North Bay Music Scene

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Local Motion

North Bay music scene falls into place

By Greg Cahill

The reigning king and queen of North Bay bohemia–singer and songwriter Tom Waits and his wife and longtime collaborator Kathleen Brennan–received a rave review last week in the New York Times for their score to a new adaptation of Georg Büchner’s eccentric 19th-century play Woyzeck, running through Nov. 19 at the Harvey Theater of the Brooklyn Academy of Music. The play, which isn’t the first time Waits has teamed up with director and designer Robert Wilson, is a tale of jealous love cloaked in dark humor and German expressionism.

Earlier this year, Waits released songs from the play under the title Blood Money (originally titled Red Drum, which as every good Stephen King fan knows is “murder” spelled backwards), as one of a pair of CD releases (the other was Alice)–his first since 1999’s breakthrough recording Mule Variations. Blood Money‘s songs recount the plight of the fictional Woyzeck, a poor soldier driven mad by medical experiments and an unfaithful wife. The songs are best described as Tin Pan Alley meets the Weimar Republic, a dense, textured, rhythmic work replete with tarantellas, lullabies, and waltzes.

No word on when Woyzeck will be staged on the left coast or what those “crusty romantics,” as the New York Times has dubbed Waits and Brennan, will be up to next.

Star Power

The Blue Star Music Camp on the shores of Lake Michigan provides a week-long retreat for children ages nine to 18–including at-risk teens–to study music, songwriting, voice, drama, and dance. Longtime Marin County rocker Jimmy Dillon was so impressed by the program that he started a North Bay version with sessions in San Anselmo and Petaluma. And Dillon’s high-powered friends were so impressed with the concept that they agreed to help out.

As a result, the upcoming Blue Star Music Camp West auction and fundraiser will feature autographed Telecaster guitars donated by Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones and bluesman Robert Cray. “To say Blue Star Music Camp West is simply an avenue for youth to learn how to play an instrument is a gross understatement,” says Dillon, who has toured with the likes of Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen. “Blue Star Music Camp West offers young people an environment to explore self-expression, develop musical skills, and gain confidence through setting and achieving goals. As thrilling as it is to watch these young people enjoy their introduction to the arts, the real thrill is the knowledge of the intangibles the students will acquire.

“Confidence, increased self-esteem, empowerment, teamwork, pride, and a new form of personal expression are just some of what the students take away from their experience at Blue Star Music Camp West.”

Lucky bidders are going to take away a couple of star-powered Teles and a few tales to tell. The Blue Star Music Camp West fundraiser will be held Sunday, Nov. 16, at 8pm at Sweetwater Saloon, 153 Throckmorton Ave., Mill Valley. Tickets are $15. Call 415.388.2820 for details.

Hot Stuff

The cool autumn nights usually signal a chilling on the North Bay music scene. Not this year. Rather, the action around the region last weekend and in coming weeks seems to spell an auspicious start for the season.

On Friday, Joan Osborne served up a sultry show comprised largely of soul covers from her latest CD, How Sweet It Is, and with Ivan Neville of the New Orleans R&B dynasty on keyboards, it was sweet indeed. On Saturday, Eyes Adrift and Mike Watt rocked the house at New George’s (see story, page 33).

And there’s more to come. A second show has been added Nov. 15 for a headbanger’s ball featuring Y&T and Montrose at the Mystic Theatre. Post-punk rockabilly greats the Blasters, with the original lineup intact, return to that Petaluma venue on Nov. 30. Felix & Louie’s in Healdsburg hosts a Who’s Who of North Bay Jazz on Nov. 20 as the Khalil Shaheed Quartet lead an all-star jam marking the restaurant’s second anniversary of jazz concerts.

Meanwhile, look for British pub-rocker Dave Edmunds to shake things up at Sweetwater on Nov. 17, while Jazz is Dead–with fusion drummer Billy Cobham, Kenny Gradney (Little Feat) on bass, T. Lavitz (Wide Spread Panic, Dixie Dregs) on keyboards, Jeff Pevar (David Crosby, Phil Lesh & Friends) on guitar–should raise the roof of the tiny nightspot on Nov. 21 with their explorations of the music of the Grateful Dead.

From the November 7-13, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Keith Bradsher

Big and Bad

‘High and Mighty’ chronicles the rise and rise of SUVs

By Patrick Sullivan

Meteors, a cold snap, maybe a nasty virus–scientists can’t agree on what ended the first reign of the dinosaurs. But today they’re back in business, as anyone driving down any American highway knows. Is that a T. rex thundering along in the carpool lane? Nope, it’s a 7,700-pound, 19-foot-long Ford Excursion. Is that a brontosaurus backing ponderously out of that Costco parking space? Hardly anything so primitive: it’s the massive Cadillac Escalade.

Yes, sports utility vehicles–from the agile but ferocious Jeep Wrangler to the crushingly powerful GMC Yukon–dominate the food chain in a way wistful old allosaurus could only dream of.

But this neo-Cretaceous era is not without controversy. To admirers, SUVs are comfort and safety on wheels, mobile fortresses in a dangerous world. Keith Bradsher has a different view. As Detroit bureau chief for the New York Times, Bradsher witnessed firsthand the rise of the SUV, and he is not a fan. In a new book, High and Mighty (Public Affairs; $28), Bradsher explores the dark side of what he calls “the world’s most dangerous vehicle.”

It’s a complicated story, but Bradsher lays it out with vivid clarity. Once upon a time, rising gas prices and improving technology were convincing Americans to drive more fuel-efficient cars. But an array of factors, ranging from a new gas glut to short-sighted decisions by federal regulators to the self-centered psychology of middle-aged vehicle buyers, offered automakers an opportunity they couldn’t refuse.

In the end, Bradsher says, it comes down to this: “The manufacturers’ market researchers have decided that millions of baby boomers want an adventurous image and care almost nothing about putting others at risk to achieve it, so they have told auto engineers to design vehicles accordingly.”

We’ve grown accustomed to scare stories about consumer products. But the case Bradsher makes against the SUV may give pause to even the most cynical. The problems stem from one basic fact: because SUVs are classified as light trucks, they are not subject to the same safety, fuel-efficiency, or emissions standards as cars.

