Senior Strains

The medical marijuana dispensary located on Todd Road in Santa Rosa is hosting a field trip of sorts for the recently established Oakmont Cannabis Club. Members of the club, most of whom are residents of the Oakmont Village retirement community, peruse the dispensary shelves in search of alternatives to what ails them.

Oakmont Village resident Tina Hoogs, a founding member of the Oakmont Cannabis Club, studied medicinal marijuana at Oaksterdam University in Oakland, which touts itself as “America’s first cannabis college.” Hoogs envisioned the club as an alternative for members of the retirement community disillusioned with the cost and effectiveness of traditional pharmaceuticals.

“It’s about making it less mysterious for most elderly people who have a preconceived notion that a dispensary is like a headshop,” Hoogs says.

Last May, Hoogs, founding member Jim Byrne, and club spokesperson Heidi Klyn put up a flyer proposing the club to Oakmont residents. “The first day we thought we’d get maybe 10 people. We had almost triple that,” Hoogs says.

The Oakmont Village Association eventually held a meeting
and voted in favor of formally recognizing the club as an organization; now, more than a year later, the club has over 200 members.

Retirement communities have long been synonymous with more traditional recreational activities like arts and crafts, gardening and pickleball—the last of which caused a minor scandal in Oakmont Village over the construction of new courts in 2017.

“During that whole pickleball controversy I said, ‘Can’t we all just a get a bong?'” Byrne says. He estimates that the club has helped anywhere from 50 to 100 members successfully quit opioids.

“What seniors stand to benefit the most from legalization is treating their ailments with minimal side effects,” says Michael Zick Doherty, a business and marketing consultant in the Sonoma County cannabis scene who hosted a workshop for the club on how to properly extract cannabis to infuse into edible substances like butter or oil for cooking. “We would love to see the club become a model for other senior residential communities in the area,” he says.

Despite issues and concerns associated with legalization for senior citizens—the cost, feeling comfortable in dispensaries—the potential of the plant’s healing power can’t be overlooked.

“I know one person who has been battling breast cancer, and felt that chemo was literally killing her, and chose to use cannabis instead,” Hoogs says. “A year and a half ago she looked like very ill, and now she seems like a picture of health.”

Fare Thee Well

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Yesterday, Sept. 25, was my last day at the Bohemian and Pacific Sun. After four and a half years, I’m leaving my position as editor and hanging up my newspaperman’s fedora. Well, sort of.

I’ve taken a job at Harvester Clothing Co. in Sebastopol, where I’ll be writing and curating stories of compelling people and places from Crescent City to Oaxaca in support of made-in-California apparel.

I’m excited for this new chapter in my life, but I will miss the privilege of reporting on life in the North Bay, particularly at this fragile time in our nation’s history.

The Bohemian and Pacific Sun will be in good hands. Gary Brandt, who has been with the Bohemian for 17 years and has worked on more than 800 weekly issues, has been promoted to managing editor and will be responsible for shepherding the papers to press. Charlie Swanson will take on an expanded role as arts editor and producing digital content. News editor Tom Gogola will have an expanded role as well, as he expands the Bohemian and Sun‘s coverage of local issues, public affairs and investigative journalism.

As a 20-year veteran of news business, I’ve long believed in the value of a free press. With our democracy teetering on the whims of a venal and ignorant president, I don’t think it’s hyperbolic to say the press and the ballot box are all that stand between us and Tweet-powered authoritarianism.

With the contraction of the media landscape, I also believe independent, alternative journalism is more critical than ever. The Press Democrat, Napa Valley Register and Marin Independent Journal all do fine work, and we’re lucky to have them. But democracy thrives on a range of voices and the willingness of journalists to go where daily newspapers can’t or won’t. The Bohemian will continue to go there to tell the stories we think need telling.

It’s been a privilege to serve as editor of the Bohemian and the Pacific Sun. Thanks for trusting us with your stories and, most of all, thanks for reading.

Open Mic is a weekly feature in the ‘Bohemian.’ We welcome your contribution. To have your topical essay of 350 words considered for publication, write op*****@******an.com.

Letters to the Editor: September 25, 2018

Show Yourself

I read the rabid fan letter attempting to gloss over the sleazy conflict of interest and self-dealing practices of Gallaher Homes and Bill Gallaher’s Poppy Bank (Letters to the Editor, Sept. 19) and found it worthy of comparison with Donald Trump playing his own publicist on the phone. What a colossal joke this obvious shill for Bill Gallaher is!

Makes me think that this anonymous writer just might be ol’ Bill himself. Otherwise, BananaBolt, why the pseudonym instead of having the courage to use your real name? Furthermore, just how dumb do you think we really are?

