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Back to bare: Nude Beach Olympics (NSFW)

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By Michelle Broder Van Dyke

Descending from the Muni 29, looking out over the water and running my gaze across Baker Beach, I tried to spot the Nude Beach Olympics. But tucked away in the North End the au natural forms of the competitors remained elusive.

Walking along the shoreline, I began to zoom-in, finally spotting the events at the far end of the beach. There, the broad jump was under way. It is as glorious as you might imagine—with predominantly males participating, I witnessed the quick running, the leaping, and the hard fall into the dark, mottled sand, which seemed a lot less graceful while bare. In the act of falling, there seemed to be a moment’s hesitation while each participant debated whether to land hard in the sand or to try to stop the fall with a hand. The latter being more challenging, most men took the hard fall and then stood up, bums covered in grainy sand, but entirely unfettered.

The event was full of pubes, both shaved and unshaved, in a full color spectrum from gray to red, and it featured men and women of all body types and levels of athleticism. This, the first Nude Olympics at Baker Beach, resulted in a tie for first place: Rocky and Michael were crowned with olive-branch wreathes, following the traditions of the ancient Greek Olympics. George Davis, who had organized the Nude Beach Olympics I, explained: “The original Olympics, in Greece, were all done nude.”

Those ancient Olympics were the inspiration for the mini-version held at Baker Beach. The practice of exercising in the nude began in the seventh century B.C.E. It is believed that the custom began in Sparta, and, although various theories have been advanced, most assume that the main reason for this practice was the eroticism of the male body.

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Rocky the Olympian. Photos by Lisa Weiss

Rocky, who was adorned with a hand-painted silver and red mask much like the Legion of Doom, won both the Greco-wrestling and the sumo-wrestling competitions.

(After the jump: NSFW pics)

Life training, the Maasai warrior way

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By Michelle Broder Van Dyke

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Maasai Warrior Sabore Ole Oiye, aka “Baby Giraffe” at Grace Cathedral on Sept. 27, with little giraffes

To see from other people’s perspectives, and to genuinely remember (or realize) that not everyone’s lives is yours, is a gift; or so says the late David Foster Wallace in a commencement speech I read the other day on the Guardian’s Promosexual blog, recited originally in 2005. Wallace stated that we should strive to see from other people’s perspectives, remember that we are not the center of the universe and that, in fact, other people have bad days, too. So, don’t feel so sorry for yourself. Or at least something to that effect is proclaimed by Wallace, but at greater length, with more subtlety and much more eloquence. As Wallace puts it: “I can choose to force myself to consider the likelihood that everyone else in the supermarket’s checkout line is just as bored and frustrated as I am, and that some of these people probably have harder, more tedious and painful lives than I do.”

Sometimes, though, you are adjacent to a world that is so different from the one that you’re familiar with that you don’t have to choose to remember that you are not the center of the universe, because the truth of the matter is staring you in the face. Instead, the importance becomes less remembering that you are not the center, but having to come to terms with and decide what you are going to do with this knowledge. Wallace offers an option, which seems still fitting for my own experience: “The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.”

Maasai Warrior Sabore Ole Oiye, nicknamed “baby giraffe,” towered above me at the Maasai Warrior Training at the Grace Cathedral a couple Saturdays ago, stating calmly, without even a slight smile in his eye, that he has killed two lions in his lifetime. Lifting his two-sided spear, Sabore explained that the blunt side is for throwing; the lion will first need to be declared TKO. The other side is razor-sharp, and ready to spear the lion. The Maasai warriors wear the mane of the lion home, and slide the tail over the sharp-end of the spear as they heroically return to their village.

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New Maasai warriors are trained for six to eight years in “the bush,” the all-encompassing term that refers to the wild wilderness of Kenya, which surrounds their village. The warriors learn how to slay lions, which in a polygamous patriarchal society that measures worth in manes and cattle, is extremely important. A woman in the audience asked: “What reasons make you kill lions?” To which Sabore explained, “The main reason is to show that you are brave. And then your friends will say, ‘come and marry my sister.’” They also learn, based on the ancient ways of the nomadic Maasai, basic survival skills – how to protect themselves from wild animals and how to live off of the land.