That results in vehicles like the Ford Explorer, which gets 14 miles to the gallon in the city, even as the average new vehicle in Japan gets more than twice that. Then there’s the Chevy Suburban, with extra-heavy-duty suspension, which is allowed to emit 7.5 times the air pollution of a car.

In a chapter titled “Kill Rates,” Bradsher explains what SUVs do to thousands of drivers of smaller vehicles–people like Diana de Veer, whose Saab was demolished by a Range Rover in a collision that left her with permanent brain damage. As Bradsher explains, “Men and women like Diana de Veer are being needlessly maimed and killed every day by stiff, high-riding SUVs that slide over cars’ bumpers and sturdy door sills, slamming into the passenger compartments.”

The kicker–call it the funny part, if you have a sick sense of humor–is that SUVs don’t really provide extra safety to their own occupants. True, most models offer greater protection in collisions with other vehicles. But their lethal rollover rates more than compensate.

Can anything be done to rein in these beasts? Bradsher doesn’t offer much hope. After all, as he carefully explains, SUVs have been incredibly profitable for powerful political constituencies like automakers and their unionized workers. Will they give up their cash dinosaur? As Charlton Heston would say: “From my cold, dead hands.”

And that pretty much leaves car drivers to grit their teeth and maybe pray for another meteor.

From the November 7-13, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Fall Cuisine

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Artful Eating

Art pros chew the fat on fall foods

By Gretchen Giles

While a recent New York Times style section article breathlessly ran on about how laid-off young Manhattan investment bankers are turning down scarcely available jobs so that they can instead remain free to party away their severance checks on Monday nights, arts professionals generally spend more time around the kitchen table than the restaurant cloth. Utilizing the kind of supply-side economics taught at the Wharton School, visual and performing artists understand one simple truth: It’s cheaper to eat at home. And given their proclivity for handiwork and style, it’s often better food.

Inspired by that autumnal change in the weather that demands a hot, buttery swoon of fall comfort foods, we once again abuse the telephone system by calling up art makers and asking them what’s for dinner this season.

Cazadero sculptor Pamela Holmes doesn’t quite have as many Monday night restaurant options as a New York MBA, living–as she and her family do–way up in the middle of a beautiful nowhere.

A former caterer, Holmes in fact admits that she’s “cooked [herself] out of cooking.” But even she softens toward the terrible demands of a daily dinner this time of year, preparing a baked dish that she used to favor as a caterer. “Take a winter squash,” she instructs, “and chop it up into chunks and steam it. Sauté chopped onions and garlic with lots and lots of herbs–oregano and thyme and parsley and any other nice herb you’ve got–and then place the squash in a baking pan and cover it with the herbs and onions and cook at 350 degrees for about an hour.”

As for what she will be cooking that night (an unfortunate question aimed at all of our kind respondents), she sighs. “Halibut. Halibut is a fall season fish. It’s the only time they fish for it around here in Bodega Bay.”

Just fish, nothing else?

“Basmati rice,” she laughs gamely, compiling her dinner menu on demand at 10am, “and sweet potatoes and something green–OK, a spinach salad.”

This time of the year, Sebastopol painter William O’Keeffe favors the beef and Guinness stew of his Irish homeland. “Flour beef chunks and sauté them lightly to seal them,” he advises. “Chop up lots of onions and caramelize those in butter with fines herbes. Place the whole lot in a nice heavy pot, add a can of draft Guinness–never use Guinness stout in a bottle, it’s too bitter. I generally use a can and a half and then drink the rest. Bring the whole lot to a boil, let it simmer until the meat is tender. Then add a teaspoon of dry English mustard like Coleman’s and a pinch of sugar to taste. Let it simmer. Then prepare a massive pan of mashed potatoes with no cream; they have to be dry, because the liquid from the stew is what softens them, and serve over the potatoes.”

Can there be, he is meekly asked, a vegetable present?

“No veg,” he retorts, “you never have veg with it.”

And for that day’s dinner table? “A cauliflower cheese in individual pots,” he says.

Again, the notion of something green that once grew from the ground is mildly introduced. “Can you have a veg?” he snorts with rhetoric disdain. “No, you can’t. Fresh bread–a ciabbata. And,” he relents, “there can be a salad.” Professional integrity dictates that this reporter indeed report that she her lonesome self will be making (and eating) the salad, for she shares the dinner table with Mr. O’Keeffe.

West County printmaker Micah Schwaberow may do well to take an insurance policy out on O’Keeffe, as he’s bound to outlive him. The approaching chill reminds Schwaberow of the traditional Oden stew that he enjoyed while living for a year in Japan. “Take a big pot of water, start it boiling, and put some mirin in it–that’s a cheap cooking sake,” he recites. “Chop some onions, add some carrots for color, and some kabocha–it’s a sweet orange squash with a thin green skin. If you don’t have that, sweet potatoes are good. The kabocha should be cooked in advance and added at the end–if you throw them in the pot, which I do because I’m lazy, they lose their shape. Chop up some potatoes and some firm tofu, add some shitake mushrooms because they’re good for you, some daikon, and a bunch of wakame, it’s a kind of seaweed.

“Boil it for a while,” Schwaberow continues. “Scoop [some of the broth out] into a measuring cup and throw in some big spoonfuls of red miso. Stir it all around in the measuring cup and then stir it back in, otherwise the miso would lump all up in the big pot. Taste it. What you want is for the miso to give it a hearty flavor without being too salty. Serve with brown rice and a cucumber salad so that you have a little crunch. It will make everyone be healthy for the winter.”

Sounds wonderful. And what’s on for his evening meal? “We have a friend from Fiji staying with us,” he says, “and he’s promised to make us a Fijian dal.”

Like an Indian dal but from Fiji? “Like an Indian dal but from Fiji,” he repeats reasonably, as if it were the most ordinary dinner served in the States.

Professional storyteller Georgia Churchill also cooks in the realm of the exotic. “I love to know what people eat from wherever I tell stories because food is important to me, and because it helps people get deeper into the tales, so I often weave in the flavors of foods when I tell stories.”

