What Would Jesus Do?

0

Plastic Jesus


Magali Pirard

A cryptic code is showing up on bracelets, T-shirts, and coffee mugs around the world. Now radical theologians, authors, and thinkers ponder the powerful–and trendy–question “What would Jesus do?”

By David Templeton

PATRICIA LYNN REILLY has just found Jesus. He’s hanging from an accessory rack at Claire’s Jewelry Store–right between Macy’s and Mervyn’s–exactly where she was told he’d be. And yes, Jesus does seem a bit out-of-place here in this trendy emporium of bright plastic baubles and bangles, neon-colored hair clips, zodiac necklaces, and yin-yang earrings. Even so, to the countless preteen and teenage girls who routinely spend their allowance in such places, Jesus is all right.

Yes, one could accurately say that Jesus–that 2,000 year-old Galilean rabble-rouser whose name we associate mainly with certain religions, or as a substitute for a four-letter word after smashing our thumb in a door–is suddenly very much in fashion. Literally.

Thanks to a phenomenal 9-year-old marketing campaign that some claim is more like a full-on social movement, the name Jesus is now on the lips, shirts, and shoelaces of millions–Christian and non-Christian alike, many of them under 21–all across the country.

It’s still a four-letter word, though, and the word is WWJD, an acronym for “What Would Jesus Do?” Its cryptic appearance on everything from bracelets to bluejeans has been called by some a right-wing fundamentalist conspiracy to sneak religious values onto campuses under the wire of church-and-state-separation laws. Others view it simply as a youthful, grassroots movement underscoring an increased desire among young people to embrace some positive social values or as a sneaky way for proselytizing Christians to provoke strangers to ask them about the mysterious initials.

Still others see it mainly as a crass, capitalistic commercialization of a harmlessly innocent philosophical ideal.

It is no doubt a little of each.

But whatever else it may turn out to be, one thing Patricia Lynn Reilly agrees with is that “What would Jesus do?” is a powerful and fascinating question.

A best-selling author and renowned feminist theologian, she’s recently caught wind of this curious movement and has ventured from her coastal home in Sea Ranch to the Santa Rosa Plaza to investigate. Her 1996 book, A God Who Looks Like Me, challenged the male-dominated ideology of Judeo-Christian faiths and invited women to embrace female images of spirituality. Reilly’s latest book, Be Full of Yourself, is a provocative reclamation of the image of Eve, presented as a role model for women who, like Reilly–Catholic-raised, later a born-again Christian–were initially trained to suppress all of their innate, life-affirming, apple-biting impulses.

“What would Jesus do?” reads Reilly, standing before the conspicuous WWJD rack festooned with rainbow-colored bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces, buttons, bumper stickers, key chains, notebooks, pencils, pens, and temporary tattoos, all bearing the acronym.

“‘Sex? Drugs? Gangs?'” Reilly reads aloud from a little card attached to one WWJD necklace, continuing as the card ends, in bigger letters, “‘What Would Jesus Do?'”

“Hmmmmm,” she adds, narrowing her eyes and flipping the card over in search of more information. “Is there some curriculum that supports this stuff?” she wonders, glancing around for someone to ask. “It really does look like some sort of evangelical tool to me. It reminds me of when I was a born-again Christian and we all had bright red Bible covers so that people would ask us about it.

“Who’s buying the WWJD items?” she asks Sindy Bryant, the store manager, stationed at the cash register.

“Teenage girls, lots of them,” Sindy replies. “It’s a lot more popular than I ever would have expected.”

“Are they mostly Christians?” Reilly wonders.

“Some of them, apparently,” she’s told. “But it’s not just about Jesus with a lot of them. They just like it. When someone asks what it means, and I tell them it’s meant as a personal reminder to stop for a second before making a decision, to second-guess their actions before leaping into something, they just get it. They understand that Jesus sort of stands for being a good person.”

Reilly likes what she’s hearing.

“Jesus is a universal symbol,” she nods, turning back to pick through the necklaces, “though fundamentalists have sort of co-opted him for their own purposes. I think it’s important to keep reclaiming Jesus from the jaws of the religious right.

“Maybe WWJD is helping to do that.”

WWJD certainly was intended as a way to introduce Jesus to others,” affirms Kenn Freestone of Lesco Co., the Michigan-based manufacturer–specializing in promotional items such as golf balls and T-shirts with company logos–that first began distributing WWJD bracelets in 1989.

“It was a Christian Youth group at a local Presbyterian church that came up with the idea of WWJD buttons, and then bracelets, and they brought it to me,” explains Freestone, who now heads Lesco’s multimillion-dollar WWJD division.

The youth group had been inspired by Charles Sheldon’s classic 1896 book, In His Steps. The once- controversial book tells the story of a church whose members turn their backs on a homeless stranger, only to be chastised by the man for not living their lives according to the example of Jesus. When the stranger drops dead, they are deeply ashamed, and vow that for one full year they will make no decision without first asking themselves, “What would Jesus do?”

“The bracelets were intended to be a daily reminder,” Freestone says, “but they were also meant to provoke questions from others. I did think it was a good message, so I proposed that we take the idea further and try to promote the bracelets elsewhere.”

Still, it wasn’t until two years ago–when syndicated radio pundit Paul Harvey began extolling the virtues of WWJD on the air–that Lesco found itself in possession of a certified national trend, and sales began expanding. Last year alone the company sold over 15 million WWJD items. Interactive websites (www.wwjd.com and www.whatwouldjesusdo.com are just two) began popping up all over the Internet, as other companies began putting out their own versions, expanding the scope with T-shirts, baseball caps, watches, board games, and books. A recently released CD of Christian music–titled What Would Jesus Do?, it comes complete with a WWJD bracelet–quickly made it onto Billboard’s Top 200 pop albums list. And a couple of months ago, Spin magazine spoofed the trend in a “Gen-X Jesus goes to the Big City” fashion spread.

Shortly after Wal-Mart began selling the products, WWJD entered the mainstream, and Claire’s Jewelry, a vast national chain of mall-based stores, began introducing a few items, only to expand their inventory when sales took off.

“Our chairman is fond of saying, ‘We don’t decide what to put in our stores. Our customers tell us what to put in our stores,'” explains Glenn Canary, an executive investment manager with Claire’s Jewelry Inc. “It’s literally true that we got into the WWJD stuff because the kids kept coming in asking for it. If kids want to buy it, we’d be dumb not to have it.”

The merchandise is also available through the chain’s other stores, such as Icings and Mr. Rags. Now Hallmark Cards stores are preparing to offer WWJD merchandise as well.

As countless Christian organizations have taken advantage of the movement to put across their own agendas–thus the “don’t do drugs, don’t have sex” angle that accompanies some of the marketing– non-Christians have found their own way to participate.

Alternate meanings for the enigmatic initials are often given by those wearing the doodads: We Want James Dean. We Want Jelly Donuts. Why Waste Jack Daniels?

To basketball-loving junior high schooler Eric Dozier of Santa Rosa, the bracelet he wears means, “What would [Michael] Jordan do?,” whereas his sister Amanda prefers to observe the intended meaning as she wears her own bracelet.

Though sales have slowed slightly, most retailers claim that it’s unlikely the fad will fade anytime soon.

“It’s amazing,” glows Freestone. “I’ve talked to storeowners. I’ve talked to pastors of churches and youth groups, and everyone else. Everybody says that WWJD looks like a trend that isn’t going to go away.”

IF FREESTONE’S optimism pans out, there will soon be enough WWJD bracelets and pendants in the stores to fit the wrists and necks of every high schooler and college student in America. But is WWJD merely the pet rock and mood ring of the late ’90s? Or is it more than a fad? Certainly, WWJD is separated from those other crazes by that simple, overtly introspective, potentially life-changing little question that started it all.

What exactly would Jesus do in today’s complex world? And how valid a question is it for enlightened, modern earth-dwellers, anyway?

“Well, are we talking about the historical Jesus or the religious Jesus?” wonders philosopher Sam Keen of Sonoma. “Jesus could be a very good role model for young people. Who else have they got? Leonardo DiCaprio? I’d rather have people asking ‘What would Jesus do?’ than ‘What would Leonardo do?'”

Keen, author of Fire in the Belly, Hymns to an Unknown God and To Love and Be Loved, admits that when he first saw a WWJD bracelet, he was amused. “I said, ‘What does that mean? World-Wide Juvenile Delinquent?’