XXX queer cartoonists gear up for Folsom

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Too Hard to Swallow!
Drawing by Justin Hall

Dip your pen in: SF-based queer comics impressario Justin Hall of All Thumbs Press and the Hard to Swallow series (and who keeps chasing down that bitch-queen Glamazonia the Uncanny Super Tranny for us) and Hard to Swallow partner Dave Davenport are popping our corks and celebrating the release of their new sticky-fingered tome Hard to Swallow #4 at Isotope Comics this Friday from 7-11pm — raunchy comics, booze, loose men and brash women, weak-willed sexy cartoonists, and the saucy tunes of DJ Bearzbub, they promise! Not only that, but the new 72-page Hard to Swallow features “skater boy ghosts and pushy werewolves.” I’m drooling already.
Hard to Swallow #4 release
Fri/26, 7pm-11pm, free
Isotope Comics
326 Fell
www.isotopecomics.com

THEN: Catch Justin, Dave, and a slew of other totally NSFW comics artists at the Folsom Street Fair‘s Erotic Artist’s Alley on Sunday on 10th St. between Folsom and Harrison for a truly delectable selection of naughty output. Last year I totally scored this awesome print of a lacrosse team raping each other with their sticks. That was subversive on ’07! What will be subversive this year? I’m guessing Moose forced-fellatio revenge.

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Pushy werewolves!
From Hard to Swallow #4

Chocolate. It’s what’s for dinner.

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By Meghan McCloskey

I’m not the kind of girl who craves chocolate. I don’t need boxes of candy from my boyfriend to know he’s into me. Hell, I’d rather get a sweater or even a cheesy bouquet of flowers than a fatty gift that’ll up my waistband.

But since last week I’ve changed forever, thanks to Orson, a trendy restaurant in SOMA known for its forward thinking and groundbreaking use of chocolate in its main dishes. That’s right. I said chocolate. For dinner.

Since Orson’s debut in February 2008, executive chef Elizabeth Falkner and her crew have been playing with chocolate in a way that Willy Wonka couldn’t even have imagined. By some miracle, they’ve found a way to include the sweet, classic dessert ingredient in the restaurant’s savory entrées and appetizers—and have consequently created newfound chocolate-consumed barbarians like myself.

Seriously, don’t mess with me.

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Photo by Cheryl Mazak at gogetyourgirlon.com.

‘Star Wars: The Force Unleashed”s Haden Blackman untethered

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By Ben Richardson

While attending the Star Wars: The Force Unleashed launch event at the Harrison Street Best Buy on Sept. 15, I got a chance to part the ranks of cosplayers in Storm Trooper armor and ask project lead Haden Blackman a few questions about his game.

He provided interesting insights into the process of game design and all its challenges, joys, and complications, especially those peculiar to a studio like Lucasarts that is just one branch of the Star Wars entertainment empire. Though he was unwilling to admit that the game’s shoddy force grip targeting was a problem for all gamers, not just the “hardcore” among us (I complained about it in my review), he spoke convincingly about his desire to make the game accessible to players of all demographics and inclinations.

SFBG: In the speech you gave earlier up on the stage, you made it sound like this was an idea that you’ve had for a long, long time. When a game first comes together, when it first germinates, is it a story idea that leads a game to be constructed around it, or are there game elements or things you want to do that in turn birth a story?

The red and the black: Shepard Fairey at Shooting Gallery, White Walls

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By Kat Renz

I had no idea when I pitched a piece on Shepard Fairey’s “Duality of Humanity” solo show that I’d be getting an up-close preview, a public/private wheat-pasted hanging on the western wall of my room, now amounting to the best street “graffiti” (it was sanctioned by my landlord)/anti-war advert in the ‘hood.

A totally auspicious coincidence, or have I just somehow managed to know enough cool people that the degrees of separation are getting fewer by the day? I’m not sure, but hosting a giant black and beige “Peace Bomber” – yes, a peace sign made of a bomber plane – is pretty sweet.

