Work Hours

Work Daze

Cave dwellers worked a third as much as modern man. And we call this progress?

By Jane Louise Boursaw

AREN’T YOU JUST SICK of working all the time? You put in your 40, 50, 60, or more hours a week at your job, then spend all weekend cleaning the house, mowing the lawn, and doing laundry! Or maybe you’re self-employed, work out of your home, and end up working at your job all the time, day and night.

The average American now spends 47.1 hours per week at a full-time job. That’s up from 43.6 hours per week in 1977, so notes a 1997 nationwide survey of some 3,000 employees by the Families and Work Institute, a New York-based non-profit that addresses work and family issues. Over the course of a year, that’s about four extra weeks spent working.

Do you ever wonder if there is some way to pull our lives back from the work abyss? This era of techno-gadgets–e-mail, cell phones, pagers, faxes, and voice mail–isn’t helping. These things should be making our lives more efficient, freeing up more time for important things like lying on the beach and spending time with our family. Instead, they only make us even more connected to our jobs.

The line between work life and private life is getting fuzzier all the time. For example, the next time a cell phone rings in a restaurant or movie theater, notice how many people automatically reach for theirs “just in case” it might be a business call. In the ’60s and ’70s, stress experts called this kind of thing “multiphasic behavior,” otherwise known as “doing several things at once.”

These days, they call it efficiency.

As a result, we can’t get away from our jobs and are totally stressed out. Our marriages are in trouble, we have no time for our children, and we’re physical and emotional wrecks.

But some companies are trying to help their employees buck the odds by offering stress-relievers, notes an article in the June 7 issue of Newsweek. Companies like AT&T, GTE, and Sprint are letting employees set their own schedules, offering wellness programs like on-site gyms and massages, and providing “get-a-life” coaches– psychologists, gurus, even yoga instructors–to help draw the line between work and personal time. Their job is to help overworked employees maintain some semblance of a personal life in an era where meals are quite often eaten at work and e-mail is returned after the kids are tucked into bed.

Drop-in centers–mini-offices for suburban employees–are another growing trend. Instead of battling traffic through the Bay Area, employees of Sun Microsystems can drive to one of four small branch offices at any hour to plug into the company network. “Sun gets more work out of us, and we get some of our life back,” notes project manager Brent Daniel in the Newsweek article. Daniel gets to skip his hour-long highway commute when he works from the drop-in center near his home.

Then there’s the matter of how much work we should be doing. As human beings, we all must do “some” work for basic survival, but is there a “minimum daily requirement” of work? A number of diverse sources, ranging from primitive culture to modern history, place this figure at about three hours a day.

Marshall Sahlins, author of Stone Age Economics, discovered that prehistoric men hunted from two to two and a half days a week, with an average work week of 15 hours. Women gathered for about the same amount of time each week. In fact, one day’s work supplied a woman’s family with vegetables for the next three days. Throughout the year, both men and women worked for a couple of days, then took a couple off to rest, play games, gossip, plan rituals, and visit.

In From Joblessness to Liberation, Dr. Frithjof Bergmann writes, “For most of human history, people only worked for two or three hours per day. As we moved from agriculture to industrialization, work hours increased, creating standards that labeled a person lazy if he or she didn’t work a 40-hour week. The very notion that everyone should have a job only began [150 years ago] with the Industrial Revolution.”

DURING THE DEPRESSION, free time was equated with unemployment. The New Deal established the 40-hour week, and workers were taught to consider employment, not free time, as their right as citizens.

When it comes to erasing the line between work and private life, baby boomers are partly to blame. They turned their homes into workplaces and started thinking of work in terms of self-fulfillment, contrary to their parents, who were taught by the Depression that any job that pays a good wage was worth keeping. Now our careers begin earlier and end later, reversing a trend that reached its peak after World War II, when child labor virtually disappeared and retirement was a birthright.

According to the Department of Labor, the number of people 55 and older who are still in the labor force has increased by 6 million since 1950. Most of them are women. That number is projected to increase by another 6 million by the year 2006.

A generation ago, economists believed that America was on its way to being an affluent society. More efficient technology was supposed to produce an abundance of wealth that we could enjoy with less and less labor. Things didn’t quite turn out that way, for a variety of reasons, including the Vietnam War and the oil boom of the ’70s, which led to double-digit inflation that sapped the value of wages. A string of recessions, mergers, and downsizing served to crash the economy during the ’80s.

But baby boomers still want to maintain the lifestyle of their parents, which means going deeply into debt. According to an article in the May/June issue of Modern Maturity, about one fourth of the average family’s income now goes to various creditors, more than in any previous generation. These days, in nearly four out of five couples, both partners work outside the home. In 1950, it was one out of five.

Still, the “simple living” trend has been developing steadily over the past decade or so. Some people are just fed up with working all the time and are unwilling to continue sacrificing their family and leisure time for the almighty dollar and expensive toys their neighbors can covet. Many have figured out how to “take back their lives”–like earning less money, buying fewer things, and understanding that “money equals life energy,” a concept embraced in the book Your Money or Your Life by Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin.

Dominguez and Robin claim that we can take control of our lives and even achieve financial independence by changing the way we think about money. Translated, that means: Is that new pair of $60 shoes really worth six hours of your $10-an-hour job? Wouldn’t you rather spend the six hours playing with your 4-year-old son?

There is, after all, more to life than work.

From the August 12-18, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Food Tourism

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Foodie Fantasy

MICHAEL AMSLER

Food tourism is fueling an economic boom in Sonoma County. The pot is boiling

By Marina Wolf

Typically for Sonoma County, working pickups will park next to luxury sedans, dusty cowboy boots will stroll alongside Italian loafers, faded denims will brush up against imported silks, and the locally grown will share opinions with the nationally known. All these things will happen casually and comfortably because the participants share a common passion . . . fine wine, fine food, good company, and an appreciation of the people who make them happen.

–from the Sonoma County Wine and Food Showcase program

WELCOME TO Disneyland–Sonoma style. The aforementioned program notes are beautiful, even laudable, sentiments, but a look around the prestigious showcase event on opening night revealed a serious gap between fantasy and fact. Namely, there weren’t many jeans among the several hundred ticket holders, some of whom had paid $650 per person for a five-day events package. And by far the “working”est-looking car in the lot was a little dented Honda Civic hatchback belonging to yours truly.