“What you have to remember in looking at someone like Jesus, or the Buddha, and questioning what they would have done in a particular situation, is that they themselves were separate from the religion that came to be based on them. Buddha wasn’t a Buddhist. And Jesus,” he laughs, “was certainly not a Christian. At least not in the way we think of Christianity today.”

So what do Christians say Jesus would do?A quick scan of all the related websites and the various books devoted to the matter reveal a disturbing, unflinchingly fundamentalist consensus: that Jesus would do what he was told to do.

One anonymous contributor, identified only as a non-denominational minister, writes on one WWJD message board, “Jesus always did his father’s will. Instead of asking, ‘What would Jesus do?’ we should ask, ‘What is God’s will for me?’ It’s always the same answer.”

“Oh, yuck!” shouts musician Marsha Stevens, upon hearing that last quote. “That’s terrible. That’s exactly what turns so many people off Jesus. What I immediately liked about the bracelets when they first came out was that they said, specifically, ‘What would Jesus do? Not what the church tells you to do.”

Stevens, a co-founder and former member of the seminal Christian rock band Children of the Day, authored the song “For Those Tears I Died,” a staple in non-denominational churches. After announcing her long-secretive lesbianism, she was given the heave-ho from her church and the band. Still actively Christian, Stevens has since created Balm Ministries, a musical outreach of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches. She now lives out of a motor home–traveling, recording, and performing contemporary Christian music for the gay and lesbian community.

“My bracelet is gold and engraved with WWJD,” she happily reports. “And my partner Suzanne’s bracelet is silver. We had them made for each other about a year ago.”

After listening to a joke about a fundamentalist conspiracy that is using WWJD to put over its own dogmatic agenda, Stevens laughs.

“I think there is [one],” she replies. “I do a lot of radio interviews because of my music, and a lot of people say, ‘Gosh! You seem like such a loving, talented lesbian. What do you want to be a Christian for?’

“And I tell them, ‘I think there’s been an identity theft. Like on the Internet when someone steals your credit card number.’ Look at who Jesus was. Look at what he did. The fundamentalists have turned Jesus into a pharisee.”

For Stevens, asking “What would Jesus do?” is no recent development. “I knew Sheldon’s book growing up,” she says. “When my father was a young pastor, one of the things he did at a church he started in Paso Robles was to have a guy dress up like a drunk and stumble into the church and try to sit next to people. He had it all set up that when the guy finally went back outside–and of course everyone inside had been trying to get away from him–he would suddenly keel over on the steps of the church. Then a policeman would run his siren outside, everyone would come out, and there was this guy–dead.

“So my dad would call everyone back inside and give a sermon about what Jesus would have done,” she laughs. “It was great.”

LIVING BY JESUS’ example isn’t all sacrifice and suffering, Stevens points out, adding that following his lead has made her a better person. “Sometimes, anyway,” she laughs. “I try to think of what Jesus would do in the real-life, nitty-gritty situations that I don’t always handle so well. I think of him when I want to yell at the waitress for bringing the wrong food choice three times in a row, or when the mechanic has just lied to me about what’s wrong with my motorhome.

“WWJD, for me, isn’t just about huge, life-changing choices,” Stevens adds. “It’s about remembering Jesus in the little things.”

Muses author Reynolds Price: “In all of ancient literature, there doesn’t seem to be any other human being, that I’m aware of, who had the degree of openness that Jesus had. Jesus is the most fascinating figure in history.”

Price is the 1996 award-winning author of The Three Gospels, his careful translation of the Gospels of Mark and John, along with his own version, titled “An Honest Account of a Memorable Life.” Fond of calling himself “an outlaw Christian,” Price observes, “Asking ‘What would Jesus do?’ is a very loaded question. If Jesus wasn’t an outlaw, what the hell else was he?

“The fact that all the Gospels affirm that Jesus was very available to all sorts of outsiders within his own culture,” Price adds, “strongly seems to suggest that he was not a big condemner of anybody.”

As for Jesus being a role model of abstinence and sobriety, which the WWJD movement seems to take as a given, Price points to the tale of the wedding feast in Canaan, when Jesus turned water into wine in order to keep the party going. As for sex … , “Jesus says almost nothing about sex,” Price observes. “Christianity’s obsession with sex comes almost entirely from [the disciple] Paul, not Jesus.

“I think the more we go into the question of ‘Who actually was this guy from Nazareth–as opposed to the guy up on the dome of St. Peter’s,’ then I think the WWJD question becomes even more mysterious.”

“You could do a hell of a lot worse than Jesus as a role model,” remarks novelist Nicholas Baker. An admitted atheist, the esteemed author of Vox and The Everlasting Story of Nory–works that keenly examine facets of the human condition–routinely says grace with his family at dinnertime. “I have no objection to asking what Jesus would do at all. I think it’s great. I think that any reminder of a life of good intentions is valuable to a kid.

“I can’t stand those TV preachers,” he adds. “But I’m always very moved by the specific stories of Jesus’ generosity. I love hearing about generosity. Tell me more about generosity! It doesn’t seem like there are enough models for generosity extant right now.

“Microsoft is just not a very good model,” Baker laughs.

Dr. Robert Funk, the author of Honest to Jesus and the just-released Acts of Jesus, and the founder of the Santa Rosa-based Westar Institute (which each year hosts a controversial international “think tank” known as the Jesus Seminar), finds WWJD an intriguing notion. Devoted to separating the historical Jesus from the iconic Jesus, the seminar studies the Gospels to determine which acts and sayings Jesus may have actually been responsible for and which were added or revised years later by the early fathers of the church.

Seated in Westar’s large library, Funk carefully examines a brand-new WWJD bracelet. “Well,” he says, fingering the letters, “it’s not a bad question, ‘What would Jesus do?’ It’s just a tough question, and these people seem to be making it too easy by reducing it simply to choices about drugs and sex. They probably won’t cite texts from the New Testament that show Jesus was perceived at that time as being a drunkard and a glutton,” Funk suggests. “That was their perception of him, though it doesn’t tell us anything about the alcohol content of his blood. But what it does tell us is that Jesus was a guy who went to a lot of parties. Who drank wine. And who shared his table with anyone who would sit with him.”

So Jesus was an open-minded guy? He pushed the envelope a little on the social mores of his time? “Very much so,” Funk nods. “Jesus was the ultimate barrier breaker. The kingdom of God, as he envisioned it, had no social barriers. He said, ‘Love your enemies!’ He deliberately associated with the riffraff of society.”

Jesus, of course, would have given to the poor, right?

“Well, he was one of them,” laughs Funk. “He was homeless. He never had much, but he shared what he had and trusted God to provide for the next day.

“A good role model,” he adds, “is somebody who can look up and see the larger issues of life, and be willing to sacrifice oneself to those larger issues. That kind of selflessness is worthy of emulation. Along with Jesus, I’d place Gandhi and Martin Luther King and Socrates–but it’s interesting to notice how many of these people were martyred.

“People of this sort, people who are so utterly good and so utterly self-transcendant, seem to be a threat to the rest of us.”

Katherine Neville of West Virginia–the best-selling author of the metaphysical adventure novels, The Eight and The Magic Circle, the latter beginning in Jerusalem during Jesus’ last week on Earth–echoes Funk’s sentiments about the selflessness of Jesus.

“If we were being absolutely faithful to Jesus’ example,” she muses, “we’d have to give up all our possessions and put on sackcloth and sandals. That’s what Jesus did. He was very specific about what clothes and what possessions people could take with them when they followed him on the road.

“And of course he’d say, ‘Go out and speak the truth. Help other people.’ So from that standpoint, sure, Jesus was a great example, but that seems to have nothing to do with this lengthy list of possessions you can now buy to remind you to ask what Jesus would do. Bracelets, watches, coffee mugs, CDs–Jesus would say, give all that away!”

BACK AT the mall, Patricia Lynn Reilly is ready to leave. “What I’d like to know,” she says, “is why all this focus on young women? I think it’s the guys who should be asking, ‘What would Jesus do?’ Think about it: There’s not one sexist encounter with Jesus recorded in the New Testament. His whole relationship with women was very powerful. In a society that rejected women, he treated them with respect and honor.”