This does not substitute for paying a long visit to Fairey’s four-room, two-story show at the Tenderloin’s adjacent art hubs, the Shooting Gallery and White Walls. Nor should the sudden ubiquity of public art Fairey and his nighttime posse have offered the city these past couple weeks – from the watchful, familiar furrow of Andre the Giant stickers to his larger visage where Highways 280 and 101 intersect to the red, blue, and black Obama poster (the one piece not for sale in his show) on the side of that squatable-looking house at 15th and Dolores streets.

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Mugwumpin ‘n’ denial: it’s not just a river in Egypt

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By Robert Avila

In October, local performance company mugwumpin – a kinetic and fervidly experimental ensemble that does not shy from being highly entertaining, too – travels to the massive Cairo International Festival for Experimental Theatre.

There it will represent the US with a newer, leaner version of its 2006 deconstruction of the American hero complex, super:anti:reluctant. Those who can’t afford the trip can catch this singular piece of post-abstract expressionist theater during a special three-show run at Noh Space this weekend, before it heads east.

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Preview Fri/19, 8 p.m., $10; gala performance and artist reception Sat/20, 8 p.m., $25; final performance Sun/21, 8 p.m., $12-$20 sliding scale
NOHspace
2840 Mariposa, SF
(415) 621-7978

Toronto International Film Festival: More from Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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By Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

Having had one helluva good time at this year’s festival (25 films in 6 days!), here’s an overview that you can use as a nice checklist for the upcoming months.

* Wong Kar-Wai’s Ashes of Time Redux amped up his 1994 classic, adding colors galore and some new cello solos by Yo-Yo Ma. Luckily Wong kept intact the complex, existential storylines, which blur characters into memories of the past, present, and future while giving his actors tear-induced melodrama that still radiates 15 years later. The original Ashes of Time needed to be viewed multiple times to recognize it as one of the best films of the 1990s.

Slumming with high society

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By Paula Connelly and Deborah Giattina

We arrived at the Clift hotel fashionably late in the hopes of fast forwarding to Gavin and Jennifer’s grand appearance. Last night was the Redwood Room’s 75th anniversary, and a staff member told us that picking the mayor and first lady to host the fete would guarantee its Social(ite) Event of the Year title.

Rolling with high society is not our usual modus operandi, but we snapped at the chance to indulge in the open bar and up-close look at 7×7 back pages fodder — only problem was, we didn’t know who’s who. The place was crawling with club promoters, local restaurateurs, random hobnobbers, and partying PR reps. But we lucked out and met a few cool people to crown royalty of our own.

The Redwood Room is exactly that, supposedly made entirely from a single Redwood tree.

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These vintage ornate mirrored glass cocktail tables set the stage for elegant vanity.

Tailing the Fringe: more plays to catch

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By Rob Avila

Here are a few plays especially worth checking out at the San Francisco Fringe Festival, but premiering too late for review: For more, see “Knuckballin’.”

Exit Sign: A Rock Opera
SF musician and songwriter Carrie Baum’s autobiographical flight, glimpsed over the weekend, has some sentimental aspects but is frequently inspired, tuneful, heartfelt, and good fun. Showcasing a solid band headed up by Baum and her Gibson SG, two charming backup singers, and good acting-singing performances in the lead roles of a cool couch-potato father (a winningly down-to-earth Steffanos X) and his queer daughter (a sure and impressive Jamie Ben-Azay) on a TV-mandated mission to find “It” before an untimely death makes for one of life’s inevitable detours.

The Evelyn Reese Show
If Amy Sedaris were from Toronto, the town might not be big enough for her and Susan Fischer, whose character, the irrepressible Evelyn Reese, is a pitch-perfect social monster of hilariously garish proportions. At the same time, the skillful Fischer keeps her character solidly grounded in the most realistic idiosyncrasies; it’s hyperbolic but never anything but believable. And that’s what’s so terrifying.

