Newsgrinder

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

Monday 12.18.00

Jack and Samantha top the list of the most popular names for babies delivered this year at Marin General Hospital in Greenbrae, reports the Marin Independent Journal. Other popular names for newborns were Baby-Jane-Doe.com, Baby-Jane-Doe.net, and Baby-Jane-Doe.org. With the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers’ recent approval of new domain name suffixes, baby names expected to become popular in the coming months include Baby-Jane-Doe.biz, Baby-Jane Doe.pro, and Baby-Jane-Doe.museum. “In the past we’ve had Justin and Jennifer and a whole host of other names that were less historical and traditional,” said Vicki White, chief nursing officer at Marin General, with a nod to the future. In lieu of setting up trust funds, many parents expect their progeny to sell their names to the start-ups of tomorrow. . . .

Monday 12.18.00

A sewer by any other name would not smell as sweet, or at all if Monte Rio’s Sweetwater Springs Water District gets its druthers. In opposition to the county, the quaint river town just flushed a proposed $7.9 million project to install a locally operated sewer system. The project was intended to help clean up the Russian River by piping waste from 600 Monte Rio homes and businesses into “underground barrel-shaped grinders, which would churn the material into purée and pump it through a pipeline to a treatment plant and disposal leaching fields,” reports the local daily. In an unrelated story, sales of bedpans and corks have surged throughout Monte Rio.

Sunday 12.17.00

From the mouths of babes and into the ears of strange men who invite children to sit on their laps: Santa’s back in town, hanging out at the Santa Rosa Plaza mall and taking Xmas orders from the rosy-cheeked consumers of the future, reports the Press Democrat. An 8-year-old girl explained that when St. Nick can’t get his girth down the chimney he “goes through the front door. He’s magic.” No, he would be a felon. A 7-year-old boy told Santa that he wants chicks for Christmas so that he could “feed them and let them grow up.” Well, he’s got it about half right. Another little girl said she wanted batteries for Christmas–oddly enough, so does my girlfriend.

Sunday 12.17.00

The Lytton Band of Pomo Indians of Sonoma County will soon be the owners of Northern California’s first full-service casino in an urban area. Congress approved the Lytton gambling plan in the East Bay city of San Pablo last week, and President Clinton is expected to sign the bill. The tribe’s attorney, Anthony Cohen of Santa Rosa, told the PD, “What this is going to mean is that for the first time in 40 years they are going to be able to buy some land for themselves, build homes, and a tribal community center, and then provide all the benefits that any government strives to do for its people.” Spokesmen for the Miwoks say the tribe has no plans to establish gambling operations on ancestral lands–psych! The whole state is ancestral land.

Saturday 12.16.00

Petaluma ain’t getting jingly with it, according to Capt. Brian Hoover of the local Salvation Army, for whom the Christmas bells usually toll to the tune of $380,000 annually. A shortage of bell ringers means the metal in the kettle “will come about $10,000 short of what we did last year,” says Hoover, who blames the good economy for the shortage. As he notes to the PD, fast-food restaurants are hiring at $9 to $10 an hour, whereas the Petaluma Salvation Army pays bell ringers only $6.25 an hour before ringers subtract their “administrative fee” and “tips” from the kettles. To join the bell brigade, call 707/769-0718. No musical talent necessary. . . .

Saturday 12.16.00

The Associated Press reports that a pair of eco-evangelists has been stalking SUVs parked at Marin’s shopping malls and tagging them with bumper stickers that read: “I’m changing the environment! Ask me how!” Annoyed by the sport futility vehicles’ negative environmental impact, adhesive activists Robert Lind and Charles Dines see their sticker campaign as “a way to punish these people,” explains Lind. “They think their status trinket is more important than the environment we all share.” You can join the rebel alliance and get stickers at changingtheclimate.com.

Thursday 12.14.00

A woman who unsuccessfully tried to get a credit card at a Corte Madera Macy’s with someone else’s identification, gave officers the slip, which inspired a car chase after her accomplice throughout Marin County. The driver ditched his Landrover at an apartment complex and escaped into the rugged Ring Mountain Open Space Preserve. A search of the vehicle produced a small quantity of methamphetamine as well as pictures of the woman dressed in a Raiders cheerleader uniform. “She looks like she could be a cheerleader,” (ya think?) opined Officer Dan Jones, who is apparently renowned for his powers of observation.

From the December 21-27, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Gadget Gifts

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Gaga over Gadgets

Culinary doodads all the rage

By Paula Harris

FLICK THROUGH the slick 178-page Williams-Sonoma holiday catalog and it’s all there in mouthwatering glossy color–a myriad of fabulous (non-X-rated) toys for adults.

Wade through the professional cookie press, the Stilton cheese scoop, commercial cream whippers and yogurt makers, chiming waffle makers, egg coddlers, juice extractors, and the latest electric crepe makers.

Yup, the American appetite for kitchen doodads seems insatiable.

We buy culinary gadgets to peel garlic, spin-dry spinach, pit plums, shred Cheddar, fry fries, and slice bagels in less than the time it takes for Jacques and Julia to get into a TV cooking show spat.

The top sellers today are the kitchen workhorses, such as hand-held graters, peelers, and slicers, rather than trendy fads like electric hot-dog makers or the hot lava rock cooking stones of yesteryear.

