Low-Income 401k Plan

IDA Ideal

Eye on the prize: David Johnson of the Community Baptist Church is helping to lay the groundwork for the low-income 401k plan.

Is Sonoma County ready for 401k plans for the poor?

By Janet Wells

MARTHA MICELI once had a piece of the American Dream: a house, a truck, a business. Then 15 years ago her husband had a heart attack, and they lost everything. “There was no happy ending in sight. My state of mind was chaotic, full of anxiety,” the mother of two recalls.

Then Miceli heard about Individual Development Accounts, an innovative savings program for the poor that raises money from community groups or government grants to match every dollar she put into the bank.

Miceli and her husband started saving $40 a month toward owning a home. “Now we’re looking forward to something,” the upstate New York resident writes in a newsletter on the IDA program. “We finally have goals. This is the first time we’ve had savings in 20 years.”

Sonoma County community leaders are pursuing a similar program for local residents who, like Miceli, can’t even begin to dream when they are scrambling to cover rent and food. “This is a very exciting concept,” says Tula Jaffe, advocate for the homeless and a member of Family Action of Sonoma County. “In spite of the wonderful economic boom we’re feeling in the nation and in Sonoma County, there are many families here that are living on very, very small wages.”

Even the one in five Sonoma County families that has trouble making ends meet can save money–if they have incentive, Jaffe says. “This is a way for low-income people to build assets so they can be economically self-sufficient.”

IDA accounts are designed to help low-income families accumulate a few thousand dollars to put toward owning a home, opening a small business, or getting higher education. Participants save monthly over a one- to four-year period, and banks, foundations, churches, and grants provide matching funds, usually from one to four dollars for every dollar saved.

“We’re trying to make a point about who the poor are and what they are capable of,” says Robert Friedman, one of the leaders in organizing IDA programs around the country. “Just because you’re poor doesn’t mean you can’t participate in the American Dream. There are people who are poor who have tremendous drive, talent, energy, and vision. IDA accounts leverage that.”

Friedman, founder and chairman of the board of the Washington D.C.-based Corporation for Enterprise Development, says that IDAs are the most innovative financial development for the poor since the Homestead Act or the GI Bill.

“The structure of welfare, Social Security, and disability [benefits] give shelter and food and clothing. But it seems to me that the limits of that approach are equally obvious now,” he says. “They mitigate the pain of poverty, but it doesn’t offer a way out, and often is a disincentive to moving forward.”

THERE ARE almost 100 IDA programs in the country serving hundreds of individuals, with another 100 in the pipeline, Friedman says. The North Bay IDA Collaborative stems largely from efforts by a group that was initially mainly from the Peace and Justice Center of Sonoma County. David Johnson of the Community Baptist Church and a former board member of the center challenged the group to do something about economic development for the county’s poor. Johnson, along with a small group including Jaffe, Petaluma Valley Hospital physician Earl Herr, and Exchange Bank administrator Buffy Dyess, is spearheading efforts to find partner groups willing to help fund and manage an IDA program in Sonoma County.

IDAs are not just a feel-good program for the community groups and foundations that participate, Friedman told a group of about 25 representatives from various local agencies, businesses, and social service groups who attended an information meeting in Santa Rosa in February. The short-term benefits include good publicity and tax credits, he says. And if the program expands the way Friedman hopes, the potential long-term market is huge.

“You’re talking $33 billion a year leveraging the savings, and millions of accounts,” he says.

A year-old IDA program in the East Bay has almost 100 individuals saving $10 to $80 a month, with most of the participants planning to use their money to buy a home. The program has almost reached its target of $400,000 in matching funds, to be distributed over four years, at a rate of $2 paid for every $1 saved. All of the East Bay’s matching funds have come from community groups and foundations, rather than government grants.

“People have called us to say they can’t pay the rent, but they want to contribute to their IDA,” says Candace Acevedo of Consumer Credit Counseling, which provides financial training to East Bay program participants. “The program changes people’s spending habits so they really look where every penny goes. We’ve found that it’s not that hard to cover rent and come up with an extra $25 to $50 for the IDA program.

“Everybody sees what the promises are,” Acevedo adds. “This is the first time these people have invested in themselves.”

To help support and help further the development of the IDA program, call the North Bay IDA Collaborative (100 E St., Suite 212, Santa Rosa) at 578-5904.

From the March 4-10, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Durst’s Law

Otz of Luck

By Will Durst

OH LAWDY, Lawdy, Lawdy–like we don’t have enough in the world to worry about, USA Today has declared a “What Do We Call the Next Decade?” emergency. “Brnngh! Brnngh! Brnngh! People, we’re going to Def-Con 4. Move it. Move it. Move it. Gunderman!

Of course, you might want to take this crisis with a grain of salt the size of Rudy Giuliani’s ego, since USA Today is to journalism what a double bacon cheeseburger is to nutrition. Popular, but a steady diet often proves fattening. The lambada: dance of the millennium, my ass.

The usual suspects have been nominated, but no clear winner has emerged. The Zeroes. The Zips. The Nadas. The Preteens. The Pre-tens. The Oh-Ohs. The Double Ohs. And my favorite: Fred.

The author maintains no one knows what the 1900-1909 decade was called either, then quotes Ronald Grele of the Oral History Research Office at Columbia University (don’t we poor twitching scribes paid by the word love those titles?). He said World War II “became such a turning point in American life, the teens and aughts faded into ‘before the war.’ “

Ding Ding Ding Ding! No more calls, we have a wiener. People, it’s the aughts. And since we are so hip and so tragically choke-on-our-radicchio-pesto au courant, it is incumbent upon us to put our own little post-neo-modernist calliope spin on it.

The Otz. There you go. Crisis averted. Go back to your lambada lessons.

Y2K Sharing

HEY, GUYS, guess what? The Good Samaritan law that passed earlier this fall to goose corporate firms into sharing information and technology with one another to help fight the Y2K problem has been deemed a failure.

Who would have thunk?

Next you’ll tell me the Republican congressional leadership didn’t shell out the big bucks in contributions to the Clinton impeachment defense fund.

The Y2K glitch, for those of you who have spent the last couple of years as Ted Kascinsky’s weird hermit neighbor, is where computers get stupider than a rejected Jerry Springer guest and think that when the date changes to the year 2000, it’s actually the start of a four-month period in the 15th century and try to hide their operating systems in the south of France in order to avoid the Spanish Inquisition.

Or something like that.

But nobody wants to share information, because lawyers have warned them they’ll be liable in case they pass on bad info even though the bill says they won’t.

Of course, nobody will really know if it is or isn’t a problem until the millennium rolls around. And then we’ll be able to see exactly what’s going down by watching the countries across the International Dateline.