She pauses in the middle of the mall, standing to gaze at the swirl of people gliding in and out around her. “I think it’s important for folks to support WWJD,” she concludes. “But it’s also important to crack open our perceptions of who Jesus really was. It’s a good message … to use that pause before making decisions, to ask a question of ourselves. In this age, that pause is essential. I only hope we can move past wondering what Jesus would do, though, and someday be able to ask, ‘What does my own inner wisdom suggest that I do?’

“Unfortunately,” she laughs, “that’s not very marketable, is it?”

From the June 11-17, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Bowling

0

King Pins

Michael Amsler


Bowling may be right up your alley

By Mary Bishop

IT’S THURSDAY afternoon at the cavernous Double Decker Lanes in Rohnert Park, one of my favorite spots. It’s spacious, well staffed, and doesn’t smell funny–I don’t know why some bowling alleys have a funky odor; maybe it’s all those old shoes. Today, there’s league action here. And these folks are serious. It appears to be a mixed-seniors league. Average age: about 60. The five gals to my left seem more suited to a luncheon social than a bowling alley. Hair is perfectly coifed, nails professionally manicured, each is sipping a cocktail.

At least one of them is also swearing like a sailor.

Yet there’s something quintessentially American about this scene. Indeed, bowling just might be the perfect American sport. What other pastime allows us to wear colorful shirts emblazoned with our names (or, in the case of vintage bowling shirts, the names of people we’ll never know), dorky shoes with the size screaming off the heel, and requires very little exertion?

I confess: I’m a bowling freak.

For years, I’ve collected and worn bowling shirts, amassing a dozen or so very cool ones, each with a personality to match its moniker. My favorite is Spider, a shirt of the finest-quality rayon, deep navy with a red bowling ball stitched over the pocket. When I slip it on I’m oozing charisma, a drop-dead charmer. Spider was a ladies’ man no doubt, a rangy sexy dude with his hands everywhere. He was also one hell of a bowler.

Of course, a true bowling freak owns his or her own ball. I once fit this dubious category, but my ball was pilfered from the trunk of my car a few weeks back, an act that has left me seething. A bowling ball is a personal thing. Mine was a marbled-purple sweetheart, a mere nine pounds.

Her name was Penny, and she could fly.

I profess to having no form, so a lighter ball suits my style. I’ve watched countless bowlers over the years gracefully sidle up to the lane, head for the corner, and hurl the ball with a cunning curve that spins it directly to the middle. Not me. I approach the lane tentatively, with short pigeon-toed steps, and flick my ball straight down the center of the lane.

That’s why Penny was so great; it’s easier to throw a light ball straight. It didn’t matter that she was a flyweight–if she hit the center pin, everyone was going down.

These days, the scoring system at most lanes is fully automated and displayed on an overhead screen–visible to the entire place. The display can prove embarrassing if you haven’t bowled in a while or if you’re a flat-out lousy bowler. This isn’t a problem for the women next door. On the first frame four of them nail a strike, the fifth a spare. The apparent leader of the pack slides an unlit cigarette in her mouth. It hangs there most of the game.

I’m struggling to find a groove with the rental ball I selected. After two pitiful frames I go in search of a different one. The 10-pounder I pick is a hideous pink–like cheap drugstore lipstick or Barbie shoes.

It’ll have to do.

THE LEAGUE BOWLERS are into their game full swing. A team of three men and two women who are bowling where I find my ball are an odd group. What strikes me is no one is talking. I peek up to check out their scores. They are good though not great bowlers. But not one word passes among them. Not even after the tall guy picks up a difficult split–after the first frame the only pins standing are on opposite sides of the lane. In order to knock both of the pins down, one pin needs to be hit on its side so that it caroms across the lane and brings the other pin down with it. Not an easy thing to do. Still no one utters a sound. Odd.

This is not the case with my neighbors. They are playful and boisterous. The stout one, who looks like a Church Lady, has a propensity for swearing. After failing to pick up a spare, she grimaces and moans, “Ahh, fuck me.”

The redhead casts a disparaging glance at her and threatens to wash her mouth out with soap.

“Oh, fuck you,” she retorts.

The new ball I’ve chosen is a much better fit. I nail three strikes in a row. The league ladies don’t talk to me, but I feel all five pairs of eyes on me as I approach the next frame. I toss the ball straight in the gutter. I guess I can’t handle the pressure. Two mothers, and four kids all about 10, have joined me on the right side. They are watching as an employee inserts bumpers in their lane. These devices are great, since bowling can be frustrating for children if their ball keeps landing in the gutter. Hell, it’s frustrating for anyone, but bumpers are designed with kids in mind.

Here’s a tip: Anybody can request bumpers, but if you’re not with kids you’ll look pretty pathetic.

Next door, the league ladies are enjoying their third Manhattan. I wonder how they are managing to stay upright, much less bowl. Two of them broke 200 in their first game, so I figure they know what they’re doing. I don’t fare quite so well, and the frantic energy of the kids is starting to grate on my nerves. It’s time to call it a day.

All in all, a fun afternoon and it hasn’t cost a fortune–two games and rental shoes cost less than a movie.

My suggestion: Give it a hurl.

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

0

Daddy-O

Don Miller


Dig those Big Bad Voodoo Daddies

By Shelley Lawrence

DRUMS POUND, feet tap, fingers snap. A sultry voice begins to croon, and suddenly the horns make their entrance. Man, these cats have got rhythm, and now the vintage-clad crowd is boogying with unharnessed glee. “Go, Daddy!” shout the dancers that make up the fringe of a circle, as a boy in a zoot suit flips and flings his glamorous-looking partner with wild abandon.

Welcome to the swing scene, where the music, dance, and style of the 1940s have been revived with a passion.

You might remember the little big band Big Bad Voodoo Daddy from the 1996 cult film Swingers. The eight-man unit–which began as a trio from Ventura with a love for blues and rockabilly–is one of the front-edge bands of the up-and-coming neo-lounge scene. They have released such hits as “You, Me & the Bottle Makes 3 Tonight” and “Go Daddy-O,” along with a cover of Cab Calloway’s classic, “Minnie the Moocher.”

For the first time in 50 years, not one but two swing bands (the other is the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies) have made it to the Billboard Top 100 and stayed there. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy’s eponymous major label debut, which was released in February, started on the pop chart at No. 64 and has stayed in the Top 100 for the past 13 weeks. It is expected to go gold in July.

“We used to listen to a lot of Dixieland and big band and [Scott Morris, the singing, songwriting, guitar-playing bandleader] thought it would be a good idea to mix around those styles,” explains Kurt Sodergren, the band’s drummer. “People reacted warmly from the beginning; it just kind of worked.

“I think it worked because it was different. At that point, the big thing was alternative [rock], and people wanted something refreshing and a little offbeat to add onto that. In Ventura, there was no swing movement when we started playing. Right around the time we released our first record we saw Royal Crown Revue play. We were already playing swing music, but then we knew that we were going to really have to bump it up ’cause these guys are the masters.

“We don’t want our record to break out and get superduper-million platinum, though,” Sodergren says seriously, “because we don’t want anyone to get sick of us.”

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy are serious about “keeping it real” and remembering their roots. Although they are signed with the major label that has represented such musical legends as Pink Floyd, the Beatles, and Frank Sinatra, since 1994 the band has maintained its own record company as well and has been doing all its own business and advertising.

“We have total artistic control, and it’s really important to us to make great music but to keep our feet on the ground,” Sodergren adds. “We realize that the reason we’re here is because people enjoy our music, and because of the fact that Swingers went across the country and got our name out there.”

On the topic of Swingers, a few war stories from the filming are revealed, such as the time when the air conditioning went out in the middle of August and the band sweltered through the afternoon in wool suits, or the occasion when they were asked to be sure to get everything right on the first take because the movie was being shot on such a low budget.

“Of course, we knew who [Swingers co-star] Heather Graham was from Twin Peaks, but it was no big deal–we sat, we ate dinner with everybody, we hung out. But later on when we were on tour, we went and saw Boogie Nights and when she stripped out of all of her clothes, we just all got quiet for a minute. We realized, oh, that’s Heather Graham.”

When asked to predict the future of the swing revival, Sodergren replies, “Swing music has been here the whole time, since the ’40s–it never went away. It was just overshadowed by rock and roll. At this point maybe people are a little sick of that. I think it’s really going to be make or break time, at least for the scene. People are getting into it, and that makes sense because men and women should and do love to dance together. It’s really up to them, though, if they’re going to stick with it.

