Newsgrinder

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Important events as reported by daily newspapers and summarized by Daedalus Howell.

Friday 10.27.00

A Marin Superior Court judge has dismissed charges against Henry John Krajewski, who was accused of marketing a knockoff form of rave drug fave GHB from his Fairfax home, reports the Marin Independent Journal. Krajewski, an artist who has painted album covers for such rock groups as Iron Butterfly, claimed he didn’t know the substance was illegal. Okey-dokey. He was also booked for possession of hashish. No word on whether he claimed the hash was an herbal supplement. The Food and Drug Administration warns that GHB, short for gamma-hydroxybutyratesupercalifragilisticexpialidocious, causes dangerously low respiratory rates, coma, and seizures, and can kill actors when near the Viper Room.

Thursday 10.26.00

Police said a man walked into Bank of Marin carrying a box on which he had written, “This is an explosive, give me all your money.” The box, vacant of all but avarice, was the objet d’art in an elaborate ruse the robber abandoned upon discovering $3,000 stacked unattended on the counter. The robber grabbed the dough but ditched his criminal masterpiece–a stunning example of neo-Fluxus conceptual art that evokes both the textual reference in René Magritte’s “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” and the “ready-mades” of Marcel Duchamp. The same suspect is sought in a string of “ring and run” incidents in which matchbooks and bags of dog shit bearing the inscription “Light here” were left on Marin County doorsteps.

Thursday 10.26.00

Ye olde East-West battle continues in Petaluma. Candidates for the school board heard complaints from angry Eastsiders who believe that their Casa Grande High School is less attractive than the west side’s Petaluma High School, reports the Argus-Courier. Candidate Mike Derby recalled that when Casa Grande opened in 1972, “it was something to behold.” Sure, like a large, shingled prison: hence the name Casa Grande–Spanish for “Big House.”

Monday 10.23.00

Scholarships worth more than $3,000 will be awarded in the Miss Napa County Pageant, scheduled next January. Pageant contestants will be judged on talent, poise, personality, appearance, and intelligence, according to the Napa Valley Register. The Register also reports that “women 17 to 24 who will graduate from high school before September 2001 are eligible.” Contestants who are 24 and have yet to graduate from high school are encouraged to focus on the talent, poise, personality, and appearance aspects of the judging.

Saturday 10.28.00

The Santa Rosa daily reports that a House vote on a bill to restore federal recognition to the Coast Miwok Indians has split the hands of local Democrats Sen. Barbara Boxer and Rep. Lynn Woolsey. House approval followed Boxer’s move to discard a clause in the bill preventing the tribe from opening a casino in its Marin and southern Sonoma county territory. Rolling the dice on her career, Woolsey insisted on the gambling ban and refused to fold despite strident opposition from the Clinton administration. “I’ll just have to respectfully disagree with her on this,” said a poker-faced Woolsey of Boxer, who saw Woolsey’s bid and raised her two by maintaining the provision. Drawing to an inside straight, tribal chairman Greg Sarris, an author and filmmaker who recruited Hollywood high rollers to lobby for Coast Miwok recognition, remarked, “The issue here is restoration of our rights, not gaming,” But tribal vice chairman Gene Buvelot (emphasis on “vice”) anted,”If we did gaming, we’d be big.” Now, now, Gene, never count your money when sitting at the table–there’ll be time enough for counting when the dealing’s done.

Thursday 10.26.00

The Sonoma County Commission on Human Rights recommended Wednesday that a new YWCA brochure outlining domestic violence services should be more inclusive of male victims, after receiving a complaint from the local men’s advocate (guess who?), reports the Santa Rosa daily. Joe Manthey claimed the language in the YWCA’s brochure is discriminatory because it portrays men as the primary batterers. It was not reported whether or not Manthey believes male bakers are characterized differently than female bakers–both are known for batter, and both beat eggs and whip cream. Bah-dum-bum.

Tuesday 10.31.00

Stop the presses! The Press Democrat–a longtime mouth organ for the local development community–published a two-part series this week on the high cost of housing in Sonoma County and made an amazing discovery: The lack of affordable housing is due, in part, to the fact that city governments coddle developers. Big surprise–not! Housing advocates and this publication have complained long and hard that the lack of political will is a major factor in skyrocketing housing costs. In fact, voters in Santa Rosa–where a slate of four pro-development candidates led by City Council member Sharon Wright is on the ballot–have a chance to do something about that situation on Nov. 7 (see election endorsements on page 13). Send the development community and its cronies the message that people come first. Or start packing your bags–Willits is still relatively affordable.

From the November 2-8, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Neil Young

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Broken Arrow

Neil Young’s biographer goes to court

By Jonny Whiteside

WHEN NEW YORK writer Jimmy McDonough interviewed Neil Young for the 1989 Village Voice feature “Too Far Gone: Fucking Up with Neil Young,” McDonough had no idea what his subject had in store for him.

In an auspicious moment of candor, Young announced, “The farther you go into this abyss called ‘obsession,’ the more dangerous it becomes. It’s like a drug. You can completely lose touch with your family, the people who count on you, people who would do anything to help you.”

Young was so impressed with McDonough’s resulting article that he asked the journalist to pen liner notes for a forthcoming 25th-anniversary CD anthology. That project was so successful that Young invited McDonough to serve as his authorized biographer.

At that point in his career, McDonough was one of the best music writers in the nation. Almost single-handedly responsible for reintroducing the public to presumed-dead R&B-jazz balladeer Jimmy Scott via his groundbreaking Voice cover story, McDonough characteristically used the money from the story to pay for a Scott demo session; not long after, the singer had a Warner Bros. contract and a chart-topping album.

McDonough’s writing is tough, probing, full of street-hustler style, yet hits with a cerebral impact. He was ready for a challenge, and Young magnanimously offered him a free hand with the biography, typical of the singer’s renowned image as an unfettered, purely creative force. Young consented to sit for five consecutive days of interviews and would have no approval over McDonough’s work, save for passages dealing with specific members of his immediate family.

With this assurance, McDonough committed himself to “devote his exclusive services and full time” to the book, and a lucrative deal was struck with Random House in August 1991. The contract was a $350,000 deal; the initial advance topped $100,000, with $85,000 going to McDonough and $20,000 to Young. McDonough relocated to the West Coast in 1991 to begin research, which is when I first met him. Although Jimmy left California in 1993, as a fellow biographer, fan, and pal, I watched his blunt style and relentless technique with no small fascination.

“Jimmy’s a wild man, and he obsessed on [the book],” says attorney George Hedges, who helped finalize McDonough’s initial agreement with Young.

After years of painstaking work and exhaustive research fleshed out by no less than 300 interviews–and supported by a loan of some $50,000 from Young–McDonough produced Shaky: The Authorized Biography of Neil Young, personally handing the nearly 800-page manuscript over to a seemingly pleased Young in 1998.

“The day Jimmy delivered the manuscript to Neil,” Hedges says, “he called me and said, ‘I feel good about it, it’s really gonna happen. I feel so relieved.’ ”

Random House, too, was eager to publish, but soon found that matters would not go exactly as planned.

In December of the same year, Young’s representatives, without explanation, abruptly announced that he would block publication. No one saw it coming. Random House spent the next year trying to reconcile subject and manuscript, but eventually chose to capitulate, citing in an April letter to McDonough both Young’s “sabotage” and the fact that the biography was contracted as an authorized–not unauthorized–project. Then the publishing house asked for the return of the nearly $200,000 it had by then already paid McDonough and Young.

On May 1 of this year, McDonough’s attorneys filed a $1.8 million suit against Young, seeking publication of the book and charging the rock star with, among other things, fraud and breach of contract.

The suit McDonough vs. Young, filed in Los Angeles County Superior Court, alleges that over a period of several years, “McDonough devoted himself to writing the biography. While doing so, he was repeatedly assured by Young that the musician would abide by his agreements with McDonough, and that McDonough should trust that Young would allow the biography to be published. Young repeated these assurances to McDonough . . . even on the day the manuscript was delivered to Young.

“In December 1998, however, Young revealed himself to be a contradiction in terms, using the wealth and power he had accumulated from his musical and business success to squelch publication of the Biography. Unilaterally and without contacting McDonough, Young, through his handlers, repudiated his agreements with McDonough and with Random House Inc. . . . without ever stating a single specific objection to any material in the Biography. But for Young’s actions, Random House Inc. would have published the Biography.”