So for the first time in our history, we’ll be able to say, “As goes New Zealand, so goes the world.”

You Can’t Make Stuff up Like This

Doctors in Louisville performed the first hand transplant, but it won’t be considered a real success until the patient picks up the bill.

Is it just me, or was Teddy Kennedy strangely silent during the whole Clinton thing? And he was the perfect guy to offer up expert testimony.

Q: What do you call Al Gore leaning on a podium?

A: A wood pile.

The good news is Whoopi Goldberg is going to host the Oscars. The better news is production on Hollywood Squares will shut down for at least a week.

The city of Los Angeles has limited gun purchases to one a month. I wonder if you can get a waiver if you can produce a note from your principal.

During the impeachment proceedings, members of Congress kept saying they were voting their conscience. Yeah, right, Congresspeople voting their conscience is a lot like a turtle flexing its wings.

Disney recalled videocassettes of The Rescuers because it contained two frames showing naked breasts. It will be repackaged and re-released at a higher price.

In Washington, D.C., a mayoral assistant used the word niggardly in front of people who didn’t know what it meant, were offended, and forced him to resign. If this internal word pejorative-seeking becomes the vogue, we’ll never be able to say the word country again.

San Francisco comic Will Durst is an occasional contributor to the Independent. Columnist Bob Harris is lost in the ozone.

From the March 4-10, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Playwright Emily Shihadeh

War and Peace



Emily Shihadeh comes to town with her intensely personal one-woman show

By Patrick Sullivan

TEARS AND LAUGHTER seem at war in Emily Shihadeh’s voice. Again and again, emotion rises to color her words as she discusses her intensely personal one-woman show, Grapes and Figs Are in Season: A Palestinian Woman’s Story. “It’s a real story, my story, nothing make-believe,” she explains, speaking by phone from her home in San Francisco. “It’s what happened in Palestine through my eyes.”

Her upcoming appearance at Sonoma State University is far from the first time Shihadeh has been onstage with this intimate material. For eight years now she has toured the country, and indeed the world, performing in San Francisco, at Harvard and Yale universities, and in Tel Aviv, touching and entertaining audiences with Grapes and Figs. Part comedy, part drama, part musical act, the work is rooted in Shihadeh’s immigration to the United States in 1958 and eventual return to visit her family in her hometown of Ram Allah in the West Bank. But despite her years of experience performing the one-hour piece, it clearly still affects her deeply.

It’s not hard to understand why.

The work mixes stories of her childhood–snippets from a life that began in the midst of one of the most enduring conflicts of the century–with the reflections of a mature woman who has weathered the effects of war, immigration, and divorce.

But humor is also a big part of Grapes and Figs. After all, Shihadeh got her start on the stage by performing stand-up comedy in San Francisco clubs, and that shines through both in her quirky sense of humor and in her eclectic performance piece. In one segment, she uses a rap song to satirize the widespread ignorance she says she has encountered in America about Arabic people.

“It goes, ‘Where is your turban, where is your tent?,’ ” she raps out over the phone. “‘If you live in the desert, do you still pay rent?’ “

That’s not to say that Shihadeh doesn’t like the United States. In fact, she says, she fell in love with America before she ever set foot in the country. A group of Quakers from the states settled in Ram Allah and exposed the village to such pop culture icons as Doris Day and Rock Hudson. “They came and they liked our town, so they stayed and built homes and schools,” she says. “My grandfather liked them so much that he became a Quaker.”

BUT SHIHADEH’S childhood spent among Quakers and the fruit trees in her father’s yard (which gave her piece its title) was shattered by the onset of war. When she was 7 years old, a nearby hotel was blown up in the fighting, and her father decided the family had to flee the village. Later, at age 17, Shihadeh moved with her husband to the United States, where she saw her first traffic light and encountered a confusing new world.

“I loved the Americans, loved their culture,” says Shihadeh, now 57. “So I came to America expecting to find my second mother. But no one knew me in the streets of San Francisco. It took me many years to understand America. I’ve been here 40 years, and I just began to understand Americans three years ago.”

Above all, Shihadeh hopes that her show promotes understanding and reconciliation of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. To that end, she holds a half-hour discussion after every show. Despite the focus on this controversial issue, she says, her piece has been well received by a wide variety of audiences.

“Everybody loves the show,” she says. “It’s a universal story. We all want to love and be loved.”

Grapes and Figs Are in Season plays Tuesday, March 2, at 8 p.m. at the Warren Auditorium at Sonoma State University, 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. Tickets are $5. For details, call 664-2382.

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Gourmet Newsletters

0

Zine Scene

By Marina Wolf

I’M BORED with glossy food magazines. Oh, I still subscribe to Food & Wine and let my eyes drift across the food section at the local newsstand. But lately I’ve been fighting off a certain overwhelmed world-weariness, the inevitable result of constant exposure to the glare of slick pages, the whirl of globetrotting gourmands. I’ve got altitude sickness in reaction to high prices, attitude sickness in reaction to high noses.

Then recently I stumbled across a lovely piece archived in the Electronic Gourmet about food newsletters by Lynn Kerrigan. After putting a check in the mail for her catalog, A Smorgasbord of Cooks’ Periodicals, I ended up sending away for enough sample copies to curve the spines of a squadron of mail carriers. The thin little periodicals that came in response renewed my desire to keep reading about eating.

Quite a few food newsletters exist–Kerrigan counts more than 80 in her most recent catalog–but they are published in obscurity, and marketed and distributed in a way that could be called labyrinthine if it were more organized. As a result they can be disconcertingly ephemeral; Kerrigan doesn’t even bind the Smorgasbord anymore because the list changes so frequently. And yet, these newsletters constitute the most exciting body of food literature available today. Of course, there will always be a place in my heart for the kings of the genre–Bon Appetit, Saveur, Fine Cooking. But it is up to newsletters to present an alternate culinary reality.

For starters, food newsletters are personal, almost iconoclastic. They may be written by a team, but the 8- or 16-page format, usually illustrated with quirky clip art, retains the flavor of some lone individual bent over the keyboard or stove. The first-person perspective is implicit. Many of them emerged from a personal discovery or experience: a spouse’s heart attack (The Gorgeless Gourmet), for example, or life on the back lines of the restaurant industry (Chew from Madison, Wisc.). Other newsletters offer more explicit reminiscences woven among the recipes, interviews, and the address of the Idaho Potato Commission. But whether fueled by underlying motivation or blow-by-blow experience, these intensely personal tracts make it seem entirely appropriate, for example, to recount the specifics of one’s sad dining-out experiences (Convivium) in all their depressing detail, or to lavish 500 words on building a dug-out earthen kitchen, following the example of infantry soldiers in the Civil War (Food History News).