“But even if the scene disappears tomorrow, there are a lot of great bands that have emerged from it, and I think they’re going to stick around.”

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy appear at the Luther Burbank Center, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa, on Saturday, June 13, at 8 p.m. Tickets are $20. 546-3600.

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Professional Sports

Star Struck

In an age of strikes, franchise moves, free agency, and scandal, how’s a kid supposed to get nostalgic about sports?

By Charles McDermid

IT WAS DURING a recent conversation with my father that I realized how being a sports fan has changed from his generation to my own. As a child of the modern era, I find that I fondly condescend to his notions of purity in the realm of sport.

“My whole universe changed in 1958 when the Giants came to San Francisco, because I had a real team. Not only that but Willie Mays. It legitimized living in Northern California in my mind,” says my father, who, in his early 50s, is twice my age. “I remember listening to Willie McCovey’s first game on the radio–he had something like two home runs and two doubles–and thinking they’re going to have to change the game because this guy is going to raise the bar.

“He became one of the people I would’ve exchanged my reality for.”

Of course, the old man is no stranger to hyperbole– don’t get him started on Jimmy Davenport, the ex-Giants goldenglove third baseman–but truly, his respect and loyalty as a fan seem downright naive against the backdrop of contemporary sports. Now, I understand that sports nostalgia can be a remembrance of the most sickly sweet variety and that every fan has that parcel of time from their youth when sports were absolutely perfect. But I am quite certain that our parents’ generation had a relationship with sports and sports stars that was much closer than that which exists for us today.

Sports columnist Lowell Cohn recalls: “I grew up in 1950s Brooklyn and the Dodgers were heroes. Gil Hodges and his family lived in my neighborhood; so did Jackie Robinson and his wife. We would see them at the market. We admired them because they lived and moved among us.”

For myself, having grown up with strikes, franchise moves, free agency, and scandal, this allegiance is downright poignant. Anyone who’s followed the last 20 years of sports can tell you what happens to loyalty and trust. Fanhood as sincere as this just makes me wince. No modern fan, save a child, would take such outrageous emotional risks.

And, kids, believe me, it only takes one trade or move to prove what a French thinker once said: The moment naiveté ends, sadness begins.

“The reality is that it’s about business, and it’s hard to believe these conflicting realities [between the greatness of sports and money],” adds Cohn, whose own heart was broken by that patron saint of money- grubbing owners, Walter O’Malley, the man who moved the Dodgers out of Brooklyn. “Even young kids are aware of this today.

“Also, we know more about sports heroes now, so you lose the storybook innocence that was probably never real, but was fun to remember.”

It takes no special insight to see that professional sports will never be as uncomplicated as they once were. Sports are not going to be 1955, ever again, because the country won’t be 1955 either.

However, it seems odd that this ostensibly symbiotic link between sport and fan would decline in what could really be considered a “Golden Age” of sports. Mike Lupica, formerly a sports columnist for the New York Daily News, wrote in 1996, “These should be the glory days for the American sports fan. More games. More teams. More cool merchandise to wear. Video games for the kids to play. Cable and satellites and the Worldwide Web. As much action as you could ever want.”

This was certainly my experience growing up. Since my childhood in the early ’80s, I’ve seen American sports evolve into the sleek, ultra-modern entity that they are now. I remember those first, unbelievably bad Atari sports cartridges, the explosion of the NBA with Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, and The Catch.

It was a great time to be a young fan, and these will always be my own incorruptible recollections.

But despite all my years of exposure, my father, who listened to games on the radio and owned a baseball mitt barely bigger than his hand, came away with a more rewarding fanhood than I did.

In the language of personal relationships: I have a hard time trusting.

No longer are sports a refuge from the realities of everyday life–their melodrama more adequately epitomizes them. I’m sorry, but sports today, at least professional sports, are not what scholar Larry Gerlach once called “the maintenance of childlike innocence and values in a harsh, cynical adult world.”

At this point we can even bury such axioms as “sports build character.”

Of course, it’s not sports themselves that have triggered this alienation of modern fans, but the manipulators of sports. I assume these people to be the agents, commissioners, owners, and TV executives. Not to mention the players whose rock-star status affects the style and level of play in most sports.

I’ve tried hard to pinpoint the actual things that have forged my own distance from the world of sports.

Forgive me, but I’ve worked them into a conceptual batting order. Leading off is Scandal, always exciting and irresistible: he’s sure to get aboard. Batting second is Violence, a contact hitter, natural for the No. 2 spot. Third is Greed, brought over from the Seven Deadly Sins squad (presumably for a soul to be named later); and cleanup is, of course, the Media, which elevate the play of these teammates through hours of invasive overexposure.

SPORTS has been big business in America since the end of World War II. The backroom types identified that the massive appeal translates into huge revenue. They made a very smart business decision to exploit sports–a tragic cultural move.

“Sports have grand qualities,” says Cohn. “There are grand battles and self-sacrifice. You need to see great victories and defeats and great heroes. It helps you see the patterns of your own life. It’s really Homeric. It’s our epic.”

This is the transcendent property of sports, the one you can’t count or measure or market, and as such is being left behind.

So what’s at stake here? I’m jealous of the fanhood my father and Cohn were able to enjoy, but they lived in a simpler day. I dislike my cynicism and that of the modern fan, but it is a product of experience.

More and more, I sadly find myself applying the ultimate perspective: What does it all matter in terms of real life?

The money is only getting bigger. The market for sports and sports byproducts grows everyday. It’s a runaway train that continues to run away from the fan.

The instant a disillusioned old-timer gets off, two youngsters fight to get on.

I wonder, if being a sports fan has evolved to this point for my generation, what will my child’s experience be like?

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Election Results

0

Dirty Tricks

Jane Hamilton stung by last-minute hit mailer; Measure A shot down

By Greg Cahill and Paula Harris

PETALUMA, home to one of the biggest voter-fraud scandals in California history, hosted an 11th-hour dirty-tricks campaign this week aimed at discrediting City Councilwoman Jane Hamilton, a candidiate for the 2nd Supervisorial District seat.

It’s unclear whether the widely distributed hit piece swayed local voters, but Hamilton–who had been expected to garner a significant share of the votes in the crowded seven-candidate field vying for retiring veteran Jim Harberson’s seat–placed a distant second behind Petaluma Police Sgt. Mike Kerns, still ensuring a runoff in November.

“It’s obvious this is an act of cowards who know they can’t win arguments in a public forum, so they resorted to lies,” says City Councilmember Matt Maguire, a staunch Hamilton supporter. “Worse, it’s an assault on the public and a clean political process.

“It doesn’t get any more cynical than this.”

On Saturday, many Petaluma voters receivedto find a large glossy flyers in their mail boxes misrepresenting Hamilton’s position on the widening of Highway 101, a major campaign issue among frustrated commuters. The bold black-and-red mailers were designed to confuse voters, claiming erroneously that Hamilton has opposed on three occasions road improvements on Highway 101.

Hamilton, who supports a proposed sales tax measure designed to raise funding for the widening, says the flyer distorted her voting record on the issue. “This is an insult to voters,” says Hamilton. “This is sent by people who have no respect for the electorate. They distorted my voting record, and they picked a source of pain in the community.”

Last year, three people were convicted of charges stemming from a state voter-fraud investigation. In that case, supporters of a failed bid to swap city-owned Lafferty Ranch to Sonoma Mountain millionaire Peter Pfendler for $1.2 million and a dusty old dude ranch, were convicted of forging nearly 2,000 signatures to petitions intended to qualify the land deal for the 1996 ballot.

Hamilton helped lead the opposition to that swap.

The mysterious mailer that targeted her this week–which one local election official described as the most blatant example of misleading campaign literature she’d seen in 18 years–noted only that it was paid for by the ABH Committee. After county voting officials complained that the name was too vague, ABH treasurer Monica Romeyn–the only person identified on the mailer–filed a request to rename the group as the Anybody But Hamilton Committee.

Romeyn, who serves as secretary of the Sonoma County Republican Central Committee, filed no additional information about the organization. Because of the late timing of the mailer, the group’s financial disclosure report failed to state resources or funding sources. A return address listed on the mailer is the home of Romeyn’s parents, who reportedly denied any knowledge of the mailer’s origins.