Churchill then tells this story, a recipe from the Eastern European country of Georgia: “Take chunks of boneless lamb and brown them with a whole bunch of chopped onions, and then sprinkle it with cinnamon and put in just a little bit of broth and let it cook over low heat until tender. Then,” she says, pausing for effect, “squeeze half a lemon over it. Meanwhile, in a side pan, brown slices of apple with butter. You join them all together and eat with rice.

“The Georgian people are very fussy with their rice and how it’s cooked,” she continues, noting that they only cook the rice halfway and then place it over raw pasta dough in a pan. “Cover it and cook until [the rice and pasta dough are] done over a low heat. The noodle dough becomes like a bread that you eat on the side.”

This description sends up peals of near-erotic laughter as Churchill and the reporter contemplate such carbohydrate loveliness.

Composure regained, Churchill is asked about the more immediate meal. “I’m going to cook sand dabs tonight,” she confides. “They have such a sweet delicate flavor. I might make sweet potato French fries in the oven. I just got fresh pimientos that I might roast and peel, with a little olive oil and those delicious niçoise olives and a little lettuce. It’s so good!”

Sonoma County Repertory Theatre director Jim dePriest confirms that food is his “second passion.” He’s already dusted off his slow cooker for the season and has made big pots of soup. “I haven’t purchased any winter squash yet,” he says, “but I love to bake it with a little brown sugar and a little butter, and that will hold me for a whole dinner. I try to cook at home as often as I can, depending on where I am in a production.”

With Wait until Dark now playing at his Main Street Theatre, dePriest admits that his “diet these last few days [has been] pretty bad.” But he’ll be preparing short ribs with herbs for dinner. “I don’t do anything magical with them,” he assures. “I cook them forever on top of the stove, and I just load it down with vegetables because we’re so lucky with the abundance here.”

Now thoroughly ravenous, the questioning for Natasha Boas, the executive director of the Sonoma County Museum, goes straight to dinner. “Lamb chops seasoned with lavender salt,” she replies. “Various purées. I love to roast beets and eat those with goat cheese and a walnut salad.”

Yes, please. And for autumn cooking overall?

“I’m hopelessly French when it comes to po au feu,” Boas, who was raised between the United States and France, says. “And I always have a soup on the stove in the fall–a lentil soup or a carrot soup. I love pears and aged bleu cheeses. Boeuf aux carrottes. You sauté the carrots in olive oil,” she begins to explain and then stops. “OK, I’ll tell you: my mother makes it for me and brings it over.”

Confession accepted. What else?

“I do lots of puréed root vegetables seasoned with fresh herbs and lots of butter. Lots of chestnuts roasted in the oven and pumpkin seeds for snacking. I used to, when I had more time, make bread, but that’s not in my life right now. And of course, lots of good red wine is always flowing here.”

Sounding uncharacteristically girlish, Boas finally proclaims, “It’s fun to eat in the winter time!”

It’s certainly fun to talk about.

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Tom Sgouros

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She, Robot

Performance artist Tom Sgouros ponders the nature of a robot’s brain and lets the kitchen sink do the talking

By Sara Bir

What does a robot think about being turned off for days at a time or the drudgery of doing the dishes? Better yet, does a robot think at all? What is its version of consciousness?

Performance artist Tom Sgouros figured the best way to get to the bottom of such ponderous issues was to ask a robot. So he built one, named her Judy, and wrote Judy, or What Is It Like to Be a Robot?, a semisolo show that explores free will, consciousness, and the interaction between the maker and the made with insight, charm, and a few magic tricks.

Sgouros, whose home base is in Providence, R.I., has taken Judy on the road for a tour of California universities, making a Nov. 1 appearance at Sonoma State University.

Much of Sgouros’ creative output–he’s done six other one-man shows–has dealt with such issues. “This is not actually the first show of its sort that I’ve done,” he says, “but it’s the first one that’s used a robot. . . . Something about the robot makes it sort of gimmicky, and that makes it easy to tour it. People are curious, or maybe it makes it easy to understand what’s going on.”

Sgouros’ interest in the philosophical consequences of artificial intelligence came far before dabbling in the technical aspects of robotics. “I wrote a show that required a robot, and you can’t buy them, so I had to build one,” he says. “It really went the other way around–the requirement drove the tinkering. You’ll see that I’m not much of a tinkerer, either. It works, but it’s pretty rough.”

Judy eventually emerged from Sgouros’ basement, an oddly adorable appendage composed of old computers, a couple of bicycles, a copy machine, and, for good measure, a kitchen sink. Judy has no arms, but she does have a jaw, which she is inclined to use without reservation, questioning Sgouros’ seemingly logical statements. For a crude skeleton of copier parts, Judy has a lot of personality and self-awareness. It’s not so much a show about a robot, but rather a fanciful, quasi monologue about the implications of being a robot.

“You can’t say that one day I woke up and said, ‘I’d like to make a show about cognitive psychology.’ It didn’t really work like that,” Sgouros says. “I remember thinking that it would be interesting to have a discussion with a computer. When I talk to you, I can assume there’s a vast amount of things we can share. You know what it’s like to be angry, you know what it’s like to be hungry, you know what it’s like to be embarrassed by a bad haircut. But maybe if we had an intelligent machine, we still wouldn’t be able to talk to it. Where would be the disconnects?”

The resulting show amounts to a human-and-robot “Who’s on First?” scenario. Says Sgouros, “At one point in the show I say I have a chess set where the black pieces are red, and Judy goes, ‘What?! What do you mean the black pieces are red–they’re red!’ Then we start talking about all the other things that are black that aren’t really black: black eyes, black clouds, the Black Sea. . . . So the computer has to reassess it’s conception of what black means–without a lot of helpful guidance from me, I admit.”

Sgouros, through Judy, makes philosophy accessible with a very dry wit. Seemingly endless philosophical loopholes dealing with consciousness are much easier pills to swallow once a roughly hewn robot who belts out renditions of “John Henry” transforms them to fruity Flintstones chewable vitamins.

