Dana Andrews and Gene Tierney from Preminger’s famous murder/romance Laura. Afterwards, film noir expert Eddie Mueller turns up onstage to grill Dana Andrew’s daughter Susan Andrews under the hot lights until she spills what she knows.

Described as “what fellas back home would call ‘a hot bundle,’ I guess,” Dorothy Dandridge is the highlight of Preminger’s 1954 remake of the Bizet opera, Carmen Jones (Dec. 3). Oscar Hammerstein II’s lyrics to the famous habañera (“Dat’s Love”) isn’t as easy on the ear as the French verses were, but the cast includes Diahann Carroll, the powerhouse belter Pearl Bailey and the intimidating Broc (later Brock) Peters as the sergeant who taunts Don Jose into a fight. As the unlucky Joe, Harry Belafonte is as nervous as a cat, and he contends with a dubbed tenor voice so different from his familiar mellow tones.

Despite the unsteady Belafonte, the movie works. A keen sense of design led Preminger to be the first director to hire Saul Bass. The eminent graphic artist came up with a title sequence in which animated scarlet flames consume a scrawled cartoon rose.

Preminger also gave Dorothy Dandridge her first major part. The sophisticated nightclub chanteuse coarsened her speaking voice and her diction to play this backwoods Carmen. (Marilyn Horne dubs her singing voice.) She is chemical as hell–a sensation in tight pink skirts and zebra-striped underwear–but Dandridge is also an affecting anti-heroine. She stands up to the male lust for possession until she’s destroyed, like a female toreador killed by the bull she was teasing. (Though she was the first black person ever to appear on the cover of Life magazine, Dandridge didn’t prosper; racist typecasting and gossip hurried her to a young end at 42.)

Preminger’s 1955 film The Man with the Golden Arm (Dec. 2) is tamer than Nelson Algren’s drug novel, with Frank Sinatra as Frankie Machine, a Chicago jazz drummer going down the drain thanks to dope. Long visible in grimy public domain copies, the film was in desperate need of a new print and has finally been restored. Preminger’s daughter Victoria and eminent film historian David Thomson discuss this pioneering drama after the screening.

The aging of some of Preminger’s wares is apparent, no matter how pristine the print. His 1953 The Moon Is Blue (Dec. 3), a scandal in its day, it is now about as spicy as a Saskatoon burrito. It stars Maggie McNamara, a virgin as unassailable as Doris Day, up against a pair of polished seducers (William Holden, David Niven). It was a risky endeavor to release the film without the seal of the Motion Picture Production Code, but the gamble paid off with a 16-week stint on the Top Ten.

Maddened by the thought of the word “virgin” being heard on American screens for the first time, Catholic picketers from the Knights of Columbus turned up in droves. Little did they know the film was a resounding defense of the idea of waiting ’til you’re married. As Preminger’s unauthorized biographer Willi Frischauer put it, “The bark of the moralists was often worse than the bite of the producer.”

Frischauer and others have plenty of recollections of Awful Otto’s gentle, personable side. These anecdotes spoil the legend of a thundering tyrant, just as the sometimes terrible films he made (The Cardinal, Rosebud) mar the record of a true rebel.

An Academy centennial salute to Otto Preminger screens Friday-Sunday, Dec. 1-3, at the Smith Rafael Film Center. 1118 Fourth St., San Rafael. 415.454.1222. www.cafilm.org.


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Ask Sydney

November 28-December 5, 2006

Dear Sydney, I recently went to the quilt exhibit at the De Young Museum. This town in Appalachia was extremely isolated and the women turned old jeans, dish towels, etc., into quilts. In the video interviews, one of the women said, “We were poor, but we were happy. People today have lots of things, but they’re not happy.” Sydney, is this true? Does having so many choices and so many leisure items make us less happy? Were people really happier when they were poor? I have an iPod and a PS2, but I’m still miserable.–Rich with Stuff

Dear Stuff: Somehow, the idea of living in poverty in the Appalachian Mountains, popping out babies whom I may or may not be able to feed, while I make quilts out of old dish towels does not bespeak of happiness to me. Happiness is a state of mind, and if your state of mind tells you that you will be happy if you buy that new couch, you very well might be. Then again, making something beautiful, like a quilt, can make you feel happy. But to say that people are happier if they are poor is a load of horseshit. Give me money any day, because you want to know true misery? Then give everything up and move into a box in a garbage dump with your kids, and give them glue to sniff because you don’t have any food. Try this for a while and then tell me you’d be happier poor. May I suggest that you cradle your iPod and your PS2 to your chest, and give thanks that you are fortunate enough to be able to spend large amounts of money on asinine items that exist purely for the sake of your own personal enjoyment, and not for any other reason.