That passion is something that the conventional gourmet glossies can only dream of. Being products of a team effort, mandated by the marketing directives of a corporation, magazines lack the energy behind one person’s desire. Sure, they satisfy the basic needs of the widest number of readers, but even that seems incidental at times to channeling product information. The slick photos stir up lust for stoves, dishware, curtains, and truffle oil, while the captions tell where, when, and at what cost you can satiate that lust. Advertising cameos of cars, vacation spots, and watches put in more plugs for the good life. The pressure to consume pervades the ostensible message of good eating, which leaves passion to dry out on a slate-topped counter under the relentless blaze of the photographer’s lights.

Newsletter writers, on the other hand, get to keep that passion and combine it with love of words, supplying their readers with compelling and literate prose that is rarely found in mainstream magazines. The writing is eloquent and thoughtful (Edward Behr’s The Art of Eating), or bright and schwingy (in the irresistibly retro Hungover Gourmet), or just plain earnest (The Wild Food Adventurer).

COLLECTIVELY, the newsletter genre ends up covering a much wider range of writing styles and topics than you will ever find in the mainstream. Newsletter authors are the voice of their individual efforts, so they don’t have to do anything. They can go off on a literate rant about legalizing pot (as did editor Johann Mathieson of Food Words, a catalog/newsletter out of Portland), or indulge in genteel snipery about clueless volunteers at soup kitchens (featured in the holiday issue of the Yountville-based Curmudgeon’s Home Companion).

Newsletters don’t really need to worry about offending: most don’t have ads (which is why some of them cost as much or more than a glossy magazine). Anyway, since the writing is so personal, the objects of the writing rarely assume such importance that brand names and prices are needed. As John Thorne points out in a recent issue of Simple Cooking, it doesn’t matter what brand of ramen you buy as long as you know that Vietnamese noodles are best.

All the writers have their own little tricks and tips, but only a rare few opinionated souls care enough to write them down, offering a different view of the dominant culinary culture, like comments scribbled in the margins of society’s cookbook. Food newsletters can stretch our consciousness beyond the newest roast-goat variation of some remote Moroccan tribe into a whole new realm of interpersonal discourse: What do you like to talk about at the dinner table? What interests you in the kitchen cupboards of your friends? What was the last good dessert you had, and who fed it to you spoonful by loving spoonful? What are the food habits that you would never have the guts to share with a thousand strangers on a mailing list? Hmph, you say. Even I could write that down.

Well, go ahead. That’s what newsletters–zines of the food culture–are all about.

To receive a copy of Lynne Kerrigan’s thorough list, A Smorgasbord of Cooks’ Periodicals, send $6.95 to Food Writer, P.O. Box 156, Spring City, PA 19475-0156.

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Santa Rosa Panhandling Law

Beggars’ Banquet


Michael Amsler

Spare change: Begging on the streets is leading Santa Rosa business owners to demand tougher laws, but activists say such laws violate civil rights.

Santa Rosa may clamp down on panhandling

By Janet Wells

JO BARRINGTON, a legal secretary who has been working in downtown Santa Rosa for 10 years, expects to get hit up for change every time she goes out for a sandwich. “It’s gotten more intense. Sometimes in a half-block walk I get asked four times for money,” says Barrington, petite, no-nonsense, and clearly fed up. “You’re not going to catch my grandmother or my sister walking downtown.

“It’s not friendly.”

Echoing the sentiments of many downtown merchants and shoppers, Barrington thinks panhandling is getting increasingly intimidating. “I’m getting sick of it,” she says. “Before, you saw people who seemed to be mentally disturbed. That’s a tragedy, and if it was my family I’d want someone to give them a dollar. I don’t know if it’s a fad, but it’s more and more kids and homeless.

“I give sometimes, but not to able-bodied young people,” she adds. “I object to providing recreation money.”

Santa Rosa is not Berkeley or San Francisco, where “Spare change?” is a litany that is part of the cultural landscape. But these days begging is a burgeoning issue even in the heart of serene Sonoma County. City officials, aiming to nip the problem in the bud, have put together a committee charged with deciding whether the city needs more stringent laws to regulate panhandling.

“We’ve had a lot of complaints from retailers and businesses in the downtown area about the issue. We’ve had complaints from citizens,” says Mayor Janet Condron. “I walk into a business downtown and the owner says, ‘What are you doing about this?’ ”

The problem Condron refers to is not hard to detect. One rainy February afternoon, a few blocks from city hall, three street people are hanging out around a trash can in front of the main library. After asking for a quarter and getting nothing, a middle-aged woman named Barbara starts discussing the finer points of panhandling.

“I know who to ask or not ask,” she explains. “Never ask a person with a newer car or clothes. The more they’re well dressed, the more you expect not to get a penny,” she says, her green fingernail polish chipped, and long blond hair covered with a powder-blue stocking cap.

Michael Amsler



A scruffy guy in a canvas fishing hat, who declines to give his name, cuts in. “I ask anybody and everybody,” he says. “When someone desires to give, they’re blessed. I’m blessed because I’m getting my needs met and they’re blessed because they’re charitable.”

Still, he says, he never panhandles in Santa Rosa. He washes windows. “But I learned to panhandle in Berkeley, right along with the best,” he says, his lack of front teeth clearly showing as he laughs hoarsely. “Panhandling is an honest dollar. If I ask, they can say ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Get a job, bum.’ I’m not waiting for little old ladies at ATM machines.”

These two street denizens have never followed people down the street, they say, or blocked someone’s path, or crept up on people at their bank machines. But Fourth Street Market Deli owner Pete Mogannam says such behavior does exist in Santa Rosa, along with cursing, name calling, and giving the finger. “When you’re prevented from crossing the street, you’re going to think twice about coming downtown to do shopping,” he observes.

Panhandling, says ACLU attorney Alan Schlosser, is a topic in nearly every city in Northern California these days. “It comes up often because there’s a frustration that there are people who are really poor and on the streets, and there is pressure to do something about it,” he says. “Local communities have limited means to do something, and these [panhandling] ordinances are an outlet for the political pressure.”

Santa Rosa, like most cities, already has a panhandling ordinance. But, says Police Sgt. Anthony Wynne, it requires that a victim be accosted and then make a citizens’ arrest before the police can step in. “That’s not much of a tool for us to deal with a situation where panhandling becomes a nuisance,” he says.

Bay Area cities like Berkeley, San Francisco, Palo Alto, and Mountain View all have passed recent laws in an attempt to curb the kind of panhandling that some call a nuisance and others feel is downright intimidating.