It’s a peculiar paradox of marketing Sonoma County’s food scene to outsiders: the dirt (the dusty boots, if you will) is needed to keep our claim to country legitimate, but high-end events and packages are needed to bring in the dough. Bridging the gap will take more than a poetic passage in a program.

Of course, when the bottom line is looking good and getting better, who wants to mess with it? “Eating and drinking” accounts for 16 percent of the almost $650 million that visitors to the county spent in 1995, the most recent year for which there are figures. What with recent write-ups in such prestigious publications as Fine Cooking, Food and Wine, and the New York Times, Sonoma County’s food and wine industry is attracting an increasingly higher class of tourists and spawning pricey package tours. Take the one that HMS Travel has arranged this October for the editors and 120 readers of Fine Cooking magazine. Billed as a California Experience, the three-day tour sold out in 42 days, at a per-person cost of $1,100 to $1,300, not including airfare.

“A room at the Hilton sells for $100 a night–we’re selling that [space] for almost $420 a night, because we wrap it around culinary education opportunities and affiliate it with Fine Cooking,” says HMS owner Larry Martin, whose company has specialized in nationwide food and wine group tourism since 1981.

These visitors probably spend more than the average visitor’s daily expenditure of $135; they’re coming out here expressly to experience a heightened awareness of food and wine, so they’ll be buying lots to take back home. And they’re here longer, so they’ll spend more overall. Finally, they’re adding to the take of the all-important transit occupancy tax, the tax on overnight stays that are collected and parceled out to city and county tourism boards for marketing and support services, plus arts and community events that benefit local residents. In 1998, the T.O.T. collected countywide totaled over $9 million.

Tours such as the Fine Cooking trip fall into the category that the travel industry calls “enrichment travel,” and baby boomers are leading the charge, says Martin. “We’ve already done the beach trip. We’ve sat on our butts. We’re bored. Now we want to go on an archeological dig in Africa or help people build houses in Appalachia.”

Throw in the national trend toward heightened culinary awareness, and you get field trips to organic farms and an evening of wine with Robert Mondavi.

EVEN THE MOST luxurious overnight trip to Sonoma County is predicated on a decidedly low-budget industry: farming and small-scale food production. It’s always been a staple of the county’s economy, and the image of the farmer in the dell remains a draw for the county’s 4.5 million visitors each year, especially daytrippers from the greater Bay Area.

Farm Trails is largely responsible for cultivating this reputation. It pioneered farm networking in 1973, and has grown to include more than 87 full members. While the basic idea hasn’t changed much over the years, both the visitors and the farmers have, says Jayne Burns, Farm Trails’ administrative assistant. “People want to be supportive of farms, and at the same time they have a really fast lifestyle,” she observes. “Everything we do has to be a little more action-packed–you know, packaged for people.”

There are those farmers who resist the packaging, such as Shepherd Bliss of Kokopelli Farm. Bliss, a well-known organic berry farmer, has no e-mail or website, but boasts 400 customers on a mailing list, and receives visits from others who see his handmade signs along the roads in Sebastopol. His semi-Amish farming techniques and free-range chickens create a certain rough pastoral look that people are drawn to. “A lot of farms aren’t like that anymore,” Bliss says. “They’re not pretty. They’re overspecialized, they’re overgrazed, and they don’t appeal to people to visit.”

Feeling the need to accentuate Mother Nature’s natural charm, many Farm Trails farmers have added such attractions as hayrides, petting zoos, or lunch counters. Where once people used to pick up the fruit and can it themselves, most fruit farms now have some kind of storefront where they can sell canned food items and a few token pounds of fresh fruit. Bruce Campbell, who runs a farm and herb nursery near Forestville, recalls how people used to come to his U-pick apple orchard and buy 150 to 200 pounds. Nowadays, they pick three pounds in the same time, interspersed with picnicking and lots of photos. “If we had a concession on film, we would make money,” jokes Campbell.

MICHAEL AMSLER

IS IT POSSIBLE to blend farm charm and money-making venture with more than just a photo op? Supporters of the recently enacted state Agriculture Homestay Bill think so. It allows farmers to feed and house overnight guests at their working farms, thereby combining the comfort of a bed and breakfast with the back-to-the-land nostalgia that many visitors to the North Bay are after. “It’s important to stress that these homestays will be happening on working farms, not some Disneyland version,” says Assemblywoman Virginia Strom-Martin, D-Duncans Mills, who authored the legislation. “One of the aspects of agricultural homestays that most excites me is that they will allow urban and suburban Californians to gain a better understanding of agriculture, which I believe is misunderstood all too often.

“People who’ve shared meals with the farmers who grow their food will be more likely to care about the continued health of our farms and rural communities.”

No Sonoma County farmers are immediately taking up the option as outlined in the bill, but Michael Dimock of Sunflower Strategies, an Sonoma County-based agricultural marketing firm, says it’s only a matter of time. “Tremendous opportunities remain to be fully developed in this area,” says Dimock. “Everyone’s just starting out.”

The concept was borrowed from the strong farmstay tradition in Europe and New Zealand, where government has subsidized agriculture and agritourism for years in the belief that small farmholders maintain the look–and the tourist value–of the countryside. Ellie Rilla, director of the UC Cooperative Extension office in Novato, visited England and New England a couple of years ago to examine their farmstay models, and believes that they could be implemented here in the North Bay quite successfully. “My dream would be that people could come here, they could get on the Internet, just as I did when I went to England, and figure out their whole stay,” says Rilla. “They could contact farms and farmers through one organization . . . .

“They could do their L.A. thing, and they could see Yosemite, but they could also see farms.”

A farmstay experience would be accessible to many more people than the standard wine-country B&B, say supporters. “The places could be upscale or they could be dormitories in a converted barn,” says Dimock. Such places will necessarily be more affordable: “If they’re a working farm, they’re not going to be able to afford to cater as much to their visitors.”