Dear Sydney, my almost six-year-old son was recently given the Star Wars Legos computer game. He had never played anything like it before, so my husband and I thought we’d let him try, thinking he’d get frustrated and that would be the end of it. But in no time he had it figured out, and now he’s begging to play all the time. He seems addicted. I am sad to say that I have never seen him so excited about anything he’s ever done. And this is a kid who laughs hysterically when his one-year-old brother dances, who loves to ride his bike, who plays with many friends and relatives. In other words, he’s not lacking in quality experiences. Yet the first thing out of his mouth this morning upon waking up was “Mom! I made it to the new city last night!” He was so elated. When he asked if he could play some more (this is at 6:30am, mind you), and I said no, his face turned sinister and he became enraged. It just doesn’t seem right for a child this age to become so involved in a computer game. What do you recommend? –Confused Mom

Dear CM: It sounds as if your son is being given enough time to explore life in a supportive and creative environment and that a little Lego computer game is not going to destroy his chances at becoming a reasonably healthy adult. Because computer games, video games and movies can have a devastating effect on the calm of your family life, you have to decide: either you get rid of the computer game and never allow him to play it, or you instate strict rules about playing time. He has a choice: he can either spend his free time playing his game or watching a movie, but it has to be one or the other. Second, purchase a timer. Give him an allotment of time that he can use up as he wants, and the timer will make it very clear for how long he can play. Give him maybe 45 minutes, and if he wants to get worked up about it, then he loses his privileges for the day.

Is this the best way for him to spend his time? Maybe it’s not your ideal, but many children, especially boys of his generation, are passionate about video games. If you do decide to ban the games from your house, do it soon. The longer you wait, the more difficult it will be, and the older he gets, the more he will resent you for it. There is social stigma attached to letting your kids game, not to mention a plethora of difficult, often moral decisions that must be made in regards to what games are appropriate for them to play and how much time it’s OK to play for. On the other hand, some children love to game more then they love doing anything else, and what does it mean when you say no to a passion like that? How will it metamorphose?

Dear Sydney: I am hoping that you can settle a dispute between me and my room mate. It’s causing some serious friction. It came out during a drunken dinner party conversation that he seems to think it’s no big deal to piss in the shower. I had no idea that he felt this way, and had always assumed that he, like me, peed in the damn toilet. The other people in the conversation seemed to feel mixed about this issue; some thought it was no big deal to piss in the shower, and others, like me, thought it was totally disgusting. My roommate refuses to give up his habit, claiming that he, and I quote, “really enjoys it.” He acts like I’m being an uptight asshole for even worrying about it. I’m totally grossed out. Is there anyway to settle this besides moving out? Who is right?–Pissed

Dear Pissed: There is no handbook for urination etiquette, at least not one that I’ve ever seen, which means that whether or not it’s OK to piss in the shower is totally subjective. Here’s the thing: urine is actually pretty clean; in fact, you can drink it. Remember this, it could save your life: if you are ever lost in the desert, you can drink your own piss exactly two times, after that it won’t do you any good. But still, it’s just not cool to pee in the shower if you have roomies, even if you enjoy it. It’s not respectful. The only reason it would be OK would be if everyone living in the house agreed upon it beforehand. If your roommate thinks you’re uptight, too bad; maybe you are, but that doesn’t make it OK to do something to offend you. That’s just poor roommate etiquette. Unless your roommate wants to take charge of cleaning and scrubbing the bathtub regularly, and washing the shower curtain, he better wait until he gets his own place. Wash your dishes, don’t piss in the shower. It’s standard.

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


On Loving the Simpsons

0

November 29-December 5, 2006

The father is fat, bald and alcoholic. The son is a 10-year-old criminal. The drawings are minimal. From that start, the next evolution in animation began in 1987.

