DUID

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Weed Whackers

Feds go after marijuana users with proposed drugged-driving law

By Joy Lanzendorfer

As anyone who has ever taken a drug test knows, some drugs stay in the body longer than others. Marijuana, for example, can stay in the body for days and even weeks after the drug’s intoxication wears off. For that reason, it’s harder for law-enforcement officials to test drivers for current marijuana intoxication than it is for alcohol. A positive marijuana test might indicate use that day–or last month.

But that may not matter if recently proposed federal legislation, the Drug Impaired Driving Research and Prevention Act (HR 4159), is passed by Congress. The bill is the first step to create nationwide “per se,” or zero tolerance, drugged-driving laws. Under the kind of laws the bill promotes, anyone caught driving with illegal drugs in his or her body–whether the person is impaired by the drug at the time or not–could be convicted of DUID (driving under the influence of drugs).

“Say you had an accident, and the police went to your home, found a couple of beer bottles in your trash, and said, ‘Aha, you’re guilty of driving under the influence,'” says Dale Gieringer, California coordinator for NORML, a pro-marijuana group. “That’s the sort of scenario this legislation proposes for drug users. It’s thoroughly appalling.”

HR 4159 is co-authored by representatives Jon Porter (R-Nev.) and Rob Portman (R-Ohio). It is a combination of two separate bipartisan bills the pair had previously introduced. The new bill has been tacked on as an amendment to the Transportation Equity Act now being reviewed by Congress.

The legislation would give the federal government $7.2 million to create a model for states to use when developing drugged driving laws. The model would define a “crime of drug-impaired driving” as a person operating a vehicle when “any detectable amount of a controlled substance is present in the person’s body.”

“It’s the first time in history that the federal government has addressed drugged driving,” says Porter spokesman Adam Mayberry. “Porter is trying to raise awareness that drugged driving is an epidemic. The bill is needed because most of the states don’t have policies about drugged driving.”

Almost all states have laws dealing with drugged driving, but most of them, including California, have effect-based laws, which means that to be convicted, a person must be proven impaired and incapable of driving safely. But marijuana intoxication can be difficult to detect with traditional field sobriety tests, since the drug’s effects are more subtle than alcohol. For example, a 1993 study by the U.S. Department of Transportation found that marijuana’s “adverse effects on driving performance appear relatively small.” Many independent studies have come to similar conclusions.

Marijuana activists say the law specifically targets pot smokers because, under per se laws, the very nature of cannabis makes the user more susceptible to a DUID.

“Drug tests are more sensitive to marijuana,” says Gieringer. “Not only does it stay in the system for longer than alcohol or opiates, it’s very hard to come up with any close numerical correlation between cannabis and impairment. This is just a case of antidrug nuts in Congress trying to sneak this law through.”

Activists also question whether there is an epidemic of drugged-driving accidents. While the 2002 National Survey on Drug Use and Health estimated that 11 million people drove under the influence of illegal drugs that year, other studies suggest that that doesn’t necessarily mean those people were causing accidents.

Congresswoman Lynn Woolsey, who represents Sonoma and Marin counties, is against HR 4159 because of the problems it poses for marijuana smokers.

“As the recent tragic drunk-driving incidents in Sonoma County remind us, we must do everything possible to ensure the safety of our roads,” she says. “Recent legislation introduced in the House of Representatives, however, may not be the best solution. It could lead to someone using marijuana for medicinal purposes to be convicted of DUI even though they used marijuana days before the arrest and were not impaired at the time of arrest.”

Congressman Mike Thompson, who represents Napa and parts of Sonoma counties, among others, says he’s still considering his position on the bill.

From the May 5-11, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Chick Lit

Days of Whine and Roses: Liz Maverick’s book, ‘What a Girl Wants,’ doesn’t begin to ask for enough.

Chick Lit Crit

Oh baby, where is thy sting?

By Hannah Strom-Martin

When it comes to chick lit, Bridget Jones’s Diary is to the genre what The Lord of the Rings is to fantasy: an unsurpassed example of the form all imitators must look upon with despair. Pour on the plucky, bumbling heroines, lather yourself up in angst and go shoe shopping, but never again will the plight of a working-class singleton be captured with quite the same combination of wit and poignancy as Helen Fielding’s eternal heroine.

This, of course, can’t stop a girl–or even a guy–from trying.

The most recent crop of chick lit has it all: the painful physical comedy, the packs of interchangeable best friends, the attempts at wry social commentary. But rather like a bad cosmopolitan, these layers fail to coalesce into a intoxicating whole. I waited 160 pages for a plot to form from the various threads in Lucinda Rosenfeld’s Why She Went Home (Random House; $23.95), only to find myself still jumping with its protagonist from one botched project to the next.

Lead character Phoebe Fine can bumble with the best of them, but what exactly is she bumbling toward? Ditching the life of a New York working girl for the dismal familiarity of her parents’ house in New Jersey, Phoebe bounces everywhere from a series of truly repugnant dates with a symphony conductor to a crazed scheme involving the selling off of her neighbor’s trash, with never a hint of a goal materializing. The realization that she hates her life hits religiously every 30 pages and vanishes again, washed away by a series of bad drinks and one-note characterizations. Will Phoebe ever reconcile with her (frankly horrifying) family? Will she ever have the courage to get laid? Do I even care?

With Phoebe’s lackluster exploits still slogging through my head, Dan Allan’s meditations on the world of cybersex, lisa33 (Viking Press; $21.95), is perhaps more thrilling than it has any right to be. Think of it as chick lit for guys. Allan’s protagonist, Tag (ha!), has the same unsatisfied domestic and sexual longings as his female peers and chooses cybersex as his way of coping.

This is already years beyond Phoebe, but aside from its spicy language and a truly funny take on the unstructured, multichanneled discourse of sex chat rooms, the novel–written entirely in the form of chat-room transcripts and e-mail messages–never takes off. Though Tag and Lisa (Tag’s online paramour) exchange histories and sexual fantasies, they remain in the end the same people they were at the beginning: unable to commit, miserable with their lives and making readers wonder along with them just what their exchange was supposed to mean.