ONE ESTABLISHMENT that does cater to its visitors’ whims, but still manages to keep some of its activities accessible, is the Ramekins Sonoma Valley Culinary School. The cooking school is only a year old, but with a full catalog of 62 instructors offering over a hundred classes in a four-month period, the school is clearly doing well.

The key to its success seems to be its range of guests and diversified services. Some students fly up from Southern California for a weekend at the school, with classes and overnight stays in the school’s own B&B lodgings, starting at $150 a night. This fall the catalog will add customizable private tours, with visits to Sonoma County wineries, small farms, and artisan food producers.

But most of the visitors don’t want anything too fancy. They’re locals, or they drive over from Napa Valley, Marin County, or San Francisco for hands-on food experiences. And with course fees starting at $35, these three-hour classes with star chefs from the county and around the country are considered a bargain. The school also offers an assistantship program that lets would-be students attend classes for up to 80 percent off the class fee in exchange for assisting the visiting chefs.

Ramekins encourages its chef-instructors to use local products whenever possible, a move that more and more local restaurants, of all levels, are making, says Lyndi Brown, a consultant to Select Sonoma County and a longtime promoter of Sonoma County agriculture. “It’s worth promoting to tourists that they’re going to experience really fabulous food here at any point along the spectrum, whether they stop for a sandwich or they go after the big splurge. . . . To me that’s really exciting, because then [the food] is there for everyone.”

From the August 12-18, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘The Haunting’

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Truly Frightening

By David Templeton

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

True. Psychological. Terror.

It is a phrase–spoken just like that, three distinct words: true; psychological; terror–that is used often by writers Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child.

As the authors of the best-selling books The Relic, Riptide, and the brand-new, very scary Thunderhead–all prime examples of modern edge-of-your-seat Scare-Lit–Lincoln and Child have always held true psychological terror in the highest regard. It’s given them a nice legitimate profession. True psychological terror is the gift that these long-collaborating gentlemen so gleefully bestow upon a legion of white-knuckled fans. Not surprisingly, they now expect nothing less than true psychological terror from the movies and books they turn to for diversion and entertainment.

Which is why Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child were so damn disappointed by The Haunting.

Based on Shirley Jackson’s 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House–filmed once already in 1963–this new version, directed by Jan De Bont (Speed, Twister), is jam-packed full of eerie noises and leaping skeletons and weird, floating ghosties, and yet, to quote Mr. Preston, “it’s just not that scary.”

Not. That. Scary.

The Haunting is the story of a scientist (Liam Neeson) and three jumpy insomniacs (Lili Taylor, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Owen Wilson) trapped in a big old house that was, as the advertisements say, “born evil.” The 1963 version had audiences leaving their night-lights on for weeks. The script was tight and subtle. There were no special effects to speak of.

“Hollywood special effects,” says Preston, “are ruining scary movies, because special effects are incompatible with true psychological terror. The more you show us–with state-of-the-art computer graphics and animatronics–the less frightening it is.

“For true psychological terror,” he explains, “you need to see less rather than more.”

“Absolutely,” Child agrees. “Maybe it’s just endemic of modern moviemaking, but it seems, in The Haunting, that the filmmakers tried to solve all their plot problems by throwing on the FX. If you’re trying to elicit true psychological terror from your audience, that just doesn’t work. You’re showing too much.”

For an example of this “less is more frightening” approach, check out Thunderhead (Warner Books; $25.95), a supernatural adventure about a team of archaeologists who uncover the lost Anasazi city of Quivira, a place of ancient evil (of course) that is guarded by, well–something you don’t get a good glimpse at for a long, long time.

“What you don’t see can definitely hurt you,” says Preston, laughing. For further examples, the author tosses out a few of his favorite movies: Psycho. The Conversation. And especially, The Exorcist. “I was a basket case for six months after that one,” he admits.

As for Child, the scariest movie he’s seen is 1967’s Wait until Dark.

“I was young when I went to see it,” he tells. “I was with my mother. Near the end, there’s this scene where the blind woman (Audrey Hepburn) is trying to get to the refrigerator, to turn it off so the light won’t betray her presence to the killer–and suddenly this shadow comes leaping out nowhere with a knife. The whole audience screamed. And my mother suddenly thrusts me down to the floor of the theater and practically sits on me. I could hear Hepburn screaming and I could hear the music and the reactions of the audience–and I gotta tell you, from the floor it was a whole lot scarier.”

Talk about true psychological terror.

Maybe The Haunting would have been better had somebody’s mother come in and thrown us all to the floor once or twice. Now that would be scary.

“The movie wasn’t all bad,” Child interjects. “The house was great.”

Yes it was. Inside and out, it looked evil. Which brings us to that notion of a house being “born bad.”

“Is there any truth to the idea of evil geography? Can a piece of real estate really be intrinsically bad?” I ask.

“Well, for us, that idea–that geography can be evil–is a literary necessity,” answers Child. “If the city of Quivira wasn’t evil, it wouldn’t be a Preston-Child story. But I do believe that certain places on the planet, places that have seen a lot of evil, can become imbued with a sense of that evil.”

“I agree,” says Preston. “I remember, last year, visiting the city of Chichen Itza, down in the Yucatan, and climbing the Pyramid of the Sun. The stairs of those Mayan temples are very steep, and the reason they’re so steep is so that, after the priests have cut the limbs off their victims, they wanted the pieces to tumble all the way to the ground. So, I climbed up to the top of this temple, the place where all the human sacrifices were performed, and I have to say, it’s a place where you can still feel the evil that went on there, you can sense the horror of what took place.”

“I got the same feeling when I visited Dachau,” says Child. “There’s hardly anything left of it. Most of the buildings are gone. But the very sparseness of the spot, and the knowledge of what went on there, made that feeling of horror, that feeling of evil, very vivid.

“I didn’t sleep well for a week,” he adds.

“In Thunderhead,” elaborates Preston, “a lot of the witchcraft describes is based on Navaho beliefs. The Navahos believe that the place where a person dies–if that person did not die gently as a respected, old person; if they suffered from an illness and died early, or died a violent death–then the ‘Chindi’ of the person, the evil essence of that person, remains in that spot. All the goodness of the person goes off to a better world, but the evil remains behind.