Tom Sgouros will perform with Judy the Robot at the Sonoma State Cooperage on Friday, Nov. 1 at 9pm. Sonoma State University, 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. $5 general; free for SSU students with ID. 707.664.2382.

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Java Jive

Eighth Annual Java Jive

‘Bohemian’ writing contest displays the wonders of modern fiction

Amazing things happen when you put a call out for fiction submissions. With no theme, only a word count to hang their hat on, writers have free reign. And they take it. A little soft-core erotica, a few redemption stories, strange recurrences of priests and prisoners–we got a bit of everything. Here is the cream of that crop, according to our esteemed judges–Jonah Raskin, head of the communications department at Sonoma State; Katy Dang, organizer of the Sonoma County Book Fair, and Jordan Rosenfeld, organizer of the LiveWire Literary Salon at Zebulon’s. Many thank yous are due to them for putting in precious time to read the entries, as well as to Jane Love at Copperfield’s Books for all of her help.

Come and see our five notables read their work at a free event at A’Roma Roasters, 95 Fifth St. in Santa Rosa on Nov. 7, 6-8pm. Support the arts.

Java Jive Winners:

Chuck Kensler Kevin Peters Timothy R. Yates

Honorable Mention:Gary Carter Melissa Pitchford

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Kevin Peters

By Kevin Peters

There are colored light bulbs, now, in all the fixtures–blue, yellow, and red–to change the atmosphere, but over along the wall where the bar is you can still see where the ice-cream counter used to be, and a break in the carpeting betrays where the kitchen was. Two small pool tables cover the change, but it’s there if you know to look.

Jerry takes it all in just that fast, oblivious to the country band blasting from the corner until the lap steel makes a particularly annoying run, and he is shoved forward into the present. It’s a redneck bar. A pretty, young cocktail waitress with blonde hair and freckles smiles by, and he imagines her milking the cows and the dozen other chores she did before coming down here to work this evening.

He takes a deep breath remembering the smell of manure as it violated the air conditioning of his rental car. Turning to walk out, he is suddenly accosted by a herd of pointed boots coming through the door that lend substance to the memory of the intrusive aroma. Jerry retreats to the bar. The band starts again, and couples shuffle to the floor, then shuffle back and forth redistributing the sawdust. Now there is a bartender leaning across the ice-cream counter. His shirt has mother-of-pearl snaps.

“Scotch.” And then upon seeing the hesitation, “Beer.”

This produces recognition and presently a urine-colored substance.

Foam runs down the sides of the glass to soak the paper napkin. Jerry pays but does not drink, and as the bartender retreats to the far end of the bar to listen to the freckled cocktail waitress yell her order, Jerry measures the distance to the door, checks for pointed boots, and walks out.

Later, in the hotel room, waiting for Tom’s call, he stares at the yellow and orange carpeting, imagining the rows of small tufts that run from the bed to the wall are brown dirt freshly turned. He looks at his hands half expecting to see that dirt beneath his nails, but they are trim and clean. The red light on the phone flashes just before the ring, and Jerry picks it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

“All right. It’s settled. I’ll meet once more with the lawyer in the morning, and that’ll be it.”

“Good.” Tom pauses, then asks, “How you holding up?”

“I’ll be all right. I miss you.”

“Me too, baby. Come home soon.”

“I will.”

“Austin and Mike are here,” says Tom.

“Tell them I said hi.”

“OK, baby, love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Jerry listens to the line go dead, then hangs up the phone. He lies back on the bed and stares at the dark TV knowing that the news is all weather predictions and crop forecasts. Later, with the lights off, he will count trucks passing on the interstate a block away until he dozes.

That dirt, that same dirt, from beneath his nails, from inside his shoes, in his clothes, in his hair, that same dirt his mother cursed on her kitchen floor and his father worshipped, that same dirt that they turned every year and poked and prodded as if it would not green of its own accord, that same dirt that grew their food and paid their debts and broke their backs, that same dirt now covers his father. Beside that dark brown rectangle, his mother’s grave shows only typical vague depressions from three years of settling beneath the well-kept lawn.

He stares at the new name on the stone; it is his own name, the same as his father’s, dragging him now forward instead of back to face his own demise, his own mortality. Nearby, an angel weeps granite tears. Further down cherubim dance. He looks around. Here they all lie now, row upon row, in this dirt that sustained them, that gave their lives meaning, that ultimately killed them. The futility of that circle produces his one and only tear. Here, at last, is a piece of land the bank cannot take. Reaching down, he grasps one handful of dirt, letting it tumble out between his fingers, and just before the last of it falls away, rakes his nails through it, embedding some small bit.

He’s counting backward, now, the hours until he arrives home, subtracting each part–15 minutes to the crossroads, 15 minutes to the highway, a half hour plus to the airport–as he pulls out on Road No. 5 and turns north. It is that particular moment in the season when the corn stands tall, like two walls hemming in the road on both sides, eight or nine feet and blossoming, paralleling the road in two straight lines as far ahead as Jerry can see.

He feels, suddenly, an inward pressure, a slight discomfort, and removes his foot from the accelerator. The car’s speed drops from 60 to 50 to 40; time for one more stop before he goes. Leaving the car running on the road with the door standing open, he walks to the edge of the field and without hesitation, disappears between the rows. The plants are heavy with ears ready to harvest, and the smell is rough and green and familiar. He stops at one particular plant, indistinguishable from the rest and glances up at its top as he zips down his fly, pulls out his penis, and begins to urinate.

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Punch-Drunk Love’

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Love Stinks

On cannibalism, romantic comedies, and ‘Punch-Drunk Love’

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate postfilm conversation. This is not a review; rather, it’s a free-wheeling, tangential discussion of art, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

The biggest problem with most modern films,” author Susanna Kaysen says, “is that in the first half they start out trying to be one thing, and then in the last half, for no reason, they suddenly subvert themselves and become a completely different film. I don’t get it.”