THOROUGHLY weird stuff, but from the start, the entire project was unusual. Young not only insisted that McDonough agree to donate 25 percent of his earnings to the Bridge School in the Bay Area (which Young founded), but also insisted that McDonough submit to physical examinations so Young could take out a $350,000 life-insurance policy–with Young (or his designee) as beneficiary.

Merely negotiating the 13-page agreement was difficult–and McDonough, a notorious hard-nose, didn’t make it any easier. At one point, wrangling over a detail with Young’s representative, Irwin Spiegal Osher, McDonough admits he cried, “Go ahead! Do it–and I’ll blow my goddamn brains out all over your cheap fucking white shoes.” Calls to Osher were not returned.

It is perhaps McDonough’s very doggedness, his refusal to be intimidated (by Young’s chronic rescheduling of agreed-to interviews and by numerous clashes with the singer’s unctuous handlers), that led to this mess.

While the nature of Young’s role is mystifying, it’s not completely out of character. As longtime personal manager Elliot Roberts (recalling the occasion when Young quit Buffalo Springfield, excoriated Roberts as inept, and then almost immediately rehired him to oversee his solo career) told The New York Times, “I thought, ‘Wow, cool–this guy is as devious as I am.’ ”

The manuscript of Shaky is under lock and key, but Hedges, to whom McDonough supplied a copy, describes it as “a real serious effort to get inside what makes Neil Neil. It’s not a puff piece, which is apparently what he wanted but never said–I sat at the table and looked Neil right square in the eye. Outside of the fact that Neil’s been involved in some pretty juicy things in his life, no, this is not a Kitty Kelly kind of a deal; it’s a legitimate biography, the product of a lot of very hard work. As I understand it, the response from Random House on the book was very, very positive.”

In a January 1999 letter Random House attorney Diana Frost wrote to Young attorney Osher, she called the book “an important and artistic biographical work that they expect will receive a positive reception from a wide audience.” (Frost refused comment, and calls to the book’s editor, Bruce Tracy, were not returned.)

Young’s reasons for rejecting the manuscript, according to McDonough’s attorney Henry Gradstein, were that Jimmy delivered the manuscript in “an untimely fashion”; that he had delivered it to Random House without Young’s personal approval; and, finally, that he was simply not going to give his approval.

Gradstein counters that the manuscript’s lateness was in fact owing to delays caused by Young’s own refusal to schedule promised interviews. And, he continues, in any case Random House had previously granted McDonough’s requests for extensions of delivery deadlines. Finally, he says, Young had no approval rights (save over passages dealing with the aforementioned immediate family).

Barring a settlement (active discussions are ongoing), the case should go to trial in spring of 2001. Gradstein is “absolutely certain” McDonough will prevail, while Young’s attorney Lee Phillips insists that Young has “appropriate defenses and possible counterclaims.”

MUCH of the dispute revolves around the following clause in Young’s agreement with McDonough: “Notwithstanding anything to the contrary herein, if Neil prevents Jimmy from completing and delivering the manuscript to the Publisher, then the entire Indebtedness will be Neil’s obligation and he shall discharge the same and hold Jimmy free and harmless therefrom. This shall be Jimmy’s exclusive remedy from Neil.”

Young contends that this, in conjunction with the language granting him approval over passages relating to members of his family, gives him “the right to prevent release.” As Phillips explains it, “You can see that [the clause] indicates that it’s . . . his exclusive remedy against Neil, so in other words . . . he can’t complain if the end result is that the book doesn’t get published. He can keep the money, and Neil’s got the liability with Random House.

“If there’s one comment about the family and Neil disapproved it, that comment then has already been delivered to Random House. Why have an approval right to prevent it from going out to the public . . . if that person has delivered it to the public?

“I mean, the fact is, it was done,” Phillips continues. “If it said some terrible thing, and you said, ‘I disapprove,’ and he said, ‘OK, I’ll take it out,’ then it would only be known to Neil and Jimmy. But if you deliver it to Random House and then deliver it to Neil the next day, Random House and all their editors and everybody else . . . that sentence is in there. And that’s the reason why I think a lot of this problem came up.”

Wait, there’s more: Young’s attorneys are also claiming that he has approval rights by alleging that McDonough failed to meet the already-extended Random House deadlines, creating a breach “frustrating the purpose and intent of the agreement” and “independently granting Young the right to prevent” publication. So, it’s a back-and-forth exchange of legal interpretation, the deviltry of language on the one hand so clear, yet on the other so ambiguous–depending on which side one favors–that it is apparently best left for Judge Richard C. Hubbell to reconcile.

Still, to some, the situation couldn’t be clearer. “It’s horrible what Jimmy’s been through,” says Hedges. “It’s so kind of insanely arrogant and malicious–it’s unthinkable. The whole situation is just mind-numbing, the way Neil led him on; he was just playing with him–playing with a life, his trust, everything. I mean, Neil is notorious, but this is crazy–it’s like being in the belly of the beast. There’s a kind of arrogance to celebrity, and this is just a very raw, vivid example of it.”

This article originally appeared in the L.A. Weekly.

From the November 2-8, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Election Guide

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By Greg Cahill

Here is a list of select endorsements in local, state, and national races:

President: Al Gore Vice President: Joe Lieberman U.S. Senate: Dianne Feinstein State Senator: John Burton U.S. Representative: Lynn Woolsey (6th District) State Assembly: Anna Nevenic (6th District) State Assembly: Pat Wiggins (7th District)

Proposition 32: Yes Proposition 33: No Proposition 34: No Proposition 35: Yes Proposition 36: No Proposition 37: No Proposition 38: No Proposition 39: Yes

Cotati City Council: Janet Orchard, Janet Kurvers, and Will McAfee. Petaluma City Council: Pamela Torliatt, David Glass, and Jim Mobley. Rohnert Park City Council: Jake Mackenzie, Shawn Kilat, and Paul Stutrud. Santa Rosa City Council: Noreen Evans, Carol Dean, Susan Gorin, and Rick Meechan. Sebastopol City Council: Craig Litwin and Sam Spooner. Sonoma City Council: Joseph Costello and just about anyone other than Jim Ghilotti. Windsor Town Council: Debora Fudge and Bill Patterson.

Measure I: Rural Heritage Initiative–Yes. Measure M: Healdsburg Growth Management Ordinance–Yes. Measure N: Rohnert Park UGB–Yes. Measure S: Sonoma UGB– Yes.

From the November 2-8, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Election Coverage

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Stars & Strikes

Come hither: Our Election 2000 voter guide

THE PRESIDENTIAL election is expected to be the closest in 40 years, thanks to a shootout between the left and the far left of the Democratic Party. So don’t be sitting on your keister and complaining that this election is irrelevent when the fate of the environment and the U.S. Supreme Court is hanging in the balance.

Fortunately, the initiative gods have given California voters a reprieve this election cycle by asking us to weigh in on only eight state propositions. During the March primary, voters had to study more than 20 propositions, some of which required a yes if you really wanted to vote no, and some which nullified others on the same ballot.

There is no such madness on the Nov. 7 ballot. Yes means yes, and no means no on all eight items in question. How quaint!

Not only are the state props refreshingly simple this go-round, but they’re also relatively free of controversy. In the recent past, California has served as a testing ground for homophobic, xenophobic, or racist initiatives. This time, we’re dealing with more mundane things like bonds, engineering contracts, and perks for the state Legislature.

Sure, the school vouchers (Prop. 38) initiative is kind of controversial. But didn’t we already vote on that in the ’90s?

Despite the seeming lack of sexy topics on the state initiatives ballot, voters shouldn’t be lulled into a sense of complacency. They still need to get to the polls and prevent school vouchers from crippling public education. They also need to vote yes and make it easier to pass bonds to upgrade crumbling schools (Prop. 39).

To paraphrase Woody Allen, half of life is just showing up. Here’s a guide for what you should do after showing up at your designated polling place:

The Hot List: The Bohemian’s handy guide to select endorsements in local, state, and national races.