Toronto International Film Festival: Days 5-6

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It’s over! Well, for me, anyway — the festival rolls on through the weekend, but tomorrow I’ll be jetting back to SF, watching edited-for-content episodes of The Wire on Air Canada’s seatback television. I only had one spontaneous celebrity sighting (Wyclef, scampering into an SUV outside his hotel as I plodded past in search of breakfast this morning). But I did see some enjoyable movies these last two days, plus a few feh offerings.

Toronto International Film Festival: Days 3-4

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While San Francisco was having some of its nicest weather of the year, it rained in Toronto. Fortunately, my chief focus was indoors, in the dark, so it didn’t matter, really — soggy socks be damned. I made it to JCVD, Belgian director Mabrouk El Mechri’s surprisingly dignified tribute to Jean-Claude Van Damme, and probably my most-anticipated movie of the 2008 festival. I’d be lying if I said I was totally satisfied with it — there were some hilarious moments, but not many; there were a few action scenes, but also a lot of talking (including Van Damme’s very own emotional monologue). I guess I was expecting something bigger, louder, and more obnoxious (yes, those are code words for “better”), but kudos are due to Van Damme for playing himself — especially since he’s not always portraying himself in a flattering way. That said, if you hunger for fun, tacky, old-school JCVD, you’re better off putting your VHS copy of Hard Target (1993) through its well-worn paces.

Toronto International Film Festival: Days 1-2

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If you ask me, there’s no better way to start your Toronto International Film Festival experience than with a film that contains a money shot revolving around a shredded set of intestines. Ohhh yeah, I knew the France-UK-Belgium co-production Vinyan was gonna be intense when I noted the director, Fabrice Du Welz, had also helmed 2004’s Calvaire — one of those don’t-get-off-the-main-road horror flicks that rang more depraved than most. In Vinyan, we meet well-off Euro couple Paul (Rufus Sewell) and Jeanne (Emmanuelle Beart) whose Christmas vacation turned to horror when their young son was washed away in the Indian Ocean tsunami six months prior. Or was he? Semi-convinced that he may instead have been kidnapped, the pair has stayed in Thailand grasping at hope — and in Jeanne’s case, sanity. A Heart of Darkness-style excursion into the wilds of Burma (where’s John Rambo when you need him?) pushes both partners into places of utter terror, both physical and psychological. Vinyan is also the best freaky-little-kids movie I’ve seen in awhile — we’re talking Who Can Kill a Child? (1976) territory here.

Abe-bama pops up in the ‘Loin

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The latest rainbow happening going down in the alley next to Shooting Gallery, 839 Larkin, SF: artist Ron English (who I once interviewed way back when for his billboard modifications throughout the southwest) recently installed this PhotoShop combo – based on an original painting – of Abraham Lincoln and Barack Obama. These murals – up in LA, Seattle, and Denver as well as here – were made to coincide with the November election.

Semiconscious Consumerism: Leather Vegans

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Blogger Justin Juul weighs in — just in time for Slow Food Nation this weekend — on the contradictions of fashion and philosophy. Read his thoughts on high-end street gear in a time of economic crisis here, his saga of American Spirits here, and his sassy deconstruction of the Nike and American Apparel connection here.

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I became a vegetarian the year my father moved the family from Southern California to a ranch in North Carolina, right across the street from a cow farm. My dad had just retired from the Marine Corps and was on a mission to return to the farm-life he’d abandoned when he enlisted 20 years before. It was totally normal for him, but that shit freaked me out. I’d grown up in small cities on the fringes of military bases across the country and here I was at seventeen years old, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but my two little dogs and a giant herd of cows to keep me company.

Needless to say, I got out of there quick. I jumped on a greyhound bus back to California the day I turned 18 and I haven’t looked back since. But the image of those peaceful cows never left me. Watching them play with my dogs made me realize that animals were pretty similar across the board. I would never eat Burny or Katy, I rationed, so I probably shouldn’t eat the cows either. And so it went. I became a vegetarian because I realized that eating animals is cruel, but wearing them? Well, that’s another story.

You see, although I hate to admit it, I’m sort of a hipster.