Case in point: Punch-Drunk Love, starring Adam Sandler and Emily Watson. It’s a disturbing love story about a shy, emotionally wounded plunger salesman and the sweet English oddball he falls for. The various subplots involve pudding, phone sex, and a creepy musical instrument.

That much is fine, argues Kaysen, the author of Girl, Interrupted, the memoir that inspired the popular movie. Her most-recent work is The Camera My Mother Gave Me, a one-of-a-kind page-turner about Kaysen’s anti-adventures with vaginal disease. Obviously, Kaysen has an affinity for the offbeat, and she was thrilled by the ultrabonkers opening scenes of Punch-Drunk Love.

“The first two-thirds was so great,” she says. “Remember the one sex scene? When they’re in bed and she says, ‘I want to bite your cheek,’ and he says, ‘I want to smash your face in with a shovel?’ I watched that scene and thought, ‘This is fantastic! These people are both totally psychotic and somehow, they’ve found each other!’

“They’re not going to do these things, of course, but they are fantasies of engulfing and absorbing the other, articulating very well the feelings that lovers have about each other at the beginning of a relationship.

“Then,” Kaysen continues, “her whole character shifts, and she turns into this saintly, maternal type of person–and the whole movie goes ppthhhhhtttttph!”

For the record, I liked the movie. “Don’t you think,” I boldly suggest, “we’re supposed to believe that his love of her is helping him to, you know, heal?”

“Oh, ugh, disgusting, gross, I hate that,” she replies, “but that probably is what we’re supposed to believe. And that’s the kind of thing that makes me want to just stay home and never walk out the door. It’s such a lie and it’s such a fantasy, and it’s just a bunch of American recovery crap and I hate it.”

“What’s crap?” I ask. “That love can help us heal our family wounds?”

“Yeah, that’s crap,” Kaysen tosses back, with a morose laugh. “I don’t think love does help us heal. Love is just another arena in which we play those wounds out. Oh, what do I know? I’m a terrible cynic, a miserable, lonely person, but I think that adult relationships are where you rehash and redo all the damage that was done to you when you were a child.”

She pauses a moment, then says, “I was totally thrilled by the first hour of this movie because I was thinking, ‘Wow. This is a totally nightmarish, surrealistic vision of life in America,’ and I was fascinated by that.”

“So what is it you have against romantic comedies?”

“Well, for one thing,” Kaysen says, “life isn’t like that, and it’s depressing. Romantic comedies make me sad. The whole idea of everything working out in the end, the idea that love will save you. That’s so rarely born out in experience.

“Life is so odd and unpredictable,” Kaysen muses. “In the movies, the drive is for everything to work out–so it does work out. Everyone ends up happy, even when the people involved are talking about smashing each other’s faces in with a shovel. And then, they still get to live happily ever after.

“In real life,” she laughs, “you just get smashed with the shovel.”

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Joan Osborne

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Photograph by Jimmy Ienner, Jr.

‘Sweet’ Soul Music

Joan Osborne finds soul inspiration

By Greg Cahill

The 9-11 attacks spurred a lot of soul searching among those looking for more meaning to life. Joan Osborne found that meaning in soul–the soul music of the ’60s and ’70s. The result is How Sweet It Is (Compendia/Womanly Hips), a collection of 12 mostly soul covers first made popular by Edwin Starr, Jimi Hendrix, Sly and the Family Stone, Otis Redding, Timmy Thomas, Aretha Franklin, and others. All of the songs evoke peace, love, and understanding; several sport a strong antiwar sentiment.

It was a gutsy move for Osborne, who is blessed with a powerful set of R&B pipes but whose career has stalled since 1995’s hugely successful Relish (Mercury), the triple-platinum disc that spawned the odd hit “One of Us,” which asked the philosophical question, “What if God was one of us / just a slob like one of us?”

“We’re playing these songs at every show and getting a really good response from audiences, so I feel kind of vindicated,” says Osborne, who had cancelled a long-planned album project to record this collection of soul covers.

Thirteen months ago–on Sept. 11, 2001–the Kentucky-born Brooklynite was in an L.A. studio when she learned about the terrorist attacks. Osborne had hired ace producer Don Was, booked session players, and was preparing to record the follow up to 2000’s Righteous Love (Interscope), her first full-length CD since Relish.

“We were just starting to put the wheels in motion when 9-11 happened,” she explains, during a phone interview from a Chattanooga hotel room. “This, of course, set everyone back on their heels and nothing got done. Making a record became the last thing on my mind.”

Osborne scrapped the sessions and returned to New York. “I just wanted to be at home with my family,” she says. “At the time, it was like the whole world had stopped, and I wanted to help out any way I could.”

Three months later, Osborne realized the best way to help was through her music. “I knew that whatever I did had to be topical and relevant to what people were talking about,” she says. “I decided to choose material that had a personal or political slant from that time when soul music was really flowering and a song like Edwin Starr’s “War” was a No. 1 pop hit. It was a chance to record material that would help people reconnect, so a lot of these songs are about community or brotherhood or peacefulness.”

Osborne enlisted producer John Leventhal (who had worked with Shawn Colvin and David Crosby) and set out to give the songs a sparse spin. In some ways, How Sweet It Is marks a return to Osborne’s musical roots.

“It was kind of an accident that I got into music in the first place,” she explains. “I was living in New York City and going to film school at NYU and working odd jobs. One night I went out to have a beer at a little blues bar and a friend dared me to go up on stage to sing with the piano player. I sang “God Bless the Child,” the Billie Holiday song. The piano player invited me back the next week for open mic. I started going every week and learning new material.”

Osborne soon found herself immersed in a musical community, playing five and six nights a week, and quitting film school. “I just fell in love with it,” she says of the music. “It really just took over my life.”

This year, soul music has played a particularly large role in her life. In addition to How Sweet It Is, Osborne can be seen in Standing in the Shadow of Motown, a great new documentary about the Motown studio musicians known as the Funk Brothers. Osborne appears with Chaka Khan, Bootsy Collins, Ben Harper, and others at a Detroit concert produced for the film. She can be heard on the film’s soundtrack, singing blistering versions of Martha & the Vandellas’ “Heat Wave” and Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?”