BananaBolt criticized Bohemian reporter Peter Byrne and the Bohemian for publishing the previous week’s piece “One-Stop Shop.” However, I found that piece to be excellent reporting—comprehensively researched and well-written—and was grateful as hell to see it in print.

But now I have my own criticism of the Bohemian: for Pete’s sake, don’t allow cowardly wimps such as this one see the light of day! Please, no more anonymous letters to the editor.

Santa Rosa

What a Rip!

Read with interest the recent Nugget article “Exodus” (Sept. 19). It’s pretty simple why legalization has failed. I recently went to a dispensary in Sonoma County. A package of B+ grade weed went for $35 a gram. There were slight discounts for buying an ounce, but still over $350 an ounce. You can now get two things on the black market: cheaper weed and weed that is not brimming with pesticides. You know why? Because you know the people you’re buying from.

What incentive do small growers (including those who don’t make a living off weed) have to pay ridiculous prices with ridiculous taxes and fees when you can get better quality and cheaper? That’s real true capitalism. What’s going on now with legalization is a combination of extortion and throwing legitimate growers out of the market. For what? State taxes. The ripoff market is never going to be fully realized until the state reduces profits and taxes. Then maybe it will get the revenues it needs. Right now, it’s a classic ripoff.

Penngrove

Hot-Tubbers Who Care

Hardly a day goes by when the reality of homelessness in Marin County doesn’t hit home and break your heart. It’s heartwarming to realize that in one of the most affluent communities in the world, a spirit of compassion and empathy lives large. From Adopt a Family of Marin, to the St. Vincent de Paul Society, and many more caring resources in between, it is with an outright sense of pride to be residing among those citizens a politician once referred to as “misguided Marin County hot-tubbers.” May Marinites always be so misguided.

Sausalito

Write to us at le*****@******an.com.

In These Times

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It’s just 72 hours till election day, and North Carolina Sen. Charles Whitmore (Matt Farrell) is having a crisis of faith.

A recent school shooting in his hometown has led him to question his belief in God and in his usual staunch defense of the Second Amendment. What’s worse, he’s admitted as much to a reporter (Zack Acevedo). His campaign manager (Katie Watts-Whitaker) is apoplectic. His Bible-quoting, Glock-toting wife (Priscilla Locke) will have none of it. He’s about to make the biggest campaign speech of his life. Will he stick to the script?

Playwright Jason Odell Williams’ Church & State is an interesting 80-minute polemic on the political paralysis that has gripped our nation on this subject. While there’s no doubt where Williams and director Steven David Martin stand on the issue of gun control, the play does not reduce those who take a different stand to cartoon figures. It does, however, wrap the debate in a sitcom-like script, albeit one with a jolting and effective climax.

Farrell does well as the conflicted senator, though he lacks some gravitas and maturity. Locke is terrific in the haphazardly written role as his wife, and Watts-Whitaker holds her own in scenes between the two. Acevedo plays multiple roles and provides some of the play’s lighter moments as a campaign gofer.

Rating (out of 5): ★★★

Caitlin Strom-Martin directs a very strong cast in the Donald Margulies–penned Time Stands Still. Maureen O’Neill plays Sarah Goodwin, a photojournalist returning home after being blown up by a roadside bomb in Iraq. She’s accompanied by her partner, James (Rusty Thompson), a reporter who had returned stateside earlier after suffering a breakdown from his own war-zone experiences. While Sarah’s are more visible, both individuals have scars that run deep.

The scabs from those scars are ripped by off by the arrival of Sarah’s editor, Richard (Pablo Romero), and his rather young (“There’s young, and there’s embryonic.”) and deceptively lightweight girlfriend, Mandy (Emily Tugaw). Their relationship has James contemplating a less chaotic life while Sarah looks to return to her work. Time may stand still but relationships don’t.

Margulies’ thought-provoking script about life’s dramas, both big and small, is well-served by the artists involved in this production. ★★★★

Write the Storm

In the early hours of
Oct. 9 last year, poet Ed Coletti and his wife, Joyce, were among the thousands who fled their home from the firestorm.

The Colettis escaped with their lives, but lost their home and possessions to the Tubbs fire. It’s an experience Coletti will never forget, and one he revisits in his new poetry chapbook,

Firestorm, self-published on his longtime imprint, Round Barn Press.

“We were so traumatized, and poetry gave me a way to express the things that I hadn’t quite worked out yet, and still haven’t,” Coletti says.

In Firestorm, Coletti reflects on the terror of those early hours while also recounting the support of his family, friends and the community that helped him move forward, including purchasing a new home in May.