Romeyn could not be reached for comment. However, the Independent traced the hit piece to the Novato-based Mail Communications, which processes bulk mail. Ron George, the firm’s owner, adamantly refused to disclose the source of the mailer or its cost. “This is confidential information,” he said.

Gary Huckaby, a spokesman for the state Fair Political Practices Commission, says the agency will examine the mailer and review complaints before deciding whether to investigate the incident.

Meanwhile, a separate flyer was left on vehicle windows and doorsteps in east Petaluma, claiming that the progressive Hamilton plans to betray environmentalists by approving construction of the controversial Rainier Avenue overpass. It urged residents to “vote for anyone but her.”

“This has the same smell, taste, and feel of the voter-fraud scandal because of the complete lack of respect for voters,” Hamilton says. “I’ve heard of recall, but this is the first time I’ve heard of a committee formed against a candidate. It’s a secret, hidden, and cowardly thing.”

IN THE FINAL TALLY, south county voters cast 36.3 percent of their votes for Kerns and 25.9 percent for Hamilton. “After 25 years as a police officer, I’m ready for some new challenges,” says Kerns.

While Hamilton says she has experience in her favor, she is “excited to finally be able to get to the level of a campaign where we can talk about issues in depth. In one minute, you can say all the buzz words, but in five minutes you have to demonstrate how you think and how much experience goes into that thinking. This is not an entry-level position.”

In the 4th Supervisorial District, local conservationists lost their dream of a first-time environmental majority on the Board of Supes when incumbent Supe Paul Kelley of Windsor fended off three challengers with a commanding 56 percent lead in the race.

Kelley, a conservative politico whose support of gravel mining in the middle reach of the Russian River has made him the scourge of local conservationists, ran a low-profile campaign.

Kelley’s re-election, and the runoff between Kerns and Hamilton in the 2nd Supervisorial District, leaves only west county Supe Mike Reilly carrying the banner for environmentalists on the conservative board.

Political neophyte Bill Smith had garnered 23 percent of the vote in the 4th District race. Smith has criticized continued gravel mining and supported tougher urban growth boundaries. He faced a pair of progressive candidates who helped split the anti-Kelley vote.

In Rohnert Park, a ballot measure that marked the first electoral challenge to one of the county’s five UGBs, rejected Measure A, which opponents called a thinly veiled ploy by developers to subvert a 1996 voter-approved four-year growth limit.

Rohnert Park Councilman Jake Mackenzie, who formed a citizens’ group to oppose the measure, was delighted by the stunning 67.6 percent defeat.

“The forces of righteousness triumphed over the forces of evil,” he says. “I’m pleased Measure N continues to govern the way we’re operating in Rohnert Park. This gives us two years to properly look at what works in the way of growth.”

Christa Shaw of Greenbelt Alliance, which also had opposed the so-called UGB agrees. “The most important message of this result is for the city of Rohnert Park to understand that the growth wars have been very damaging,” she says.

“This means the city must go back to the drawing board, continue the community summit, and come up with a real 20-year UGB.

“The message for the county is that UGBs are not to be messed with.”

IN A CLIFFHANGER that culminated in a startling upset, Petaluma City Councilwoman Pat Wiggins, a Democratic candidate for the coveted 7th State Assembly District, edged past political insider John Latimer (32.2 percent to 25.4 percent).

That seat is being vacated by incumbent Valerie Brown, forced out by term limits. In November, Wiggins will face Republican Bob Sanchez.

Some considered that Latimer, who is incumbent Valerie Brown’s legislative aide and who garnered much financial support from Brown, a shoo-in for the candidacy.

“This is an incredible upset,” Wiggins says, “John had Sacramento support, connections, and Sacramento power behind him–I had the least money.”

Indeed, Wiggins’ campaign headquarters were inside half of the Soggy Doggy dog grooming parlor in Santa Rosa. “I was in a dog-grooming parlor up against the powerful Sacramento machine,” she quips. “It feels like a lot of miracles happened.”

In other state Assembly races, Democratic incumbent Virginia Strom-Martin will meet Republican challenger Sam Crump in the 1st District; and Kerry Mazzoni, D-Novato, will face Republican businessman Russ Weiner.

In other races, state Sen. Mike Thompson, D-St. Helena, won the Democratic slot in the race for the North Coast congressional seat being vacated by conservative Rep. Frank Riggs, R-Windsor. Thompson, who will face Republican Mark Luce, is a heavy favorite.

In the 6th Congressional District, Rep. Lynn Woolsey easily held her place on the Democratic ticket for a November re-election bid against Republican challenger Ken McAuliffe.

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Anything Goes

0

Going, Going, Gone


Song and Dance: Kim Chambers, Paulino Duran, and Claire Victor tango their way across the sinking set of ‘Anything Goes.’

SR Players deliver off-key ‘Anything Goes’

By Daedelus Howell

SOMETIMES a work of theater is such a formidable artistic challenge that it must be evaluated in a manner consistent with its own aesthetic criteria. Unfortunately, in this case, crayons and macaroni do not reproduce well in newsprint. The Santa Rosa Players’ production of musical-mastermind Cole Porter’s Anything Goes (directed by Peyton and Michael Maloney) is two and a half hours of idiocy posing as musical comedy.

With music and lyrics by the venerable Porter and book by Guy Bolton, P. G. Wodehouse, Howard Lindsay, Russel Crouse, and whoever else was in the room at the time, Anything Goes is a madcap, screwball excuse for a soundtrack. The book is a terribly untidy amalgamation of half-thought plots, shtick, and sketches that invariably dead-end in one of Porter’s hallmark song and dance numbers.

The play is ostensibly the story of go-getter Billy Crocker (a mugging Paulino Duran) wooing betrothed Hope Harcourt (a characteristically demure Kym Chambers) away from effete Sir Evelyn Oakleigh (in a redeeming performance by Mark Smith) during a transatlantic cruise to England. In the midst of his fervid romancing, dancing, and crooning, Billy teams up with wannabe mobster Moonface Martin (Vance Smallwood), with whom he devises myriad disguises and distractions to evade his boss, ship authorities, and other painfully injected complications. In short, he acts like a schmuck, gets in over his head, gets out, and gets hitched.

Directors Peyton and Michael Maloney stumble again and again in their calamitous madhouse of entrances and exits, replete with rueful stabs at sentiment and unnervingly humorless pleas for laughs. The play’s few hopes of salvation–the glistening performance of Jennifer Albin (as cabaret satin-doll Reno Sweeny) and Smith and Smallwood’s deft caricatures–are crushed by the accumulated gravity of the Maloneys’ poor dramatic choices.

If the directors had narrowed the scope of their production (40-plus players swarm the stage) and concentrated on the sinews of sight gags and one-liners, the show might have stood a chance. With Anything Goes, the name of the game is farce–light, snappy, frivolous farce. But the Players seem too concerned with infusing their interpretation with actorly emotion (as between the lovers Billy and Hope), and this stymies the levity necessary for the material to work. The play drags, and miserably so.

Narrowly escaping the spray of artistic misguidance that riddles this show is Laurie Glodowski’s choreography. Her work is a bright spot–though perhaps a tad glaring–that maximizes the cast’s serviceable dancing abilities (the tap sequences are particularly entertaining) as the performers cascade across set designer Joshua Reid’s quaint frontal view of a luxury liner’s deck, smokestacks, and portals.

Likewise, musical director Janis Wilson guides a competent ensemble through Porter’s effervescent score. But, unfortunately, she is undermined by the occasional clotted-cream timbre of a performer’s singing and by the theater’s sound system, which converts the bassy arrangement into a blend of champagne and mud.

Surely most people coming to a slapstick musical like this are out looking for escapist entertainment. Unfortunately, Anything Goes is anything but.

Santa Rosa Players’s production of Anything Goes plays through June 21 at the Lincoln Arts Center, 709 Davis, Santa Rosa. Tickets are $10-$12. 544-7827.

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Soccer

0

Soccermania


Michael Amsler

Getting their kicks: The Raymonds–George and Susie, daughters Desaree (center), Angie, Nadine, and son George Jr.–share a passion for indoor soccer.