The film shows Osborne as first and foremost a fan of soul music, unpretentious, and in awe of its strength. “I came to it first from a fan’s point of view,” she says, “and to be somebody who actually found a place in that music community–to actually be a part of it–really meant a lot to me.”

Joan Osborne and her band perform Friday, Nov. 1, at 8pm, at the Mystic Theatre, 21 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. Tickets are $25. 707.765.2121.

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Timothy R. Yates

By Timothy R. Yates

Travel is a series of exceptional moments, separated by long hours of boredom. Vern always figured that the moments were worth the hours, and so driving a big rig around the country seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. Of course, life had always seemed to throw more exceptional moments at Vern than it did to anyone else he knew, so he wasn’t too surprised by anything that happened out on the highway.

Like the morning in West Texas when a big red-tail hawk, soaring in great, lazy circles above the road ahead of him, suddenly folded its wings and dropped out of the sky. Plummeting straight down toward the earth, the fierce bird leveled out at an altitude of about seven feet, shot straight toward Vern and his truck and hit the mirror, leaving its lifeless body draped over the support between it and the door of the truck, not 10 inches from Vern’s arm resting on the windowsill. Vern hung that magnificent bird’s talons, tied with a few of its biggest feathers, inside his sleeper for a long time.

The hours of boredom were times of introspection, and Vern talked to himself constantly. Never out loud but just in his thoughts, hour after hour. He would remember some exceptional moment and marvel at the randomness of it. Those moments could never be planned; they just occurred, usually when least expected. Often, the exceptional moment would involve another motorist. Some of these moments were good, some were not. The good ones generally involved a pretty girl offering herself as a visual favor. Once in a while an encounter would occur, in a cafe, a motel, rest area, or even in a wide spot on the side of the road. A flashing romance, quick as a thought, a smile, a parting kiss, and on down the long lonesome highway he goes.

The bad encounters always involved disrespectful drivers who thought it great sport to irritate truck drivers. Vern was a master at holding a grudge for hundreds of miles, and when he was mad at a four-wheeler he thought needed to learn a lesson, he was ruthless. Many drivers found themselves struggling for control in the weeds of the center divider after a quick lane change by the big rig next to them.

Vern knew that the driver of the car had long forgotten that he had failed to dim his lights while passing that semi three or four hours ago, but Vern never forgot. Vern could get all worked up seeking revenge, then talk to himself about his vengeful action for hours after taking it. He knew that the size of his rig alone would always ensure victory in those skirmishes that he took so personally.

One night Vern was heading out to a haystack to pick up a load of baled hay. It was just after three in the morning. Vern loved this lonely time of day. Here in the Imperial Valley near the border of California and Mexico, it was too hot to work during the day and Vern enjoyed the hard physical labor of bucking hay in the cool, predawn hours.

This part of the world was a vast, flat, empty desert. Water had been diverted from the Colorado River to transform it into green, flat, empty farmland. The roads were perfectly straight, laid out in squares five miles long on each side. In the darkness, headlights of other vehicles could be seen for miles so Vern didn’t worry about his speed. At this hour there was seldom any traffic.

As he was barreling down the highway, Vern noticed what looked like headlights far off to his right and miles ahead of him. He flew through a crossroads without slowing down. It was five miles to the next intersection, and Vern made note of the headlights he had seen.

A couple of miles further down the road, Vern paused in the song he was singing to himself and saw that the headlights ahead and to the right were traveling down the intersecting road that was quickly approaching. In his mind, Vern instantly created a game called “beat the four-wheeler to the crossroads.” He pushed his throttle foot hard against the floorboard, even though he was already going as fast as he could. The headlights were going faster. Vern had it pegged as a carload of kids out joy riding and became even more determined to beat them at this crossroads game. The car was really travelling. There was only a mile to go and the headlights were clearer now and the car seemed to be picking up speed.

Vern began to talk to himself: “There’s no way you’ll beat me,” he thought, “you might think you can, but think again, sucker!” Vern realized that the space between himself and the approaching car was narrowing faster and faster. “I’ve got you beat all the way,” he told himself, “your little pipsqueak car is no match for me!”

He strained to see the red glow reflecting from the stop sign ahead. It was less than half a mile now and it was becoming clearer by the second that he and this carload of young hellions were on a collision course. This was obviously a disaster in the making unless one of the drivers got off of the throttle and onto some brakes real quick, and Vern was damned if it was going to be him.

There was less than a quarter mile to go. The headlights of the car were coming closer and closer. The stop sign ahead was clearly visible now, and Vern realized that he was shouting at the car out loud.

“For God’s sake, stop, you fool! I’m not about to!”

Vern’s thoughts were swirling in a crazy orbit around his words. “We’re going to crash!” he thought. “Why doesn’t this idiot back out of it now? My God, they’re going to die! I’m bigger, and I’ll win!” His pride was overwhelming all of his senses and Vern kept his foot planted hard on the floor. His forearms ached from gripping the wheel so hard.

With only a hundred feet to go, Vern’s eyes were locked on the headlights, his mind was screaming at him, and his voice was trying to match his mind. As he and the onrushing headlights converged at the crossroads a deafening roar assaulted all his senses. The headlights shot straight up into the air, and out of his right-side window Vern saw the underbelly and the landing gear of a crop-duster biplane ascend straight up into the sky.

The big rig continued on down a quiet, lonely, pitch dark, empty highway, at 85 miles per hour, and as Vern realized he was screaming and abruptly shut up, he saw the airplane in his rearview mirrors as it circled, dropped down to highway level, and began a new pass back in the opposite direction.

Vern was sure he could hear the pilot laughing.

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Election Guide

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The Numbers Game

A guide to sorting through the phalanx of state propositions

This November’s proposition slate is actually rather tame compared to some years, for which we can be thankful. We’re recommending more yes votes than no votes. Our reasons, in summary, follow.

Election Selections: The North Bay Bohemian Cheat Sheet

Proposition 46

Housing and Emergency Shelter Trust Fund Act of 2002

The recent economic downturn has pushed median housing prices higher, as investors shift money from stocks to real estate. At the same time, the average wage earner in California has either lost wages or remained static.