Allan, at least, is able to talk frankly about modern sexual malaise. In Liz Maverick’s What a Girl Wants (New American Library; $21.95), the heroine, Hayley Jane Smith, is too . . . shy? proper? wimpy? to call a penis by its proper name. Here it is referred to as “his business,” a dangerously vague and sophomoric term to use when one is penning the exploits of a sexually hungry woman in her mid-20s. Maverick is no Erica Jong.

Though this author’s sweetness and empathetic characterization makes her by far the most likable of the three, one cannot help but long for the days when Jong’s Isadora Wing first made her appearance, flawed psyche and raging sexuality in hand.

Our new chick-lit heroes and heroines seem crippled by their ability to find sexual release, but their creators skirt the issue, veiling hunger in trite descriptions of groping–usually brought on by drinks or a bad day at the office. As a twenty-something singleton, it is distressing to see the search for sexual fulfillment represented by so bland and ordinary a cast, or worse, pawned off to the supporting players–one-note wonders with names like Suz and Emily whose only purpose seems to be to cheapen sexuality with their heaving breasts and tight leopard-skin pants.

For my money, I’ll take Fear of Flying any day–or even Kushiel’s Dart (Tor’s Fantasy; $7.99), the new fantasy blitzkrieg by Jacqueline Carey. Though Carey’s heroine is a sexual masochist, she is still that creature all chick-lit divas wish they could be: a strong, sexy misfit who never complains about shoes.

From the May 5-11, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Greg Brown

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Spacious Songs: Greg Brown favors a roomy landscape in music.

Room to Groove

The many moods of folkie Greg Brown

By Greg Cahill

He’s the last American troubadour, a complex mix of Midwestern common sense and bohemian Zen appeal inhabiting a poet’s soul. In some ways, there are two Greg Browns: tender and tough, acoustic and electric, funny and sorrowful, cynical and filled with an unquenchable thirst for life. One careens down country roads in the dead of night in a broken-down farm truck, no headlights, a bottle of Wild Turkey wedged between his thighs and pioneering country star Jimmie Rodgers blaring on the stereo. The other is a sunny child balanced on his grandmother’s knee, sampling her canned goods and drinking in the cool summer breeze.

“I know that I look at life and I see a lot of different colors, a lot of different moods,” says the singer and songwriter during a phone interview from Portland, Maine. “I do see a lot of causes for hope and I do see a lot of causes for despair. I see things that make me proud to be a human being on this planet, and I see so many other things that make me just appalled. All of that gets into my songs. On a particular Friday, I might feel quite hopeful, and by Tuesday I might be feeling that we’re completely screwed. I manage to find balance there between the two.

“But I can attest to being one person,” he adds with a laugh.

Brown returns to the North Bay on May 1, along with his singer-songwriter daughter Pieta and his longtime accompanist Bo Ramsey (whose stinging slide-guitar work can be heard on Lucinda Williams 1998 breakthrough album Car Wheels on a Gravel Road).

The son of Pentecostal preacher and electric-guitarist mother, Brown is an old-time folkie blessed with a gravelly baritone, a reflective nature and an acerbic wit. He grew up in rural Iowa, listening to gospel music and sampling those canned goods that are the subject of one his best-known songs. At 18 he headed to New York City, playing at Gerdes Folk City and becoming immersed in the swirl of cultural influences found in that metropolis.

“When I went to New York as a kid, the music itself did not make much of an impression,” Brown recalls. “But being in there at that age, I’d find myself walking through a Chinese street fair one moment, and on the next street would be a Bulgarian marching band. It was like taking a trip around the world, politically and culturally and in every other kind of way. Being a boy from the sticks, it was a real eye opener.”

Yet Brown returned to the Midwest. He landed a job with the Iowa Arts Council and played concerts for kids, mental patients and rest-home residents. He played the local cafes, and in the mid-’80s became a regular on Garrison Keillor’s homespun public-radio show Prairie Home Companion.

Brown also started his own record label, Red House, and in 1983 released Iowa Waltz, the first in a long string of acclaimed albums that ranged from 1986’s Songs of Innocence and Experience (with lyrics culled from the works of transcendental poet William Blake and featuring fiddler Michael Doucet) to 1993’s Bathtub Blues (with songs co-written with elementary school children) to 2000’s compelling Covenant, a collection of songs about love’s promises, both broken and kept.

Along the way he got married, got divorced, raised three daughters and recorded a boozy version of Bob Dylan’s “Pledging My Time” that alone could have made his career as a song interpreter.

His most recent album, Honey in the Lion’s Head, finds the 54-year-old Brown returning to the traditional folk songs of his youth. The album is something of a family affair: Brown’s new wife, Iris DeMent, contributes vocals, as do his daughters Pieta and Constie. A third daughter, Zoe, designed the cover art. In some instances, as with “Old Smokey,” Brown deftly reclaims old-time love songs that long ago lapsed in the realm of children’s music.

“A lot these songs are just so hearty and they’ve been around so long that they become joke songs or kids’ songs,” he says. “But I had a feeling that there would be some people who hadn’t heard some of the beautiful verses you don’t usually get to hear to some of those songs, and that’s one reason I included those.”

Some critics have dismissed this recording as a detour from the poetic originals for which he is so well-known, but Brown insists there is merit in these chestnuts.

“Good songs are kind of like films,” he concludes. “A lot of my favorites–traditional folk songs, old Dylan songs, Mark Knopfler songs–have a very visual quality; they’re so cinematic that you find yourself in a landscape. There’s a sense of roominess to a lot of these songs that I really like.”

Spoken like a true troubadour.

Greg Brown performs Saturday, May 1, at the Mystic Theatre, 21 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. Pieta Brown and Bo Ramsey open. 9pm. $23. 707.765.2121.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Arianna Huffington

American Visions

One pundit’s call for a new and improved progressive America

By Arianna Huffington

The following selection is excerpted from Arianna Huffington’s latest book, ‘Fanatics and Fools: The Game Plan for Winning Back America.’ Huffington appears at Book Passage on Friday, April 30, to read from and discuss her vision for a new America.

We are, undoubtedly, a nation divided. And a nation divided cannot stand, let alone move forward. But it can, paradoxically, as we’ve seen in the last three years, move backward.