The Berkeley City Council proposed an ordinance that would prohibit begging after nightfall, approaching people near bank machines, and coercing or following people who have said no to a request for money, as well as soliciting money from anyone sitting on a public bench, putting money in a parking meter, using a pay phone, purchasing a newspaper, standing in a theater or restaurant line, or waiting for a bus.

The ACLU filed suit, and eventually Berkeley’s ordinance was watered down to regulate only begging near ATM machines.

“It was too broad,” Schlosser says. “The courts have clearly said that panhandling is protected speech. It is considered the same kind of speech as soliciting donations for political activities or charities. It can’t be prohibited. It can be regulated, but [laws] have to be narrowly tailored to deal with real problems.”

“We regard these ordinances with suspicion,” he adds. “Often the motivation seems not to be criminal activities or behavior, because then you could pass laws dealing with the behavior. Often the goal is to get people considered bad for business off the street. That is not permissible. You can’t pick and choose who’s going to be on city streets.”

Santa Rosa’s eight-member committee panhandling, made up of homeless advocates, business owners, and city officials, is looking for solutions, not draconian measures, say members. The group met for the first time Feb. 16, and plans several more sessions before sending its findings to the City Council.

Says committee member Daniel Cortez, director of public relations at Redwood Gospel Mission, “The bottom line is how we can come up with something that will work for the community and benefit the panhandlers in a positive way.”

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Talking Pictures

0

Rhapsody in Blue

A colorful conversation with psychologist Peter Kramer on the big-screen love story ‘Message in a Bottle’

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 film review; rather, it’s a freewheeling tangential exploration of life, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

I’M ABOUT TO SPOIL the movie for you,” whispers Dr. Peter Kramer, leaning over to reveal that this realization is making him grin bemusedly in the dark.

“Uh, OK,” I whisper back, eyes on the screen as Kevin Costner, perched on the deck of a very pretty, dock-side schooner, makes complicated eye contact with Robin Wright Penn, who stands wrapped in jackets and scarves while returning his meaningful gaze. As my guest warns me of the impending ruination of the film, I assume he is going to divulge some guessed-at plot point. Maybe he’s figured out how the whole thing is going to end.

“Blue,” he says. “There’s not a frigging scene in this movie that isn’t dominated by the color blue. Haven’t you noticed? I bet you won’t be able to count to five without seeing blue.”

I turn back to the screen. Hmmmmn. Blue jeans, blue shirt, blue eyes. Blue jacket, blue scarf, blue backpack. Blue sky. Blue ocean. Wait! A new scene. Costner’s rustic front porch. I begin to count: one, two, three … They step inside. The walls are blue. The table is blue. The ocean glimpsed through the window is still blue. Damn, he’s right.

It’s ruined. I go through the rest of the movie trying to count to five.

Kramer–who lives in Providence, R.I.– is a noted psychologist and the author of Listening to Prozac, the controversial 1993 bestseller that examines the role of antidepressants on a patient’s sense of self. His latest work is the delightful, entirely unexpected Should You Leave?, newly released in paperback. It’s a series of short stories disguised as a self-help book, an examination of several couples wrestling with the decision of whether or not they belong together. The author, grappling with psychotherapy’s mandate against giving advice, wonders what kind of advice, if any, would be appropriate or helpful with each set of fictional lovers. It’s a gripping, entertaining, and truly enlightening work.

The color blue is seldom mentioned.

As for the movie that Kramer has just gleefully derailed, it’s Message in a Bottle, based on a book by Nicholas Sparks. A harried working woman from Chicago (Wright Penn) yearns to find her one true love. She discovers a tide-tossed bottle–it’s pale blue–containing a gloriously passionate love letter, full of pain, longing, regret. She falls in love with the writer, based only on the intensity of his passion. She tracks him to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. He (Costner) turns out to be a shipbuilder. His wife died. He’s very sad. He writes letters to his dead wife. He puts them in bottles. He thinks he will never love again. In walks the woman from Chicago.

It’s all very emotional.

“Well,” says Kramer when the film has ended, “I have to confess I got misty-eyed every 15 minutes–right on schedule. There’s a lot to be said for formula. This movie may be obvious, formulaic, and manipulative–but it’s obvious, formulaic, and manipulative in a very technical and competent manner.

“That said, you can’t really get away from this film being essentially nauseating.”

“Nauseating,” I agree, leading the way to a table inside the theater’s lobby-side cafe. “And formulaic. And blue.”

THOUGH the movie’s been over for 10 minutes now, half of my brain is still busy counting, “One, two, three, four …” “The blue thing!” Kramer laughs, shaking his head. “This movie is like a tone poem to the color blue–maybe it’s supposed to be ‘sea-bottle blue’–and it’s also a tone poem to water. We see the rain outside the window when they’re making love; we see the light playing over their bodies, so their bodies are made to look exactly like water. Maybe we’re supposed to feel that we’re trapped in the bottle, too.

“Despite how easy it is to make fun of, though,” he observes, “it does work. There’s a lesson to writers in this, and that is: ‘Formula works.’ Formulas become formulas because they touch something in us.”

“So what did this formula touch in you?” I wonder.

“Oh, you know,” Kramer smiles. “The part that responds to things like, ‘Life is short, attachments really matter, we all want to loved–that kind of thing. It says that if we want to be loved, we have to be willing to go for it at any moment, at any stage of life. You can go on about practicality and hedge funds and every other damn thing, but there’s nothing like grand opera. There isn’t enough grand opera in our lives. It gives us something we desire.

“I think urban life–our commodified, capitalist life–is too much for us,” Kramer adds. “We know it, we all know it, and we want some way out of it. We want relationships that are not practical, that are not based on bank accounts, that are not based on some absolute pecking order of worth. We want attachments that are not contingent, that won’t be threatened when we get wrinkles or lose our job–but are somehow immortal. And I think this movie plays off of that notion.”

“So why would we settle for grand opera,” I ask, “or movies like Message in a Bottle, instead of embracing love in the full-bodied, no-limits way these fictional characters do?”

“Some people do,” Kramer replies. “But it’s not easy in a culture that honors flexibility and autonomy over having strong connections.

“Even so, ” he repeats, “some people do it.”

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Jewish Ghetto Songs

0

Ghetto Blasters

Show spotlights little-known Jewish songs of the Nazi-era ghettos

By Greg Cahill

AND” MAY BE a simple word, but it shot straight to the heart of “Music and the Holocaust,” a 1997 symposium at Stanford University. “How can you put together with a little conjunction like that two things that seem to nullify each other?” asked English professor John Felstiner, an organizer of the event, during an interview with writer Leslie Katz.

Yet, as a number of scholars discussed at the landmark event, music was far from absent from the Holocaust. Ghetto dwellers sang traditional Yiddish and other songs. Partisans had their own defiant tunes. Concentration camp prisoners hummed and sang prayers and other melodies, sometimes on their way to death.