Prop. 46 is one of those troublesome bond measures that cause a furor every election season–but the crocodile tears in Sacramento over California’s budget crisis are drowned out by the clear and present good that Prop. 46 will do. The bonds–which will be paid back out of General Fund revenues–direct the money to programs that will provide housing for senior citizens and the mentally ill, shelters for battered women and the homeless, and housing for farmworkers.

More than $1 billion will be targeted at constructing multifamily homes (i.e., apartment buildings) with priority to projects in already developed areas. By favoring high-density projects in urban areas close to transportation and resources, the bond measure encourages smart growth–a key concept in the future of California development.

Only 29 percent of Californians can afford to buy a house: the measure benefits middle-income buyers too. An allocation of $405 million goes to home ownership programs that provide low-interest loans or grants to buyers, especially first-time buyers. Farmworkers also benefit from this measure–$200 million in funds are allocated to low-interest loans and grants for construction of farmworker housing.

Recommendation: Yes on Prop. 46

Proposition 47

Kindergarten-University Public Education Facilities Bond Act of 2002

One in three students in the state attends a school that is overcrowded or needs fixing–or, too often, both. The problem is only getting worse. More than 1 million new students are going to need seats in the state’s K-12 schools by 2007. More than 300 new schools and as many as 46,000 new classrooms will be needed.

Ambitious action is needed, and it comes in the form of Prop. 47, the largest bond measure in California’s history. Prop. 47 would raise $13.05 billion for building new schools and for repairing and modernizing old ones for all grade levels. Of that, $1.65 billion will help repair and upgrade California’s public colleges and universities with the bulk of the money going to elementary and secondary schools.

In the form of payments from the General Fund, it will cost taxpayers an estimated $873 million annually for the next 30 years. Prop. 47 is part of a much needed plan for ongoing investment. The last statewide school bond measure, passed in 1998, raised $9.2 billion. In 2004, voters will be asked to approve a $12 billion bond measure to build the remaining classrooms.

These sums are large, but so are the needs. For the past two decades, voters repeatedly approved bond measures to build dozens of prisons. Let’s now make an even greater investment in our schools.

Opponents of the school bond argue that the state can’t afford to take on the added debt, but that argument doesn’t stand up under scrutiny. Debt payments as a percentage of state General Fund revenues are well under 5 percent, a widely accepted measure of a reasonable level of state indebtedness. Basically, that means that there’s room for more borrowing without jeopardizing California’s standing in bond markets.

Californians have no choice but to invest in maintaining and expanding our school system. Our future depends on an educated populace.

Recommendation: Yes on Prop. 47

Proposition 48

Court Consolidation

A case could be made that this proposition is all about letting go. In 1998 California voters approved Prop. 220, which allowed counties to make the penny-wise decision of consolidating the municipal courts with the superior court system. And in the four years since, all 58 counties in the state have gone for so-called unification making the municipal court system extinct in the Golden State.

Supporters say they want Prop. 48 passed merely to “prune dead wood” from the California Constitution. Opponents (led by the Voter Information Alliance) are worried that if we excise all references to muni courts in the constitution, they can never, ever come back. And what if a county at some point wanted to resurrect its muni courts? Well, not to rain on anyone’s parade, but we think that’s not very likely. Sure, there are cycles to these trends, but unification of muni and superior courts has netted visible results. Saving the words “municipal court” in the constitution is like saving gum wrappers for the day those chains from the ’60s come back in style. Who needs the clutter?

Recommendation: Yes on Prop. 48

Proposition 49

Before and After School Programs

County Sheriff Laurie Smith and actor Arnold Schwarzenegger make an energetic pro-Prop. 49 duo. They both plead for a dedicated funding source to help kids stay out of trouble between the anarchic hours of 3pm and 6pm.

The initiative would require the state to spend more from its General Fund–up to $550 million–on the After School Education and Safety Program, starting in the 2004-2005 fiscal year. It would cement a permanent yearly spending level that circumvents future action by the legislature. (State electeds could increase but not decrease the amount.) Religious organizations and charter schools get to compete with public schools for those funds.

It’s a good idea to keep youngsters busy and away from crack. But the initiative would make flawed public policy. Trudy Schafer, program director for the League of Women Voters of California, points out, “It ties the hands of people making the budget year after year.” It also prioritizes one resource among the many that kids need.

In a nutshell, schools would like to make their own decisions about how their precious dollars are spent. We have to agree. The state, with its requirements and restrictions, has been more than helpful already.

Recommendation: No on Prop. 49

Proposition 50

Water Quality, Supply, and Safe Drinking Water Projects, Coastal Wetlands Purchase and Protection

Water is one of the most endangered resources in California. The disparity between north and south has grown as development has boomed, and resources are stretched to the limit.

The $3.44 billion bond, written by environmentalists, allocates a large part of its funds to coastal protection ($950 million), including wetlands acquisition and restoration, and to the CalFed Bay-Delta program ($825 million), which channels funds to the improvement of the San Francisco Bay/Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta Estuary. The CalFed program is almost out of funds, and Prop. 50 would lengthen its life span. The rest of the money is allocated to a wide range of programs, including systems upgrades, flood management, contaminant removal, and pollution prevention.

Californians have long supported pro-environment bond measures, and this one should be no different. Unlike more creative and less viable options, like towing bags of water to San Diego for private profit, Prop. 50 funds new sources of water through conservation, desalination, recycling and reclamation, and building infrastructure.

Infrastructure doesn’t mean reservoirs and water storage, which is what the farmworkers take issue with on this bond measure. The money will largely be funneled to coastal resources rather than to the Central Valley, but desalination programs and recycling will go some distance to alleviate Central Valley water shortages. Money is also allocated for studies and environmental reviews of water-storage options–meaning that another bond measure could show up a few years down the line for water solutions in the valley.

There have been three bond measures for water projects passed since 1996. The money, however, has run out–as money tends to do–and Prop. 50 continues the effort and includes more long-term solutions. This issue is worth spending some of that precious budget on.