It’s been two decades since The Tracey Ullman Show ran a series of short cartoons concerning the day-to-day misery of the Simpson family from Springfield, U.S.A. To this day, David Silverman, founding director and now supervising art director on the animated series The Simpsons, is hesitant, at least in interviews, to say why everybody loves the family.

“They have no life,” Silverman jokes over the phone while working on the much-anticipated Simpsons movie, due for release next July. He then asks a room of his fellow directors why the Simpsons are so beloved as to be subjects of the longest running sitcom on television. From across the room, director Mike Anderson delivers the perfect promo statement: “People see themselves in the family. They relate to the characters.” Silverman makes me credit Anderson with that quote, then adds, “It’s also damn funny.”

Silverman is coming to Sonoma State University on Dec. 1 to speak about the show and its impact on the culture. For a mere 10 bucks a head, audience members can hear Silverman share stories on the innumerable reasons why The Simpsons has cemented itself in the minds of generations of fans. The show will consist of Silverman’s overall perspective of the show and his growth from animator to director and supervisor. He says, “We have people working here who are like, ‘You were here from the beginning,’ and it’s not something I think about. College kids, who grew up on us.”

The road from a spate of two-minute shorts to 17 seasons as the best comedy–animated or not–on television has marked Silverman’s journey with the show. “I don’t know how I could have a wife and kids and stay up until three in the morning animating,” he says. Matt Groening, Wes Archer and Silverman animated those original shorts themselves. Silverman directed the first broadcast episode, “Simpsons Roasting on an Open Fire,” and the show became an immediate success. That success became a phenomenon and a cultural barometer and even a college-instructed philosophy. The only show that has more episodes in the bank than The Simpsons is Gunsmoke–and there are no classes on Gunsmoke at major universities.

Silverman is credited with giving the show its unique look and feel. While Matt Groening designed the characters in the mid-’80s, Silverman gave them movement and life. He pioneered animation techniques, transforming the rough edges of the first season into the polished show that airs today. He has directed milestone episodes and now is at work on the film version, so far known simply as The Simpsons Movie. He says of his animation staff, “Everyone, down to the storyboard artists, takes pride in what they do. Our biggest challenge is always the deadline. We want to blow everyone away.”

Part of Silverman’s SSU lecture will include showing unseen clips from the show. “I used to have a lot of those clips,” he says, “except the DVDs have come out and I’m down to a few. I still have some, though.” There will be question-and-answer periods, too. “It’s very inspiring and rewarding to engage directly with the fans. We don’t get that enough.”

Most of the lecture will focus on animation, which Silverman speaks of as a process of challenges and benefits. “From one point, we do a lot more animation per episode,” he says. “It’s more difficult, but we also get more resources and time. I am happy to report the animation has improved. The writing has also improved, but from the animation side, we pushed ourselves.” The complexity, attention to detail and the speed of the animation continues to grow, and the show looks better every year.

Most people think all the animation is done in Korea, but that isn’t true. The Korean animators only paint and touch up the look. Silverman’s team animate every movement and nuance, down to the twiddling fingers and rolling eyes. “Nuances are what get the big laugh,” he says. “It’s worth it to try and put in another hour or two on this or that. It really pays off.” The animators build the show from pencil drawings into an animatic, which serves as a sketch of the entire scene or episode. Often the animatic contains most or all of the animation before it is sent over.

Aside from the catchphrases and merchandising, The Simpsons has become a standard against which new comedies must set themselves. Shows like Family Guy and other animated fare simply would not exist without The Simpsons, which was considered a second renaissance within the animation community, a new precedent in the genre. A seemingly simple yet incredibly focused combination of satire and off-the-wall silliness makes The Simpsons the ruler of television comedy. “The human ego is the root of all humor,” Silverman says. “We don’t just pick on specific groups. We spotlight and point out the humorous–not stupidity, but ego.”

Certainly, over the years, other shows have passed The Simpsons in terms of edginess. Silverman acknowledges South Park. “That is edgier. It’s as if we raised the bar, and the bar caught up to us.” Yet The Simpsons survives precisely by staying true to its characters and their world.