Great social movements are not sparked by subtle shifts in policy or retooled versions of familiar proposals. Nor are they sparked by attacks alone. Ushering Bush out of the White House in November will take more than a critique of his failed policies–and more than a new and improved prescription-drug plan for senior citizens.

We need to offer an overarching moral vision for America that is the alternative to the conservative movement’s Leave-Us-Alone Coalition. My response to the Leave-Us-Alone Coalition is simple: Sorry, no can do. We are all in this boat together. And the fact that there isn’t a hole at your end of the boat doesn’t mean you are safe.

The vision of all of us in the same boat together is the founding vision of this country. Even before there was a United States of America, when John Winthrop landed in Massachusetts Bay in 1630, he stood on the deck of the Arbella and gave a speech that gave voice to what would become the central American creed: “We must bear one another’s burdens . . . we must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of other’s necessities.”

This is the heart of what this country is about. And the exact opposite of the Republican messianic vision of national salvation through ever bigger tax cuts. But let’s not fool ourselves. This call to worship at the church of tax cuts, while very destructive, has also proven incredibly alluring: it’s clear, it’s broad, and it’s accessible.

That’s why we must present a bold alternative vision that is equally clear, broad, and accessible. One that answers a larger question than simply, “Do you want to keep more of your money?”

Just after Christmas, I was having dinner at a noisy Japanese restaurant in New York with some close friends. Their 11-year-old son is passionately committed to George Bush’s reelection. Constantine engaged me in debate with an enthusiasm I could only admire.

“Arianna,” he said with the enchanting optimism of an 11-year-old, “I’m going to convince you that you should support Bush in November. Here are two questions you have to answer. The first question is: Are you for more or less taxes? The second question is: Do you want to fight the war on terrorism?”

My first thought was, hats off to George Bush. He and his team have done such a masterful job of framing the 2004 election that even an 11-year-old can be perfectly on-message. The Democrats cannot win in November if that remains the framework for the election.

We need to change the questions, not just give the correct answers. And the questions have to be about what kind of America we want to live in.

This is what I would ask Constantine–and Americans of all ages:

“Do you want to create an America where your taxes guarantee you a safe neighborhood, a good school, healthcare and a safety net if you stumble?”

“Do you want to be safe in your own country, or do you want to waste precious lives and resources on military adventurism?”

“Do you want to live in a country where our leaders respect us enough to tell us the truth?”

“Do you want to create a country where programs for the most vulnerable are not the first to be cut when times are tough?”

“Do you want to live in a country where the number of poor people is getting smaller rather than larger?”

“Do you want to create a country where hard-working Americans are put first–and ‘trickle-up’ not ‘trickle-down’ is the economic order of the day?”

“Do you want to live in a country where huge industrial companies can’t buy the right to pollute our air and water?”

“Do you want to create a country where the rules are the same for the rich as for the poor?”

There are four overarching elements to this vision of America: (1) It’s based on the values that have served as the foundation for every great social breakthrough in American history. The Emancipation Proclamation. The 19th Amendment. The New Deal. The Voting Rights Act. The Clean Air Act. The Americans with Disabilities Act. These are all milestones on our journey toward a just society, and they all represent values held dear by most Americans. Values not founded on questions of right or left, but on questions of right or wrong. These milestones were all once considered unthinkable–until society realized they were right. And inevitable.

(2) This vision responds to the real hunger in this country to be part of something larger, something better. I believe the country is so longing for this that I consider an appeal to idealism the sleeper issue of 2004. Instead of censoring, editing, mitigating and homogenizing the progressive message to appeal to the 4 percent to 6 percent of swing voters, we must let the message be bold, inspiring and appealing to the 50 percent of voters–100 million of them–who have given up on voting. Instead of slicing and dicing our message, let us appeal to the better angels of all Americans, including those who are now sitting on the other side of our House Divided.

We are all–even the very best of us–a mixture of good and evil, of self-interest and generosity. For our movement to change America, we need to appeal to what is best in people, and trust that they will respond. This trust, and the reason I am so optimistic about this vision, is because of my ultimate faith in human nature. Goodness, empathy and engagement in building community often begin in small steps. And then people begin to see themselves differently.

But remember, for years, for decades now, our leaders have pandered to our baser instincts and our empathetic muscles have atrophied. Even after 9-11, when the longing to be called to a large, collective purpose was paramount, all we were called to do was to go shopping. But the generosity, selflessness and courage that emerged on Sept. 11 are still very much part of who we are.

(3) In politics, he who controls the language defines the political debate. We need to take back from the Bush Republicans certain magical words that they have appropriated and perverted: “responsibility,” “values,” “family,” “security,” “strength” and, yes, “morality,” which the right wing has reduced to sexual morality. Look at Wal-Mart, which considers itself so moral it made a huge fuss of pulling three men’s magazines off the shelf at the same time it treats women like second-class citizens, fires workers who try to unionize and is being sued in 30 states for refusing to pay overtime. We’ve come to the point where laddie magazines are immoral but cheating your workers is not.

We have to change this. And we need to start by taking “responsibility” back from the grossly irresponsible GOP. President Bush wants the nation to believe we can carry the burden of a worldwide war on terror and the Iraqi occupation while giving the richest among us a multitrillion dollar tax cut and the drug companies a huge new prescription drug benefit without cost containment. We can’t, of course, and we need to make sure Americans realize that before they vote in November. If we win this battle, then we’ll win the battle on taxes, a word that has become a synonym for evil. Because in a society where social responsibility thrives, education, healthcare and opportunity for all are not something we get to if we can, but a moral imperative.

When we articulate this vision, we move the game to our field. Right now, we are playing on George Bush’s and Karl Rove’s home turf, and therefore, we are playing defense, especially on the question of values, and particularly family values. We need to take back family values and we need to take back the language of patriotism–wrestling the flag from the hands of the Republicans who have desecrated it by using it to advance their tribal interests.

(4) The civil rights leader John Lewis once said: “When Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated, something died in America. Something died in all of us.” If that something is to be reborn, we must first dredge up something too long forgotten in our politics: heart. We must appeal to the compassion and goodness of America, and stir the souls of the people so that once again they will believe in the possibility that our country can change–rapidly and profoundly.