Recommendation: Yes on Prop. 50

Proposition 51

Distribution of Existing Motor Vehicle Sales and Use Tax

With Prop. 51, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. A “yes” would transfer 30 percent of the state’s sales-tax receipts on used and new vehicles into a new fund for primarily transportation-related projects, but a high percentage of the money would be used to reward special interest groups. A “no” perpetuates the state’s funding shortfalls for easing traffic congestion, improving the school bus fleet, and building more bike paths and walkways. Both prospects are dastardly, but the special-interest factor is the worse of the two.

First, none of Prop. 51’s listed projects is considered an official priority by the state. This undermines the state and local agencies that have invested countless hours in identifying the most pressing transportation problems and analyzing the best ways to solve them.

The Planning and Conservation League–the Sacramento-based environmental group that sponsored Prop. 51–acknowledged that many projects were selected with an eye toward getting contributions that would pay for the campaign. Hence the inclusion of a $75 million dollar project that would provide rail services to USC, the campaign’s biggest donator at $300,000.

Supporters call the initiative a “Traffic Congestion Relief and Safe School Bus Trust Fund,” but their propaganda is misleading. The prop’s funds have also been earmarked to provide $1.5 million a year for the Oakland School for the Arts, a pet project of Mayor Jerry Brown.

This measure only furthers the dirty notion of special-interest payback politics. The state should do more to improve transportation, but Prop. 51 is not the answer.

Recommendation: No on Prop. 51

Propostion 52

Election Day Voter Registration

So it’s voting day and an alcoholic former frat boy is about to get elected. Frightened masses show up at their polling places only to find out they can’t vote because they forgot to reregister the last time they moved or because they just turned 18. Prop. 52 would let voters take action then and there, by registering right at the polling place. Opponents, mostly Republicans who typically thrive when voting day turnouts are low, say allowing election-day voter registration is a prescription for widespread fraud.

This concern might be worth paying attention to, particularly considering the GOP’s proven track record of stealing elections. Yet Prop. 52 will actually increase protections against fraud because it will require voters to show a California driver’s license or two other valid forms of ID when they register at the polls, something they don’t have to do under the current voter registration scheme. The measure’s proponents, which include the president of the California League of Women Voters, Common Cause, the ACLU, law-enforcement, and labor groups, point out that the six states with same-day election registration lead the nation in voter turnout.

Currently a pitiful 49 percent of eligible voters vote in the United States; the March primary election had the lowest voter turnout since 1924. Studies suggest that voting day registration could spike voter turnout in our fair state by as much as 9 percent. Unfortunately, though, there is nothing in Prop. 52 that will give voters better candidates to choose from.

Recommendation: Yes on Prop. 52

Local Yokels

What are the issues facing Sonoma County voters in this year’s election?

Voters will go to the polls on Nov. 5 impotent. Sure, they will cast their votes reflecting their ideas on urban growth, infrastructure planning, and public safety–and those votes are important–but voters will be limp at the voting booth in respect to the biggest nonelection issue in an election for a while. The war on Iraq, that is.

So we continue to go on marches and write letters against the action. Locally, we content ourselves with trying to get something done in Sonoma County about sprawl, traffic, and environmental decay.

In Petaluma, it’s all about the potholes. Don’t get us wrong, Petaluma’s plethora of potholes isn’t the biggest problem facing Sonoma County’s second-largest city. But they are symptomatic of the mismanagement and neglect that has crept into the city council on Mayor Clark Thompson’s watch. That’s not to say Thompson is responsible for all of the city’s woes. But he must bear some fault for the entropy that has marred the council chambers during the past couple of years.

In Sebastopol, with the Laguna Vista controversy steaming in the background as developers consider whether or not to revise the plan and resubmit it, voters can choose from four candidates for three seats on the council. The only nonincumbent, Planning Commissioner Linda Kelley, has made affordable housing part of her platform, and exemplified the duality of the Laguna Vista proposal by first coming out in favor of it, then scaling back her endorsement in favor of more affordable housing and a different location.

Windsor faces a difficult decision on growth–curbing growth is important, but Measure X is not the right way to do it. Sonoma proposes paying its councilmembers something instead of nothing, and Santa Rosa wants to up members’ allowances, providing more of a chance for people to serve their city. Below, find our selective list of endorsements for the 2002 November elections. Get out and vote.

From the October 31-November 6, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

North Bay Music Scene

Local Motion North Bay music scene falls into place By Greg Cahill The reigning king and queen of North Bay bohemia--singer and songwriter Tom Waits and his wife and longtime collaborator Kathleen Brennan--received a rave review last week in the New York Times for their score to...

Keith Bradsher

Big and Bad 'High and Mighty' chronicles the rise and rise of SUVs By Patrick Sullivan Meteors, a cold snap, maybe a nasty virus--scientists can't agree on what ended the first reign of the dinosaurs. But today they're back in business, as anyone driving down any...

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By Kevin Peters There are colored light bulbs, now, in all the fixtures--blue, yellow, and red--to change the atmosphere, but over along the wall where the bar is you can still see where the ice-cream counter used to be, and a break in the carpeting betrays where the kitchen was. Two small pool tables cover the...

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Love Stinks On cannibalism, romantic comedies, and 'Punch-Drunk Love' Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate postfilm conversation. This is not a review; rather, it's a free-wheeling, tangential discussion of art, alternative ideas, and popular culture. ...

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Photograph by Jimmy Ienner, Jr. 'Sweet' Soul Music Joan Osborne finds soul inspiration By Greg Cahill The 9-11 attacks spurred a lot of soul searching among those looking for more meaning to life. Joan Osborne found that meaning in soul--the soul music of...

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By Timothy R. Yates Travel is a series of exceptional moments, separated by long hours of boredom. Vern always figured that the moments were worth the hours, and so driving a big rig around the country seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. Of course, life had always seemed to throw more...

Election Guide

The Numbers Game A guide to sorting through the phalanx of state propositions This November's proposition slate is actually rather tame compared to some years, for which we can be thankful. We're recommending more yes votes than no votes. Our reasons, in summary, follow. Election Selections: The...
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