Silverman does not believe in lowering standards to appeal to a mass audience. The range of humor in The Simpsons is unparalleled. Family sitcoms, like Everybody Loves Raymond, focus on one area. For example, a typical plot has the husband and wife fighting about something, other relatives making jokes at their expense, a solution presenting itself and the husband and wife resolving their dispute. In contrast, The Simpsons‘ world encompasses over 50 characters from all backgrounds and perspectives, each of whom wittily sends up some aspect or stereotype of American family and cultural life.

Episodes like “Deep Space Homer” poke fun of the fact that the average American is not interested in academic pursuits when there’s football to be played. “Lisa the Vegetarian” played with intolerance while changing some people’s perspective on eating meat. Ray Romano may not be able to do the same when he’s voicing cute forest creatures in his next snooze-o-rama Pixar feature.

Speaking of Pixar, Silverman left The Simpsons briefly to pursue bigger projects. His first animated feature as a director was the uninspiring Road to El Dorado with all those Elton John tunes. He then worked on Ice Age for about three weeks before returning to work on The Simpsons.

The biggest news now is the movie. It’s being treated with the secrecy made famous in the “Who Shot Mr. Burns?” cliffhanger, only more so. Silverman himself is mum on the subject. “I can tell you definitely that it will be in color. The main character will be a guy named Homer, and a woman named Marge appears in several scenes,” he chuckles.

When I ask if the plot line posted on the Internet Movie Database is accurate–Homer swamps the town of Springfield with nuclear waste and everyone must be evacuated–Silverman sort of laughs and says, “That’s the real-not-true-but-maybe-could-be plot line.”

Beyond the movie, Silverman has little in store for the future. “I seem to be doing fine without a plan so far. I don’t work from plans.” When he’s not working, Silverman watches little television himself. “You know one show I want to see? Lost. But I won’t watch it until I can see the first episode, and when’ll that happen? When I’m not working, I don’t get a lot of time to watch TV. I try to go out and enjoy life.”

David Silverman discusses the mesmerizing topic ‘Why Everybody Loves “The Simpsons”‘ on Friday, Dec. 1, at the SSU Cooperage. 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. $10 general public; free for SSU students. 8pm. 707.664.2804.


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Letters to the Editor

November 29-December 5, 2006

The Greek goes on

In his letter, (Nov. 22), Christian Kallen makes a valuable point about how small interest groups can affect the public’s access to information. Very true, but thankfully he admits to taking the matter personally, because ultimately, his anecdote is off the point of the letters he addresses.

The letters responding to Alastair Bland’s (Oct. 18) didn’t come off as antagonistic spam at all. In fact, they offered a real critique of the article’s shortcomings. One of these is an oversimplification/misreading of Homer’s story itself. This is excusable–even arguable–but the letter on which Kallen focuses, Remy Wallace’s, points to a more serious issue that isn’t about Greeks, Greece or special interest groups. Wallace’s letter was, in general terms, about “the American in the world.” The letter exposes specific examples in Bland’s writing that are hallmarks of an increasingly audacious sense of entitlement and superiority as the U.S. projects its imperialistic values globally. The clever idea of Bland’s “Mythic Journey” may seem harmless enough in itself, but, as Wallace points out, his assumptions are indicative of a larger problem.

It may be that Bland simply chose the wrong text for his intellectual explorations. A more apt Homeric blueprint for how to be an American in the world today would have been the Iliad. That story is about a nation that has followed two powerful men across the sea to remove one person from one city; in the end, as the area’s resources are at stake, they find themselves embroiled in a bloodbath for many years. So, which of these cultures is the archaic one?

Shaun Bond, Santa Rosa

Tangled up in blue

At the end of (“The High Price of Low-Cost Meth,” Nov. 15), she quotes “Catherine,” who was victimized by a meth user: “Why are people choosing this drug? Why are people choosing this lifestyle?” Insightfully, Catherine suggests that we need to get at meth use “from the root.”

I’ll offer this: Much research indicates that the root here, as well as with excessive alcohol, marijuana, cocaine and heroin use, choking highs and the like, is disconnection. People who get into these life-ways may hang out with other people (after all, “Brandy” had three kids and various boyfriends), but not people who care much about them. Methods that are effective in changing these folks’ lives invariably are based on intense group involvement: 12-step programs, religious redemption programs, etc.