U.S. President Al Gore

Picture this with your eyes wide open: A Republican in the White House. A Republican-controlled House. A Republican-controlled Senate. A Republican-led Congress rubber-stamping the GOP president’s anti-abortion Supreme Court nominees.

And this is no campy Halloween horror flick–it’s closer to reality than many voters think. If nationwide polls are to be believed, George W. Bush will soon be the nation’s Fratboy-in-chief. Meanwhile, the GOP will, according to most predictions, easily retain its majority in the U.S. Senate. Only the House of Representatives is potentially up for grabs, but only if Democrats can win six seats nationally.

Vice President Al Gore, wife-kissing aside, has been unable to whip voters into any kind of impassioned frenzy. Here in California, where Gore once held a double-digit lead, the latest polls show Green Party nominee Ralph Nader siphoning support from the vice president, who now leads Bush by only five points.

An apathetic electorate, a dull Democratic nominee, and an insurgent third-party candidate–it’s a recipe for imbalance and disaster.

To those contemplating voting for Nader, we think this is too close an election to throw away a vote on a symbolic candidate. We can already hear Naderites preaching the lefty party line: It doesn’t matter if you vote for Gore or Bush because they are both from the same party–the Party of Big Business. While there’s plenty of truth to that, Bush and Gore have very different positions on a woman’s right to choose, the environment, school vouchers, healthcare, tax policy, Social Security, and campaign finance reform, which Gore has promised to make his top priority if elected.

Eight years–and more, counting lifetime Supreme Court appointments–is a long time to endure the fallout of a “protest” vote, especially when Republicans want to maintain the surplus by returning money to the rich rather than paying down the nation’s debt.

We think voters should pay close attention to this election and make every attempt to balance the branches of government at the national level. At the state, regional, and local levels, they should vote for those who will safeguard the environment and protect the interests of the North Bay. Vote for Al Gore.

U.S. Senate Dianne Feinstein

During the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles, Rep. Tom Campbell, R­San Jose–who was shut out by his own party at the Republican convention–had a prominent speaking role. Not at the “real” convention in La La Land, but at Arianna Huffington’s alternative Shadow Convention. To a crowd of professional protesters and malcontents, Campbell spoke passionately about the country’s misguided war against drugs.

South Bay voters already know Tom Campbell as an enigma. In 1997, he defied his party’s leaders by voting to oust then House Speaker Newt Gingrich. The following year, he toed the party line by voting to impeach President Clinton, angering many of his Starr-fatigued constituents.

For a Republican, Campbell’s run an unorthodox campaign against Democratic incumbent Dianne Feinstein–he has, to a great extent, run to her political left.

The top question in our minds is (assuming Campbell gets elected), which Campbell will show up at the Senate confirmation hearings for a new Supreme Court Justice: the party boy who impeached Clinton or the party pooper who told Newt to get lost? Hard to say. In typical Tom fashion, he refuses to prejudge nominees or apply a litmus test. While we think Campbell will raise controversial issues worthy of debate that an inside-the-box politician like Feinstein would never touch, he may be a little too quirky, even in an age of empty, blow-dried politics and politicians.

While we wish Feinstein would have the guts to raise the issue of the failed drug war, we like her record on gun control and the environment. Stick with Feinstein.

U.S. Congress Sixth District

Lynn Woolsey, D-Petaluma, has a lock on this race–the Republicans are unable to field a strong candidate in this overwhelmingly Democratic district that includes parts of Marin and Sonoma counties. But Woolsey hasn’t squandered her support–the former Petaluma mayor has taken strong positions on everything from nuclear disarmament to the need to stop federal support of the homophobic Boy Scouts of America, stances that often put her at odds with Bill Clinton and in face-to-face confrontations with the good ol’ boys in the U.S. Senate. Vote for Lynn Woolsey.

State Assembly Sixth District

Maybe it’s his name, but Joe Nation seems destined for higher office (or at least for a career as a political fundraiser, having amassed a $300,000 war chest)–he’s now on the Marin Municipal Water District board of trustees. Unfortunately, this New Democrat has shown little to inspire confidence that he’s fit to represent a progressive district in the state Legislature. Most notably, last spring he won and then lost Sonoma County Conservation Action’s coveted environmental endorsement after it was determined that, as an MMWD board member, Nation has supported pro-development water policies that could endanger the Eel and Russian rivers. Vote for Anna Nevenic, a nurse who promises to focus on health-care issues.

State Assembly Seventh District

Democratic incumbent Pat Wiggins, a former Santa Rosa City Councilmember, has done a great job in her first term. Send her back to Sacramento. Vote for Pat Wiggins.

Proposition 32 Housing Assistance for Vets

The so-called Veterans Bond Act of 2000, put on the ballot by the Legislature, asks for voter approval to–for the 29th time in the program’s history–renew funding for the state-run program that helps California veterans of the Vietnam War and earlier conflicts get first-time home buyer home loans at a special low-interest rate. The Office of Veterans Affairs says that the $500 million that the bond raises will help about 2,400 Vietnam veterans purchase new homes or farms–none of which, one can only presume, will be in the vastly inflated Bay Area, where $250,000 won’t get you a one-room hovel. And therein lies the core of our argument in favor of the bill: in today’s ridiculous real estate market, we feel that everyone deserves a break toward owning their first home. The bill’s opponents do not agree. But they err in the voter pamphlet when they say, disapprovingly, that under this bill, “even someone who stayed home in the National Guard is a qualified ‘veteran’ under the Cal-Vet loan program.” According to the experts, such a person does qualify for some Cal-Vet loan programs, but not for the particular program these bonds will go toward, which requires that the vets in question saw wartime service abroad before the end of the Vietnam conflict (the last U.S. conflict that qualifies vets for participation in this program). Theoretically, taxpayers could end up paying off some of the debt that will be incurred herein, but only if all the veterans who take advantage of it default on their loans. That has never happened in this loan program’s 88-year history, so what Prop. 32 really comes down to is how generous we feel toward veterans as a group. Vote yes on 32.

Proposition 33 Pensions for State Legislators

Prop. 33 would allow members of the state Legislature to receive retirement benefits from the Public Employees Retirement System, like all other public employees. It would counteract part of Prop. 140, an amendment voters enacted in 1990 to eliminate pensions for legislators. According to the ballot summary, PERS costs would come out of a fixed annual amount provided in support of the Legislature. Supporters say it’s only fair that legislators, who serve six to 14 years, should have access to the same retirement benefits that most other state workers get. “We want to have the same retirement benefits as the guy who cuts the grass, the guy who maintains the vehicles,” says Assemblyman Bret Granlund, R-Yucaipa. Supporters argue that the lack of additional benefits discourages low-income candidates from running for office, and the availability of a retirement plan would encourage diversity. But the proposition’s opponents call it an unnecessary perk, called for by the legislators who would receive the benefits. “This is not for the benefit of the public,” said Lewis Uhler, the president of the National Tax-Limitation Committee. “This is crass self-interest.” We agree. Legislators already earn $99,000 per year and are eligible for about $25,000 per year more in tax-free reimbursement for living expenses. That’s plenty of dough to invest in their own retirement. Vote no on Prop. 33.

Proposition 34 Campaign Donation Limits

Prop. 34 is a cynical attempt by state politicians to sell voters a package of positive campaign finance reform. Voters shouldn’t buy into it. Proposition 34 would allow for almost unlimited campaign donations and undo the work of Proposition 208, the 1996 campaign reform initiative passed by 61.3 percent of voters. A year after it was enacted, a federal court suspended the proposition. But this year the U.S. Supreme Court ruled favorably in a Missouri case with provisions similar to 208. Legal experts believe that, based on this case, Prop. 208 will be reinstated. If Prop. 34 passes, however, the chances of reviving Prop. 208 may diminish, if not be killed. Even more suspect than the politicians’ cheap ruse is the way in which Prop. 34 was fast-tracked through the Legislature, without public input. Gov. Gray Davis, a Prop. 34 supporter, has even said that the bill was “devised largely in secret, without input from the public or knowledgeable sources.” Under Prop. 34–which does almost nothing to curb the influence of soft money–politicians and big parties win, not the voters. Vote no on Prop. 34.