Here is an excerpt:

‘When Random Sharks Attack’

When a frenzy of orange threshers

battle-sharpened yellow teeth ablaze

rushes to take your home

nothing can prepare you for the carnage

Denial an oh so temporary refuge

briefly houses your future plans and hopes

It too is overtaken by voracious marauders

I speak as one consumed

I dream of a huge red bear

I am empty sad feel worthless

I don’t know what to do be still
or fight

Luck had saved me up ’til the present

I’m watching scores of rock doves swoop

these Oakland hills evade the stoop of circling

red tail hawks eye level with our refuge from

the fire of that black senses-deadened infant

morning’s blind-eyed rush sans a single dorsal fin

to warn or woo while now and here in hills

across the Bay awake to strangeness:

curse of phantom pain we know but still

we want the easy comfort of our house

the sense of going home to what we know

to what we together purchased once we married

I seek a new thesaurus to explain things

Here in space where furniture doesn’t fit me

in and out of my body feeling freaky

If it’s true that attachment equaled suffering

I’ve been shoved on to the road of enlightenment

all too quickly here in a region known as Purgatory

atoning for my sin of routine comfort

We almost died

We did not die

We lost a house

And all possessions

Much more remains

In the rubble of our pain

The innocence of sharks

very much maligned

Ed Coletti reads from ‘Firestorm’, Sept. 29, at SOCO Coffee, 1015 4th St., Santa Rosa. 4:30pm. Free. 707.527.6434.

Misspent Youth

Oddly, it seems Joan Jett has quite a good reputation. The inspiring documentary Bad Reputation, named after her early 1980s hit, is a paean to the veteran rocker. She gets praise from Iggy Pop and Blondie’s Deborah Harry; we learn of her good influence on artists as diverse as Miley Cyrus, Darby Crash, Laura Jane Grace and actor Michael J. Fox.

We note her days as a hard-charging musician, as a stand-up person who traveled to Iraq and Bosnia to entertain the troops, and her work for animal rights. Jett’s excessive drinking in the rough times after her first band, the Runaways, broke up is about the only character deficit admitted to here.

Gifted with a Silvertone guitar by her parents one Christmas, the smoldering Jett parlayed that into L.A.’s glam rock scene, mostly at a small L.A. disco run in the mid 1970s by Mountain View–bred Rodney Bingenheimer. Kim Fowley—who has a mixed reputation, either as pervy mastermind or astute, if eccentric, music producer—pre-fabbed the underaged band the Runaways during a time of ’70s gender blur.

“Guys are turning into fags so the girls are turning into John Wayne,” Fowley says in the film. When the Runaways began, the macha Jett wasn’t even the lead singer. The feedback changed as their market widened. As Jett puts it, “It went from ‘cute and sweet’ to ‘slut and whore.'”

Director Kevin Kerslake’s efforts to underscore Jett as a groundbreaker means downplaying the rock chops of some of her contemporaries, such as Joni Mitchell (she wasn’t all just “Big Yellow Taxi”). While the testimonials for Jett abound, particularly from Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill, we don’t get very deep into her inner life.

It’s a warm film, though. For decades, Jett’s back has been guarded by Kenny Laguna, a vet of the bubblegum music craze of the late 1960s, and his wife and daughter. Kenny’s main lesson on songwriting comes from Casablanca records founder Neil Bogart: “Don’t bore us, get right to the chorus.”

It’s pleasant to see the easiness between Laguna and Jett, sharing a spliff, or grousing together about stage costumes as Jett takes some electrical tape to a black spandex outfit in danger of a seam-split. And the documentary is full of savory odds and ends, including the sight of Jett absolutely rocking “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and the story of how 23 record companies turned down Jett’s demo. They didn’t get “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll.” Perhaps it was too deep?

‘Bad Reputation’ opens Wednesday, Sept. 26, at select North Bay theaters for a special screening.

Going, Going—Gonzo!

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Have no fear—the end is not near, or here. Victory is ours, Earthlings. Or so the website for the Global Climate Action Summit declared at the end of a week-long series of panels, talks, interviews and informal conversations that brought together dozens of official delegates and hundreds of observers from Asia, Africa, Europe and the Americas.

The web text reads, “The tide has turned in the race against climate change.” That was news to me, especially after I listened to dozens of speeches during a couple of daylong marathon sessions last week.

It is true that I was stoned for much of the proceedings. Before I arrived at the Moscone Center on Third Street in San Francisco I enjoyed a legal edible from the Garden Society.

The instructions on the package advised that it might take up to two hours for the edible take effect, but the cannabis-laced chocolate kicked in in less than 30 minutes—and lasted five hours.

Having altered my own inner climate, which was far easier to do than reverse global climate change, I was cool enough, calm enough and collected enough to enjoy the likes of actor Alec Baldwin; chimpanzee champion Jane Goodall; New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio; former U.S. Senator John Kerry (who helped negotiate the Paris Accords); and a woman from north of the Arctic Circle who explained to me that she and the tribes of the north, and the polar bears, too, have “a right to ice,” which is now threatened by global warming.