And, according to an August report by the Arizona Republic, sales are at a record high as the gadget frenzy continues, with New York-based HomeWorld Business reporting that $840 million was spent on kitchen gadgets in 1999, a noteworthy increase of $65 million over the previous year.

Swing by local kitchen supply stores and the story is the same. Culinary gizmos are flying off the shelves and into holiday gift boxes and Christmas stockings.

Louise McCoy, owner of Santa Rosa-based McCoy’s Cookware, says sushi paraphernalia is a hot trend. Bestsellers are square and rectangle plates, small bowls, and chopsticks. That includes all manner of chopsticks, to be exact, in pale green, colonial blue, red, and black, some inlaid with ivory or silver, some adorned with dragonfly designs, and even a plain stainless-steel pair. Prices range from $3 to $20 for a fancy set with a ceramic stick rest. There are also sushi-making kits that include a bamboo rolling mat, a rice paddle, and (yes, don’t panic) instructions.

New this season is the Gastroflux from Bourgeat ($30). It may sound like an antacid, but McCoy describes these useful items as “flexible nonstick food-quality silicon molds.” What? “They’re molds for muffins and tartlets,” she explains with a laugh. “They’re so flexible, you can just pop ’em out and absolutely nothing sticks–not even gooey caramel.”

Also still popular this year is the Silpat ($24), a silicon cookie sheet that you place on top of a regular cookie sheet for more nonstick action. “Just wave it to get the crumbs off,” adds McCoy.

THE PROLIFERATION of TV chefs also is fueling the consumer mania over gadgets. You know when Martha Stewpot uses a certain gizmo on her show, that item is going to take off. “One of our best movers is the microplane zester,” says Laura Lewis, buyer at Shackfords kitchen store in Napa. “It’s like a woodworking tool, but it’s used for getting lemon zest and grating peel. Martha Stewart uses it on TV, and it sells like hotcakes.”

Culinary blowtorches to caramelize crème brûlée (they use refillable butane gas cylinders) are popular among the gourmet set (and fans of Flashdance). Their price range sfrom $29.99 to $49.99, depending on the model.

Another hot item (this time for those who don’t wish to be scorched and singed) is the Shakespearean-era washable suede/leather nonflammable oven mitt ($23), an armorlike adornment that resembles a gauntlet and provides amble protection up to the elbows.

Talking of kitchen accidents, a mandoline is always a good (and safe) idea for budding gourmets because it avoids the potential necessity for reconstructive surgery on the fingertips. This tool lets you swipe veggies across it (just like using your American Express card) to slice, shred, and julienne in comfort. Mandolines range from simple household ones ($33) to a professional model ($139).

Temperature forks–a thermometer in the shape of a barbecue fork, with heat sensors in the tips that give a digital readout to prepare perfect poultry, steaks, or roasts–are great for the barbecue or the oven at $27. Cool for Dad.

“Another new item that’s very popular is the heat-resistant spatula,” says Lewis. “It can withstand up to 600 degrees.” The spatula costs from $1.99 to $8.99 and come in bright colors like flame, yellow, and blue.

And for stocking stuffers, how about toasted bamboo mixing spoons ($3), which are a prettier color than naked bamboo and more durable since they don’t get fuzzy from the dishwasher like other wooden spoons.

Another idea is a reference cookbook, such as Michele Anna Jordan’s recently released A New Cook’s Tour of Sonoma (Sasquatch Books; $21.95) “It’s a very good index of Sonoma County producers, with accessible recipes,” pronounces McCoy.

Or for pure fun, McCoy has a selection of colorful ceramic cookie jars resembling purses from the 1940s ($29). Fill one with homemade goodies and you’re in business.

The items described are available at one or more of the following stores: Hardisty’s Homewares, 710 Farmers Lane, Santa Rosa (707/545-0534); McCoy’s Cookware, 2759 Fourth St., Santa Rosa (707/526-3856); Pots and Pans, 107 Fourth St., Santa Rosa (707/566-7155); and Shackfords, 1350 Main St., Napa (707/226-2132).

From the December 21-27, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Wide-Eyed Gourmet

Blunt truths behind the scene

By Marina Wolf

THE COUNTER is the lonely spot of the 24-hour restaurant, the wall of shame, the place where there is no getting away from the fact that you are alone, and you do not expect that to change over the course of your stay. This is where hollow-eyed men sit over their egg breakfasts at 11 at night and stare at the waitresses; where the waitresses sit during their too-short breaks and stare at the walls; where wide-eyed writers whose usual spots have been taken sit and stare at everybody else. We have all committed to eating in solitude.

Physically it has very little charm, this stretch of wood-grain counter that, like the free refills that slide across it, seems endless. It’s barely enough room for four diligent students, but a bunch of loud bikers who know the manager and like hanging out five minutes before closing time will fit there quite comfortably.

Actually, then, the counter-dweller isn’t alone as much as ignored, a ghost to all who pass. It’s true that being a ghost entails some inconveniences, like waiting forever to get a glass of water, but there are benefits, too. One can walk around behind the counter, for example, and pull out some of the day’s used newspapers while waiting for the glass of water that never comes.

The veil between the worlds is very thin here. At the counter one gets a glimpse of what really goes on in the world of food service. Nothing shocking, just demystifying, like Penn and Teller taking apart a magic trick. Here is visible the flotsam of normal restaurant flow, indicators of what should never be ordered here: the little-used stainless-steel gravy boat, wicker baskets for under the fish and chips. There are even some plastic-wrapped fortune cookies to go with the Asian chicken salad. If you look hard enough you can almost see the film of dust over those cookies.