“In every dark hour of our national life,” said FDR, “leadership of frankness and vigor has met with the understanding and support of the people themselves–which is essential to victory.” And now, at this crucial point in our nation’s history, it is we, the people, who need to take the lead, challenging ourselves and each other to live by the values that came to the fore in the wake of 9-11: generosity, selflessness and courage.

These, of course, are very big dreams, but anything smaller guarantees the reelection of George W. Bush.

Arianna Huffington reads from and discusses ‘Fanatics and Fools’ at Book Passage on Friday, April 30, at 1pm. 51 Tamal Vista Blvd., Corte Madera. Free. 415. 927.0960.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘The Beard of Avon’

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Trippingly on the Tongue: Richard La Rosa plays that old faker Will in ‘The Beard of Avon.’

Bard Day’s Night

SRJC tackles witty Shakespearean send-up

“I have great, thoughtlike things within my head,” pronounces a barely literate, desperately unhappy farmer named William Shakspere (sic) in the opening scene of Amy Freed’s 2001 play, The Beard of Avon. Shakspere is not alone in his highly combustible artistic aspirations. Freed, too, has great thoughtlike things in her head, and she has spilled a vast number of them into her exuberantly overstuffed play: historical revisionism, literary debate, sexual farce, puns, alliterations, iambic pentameter–you name it, it’s here.

Shakspere (Richard La Rosa) in Santa Rosa Junior College’s ambitious current production of Beard, is discontented with his country life. Forced to marry the much older Anne Hathaway (Danica Siegel) after ineptly knocking her up, the accidental family man has vague dreams of greatness, spends his time inventing spontaneous rhymes and grouses endlessly about his encroaching baldness and various hair-restoring remedies such as smearing dung on his pate. “Everyone called me shithead,” he moans. (It’s that kind of play.)

Soon thereafter, Will meets a band of traveling players and, smitten with the promise of stardom on the stage, follows them to London, where he joins the troop as a bit-part spear shaker (get it?). He is eventually introduced to Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford (the mesmerizing Cameron Stuckey), a flamboyantly open bisexual but closeted playwright with a stack of unproduced scripts who fears that he’d lose his standing in royal society should his name ever be attached to anything so low as the theater.

In short order, Shakspere is persuaded to change his name to the much classier “Shakespeare” and lend it to de Vere’s latest work, a little thing called Titus Andronicus. That gruesome tragedy–hilariously staged with lopped-off hands and a riotously severed tongue–becomes a popular hit, and while Shakespeare’s renown as a writer begins to grow, de Vere, the first in a whole string of stagestruck, script-toting royals, forces poor Will to become a professional “beard,” signing his name to everything from Romeo and Juliet to Taming of the Shrew (you’ll never guess who actually wrote that one).

Of course, with all those thoughtlike things still rambling about in his head, and with that latent skill for extemporized rhyme and poetic imagery, the newborn Shakespeare can’t resist tinkering a bit with the manuscripts he’s given, and eventually and ironically becomes the world’s first script doctor, fixing up the flaws in other people’s plays, which he then must pass off as his own while the increasingly sloppy royals take pleasure in knowing that certain insiders think each new play is Shakespeare’s in name only. My favorite line comes when Shakespeare complains that in a collaboration with de Vere on Richard III, the earl said simply, “I see . . . a hunchback. Fill it in.”

Into all of this lit-crit tomfoolery, Freed throws numerous subplots and tangential bits of business (some may feel there are too many of these), with a constant parade of cross-dressers and sonnet-reciting lords and ladies.

Santa Rosa Junior College’s energetic production (a bargain at 10 bucks a ticket) represents the first time performance rights for Beard have been granted to a college drama department. The cast is game for the challenge, with Stuckey’s de Vere the obvious standout and with spirited, gutsy performances by La Rosa as Will and Noah Luce as de Vere’s devoted lover Henry Wrothesly, but many of the supporting cast members seemed to be struggling with the Elizabethan speech (all those words and syllables), many of which were hard to make out on opening night.

One could say that, as in many of Shakespeare’s plays (assuming they were indeed Shakespeare’s plays), The Beard of Avon contains more tangents than are really necessary, though perhaps that’s Freed’s objective, to mirror the Bard’s everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach. Put simply, some will like it; some won’t. I liked it.

‘The Beard of Avon’ plays Wednesday-Sunday, April 28-30 and May 1-2. Wednesday-Saturday at 8pm. Matinees, Saturday-Sunday at 2pm. Burbank Auditorium, Santa Rosa Junior College, 1501 Mendocino Ave. $7-$10. 707.527.4342.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Banned Cinema

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Writer’s Bloc: Fred Ward and Uma Thurman co-star in ‘Henry and June.’

Cinéma Vérité

Rafael shows banned films to anyone who cares to see them

By Gretchen Giles

Considering that it was built in 1918, the Smith Rafael Film Center remains remarkably youthful, just now celebrating its fifth birthday. That’s five years, of course, under its moniker as a film center and five years of challenging and provocative programming.

In honor of its birthday, the Rafael has given itself months’ worth of parties, including an initial celebration bash, a mini-festival of San Francisco Bay Area documentaries, an IndieWIRE series highlighting independent filmmaking and a string of films picked and presented as favorites by such luminaries as George Lucas (Seven Samurai), producer Saul Zaentz (My Left Foot) and director John Korty (Jules and Jim, showing May 5). The Beatles’ funfest A Hard Day’s Night will be screened outside as a free sing-along on the building’s wall on May 2 and an in-depth look at Errol Flynn’s Robin Hood just took place.

Amid all of this bounty is Banned Cinema, a one-week series that emphatically does not concern itself with fluff.

Speaking by phone from his Mill Valley office, director of programming Richard Peterson assures with a chuckle, “It wasn’t like, ‘It’s our birthday, let’s show banned films.’ This part of it was a little coincidental. We were planning on doing it anyway.”

Featuring seven films, some of which are utterly obscure and some that enjoyed wide release, the Banned Cinema series kicks off with director Martin Scorsese’s Last Temptation of Christ (April 30 and May 2), a film that was dogged by protests from fundamentalist groups through every stage of its conception. “I thought it would be an interesting counterpoint with The Passion of the Christ, a controversy coming from a different direction,” Peterson says.