If the tribes above the Arctic Circle had a right to ice, I figured I had a right to be high at the Global Climate Action Summit, and to do my best to channel Dr. Hunter S. Thompson—who no doubt would have skewered this event in much the same way the late gonzo journalist skewered the Kentucky Derby and various Republican and Democratic conventions. Let’s start with the sponsors: Bank of America, Kaiser Permanente, Google, Facebook and Amazon.

Hundreds of climate-change demonstrators took to the streets outside the event, and hundreds of police officers, too. The woman who issued credentials said, “It’s organized chaos this morning.” On Friday cops, and protesters were gone, except for bearded Bill Callahan from San Rafael who held a sign and told me, “We don’t have enough respect for our planet. We need to protect it and to live responsibly.”

A friend in the city who had offered me a bed for the week, told me as I was leaving his house to go to the Moscone Center, “This whole event is about green capitalism.” I thought about his comment on the N-Judah street car and on the line waiting to get inside the Moscone Center. “Is this event about green capitalism?” I asked Shashi Menon, CEO of a corporation in Iowa that’s developing biofuels. Menon gave me an unambiguous answer.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “We’ll have a better chance to survive catastrophic climate change with green capitalism than with the other kind.”

I didn’t hear anyone inside the Moscone Center mention the words “socialism” or “communism” though a member of the Central Committee of the Revolutionary Communism Party, who was protesting in the street, handed me a brochure entitled “How We Can Really Make Revolution” in which I read “The system of capitalism-imperialism cannot be reformed.” No one inside the Moscone Center wanted a revolution of the sort that the Revolutionary Communist Party had in mind. What sane person would? Communism, Russia style, had been a disaster for the environment and for human beings, too.

What delegates and participants wanted most of all was to survive the kind of storms that were battering the Philippines and that would soon batter the Eastern Seaboard of the United States.

Former Vice President Al Gore, who spoke like a man on fire, explained to the audience that, “we are in the early stage of the sustainability revolution which will be as profound as the industrial and the digital revolutions of the past.” Gore lashed out at “heat stress,” “rain bombs and “mud slides,” and lamented the fact that there were “millions of climate refugees” around the world. If there was a new president in Washington D.C., the U.S. would rejoin the Paris accords, Gore predicted. “We have the political will,” he said.

“And that’s a renewal resource.”

Bill de Blasio said that New York was investing 2 percent of its pension assets in climate solutions. He added that it would take “trillions of dollars for decades to save us.”

Jane Goodall has moved on from chimps in Africa. Now, she travels around the world and talks about the need to save forests that are destroyed by the timber industry, and to make way for agriculture, to grow more grains, feed more cattle and produce more beef.

“Don’t eat things that are bad for you and for the planet,” Goodall said. She had stopped being a carnivore, she explained, when she looked down at a piece of meat on the plate in front of her and saw, “pain, suffering and death.”

Goodall allowed that many people in the world “felt helpless,” but she asked the crowd that gave her a standing ovation to remember “the indomitable human spirit.”

The panel of mayors from four continents was a study in contrasts. Annie Hidalgo, from Paris, was the best dressed of the lot—her white high-heeled shoes stole the show—and her smile was infectious, too, though Zandile Gumede, the Mayor of Durban in South Africa looked stunning in the tradition garb for women in her society.

“Sixty percent of the people in Durban have no electricity,” she said. “But we have the same vision that you have here in California.” Sayeed Khokon, the Mayor of Dhaka in Bangladesh—and the son of the former mayor, explained that jobs, housing and hygiene were much needed in his city. “There are too many people in Dhaka,” he said. “They have to be moved to the countryside. If they do they get free housing.”

At the Moscone, Donald Trump was the boogieman. Alec Baldwin was the court jester, Jerry Brown, the gray eminence and John Kerry his front man. Paul Polman, the CEO at Unliver—one of the major global companies committed to sustainability—gave the packed house a real fright when he said, “We’re losing the battle against climate change.” But he added, “The cost of not acting is greater than the cost of acting.”

Near the end of the marathon Summit, Dave Matthews came on stage with an acoustic guitar and said, “We have to bridge the gap between the people who have a voice and those who feel voiceless and who are desperate to act.” He added, “This is a very strange gig” and the sang two spirited songs, including Woody Guthrie’s hymn “This Land Is Your Land.”

Before he walked off the stage, Matthews told the audience that he and Jane Goodall were “going off to drink Scotch.” If they had invited me I would not have had to think twice. But I was okay. I was still stoned, and I was ready to join Jane Goodall, become a vegetarian and do what I could do to restore our deforested planet.