“That’s why, when a person dies badly in a Navaho hogan, the family abandons the house. Sometimes, they even burn it to the ground.”

“Evil, then, to speak the obvious, is a bad thing,” I say. “We are upset and disturbed by the feelings of true terror that you described sensing in those real-life places. So why do we turn to scary books and movies for entertainment?”

No one answers for a moment.

“I think the theory is,” says Child, “that if you can handle being frightened by some movie or book, then maybe you can handle being frightened by that lump under your skin or that mortgage bill at the end of the month.”

“It’s true. Book and movies allow us to practice being scared,” Preston concludes, “so we’re better equipped for the true psychological terrors of everyday life.”

Web extra to the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Y2K Wine Shortage

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On Ice

On ice: Suppliers say there’s plenty of local bubbly to go around for Y2K.

Sparkling shortage short sighted

By Bob Johnson

THE TIME HAS COME to pull the plug on the Y2K myth. The IRS is not going to lose your overdue tax bill, there will be no decline in the amount of SPAM finding its way into your online mail box, and there will be no shortage of sparkling wine with which to toast the new millennium (even if the toast, technically speaking, is a year early).

Hey, one out of three ain’t bad.

Of the 248 (or so) wine columns that devoted space last December and January to predictions for the wine world in 1999, only this one took a pass on the “sparkling shortage” theme.

Why did we refuse to fall for the millennium marketing trick when other vino journalists dived right in? Probably because in a past life, your reporter once wrote press releases for a living, and the press release isn’t always the be-all and end-all of fact distribution. Kudos to Joy Sterling of Sebastopol’s Iron Horse Vineyards for at least acknowledging there are two points of view when it comes to sparkling-wine supplies. She predicted an international shortage of “prestige sparklings and champagnes” come December, but then noted: “Not everyone agrees.”

Sterling may be right about the “prestige” labels. Distributors report earlier-than-normal runs on high-end bottlings by Dom Perignon, Veuve Clicquot, and Bollinger. “There is a finite quantity of this caliber of sparkling,” Sterling adds.

Our attitude: Don’t sweat it. While the wine snobs are spending hundreds per bottle in order to drink “prestige,” we’ll stick with homegrown sparklers that satisfy just as much, yet cost a fraction of their French counterparts.

A GOOD PLACE to start a local shopping expedition is Iron Horse, located on the site of what once was a railroad stop. The train whistles were long ago silenced, but the bells and whistles employed in the vineyard–including a highly engineered frost protection system–help produce high-quality grapes and wines. In addition to its regular roster of fine sparklers, Iron Horse is offering its top-of-the-line 1990 Blanc de Blancs LD (late-disgorged) in etched and individually numbered jeroboams (which hold the equivalent of four regular-sized bottles). The special millennium bottling will sell for $650 . . . or if big bottles aren’t your bag, purchase four regular-sized bottles for around $180. Retail price is $45 per.

Elsewhere around the county:

* Robert Hunter Winery in Sonoma has released only its second sparkler of the last dozen years, and it’s stunning. The 1993 Brut du Noir is a blend of 60 percent pinot noir and 40 percent chardonnay that was aged on the yeast for more than four years. Ex-banker Bob Hunter crafted this wine from vineyard to bottling, and only 1,000 cases were produced, so shop early. Price: $27.50.

* Korbel Champagne Cellars in Guerneville will release its Millennium Commemorative Cuvée in September. The bottle will feature a silk-screened label, and inside will be a blend of 70 percent chardonnay and 30 percent pinot noir. Price: $17.99. Locals also may want to check out Korbel’s Rouge, an unusual blend of pinot noir and cabernet sauvignon grapes, available only at the winery for $12.99.

* Geyser Peak Winery in Geyserville also produces a rare–at least in California–all-red blend. The 1994 Winemaker’s Selection Sparkling Shiraz/Cabernet was made from all “reserve quality lots” of grapes, and the resulting wine is spritzy, juicy, and spicy. It’s a sparkler for the adventurous, not the traditionalist. Price: $25.

* J Wine Company in Healdsburg will release a millennium sparkler once its winery opens to the public in late September or early October. Judy Jordan is keeping mum (that’s mum with two M’s, not three) about this bottling, except to say that it is a late-disgorged wine from the 1987 vintage. Because of its limited supply, only visitors to the winery will be able to procure it. Price: not yet determined.

* Windsor Vineyards’ 1996 Brut Champagne ($20), made entirely from Sonoma County fruit, is available now, and its 1996 Blanc de Noir ($22) will be released in September. These bottlings feature limited-edition millennium labels, and visitors to the winery’s tasting room in Healdsburg can have these labels personalized.

Other local wineries also will be releasing commemorative and regular bottlings of sparkling wine. Opt for exquisite Sonoman over expensive French, and lay those fears of a sparkling shortage to rest.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Raw Food

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In the Raw

Living nutrition: Raw foodists argue that uncooked foods are better for healthy bodies because nutrients are not destroyed in the cooking process.

A quick taste of the uncooked and living-food movement

By Marina Wolf

THERE IT IS on my plate, a piece of pizza unlike any I’ve ever seen. The crust is buckwheat groats, soaked for days, then mashed and laid out to dry in the sun. The sauce is guacamole, pungent with raw garlic and raw chile peppers. On top are sprinkled sun-dried tomatoes, chewy bits of mushroom, bitter leafy greens, and . . . could that be mint and borage flowers?

I’m not here to review the restaurant, Organica. I just want to taste the food and see what goes into preparing raw-gourmet cuisine.

For starters, I can see that most American diners would not recognize this heap of salad bits as even a loose analog of their beloved pepperoni and cheese pie. But this is what they call pizza at Organica, a San Francisco restaurant that’s on the cutting edge of the raw and living-foods movement.

Literally cutting edge.

The only tools in Organica’s kitchen involve blades–knives, scissors, food processors, blenders, juicers, slicers. There is no oven or stovetop–principles of raw food prohibit heating food over about 112 degrees, lest the enzymes in the menu item die and become “toxic”–so the kitchen is curiously spacious and airy. Even the door is left open to the cool San Francisco breeze, as if to minimize the vegetable’s shock in the move from refrigerator to plate.