For worshipers at the Church of the Spotted Ball, indoor soccer is heaven

By Dylan Bennett

ON A CRUMMY SUNDAY in the wet spring evoked by the warm ocean current named for a young boy, small rivers form on the asphalt outside an off-white warehouse forgotten in an industrial suburban backwater of Santa Rosa. There’s only one reason to be here: soccer. Indoor soccer, that is. Through a single steel door the dread of El Niño blossoms into an uplifting onslaught of yapping teenagers, conversing parents, the smell of sweat, the screech of the referee’s whistle, the sonic shrapnel of video games, a stampede of running feet, and the hair-raising bang of soccer balls against the wall.

“Good try, Johnnaaaaaay!”

This is Sports City Indoor Soccer Center in Santa Rosa. Indeed, it’s not only the center of the Sonoma County soccer scene, consuming the passions of entire families, and mixing the often separate Anglo- and Hispanic-soccer cultures, but also a soccer savior. Sports City has been about the only place to play soccer in the deluge of winter, when most outdoor fields are closed to public use for months on end.

Beneath the massive steel girders that span the cavernous building shimmers an electric green AstroTurf arena enclosed by netting and Plexiglas walls and garnished with diverse international soccer flags. On this 75-yard patch of plastic the gladiators of indoor soccer–girls and boys, women and men, from under six to over 40–battle for victory.

Indoor soccer is more akin to hockey and basketball than to outdoor soccer. Passing off the wall creates an extra dimension. Hard fouls get you two minutes in the penalty box. It’s a six-on-six game played in the frenzy of a permanent fast break and constant oxygen debt that rips the lungs from the chest of even the fittest player in just a few minutes.

“It’s a lot of work indoors, but it’s so much fun. I love it,” exults George Raymond of Sebastopol United, whose wife, Susie, daughters Angie and Nadine, and son George Jr. all play at Sports City.

“It gets you to exercise on a regular basis and is fun instead of just the boring gym,” says Susie, who plays with George along with Angie on a co-ed team.

“I think it’s brought us closer together,” says Angie, “because everyone in my family is very busy and it kind of makes time for us to do something together.”

This popular indoor soccer complex opened in 1996 to a notable buzz of excitement among the dozens of adult outdoor soccer teams. In the depths of El Niño this year, Sports City operated at full capacity, hosting 250 teams and 3,000 players per week. The center employs 32 people, including 24 referees.

“I want this to be a total hub for soccer,” says Sports City owner Andrew Rowley, a former professional indoor-soccer coach. With blond hair, intense unwavering eyes, and smoothly muscled legs, Rowley looks like one those guys with posters of Franz Beckenbauer rather than of Joe Montana on his bedroom wall. It’s easy to muse that he must read, instead of Sports illustrated, obscure magazines about professional European soccer leagues.

Rowley grew up familiar with his uncle’s British pub, the Mayflower in San Rafael, where he experienced soccer culture in the European tradition. After the recreational weekend games, his father and friends retired to the pub for a few noisy pints of beer and the big game on television. “I wanted to have that atmosphere I grew up with,” says Rowley.

In his quest to make Sports City the ultimate soccer hangout, Rowley updates game scores and league standings every night. Soon he’ll offer videotaping of games, and, best of all, Sports City just landed a beer permit to help savor every World Cup game this summer on large-screen TVs.

To soccer heads, Sports City is a very juicy experience.


Michael Amsler

Fleet feet: Fast and hard–not for the meek.

IT’S ALSO a growth industry. Games go from early to late, causing some parents to protest 7:30 morning games. Not to worry. Rowley plans to open a second soccer facility, called Sports World, at the site of the old Yeager and Kirk hardware store on Santa Rosa Avenue. Set to open next January, Sports World will feature a full health club, restaurant, and sports bar that will overlook an indoor soccer field.

At thriving Sports City, Rowley says a distinct role reversal occurs between parents and children–namely, the kids cheer for their parents on the fuzzy turf. Simply put, everybody plays: Parents play, referees play, coaches play.

“And they should,” says Rowley. “It makes them realize it’s not so easy.”

Rowley has a refreshing commitment to sportsmanship and fun. “Too much pressure is what I see as a major problem in outdoor soccer,” he says. “Yelling and pressure: that stuff really takes away from the game. A lot of kids like indoor better than outdoor soccer, where sometimes the atmosphere is too competitive with too much pressure from coaches and not the right training. They come indoors and get less pressure and have more fun, which is what the game is all about.”

“I’m there for the good time,” say indoor-soccer enthusiast George Raymond. “And I get that along with a great cardio workout and tons of camaraderie.”

AS A BONUS, the short, tight passes and quick moves required by indoor soccer help players improve their passing performance outdoors. David Henry, a defensive player with Sebastopol United, coaches his son Michael’s team. “I notice that my guys improved a lot in the short passing game,” observes Henry.

“They like it a lot. It’s a very fast game. There’s no out of bounds, very little stoppage of play. The guys enjoy themselves out there.”

The supportive role of indoor soccer for outdoor soccer is epitomized by the Brazilians, the reigning world champions, who often play in confined spaces with fast surfaces like basketball courts or beaches. And this Church of the Spotted Ball gives proper respect to the apostles of Brazilian soccer with a 6-by-20-foot vinyl poster depicting the almighty Bebeto, one of Brazil’s finest.

“It really fine-tunes your skills because it’s at such a fast pace that you must keep very good control of the ball in tight spaces,” says Ian Mork, assistant men’s soccer coach at Sonoma State University and a former professional indoor player. “You have to think very quickly.”

Mork, however, warns that success indoors based on speed and power may not always translate outdoors if a player can’t “read” the more complex, full-size, outdoor scenarios.

One thing for sure, indoor soccer absolutely demands the best possible physical condition. “Indoors is tough,” says Raymond. “Indoors you have a tendency to run a lot more. You are on offense and defense constantly. Outdoors when the ball is in the upper left-hand side of the field and you’re the right fullback, there’s time to suck down some air. Indoors that’s not necessarily the case. The passing is so crisp, so quick, the transition is immediate.

“If you don’t get back on defense, your goalie is meat. It’s that quick.”

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Legalizing Hemp

0

On the Ropes


Michael Amsler

Fiber optimism: Richard Rose’s Sonoma County-based HempRella markets a variety of foods manufactured from hemp. As acceptance grows for hemp products, industry figures are vying for the hearts and minds of consumers.

Infighting erupts as hemp businesses press for legalization

By Bruce Robinson

IN EVERY ELECTION CYCLE, there are initiatives that fall by the wayside. Some regroup and achieve ballot status the next time around; others are never heard from again. Legalizing the cultivation of industrial hemp in California could go either way, but infighting among hemp proponents may be jeopardizing efforts to place the initiative on the ballot.

Hemp, as any self-respecting counterculturalist knows, is marijuana’s versatile but unsmokable cousin. Botanically different from the THC-laden buds that pot smokers prize, hemp is cultivated for its fibrous stalks and its seeds rich in essential fatty acids. Industrial hemp contains 1 percent THC or less. On the other hand, high-quality marijuana contains 10 to 13 percent or even more.

But while potent pot has a single use, hemp can be used to create literally thousands of other products, from textiles to building materials, cosmetics to foods.

“Hemp can be blended with just about anything,” according to Mary Kane, publisher of Hempworld magazine in Forestville. “It is mold retardant, anti-fungal, and rodent resistant,” qualities that benefit building materials, while the long hemp fibers weave easily with cotton and silk to create a wide range of textiles, from denim to linens, and even lingerie. “Dairy-type products are easy to make with hemp seed,” she added. “You make a soylike milk out of it first, and then do whatever after that.”

Kane was among the hemp activists who had hoped to see a legalization measure on the California ballot in November. The Industrial Hemp Act was launched with modest fanfare early this year, with a call for hemp-related businesses and other supporters to round up half a million dollars to get the initiative qualified. Then … silence.

The qualifying process, which requires some 700,000 signatures of registered voters on petitions in support of the measure, was begun on a shoestring–and some petitions are still being circulated–but little funding was forthcoming, and the initiative failed to attain much momentum, or even publicity.

“There wasn’t enough money to pay signature gatherers,” says Candi Penn, secretary of the Occidental-based Hemp Industries Association, a 280-member trade organization. Although the measure’s proponents, who came together under the banner of CAIR (Californians for Industrial Renewal) lined up Orange County political consultant Sam Clauder to guide the campaign, his signature-gathering firm received scant resources, and achieved results to match. But Penn does not second-guess that approach. “I don’t think there’s been an initiative in California that didn’t have that kind of support [signature gatherers] that made it,” she notes.