Americans have a love-hate attitude toward such involvement. We can see the value in belonging to some sort of caring network, while at the same time we don’t like being “tied down” to such networks. Freedom, we demand.

Well, freedom often means, as Janis Joplin once sang, having “nothing left to lose.” I think many meth users feel that they have nothing left to lose. Experience has taught them not to put much value on their lives, and no one is arguing with them about this assessment.

Don MacQueen, Santa Rosa

To catch a thief

Your latest article on ID theft was very interesting. I am glad that the victim “Catherine” was able to pursue and recover her stolen articles. Maybe the police should set up some sting operations where such offenses happen.

Moreover, I congratulate “Catherine” on being able to beat the crap out of the thief.

Walt Schivo, Novato

A generation’s duty

I couldn’t shake one questions from my mind last Sunday night: “Where are the young people?” was speaking! In a time of an illegal and now unpopular war, where were the kids the age of the majority of the soldiers over there? Where were the friends, siblings, spouses and peers of the young people serving America?

Mr. Ellsberg warned us of the replication of lies, cover-ups and the mismanagement of information that is currently occurring. Many of the events are strikingly similar to those that happened during the Vietnam War, his area of expertise. “Do not think that the war is over,” he cautioned us. Just because the Democrats are back in the picture doesn’t promise the end of military missions in Iraq.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my evening with the hearty, silver-haired wine drinkers of the community. I gathered an abundance of opinions, life stories and motivational bits of advice. But I felt apologetic as the youngest person there. During the Vietnam War, it was the younger generation that was a catalyst in the antiwar movement.

At age 24, I feel it is my generation’s duty to at least be present and paying attention. The duplication of the America government lying to the American people about our own war needs to be halted by those who are brave enough to tell the truth.

Sylvia C. Frain, Sebastopol

Dept. of Corrections

In , we managed two major boo-boos. First, we must apologize mightily to the elegant Ms. Adela Kras for bungling her Christian name. Secondly, we bow to the good folks at Atelier Marin. More logical than we, their hours are actually long in the winter, short in the spring and summer.

The Ed., All I Can Do With My Hands is Type


Life in the Checkout Lane

0

November 29-December 5, 2006

Once upon a time in the early 1970s, hundreds of independent record stores around America stocked albums by a country-rock band from Los Angeles. A series of hits, sold hand over fist through the recommendation of the retail owners and employees who were confident in the band’s greatness, gave birth to an AM-radio legend. That legend, of course, is the Eagles, who not only have the independent retail store to thank for their widespread success, but who also last month signed a far-reaching exclusive deal with the least indie of them all, Wal-Mart.

The dollar amount is undisclosed; the enthusiasm is not. Declaring itself “America’s biggest supporter of the music business,” Wal-Mart’s deal provides sponsorship, preferred placement in its stores and exclusive audio and video releases. This has already taken form in time for the holiday season, and is expected to include the distribution of an album the band are currently recording, their first new studio album in over 25 years.

Comments from Wal-Mart about the deal have the strange ring of absolute naiveté, like a child convinced of its own fantasies: “Our partnership with the Eagles demonstrates how serious we are about giving our customers a choice of new, unique, world-class entertainment products!” says David Porter, Wal-Mart’s vice president of home entertainment. “We are very pleased to be able to bring our customers an alliance with America’s greatest rock icons.”

OK. First, let’s look at the Eagles. The Eagles are neither new nor especially unique, and, for crying out loud, they can hardly be taken seriously as America’s greatest rock icons. This pales in absurdity, of course, next to Wal-Mart’s claim as America’s biggest supporter of the music business, which is like Robert E. Lee claiming to be the country’s biggest supporter of African Americans since, you know, he housed and fed so many on his plantation.

And, what the hell, let’s throw out the obvious accusations. Let’s throw out Wal-Mart’s policy of censorship, which forces every artist from Slayer to Willie Nelson to alter cover art and edit album content before the megastore will stock their albums on its megashelves. And we can even ignore Wal-Mart’s 88-cent undercut on digital downloads, forcing artists to accept fewer royalties than under every other download service.

No, let’s just ask one basic question: Why in the world would the Eagles need to ink a deal with the lamest, most uncool conglomerate on the planet when their pockets are already billowing over with middle-American money?