Proposition 35 Caltrans Private Contracting

We Bay Area folk know all too well just how long Caltrans can take to finish anything. Almost all the major regional highways–880, 17, 280, 101, 680–are in disarray and in need of repair and maintenance. Traffic congestion plagues the Bay Area as well as the rest of the state, which makes voting yes on Prop. 35 a wise decision. The California Department of Transportation–Caltrans–has a backlog of public works projects that are completed largely by in-house engineers and architects. Current California law allows the state to contract outside services, but only under limited circumstances. Under Prop. 35, state agencies such as Caltrans would be able to use qualified private engineers and architects to simply get the jobs done safely and efficiently. And maybe even more cheaply. According to the Yes on Prop. 35 campaign, an economic study of the proposition showed that the use of private sector services would save California taxpayers $2.5 billion annually and create 40,000 additional private sector jobs. Opponents of the proposition say that the initiative is only following a trend toward privatization, and in doing so, public employee unions lose out on pay and work. They argue that public works projects should be completed by public employees. But we’re going along with the countless supporters of the proposition–sponsor Taxpayers for Fair Competition, the California chapter of the American Institute of Architects, and the California Minority and Women’s Business Coalition–who say spread the wealth and the work. With more people working on the job, long-term projects are accomplished sooner–on time and on budget. Vote yes on Prop. 35.

Proposition 36 Diversion of Drug Offenders

Proposition 36, backed by the same sponsors that helped pass the Medical Marijuana initiative, presents a sticky situation. Since the war on drugs has been waged, federal and state measures combating drugs have focused on criminal-law enforcement over prevention and treatment. In California, where prisons have become a boom industry, that effort has largely failed, and the public seems itching to enact more liberal drug policies. At first glance, Prop. 36, which seeks to put most first- and second-time drug offenders in treatment programs instead of in jail, seems to fit that growing sentiment. If passed, the proposition would divert approximately 37,000 nonviolent drug offenders from California’s prisons, which have the highest rate of admissions for drug-related offenses in the United States. So what’s not to like? Couched in decriminalizing terms, the proposition is cleverly misleading. Prop. 36 does not push for any real accountability, excluding what drug-court judges regard as crucial court sanctions–the “carrot and stick” approach–used to get addicts to clean up. Prop. 36 also prohibits spending any of the money allocated in the initiative for drug testing, which, according to judges, is the only tried-and-true method to determine if someone is using drugs. When drug-court graduates were asked what kept them in treatment, 91 percent said jail sanctions and 87 percent said frequent drug testing, according to a study done by American University. The lack of treatment opportunities for offenders has important implications, and, if anything, Prop. 36 accurately pinpoints California’s growing interest in doing more about it. But the oddly worded initiative undermines the work currently being done by California’s drug-treatment courts and provides no satisfactory solution. Vote no, and let’s wait for more precise and forward-looking legislation on drugs.

Proposition 37 Hazardous Businesses Fees

Let’s pretend we don’t give a damn about reading through lengthy and complicated propositions. Let’s just say that all we want to do is show up at the polls and choose the vote that will least embarrass us when we discover what the proposition was really all about. There’s actually a way to cut through the mumbo-jumbo–a Cliff Notes for schooling ourselves on which way to vote. Just follow the money. Take Prop. 37, for example. Philip Morris ponied up $350,000, the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States kicked in $200,000, and Chevron sweetened the pot with another $200,000 to push it through. With this much information, do we even need to know what Prop. 37 is before making an educated guess on which way to vote? For the record, companies that create hazards to our health have to pay a fee to the state to monitor and then clean up their messes. Proposition 37 would redefine these fees as taxes, therefore subjecting the fees to a two-thirds vote for approval. In other words, we–not the polluter–would be footing the cleanup bill. Who’s against Prop. 37? The American Cancer Society, the American Heart Association, the Sierra Club, the League of Women Voters–and the Bohemian. Vote no on Prop. 37.

Proposition 38 School Vouchers

The theory behind Prop. 38, venture capitalist Tim Draper’s school voucher initiative, appears to be that since California’s public schools are in need of some help, we should just take their funding away and give it to privately funded educational institutions. This logic is a little like attempting to cure the homeless problem by taking away people’s cardboard boxes. The initiative proposes to hand out vouchers in the amount of $4,000 per child, funds that would be used to enroll children in private schools. According to state budget analysts, this initiative, if passed, would cost around $3 billion, money that would be unloaded from the state’s coffers, and certainly from the already inadequate public school budget. While the parents of children already enrolled in private schools would no doubt welcome a publicly funded reduction in tuition payments, this action would indisputably jeopardize the futures of our children still remaining in public schools. Vote no on Prop. 38.

Proposition 39 Easier Passage of School Bonds

You know we’re in trouble when a numbskull like George W. Bush can pass himself off as an education candidate. Closer to home, California has its own problems–namely, overcrowded schools and, in some cases, students who are forced to attend classes in Third World conditions characterized by portable trailers, minimal libraries and computer labs, broken heaters, crumbling plaster, and poor plumbing. If passed, Prop. 39 would overhaul the way school bond money is spent. It would amend the state constitution (which now requires a two-thirds vote of the electorate) to allow school districts to authorize by a two-thirds vote the sale of bonds not exceeding $100 per average household. The bond issue must then be approved by 55 percent of the voters. The proposition offers greater safeguards than those guaranteed under Prop. 13, which set no limit on the amount of bonds that can be issued. At the same time, Prop. 39 makes it easier for struggling school districts to order the kind of capital improvements sorely needed in California, which ranks second in the nation in class size (only Utah averages more students per classroom). We urge a yes vote on Prop. 39.

From the November 2-8, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘The Contender’

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Political writing team talks about women in politics, the mysteries of PMS, and ‘The Contender’

“Well, I thought it was cute,” states author Dana K. Drenkowski. “Very cute.” We are seated at a sun-drenched table at a Marin County coffee shop, where we’ve parked ourselves this afternoon to discuss The Contender, a brand-new political drama from Dreamworks Pictures.

Drenkowski, a San Francisco lawyer and writer, is referring to the scene in which we, the audience, are first introduced to our heroine, Senator Laine Hansen, played by the great Joan Allen.

“I loved that scene,” says my guest. “Here the President of the United States is on the phone, calling her up to offer her the Vice Presidency, and there she is with her pants off.”

What makes it even cuter is that when the President calls (he’s Jeff Bridges, by the way), Hansen and her husband are happily doing the not-so-nasty right on top of the Senator’s desk.

“Of course, we don’t know it’s her husband at first, do we?” points out J. Michael Reidenbach, Drenkowski’s Oakland-based writing-partner and co-author of the duo’s own new Washington thriller Legacy & Destiny (Corinthian Books; $24.95). “We kind of think we’ve caught her in the middle of a scandal.”

Indeed. And there’s plenty of scandal in The Contender, a sometimes-riveting, sometimes-merely-silly saga of what happens when a woman is chosen to become the Vice President after the former V.P. dies in office.

It is not an easy transition, as her confirmation is challenged by a rabid right-wing Senator (Gary Oldman), an ornery fellow with bad-hair and, even worse, a file full of photos that seem to show a young Ms. Hansen having group sex with a house full of frisky fratboys. This is all decidedly uncute, as is the organized character assassination that seems certain to keep Hansen from becoming the first woman to serve in the White House.

Reidenbach and Drenkowski have also imagined how a woman might make a run for the White House, but in Legacy & Destiny, Governor Elisabeth Armstrong is running for the Presidency itself. That their book, a fast-paced “beach read” that is also crammed with intrigue and scandal, should hit the stands at the same time The Contender lands on movie screens, is a testament to the timeliness of the subject matter.

“It just shows how ready our society is to finally have a woman as our president,” says Drenkowski.

“And if Bill Clinton had the guts to ask Ann Richards to be his Vice President instead of Gore,” adds Reidenbach, “we’d probably have a female president this January.”

But let’s get back to that sex-on-the-desk scene.

“In your book you have a seduction scenario between Governor Armstrong and a reporter,” I mention. “The Contender showed the Senator being intimate. Why do you think it’s necessary to demonstrate that these female candidates are sexual beings?”

“Oh, I don’t agree that we were trying to present her as a sexual being,” argues Reidenbach. “We were just presenting her as a human being. We were giving people a chance to see her in her private life as well as her public life. Personally, I think the kind of problems a woman presidential candidate will probably encounter won’t be related at all to sex.”