The ingredients are easy, but the labor isn’t, not for the high-concept creations that chef Juliano turns out and teaches through classes and his recent book Raw: The Uncooked Book (HarperCollins; $32). Those may just be cabbage leaves in his Thai “pasta,” but somebody had to shred them. Three chefs work at the back at Organica on a Sunday afternoon, and the food still takes 30 minutes to arrive.

Of course, most raw foodists don’t eat like this every day. David Klein, a raw-food trainer in Sebastopol, shares an outline of the food in a typical raw-food day: a few oranges and grapefruit juice for breakfast, a bunch of bananas and a cluster of cukes through late morning and lunchtime, a whole honeydew melon in the afternoon, more bananas and cucumbers and a head of lettuce for dinner.

Not surprisingly, Klein finds most restaurant productions of raw food to be over the top. “It’s interesting, it’s a great way to get people into it, but we’re supposed to be getting back to nature here,” he says. “Our physiology just doesn’t call for all kinds of complex fancy prepared foods.”

However you slice the raw-food way, it’s far more than the five servings of fruits and vegetables recommended by the USDA food pyramid, which the raw foodists have stood on its head and flattened. Some eat mostly fruits (fruitarians), or mostly juice (juicearians), or mostly sprouts (sproutarians). Raw foodists believe that their diets provide ample nutrition and calories for life, and inasmuch as some members of this tiny subculture (about 1,000 people subscribe to Klein’s Living Nutrition magazine) have been eating raw for decades, nutritional adequacy doesn’t seem to be a problem.

Those who turn to raw food generally do it for their health; the online and print raw-food forums are awash in dramatic stories of recovery–from cancer, ulcers, heart disease.

I DON’T KNOW about the specifics of these claims–it wouldn’t be the first time that conventional dietary recommendations have been proven wrong. And I’m intrigued by the sweeping philosophy expressed in the final paragraph of a recent cover article of Living Nutrition: “The all-raw and living path, as it sweeps away the cobwebs of the past, facilitates our journey of discovery, of living in the immeasurable, dynamic, unknowable Life energy that is our true and blissful Be-ing.”

Hey, no problem. I can dig the buzz from a really ripe peach or an exceptionally snappy snow pea. But I’m having a hard time finding the immeasurable, dynamic Life energy in the ersatz pizza sitting in front of me. Its crust is earthy and plain and the guacamole burns my mouth, while the tomatoes and mushrooms have been soaking too long in the seaweed water, so all I get is salt. I don’t want to hurt the feelings of the earnestly enthusiastic waitstaff, so I ask for a carton to go.

Then I toss it out on my way to a Russian deli across town, where creamy napoleon pastries and a well-cured kol’basa await.

Toxic ‘n’ tasty–oh, yeah!

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Jackalope Records

Scene Maker

Key player: Gabe Meline joined Los Blockheads at a farewell show.

Jackalope Record’s Doug Jayne puts local bands in the spotlight

By Natalie Sibert-Freitas

HOW MANY in the audience think Gabe wrote that last song?” asked David Fichera, lead singer of Los Blockheads. About three people raised their hands, while the rest of crowd of 120 or so sat quietly in their seats, knowing full well that band member Gabe Meline, who sang and played piano for the piece, had just sung the vintage Elvis Costello tune “Welcome to the Working Week,” the only cover Los Blockheads played during their bubbly set.

The popular 5-year-old local musical outfit–once voted Best Punk Band by Independent readers–was making its farewell appearance before band members break up to depart for college. The July 24 show was held at an unusual location–the Sonoma County Repertory Theatre–and the cozy venue made it easy to take in the nuanced delights offered by the acoustic-based quartet, particularly Los Blockhead’s unique instrumentation, which includes trumpets, accordion, keyboards, and upright bass.

But more important, the downtown Santa Rosa venue–which for the past five years has served as home base for one of the county’s best-regarded theater companies–is apparently developing into a haven for local bands in a cultural landscape almost devoid of nightclubs.

In these days of bigger-is-better rock festivals, it’s refreshing to find someone willing to work to support the local music scene. Doug Jayne, co-owner of the Last Record Store and founder of Jackalope Records, is that person.

The music series at SCRT, which is open to all ages and offers performances by local bands ranging from the likes of Los Blockheads to jazz band Larry Basket every weekend through the end of August, is Jayne’s brainchild, born out of his desire to give a leg up to local musicians.

A resident of Sonoma County since 1979, Jayne knows the local music scene well. Part of his motivation for engineering the shows is the lack of small venues in the area.

“This series is geared as a challenge for the performer to do more of a concert. When you’re playing at a bar, maybe people aren’t really paying as much attention,” he says. “Here everybody is looking at you, so when you tell your story, everybody is listening.”

The intimate room is up-close and personal–in part because it’s set up in-the-round–and has a capacity of just 168 people.

Additionally, Jayne feels that larger local venues don’t always give local bands a fair shake at opening slots.

“The biggest thing about giving local acts support is that there are venues like Luther Burbank Center and many wineries that you would expect to see more locals opening at, but it seems that the attitude of those venues is that if I give one local act a break, then they’ll all be bugging me,” he offers. “My hope is in giving smaller bands an opportunity to play in front of a small audience it might help elevate them, at least for the evening.”

Unlike some local nightclubs, Jayne also pays the performers–which is pretty elevating in itself.

THE SERIES arose out of Jayne’s involvement with SCRT. He had already been doing sound effects for SCRT’s theatrical productions, and the idea for the local music series came when his friend John Moran, SCRT’s in-house playwright, mentioned that Jayne should get something in return for his services. The theater generally is vacant during July and August because SCRT is busy presenting its Shakespeare in the Park series in Sebastopol, so Jayne started exploring the notion with a couple of test shows.

The result: the local music showcase and hopes for a regular summer series in the future. Those hopes may bear fruit if the series draws the kind of audience that attended the July 24 show.

In addition to Los Blockheads, the event featured San Francisco punk icon Dr. Frank and a young local band called the Reliables. While the first couple of shows–which featured such acts as Karry Walker and Marc McLay and the Dustdevils–had a modest turnout, Saturday’s bands played to a nearly packed house made up of a very youthful and enthusiastic audience.