From the political forum, the Rafael screens 1953’s Salt of the Earth (May 1), featuring an appearance by associate producer Sonja Dahl Biberman. Salt was made during the McCarthy witch hunts entirely by Hollywood professionals who were blacklisted. “Planes buzzed the set during filming,” Peterson says, “so that scenes would be unusable.”

Released in 1930 by Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dali, L’Age d’Or (May 1-2) was banned in the United States until 1979. The sequel to their surrealist Un Chien Andalou, d’Or‘s 1930 Paris screening had thugs tearing the theater apart in anger at its conflation of Christ with the Marquis de Sade. Underground (May 3), filmmaker Haskell Wexler’s documentary of Weather Underground members (which he is seen making in the other documentary Weather Underground) had all of its footage seized and scrutinized by the FBI before public release.

Lawyer Frederick Wiseman’s documentary Titicut Follies (May 4) details the conditions at a Massachusetts hospital for the criminally insane. Premiering at a 1967 film festival, court injunction barred Wiseman from showing the film in public again until 1991, ostensibly due to patient privacy issues, but also because administrators sought to squelch public knowledge of hospital conditions.

Perhaps the most disturbing movie of the series is Italian filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Salo (May 6), which absolutely aims to shock the audience through its depiction of fascism as sexual deviancy. Pasolini was murdered just weeks after the film’s release.

Banned Cinema ends with Henry and June (May 7), Philip and Rose Kaufman’s sexually explicit film about the writers Henry Miller, Anais Nin and Miller’s wife, June. Prompting the 1990 creation of the NC-17 rating upon the film’s release, Kaufman hoped that a new era of truly adult films, in which adults make love like adults tend to do, had been ushered in.

Alas.

The Kaufmans will be on hand to discuss the film and the ratings issues it both raised and dropped.

“I think it’s an interesting time to discuss censorship,” Peterson says. “There is not only the recent debate about violence in the cinema, its depiction and the effect it may or may not have on viewers, but also questions of whether there should be censorship of so many things coming up in the news recently. How are we going to regulate this sort of thing?” he asks rhetorically.

“How much is to be left up to adults to decide what they do or do not want to see and how much should adults decide for others what they can or cannot see?”

Banned Cinema screens Friday, April 30, through Friday, May 7. Smith Rafael Film Center, 1118 Fourth St., San Rafael. For details, call 415.454.1222.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Alice Walker

Flighty: Walker activates bird spirits in her new book.

Soul on Ice

Alice Walker’s new novel a New Age mess

By Joy Lanzendorfer

The novelist Alice Walker has led an interesting life. When she was a baby, she raised her church a small fortune by winning beauty contests. Her brother accidentally shot out her eye with a BB gun when she was eight years old. When she had an illegal abortion, the pain of that experience brought her first book of poetry, Once. And of course, Walker won a Pulitzer Prize for her controversial 1982 novel The Color Purple, which was made into a movie by Steven Spielberg.

Twenty-two years later, now comes Walker’s newest novel, Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart (Random House; $24.95), which the author will read from at Sonoma Country Day School on Tuesday, May 4, to benefit the Sonoma County Book Fair.

Sadly, the new novel doesn’t live up to Walker’s reputation. As the New York Times said in its review, if the novel didn’t have Walker’s name attached to it, it’s hard to imagine it would have been published at all.

Walker says the book came to her during a trip to Mexico after a long creative dry spell, but it feels more rooted in her Northern California home in Mendocino–and not in a good way. Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart is a book populated with the kind of California New Age characters the state is known for, and they spend most of the book spouting New Age philosophy reminiscent of Carlos Casteneda’s books of the 1970s.

The main character, Kate Nelson, aka Kate Talkingtree, is a middle-aged, African-Indian-American writer and “to some extent a public figure,” who has been married multiple times and has dabbled in Buddhism as well as some New Age spirituality. Kate is the sort of person who says things like “The moment I stood in front of any one of his paintings . . . my bird nature became activated.”

Kate has been dreaming of dry rivers, so she departs on a spiritual and physical journey to find out what this means. She travels first down the Colorado River and later the Amazon. At the Amazon, she takes hallucino-genic drugs under the supervision of a shaman, throws up repeatedly, wears diapers and has long conversations with the Grandmother spirit, who is the plant-life embodiment of Mother Earth.

Meanwhile, her partner, Yolo–whom Kate leaves because he doesn’t also dream of dried-up rivers or spend his time “wondering, pondering, nagging the question really, What does this mean?”–goes to Hawaii and starts a spiritual journey of his own.

Like many of Walker’s books, the heroine’s journey is supposed to reflect a woman’s triumph in personal authenticity, despite gender and racial boundaries, but much of the book’s philosophy rings hollow. Kate and Yolo say that the “world will be blown to bits . . . before people of color get their fair share,” and yet they live privileged lives in which they dash off to long retreats where other people take care of their every needs.

For a book about personal connection with nature, Kate is oddly disconnected from her surroundings and body. Despite descriptions of plants and rivers, nothing in the book brings either the Grand Canyon or the Amazon to life. Kate never seems to find her spiritual journey difficult or frustrating because she is Wise. We know this because Kate has Wise thoughts such as, “She had an instinctive understanding, perhaps from birth, that people and plants were relatives.”

Kate asks Wise questions, too: “If you see a human being, really see them, how could you kill them?” She is so Wise, in fact, that Grandmother has nothing much to teach her. After a couple of intensive drug trips where Kate soaks up Grandmother’s knowledge, Grandmother is done with her. Now it is Kate’s turn to help other people on the retreat who are not as Wise as she.

All this Wisdom makes Kate a bore. Though she goes on a journey, she doesn’t change. If anything, the journey seems to confirm that she was right about everything she believed in the first place. Yolo, on the other hand, does change from a cocky, sassy black man to a mushy, spiritual character much like Kate. Unfortunately, he loses something in the process.

And that’s exactly what’s wrong with Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart. With the didactic philosophizing, the New Age haziness and the glaring oversights, the story gets lost. It’s too bad Walker didn’t draw more from her own life instead of her politically correct philosophies, because that would have been interesting.