Local Artist of the Week: Aurie Ramirez

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LOCAL ARTIST Aurie Ramirez
TITLE Untitled
STORY Aurie Ramirez’ sophisticated, delicately rendered compositions create an ever-expanding fantasy world where fragments of 18th-century dandyism, neo-Victorian decorum, psychedelia, Venetian masquerade, glam-rock sex, and punk fetishism are repeated and transformed. Aurie’s work has been inspired by her interest in The Addams Family and KISS.
BIO Born in 1962 in the Philippines, Aurie Ramirez has exhibited her work at White Columns in New York, Jack Hanley Gallery in Los Angeles, ABCD in Paris, and Collection l’Art Brut in Lausanne, Switzerland.
SHOW “Estacion Odesia,” through Aug. 30. By appointment. Queen’s Nails Annex, 3191 Mission, SF. (415) 202-3199. www.queensnailsannex.com
WEB www.creativegrowth.org

Semiconscious Consumerism: Dope gear for idiots

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Blogger Justin Juul ponders high-end street gear in a time of economic crisis. Read his saga of American Spirits here, and his sassy deconstruction of the Nike and American Apparel connection here.

Here’s a bunch of shit I bought because I thought I was the only person in San Francisco tuned into the world of supercool urban fashion. Most of these items cost hundreds of dollars and almost nothing fit straight out of the box. So, genius that I am, instead of re-selling my stuff on Ebay for a profit, I took everything to a tailor for resizing. Which, most times, wound up costing almost as much as the actual item.

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It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had been right, if indeed I could ever hope to know more about “high-end streetwear” than your average 15 year-old skater thug. But I don’t. By the time most of this stuff got my to house you could buy knock-off versions at any store on Sixth Street. And besides, look at it! I’m almost thirty years old, man. I can’t go outside in this shit. Still, even though I never wear any of the stuff I buy, and even though I’m fully aware that the whole street wear industry is a marketing sham that preys on the ridiculous aspirations of clueless suburban kids, I’m insanely proud of my ghetto-fab wardrobe.

I mean, whatever, right? These clothes may not be worth the money I spent on them, and they may not make me cool, but I have them and you don’t, so there. You can call me shallow and you can call me crazy, but you can’t deny that if you could get your hands on my gear you’d be happy for life. I win.

Here Are the Top Five Coolest Garments in my Collection:

Photo Issue Q&A: Sean McFarland

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To choose just one photo by Sean McFarland for this year’s Guardian Photo Issue was tough. Ultimately, we went with one from 2005 that looked best within the issue’s layout. McFarland’s more recent work was markedly different, but just as impressive. The interview below is interspersed with some of these more recent photos, and some interesting background information about their mysteries.

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Sea, by Sean McFarland

At the moment, McFarland is part of the survey of Bay Area photography on display at City Hall (through Sept. 19), but that isn’t his only current show with a strong local element. He’s also a contributor to “Let Us Now Praise San Francisco,” at the 77 Geary space Marx and Zavattero Gallery. Up through this Saturday, it brings together select writers and photographers for a SF-specific 21st-century answer to James Agee’s and Walker Evans’ famous combo of word and images, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men.

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Tornado, by Sean McFarland

SFBG In the last year or two, your work has shifted away from urban views to elemental images: sky, sea, vast land. What has set you off in that direction?
Sean McFarland: I’ve been thinking a lot about the ways in which the earth changes. In an urban environment, we build buildings, roads, and parks, changing the landscape. These are immediate and obvious alterations of our environment. Our actions also change the landscape as we alter the climate – more frequent and powerful storms, rising seas. By focusing on making images of the natural world, of the landscape, I’m interested in making pictures of us. How we change the earth and how the earth effects us.

That’s a giant inflatable dog turd, blowing in the wind, pulling down power lines

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The shit flies fast and furious. Photo courtesy of Anorak News.