Up first were the Reliables, who chuckled through their quirky set with pluck. In such a casual setting, the audience was forgiving of any false starts.

Los Blockheads–playing in Los Lo-Fi, as they put it–took full advantage of the theater’s in-the-round setting, with Fichera rotating to sing to each portion of the audience. Their set was filled with fun, frolic, and plenty of boy-wants-girl subject matter.

Dr. Frank, leader of the internationally acclaimed Mr. T Experience, was the evening’s finale, and was enthusiastically received. Exhibiting his trademark knack for wordsmithing, Dr. Frank’s lyrics pull you in to meander around his often silly world. Case in point: the songs “Every Time You Go away You Take a Little Piece of Meat with You” and “Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend,”

Los Blockheads won’t be back anytime soon, but the SCRT series continues with other offerings, ranging from jazz to alternative country to folk rock, including an Aug. 21 performance by Van Morrison’s keyboardist John Allair. Above all, Jayne says he wants the events, which are geared to those who enjoy an intimate setting for live music, to offer a good time to local music fans.

“If at the end of the night people are smiling and slapping each other on the back when they leave,” concludes Jayne, “then it’s successful.”

Music at the Rep continues with the following shows: Saturday, Aug. 14, Larry Basket (jazz); Friday, Aug. 20, the Sorentinos and Solid Air; Saturday, Aug. 21, John Allair (pianist); Friday, Aug. 27, the Ruminators and special guest; Saturday, Aug. 28, Clodhopper. All shows begin at 8 p.m. at SCRT, 415 Humboldt St., Santa Rosa. Tickets are $7 (available in advance at the Last Record Store). For info, call 525-1963.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Los Hombres Caliente

0

Hot Stuff

Three Amigos: Jason Marsalis, lower left, Bill Summers, top, and Irvin Mayfield.

Los Hombres Caliente are ssssssizzling!

By Greg Cahill

CALL IT FATE. From the moment he heard legendary jazz percussionist Bill Summers on one of the classic Herbie Hancock & the Headhunters albums, Young Turk drummer Jason Marsalis knew that he would perform with his idol.

Four years ago, a local producer mentioned that Summers was living in New Orleans, home to Marsalis, the youngest member of the famous jazz dynasty “The funny thing is that somehow Bill and I kept missing each other,” explains Marsalis, 22, during a phone interview from his home. “During my sophomore year at Loyola College in the fall of ’96, Bill actually came by the campus, but I was out of town. At the New Orleans Jazz Festival the next year, I was playing a sextet gig at which Bill was the next act. The only problem was I had a press interview and missed his first show. Another missed opportunity. Finally, I caught part of his last show. My brother Delfaeyo said, ‘Hey, man, that guy was really checking your set out hard!’ I later found out that Bill was scouting for musicians.

“Then, a couple of months later, I was sitting in a chair at the Atlanta airport, knocked out, when Bill came over and introduced himself. I was like, ‘Huh? Oh, wow, it’s Bill Summers!'”

Now the two are bandmates. As part of Los Hombres Caliente–one of the freshest-sounding jazz acts to hit the scene in a long time–Summers and Marsalis are fusing Afro-Cuban rhythms and Brazilian sambas, soul, and straight-ahead jazz in a red-hot mix that is lighting up stages.

“I think it was something that was destined to happen at some point,” Marsalis concludes.

Hot on the heels of the band’s acclaimed 1998 eponymous CD (which featured a guest spot by percussionist Cyril Neville), Los Hombres Caliente–Marsalis, Summers, trumpeter Irvin Mayfield, bassist David Pulphus, pianist Victor Atkins III, and percussionist and vocalist Yvette Bostic-Summers–are making their North Bay debut Friday, Aug. 13, at the Powerhouse Brewing Co.

The tour arrives just as the band is completing studio work on its widely anticipated follow-up CD, which Marsalis says will turn a lot heads. “The album we’re working on will be three times better that the first,” he enthuses. “The playing is a lot more inspired, the music is much better, we actually wrote songs for the sessions, the sound quality will be better . . . everything will be better.”

FOR MARSALIS, the project is a coming-out. As the son of distinguished jazz educator and pianist Ellis Marsalis and younger brother of neo-traditionalist jazz trumpeter Wynton (artistic director of the prestigious Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra), saxophonist Branford, and trombonist/producer Delfaeyo, he has set out to make a mark on the jazz world on his own terms.

Certainly, the youngest Marsalis has displayed his versatility. One night he’s in a straight-ahead trio format with his famous father (with whom he has recorded on Ellis’ CDs), the next he’s playing ’70s-style fusion with his own band Neslort. Or he can be heard down on New Orleans’ Frenchman Street with the Brazilian percussion group Casa Samba. Or over at the Funky Butt with Los Hombres Caliente, performing the band’s world-jazz-tinged interpolations.

“I get great support from my family,” he says. “Interesting support. And there were advantages and disadvantages [to being part of a jazz dynasty]. While the musical support definitely was there, people often had their own expectations of me. You know–let me chose my words carefully–crtain people in the family had their own idea about what they thought I should do and what level I should achieve, which is part of the dynamics of a large family. But still the support was great. My father was great. Everyone helped out.

“And in the long run everyone did understand that I was going to do what I was going to do.”

Los Hombres Caliente perform Friday, Aug. 13, at 8 p.m. at the Powerhouse Brewing Co., 268 Petaluma Ave., Sebastopol. Tickets are $12.50. For details, call 829-9171.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival

0

Word Games

Fast food for the soul: Wordsmith Donna Nassar Noyes warms up for the Short Order Poetry event on Aug. 17 at the Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival.

The playful Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival returns

By Patrick Sullivan

JOHN WARD has a story to tell, and it’s suddenly clear that he can’t wait any longer. He leans forward in his chair and smiles broadly across the table: “Let me tell you why I was late,” he says. “I had to go sign some loan papers for a car. Somehow, it came out that the loan agent, the person who was having me sign the papers, was a poet . . .Then I find out that she’s coming to the festival to read.”

Seated beside him, her gray-green eyes sparkling, Suzanne daRosa lets out a laugh.