As it is, though, the most exciting point in the book for me is when Kate goes into the Amazon for a swim after deciding “not to worry about piranhas or crocodiles, but to concentrate instead on her inner peacefulness.” For an instant, I found myself hoping that a giant crocodile would jump up and she would have to wrestle with it for dear life.

No such luck.

Alice Walker reads from ‘Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart’ on Tuesday, May 4, at Sonoma Country Day School, 4400 Day School Place, Santa Rosa. 7pm. $10; free with Copperfield’s purchase. 707.823.2618. She also appears at Book Passage on Thursday, May 6, at 7pm. 51 Tamal Vista Blvd., Corte Madera. Free. 415.927.0960.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Andrew Todhunter

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Photograph by Erin Todhunter

Mise En Plate: Andrew Todhunter learned how the kitchen worked before he ate there.

The Great French Cooking Experiment

Sea Ranch author Andrew Todhunter’s ‘A Meal Observed’ brings out the haute cuisine of the home

By Heather Irwin

L’arrivée (The Arrival)

It started with a beer.

Andrew Todhunter, an American journalist based at the Sea Ranch, wanted to meet Gilles Bajolle, a French pastry chef based in Paris. Why? It seems Todhunter, a Francophile, food enthusiast and author typically more comfortable with extreme sports, had this idea for a book about eating. A whole book about one meal.

So he called up the affable Bajolle and asked him out for a beer. A few weeks later, Todhunter, who has no formal training as chef or cook, was working in one of the world’s greatest restaurants, Taillevent, as an apprentice–an apprentice, mind you, with no real idea what he was doing and who mostly tried to stay out of the way of the chef. He describes himself as being a sort of traffic cone in the kitchen.

Somewhat of a traffic cone in the kitchen myself, I got a big idea of my own that also started with a beer. OK, not a beer, but a drink with similar disassociative properties. Cocooned in a politically correct safe haven of low-fat grilled snapper, Atkins low-carb bars and organic frozen dinners, I’ve avoided learning to make a decent béchamel for far too long. Now nestled in the bosom of my 30s, I’m ready to embrace my inner Julia Child and welcome the stench and ooze of a ripe Camembert into my kitchen.

Arming myself with a $100, a yellowing Time-Life copy of Classic French Cooking, my Food Lover’s Companion (to translate), a few recipes from Epicurious.com and a copy of Todhunter’s book A Meal Observed (Alfred A. Knopf; $23), I’m ready to embark on my own adventures in classical French cooking. Frankly, I’m frightened and need another drink.

L’aperitif (A Drink)

Though he doesn’t know it, Todhunter is the inspiration for my misguided attempt at cooking á la Française. In 1999 he spent four hours eating the most exquisite dinner of his life at what is arguably one of the best restaurants in the world. The resulting book recounts each torturous decision on what to order, the wonders and disappointments of the meal itself and pithy vignettes of his three-month apprenticeship at Taillevent. Woven throughout are memories of food and eating recalled from a lifetime of meals.

Lacking a private jet and the 600 bucks to experience Taillevent for myself, I attempt the next best thing: to create a meal that is in some small way Tailleventesque. I want to see, smell and taste for myself what Todhunter tasted. I want to try to recapture the feeling of this magical French meal. I want to know just how stinky his Pont l’Eveque cheese really was.

This cooking attempt, of course, is utterly ridiculous on multiple levels, the least of which is my pathetic inability to translate the difference between pâte à choux and ecrevisses à la nage. The most significant failure may be the fact that I am not, in fact, a chef and my main audience will be my seven-year-old son and elderly grandmother. Undeterred, I figure I’m ambitious if nothing else. I need another drink.

La Carte (The Menu)

Todhunter calls my cell phone the morning after my Great French Cooking Experiment. After eight hours in the kitchen and one at the table, I’m still mentally suspended in a buttery food coma. The locker-room quality of a Pierre Robert cheese burns my nostrils as I spread a hunk on the last crumbs of bread, my eyes watering at the smell–a petit hair of the dog.

Through my cheesy, buttery haze, I begin to recount the meal. Ooohing and ahhhing in all the right places, Todhunter is a willing and enthusiastic audience. I describe grocery baskets full of cheese, butter, cream, meat and various leeks and onions. I recall the puffy Gruyère gougères for the amuse-bouche (an appetizer Todhunter shared with his wife at Taillevent) and my hors d’oeuvre of asparagus soup with caviar, avocado and crab timbales (from a Fleur de Lys recipe). My plat (or what we call the entrée) was a tangy prune coq au vin followed by a cheese course and the pièce de résistance, a chocolate marquise for dessert (which Todhunter also ate at Taillevent).

We share disappointment over not finding pistachio paste here in the North Bay and the eternal search for great cheese. In cooking this elaborate meal at home, I’m hoping to somehow equate his experience and mine, tying the two together. In the retelling, we are two chowhounds salivating not over the bone, but the savory marrow within.

And my cooking wasn’t too shabby, either. At least that’s what my grandma said.

La Pause (Catching Our Gastronomic Breath)

As he recounts in A Meal Observed, Todhunter grew up not in a family of enthusiastic eaters, but quite the opposite. His mother made the cardinal sin of serving small portions and generally found eating to be an annoyance rather than a cause for celebration. Not until later in life, pausing to reflect on certain happy moments in his gustatory experiences (a teenaged girl making him a deli sandwich) and having his first true French dining experience, did his eyes open to the possibilities. He suddenly became a “foodie,” yet, not a foodie.

Todhunter is leery of the ubiquitous term used by many to describe their nearly insane passion for all things edible. Certainly, food is manna for him; food is life, love and comfort–a subject of great introspection. But the term “foodie” can come off as a little, well, irritating.

“I have a lot of friends who are foodies,” he says, disdainfully. I know the type: thistle-and-dandelion-greens-in-their-teeth purists who won’t shut up about their last meal with Mr. Keller.

But anyone who writes 228 pages about a single meal? Sorry, Andrew. Like it or not, you’re a foodie.

Le Plat (The Main Course)

What lifts the meal from plate to imagination in A Meal Observed are the characters of the kitchen: the effusive Bajolle; the prickly, exacting chef Philippe Legendre; the egotistical and much-disliked restaurant owner Jean-Claude Vrinat. Even minor characters, like the lifelong dishwasher, the coat-check girl and the American pastry intern, have a story to tell. Each of them somehow contributes to the final dining experience, either as a part of the clocklike service or behind the scenes in the kitchen.