“Really?” says Drenkowski. “By sex, do you mean her problems won’t be related to gender or won’t be related to sexual activity.”

“Sexual activity,” confirms Reidenbach. “I mean, there will be issues where, because of her gender, people won’t have confidence in her, and that kind of thing. But her past-and-present sexual activity probably won’t even be an issue.”

Hmmmm.

“The whole theme of The Contender is that a woman candidate’s sexual activity would be under scrutiny, while a man’s sexual history wouldn’t,” I toss out. “Joan Allen makes a speech, ‘You have no right to ask me these questions. And if I had been a man, you wouldn’t care about my sexual history.'”

“If there is a double standard,” adds Reidenbach, “then it’s wrong, and I would hope we could draw lines between what is public and what is private, with either a man or a woman.”

Another issue brought up by the movie is the old myth of a woman’s raging hormones. In response to one politician’s criticism of Hansen’s unrepressed sexuality, she retorts, “Believe me, you don’t want a woman with her finger on the nuclear button who isn’t getting laid.” In Legacy & Destiny, there’s even a passing joke about the dangers of Presidential PMS.

“It’s really an irrelevant issue,” insists Drenkowski. “For one thing, most of the women I know aren’t getting laid, and they don’t seem to be any more or less cranky than anyone else I know. For another thing, most of the women who would be eligible for the presidency will be past the childbearing age. They’ll be in their 50s and 60s and menopause will probably have stepped in–so you can’t get away with that old raging hormones slur. Indira Gandhi was post-menopausal. Golda Meir was post-menopausal.”

Cleopatra was post-meno . . .wait. Forget that.

But hey, Margaret Thatcher was definitely post-menopausal.

“Because I’m a man,” adds Reidenbach, “I can’t really speak authoritatively to whether it’s even a true thesis, that women act differently while experiencing PMS. I deal with women all the time in the workplace, and hey, I can’t tell when they’re having their period or not. There’s no noticeable change in their level of competence.

“I don’t even know why this is a subject of discussion,” says Drenkowski, “because we already have so many women in key positions around the world. I mean, obviously women can control their emotions and their moods.”

Though, you know, really bad PMS might have explained some elements of Thatcherism, which poor old England still hasn’t recovered from.

“One of the reasons we’d like to see a woman become president,” says Reidenbach, “is so that we can stop talking about this stuff once and for all. Sure, the first woman candidate will run the gauntlet, there will be a lot of insane questions asked, and maybe the sexual issues will be brought up–but the key question will be, ‘Is this woman tough enough for the job?’ And once a woman convinces the country that she is tough enough, then all the stereotypes will be removed, and we can finally put all that nonsense behind us.”

“We’ll know for once and for all that a woman,” concludes Drenkowski, “can be just as good, or just as bad, a president as any man.”

From the October 26-November 1, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Santi

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Get the buzz: Santi chef/co-owner Thomas Oden presides over a lively procession of diners at his popular Geyserville restaurant.

Saints Alive!

Seasonal Italian cuisine reigns at Santi

By Paula Harris

“MAIN STREET” at night seems dismally deserted as we wander along the silent sidewalk and cross the trafficless street. There are a few metal-fronted buildings and an old-fashioned general store specializing in saddles, tack, and western apparel. All is shadowy, just a patch of electric light on the corner spilling from the open post office door. Dead.

It’s Geyserville on a Thursday night.

This sleepy old place makes Graton look downright cosmopolitan by comparison. One could almost be forgiven for assuming Geyserville is located elsewhere–in Napa County or Mendocino County perhaps. But the teeny town snoozes in Sonoma County, located between the Alexander and the Dry Creek valleys, ringed by wineries, and a mere nine minutes’ drive north on Highway 101 from downtown Healdsburg. It’s actually a quiet respite from the now burgeoning Healdsburg plaza, transformed in recent years into a wine-tourist mecca.

Just as we conclude we’re meandering through a ghost town, someone throws open a door to a large building marked “Taverna,” there’s a burst of noise, and we glimpse a throng of people bellying up to a long bar, while others crowd the elegantly rustic restaurant beyond. Even on a Thursday night, Geyserville is teeming with life–and a lot of the teeming is at Santi restaurant.

The 6-month-old Santi (which means “saints” in Italian) is buzzing. Housed in the historic 1902 landmark building that was formerly Catelli the Rex restaurant, Santi is a gathering place for local vintners, growers, ranchers, and the occasional intrepid tourist who dares to venture beyond the Disneyesque charm of Healdsburg.

This night, the owners of nearby Trentadue Winery luxuriate over their pasta in a comfy oversize booth, while at a nearby table an older couple vacationing from New Orleans study the ample wine list.

The renovated restaurant features two comfortable dining rooms. Design details include buttery-lemon walls, a large stone fireplace, rich wood furniture, exposed brick, and ornate iron shutters. Out back is a romantic patio for warm-weather dining. And inside, the fully stocked bar is clearly a popular retreat. Former winery chefs Franco Dunn and Thomas Oden, of Jordan Vineyard and Winery, have created a menu that reflects Italian regional cuisine, evolves with the seasons, and enhances the local wines (their wine list is great).

The terrina di Anitra ($8.25), duck terrine with cress salad and 20-year-old balsamico, is a substantial appetizer special. A generous rose-brown slab of tasty terrine, a coarse paté, is drizzled with a touch of balsamic vinegar, although not enough to make any real impression flavorwise.

Crespelle di mais, zucchini e cippolini ($7.25), crepes with roasted corn, spinach, summer squash, and scallions, make a pleasing fall appetizer. Two delicate crepes are served hot, folded over crunchy fresh corn kernels that pop sweetly in the mouth and napped with a hot, creamy sauce.

The hit of the evening is the risotto de gamberi, zucchini e cippolini ($11.25/small and $14.25/large). A risotto with rock shrimp, summer squash, and chives, it’s a lovely bowlful. Perfectly separated grains of arborio rice are studded with green zucchini, chives, parsley, and–best of all–plump spirals of moist, flavorful rock shrimp. In fact, shrimp in every forkful. The whole effect is a comforting light creaminess enlivened by the seafood. De-lish.

While the galletto al mattone ($14.75), young chicken cooked under a brick with sautéed sweet peppers, red onion, herbs, and roasted potatoes, is fine, it’s not spectacular. A nightly pasta special, tortelli di zucca ($9.25), floors us. It’s described as “home-made pasta filled with purée of winter squash, amaretti cookies, mostarda, and Parmigiano with brown butter sauce.” But the dish is overly heady and cloyingly sweet with amaretto flavor. There’s nothing else on the plate to counterbalance the teeth-jarring effect. We end up scraping out the awful filling and just eating the pasta half moons.

Maybe this dish would be better on the dessert menu?

As for desserts, we sample a spuma di limone con frutti di bosco ($5.25), lemon mousse with mixed berries that has the required sweet-tart flavor, but unfortunately has a fallen texture like runny custard; and a luscious panna cotta ($5.75), a cool cream with a slight gelatinous texture and a pleasing vanilla finish.

All in all, Santi is a popular place and worth a trip to the hushed, nostalgia-filled Geyserville. Just think twice about the cookie-crammed pasta.

Santi Address: 21047 Geyserville Ave., Geyserville; 707. 857.1790. Hours: Daily, lunch, 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m.; dinner, 5:30 to around 8:30 p.m. Food: Italian, emphasizing wine-friendly seasonal delicacies Service: Good Ambiance: Warm , rustic elegance Price: Moderate to expensive. Wine list: Very ample selection, loads of local favorites Overall: 2 1/2 stars (out of 4)

From the October 26-November 1, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Java Jive Writing Contest

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Hungry Hearts

6th annual Java Jive writing contest winners

LISTEN to the damn scientists long enough and you could start to think the human heart is pretty simple. Four chambers, a few tubes, a lot of liquid: it doesn’t seem too different from the water pump in your car, though it’s a bit more expensive to replace. But the poets know better. Inside that fist-sized organ, they never tire of pointing out, lies an endless capacity for emotion–usually, of course, various flavors of suffering, ranging from mild regret at unrequited love to bitter rage at betrayal to the lingering burn of true love lost.