“I think that’s one of the most joyful things about what we do,” she says. “Everywhere you go, you find out that somebody has written a poem in their life or that they love to read other people’s work.”

That might seem an unlikely sentiment in a world where poetry is often considered an endangered species. Despite the growing popularity of poetry slams, or the occasional pop culture flirtations with the art form in such movies as Henry Fool, the question remains: How many people really care about poetry? The answer, according to the two folks at this table, is many more than you might think, even if that passion is a well-kept secret.

For four summers now, with an interruptory pause last year, daRosa, 48, and Ward, 55, along with a large group of collaborators, have worked to fan those scattered embers into a raging bonfire of verse. The two are co-founders of the Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival, an annual two-week celebration that stages quirky, playful events in the byways of Sonoma to popularize the art form and draw local poets out of the woodwork. Almost incidentally, to hear daRosa tell it, the event has also attracted such notables as poet laureate Robert Pinsky.

The event–which this year runs from Aug. 6 to Aug. 21–began in 1995 as part of a nationwide contest to bring acclaimed television journalist and author Bill Moyers to town. In stiff competition with festivals in such places as New York, and with a mere five weeks to pull the whole thing together, the organizers of the Sonoma Festival found that their effort ignited intense excitement in the community.

“After it was over, we knew we’d done something special,” Ward recalls. “In our minds, we’d already won.”

The judges agreed, and Moyers helped celebrate the win by appearing at an event that drew thousands of people. For a time, the eyes of the poetry world were glued to Sonoma. And, apparently, that allure is slow to fade.

“People outside the community still relate to it that way,” Ward says. “They still say, ‘Oh, you mean the festival that Bill Moyers came to?'”

“The event that made Bill Moyers famous–that’s what we call it,” says daRosa with a chuckle.

They won, daRosa says, largely because of broad-based community participation. In that first year, organizers went all out to inject a healthy dose of poetry into everyday life. There were poets reading at the gas pumps. There were poems stuffed into grocery bags. There were poems read at board meetings and in churches. And people turned out in droves for the grand finale: a huge poetry reading in the Sonoma Plaza that featured noted poets reading from the main stage while other folks read from the many soapboxes scattered across the plaza.

“Person after person would get up on a soapbox to read, and then more people would get their courage up,” daRosa says. “To this day, people still come up to me and say, ‘That was the first time I ever read in public.'”

The event, called Poets on the Plaza, will be repeated this year on Aug. 21. (To get time on the soapbox yourself, show up at 3 p.m.) This time, however, among other changes, the readings from the better-known poets on the main stage will be shorter.

That change and several others sprang from the fact that organizers took last year off to think about other tasks. In part, that hiatus occurred because some of the key organizers were busy with other projects. But it also happened, according to daRosa, because no one wanted to settle into a pattern.

“It felt like it wasn’t fresh any longer to me, and other people felt the same, so I thought I’d just take a year off and see what happens.” daRosa says. “We didn’t want this to turn into something that would be a formula.”

“We’re trying to be out there, pushing the extremes, trying the unusual,” Ward says.

“Of course, then we found we weren’t so extreme when Chris left that message on our answering machine,” daRosa replies with a laugh.

SHE’S REFERRING to a practical joke played on the festival by a man who called up to accuse Sonoma of being a “white, insular community” and ask when the inner-city rap poets would be allowed to perform. It may have been a joke, but it also seems to have touched a nerve among the organizers, who say they especially regret not having greater participation from the Mexican-American community.

“It turned out it was one of our people on the board who was just giving us a hard time,” daRosa says. “But it made us realize that we are really insular. . . . It’s a concern that I hear a lot of people talking about, even just in the greater community. How do you break down the barriers?”

Another important concern for daRosa and Ward is keeping the event free of excessive commercialization. There are no huge corporate sponsors, and the small profit made every year goes to the organizers’ favorite charity, California Poets in the Schools.

Many of the festival participants, including daRosa and another local poet named Arthur Dawson, participate in CPITS in Sonoma Valley schools. According to Ward, the effects of the program have been astonishing.

“When Arthur Dawson walks down the street, kids run up to him,” he says. “That totally knocked me out when I first saw it. They run over to him like he was a sports coach . . . He’s engaged them in a way that makes poetry totally accessible.”

It’s that effect–poetry’s ability to make an impact on human lives–that keeps the festival organizers coming back for more. When asked to explain why the art form continues to wield its peculiar power, daRosa pauses a moment, searching for the right words.

“We don’t listen to each other very well in this culture, I don’t think,” she says finally. “But people respect poetry. They listen to it. I think it gives you a way to communicate what you have to say, a way to really be heard.”

The Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival runs from Friday, Aug. 6, to Saturday, Aug. 21, at various locations in Sonoma. The festival concludes with Poets on the Plaza on Aug. 21 from 3:30 to 9 p.m. in front of the Sonoma City Hall. For details, pick up a schedule at the Sonoma Regional Library, or call 935-POET.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Gas Prices

0

Gas Pains

Suffering from bloodletting at the pumps

By Bill English

IN THE GLORIOUS ’60s, when I was in college, I once sold a pint of my blood to fill the gas tank of my Volkswagen Bug. There’s nothing exotic about my personal plasma; it’s the diesel fuel of life fluids. But even my humble type-O fetched around $4 on the open market.

More than enough to top off the 10-gallon tank of my Beetle.

Remember when gas cost 30 cents a gallon? When you could actually fill ‘er up for a pint a blood?

Well, you can kiss those days goodbye. Not even a massive reverse transfusion is going to get you to Tahoe now. You could give up every drop of blood in your body and still not make it to the video store under the present regime.

” . . . For the times they are a changin’ . . .”

A call to the Blood Bank of the Redwoods confirmed my worst fears. While the cost of gas in Sonoma County is going through the roof, blood isn’t worth a plug nickel. OK, the nice lady at the blood bank did say if I opened a vein I’d get some juice and a cookie. And maybe a blood bank T-shirt.

But forget about any hard cash.

Of course, there’s always the heartwarming knowledge that I’d be doing something wonderful for others. Maybe I’d even be saving someone’s life. But there’s no way I’d be driving the Yugo on bodily fluids.