Unlike many American kitchens, Legendre’s is one of repetition, precision, perfection. There are no celebrity cooks or variations from the menu. There is little creativity, though the meal is vastly creative and spectacular in its own calculated way. The meal is a group effort, from the garde manger to the grill station, delivered exactly as it was yesterday, the day before and two months ago.

The tension between kitchen and management is palpable and it comes as little shock that soon after Todhunter’s apprenticeship, Legendre, Bajolle and much of the kitchen staff exited en masse.

Unfazed, the restaurant has kept its three-star status. The meal must go on.

Le Fromage (The Cheese)

What A Meal Observed ironically lacks are descriptions of the food itself. For someone who is passionately waiting for that French-food kiss–the soulful, almost sexual recitation of a particular dish’s textures, flavors and mouth feel–Todhunter’s descriptions are remarkably flaccid. He makes up for the deficiency by delivering lengthy recitations on the history of cheese, sea salts, wine regions and the process that goes into Bajolle’s pastry creations. The research and background make for interesting “foodie” reading, despite sometimes taking away from the narrative of the story.

Le Départ (The Departure)

At the end of it all, however, A Meal Observed isn’t just about food, but about a sense of place, a moment captured that can never be recaptured or replayed. It is about the transient nature of food, art and, ultimately, us.

Bajolle says that he is always willing to give out his recipes, but that no matter where they are made, they will never be the same as those he makes in the restaurant. He is right. I can follow his recipe exactly, but my butter is ultimately American, my chocolate American, my cream and eggs, also American. They lack the terrior–the specific flavor of a region or place–that make that experience so uniquely there.

The magic of a meal, be it at Taillevent or at home, is ethereal, a vapor too soon vanished into memory. At least that’s what I tell myself as I drink the last sip of wine left in my glass, warm, contented and full.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Citizen Public Appearances

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Photograph by R.V. Scheide

Dignity of Man: Seventy-year-old Ken Hart has made an art of citizen public appearances at city council meetings.

Stand and Deliver

The art of the citizen public appearance

By R. V. Scheide

On the second Tuesday in April, Ken Hart stood quietly before the lectern in the Santa Rosa City Council chambers, a baseball, a tennis ball, a golf ball, a ball of yarn and a folded American flag placed neatly in front of him, waiting patiently as the councilmembers took their seats. Former mayor and current councilmember Mike Martini shook Hart’s hand as he passed by the lectern. Mayor Sharon Wright blew him a kiss as the meeting was called to order.

“I bring these with me each time I get up here,” Hart began, indicating the objects before him, then holding up the ball of yarn. “This is the last one, from Star Man.”

Star Man is one of several alter egos Hart uses when speaking before the council. Sometimes he’s Dignity of Man. Sometimes he’s just plain old Ken Hart, a 70-year-old who claims he’s lived on the streets for the past 25 years. But homelessness has not stopped Hart from attending city council meetings–no matter what city he finds himself in–and using the time councils set aside for public comment to voice whatever’s rattling inside his head.

On this particular day, Hart was concerned with the recent news that a Native American tribe had purchased land for a proposed casino in Ukiah. Never mind that the issue might have been better taken up with the Ukiah City Council. Hart was in Santa Rosa, and he was determined to let someone know how he felt about the issue.

“A couple of months ago, I spoke about my dislike of building a gambling casino in the Alexander Valley,” he said. “The thing that bothers me [about the proposed casino in Ukiah] is that the casino is right across from the high school.” It was only a matter of time before the North Bay would be filled with gambling houses like in Vegas and Reno, he insisted. “I’m against it, and I hope you are too,” Hart told the councilmembers. “But money, God bless the devil, you’ve got to give him his due.”

It would be easy to dismiss Hart as being mentally unstable. For at least the past 15 years, he’s been regularly showing up at Santa Rosa City Council meetings and making such pronouncements. More often than not, he tends to speak about recent events that have directly affected him, his health (which appears to be robust) and his spiritual well-being. Hart himself admits that his behavior is unusual. “You got to be crazy to do what I’m doing,” he said quite lucidly after the meeting. “But it’s a calling.”

Hart isn’t the only person in Sonoma County who’s heard the call. There’s a handful of people who’ve been showing up at city council for years to voice their opinions, regardless of whether their opinions pertain to council business.

Santa Rosa resident Steven Lightfoot’s calling may be the most bizarre. From the moment John Lennon was killed by deranged gunman Mark Chapman on Dec. 8, 1980, Lightfoot has suspected a cover-up. On his website (www.lennonmurdertruth.com), he presents evidence that has convinced him Lennon was assassinated by horror writer Stephen King, with assistance from the Reagan administration and other government officials. Although Hart hadn’t seen Lightfoot at a council meeting for several weeks, Lightfoot has frequently shown up over the years to expound on his theory, which no one has apparently taken very seriously.

Frequent council-goer John Jenkel is slightly more grounded than Lightfoot. Jenkel gained much notoriety last year for the large anti-Bush protest signs he erected at his ranch outside Sebastopol (“Sign Language,” July 31, 2003). The architect of a byzantine conspiracy theory that links former San Francisco mayor Willie Brown, Enron CEO Ken Lay and President George W. Bush to the 9-11 terrorist attacks, Jenkel began attending San Francisco City Council and Port Authority meetings back in 1996 after losing his permit to operate a horse carriage franchise in the city. He blamed the loss on Brown and has been on the former mayor’s case ever since.

To this day, Jenkel and his paid volunteers turn up in city council meetings across the county, urging councilmembers to support House Joint Resolution 20, a little-known bill that would repeal President Bush’s first-strike doctrine. Jenkel claims that 18,000 people have signed his petition so far, including Democratic presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich. So far, no city councilmembers have signed on, but Jenkel remains optimistic. “There won’t be anything left of the Republican Party when I’m done,” he says in a telephone interview. “A Republican won’t be able to run for dogcatcher.”

Of all the people who show up at city council meetings to voice their opinions, Santa Rosa resident Jack Osborne, 81, most closely fits the definition of political gadfly.