Kane agrees that the lack of financial support undid the high hopes she held for the initiative, and she blames dissent among the ranks within the world of hemp business people, a schism between the earthy, entrepreneurial “hempsters” and the more buttoned-down corporate types. “We could have had a nice initiative this year if certain people hadn’t badmouthed us,” Kane says. The “hemp right wing” poisoned the climate in Hollywood against the measure, she says, pre-empting any hopes of getting the hemp initiative bankrolled there.

And who are these naysayers? “They’re the corporate guys who are trying to get hemp corporatized,” Kane fumes. “It is safe to say that there are individuals who would rather wait for the corporate people to take over than allow the hempsters to be successful with politics.”

But John Roulac, the Sebastopol-based author of Hemp Horizons and director of the North American Industrial Hemp Council, sees the matter quite differently. Although “well-intentioned,” the CAIR campaign “was not a serious effort,” Roulac says. “They had no money to start with, no endorsements from anybody of consequence politically.” Crucially, he added, the California Farm Bureau opposed the initiative, and “unless you have the farmers supporting you, you’re not going to get very far.”

IN THE VIEW of Santa Rosa hemp entrepreneur Richard Rose, another CAIR member, the critical failing was in starting too late. “It was a matter of a really good idea, but too little, too late,” says Rose, whose HempRella company produces non-dairy cheese and other hemp-derived food items. “If we had gotten started on it earlier, there would have been enough money to push it through.”

Many of the CAIR activists are now hoping to pursue their goal through the state Legislature, and they have tabbed state Sen. John Vasconcellos, D-San Jose, as a lawmaker willing to carry such a bill. Failing that, “we’ll definitely be back with another initiative, probably in 1999 or 2000,” vows Kane.

“By the year 2000, I will be surprised if we even need it,” suggests Rose. “I think we will be there by then.” The source of his optimism lies not in Sacramento, however, but in Kentucky, where a coalition of farmers has filed suit against the federal government to force hemp off the federal Drug Enforcement Administration’s list of controlled substances and transfer it to the jurisdiction of the Department of Agriculture instead.

“We’ve all, for years, been shaking our heads over why the DEA has been so adamant about saying hemp is marijuana, when any third grader can tell you the difference,” Rose says. Now he thinks he knows.

“Their cannabis-reduction program is based on big numbers, and 99.28 percent of the plants they dig up are industrial hemp,” Rose charges.

This insight into the agency’s accounting came from careful analysis of an internal DEA report, which also revealed that the agency’s budget equaled about $3,000 for every plant it uprooted. “What that is, is a negative subsidy for industrial hemp,” Rose concludes. If the same funds were redirected to support hemp growing–which has been advanced as an ideal alternative crop for tobacco farmers in the South–the new industry would quickly be able to compete with imports from Canada, where hemp cultivation was recently legalized.

The farmers’ suit contends that the 1937 Marijuana Tax Act specifically distinguished industrial hemp from marijuana, and that the DEA has improperly included hemp in its drug enforcement actions. If that suit is successful, the basis for all state laws outlawing hemp will have been removed, and anyone who wants to should eventually be able to resume hemp farming.

“The farmers understand this, and they want to grow it,” Rose says, “so it’s really none of the drug warriors’ business.”

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Late Night Dining

0

Night Shift


Michael Amsler

Night-owl cafe: Higher Grounds is one of the few places in Santa Rosa serving after 10 p.m. on weeknights.

Where to dine after nine?

By Janet Wells

AFTER CATCHING a Sunday evening movie a few weeks ago, my friend Panna suggests we find something to eat. “There’s a Thai place down the street,” she says. “Great noodle soup and cheap.” Sounds like just the ticket. Then I look at my watch and groan. “It’s almost 10 p.m. Do you think we’ll make it before it closes?”

Panna smiles. “It’s open until two.”

A late-night eatery in Sonoma County? Stop fantasizing–this Thai gem is in San Francisco.

Not to sound bitter about it, but Sonoma County’s night-owl eating options are slim pickings. The lackluster late-night dining scene here is tantamount to cruel and unusual punishment for those of us who work late or just enjoy eating and socializing after prime time.

When I moved here from San Francisco a few years ago, I didn’t expect the same kind of culinary opportunities as those in a bustling city. After all, there are trade-offs for escaping big-city parking problems, crowds, urban crime, and high rent. But I’ve had too many evenings of leaving work at 10 p.m. and driving aimlessly with a grumbling stomach, peering for a lit restaurant sign. Sorry, deep-fried zucchini at a bar or boxed macaroni and cheese isn’t my idea of quality living.

But before I surrendered to the belief that I’d been relegated to live in a provincial, small-town, sidewalks-roll-up-at-9 p.m., non-city-of-a-city burg, I figured I should do a little investigating. Maybe I just didn’t know the secret cache of late-night dining opportunities.

So I placed an ad in the Independent: “Seeking late-night dining. Sonoma County ain’t the big city, but does that mean that everyone rolls up with the sidewalks at dusk? Is it possible to get a meal after 9 p.m. (10 p.m. and later even better)? Conducting serious research… . No fast-food franchises or greasy bar fare, please.”

In two weeks, I received exactly two responses: “Unfortunately, I have no tips, but am very interested in finding the same information and would like to share any leads either of us may come up with,” wrote Serena via e-mail.

From Michelle Romero: “You’ve hit on my biggest complaint since moving back to Sonoma County after 12 years in L.A.: Where to dine after nine?”

As co-owner of Higher Grounds cafe in Santa Rosa, Romero did have valuable information: The cafe serves vegetarian meals until midnight. Hallelujah! The problem for her, of course, is that she and her husband don’t want to spend every waking moment at their business. “I long for the days of California Pizza Kitchen, or Chin Chin’s Chinese, or a trip downtown for hole-in-the-wall Chinese that is out of this world. I would love to see a guide for the late-night dinner party. Please!”

Late-night dining options.

Romero begged via e-mail. “Maybe other business people aren’t aware that there are those of us who walk the rolled-up sidewalk seeking food and entertainment after 9 p.m. seven nights a week.”

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but during the week, 9:30 p.m. seems to mark the restaurant witching hour (an hour or so later Friday and Saturday). And if you want to indulge your late-night palate any place in the county but Santa Rosa, your options are severely limited.

“I’ve been here 23 years,” says Cricklewood restaurant owner Michael O’Brien. “In the beginning we served dinner until 10 p.m. and it was busy. Now there’s not enough business. We struggle keeping it up after 9 o’clock. We just have staff standing around doing nothing.”

O’Brien, former president of the Redwood Empire Restaurant Association and a night-owl eater himself, thinks late-night dining is falling out of favor everywhere. “Even in San Francisco it seems there’s not as much choice late as there used to be,” he says. “I think it’s a change in the drinking habits [and stricter drunken-driving laws] more than anything else. People drink less and are concerned about getting arrested.

“It has brought about a lifestyle change.”

Too bad that alcohol has put a damper on the late-night lifestyle. Sure it’s nice to have a glass of wine in the evening. But what late eaters crave is quality food: pasta with greens, a steaming bowl of udon, a crisp salad with grilled chicken, deep-dish pizza, a juicy burger, pad thai–all of which is available in abundance in Sonoma County.

Though not after 9:30 p.m.

In the interest of night owls everywhere, we’ve compiled a selected list of late-night eateries. The criteria for making it onto the late-night dining list were “real” food (sorry, nachos and pre-fab microwaved stuff doesn’t count), a modicum of atmosphere (no fluorescent-lit fast-food joints or chain restaurants), and food service until at least 10 p.m. on weeknights. Beware of posted hours: One new Santa Rosa restaurant said it was open until 11 p.m. But when a thrilled late-night-dining devotee went in a few weeks ago at 9:30 p.m., the place had “run out of food.”

As of last week, a cafe near Airport Cinema 8 was advertising weekday hours until 10 p.m., but a phone call revealed that it actually closes an hour earlier. Many brew pubs and bars stay open until the wee hours, but close the kitchen around 9 p.m. “One of my customers is a student who commutes from the city every day and is trying to get her husband to move up here. Of course, with school and work they are also late eaters,” Romero says. “His first comment when I met him: ‘Where do you guys go to eat around here?'”