No, I wasn’t a revolutionary. I was merely a restorationist and proud to be one.

From Russia with Beer

Around 1800, the Russian czar realized the obvious when it came to Russian America (then Alaska): it’s impossible to grow food there. To solve this problem, the Russia-America Company sailed south in search of fertile soil and a temperate climate. What would become Washington and Oregon were too cold and wet, but the Russians stopped to plant flags there just in case. Then, in 1809 or so, Russia-America Company official Ivan Kuskov explored a river no European had ever traversed. Venturing inland, Kuskov discovered just what Russian America needed. In 1812 he founded Fort Ross, and for the next 30 years, the Russian Empire extended from the gates of Warsaw to the virgin wilderness that would one day become Santa Rosa.

Today we call the river Kuskov navigated the Russian River, and in Santa Rosa, the Russian River Brewing Company produces some of the world’s finest beer. As a history nerd and beer lover, I wondered about the beer in Russia. Was RRBC living up to the beer produced by its namesake country, or were Russian craft brewers playing catch-up with the West?

To find answers, on May Day I flew to Moscow with one goal in mind: to drink copious amounts of beer. The trip was a success, and I am now ready to present the results of my painstaking, inebriated research. What follows are seven Russian beers, one for each day of my trip abroad.

Thursday, May 3

Beer: IPA v.2

Brewery: Wolf’s Brewery

ABV: 5.9 percent

On my first full day in the Russian capital, I explored GUM, the famed shopping mall just off Red Square. On the first floor, I browsed the aisles of Russia’s most luxurious grocery store, Gastronom No. 1. With bottled beers left and right, I faced a hoppy dilemma. I purchased Wolf’s Brewery IPA v.2, the first of three IPAs I would drink during my trip. That afternoon, the beer chilled in my hotel room’s mini-fridge as I continued my adventure throughout the city.

The beer was Siberia-cold when I returned late that evening after witnessing the Victory Day parade practice. And before you ask, of course I took a selfie in front of an SS-29 mobile ICBM missile launcher. Popping the top (my hotel room had a bottle opener bolted to the wall above the bathroom sink—did Putin know I was coming?), I sat back and indulged in the great American tradition of drinking while watching Netflix—but in a foreign country.

The beer was a pleasantly bitter IPA, but a little light on the tongue. Not much going on with the flavor. I wondered how far the beer had evolved since v.1. The new version had to be better, right? Overall, it was a standard but inoffensive IPA, an excellent way to end a long, enjoyable day.

Verdict: Pliny Lite, not coming soon to a brewpub near you.

Friday, May 4

Beer: American Style IPA

Brewery: Jaws Brewery

ABV: 7 percent

I battled jet lag during my second full day in Moscow. After waking up from an afternoon nap, I set off for the Museum of the Great Patriotic War. Within the immense museum are many solemn exhibits detailing the Soviet Union’s role in defeating Nazi Germany: a gallery of books containing the names of the 25 million Soviet war dead, an impeccably detailed, life-size recreation of the Battle of Berlin and multiple murals that capture the horror of war from the perspective of soldiers and civilians alike. By the time I left the museum, I needed a beer and some traditional Russian cuisine.

On the menu that night were pelmeni (the best Russian food to pair with beer!) at Lepim I Varim. A waitress wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed “Make Pelmeni Great Again!” rang up my order. The fresh, piping-hot lamb and cilantro-stuffed dumplings arrived at my table less than five minutes later.

Accompanying this excellent meal was an American Style IPA courtesy of Jaws Brewery. The beer caught my eye for the psychedelic design on the bottle. As you’ll see again with the next beer, I’m a sucker for flashy labels. Unfortunately, the beer did not live up to its counter-culture advertising. Again, there just wasn’t a lot going on with the taste. Light on the bitterness, not much mouthfeel, not much anything. But it was a good beer to pair with pelmeni, as the flavor, what there was of it, didn’t overpower the dumplings. The only surprise was that the taste didn’t suggest anything near
7 percent ABV. However, I didn’t doubt that fact an hour later when I nearly dozed off during the metro ride back to my hotel. Jet lag and alcohol made for a sleepy combination.

Verdict: The beer is a square in hippie’s clothing. Also, I’m a lightweight.

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Saturday, May 5

Beer: Rizhaya Sonya Ginger IPA

Brewery: One Ton Brewery

ABV: 6.2 percent

It took three days, but I finally visited the real Russia on Saturday morning when I traveled to the Central Air Force Museum in Monino. During the hour-and-a-half commuter train ride, local entrepreneurs walked between train cars, hawking everything from knives to umbrellas. Just take a moment to imagine what would happen if a guy started waving around a knife on a SMART train.