So why does that long-suffering organ keep pumping its way through the world? Because the heart is a lot like the stomach: it always gets hungry again.

Enter Java Jive 6, the latest installment of this publication’s annual coffeehouse writing contest. For this year’s Jive, the Bohemian asked writers across the North Bay to write about “Hungry Hearts and Unnatural Chemistries.” We wanted 500 words or less on human relationships in all their puzzling pathology and complicated glory.

We got it–in spades. Turns out there are more takes on love (and its opposite) than there are romance novels on the shelf–though most of our writers were infinitely more interesting than Danielle Steele. We actually had trouble picking five winners, so we picked six, all of which you’ll find below. And don’t forget to join us on Wednesday, Nov. 1, for a public reading by the winners (see “Jive Reading,” p. 17).

First Place

Tête à Tattoo By Eliot Fintushel

I ask you, what are the odds of meeting someone whose tattoos match yours? Red rose on the biceps, butterflies on the palms, yin-yang above the navel, Celtic cross on the nape of the neck, bull’s eye on the lumbar, et ever-loving cetera. And our perforations: ringed nose, studded tongue–wouldn’t you extrapolate? Wouldn’t you want to compare less accessible regions?

She amenable to same. “Maybe we are, like, twin souls.” Her eyes blazed. She touched my hand. I squeezed. Your place or–“Mine,” she said. I said, let’s go.

I never do this.

Italic curlicues wrap her ankle. About her calves hamadryads frolic; if she stands on tiptoe, their tunics ripple. Her knees have faces, tragedy on the left and comedy on the right. Me the same.

My trousers fall. Above tragedy, an eagle. Above comedy, a snake. She the same.

“Look.” Her blouse is gone. Undergarmets boil away. “Do you have nipple rings like these?”

“Yes.” Buttons spray. Tee flies. Silk flutters. “And you have Jacob climbing the ladder up your ribs to the heaven of your aureoles . . .”

“Just like you!”

We lock emblems, appendages, accessories. Our four breasts, her two celestial, mine rudimentary, clink. Our ink mingles. Our tongues knot stud to stud. The butterflies of my palms alight on the calla lilies of her nether swells. She me likewise.

Above, lids tickle. Below–our sole dissimilarity–her bearded Jove swallows the serpent uncoiling from my Hermes’ caduceus, red, blue, and green.

“Lord,” I sigh, “was Cliff ever right!”

“Cliff? You know my ex-boyfriend Cliff?”

Jove disgorges.

“Who?”–spelunking in the counterpane, burrowing into the percale–“No. Who?”

That’s when my left nipple ring slid off. The right was removed by force. She spat on Jacob, rubbed him with one of her butterflies before I could pull away–and he vanished along with half the ladder. She flung the covers from the bed and re-examined my hamadryads: smeared. Tragedy drooped. Comedy dripped.

“All fake! I’ll kill Cliff. I’ll kill you.” Her tears dissolved my roses.

“I wanted you all over me.”

Horrified: “He showed you those photographs, didn’t he?”

Adamant: “It was love at first sight.”

“You cheap liar, no needle ever touched you. You just wanted to get laid. Tomorrow it’ll be a different set of fake piercings and phony tattoos. Get out.”

She was wrong. My only fault had been impatience.

I skulked. I guttered. Tattoos drenched my argyles. Get out. She was still sobbing when the tumblers in the door lock clicked.

Now, prick by prick, the tattoo artist lays in color, and the pain intensifies my love. My caduceus is the hardest. With every next image I think of its twin on her. As soon as my tongue heals, I’ll go to her. Let her tug, spit, weep, rub now. My love will never fade.

Second Place

Northern California Teenage By Leonore Wilson

The flag-draped coffin moved by like a slow barge. Another boy dead from the war in Vietnam. Behind it, Jackie lookalikes: dark glasses, soft cowls. Bawling bruised the air. Slow clack of heels on concrete. Rosaries hung from mourners like lassoes. Nuns crowed in Gaelic, bringing up the rear. We were told to bow our heads in prayer, stare into our blond shiny desktops as if into ponds of holy water, and recite the glorious mysteries. If we threw our eyes to the cortege, we’d see history inside those facets of glass, we’d see the entire future disappearing like snow in a paperweight.

But what made us look up, disobey? The snake of wisdom muttered to us, Stay Awake. During those moments notes were thrown or slid as Sister stood, eyes glued, her body like a candle narrowed before the window. In the late 1960s most of those notes had one message. Uptown after school. Meet at six. Without uniforms. Bring lipstick. Tease hair.

The Beatles were on the big screen. The Fab Four running through London on their way to L.A. wailing It’s Been a Hard Day’s Night, Once in a Life, Michelle, Eight Days a Week. Every teenage girl was owl-mouthed. Desire was sticky there in that place. Rock, the great aphrodisiac. Invisible sisters in the dark we screamed out of a blood-sense of duty. We sat in plush red velvet not hearing a word. We were heartbit, giddy for sex. Popcorn dropped like spermatozoa. Ice clattered like necklaces. Here we were in our summertime flowery shifts, our lips smeared pink as aureoles. Here we loved the tale of Red Riding Hood best, the wolfish dread. The panic of want was unstoppable. The wolf-want inside the female.

These boys were from Liverpool, from the other side of the world, the underworld. They were Samson-like knaves with identical hair, tailored suits. They motioned us with their guitars, their hands and mouths and microphones. We drowned in them. We were stoned animals clinging to each other’s elbows. We were paralyzed like weights on a table. Love beaded and peace signed, we were not prepared for this contagion, this British invasion. The want, want, wannas. This claim they put on us. In the end we were transfixed, transfigured. A fire mounted in us. Thrust and ache, we saw we were naked, exposed; bride-crying to heaven like gulls.

Third Place

A Love Story By Nancy Long

I walk into the apartment. Throw my bag down, yell to my roommate, “Come on, girl. Put on your dancing shoes. We’re going out!”

“Yeah, sure. We got no money. How are we gonna get drinks?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

I peel off my waitress whites, let the shower spray off the grease, grime, sweat of eight-hour burger cookin’. Can’t wait to get out of that shit-eatin’ hole. Away from that son of a bitch boss. I need the money. Got to put up with his crap for a little while longer . . . but, for now, I’m free. Gotta go out tonight!

My roommate and I hit the road. Clubs line the boardwalk. It’s Saturday night. Everybody’s out. Gotta get out tonight. Gotta get out.

Two guys stop us for a match. Tell us we look good. Me in my red, my friend all decked out in black. “Hey, where are you going?”

Our heels click in the night as we walk away, laughing, leaving smoke trailing. Two guys’ eyes following close behind. Gotta get out tonight.

We enter the club. . . . The smell of tobacco, light flashing, music blaring. I can hear the lines of coke being cut up on plates of glass with sharp-edged razor blades in bathrooms, on toilet lids, doors closed. Three girls in a stall, all ready for something, ready for a Saturday night.

The pool tables are packed. The smell of chalk rubbing across rubber tips on long thin sticks gets my blood flowing again. I feel alive. I’m out tonight. Feelin’ hot tonight.

“I’ll get us drinks tonight,” I say to my friend as my eyes scan the room. I put my name down for a game of pool. I smell money ready to be taken, wallets opening and snapping shut in back pockets of men who are too stupid, too drunk, to see beyond the sweetness of my raspberry-flavored lipstick.

I watch on the sidelines. Sit on the barstool, cross my legs, look dumb. That’s how you rope them in. Suckers. Every man is an asshole in my mind. Just like my boss. Tease them a little, but promise them nothin’. Get what you can, then get the hell out. He’s always tryin’ to get a little ass out of all of us. But I know how to play the game. Smile, act dumb, and get what you can.

“You’re up!”

One guy points to me. I slowly stand. Start out easy. Get a few shots in on purpose. Miss a couple. He wins. He smirks.

“How about another. This time some $?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

This time, I win. Good. Got some bucks for drinks. He gets pissed, wants another game. It’s always the same. Their big heads dig out their own graves. Dumb suckers. His buddies are watchin’. I say double or nothin’. He says, yes. Figures. I am out tonight, feeling hot tonight.