“I’ve gone every week for about 20 years,” says Osborne, a former state appraiser who tends to stay on-topic more than his cohorts. “When I retired from the state, we always used to complain about what the city council did, so I decided to go down and see what they do.”

Osborne claims he’s brought the Santa Rosa City Council “up to speed on the Brown Act, because they didn’t know what it was.” The Brown Act governs when city officials must hold open meetings. Osborne and friend Jeff Johnson delight in picking through the minutia of such laws and finding apparent discrepancies, which they then use to torment local officials.

“Only two people in Santa Rosa care about these issues, me and Jeff Johnson,” Osborne says. “I’m kind of an iconoclast. I don’t believe in a lot of the things that other people believe in. It keeps me alert.”

While Hart, Jenkel and Osborne have become acquainted after years of attending city council meetings, no lasting friendships appear to have developed.

“I’ve sat right along side him [Hart] for 15 years, but I don’t know him,” Osborne says. “He recently told me he finally got his veterans compensation, so that’s good.”

“Unfortunately, Ken wastes the time of a lot of people because he talks about things that aren’t pertinent to today’s issues,” Jenkel says. He’s particularly miffed that neither Hart nor Osborne will sign his petition. “They’re both Christians!”

“I get along with him, but we’re opposites,” Hart says of Jenkel. “I was never a troublemaker. He wants to tear the house down.”

If any one of them has won over the Santa Rosa City Council, it’s Hart. “He comes in early, greets everybody in the front office, grabs a piece of candy and fills out his registration card,” says city clerk Sue Stoneman. Several years ago, she said Hart used to perform his three-minute speech–the time allotted for public appearances– to guitar accompaniment provided by a friend. “For me, he’s one of the highlights of every council meeting. I always enjoy whatever he has to say.”

When he’s not pontificating at city council meetings, Hart said he combs the streets, helping alcoholics and drug addicts. After the meeting, he carefully placed the baseball, the tennis ball, the golf ball, the ball of yarn and the folded American flag in a black plastic garbage bag he slung over his shoulder. Then he prepared to look for a place to sleep that night.

“God takes care of me,” he said. “I have a good heart. I’m doing what I feel is right inside.”

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘UnNaturally’

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Fungus Among Us: Michelle Segre’s ‘Untitled.’

Natural Fool

Artists play God in new COPIA exhibit

By Gretchen Giles

Everyone loves nature–except when it’s inconvenient. Tornadoes are generally considered so, as are ants, mice, termites, window-bursting ivy vines, birds that fly into aircraft propellers, flies, mold and most bacterias. Angry wild animals, poison oak, stinging nettles, stinging bees and spitting beetles also give us pause.

That which we admire about nature we tend to emulate, placing slick sprays of silk flowers in living rooms and having plastic pine trees preside over holiday bowers. Stressed-out New Age audiophiles listen to natural sounds to help reconnect themselves with Gaia, letting the measured beat of ocean waves or the steady shimmer of rainfall lull them into relaxation.

At a new traveling exhibition titled “UnNaturally,” running April 30-Aug. 16 at the COPIA center, artist Iñigo Manglano-Ovalle also produces such soothing sounds for weary museum-goers. Mimicking the popular ambient soundtracks of the irony-starved, Manglano-Ovalle uses a gunshot, recorded accidentally when a shooting occurred near his Chicago apartment, pixilates the tremor and manipulates the deathly sonics so that they sound like the full comforting roll of a distant thunderstorm.

Such intelligent manipulation is at the centerpiece of “UnNaturally.” Conceived and amassed by independent curator Mary-Kay Lombino, the curator of exhibitions at California State University Long Beach, “UnNaturally” consists of 55 works by 15 different artists, all of which examine the way humans strive to co-opt, control and usurp nature, with varying results. Observing the film industry’s perfection of fakery and our society’s bent towards Disney-like tamings of the natural world, “UnNaturally” presents new and improved projections of nature, hoping to prompt the viewer to question the result.

“Why perfect what’s already perfect?” Lombino rhetorically asks, speaking by phone from her university office. “There is a way to perfect nature even though it’s so beautiful and brings us so much joy. But, we have a love/hate relationship with it. We love nature, but we build structures around ourselves to keep our selves safe from it. We want it packaged and almost sanitized and would like to be able to discard it when it’s inconvenient. We’d actually,” her voice almost lowers to a whisper, “prefer a new and improved nature that doesn’t have any unpredictability.”

Lombino’s lowered tones are appropriate, because that’s a shocking statement to make, one that is subscribed to the minute an air conditioner is turned on or a raindrop is cursed.

Lombino very self-consciously chooses not to include painting and drawing as media in the exhibit, citing nature’s ancient history in inspiring representations of itself onto paper and canvas as being “too enormous.” Rather than representations, the works collected in “UnNaturally” emerge as brand-new artifacts.

In Michelle Segre’s mushroom sculpture Untitled, which stands over 5 feet tall and takes on mythic proportions with its overgrown size, each natural feature of a mushroom has been faithfully overblown up. Similarly, sculptor Roxy Paine uses steel, epoxy and plastic to minutely emulate fungus and other botanicals, placing them exactly in appropriate habitats or containers. Creepy yet beautiful, these manmade replicas intend to challenge the viewer to consider the surrogate role that humans have assigned the natural world.

In considering the triumph of human ownership, photographer Marc Quinn has encased his subjects for eternity. For his Garden series of prints, Quinn immersed exotic tropical plants in an aquarium filled with silicone. The plants remain looking wildly vibrant and alive but actually couldn’t be more suffocated and entombed.

Writing in the catalogue accompanying the exhibit, Lombino notes, “The works in the exhibition comprise a many-voiced commentary on the complex issue of real versus fake and an inquiry into the ways in which popular culture has become a major criterion in comparing the two.”

By phone she assures that “UnNaturally” has wider appeal than such scholarly language might suppose. “The exhibit has layers of appreciation: you can just walk in and look at it–because it’s really quite beautiful–or you can really get into the nitty-gritty.”

‘UnNaturally’ shows April 30-Aug. 16 at COPIA, 500 First St., Napa. A reception for members is slated for Friday, April 30, 6-8pm. Admission free with entrance fee. 707.259.1600.

From the April 28-May 4, 2004 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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