Arriving in Monino, I walked a mile among crumbling apartment blocks before reaching one of the largest outdoor aviation museums in the world. I giddily snapped pictures of MiGs, Ilyushins and Tupolevs. It was a blast getting to see all those Cold War–era fighter jets and passenger planes, but by the time I returned to Moscow around 2pm I was hungry and, more importantly, thirsty for beer.

Rizhaya Sonya Ginger IPA’s label depicts a grinning ginger lass brandishing a Medieval mace wrapped around a bazooka. Like the old warplanes I had seen that morning, it has an industrial vibe, so I had a bottle with lunch.

The beer was an acceptable complement to the food, but didn’t deliver on the promise of ginger. It was there, but only slightly, as if the brewer had thrown a single hand of ginger into the tank at the last minute. Honestly, the beer would have been better without it.

Verdict: Sorry, fellas, but she’s not a natural redhead.

Sunday, May 6

Beer: Unfiltered Lager

Brewery: Sibirskaya

ABV: 5 percent

Do you enjoy the kitsch of a ’90s Applebee’s, the nostalgia of a ’50s diner and the Soviet Union? If so, then Varenichnaya No. 1 is the restaurant for you! The chain appeals to Russian adults who grew up in the late ’70s-early ’80s and now pine for the era’s simple comfort food. Surrounded by knick-knacks that included an old Soviet radio and television, I ordered a Sibirskaya (Siberian Crown) unfiltered lager and two pastry shells stuffed with minced lamb.

Sibirskaya has an interesting American connection. A couple of years ago, some company reps pulled up to actor David Duchovny’s house in a dumptruck full of rubles and convinced him to star in a two-minute commercial where he extolled the virtues of being Russian. To its credit, the ad boasts the highest production value of any Russian propaganda film since the end of the Cold War.

But like life in the Soviet Union under Brezhnev, the lager is stagnant. The beer’s only redeeming quality was that it cut the taste of my meal—the pastry shells exploded with grease the moment I cut into them.

Verdict: David, you fool! You sold your soul for some ersatz Blue Moon!

Monday, May 7

Beer: Red Whale Amber Ale

Brewery: Landau Beerlab

ABV: 5.5 percent

The Tretyakov Gallery contains one of the most stunning paintings you’ll ever see. Ilya Repin’s Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on November 16, 1581 depicts the crazed czar just moments after he struck his heir on the head with a gold scepter. His eyes haunted and devastated, Ivan futilely attempts to stop the flow of blood from his adult son’s left temple. Blood stains the ornate carpet beneath the two men.

I felt compelled to imbibe an amber ale.

Just down the street from the Tretyakov was Miles, a chill cafe that serves beer, burgers and coffee. While sitting on a couch on the upper floor, I sipped a Landau Beerlab Red Whale Amber Ale. The name was a mouthful, and so was the beer. The initial taste was light and fruity, but after swallowing, it left a denser flavor, a pleasant spiciness that lingered on my tongue. It was my first beer in Russia that I savored to the last drop.

Verdict: Russia’s secret weapon to close the beer gap.

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Tuesday, May 8

Beer: Black Currant and Raspberry Berliner Weisse

Brewery: Bakunin

ABV: 4.5 percent

If I was going to write an article about Russian beer, I had to consult with an expert in the field. On Tuesday night, I took part in a bar-hopping escapade organized by a local tour company. My guide for the evening was Anna, part-time tour guide, English tutor and, interestingly enough, former confectioner. The other members of the tour were a pair of Austrian nurses taking a break from their jobs and small-town life. The three bars we visited that evening were packed with Russian men and women who didn’t care if they had a hangover in the morning. The next day was a national holiday: Victory Day.

Between bites of salted fish, pickled fish and fried cheese, I sampled many unique beers that adequately represented the malty to bitter spectrum. However, the black currant and raspberry Berliner Weisse was the most memorable of the bunch. It poured dark purple and smelled of crushed berries. The taste was slightly sour, but not so much as the Russian River Brewing Company’s sour ale. It was a solid B+ beer. The only downside was that its flavor would overpower anything you might want to eat alongside it—a problem, as Russians always snack when they drink.

Verdict: Following in the footsteps of the real-life Mikhail Bakunin, this fruity beer wages anarchy on bourgeoisie flavors.

Wednesday, May 9

Beer: Boro-da Lager Premium

Brewery: Daka Brewery

ABV: 7 percent

To quote George Bluth from Arrested Development, “There’s a good chance I may have committed some
light treason” when
I wore the Ribbon of St. George during the Victory Day festivities on May 9. To patriotic Russians, Victory Day is like the Fourth of July, the Super Bowl, Thanksgiving and St. Patrick’s Day all rolled into one. Who says you can’t pay your respects to the past while eating, drinking and partying yourself into utter oblivion?