This is the backstage, where behind the curtains, the waitresses’ cheerful smiles vanish into bitter thin lines, and the syrup is dispensed without ceremony from a spigot on a plugged-in canister marked, prosaically enough, “hot syrup.” From the counter one can see that the toaster oven is always left on, a magnificent display of indifference to matters of electricity usage. People want their toast now. When the toast burns, as it inevitably does, the smoke rises up like a spirit in a shaft of light from the recessed ceiling lights.

That’s about as spiritual as it gets over here. Otherwise, all the plain sides show. The chintzy sales-goal flyers, the screws that hold the pastel prints to the walls, the scuffs in the sides of the counter attesting to years of bumps and splashes. On the other side of the row of heat lamps bob the paper chef hats of the two cooks on duty. One hat is crisp and unwrinkled, another looks like a reused grocery bag, crumpled and then shaken out. I wonder if the workers have to buy these hats for themselves. The two heads are busy scraping, slapping, and banging cheap metal implements together in unknown, but vigorous activities, a counterpoint to the hum from the ventilation hoods that almost blocks out the pop tunes on the sound system.

The waitresses do side work back here, adding pepper to shakers from a one-pound bag of ground pepper, more than one person could ever use in a lifetime. They combine ketchup bottles, a slow and painstaking process that is better imagined than observed. The counter-dwellers get to see it all. It’s not a privilege, just a fact of the ghostly life.

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

European Brews

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Euro Brews

By Tom Butler

WINTER BEERS are a fairly new phenomenon stateside, but they have been a staple of European brewing for as long as beers have been brewed. Three distinct styles of winter brew are available to compare with the many domestic holiday brews. These beers raise the level of the art of beer making (and beer drinking) far beyond the ordinary to compare with fine wines.

Big, bold, and malty, English winter beers are probably the beer style that most people think of when they think of winter beer. J.W. Lees is a premium example of this style, with its strong, slightly sweet, and beautifully malty balance that is not only great for drinking now, but provides the strength of body necessary for laying down for several years like a fine wine. Taster and winemaker Rich Farnocchia states quite strongly, “Lay this one down next to your ’94 Cabernets.”

Fuller’s Old Winter Ale, a brew available on draft in many places throughout the Bay Area, is a truly classic winter ale with a perfect balance of malt and hops. If you take this brew and bottle-age it for a year (they did!), you wind up with Fuller’s Vintage Ale, a brew that perfectly exemplifies the quality, drinkability, and aging potential of high-end English ales. Fuller’s Vintage Ale–available in a beautiful red gift box–is the perfect example of English brewing art and a great gift for any real ale lover.

For two examples of the smoky style exemplified by Alaskan Smoked Porter, try Hecht Schlenferla Rauchbier and Special Rauchbier from Bamberg. Both of these brews, while slightly different in style, are big, round, smoke-filled brews that feel like sitting in front of a raging log fire while the snow pours down outside.

Three brews from Belgium provide interesting and unusual examples of holiday brewing that has been a Belgian tradition for hundreds of years.

Corsendonk Christmas contains a slight sweetness blended with the slightly sour note that is typical of the Belgian style of brewing. It is nicely balanced with a lingering finish.

With a gigantic flavor in a very light brew, N’ice Chouffe is an excellent example of what many of the lighter domestics are trying for without quite achieving it.

Finally, the pinnacle of Holiday beers, Scaldis Noël, comes in two sizes: a small bottle in brilliant blue wrapping that makes it look like a little Christmas present, and a large magnum size wrapped in red foil that grabs your full attention even before you pop the top. The smaller bottle provides a clean and bright flavor that one reviewer described as “savoring a fine cognac.” The magnum–an unfiltered version–is slightly sweeter and more malty than the small bottle. Both brews, more than any other available this season, reveal the true potential of the full reality of the brewer’s art.

Cheers.

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘102 Dalmatians’

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A renowned doggie doc discusses inbreeding, high-strung puppies, and ‘102 Dalmatians’

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

“Did you see the first movie, 101 Dalmatians?” I pose this question to Dr. Martin Goldstein shortly after seeing the aforementioned Disney film’s new sequel, 102 Dalmatians.

“No,” he emphatically replies. “No. I never saw it.”

“But you’ve seen the original animated version, of course,” I assume. “The 1961 version?”

After all, I am thinking, Goldstein is a veterinarian, and an outspoken fan of dogs. Surely the film had some influence on him as a young vet-to-be.

“No. Never saw that one either,” he says. After a well-timed beat, he adds, “Heh heh.”

He says it exactly like that. “Heh Heh,” as if to say, “What do you think of that?”

It is typical of Martin Goldstein–outspoken proponent of holistic medicinal practices for animals, and the best-selling author of The Nature of Animal Healing: The Definitive Holistic Medicine Guide to Caring For Your Dog and Cat (Ballantine; $16.00)–to take knowing delight in doing the unexpected.

For 25 years of veterinary practice, Goldstein has been an iconoclastic force within his profession, suggesting, among other things, that commercial pet foods, canned and dry, are creating widespread poor health among America’s cat and dog population. Goldstein suggests feeding real meat and grains to our canine and feline friends. He also has strong opinions on yearly vaccination–a practice he feels may be causing genetic damage.