The slap of balls in holes rings in my head. Sticks fly high from one end of the table to the other. The game gets faster. We’re dancin’. He and I, but I’m not in it for the romance.

We get toward the end. The score is tied. He is good. Better than most. I like the way his fingers move. His eyes never leave the cue ball. I’m gonna win this game. Get my $ and get the hell out. There are white lines waiting for me. Maybe we’ll try the next joint down the block. I am hot tonight.

The ball just glides in, like a hand fitted in a perfect glove. His friends cheer. I pick up the $ and walk away.

“Hey, want a drink? Another game?” He smiles.

I turn around. Hesitate. This one seems different . . . smarter . . . sweeter. . . Maybe there’s something to this guy, something I could like.

“Sure.”

As I walk to the bar with him, I shake off those dumb feelings. Don’t be gettin’ in any trouble tonight, girl. Next thing you know you let yourself get roped in . . . then get shitted on. I smile my sweet raspberry smile, cock my head to the side, pretend like I love every word he’s saying . . . and think, what can I get out of this one tonight?

Honorable Mention

Velvet Crush By Ariane S. Conrad

Dear Like One,

When I first saw you in the shop, my lips began burning. I fingered crushed velvet and asked about business out loud while I thought about your lips in quiet. The shop’s walls were lined with yielding, feminine clothes, and we were alone.

I asked whether you’d ever played underneath the clothes racks in stores when you were little, the jackets and skirts swinging in your wake like ghosts at a party. Of course you had. You remembered the prim salesladies who dowdily interfered with the fun. I’d had the same thing happen. Of course. We giggled, mirthful girls. You commented on the setting of my wedding ring. Do you remember me now?

I turned back to the clothes, fingers on weaves and fabrics, eyes spying to see if you were watching me. You were. Don’t we all want to be pored over? I imagine you stalking me, glimpsing: how I stretch catlike, mornings; how I lick off spoonfuls of yogurt; how I sway before the stereo.

You asked whether there was anything in particular that I was looking for. I wondered what you were asking. Dresses, I said, as a question. Dresses? you repeated. To tell the truth, I was looking for something like me. With velvety skin, small hands, and a giggle. Something girly, with endless patience for girl things: hair clips, blouses, touches . . .

I tried on a blue wool dress. In the fitting room, my every inhalation was expectation, out was relief. Fervently I hoped the motions in the curtain would reveal your hands, then your eyes, and that you’d walk in, pulling the curtain closed behind you.

Breathing hard, I hoped it, I hoped against it.

As I left the fitting room, you were reaching to hang the unwanted dress. I gazed at your breasts, arms, curves, against linens, mohair, silks. You turned and smiled. I had let you see me watching. I smiled back. Now you knew that I knew that you knew that I admired you.

You returned to your seat behind the counter. I mused over jewelry and couldn’t think of anything to say. Your hands worked at a piece of magenta paper, folding and turning. I said I guessed I should be going. You handed me the origami flower, said it was something to remember you by. I took your hand and kissed it. To remember me by.

Since that day, the world has been relentless in reminding me of you: onions, turquoise, cowboy boots do. Relentless also in reminding me that it is wrong to want you. I do have a husband, my Loved One.

You are my Like One. Can’t it be enough, the likeness, and that I like you? Our connection is prehistoric, instinctive. The judgment and ostracism the world would inflict upon each of us three is barbaric, chauvinistic.

If I told you we could be correspondents, with my husband’s sanction, to our passion’s content, able to make any world of our letters’ paper, would you write back?

Honorable Mention

Love Shorn: A Fringe Fairy Tale By Jordan Rosenfeld

Rapunzel now calls herself Pansy. The name has a quirky, seductive edge; it’s a wild flower, and since the sickness, she feels a bit wild herself. Oh, she can remember the girl she used to be. The pride. The glory. How men from around the world came in search of her, how ubiquitous their show of affection once was. Love words. Imported foreign candies filled with special liqueurs and potions to make a girl crazy with desire. But what girl doesn’t grow tired of awkward hands treading on her tresses? Oh they all knew how to get up. They all knew the Witch went unconscious from too much brandy after 9.

Rapunzel is bald, suffering after chemotherapy, trying to find a way to attain a lover, now that the crowds of admirers have gone. What would draw him to her now, up in that lonely tower, without the socially glamorous locks of hair she once had? Not to mention eyelashes, batting them now a thing of the past. Would he have to be drawn by the music of her voice, scent the private human pheromones she gave off like small white moths into the balmy nights, learn to levitate himself to reach her?

Chestnut ripples of hair is what she first notices about him. After all, who isn’t envious of what they don’t have? Then it is the contours of his body, so male, so everything she is not herself that keeps her watching. He is a nighttime sweet talker, a teller of fantastic tales, and near-sighted from years of straining in the distance for gorgeous females. Outside her window he comes in her dreams, makes her wild with passion at night, makes the skin of her body itch with static for his hands to soothe.

She’ll get him there all right.

He is noticeably distraught at first, after his poorly constructed catapult allows him entry, bruised and scraped, into Pansy’s portal. He isn’t prepared for the remaining spikes of hair, frail and tender like sea urchins being born, the leftover dark circles of near-death in her eyes. He’s uncertain about touching the frail peach-colored skin of her face. What will happen when he presses his princely intentions against her frail bones? Where is the golden hair of rumor?

Where are her voluptuous curves?

That’s when she shows him a thing or two about love. With complicated maneuvers and techniques surely honed from years spent practicing on imaginary lovers.

But lovers never prepare for the storm, the windy nauseating road of chaos that surely comes to mix with trysting. As Pansy and her Prince didn’t think about the Witch. Surely not, that badgering, bad-breath harbinger of all things spoiled.

Honorable Mention

Silk Kimono By Leslie Cole

You enter the bedroom dressed in my silk kimono, chestnut hair pulled up into a floppy topknot, your hairy legs placed wide apart, your face solemn and whitened with flour from the kitchen. “Samurai mama!” you declare. You thrust a book-shaped brown paper bag at me through the driver’s side window of your still moving car.

It is Valentine’s Day, and I happen to be walking alone down the eucalyptus-lined road where you hardly ever come. You wag the package at me. “Here. I got you something.”

You sit leaned back in your chair, the bar not that dark and just a little noisy. We talk. You peel the label off of your beer bottle. Very cleanly, in the same way someone might pull down a blanket from a bed. I peel off my label as well. Secretly, and then I try to fix it back onto the sweaty bottle. You hug me because I hug you first. You are solid but nervous, your hand patting my back as if I were an elderly relative. Your hips are in Cleveland. Mine are in Santa Rosa.

You have now woken up after we have finished.

You walk by me, smiling just slightly, your robe swirls around you, open to your waist, as if you are walking in a faint summer breeze, although all the windows are closed and it is well past sunset. Your golden body is unbearable to look at. You meet me on the causeway at 5 o’clock. Without a word, you peddled around me and tucked in just ahead, taking the headwind that was wearing me out. You woke me up in the early morning to have sex. It was fast and not great, kind of like a drive-through. Then you said you have to remember to call your mother. You stripped off your clothes, starting with your jeans, and pulled my bike up close to the bed and let me watch you fix it naked.

You told Lake Michigan it was over between us while I stood by in surprise. I pissed in the lake after you’d gone, you thinking I’d stayed behind to cry. You covered my pillows with purple iris. Later you chopped my bed in half with an ax. You sat still as a mountain in your lifeguard chair, hood pulled over, golden eyes too beautiful to bear, and you said you could hear me growling underwater. You were almost right–I was singing, though. You told me it was over while making a bologna sandwich on white bread.

You left me a valentine on my car, in the mailbox, strangely stuffed into my baked potato, and then written in magic marker across your sweet white ass.

You pulled in hard and just dropped in on the same blue wave as me.

The water is beyond blue and stretched tight and moving.

Our eyes meet, and we are both ridiculously delighted.

From the October 26-November 1, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Wide-Eyed Gourmet

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Purging the pantry and freeing the fridge

by Marina Wolf

I WATCHED the liquor swirl down the drain, steady streams from a double-fisted pour of old tequila and vodka. They mingled in the middle, chasing the traces of piss-vinegar “cooking wine.” We were moving, which gave me license to kill: any item in the liquor cabinet (OK, the stuffy cupboard above the refrigerator) that wasn’t a valuable vintage or at least half full had to be drained and recycled. The sink smelled like a cheap party for days. But the smell made me feel strangely sad.