“In the camps, there was quite a lot of musical activity,” said Stephen Hinton, a Stanford professor of music who participated in the symposium. “There are reports of people having drawn considerable feelings of hope and solidarity from musical performances.

“Music,” he added, “has a wonderful way of saying ‘we,’ as well as saying ‘I.’ “

Indeed, the quest for hope and creative expression, even under the most horrific circumstances, reflects a fundamental human drive, said Felstiner. “This is human nature: People can’t stay away from the need for beauty.”

That lesson will be illustrated March 7 at “Ghetto Tango, Music in Extremis,” a rare performance of songs from the World War II-era Jewish cabarets and theaters of Poland and Lithuania during the forced incarceration by the Nazis in such cities as Warsaw, Lodz, Kovno, and Vilna.

The show, performed in Yiddish and English, is the brainchild of New York singer Adrienne Cooper and pianist/arranger Zalmen Mlotek. “The songs, for the most part, were made for entertainment,” explains Cooper, who first began researching the songs of the Holocaust as a history student at the University of Chicago. “That sounds odd, but the songs exhibit a very complex range of subject material and expression. Some are sad. Some are upbeat. Some are ironic, funny, and sharp. There’s a lot of class conflict.

“They reflect their experience.”

AS THE NAZIS rounded up Jews from the countryside and forced them into walled ghettos, the performing artists of those cities reflected on the tremendous social changes, sometimes in satirical spoofs that hinted at their hatred for the Nazis, sometimes in wry ditties that poked fun at their less sophisticated country cousins, and often in defiant anthems aimed at their oppressors.

“There is a continuity with the culture that existed before the war,” says Cooper, during a phone interview from her home. “You know, people were relocated to these ghettos and moved around from their own communities, but there had been theater and political cabarets and a tradition of musical performance preceding the war. What’s really interesting about this music, and very compelling, is that you see what was created anew and what was adapted from traditions that already existed.”

Most of the songs come from 1941-43, before most of the Jews were relocated to nearby concentration camps, the ghettos razed. Cooper unearthed many of the songs while serving as assistant director of the Yivo Institute for Jewish Research. “As a musician,” she notes, “I was able to draw on the archives there and on researchers who were gathering songs from the Holocaust survivors.”

Because there were so few ghetto survivors, the songs provide a window into the past and teach a valuable lesson about survival. “The songs do affirm that even under circumstances that suppressed creativity under the normal course of life, people were determined to continue to perform and use art as a way to communicate and comfort and fantasize and express rage.

“My hope is that the audience will come away with a sense of what it meant to be creative at that time, and gain an understanding of the full range of existence, so we don’t see them only as the subject of a memorial, but realize that their lives were incredibly nuanced and filled with expression.”

Ghetto Tango, Music in Extremis, with Adrienne Cooper and Zalmen Mlotek, will be presented on Sunday, March 7, at 1 p.m. Friedman Center, 4676 Mayette Ave., Santa Rosa. Tickets are $15/advance; $18/at the door. 528-4222.

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Abortion

Aborted Mission

Text by Janet Wells
Illustration by Lee Ballard



When Teresa Rodriguez* found out in her fifth month of pregnancy that her fetus had no kidneys and would die within hours of birth, she decided to have an abortion. It was not a choice Teresa wanted to make. She was devastated at the news about her baby. But the idea of carrying for four more months a child who could not survive outside of her womb was just too much to endure, so she chose to terminate the pregnancy.

Still, there was a catch.

Even at 20 weeks, abortion is a perfectly legal procedure. Starting with the Roe vs. Wade case more than 25 years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court has made several rulings affirming the right to make choices about birth control and abortion.

But Teresa, along with a growing number of women nationwide, has discovered that freedom of choice is a minefield when it comes to abortion. Too far along in her term to go to the only clinic in Petaluma to offer the procedure and in need of hospitalization, Teresa could not go a few blocks away to Petaluma Valley Hospital. The hospital used to perform abortions, but now the facility is in partnership with the Catholic Church-owned Sisters of St. Joseph of Orange, and the church prohibits abortion even in cases of rape or when the mother’s health may be compromised.

A low-income Sonoma County resident, Teresa was forced to travel back and forth to San Francisco twice over two days to have seaweed extract inserted to soften her cervix. After 48 hours, she went back yet a third time to have her pregnancy terminated.

If Teresa’s situation seems extreme or far from home, think again. The Catholic Church, which sees abortion and birth control as virtual crimes against church doctrine, took over management of publicly-owned Petaluma Valley Hospital in 1997; purchased Santa Rosa-based Primary Care Associates, one of the county’s busiest medical groups, in 1998; leases office space to several independent doctors and small medical groups throughout the county; and owns Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital.

Whether the Catholic Church owns the hospital or is merely the landlord to a consortium of independent doctors, the contract is the same: All doctors must agree not to perform abortions on church property. And doctors who work for a Catholic-owned facility–regardless of their own faith or social beliefs–are prohibited from performing abortions even on their own time at other sites.

“What we’re seeing right now is opponents of abortion trying to limit women’s access by different means. The Catholic Church is doing it by stealth, buying hospitals left and right and taking away rights of non-Catholics,” says Linda McCabe, spokeswoman for Sonoma County National Organization for Women.

“Individual Catholic physicians and patients can follow their religious beliefs, but they should not push that off on other people,” McCabe adds. “No one would accept it if Jehovah’s Witnesses started buying up hospitals and started denying people blood transfusions because that’s their belief.”

CATHOLIC HOSPITALS are the largest non-profit health-care provider in the country. The Catholic Church owns eight of the 14 largest health-care systems in America, controlling 600 hospitals with 140,000 beds. Compare that to Kaiser Permanente, the nation’s fourth largest non-profit provider, with just 28 hospitals and slightly more than 6,000 beds.

In the era of managed care, with more and more hospitals merging to cut costs, the numbers in the Catholic column will only increase. According to a study by Catholics for Free Choice, in the past eight years nearly 100 mergers have occurred nationwide with a non-Catholic hospital teaming up with a Catholic facility. In half of those deals, reproductive services have been either cut back or dropped completely.

Abortion services are unavailable in 84 percent of the counties in the United States, according to the American Civil Liberties Union. One third of all American women live in these counties. There are 76 communities across 26 states in which the sole hospital is Catholic. “Emergency contraception for rape victims, distribution of condoms for HIV, abortion, tubal ligation, fertility services–all these are in danger of getting wiped out,” says Lourdes Rivera, staff attorney with the National Health Law Program. “These are services that are important to women and need to be an integral part of health care.”