Not every veterinarian agrees with Dr. Goldstein, yet his holistic approaches are becoming increasingly popular within the field. His book, recently released in paperback, has been embraced by legions of pet lovers and has surely inspired some very interesting conversations between dog and cat owners and their traditionally trained vets.

But enough of that: What did Goldstein think of his first Dalmatian movie?

“My first impression,” remarks the New York-based doctor, “was that this was a very pro-dog movie. Beyond that, what can I say? It was a cutesy little movie that happened to have a lot of dogs in it.”

It’s hard to argue with that summation.

Those who actually saw the first live-action film, of course, will know that Cruella de Vil (Glenn Close)–psychopath and high-fashion fancier of Dalmatian fur coats–has been serving a prison term for attempting to slaughter several dozen talking puppies.

In the new film, she is released from prison, seemingly reformed and newly committed to the welfare of put upon pooches. Before too long, of course–after a breakdown where she sees spots (black ones) everywhere–she’s got the itch all over again. Mayhem ensues. Dogs are threatened. People are hurt.

The nasty underbelly of the Dalmatian movies, of course, is what’s happened to all those little puppies that people ran out and bought for their kids after the first film was released back in 1996.

“Dalmatians became such a big fad after the first movie,” says Goldstein, “and so many of them ended up at the SPCA, and a lot of them were euthanized. I heard a lot about that at the time of the first movie. And I wasn’t surprised. The Dalmatian is not the best child’s dog.

“After being a veterinarian for 30 years,” he continues, “I would say the Dalmatian tends to be one of the snippier breeds of dogs. If someone said, ‘What dog would you classify as potentially the most aggressive and snappy to have around the house,’ I would put the Dalmatian pretty high up on the list.”

He’s warming up now.

“What I want to know,” says Goldstein, “is, what’s this movie’s obsession with purebreds? All the dogs in this movie, the Dalmatians and all the other breeds, where were all the mutts? I didn’t see any mutts. They were all purebreds.”

“You’re right. It was kind of snobbish, wasn’t it?” I say.

“Not only snobbish, but when you have breeders breeding a particular kind of animal, you are also breeding in a lot of problems,” Goldstein continues. “By which I mean all the things that go wrong genetically with so much in-breeding. Look at the kings of England, all the hemophiliacs and everything, all because of the in-breeding within the gene pool of the family.

“You can’t imagine how many times I’ve had people tell me,” Goldstein continues, “‘If only we’d just gotten a mutt, we’d have avoided so many problems!’ But people who could adopt great mutts from the pound–for little money and sometimes for free–would rather say, ‘Oh I want a Dalmatian,’ or ‘I want a Golden Retriever.’ A movie like this comes out and all of a sudden, Dalmatian breeders are breeding like crazy to satisfy the inevitable demand.”

“You know, mutts are my favorite pet,” I am encouraged to confess. “They’re the pickup truck of dogs, dependable and resilient.”

“Exactly,” Goldstein says. “Mutts are wonderful dogs. There are so many cats and dogs being put to sleep in this country, due to the overpopulation problem, and most of them are mutts, and here this film was kind of supporting the purebred dog, because that was all they showed.”

Our enthusiasm for dogs is building.

“I think the dog far surpasses the human race,” proposes Goldstein. “The dog is far above us. Imagine an animal that has bone tumors or serious leg fractures that couldn’t be repaired, where you tried to save the leg but you can’t, and you have to amputate the leg. In three days, that dog will be out wagging its tail, playing Frisbee. But take a leg off a human being and they’ll be in therapy for ten years.”

“I own three cats,” I am suddenly moved to announce. “But what I really want is a dog.”

But not a Dalmatian. I have kids. But what, exactly, is it that makes a Dalmatian so unsuitable?

“Dalmatians tend to be, shall we say, high strung,” Goldstein says. “And another thing. The Dalmatian is one of the breeds that have a congenital genetic problem that goes with them, and it’s the problem of deafness. All breeds have their thing: German Shepherds have hip dysplasia, Golden Retrievers tend to get cancer, and Dalmatians tend to be deaf.

“And let me tell you,” he continues. “If you take a high strung animal like a Dalmatian, and then you make it deaf, it’s only going to enhance its tendency toward being jumpy. Then you throw it in with some little kid who just saw 102 Dalmatians, who doesn’t understand why the dog isn’t responding to his baby talk, and starts poking and prodding the dog–it could be very bad for everyone involved.”

Clearly. And yet . . . “Don’t you wish the filmmakers had used all of this?” I ask. “Imagine a film with 100 high-strung talking dogs, all carping and complaining and being sarcastic, occasionally yelping, “What? What? I can’t hear you!” That could have been very entertaining.”

“It could,” Dr. Goldstein says. “There’s an idea for 103 Dalmatians.”

Heh Heh.

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Spins

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Kuckoo’s Nest

Trent Reznor: Do not disturb

Nine Inch Nails Things Falling Apart (Nothing/Interscope)

POOR TRENT REZNOR. I’m a bit worried about him. He seems so very angry and conflicted. Let me explain. His newest CD–the title of which seems to suggest some subtle hidden meaning–is a collection of remixes. In other words, Mr. Reznor has taken songs from his last CD and reworked them through some sort of studio wizardry. Now that might sound like a very nifty, one might even say creative, thing to do. But doesn’t it indicate that Mr. Reznor may suffer from nagging self-doubt?