A case could be made among certain circles that because the Eagles’ music is already well-known as the spawn of Satan, the two corporations make harmonious bedfellows. But since defining the multibillion dollar reunion tour in the 1990s, to defining the never-ending “Farewell Tour” payday of today, to signing a temporary exclusive deal with Best Buy in 2003, it has been apparent that the Eagles have one very obvious priority on their minds.

Why this necessitates alignment with the Worst Store Ever (and, by association, with Garth Brooks, whose entire recorded output is only available at Wal-Mart through a similar deal signed in 2005) is an indicator of why rich people stay rich: they keep making sleazier and sleazier business decisions to ensure that the numbers at the bottom of the paper keep growing.

Naturally, there is little expectation that a new album by the Eagles would sell exceptionally well in independent stores; indie outlets are bastions of flippancy toward soft-rock dinosaur acts, and in all probability the new album could prove to be a commercial flop. But after helping the Eagles achieve the record for the bestselling U.S. release of all-time (Their Greatest Hits 1971-1974), what are mom ‘n’ pop stores supposed to tell a customer who comes in asking for a new Eagles album? “Sorry, but Don Henley now only allows his music to be sold by evil forces hell-bent on destroying America”?

This might not be working out as well as the Eagles had hoped. Last week, as an experiment, I walked into a Wal-Mart and asked the clerk in the music department if the store had anything by the band. Um, the Eagles? She had no idea what I was talking about.

Now there’s an alliance with America’s rock icons.


Ordinary Riches

Oh, lighten up: Clark starts talking cream-top milk, and we get all nostalgic...

The Byrne Report

December 6-12, 2006Did you know that the U.S. Northern Command just tightened its control over Northern California? "NORTHCOM" is the combatant command created by the Bush administration to control armies on the move inside the so-called North American battle space, which includes Mexico and Canada. The self-described job of NORTHCOM is to repel invaders, eliminate drug dealers and "terrorists,"...

No Place Like Home

November 29-December 5, 2006Chef Octavio Barrera isn't exactly a gushing conversationalist when he sits down for an interview with me one recent sunny fall afternoon. We're parked at a comfortable table on the patio, under the lacy shade of trees, and he's brought me a bottle of chilled Pellegrino, which he politely pours into my glass.He smiles at me,...

Civil Death

Lock and key: Conjugal visits and family time are...

Dark Green

November 29-December 5, 2006If there were a television commercial for marijuana, you could imagine it featuring some good-looking adults passing a joint around a dinner table, laughing and having fun while a pro-pot celebrity like Woody Harrelson or Lenny Kravitz walked on with a knowing smile and made a pitch for smoking herb. "Pot. It's natural. It's organic. The...

Ottocrat’s Honor

November 29-December 5, 2006People complain, as people ought to do, about the MPAA's rating system, but it replaces a system that was even more restrictive than what we've got now. Producer and director Otto Preminger, a constant warrior against censorship, is celebrated with a four-film fest of newly restored films running Dec. 1-3 at the Smith Rafael Film Center....

Ask Sydney

November 28-December 5, 2006 Dear Sydney, I recently went to the quilt exhibit at the De Young Museum. This town in Appalachia was extremely isolated and the women turned old jeans, dish towels, etc., into quilts. In the video interviews, one of the women said, "We were poor, but we were happy. People today have lots of things, but they're...

On Loving the Simpsons

November 29-December 5, 2006The father is fat, bald and alcoholic. The son is a 10-year-old criminal. The drawings are minimal. From that start, the next evolution in animation began in 1987. It's been two decades since The Tracey Ullman Show ran a series of short cartoons concerning the day-to-day misery of the Simpson family from Springfield, U.S.A. To this...

Letters to the Editor

November 29-December 5, 2006The Greek goes on In his letter, (Nov. 22), Christian Kallen makes a valuable point about how small interest groups can affect the public's access to information. Very true, but thankfully he admits to taking the matter personally, because ultimately, his anecdote is off the point of the letters he addresses. The letters responding to...

Life in the Checkout Lane

November 29-December 5, 2006 Once upon a time in the early 1970s, hundreds of independent record stores around America stocked albums by a country-rock band from Los Angeles. A series of hits, sold hand over fist through the recommendation of the retail owners and employees who were confident in the band's greatness, gave birth to an AM-radio legend. That legend,...
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