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Little Shoppe of Horrors & Blue Window

Plant Food

Michael Amsler


River Rep’s ‘Shoppe of Horrors’ a blast

By Daedalus Howell

FOR BETTER or worse, the dawning of the atomic age shepherded sci-fi pen-pushers into a brave new world of “weird menace.” Even the most improbable organisms, when exposed to an atomic event, became pledges for the mayhem club. Maverick horror-schlock filmmaker Roger Corman was hip to this phenomenon and with characteristic irreverence chose a plant as the unlikely villain of his classic 1960 film Little Shop of Horrors.

Musical theater mirrors this fabled atomic augmentation: Take the most unfathomable subject or source work, radiate it with near-lethal doses of kitsch and camp, and watch it devour New York. It’s a wonderful formula that worked well as a musical, and River Repertory Theater’s able cast takes it to the stage again with great success.

Seymour (Tim Dickinson) is a bush-league botanist desperate to extricate his roots from a decrepit skid-row florist shop. The bespectacled nebbish strikes a Faustian deal with a speaking, carnivorous plant that allows Seymour to achieve fame, fortune, and the affection of shop-girl Audrey (in a strong performance by Kathleen Nordby), but only as long as he sustains the plant’s regimen of human flesh.

As the reigning monarch of the vegetable kingdom, plant puppeteer Morgan Wilson and singer Michael Fisher forge a topnotch collaboration of movement and soulful crooning. As often as the duo steals the show, however, Dickinson and Nordby steal it back, especially during their sterling “Suddenly Seymour” duet.

The play’s revolving set design makes innovative use of the Jenner Playhouse’s relatively crammed quarters and is well lit by Ricardo Zelaya’s seamless light design.

River Repertory Theater’s Little Shoppe of Horrors is a joyous romp–edgy musical theater sweetened with a generous dollop of hinterland unpretentiousness. It is an unpruned and prickly pleasure.

RHETORIC RULES in innovative playwright Craig Lucas’ Blue Window–a heady frolic through the psyches of a baker’s half-dozen of New York cognoscenti and dilettantes. Strewn with nodules of epigrammatic wit and poetic revelation, Lucas’ stage-borne dinner party is a fine match for Actors’ Theatre’s deft ensemble.

Set in mid-’80s Manhattan, Blue Window finds the neurotic Libby (in a tiptop performance by Danielle Cain) at the chaotic center of her first dinner party. The guest list is a medley of off-kilter souls acquainted with Libby through the various tributaries of metropolitan living–from shared apartment buildings to group therapy.

Libby inadvertently rips the cap off her front tooth while prying open a jar, and from then on the hostess avoids conversation lest she reveal the broken dental hardware. Undaunted, Greiver, an aspiring actor (in a divine performance by Ken Griffin), competes with lumpy Norbert (Matt Strong) for their hostess’ attention. Writer Alice (Joan Feliciano) and her lover, family therapist Boo (Sheri Lee Miller), wage subtle verbal war with each other.

In short, there is no plot, just an amicable assemblage of emotional baggage constantly rearranged on stage in new and alluring patterns.

The AT ensemble does so well with Lucas’ wonderfully conversational dialogue that it is hard to resist joining in the patter. It really feels like a dinner party. Likewise, Griffin so effortlessly emits realism as the starstruck narcissist that it seems conceivable that his character’s pithy one-liners are actually the player’s own off-the-cuff commentary. During the play’s “before” and “after” sequences, the stage functions like a multidimensional fishbowl in which the audience is privy to the private lives of all the characters simultaneously. Indeed, the whole play allows us to peer through the windows of a very interesting household.

No Windex necessary.

River Repertory Theater’s production of Little Shoppe of Horrors plays through July 4 at the Jenner Playhouse, 10432 Hwy. 1, Jenner. Thursdays- Saturdays at 8 p.m.; Sunday matinees on June 7 and 21, 2 p.m. Tickets are $10-$15. 865-2905.

Actors’ Theatre’s production of Blue Window plays through June 27 at the Luther Burbank Center, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. Thursdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m.; Sundays at 2 p.m. Tickets are $6-$12. 523-4185.

From the June 4-10, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

What Would Jesus Do?

Plastic JesusMagali PirardA cryptic code is showing up on bracelets, T-shirts, and coffee mugs around the world. Now radical theologians, authors, and thinkers ponder the powerful--and trendy--question "What would Jesus do?"By David TempletonPATRICIA LYNN REILLY has just found Jesus. He's hanging from an accessory rack at Claire's Jewelry Store--right between Macy's and Mervyn's--exactly where she was told he'd be....

Bowling

King PinsMichael AmslerBowling may be right up your alleyBy Mary BishopIT'S THURSDAY afternoon at the cavernous Double Decker Lanes in Rohnert Park, one of my favorite spots. It's spacious, well staffed, and doesn't smell funny--I don't know why some bowling alleys have a funky odor; maybe it's all those old shoes. Today, there's league action here. And these folks...

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Daddy-ODon MillerDig those Big Bad Voodoo DaddiesBy Shelley LawrenceDRUMS POUND, feet tap, fingers snap. A sultry voice begins to croon, and suddenly the horns make their entrance. Man, these cats have got rhythm, and now the vintage-clad crowd is boogying with unharnessed glee. "Go, Daddy!" shout the dancers that make up the fringe of a circle, as a boy...

Professional Sports

Star StruckIn an age of strikes, franchise moves, free agency, and scandal, how's a kid supposed to get nostalgic about sports?By Charles McDermidIT WAS DURING a recent conversation with my father that I realized how being a sports fan has changed from his generation to my own. As a child of the modern era, I find that I fondly...

Election Results

Dirty TricksJane Hamilton stung by last-minute hit mailer; Measure A shot downBy Greg Cahill and Paula HarrisPETALUMA, home to one of the biggest voter-fraud scandals in California history, hosted an 11th-hour dirty-tricks campaign this week aimed at discrediting City Councilwoman Jane Hamilton, a candidiate for the 2nd Supervisorial District seat.It's unclear whether the widely distributed hit piece swayed...

Anything Goes

Going, Going, GoneSong and Dance: Kim Chambers, Paulino Duran, and Claire Victor tango their way across the sinking set of 'Anything Goes.'SR Players deliver off-key 'Anything Goes'By Daedelus HowellSOMETIMES a work of theater is such a formidable artistic challenge that it must be evaluated in a manner consistent with its own aesthetic criteria. Unfortunately, in this case, crayons and...

Soccer

SoccermaniaMichael AmslerGetting their kicks: The Raymonds--George and Susie, daughters Desaree (center), Angie, Nadine, and son George Jr.--share a passion for indoor soccer. For worshipers at the Church of the Spotted Ball, indoor soccer is heavenBy Dylan BennettON A CRUMMY SUNDAY in the wet spring evoked by the warm ocean current named for a young boy, small rivers form on...

Legalizing Hemp

On the RopesMichael AmslerFiber optimism: Richard Rose's Sonoma County-based HempRella markets a variety of foods manufactured from hemp. As acceptance grows for hemp products, industry figures are vying for the hearts and minds of consumers. Infighting erupts as hemp businesses press for legalizationBy Bruce RobinsonIN EVERY ELECTION CYCLE, there are initiatives that fall by the wayside. Some regroup and...

Late Night Dining

Night ShiftMichael AmslerNight-owl cafe: Higher Grounds is one of the few places in Santa Rosa serving after 10 p.m. on weeknights.Where to dine after nine?By Janet WellsAFTER CATCHING a Sunday evening movie a few weeks ago, my friend Panna suggests we find something to eat. "There's a Thai place down the street," she says. "Great noodle soup and cheap."...

Little Shoppe of Horrors & Blue Window

Plant FoodMichael AmslerRiver Rep's 'Shoppe of Horrors' a blastBy Daedalus HowellFOR BETTER or worse, the dawning of the atomic age shepherded sci-fi pen-pushers into a brave new world of "weird menace." Even the most improbable organisms, when exposed to an atomic event, became pledges for the mayhem club. Maverick horror-schlock filmmaker Roger Corman was hip to this phenomenon and...
11,084FansLike
4,606FollowersFollow
6,928FollowersFollow