One thing is certain–clearly, he is a disturbed person.

For instance, the third song on this disc is titled “The Wretched.” You see what I mean? He is trying to tell us something, perhaps even crying out for help. On that particular song, Mr. Reznor makes angry noises with his guitar, a sound that is reminiscent of a buzz saw–not unlike those angry little bumble bees that assailed Agent Muldaur on that popular X-Files show–all the while shrieking in a most pained way that things are not the way he wants them to be.

I feel his pain.

This is a young man–well, not really so young anymore–who is having trouble with interpersonal relationships. I wonder if he has had a girlfriend in recent months. Perhaps he is lovesick. Or maybe his mama didn’t give him as much love as he craved as a child.

By now you’re asking, What can we do for Mr. Reznor?

I would like to suggest that if everyone who reads this newspaper purchases his new CD, then Mr. Reznor will be able to afford the kind of psychotherapy he may need so desperately. And if enough people around the world buy the disc and feel Mr. Reznor’s pain, then he might also be able to purchase prescription antidepressants (like those pretty little pink and lavender pills the pharmaceutical companies advertise on the X Files program). Won’t you help with Find Trent Reznor a Perceptive and Affordable Psychiatrist Campaign? Mary McMuffin

Paul Desmond Lemme Tell Ya ’bout Desmond: The Music of Paul Desmond (Label M)

HE WAS a lyrical genius, an alto saxophonist who sang sweetly. Like Stan Getz, jazzman Paul Desmond could blow “Cherokee” at lightning speed, but he soon settled into a much more subdued tempo. He possessed a melodic sense that seemed to run contrary to the hard bop of his peers but was no less hip. A San Francisco native, Desmond rose to fame as the reedman in Dave Brubeck’s renowned ensemble, lending his voice to such classics as “Take Five.” This welcome anthology from jazz producer Joel Dorn’s newest label draws ballads and bossa novas from several of Desmond’s solo recordings, spanning a period from 1961 to 1974. An all-star cast of sidemen includes guitarists Jim Hall and Gabor Szabo, baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan (heard on the dreamy “Stardust”), bassist Milt Hinton, and drummer Connie Kay. Smooth jazz the way it was meant to sound. Greg Cahill

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Anna Halprin

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Dancing Solo

Far from the center of the dance world, Anna Halprin exerts a subtle influence

By Marina Wolf

IN THE RIGHT LIGHT, every movement has possibilities for dance. In Anna Halprin’s studio in Kentfield, the right light touches everything, including the 80-year-old dancer/choreographer, who is carefully pulling a folded director’s chair to the center of the empty room. In one corner dangles a human skeleton; along the southern wall are a few stacks of brightly colored cushions.

The floor, burnished by 45 years of use, glows gold in the morning sun.

Halprin grins as she eases her slight frame down into the canvas.

“Isn’t this a funny award to give, a chair?” she says, twisting forward and around to squint at the embroidery on the back. “Chair for distinguished teaching,” it reads, all cursive and dignified in spite of the obvious irony of a chair serving as an award to a dancer.

Halprin turns back around and drapes her thin arms over the armrests. “I got it at the American Dance Festival a few years ago [in 1996],” she says. “And then the next year, much to my surprise, I got the award for distinguished dance artist. Which was really unusual, because I’m very isolated here.”

Her isolation has been extreme by any measure, and it comes by choice.

Like so many dancers before her, Halprin tried her hand in New York City, the heart of the modern dance scene in the mid-1900s. At that time, Martha Graham reigned supreme, while other modern choreographers such as Doris Humphreys were creating popular works and Broadway musicals.

Halprin danced in a musical for a short while, but the promise of a big-city dance career could not make up for what Halprin describes as “the barrage of noise, smells, and cement of New York City.”

In 1945 she moved out west, to the hillside home that her husband, architect Lawrence Halprin, had designed and built in Kentfield.

The studio and shaded dance deck came later, in 1955, and eventually attracted dancers from around the country for study and collaboration.

Occasionally Halprin would venture out with whatever dance company she was working with, or with her own troupe, the San Francisco Dance Workshop.

Her “scores,” loose scripts that she crafted to get participants moving and interacting with each other, audiences, and the environment, ranged from intimate improv on- stage to citywide dance happenings. Yet still she lived in exile from the dance world, at a distance that was more philosophical than physical.

“You won’t believe this, but when I first started working in this new way, the fact that I was acknowledging emotional material was considered therapy, not dance,” Halprin says, shaking her frizzy halo of graying curls with disbelief.

“You could interpret emotion, but to actually have your own, to express the truth of your own personal mythology and experiences, this was not considered dance art.”

HALPRIN drew her philosophy of movement from the intersection of two disciplines: anatomy and psychology. Through her participation in Gestalt therapy work, Halprin learned to break down the barriers between person and artist and move into a world of vibrant emotion-states. And in anatomy and kinesiology, which had been important aspects of her college dance studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Halprin found a vocabulary of individual, yet objective, movements.

Her classes, whether for children, trained dancers, or cancer patients, always have incorporated an intense study of the body (hence the skeleton in the corner). But hers was not abstraction of body movement à la choreographer Merce Cunningham, separate from the human spirit. For Halprin, movement became a way to reconnect to one’s emotions, not as therapy, but as the most powerful material that any artist could choose to work with.

Participants in Halprin’s workshops, which she still conducts from the studio, may at first not know they harbor this material, but the stuff is there, waiting for movement to let it out.