This is far too weird to pass up – “Turd on the Runs” headlines et al. Behold www.artforum.com’s take on Paul McCarthy’s “Complex Shit” piece, which caused, well, a great deal of shit on July 31 (details emerged yesterday, reports the Guardian UK) :

“A giant inflatable dog turd created by the artist Paul McCarthy was blown from its moorings at the Paul Klee Center in Bern, Switzerland, bringing down a power line and breaking a window before landing in the grounds of a children’s home, reports the Guardian’s Jenny Percival. The work, titled Complex Shit, is the size of a house. It has a safety system that is supposed to deflate it in bad weather, but it did not work on this occasion. Juri Steiner, the director of the center, told Agence France-Presse that a sudden gust of wind carried it 650 feet before it fell to the ground, landing in the yard of the children’s home. The accident happened on July 31, but the details only emerged yesterday. Steiner said McCarthy had not yet been contacted and the museum was not sure if the piece would be put back on display. The installation is part of an exhibition called “East of Eden: A Garden Show.” The exhibition opened in May and is due to run until October.

Photo Issue: Molly Decoudreaux looks beneath the nightlife

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Photo by Molly Decoudreaux

It’s hopeless to ignore the incredible explosion of nightlife photography that’s happened on the Web and in art schools these past few years. And what better time than now, with our Photography Issue on the stands, to examine it a little?

For those of us who clung desperately in our ’80s Midwestern teens to every month’s Details (back when it was a nightlife zine and Michael Musto didn’t pee on celebrity legs) or took i-D as our lifeline to street fashion and personality-inversion in the outer world, the big bang’s been both exciting and a bit disconcerting. On the one hand, there’s incredible creativity being documented instantaneously and available to all — even in Djibouti, fantastic weirdos need never feel alone. On the other, there’s the sense that mere dressing up for the ever-present cameras has replaced actual self-expression. Misshapes! Cobra Snakes! Blue States Lose! And then there’s just the pure horrificality of sites like this one, which are about boobs. Par-T&A!

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The upside: Club kids from the ’80s

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The downside: Hoochies from last week

And yet, and yet. The dancefloor snappers here in SF are giving the nightlife bulbs a spin of their own, by focusing on the more artistic aspects of Clubland’s odd-wonderful players — and taking off in thoughtful directions, not restricting themselves to mere sublebrity paparazzi.

Case in point — the fab Molly Decoudreaux, a well-known nightlife gadabout who’s just published a fine new book, Here and There: Portraits.

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The Oakland native got her start snapping pics of her hot dyke and faggot friends in blackout res, and has worked on projects for the Lexington Club, Big Top, and Lusty Lady.

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Along the way, she’s developed a fierce photographic aesthetic that positions Clubland’s outsized personalities into a meditation of place. Her photos take in these club kids with admiring eyes, yet also deepen their glorious showboating with examinations of their daytime surroundings and situations. “My primary interest is portraiture,” she told me last week by phone. “Also gender representation and presentation — I started college as a gender and queer studies major — but captured in a way that looks at the layers through which we reveal or transform ourselves. Little cracks can show a lot.”

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Big ups for “Big Top”

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Finally, a publication is recognizing the recent(ish) explosion of independent circus art as a movement in its own right (rather than a bastardization of “real” circus or an extension of Burning Man culture). Yup, that’s right. I’m talking about Best of the Bay winner Big Top, the online mag dedicated to highlighting, promoting, and supporting indie circus culture. (For the record, we did talk about the trend in early 2007 – we just haven’t devoted a whole damn magazine to it.)

So why am I talking about Big Top so soon after we featured ‘em in last week’s issue – and hung with ‘em at our badass Best of the Bay party on Thursday? Because they’re awesome. And because they hosted their own incidiary event the next night at Fat City.

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Fat City headliners Fou Fou Ha! Photo from Big Top Magazine.

If the glass fits

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By Marianne Moore

Delirium Tremens is the name of a Belgian beer. It’s also a condition that results from severe alcohol withdrawal—its symptoms are convulsions and hallucinations, and untreated, it’s quite deadly*. At nine percent alcohol by volume, the Belgian pale ale could be said to be both the cause and the cure of the syndrome it’s named for (Oh no! He’s got delirium tremens; quick! Give him some Delirium Tremens). Like most beers with a high alcohol concentration, DT on draft is served in an itty bitty little glass—about six to eight ounces. In reference, no doubt, to the visions brought on by the rum fits, the glass has tiny pink elephants all over it.