In the morning I witnessed a military flyover near the Kremlin that climaxed with fighter jets streaming the colors of the Russian flag over the city center.

After finding a bar with an empty seat, I ordered a Boro-da Premium Lager. From appearances alone, it looked like a refreshing, malty beer, and for the most part, it was. Taking my first sip, though, I had to do a double take. I half-expected to find a handful of Werther’s Originals floating in my glass. To put it another way, if Starbucks ever plans to release a sugary-sweet Frappuccino beer, they know which brewery to consult.

Verdict: “I got a Frap Pliny for Vlad ready at the bar!”

A specter is haunting Russia—a specter of hops. IPAs are everywhere, and most rank as “good enough.” Russia’s best beers are those that brewers have imbued with traditional Russian flavors.

My fellow beer comrades, if you should find yourself in Moscow, St. Petersburg or somewhere in the provinces, seek out these unique beers over the IPAs and watery, imitation lagers. And whatever you do, avoid Sibirskaya like the pestilence it is.

Nazdarovya!

Fire Wall

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Last month Rebuild Northbay founder Darius Anderson was in Washington, D.C. Anderson posted on Facebook that he was in the capital “advocating with caring elected officials and concerned business leaders to help the fire survivors of the 2017 fires.” He did not elaborate on who those business leaders were.

Anderson went on share a group photo, which included a couple of caring local officials—including Santa Rosa Mayor Chris Coursey and Sonoma County Supervisor David Rabbitt.

Anderson’s trip came on the heels of news that Rebuild Northbay had “partnered” with disaster-recovery giant AshBritt to donate $450,000 to rebuild a concrete-and-wood fence along Hopper Avenue in Coffey Park. It’s a pricey deal: the remains of the current wall on Hopper must first be demolished and carted off before any new wall can be constructed.

The move was heralded by Coffey Strong in media reports about the outbreak of corporate altruism on AshBritt’s part. Rebuild Northbay is the nonprofit formed by Anderson and has positioned itself as a post-fire clearinghouse of contributions from individuals and corporations. Roughly speaking, Rebuild exists to help provide bridge funding for fire-related projects and alleviate pressure on local budgets in the process.

But local union advocates want to know why AshBritt is even operating in the North Bay at all? “They are a low-road, non-union, right-wing, ambulance-chasing company,” says Marty Bennett of North Bay Jobs for Justice.

The firm’s arrival locally was met with skeptical eyeballs from the local labor movement, which pushed earlier this year for pay equity for workers hired to conduct the cleanup. AshBritt has been on-scene in the county during clearing of debris from the fire sites. The company has had a pre-positioned contract in the region for the past four years, pre-dating the 2017 fires.

AshBritt Environmental has been a go-to company for FEMA and the Army Corps of Engineers since Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast in 2005 and nearly destroyed New Orleans. With the impact of Hurricane Florence in the Carolinas hitting home—and North Bay residents anxiously waiting out fire season—it’s worth asking just what is the connection, if any, between Anderson and AshBritt. The company says there is none.

The arrangement raises questions about who, if anyone, stands to gain from it, besides the residents of Coffey Park. One leading candidate out the gate is James Lee Witt, whom Anderson previously tapped to head his nonprofit. Witt showed up in Sonoma County as a sort of goodwill ambassador who counseled local officials on how to get the recovery right. He has since moved on after a brief stint.

Witt remains a disaster-capitalist power broker in his own right. He is the former head of of FEMA, and a so-called Friend of Bill from Clinton’s terms in the 1990s. As the Bohemian reported earlier this year, he’s also the head of several disaster-services companies, and private-equity funds devoted to attracting investments into large infrastructure projects.

AshBritt was created by well-connected Republicans in the 1990s, an effort spearheaded by former Republican National Chairman Haley Barbour. The company has functioned as a meta-contractor of sorts for other disaster-services companies that do the cleanup work after Mother Nature (or a downed PG&E pole) strikes.

AshBritt was the subject of a New Jersey state inquiry over billing following Superstorm Sandy. When that storm ravaged the Northeast in late 2012, AshBritt was awarded a so-called “piggyback” contract to the tune of $150 million to provide debris-removal services in New Jersey, under the governorship of Chris Christie. A “piggyback” contract means that New Jersey was able to utilize an Ashbritt contract that was already in place in Connecticut. That contract was initially subject to typical procurement requirements.

According to press reports from the Garden State, Christie hired the company after a nudge from Barbour, and immediately after the storm—under “exigent circumstance” rules that don’t require competitive bidding for a new contract. FEMA documents indicate that the agency doesn’t favor “piggybacked” contracts.