“If I were to sit here and start pounding like this,” Halprin demonstrates, pounding her fists against her thighs, “eventually it’s going to evoke a feeling. It might be determination, it might be anger. But the movements and feelings begin to have an association, which comes from your personal mythology.”

IN 1972, Halprin’s own mythology took a dramatic turn when she received a diagnosis of cancer. “Up to that point I was using my life to create my art,” she says. “And after I had cancer I began to ask myself the basic questions: Who am I dancing for? Why am I dancing? What am I dancing about?”

Halprin’s brow lifts as she ponders the seemingly imponderable.

“I began to realize that I wanted to use my art to create my life,” she says. “And that made a big, big shift.”

Following her diagnosis, Halprin began leading movement workshops for people with life-threatening illnesses, an approach to healing that proved so powerful that she and one of her two daughters, Daria Halprin, decided to found the Tamalpa Institute in 1978, an educational facility dedicated to expressive-arts therapy.

Halprin also began to explore ways to tap the spectator/participant energy she had felt for years with her performances and public happenings.

The wall between performers and audience almost completely vanished, to be replaced by groups of participants.

The next move in Halprin’s work took her to creating art and dance ritual for and with the larger community. One such ritual, “Circle the Earth,” began in 1981, while Marin County was being terrorized by a serial killer, who had murdered seven women over the course of two years on the trails around Mt. Tamalpais.

Halprin and dancers from Tamalpa worked for nine months with the community around the collective mythology of the mountain. A few days after the first performance of the piece, the killer was caught.

The dance to reclaim the mountain continued over the course of five years and later developed into community rituals for peace, the Earth Run and Circle the Earth, variants of which are still being danced in 36 countries around the world.

They’re also still danced on Mt. Tamalpais each year.

Nature remains a key part of Halprin’s work, whether in community or in her own works. For decades she has explored outdoor settings in Marin and Sonoma counties as places to experience creative contact with sand, or seaweed, or decaying redwoods.

BUT HALPRIN is also finding herself on a return path to the “big black box,” as she calls the traditional stage. She staged an 80th-year retrospective concert at Cowell Theater in June–“It was meant to be sort of a goodbye,” she says with a chuckle.

And 55 years after leaving New York for the West Coast, Halprin is planning to return next October for a collaborative show with Japanese-American dancers Eiko and Koma, along with Joan Jeanrenaud, former cellist for the Kronos Quartet, at the Kennedy Center in New York. The meeting of such creative minds promises to be an exciting landmark in American postmodern dance, but Halprin is as casual about the prospect as she is excited by her work with healing and the community.

“The reason why I’m still excited about dance after all these years,” says Halprin, her eyes sparkling, “is because I know that dance can renew and inspire and teach as well as entertain.

“That to me is the most gratifying and fulfilling aspect of my life’s work. This is what we train people to do at Tamalpa. We find a foundation for a true dance experience, which they can take out into the world and serve, be useful.

“Be useful.”

She gives the phrase peculiar emphasis, and then tells a story about violinist Isaac Stern playing with the Jerusalem Symphony during the Gulf War. In the middle of the symphony, the alarm went off. Everyone put on a gas mask, and the orchestra left the stage.

But Stern continued to play.

“Afterwards he was interviewed, you know, [and was asked], ‘What was that moment like for you?’ ” Halprin says. “And he said, ‘It’s the first time I felt my music was useful.’

“That’s my goal,” concludes Halprin. “To reach that kind of depth, where dance can be useful.”

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Glass Slipper Blues’

Photograph by Michael Amsler

What the funk: The Cinderella story gets a new look in Glass Slipper Blues.

Able Fable

‘Glass Slipper Blues’ gets funky with old fairy tale

By Patrick Sullivan

THE IDEA is as rich with possibilities as it is fraught with peril: Take the old-fashioned story of Cinderella and transform it into a funk musical with a feminist bent, complete with black lights, break dancing, and a playboy prince brought to heel.

One thing you knew going into Glass Slipper Blues, which recently finished playing to two weekends of packed houses at Kid Street Theatre in Santa Rosa, is that this production was likely to be either very, very good or very, very bad.

After all, few creatures in the theatrical world offer more potential for disaster than musicals, which need–among many other things–a cast that can both act and sing.

The cast of Glass Slipper Blues manages both feats, though it must be said that the voices are sometimes stronger than the dramatic talent. But the music itself may be the biggest star here, as you’ll be able to see for yourself if plans for a restaging early in the new year bear out.

You know the basic story–probably by heart. After the death of her beloved father, a mousy young woman seems destined to spend the rest of her life as an overworked domestic in her own house, toiling in the kitchen while her wicked stepsisters and cruel stepmother plot to catch a sugar daddy at the prince’s grand balls.

But Glass Slipper Blues has more than a few surprises in store.

With a face as lovely as her voice, Rose Logue is equally convincing as the timid little servant girl Rella and the bad-ass beauty she becomes after her fairy godmother (played by Nancy Pritchard, a talented singer with a fine sense of comic timing) answers her plea for help by “baptizing her into the nation of the funk.”

Rella’s first song, “Stay,” has an alarming Little Mermaid quality to it. But there’s nothing Disneyesque about her transformation into the hip-shaking, head-turning Funkarella, a pink-haired goddess who is unquestionably the “queen of the dance floor.”