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After a couple of those at Luka’s taproom in Oakland last week, plus one or two of their signature Green Hornets (think margarita, only strangely gritty and awesome), my friend and I were getting ready to pack it in. As we were giggling and scraping bacon-sprinkled mac & cheese into a cardboard box, I casually mentioned to my friend that it’d be pretty cool if she could manage to swipe her pink elephant DT glass. Without a word, she snapped the box closed and grabbed the glass.

Instinctively, I headed for the door. Once outside, thinking she was right behind me, I gave a victory whoop and practically ran past the 300 pound bouncer. I got about 50 feet from the door before I realized I was alone—my friend still had to untie her bike, which happened to be locked up right next to the security walrus. If I’d been a little more casual about it, we might have been able to slip past without him noticing, but as it was we got a lecture and I was forced to shuffle back into the bar and replace the glass. As we headed towards 19th Street BART, my friend turned around and yelled, “You know you get those for free, right?”

Ah, my drunk, delirious hero.

*Python straight man Graham Chapman was suffering from delirium tremens while shooting Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Imagine if you had to stare at Terry Gilliam for hours on end while tripping balls…

Photo Issue Q&A: Jessica Rosen

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The cover image of this week’s Photo Issue comes from Jessica Rosen. While it reflects Rosen’s recent shift toward collage — which she also is using to create one-of-a-kind handbags and books — it only represents one facet of her work to date. Rosen’s website presents sections devoted to some of her earlier projects. Her vivid portraiture is defined by a striking use of color and shadow, and by a cooperative, perhaps even collaborative, bond with her subjects. I asked her about all of these things recently via email.

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From Jessica Rosen’s series “The Beach,” at www.jessicarosen.com

SFBG: Brazil is important to your photography to date. How did this come to be?
Jessica Rosen: To some degree, the location of my images is incidental. For about three years I was living between New York City and Rio de Janeiro. New York became my day job and Rio became my studio. Working in Brazil was simply a process that functioned really well for me.
Many of my photographs are rooted in a very specifically Brazilian setting, but I feel like I was exploring the same ideas that I had always been interested in. I was thinking a lot about cultural constructs of gender and sexuality and how those play out in the formation of subjective identity. I was also really interested in sex workers because I feel that this work becomes a very literal performance of sexual and gender stereotypes. And more importantly, the specificities of this performance are a reflection of more general cultural systems.
It’s not that those ideas could be exemplified only using Brazilian subjects. I mean, I could have been working with American sex workers and created different images that would have addressed the same ideas. In fact I have done projects of this nature in New York City. But Brazil was a great place to explore my interests.

Photo Issue Q&A: Heather Renee Russ of Cutter Photozine

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By Johnny Ray Huston

Every photo has a story, and the one behind Ace Morgan’s in this week’s Photo Issue is worth telling. “I was documenting and photographing my friend Chris in Detroit who was a male-to-female prostitute,” Morgan tells Sara Seinberg in the first issue of Cutter Photozine, where the image is part of a section devoted to his work. “Chris’ lover was this guy named Tony. And so Tony was in the pictures, too…Months down the road, the headlines in the Detroit Free Press said Tony was the Highland Park Serial Killer.”

One of ten artists or groups in this year’s Photo Issue, Cutter Photozine views San Francisco from the same candid, instinctive perspective that Morgan brought to Detroit’s streets. Along with Seinberg, Alison O’Connell, Jesse Rose Roberts, and Cole Blevins, Heather Renee Russ is on Cutter‘s staff. I recently emailed her to ask about influences, experiences, pros, cons, and the future.

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Photo of Jimmy Shotwell by Heather Renee Russ

SFBG: What zines and photo magazines do you like? How about favorite photographers?
Heather Renee Russ: Hamburger Eyes. Scam zine by Erick Lyle. The Fader. Ration zine by Arwen Curry. Sad Kids. Mega Words. Emergency by Ammi Emergency.