Moves are tough, and cleaning the kitchen is downright traumatic for people like me who live there. I shed a lot of dreams during those final days of cleaning and packing. A pound of 8-year-old mint leaves hits the trash, a mute and musty testimony to the fact that I was never going to practice herbal medicine in any systematic way. Rancid tahini hinted that I wasn’t really serious about investigating Middle Eastern cookery (can I help it if my girlfriend doesn’t like hummus?). Bags of old bones and cheese rinds emerged from the freezer, revealing both an abundance of freezer burn and a complete lack of forethought about making simple homemade soup stocks.

GARBAGE as psychosocial index is not a new idea. Hell, half of archaeology is just someone’s old garbage. As a culture, we manage to avoid the implications of our detritus by sending it down the disposal or putting it out in neat little carts. But my moment of truth came on moving day, when I had the support of triple-ply industrial-strength garbage bags to hold whatever I threw out.

Full-bore fridge-purging is liberating, but unsettling at the same time. It’s the flip side of those refrigerator readings that pass for pop psychology, I thought, staring at the bags of slimy lettuce and overripe Brie and ancient Tupperware filled with solidified soup: this stuff is my shadow self, the true me asserting itself in spite of my best intentions. Rotten lettuce: I wanted to eat more salads, but haven’t. Overripe Brie: I wanted more glamorous dinner occasions, but didn’t have the time. Moldy leftovers: I wanted to be more thrifty, but craved more exciting tastes, like pizza and pad thai, the containers for which sit smugly empty in the recycle bin.

And never mind the moldy stuff, the stuff I ruined through neglect. I had to take a good look at the stuff that was still usable and admit that I was never going to use it. I didn’t count the half-empty jars of mustard, salad dressings, and Chinese hot-pepper pastes that got tossed, but the garbage bag that held them was a heavy-enough indictment. “It’s the kitchen corollary of the one-year rule on clothes,” I told myself while meditating on a jar of sun-dried tomato tapenade that had been with us two houses ago. “If I haven’t needed it in all this time, then what’s the problem?” The problem is that I didn’t want to let go of the culinary desires that had inspired me to buy the tapenade in the first place, but now lay congealed like a layer of olive oil. I gently placed the jar in the now-bulging garbage bag.

Heaving the bag out to the curb, I realized the truth: I’m a kitchen explorer who bites off way more than I can chew, and there’s no shame in clearing out time-worn plans and dreams to make way for practical considerations. Sure, I could have kept that leftover liquor. I just wanted to be reminded of my carefree college days. But I don’t drink like that anymore, and neither does anyone else I know.

Anyway, I need to make room in the new liquor cabinet for the Pernod that’s going to go in my next seafood stew. I can’t remember, does that recipe call for sun-dried tomatoes?

From the October 26-November 1, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Election Endorsements

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Here are select endorsements:

Santa Rosa City Council

The pro-growth slate–Sharon Wright (the Queen of Exclusionary Public Process), Mike Martini, Jane Bender, and Bruce Codding–won’t build a healthy business environment in a city that is seen as openly hostile to new small businesses needed for the revitalization of the downtown. Vote for Noreen Evans, Carol Dean, Susan Gorin, and Rick Meechan.

Petaluma City Council

After the bad old days of late Mayor Patti Hilligoss–remember Poison Patti?–an environmentally conscious majority gained control of city hall and helped usher in the UGB and challenge the county’s $140 million water expansion plan. Now two of the council’s champions–Jane Hamilton and David Keller–are bowing out of public service. Vote for Pamela Torliatt, David Glass, and Jim Mobley.

Rohnert Park City Council

Big expansion plans dominate a small city with a feisty political past. Vote for Jake Mackenzie, Shawn Kilat, and Paul Stutrud.

Cotati City Council

Talk about a contentious political climate. Vote for Janet Orchard, Janet Kurvers, and Will McAfee.

Sebastopol City Council

Only one incumbent up for re-election–Kathy Austin–but lots of green issues on the agenda. Vote for Craig Litwin and Sam Spooner.

Windsor Town Council

Recall fever has subsided, but there’s no shortage of dicey growth issues. Vote for Debora Fudge and Bill Patterson.

Sonoma City Council

Jim Ghilotti, the construction magnate who helped bankroll last spring’s failed transit-tax measure, is running for office. Vote for Joseph Costello and just about anyone else.

Measure I: Rural Heritage Initiative–Yes.

Measure M: Healdsburg Growth

Management Ordinance–Yes.

Measure N: Rohnert Park UGB–Yes.

Measure S: Sonoma UGB–Yes.

From the October 26-November 1, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Open Mic

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By Gretchen Giles

ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD Walter W. “Trey” Atkin III was killed last windy Saturday while at a birthday party. He was retrieving a ball from under a tree when a limb broke, hitting him on the back and crushing his skull. His parents, Petaluma residents Chip and Margie Atkin, bravely made the decision to donate their only child’s organs to others. These are just the facts; the deep impact of Trey’s death upon his parents cannot be imagined. I can barely peer over the lip of this Grand Canyon of grief–it is too hugely large to comprehend.

When something this illogical happens, when the universe snaps to send a limb from the sky or a bad man in through the back door, we cast about for a moral. But like the abduction and murder of 12-year-old Polly Klaas, Trey’s death offers no good story of wrong actions to warn against. Don’t go to birthday parties on windy days? Don’t have a slumber party in your own home with your mother present? I think not.

My first reaction upon reading of Trey’s death was to tell my own children that they could never go outside again. Indolent boys with Game Boy calluses on their fingers, they were delighted. They whooped. They knew that I was kidding. Sort of. And I was kidding, sort of. Because my druthers were indeed to scoop each child up in a balloon, set them upon my knees, and hold them tightly forever. There they’d be, graying and bearded, unmarried and uneducated, still sitting on my bony lap where I could guard them.

But the dry rigors of daily life demand that I stand up and they slide off. So I uneasily let them go to school all alone and sleep in rooms with electricity pulsing through the wires. They can attend birthday and slumber parties. They may carry scissors, use knives, and flirt with the homely threats of the bathtub. They do, occasionally, step outside. Somehow we all learn to live with the knowledge that this big entire world is an irrationally dangerous place. Yet maybe there is a small good story in the Atkins’ tragedy.

Trey’s death brings a poignant and real immediacy to the old saw of living each day as though it were your last. Change the vowel: Love each day as though it were your last.

From the October 26-November 1, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Newsgrinder

Important events as reported by daily newspapers and summarized by Daedalus Howell. Friday 10.27.00 A Marin Superior Court judge has dismissed charges against Henry John Krajewski, who was accused of marketing a knockoff form of rave drug fave GHB from his Fairfax home, reports the Marin Independent Journal. Krajewski, an artist who has painted...

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Election Guide

By Greg Cahill Here is a list of select endorsements in local, state, and national races: President: Al Gore Vice President: Joe Lieberman U.S. Senate: Dianne Feinstein State Senator: John Burton U.S. Representative: Lynn Woolsey (6th District) State Assembly: Anna Nevenic (6th District) ...

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The Wide-Eyed Gourmet

Purging the pantry and freeing the fridge by Marina Wolf I WATCHED the liquor swirl down the drain, steady streams from a double-fisted pour of old tequila and vodka. They mingled in the middle, chasing the traces of piss-vinegar "cooking wine." We were moving, which gave me license to kill: any item in the...

Election Endorsements

Here are select endorsements: Santa Rosa City Council The pro-growth slate--Sharon Wright (the Queen of Exclusionary Public Process), Mike Martini, Jane Bender, and Bruce Codding--won't build a healthy business environment in a city that is seen as openly hostile to new small businesses needed for the revitalization of the downtown. Vote for Noreen Evans, Carol...

Open Mic

By Gretchen Giles ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD Walter W. "Trey" Atkin III was killed last windy Saturday while at a birthday party. He was retrieving a ball from under a tree when a limb broke, hitting him on the back and crushing his skull. His parents, Petaluma residents Chip and Margie Atkin, bravely made the decision to...
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