Looking an awful lot like Cruella de Vil, Amy Rink out-evils Glenn Close as Gloria, the wicked stepmother. Her fine, full voice brought down the house during “Two Sides to Every Story,” in which she lovingly relates her black-hearted misdeeds to the audience.

Photograph by Michael Amsler

After Funkarella gets her new look, she has to brave the perils of the outside world to make it to the ball, including a perverted singing sidewalk. Far more dangerous–and funnier–is a motorcycle-riding “wolf in wolf’s clothing” played with predatory relish by Mario DeGasperi.

Another standout in a minor role is the young Jessica Finn, a talented young dancer who has funky attitude to spare as one of the Fairy Godmother’s assistants.

Since this is not your father’s fairy tale, you might expect the royal love interest to be a bit less charming than Prince Charming. You’d be right. Played by Patrick Maloney (a Sonoma County musician who occasionally seems a bit uncomfortable as an actor), this royal playboy seems bent on bedding every fair maiden in the kingdom.

But his well-used golden boomerang, which he keeps tucked suggestively in the front of his pants, goes limp as a banana peel when he falls for Funkarella.

It’s not giving away too much to say that everything ends happily–though not without a few unexpected twists. The plot is reasonably compelling, though a little fat-trimming might be in order: it’s more than two hours before Funkarella and her prince hook up for good and “justice is served on a big silver platter” to the scheming stepsisters and stepmom.

This isn’t the first time Glass Slipper Blues has come to the stage–and it won’t be the last. Originally a collaboration between creator Bret Martin (who wrote the book) and musicians Manny Wolfe and Aaron Young, the production debuted last June at the Phoenix Theatre.

This time out, the team added Eileen Allen as director and Sarah Baker as musical director. Clearly evident in the new version is the touch of Baker, a multitalented blues musician who has polished the musical pieces here to a high shine.

According to Martin, a deal is now in the works to stage Glass Slipper Blues in San Francisco. There are also plans to restage it in Santa Rosa once Kid Street moves into its new home at the Lincoln Arts Center. But keep your eyes peeled, because wherever it pops up next, Glass Slipper Blues is likely to sell out faster than you can say “happily ever after.”

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Girl And the Fig

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New digs: Owner Sondra Bernstein and chef John Toulze savor the moment.

Juicy Fruit

Girl and the Fig sprout anew in Sonoma

By Paula Harris

THREE YEARS ago restaurateur Sondra Bernstein created the Girl and the Fig in Glen Ellen, a restaurant that was determined to be different in several ways. First, there was the Rhône-oriented wine list, which eschewed the ever-popular cabs and chards, and instead featured viogniers, marsannes, syrahs, and mourvèdres, long before those became the trendy tipples they are today. The restaurant also offered flights of wines and ports, an artisan cheese menu and cheese-tasting bar, and a variety of dishes featuring Bernstein’s passion: figs in all their fleshy, chewy guises.

The Girl and the Fig enjoyed so much success that it has just expanded, moving out of its comfy digs in Glen Ellen’s gourmet gulch and settling into a new, more spacious home in the historic Sonoma Hotel on the town’s picturesque plaza.

It’s a move that may please some and infuriate others, but owner Bernstein vows to stick with her successful format.

“I suppose this decision [to relocate] may not please everyone, but wait and see!” she notes in the restaurant’s newsletter. “We are committed to re-creating ‘The Girl and the Fig’ in a more accessible location with all your favorites.”

The new space in the venerable old corner building, built in 1880, has been through many incarnations, most recently Heirloom Restaurant. The Girl and the Fig retains some of dining room’s elegant features, such as the huge, wonderfully preserved wooden and mirrored Italian bar (built in 1909), the ancient wooden floor, and the butterscotch-colored glass lamps hanging from the high ceiling.

Although the new setting is handsome and quite stately, with wood paneling, spaciousness, and full-length windows, some of the Girl and the Fig’s former cuteness is gone. I miss the old place’s country-bistro coziness, even those funky yellow and green fondue sets lining the upper shelves (maybe they are still working out the decor?).

But big afigcionados will still spy many familiar touches. The mismatched lemon-painted wooden chairs, silver fig paperweights, and papery long-stemmed crimson poppies on the tables are still intact, as are the Julie Higgins’ paintings of the voluptuous girl and her figs (although the art seems to be shown to less advantage in the larger space). Oh, and yes, the nailed-to-the-door Barbie and Ken dolls still quirkily grace the entrances to the men’s and women’s restrooms.

One note of concern is the skimpy tea-light candleholders on each table. We saw a a couple of candleholders tumble over during our visit, leaving the teal ight burning at an angle with wax pooling onto the butcher-block paper covering the table. More stable ones are definitely in order.

The restaurant’s wine list is still almost entirely Rhône-inspired, including some excellent flights for sampling.

What’s really different is the full bar–featuring French aperitifs and extended cheese and charcuterie platters–and the gorgeous patio out back.

The seasonally changing menu is still described as “country food with a French passion,” including, as always, several dishes containing figs in all their splendor. But is the food the same? Mostly, although we encountered a couple of hiccups. But to be fair, the chef is probably still settling into the new space.

A mushroom ragout ($10.95) is a taste treat. It features a hunk of Redwood Hill Camellia, a light and creamy cheese, melting with a tantalizing tang under a heap of sizzling garlicky sautéed wild mushrooms. Great with the crusty bread.