State investigators subsequently found that because of errors committed by the monitoring firms, subcontractors working for AshBritt overcharged the state by some $300,000. The money was refunded to the state by AshBritt, says Moskowitz, “and we didn’t ask the contractors to pay it back.”

The companies identified in the state comptroller’s investigation that looked into the over-billing issue were Louis Berger, Arcadis—and Witt O’Brien’s.

Now AshBritt has a partner in Anderson, which at first blush may rough-out the contours of the post-disaster deal-making process in the region; an AshBritt statement from CEO Brittany Perkins that first appeared in the Press Democrat said the company was “proud to partner with Rebuild Northbay and Coffey Strong.”

AshBritt spokesman Gerardo Castillo says in an email that the wall-building project is a go and that the company is “fully committed to the contribution and we are looking forward to the commencement of this construction.” He adds that local contractors Mountain G and Wolff Contracting are on standby, “ready to begin work when the Coffey Strong project managers give them the green light to move forward.”

He says the $450,000 donation is part of the company’s mandate. “We have
a long-standing record of doing
this throughout the United States, given that recovery efforts for communities are long-term as well.”

AshBritt General Counsel Jared Moskowitz says that while the firm has worked with Witt O’Brien’s—”they have monitored us dozens of times,” he says—the company has never contracted directly with Witt O’Brien, which is typically hired by cities or municipalities to provide a monitoring role. “We’ve never hired [Witt],” he says. “He’s never worked for us. We’ve never worked for him.”

And despite the well-publicized announcement of the “partnership” in Coffey Park, Moskowitz stresses that “there is no connection between AshBritt and Darius Anderson. The suggestion that AshBritt made the donation because of some connection to Darius Anderson, is unequivocally false,” he says.

Moskowitz also takes strong issue with Bennett’s characterization of the company as as “right-wing” firm, noting that, for example, AshBritt was a big contributor to Hillary Clinton and is a major donor to the Democratic Gubernatorial Association. Besides his job as AshBritt’s general counsel, Moskowitz is also a Democratic Assemblyman in the state of Florida.

Even as James Lee Witt has been extracted from any local AshBritt-Anderson intrigues, a preliminary review of local post-fire contracts that Santa Rosa, at the request of the Santa Rosa Fire Department, entered into an $89,000 contract with Witt O’Brien’s on June 19 for a professional services agreement “for the production of a city-wide after-action report.”

Correction and clarification: Superstorm Sandy was in late 2012, not in 2013, as an earlier version of this story reported. This story has also been updated and corrected to reflect the nature of Ashbritt’s interactions with Witt O’Brien’s following Superstorm Sandy, and includes additional comments from AshBritt General Counsel Jared Moskowitz that were not a part of the original story.

Accountable Parties

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Jerry Threet, director of the Independent Office of Law Enforcement Review and Outreach (IOLERO), has tendered his resignation. The IOLERO is the office created as a result of recommendations from the task force the Board of Supervisors empowered after the killing of 13-year-old Andy Lopez.

Last year, Sonoma County supervisors Shirlee Zane and David Rabbitt, both of whom have campaigns heavily financed by local law enforcement, expressed a desire to rethink IOLERO.

This year, citing a tight budget, Zane, who has said multiple times in the supervisor’s chambers that she swoons for uniforms, has again expressed a desire to reconsider the existence of the office. More privately, she has said that since the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office has refused most of the recommendations from IOLERO and its citizen’s arm, the Community Advisory Council (CAC), IOLERO has proven ineffective. Instead of calling out the Sheriff’s Office for its refusal to work with the community, she has suggested the possibility of ending the effort for community input into law enforcement.

Zane and Rabbitt may suggest the “auditor” model used by Santa Rosa. When was the last time you heard from Santa Rosa’s auditor? Never? I will note that Santa Rosa Police Chief Hank Schreeder has been much more receptive to input than has former Sheriff Steve Freitas or the much-lauded Rob Giordano.

I have asked SCSO Sheriff-elect Mark Essick to speak out for the continuation of IOLERO and its CAC. He campaigned on his role as a member of the task force that recommended the creation of IOLERO. I have asked him to let the board of supervisors know that he wants the opportunity to work in good faith with the office he claims he wanted. Essick voted against the recommendation, but says he was acting as Sheriff Freitas’ paid representative on the task force and that this was not how he would have voted for himself. We hope to hear from him.

IOLERO was hampered by state laws which give law enforcement officers more secrecy on the job than anywhere else in the county. Reform efforts are underway in Sacramento to level the playing field. If some of this happens, it may become possible to have some real say in how community law enforcement operates.

Please let your supervisor know that you expect them to stand up for you. Let them know that you want IOLERO and its community arm to continue without their meddling.

Susan Lamont is a Sonoma County police-accountability activist.
To have your topical essay of 350 words considered for publication, write op*****@******an.com.

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