Doctors are increasingly hesitant to counter the Catholic strictures by performing a procedure that has swirled in controversy and violence for decades in America. If they criticize their boss or landlord–in this case, the Catholic Church–they could lose their job and livelihood. If the doctor is a vocal supporter of abortion rights, he or she could be killed, like Dr. Barnett Slepian, an upstate New York physician murdered by a sniper in October.

In Sonoma County, with a population of nearly a half million people, there are fewer than two dozen doctors who perform abortions. Planned Parenthood in Rohnert Park does the procedure only twice a month, because one of its two doctors quit and the clinic has been unable to find a replacement. The other four clinics in the county that offer abortion services are swamped, sometimes doing as many as 30 procedures in one night.

“People don’t know what’s going on in their own backyard,” says Dr. Susan Lewis, a family-practice doctor in Petaluma.

A fiercely pro-choice physician who performs abortions as a small part of her practice, Lewis is frustrated and appalled by the “horror stories” she hears from her patients.

One evening last fall at a Santa Rosa clinic, Lewis did an abortion for a Sonoma resident in her mid-20s. The woman, about nine weeks pregnant, had first asked her regular doctor to do the procedure.

“First the doctor said, ‘Let’s pray for your unborn baby.’ Then the doctor told her she had to have an ultrasound, and wrote on the ultrasound slip, ‘Show the heartbeat,’ ” Lewis says, shaking her head. “You don’t do that if someone wants an abortion. It’s not just weird, it’s mean. They showed the woman the heartbeat, and she cried.”

The woman then called the clinic to set up the procedure, Lewis says.

Lewis, like all physicians interviewed for this story, is wary of being labeled an “abortion doctor” in the community or being targeted by anti-abortion activists. She continues to do abortions, she says, “because it’s the right thing to do. It’s not my choice to make for people. I don’t know what’s happening in these women’s lives.

“When I was living in England in the 1980s, I thought I was pregnant,” she says. “I saw a billboard that said, “Unwanted pregnancy? Call this number.” I called and a woman answered, asked how I was, knew I was American. She was nice. Then she said my baby was alive, it had a heartbeat. I remember standing in this phone booth in the freezing rain, pumping money in the coin slot, crying. I was all alone, no family, 100 percent broke. It took me a long time to hang up on her.

“Women,” Lewis says simply, “should have the choice.”

If, however, your doctor is affiliated with the Catholic Church, that choice may not be so easy to make.

From snail mail to the internet, hate finds its way.

Violence and controversy spark an abortion-provider shortage.

THE RULE BOOK for Catholic hospitals also should serve as a heads-up to any non-religious institution flirting with a merger deal or even leasing space. Part of any partnership agreement is adherence to the “Ethical and Religious Directives for Catholic Care Services,” 70 commandments drafted by the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, prohibiting abortion, most forms of birth control, tubal ligation, removal of ectopic pregnancies, even the morning-after pill for rape victims.

Catholic hospitals can even refuse to refer patients to facilities that do offer such services.

Legislative tolerance of such restrictions is growing, according to a January article in The Nation. The 1997 Balanced Budget Act applies the “conscience clause”–which originally meant that individuals would be able to opt out of doing procedures like abortion on moral grounds–to managed-care institutions. As a result, health plans for federal employees may use religious or ethical grounds to curtail reproductive care.

According to The Nation, pharmacists in South Dakota are legally allowed to deny a woman a prescription if they have reason to believe it will be used to terminate a pregnancy.

Catholic health-care providers aren’t cagey about the church’s philosophy. Larry Maniscalco, director of Mission Services for Memorial Hospital in Santa Rosa, offers to provide articles and pamphlets, even underlining sections of the directives that apply to reproductive care. Maniscalco readily concedes that an affiliation between Catholic and non-Catholic institutions “usually does result in the loss of reproductive services.”

As for whether a truncated menu of services equals full health care for women, he says, “You have to look at whether it is available elsewhere in the community, and I think it is available in the community.”

One Santa Rosa primary-care physician says that the Catholic Church isn’t the enemy as much as doctors eager to cash in on the partnership gold mine. “The most destructive thing happening in women’s reproductive-health care is that doctors are caving in,” says Dr. Renee Walker. “Catholic hospitals are doing what they’ve done for 2,000 years. The medical world is caving in for financial expediency.

“They sold women down the river because it made financial sense.”

Walker is particularly critical of Primary Care Associates, which merged with Memorial Hospital last year. With more than 50 physicians, the group cares for about 100,000 patients in Sonoma County.

Before the merger, nine of the PCA doctors would perform abortions, Walker says. The merger contract now prohibits the group’s doctors from offering abortions at their offices–as well as on their own time somewhere else.

“Patients had no idea,” Walker says. “And the doctors signed this agreement.”

Along with the new title of president and chief executive officer of the St. Joseph Health Foundation of Northern California, PCA head Gary Greensweig also netted a tidy profit from the deal, Walker says.

Greensweig demurs when asked if the merger deal was personally lucrative, but concedes that he profited from the deal. “There was an acquisition of certain assets,” he says.

Why were PCA doctors willing to give up their right to provide reproductive services? “The medical group believes that the type of care for the underserved and community partnership programs that have historically been present with Memorial are very compatible with the medical group’s own identities and values,” Greensweig says. “Basically, the bottom line is from our standpoint; our patients get the reproductive services they need. But in most cases they don’t get them from us.”

PCA doctors have “a variety of referral services,” Greensweig says, an attitude that infuriates Walker, who, as a doctor with a private group in Sonoma County, bears the brunt of PCA’s agreement to not provide abortions.

“They don’t counsel these women, they just give out a number,” Walker says. “These women would come over to our office frantic. Often we didn’t get paid a dime because it wasn’t a formal referral.”

In October, Walker says her group refused to take any more PCA patients. “They never fixed it. They didn’t care.”

THE NUMBER OF WOMEN going to clinics like Commonwoman’s Health Project and Women’s Health Specialists in Santa Rosa has mushroomed in the last several years, clinic workers say, and the profile of a woman seeking an abortion has changed dramatically as well.

“When I first started working in 1992, the majority of patients were the underserved, with no insurance, Spanish-speaking,” Walker says. “Now they have private insurance, are employed, even have college degrees. They have their own doctor and there they are, a huge group of insured that don’t have anywhere to get an abortion.”

When Walker and her colleagues wanted to lease space from the Sisters of St. Joseph of Orange, an order that runs Memorial Hospital as well as owning numerous buildings in the area, they were asked to sign the usual agreement: no abortions anywhere anytime, no talking about birth control to unmarried couples, no invasive fertility treatments or sterilization.

But there is some wiggle room with the church directives. The church wanted Walker’s busy practice as a tenant enough to make some concessions. Walker and her colleagues can violate just about all of the reproductive directives, except abortion–and that they can do elsewhere.