But a huge bowl of steamed mussels ($9.95) in a salty broth containing Pernod and chopped leeks, and served with two toasted baguette spears, is curiously blah. Too many mussels, not enough taste.

The signature fig salad ($9.95) is always a delight (although you should catch it earlier in the year when the figs are fresh-grilled and almost caramelly rather than the dried version served now). Still, the mouthwatering combination of arugula, figs, pecans, Laurel Chenel chèvre, pancetta, and fig and port wine vinaigrette makes this one of the loveliest salads around.

The low point of the meal is the lamb shank ($17.95). The plate contains a shrunken sinewy lamb shank–with no meat to speak of and a pile of very undercooked flageolet beans. The best parts are the glazed carrots and Brussels sprouts. Unusually disappointing overall.

But the ravioli ($16.95) is back to usual high standards. The pasta is beautifully presented in layers of eye-catching colors. The squares are filled with ricotta and spinach and layered with delicious chunks of roasted winter squash and wilted greens. It’s all fresh and rich and yummy.

Other entrée items include grilled pork chop in cider sage sauce with a Gravenstein apple-potato gratin ($16.95); calf’s liver in a Madeira mushroom sauce with mashed potatoes; and Arctic char, an unusual Canadian fish with a flavor like mild salmon, ($20.95), with French lentils and braised fennel.

With sugary smiles, the diners at the next table are exuberantly demolishing plates of puffy profiteroles, port and fig ice cream, and crème brûlées. We have room for just one dessert, but it’s a winner! Dubbed the “almost flourless chocolate cake,” it’s a dense sliver of fudgy heaven topped with clouds of fresh whipped cream and given extra distinction by two slivers of candied orange peel.

Service is well intended and professional, making this a very enjoyable excursion. Former Fig fans (and newbies alike) should definitely check out the new digs, which, after all, is just around 12 minutes away from the old place. Die-hard Glen Ellen supporters will have to wait till March, when Bernstein opens a new eatery–The Girl and the Gaucho-in the former space.

The Girl And the Fig Address: 110 West Spain St., Sonoma; 707/938-3634 Hours: Dinner, from 5 to 9 p.m., with a limited menu until 11 p.m. nightly Food: “Country food with a French passion,” says the owner Ambiance: Artsy elegance Price: Moderate to expensive Wine list: Unusual, Rhône-oriented wine list Overall: 3 stars (out of 4)

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Brad Newsham

S.F. cabdriver circles the globe in search of the perfect guest

By Yosha Bourgea

THE TOURIST is a fairly recent invention of social history. Before the end of World War II, most people who ventured outside their own countries were engaged in serious tasks, like diplomacy or battle. There certainly weren’t enough leisure travelers to support an entire industry.

Today, of course, tourism is a huge business. For some, it’s an affordable luxury; for others, a source of survival. Even a lower-middle-class American can scrape together the money for a Third World tour. But in countries where there is no middle class, many people barely earn enough to stay alive. Travel for its own sake, for something as intangible as adventure, is out of the question.

When San Francisco cabdriver Brad Newsham decided to use the money from the sale of his first book to finance a trip around the world, he was thinking about an idea that had intrigued him for years. “When this trip was over,” he writes, “I would surprise one of the people I had met along the way, someone who had never been out of his (or possibly her) native country, with an invitation to visit and travel around the United States with me for one month–my treat.”

From this generous impulse sprang the journey that would lead to Newsham’s second book, Take Me with You (Travelers’ Tales; $24). Over the course of 100 days, as Newsham traveled a crescent path through the Philippines, India, Egypt, Kenya, Tanzania, Zimbabwe and South Africa, he encountered an array of friendly strangers. And from each one who seemed like a promising guest, he collected an address.

“I was uncertain as to just how I would decide whom to invite,” Newsham writes. “Maybe I would meet someone so compelling–so kind, eccentric, or just so much fun–that the choice would be obvious. But if that didn’t happen, I would simply drop everyone’s name into a hat and draw one out.”

Newsham is an observant and genuinely respectful tourist, the kind one wishes was more representative of Americans in other countries. As a cabdriver, he’s well versed in the art of striking up a conversation, and he writes with the fascination of someone who talks and listens with equal enthusiasm.

The tale of his journey through some of the poorest and most beautiful places in the world is an engaging read, sprinkled throughout with snapshots of the potential guests. There’s Tony, an easygoing Filipino mountain guide with a glass eye; Shubash, the hippest rickshaw driver in the holy city of Varanasi; Mohammed Ali, a professional ear cleaner in New Delhi; and Takesure, a restless Zimbabwean office worker. There are also the beggars of Manila, Calcutta, and Cairo whose names Newsham never learns, like the girl whose English is limited to “No mama, no papa.”

Before he began his trip, some of Newsham’s friends told him that it seemed to smack of Western paternalism. Newsham considers this possibility, wondering just how altruistic his gesture really is–and how many mouths he could feed for the price of a plane ticket. Ultimately, though, he chooses to follow through with the plan.

“It seems unquestionable to me that every act a person performs tips the balance of the world,” Newsham writes. “Do something nice and the world is immediately a nicer place. . . . Share your blessings and the world is instantly more generous, easier, happier. And I want to live in a happier, easier world. What better way to bring that about than by giving away the thing that, so far in life, had meant the most to me–the chance to travel?”

From the December 14-20, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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The Girl And the Fig

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