Once again a last resort has been snatched from us.

The bottom line is that mere blood isn’t enough to get you gas anymore. Oh no, the greedy corporate powers that be have gone way beyond simple bloodsucking. The ruthless oil companies are feasting on our eternal souls with their beady eyes fixed firmly on our first-born.

These bums are out for more than blood. They want to drive us insane!

Wake up and smell the fumes–there’s a war going on!

SOMEWHERE, fat cats with Pennzoil pompadours are sitting around smoking Cuban cigars the size of baseball bats while they laugh their butts off about how they’re gouging those weirdoes in Northern California.

I’m offended by their arrogance.

The time has come for some serious outrage. We’ve got to rethink this regional fuel-reaming and come up with some drastic, hardball solutions. And I’m not talking about driving by the pumps every other Tuesday.

No, we’ve got to protect ourselves.

Unfortunately, most of us here in Sonoma County like to think we’re mellow beings, we are the enlightened consumers of the universe. We don’t like to get too upset about the small things that occur on this unruly planet. We prefer to bury our heads in the compost pit and keep it all organic. We’re too refined to deal with refineries. Big Oil boys are not whom we care to mingle with.

Not even in court.

But these people are messing with our right to drive–and, with the inflationary nature of transportation costs, our livelihoods. I’ve actually seen grown men weeping at the gas pumps as their SUVs inhale their weekly lunch money. You can hear the poor bastards’ stomach growl as the fossil fuel spills into their gas tank.

But hey, the big dog eats first.

And when the big dog is a monster Chevy Suburban chowing down on $1.95 a gallon premium, the little dog is doomed to starve behind the wheel. Let’s face it people, your blood is worth next to nothing–and your cars are eating better than you are.

I’ve got no intention of paying almost $2 a gallon for gas when your average Texan is getting it for a buck. Maybe it’s time for another raid on the Alamo.

Back those oil rig monkeys right up against the border. Where the hell is John Wayne when you really need him? All right, pilgrim, let’s circle those station wagons. Get the electric ones right out there in front.

Now charge those sum bitches with everythin’ you’ve got.

What d’ya mean, you forgot to plug in the Honda?

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

KPFA

Radio Chaos

Dissenting view: KPFA’s Dennis Bernstein is yanked off the air and placed under arrest by Berkeley police.

‘Active Radio’ tells the story of Pacifica’s brash experiment

By Patrick Sullivan

SOME STORIES demand to begin with the language of legend. Once upon a time, a farsighted young pacifist named Lewis Hill and a quirky group of collaborators founded an organization called Pacifica and a pioneering public radio station named KPFA. The Berkeley station, which began broadcasting in 1949 with a tiny, second-hand transmitter, went on to become one of the most influential left-liberal cultural institutions in the country.

Today, intense controversy swirls around the Pacifica radio network and its flagship station (94.1 on the FM dial). In the past few months, a series of dramatic events has unfolded at KPFA. First, the Pacifica board fired several staff members; then, show host Dennis Bernstein was literally pulled off the air during a live broadcast; and now, crowds of protesters and riot police periodically surround the KPFA building. As activists gear up for a demonstration in Berkeley on July 31, many pundits are speculating that Pacifica is about to sell off the station.

Amid the dramatic headlines, it’s easy to lose sight of one fact made extraordinarily clear by a new book: internal conflict has been a part of Pacifica since day one. The history of the network, which now operates five stations across the country, is chock full of management disputes, forced resignations, strikes, and lockouts.

Active Radio: Pacifica’s Brash Experiment (University of Minnesota Press; $16.95) began life as an academic dissertation, and it shows. But readers patient enough to endure the bone-dry prose of the first chapter on the rise of corporate broadcasting will find that author Jeff Land rewards them with a fascinating history of a unique cultural institution.

Among the book’s most interesting stories is the tragic trajectory of the network’s talented founder. The Pacifica dream of a revolution against corporate control was born in an American work camp for conscientious objectors in which Lew Hill and many like-minded pacifists spent part of World War II. Hill, an intellectually gifted young anarcho-pacifist, went on to found Pacifica at the tender age of 26, labored mightily to ensure its growth, and then, 12 years later, after a series of bitter conflicts over control of the network, committed suicide in his car up in the Berkeley hills.

But Pacifica survived. The network, founded on idealism, overcame financial difficulties and government repression through the blood and sweat of its staff and overwhelming support from its listeners. A pioneer in the practice of listener-supported radio, Pacifica frequently found itself under attack for that very practice, which some red-baiting opponents called a “method of operation so unusual as to be revolutionary in itself.”

Indeed, congressional foes launched frequent attacks on the network’s determination to offer airtime to points of view that seldom made it into corporate media. For instance, a 1962 investigation of Pacifica by the Senate Internal Security Subcommittee was prompted by New York affiliate WBAI’s stunning exposé of illegal activities at Hoover’s FBI.

Land’s book closely follows the many battles over free speech associated with the network, including the legal fight in 1973 over comedian George Carlin’s famous “Seven Dirty Words” monologue, which was fought all the way to the Supreme Court.

Perhaps the story in the book most relevant to current events is Land’s account of the titanic struggle waged at WBAI in New York. Conflicts between the Pacifica board and station staff escalated into a strike in which a group of programmers locked themselves into the broadcasting booth and occupied the station’s transmitter in the Empire State Building.

Land’s book, written before the Berkeley boil-over, doesn’t offer obvious solutions to the current impasse, although his penetrating analysis does afford some clues to the roots of that struggle. But Active Radio does an excellent job of explaining how much is at stake. The quirky 50-year history of Pacifica and KPFA is clearly filled with both bold triumphs and grave mistakes. But by the end of the book, most readers will feel that this “brash experiment,” warts and all, deserves to survive into the next century.

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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KPFA

Radio Chaos Dissenting view: KPFA's Dennis Bernstein is yanked off the air and placed under arrest by Berkeley police. 'Active Radio' tells the story of Pacifica's brash experiment By Patrick Sullivan SOME STORIES demand to begin with the language of legend. Once upon a time, a farsighted young pacifist named Lewis...
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