When publicly owned Petaluma Valley Hospital proposed a merger with Memorial Hospital in 1995, community members went ballistic at the notion that reproductive services would no longer be available. Because of a financially creative compromise that gave the hospital the resources of the Catholic Church while keeping it separate through a lease agreement, tubal ligations still are performed at the hospital.

But abortions are one of the bottom-line no-nos for Catholics. Instead of finding a pro-choice partner for the hospital, women’s health services–including abortion–were shunted off to a separate clinic, the Petaluma Health Center.

While the “separate, but equal” solution does give women access to abortions, patients and doctors feel segregated and isolated from the main hospital. (If there were complications with an abortion requiring transfer of a patient to the hospital, clinic doctors say they don’t know whether Petaluma Valley Hospital would refuse the patient, resulting in a potentially life-threatening 15-mile drive to Sutter Medical Center in Santa Rosa.)

Such concessions aren’t perfect, and they are far from consistently applied when it comes to mergers. Concessions that affect reproductive care are made case by case, based on, it seems, how hard people fight. Greensweig and his PCA doctors decided to swallow the directives whole.

“We did not want to be in a position to negotiate away those core beliefs that our partner health system had,” he says.

And because PCA, unlike Petaluma Valley Hospital, is a private doctors’ group, patients don’t find out what they have lost until after the ink is dry on the merger deal.

“These decisions are made behind closed doors and boardrooms,” says attorney Rivera. “There is no requirement that there be any kind of notice.”

Sonoma Valley Hospital administrators announced recently that they are searching for a partner to bail the hospital out of financial straits, but there is no law requiring that the public must be in on the details of a merger.

PRO-CHOICE physicians are not happy about the merger trend and resulting loss of reproductive services. “But to stand up to the system can cost them their careers,” says Sepi Djavaheri, community organizer for the California Women’s Law Center. “There are few doctors who are willing to do that.”

And patients are ambivalent. “There’s so much shame with an abortion, and patients have internalized it. They aren’t going to go back to their doctor and say, ‘How dare you?’ They’d rather forget about the issue,” Dr. Walker says. “We want [abortion] to be available, we want it to be safe, but we don’t want to do it. It’s like garbage collectors. You want to put it out there and have it gone.”

*Names of patients and doctors changed at their request for privacy and security.

This is the first of a two-part series on abortion issues. Next week, how the religious right fills the post-abortion void.

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Director Paul Schrader

0

Angst for the Memories

Man on the edge: Oscar-nominated actor Nick Nolte, left, and writer/director Paul Scrader share a moment of levity on the set of Affliction. The underrated Schrader’s other projects include Taxi Driver, Blue Collar, and Mishima.

Writer/director Paul Schrader has made wallowing in the mire of the human condition a cinematic art form

By Nicole McEwan

LONELINESS has been following me my whole life,” Says Travis Bickle in Paul Schrader’s screenplay for Taxi Driver. It’s an elegiac line, and one that effectively describes its writers, as well as the cavalcade of existentialist antiheroes who populate his scripts and movies.

Almost all of Schrader’s stark, morally ambiguous films contemplate the downward spiral of a man or men caught in a spiritual and emotional prison of their own construction.

And the new Affliction is no different. Starring a gaunt-faced Nick Nolte, the film is adapted from Russell Banks’ resonant novel. Anyone familiar with the Canadian writer’s other screen-adapted work, The Sweet Hereafter, would agree that Schrader and Banks share a similarly bleak sensibility and fascination for flawed characters straddling the brink between despair and disaster.

Nolte’s Wade Whitehouse is the deputy of Lawford, N.H., a sparsely populated town well beyond its glory days. Life passed Lawford and Wade by a long time ago and, as the film opens, things have settled into a perpetually sour but bearable stasis. Then Wade’s ex-wife threatens to cut off his visitation rights to their young daughter, a vengeful act that sets the depressive on a paranoic path. Soon he is questioning the accidental death of a wealthy local union boss, ostensibly trying to inject some meaning and purpose into his painfully rootless existence. Wade’s indefatigable quest for the truth moves from obsession to madness as the story unfolds.

In New York to promote the film, the filmmaker acknowledges that Wade, a quintessential loner, fits the Schrader mold.

“It’s a spiritual loneliness,” Schrader stresses. “Wade certainly doesn’t lack for people to talk to, and he likes and is liked by the people around him. But there’s something essentially solitary about him.”

At the base of Wade’s sadness is the abuse he suffered at the hands of “Pop” Whitehouse (James Coburn)–a situation illustrated through judiciously brief, powerful flashbacks. The reign of terror of the perhaps ironically named abusive familial despot might snidely be summarized as “white house, no picket fence.” Thanks to Pop, Wade has arrived at adulthood as damaged goods, unable to conquer the affliction that haunts him.

As Pop, Coburn makes an auspicious return to the screen, infusing the surly alcoholic with a vivid sadism. Interestingly, Paul Newman, not Coburn, was the director’s first choice. “I wanted somebody who was large physically and who represented another generation of Hollywood manhood,” Schrader says. “That pool of actors is now quite small.”

Alas, Newman “didn’t want to play a bad guy.” Another decisive factor was the fact that the 74-year-old legend has grown a bit “frail” over the years and the role was “too physically demanding.”

SCHRADER’S STRICT Calvinist upbringing forbade moviegoing because of its “decadence,” so the Michigan native never even saw a film until he was an 18-year-old college student. The moral chasm between his childhood and his chosen profession inspired the simultaneous attraction and repulsion to the seedier recesses of human behavior that define Schrader’s most successful projects, among them Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, two of several collaborations with Martin Scorsese. Oddly, both films garnered a slew of nominations and awards for everyone involved except Schrader, though both have achieved classic status.

How does it feel to have been so egregiously overlooked?

“I don’t think much about it,” Schrader says matter-of-factly. “It’s better to have written them than not. Oddly, I was once asked about the ‘difficulty’ of overcoming Taxi Driver‘s success. To me, that film was like a burden lifted off my shoulders. It was an indication very early on that I had the ability to succeed in this business. And that moment of validation is something many friends of mine are still seeking–even after 25 years of writing.”

Next month, the tragedy-inclined director will start shooting Forever Mine, a romance starring Joseph Fiennes and Gretchen Mol. Due this fall is Bring out the Dead, a drama about a New York ambulance driver on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The project marks the reunion of Schrader and Scorsese after a decade-long hiatus. Fans concerned that Forever Mine might be a sign that the stony individualist is going soft–or, even worse, going Hollywood–should know that although it’s a love story, it’s one about “an obsessive, undying love.” And that’s territory the director knows quite well.

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Scoop

Feeling Limp?

By Bob Harris

REMEMBER that big study that was in all the papers, saying that 40 percent of men have trouble in the bedroom? Like maybe we could all do with a little Viagra now and again? Well, guess who wrote it? Two weeks ago, the Journal of the American Medical Association released a highly publicized report providing conclusive, scientific proof that Americans are, in precise medical terms, a bunch of linguine weenies. Practically every media outlet in the country ran with the story, since everybody loves this kind of news: If you do have trouble getting, er, perpendicular, it makes you feel like we’re all in the same tiny little boat, while if you stand at attention–at ease, shall we say–it makes you feel like captain of the ship.

There was just one minor detail about the study that JAMA neglected to mention to its readers: The labcoats who wrote it were also paid consultants to Pfizer, the people who make Viagra.

Oh, gee, there’s a shock.

One thing that keeps a lot of people from buying Viagra is feeling ashamed to admit there’s a problem … and all of a sudden out comes a study saying lots of people have the problem, so there’s no reason to feel ashamed.

Coincidence?

Yeah, maybe. That doesn’t mean the study isn’t accurate. The authors were paid by Pfizer to review clinical trial data on Viagra before the drug was submitted for government approval. There’s no direct connection to the study published in JAMA, and it’s entirely possible that the scientists’ financial interests in no way affected their methodology and conclusions. Let’s hope and assume so.

But even so, JAMA, which was informed of the connection, should have disclosed the information about the researchers’ previous work for the sex drug manufacturer.

If it had, the only medicine a lot of people would be taking as a result might be a big grain of salt.

FINALLY, a personal annoyance I just want to vent about: One notch above fast-food joints are those nicer, franchised sit-down restaurants, invariably bedubbed with skin-crawlingly cutesy names that would make an Osmond choke: T.J. McCookieCutter’s, Cap’n Happy’s Chuckle Bucket, Ol’ Mama Stifleluvin’s Biskitz’n’Ribz, B.M. Misspeller’s Crapulous Disgorge-O-Mat, and so on.

You know the drill: wood and brass fixtures, baseball pennants, and license plates on the walls, and a menu with little hearts next to the four entrées out of 110 that won’t cause you to leave a ventricle as a tip.

A while back, the folks at a college I performed at took me to one of these places. The food was actually pretty good, but even the washroom was fixed to the gills with cloying, saccharine photos of kids with catcher’s mitts, dogs licking kittens, and absurdly fat people scratching themselves.

This was all a little more visual input than I needed right that minute.

So two nights later and two states over, another college took me to another unit of the same chain. Sure enough: wood and brass, baseball pennants, little hearts …

If you’ve seen the old TV series The Prisoner, somewhere in the distance you could almost hear a bald guy with goggles murmuring, “Begin program.”

And then I used the washroom. To my horror, it was completely identical to the one 200 miles away. Dogs. Kids. Fat scratch fever. Right down to the molecule.

Which means some high-paid consultant has actually focus-grouped, market-researched, and maximized the profit margin on my relieving experience.

It’s more than just a bathroom–it’s a highly tested waste facility of fun!

AIEEE!!!

Please, corporate America. For the love of God. Stop trying to please me. Stop trying to optimize me. Not everyone is comfortable on the other side of your one-way glass.

Allow us just the tiniest respite, just one brief moment of contemplation, just a single room in the world where we can escape your never-ending influence.

In short: Let my people go.

From the February 25-March 3, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Low-Income 401k Plan

IDA Ideal Eye on the prize: David Johnson of the Community Baptist Church is helping to lay the groundwork for the low-income 401k plan. Is Sonoma County ready for 401k plans for the poor? By Janet Wells MARTHA MICELI once had a piece of the American Dream: a house, a truck, a business. Then...

Durst’s Law

Otz of Luck By Will Durst OH LAWDY, Lawdy, Lawdy--like we don't have enough in the world to worry about, USA Today has declared a "What Do We Call the Next Decade?" emergency. "Brnngh! Brnngh! Brnngh! People, we're going to Def-Con 4. Move it. Move it. Move it. Gunderman!" Of course, you might want to...

Playwright Emily Shihadeh

War and Peace Emily Shihadeh comes to town with her intensely personal one-woman show By Patrick Sullivan TEARS AND LAUGHTER seem at war in Emily Shihadeh's voice. Again and again, emotion rises to color her words as she discusses her intensely personal one-woman show, Grapes and Figs Are in Season: A Palestinian Woman's Story....

Gourmet Newsletters

Zine Scene By Marina Wolf I'M BORED with glossy food magazines. Oh, I still subscribe to Food & Wine and let my eyes drift across the food section at the local newsstand. But lately I've been fighting off a certain overwhelmed world-weariness, the inevitable result of constant exposure to the glare of slick pages, the whirl...

Santa Rosa Panhandling Law

Beggars' Banquet Michael Amsler Spare change: Begging on the streets is leading Santa Rosa business owners to demand tougher laws, but activists say such laws violate civil rights. Santa Rosa may clamp down on panhandling By Janet Wells JO BARRINGTON, a legal secretary who has been working in downtown Santa Rosa for...

Talking Pictures

Rhapsody in Blue A colorful conversation with psychologist Peter Kramer on the big-screen love story 'Message in a Bottle' 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 film review; rather, it's a freewheeling tangential exploration of life,...

Jewish Ghetto Songs

Ghetto Blasters Show spotlights little-known Jewish songs of the Nazi-era ghettos By Greg Cahill AND" MAY BE a simple word, but it shot straight to the heart of "Music and the Holocaust," a 1997 symposium at Stanford University. "How can you put together with a little conjunction like that two things that seem to nullify each...

Abortion

Aborted Mission Text by Janet Wells Illustration by Lee Ballard When Teresa Rodriguez* found out in her fifth month of pregnancy that her fetus had no kidneys and would die within hours of birth, she decided to have an abortion. It was not a choice Teresa wanted to make. She was devastated at the news...

Director Paul Schrader

Angst for the Memories Man on the edge: Oscar-nominated actor Nick Nolte, left, and writer/director Paul Scrader share a moment of levity on the set of Affliction. The underrated Schrader's other projects include Taxi Driver, Blue Collar, and Mishima. Writer/director Paul Schrader has made wallowing in the mire of the human condition a cinematic art...

The Scoop

Feeling Limp? By Bob Harris REMEMBER that big study that was in all the papers, saying that 40 percent of men have trouble in the bedroom? Like maybe we could all do with a little Viagra now and again? Well, guess who wrote it? Two weeks ago, the Journal of the American Medical Association released...
11,084FansLike
4,606FollowersFollow
6,928FollowersFollow