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Appetite: Lunch with Hoss Vare’s inventive Persian-Middle Eastern menu

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Chef Hoss Vare’s hugs are famous, as is his warm, inclusive greeting that makes dining at his restaurant Zare at Fly Trap such a pleasure. Plus, there’s just no one quite doing what he’s doing with Persian, Iranian and Mediterranean foods.

I visited during opening week of his just-launched, casual, weekday lunches served within Flytrap, a project Zare calls Zare’s Grill and Grain. Lucky are they who work nearby and can grab to-go meals. But it’s worth going out of your way for lunch here (just as it is for a more formal dinner or cocktails at the bar).

In keeping with his recent health scare (he’s doing wonderfully and looks great, post-heart attack) Hoss made his lunch menu as healthy as it is flavorful. You’ll find lots of whole grains, fish, lean meats, and wraps. As one who has been known to sacrifice ‘healthy’ if it translates to flavorless or uninteresting, I found a couple items on the inventive menu downright exciting.

The red awning means you’ve come to the right place. Photo by Virginia Miller

Two words: sardine wrap. There are many wraps at Grill and Grain, from a crispy bulgur to a lamb ($10-12), all enveloped in lavash bread or whole wheat pita. But the sardine wrap ($10) has no equal. It’s hands down one of the best things I’ve eaten this year. Loaded with grilled Monterey sardines and white anchovies, the wrap is meaty and not too fishy. Fresh and bright with grilled cherry tomato, broccoli rabe, walnuts, and spicy bread crumbs providing a bit of crunch — and the winning piece that ties it altogether: creamy black garlic spread. I reminded me of days on the Mediterranean coast, an elevated, elegant ‘fast’ food, a genius menu addition.

Salmon lentil salad: tender, buttery — all that you need in a lunch date. Photo by Virginia Miller

You won’t go wrong with generous plates like the salmon lentil salad ($12), a heaping black pearl lentil salad dotted with fennel, braised endive, and roasted bell pepper. Lemon, thyme, and tumeric lend the dish dimension, while a balsamic vinaigrette pulls together the various tastes. The salmon is tender, even buttery, with a gentle crisp on the outside and topped with a dollop of salsa verde. It felt good to be eating such a balanced plate – one that thankfully does not lack in the flavor department.

Hoss has long done soups and stews right (I still recall his chili from last year’s Persian Pub Grub). He continues the tradition with pomegranate soup ($9), a beautiful tart-savory balance with green split peas, French lentils, basmati rice, and mini duck meatballs in the middle.

Rare is the lunch that is this affordable and unusual. Order at the counter and eat in with self-serve utensils and a condiment station, or take it to go.

 

Zare’s Grill and Grain

Lunch: Mon.-Fri. 11 a.m.- 2 p.m.

606 Folsom, SF

(415) 243-0580

www.zareflytrap.com

 

–Subscribe to Virgina’s twice monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot

 

SFIFF bonus blurb: British comedy “The Trip”

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Eclectic British director Michael Winterbottom (2002’s 24 Hour Party People) rebounds from sexually humiliating Jessica Alba in last year’s flop The Killer Inside Me to humiliating Steve Coogan in all number of ways (this time to positive effect) in this largely improvised comic romp through England’s Lake District. Well, romp might be the wrong descriptive — dubbed a “foodie Sideways” but more plaintive and less formulaic than that sun-dappled California affair, this TV-to-film adaptation displays a characteristic English glumness to surprisingly keen emotional effect. Playing himself, Coogan displays all the carefree joie de vivre of a colonoscopy patient with hemorrhoids as he sloshes through the gray northern landscape trying to get cell reception when not dining on haute cuisine or being wracked with self-doubt over his stalled movie career and love life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFIQIpC5_wY

Throw in a happily married, happy-go-lucky frenemy (comic actor Rob Brydon) and Coogan (2008’s Tropic Thunder, TV’s I’m Alan Partridge), can’t help but seem like a pathetic middle-aged prick in a puffy coat. Somehow, though, his confused narcissism is a perverse panacea. Come for the dueling Michael Caine impressions (“She was only 16 years old!”) and snot martinis, stay for the scallops and Brydon’s “small man in a box” routine.

The Trip

May 2, 4 p.m.; May 5, 6:45 p.m.

Sundance Kabuki

1881 Post, SF

www.sffs.org

The Performant: I’m aware of the dark

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David Thomas and Joanna Haigood explore the shadows of the American Dream

“There’s no real trick to living life like a ghost,” David Thomas assures an excited contingent of experimental music enthusiasts from a makeshift stage set up in performer Erica Blue’s Oakland warehouse residence. Best known for his iconoclastic avant-rock combo Pere Ubu, Thomas’s stage persona may be less openly confrontational than in younger days, but he wears the mantle of curmudgeonly grand-père with a sense of historical imperative. 

Accompanied by multi-faceted musician (and jovial straight man) Ralph Carney on clarinet, Thomas’s additional instrumentation involved nothing more than a small button accordion punctuated by a few spare samples pulled up on a cigarette-ash-streaked iPad. His singing voice was weathered yet resonant, like the creaking of an old barn door, and he made good use of the melodic rumble of his speaking voice in the conversational manner of a clairvoyant storyteller, interspersing long, poetic passages from works such as “Mirror Man” with tragic-comic tunes such as “Sad.Txt.” admonishing that “time will catch up to you/like it caught me too.” Within each song shimmered an elusive portrait of the America of the dispossessed: roadside cafes and long lonesome stretches, broken hearts attached to broken people, living ghosts, and dark spaces. “I’m aware of the dark,” he crooned during his encore, while an empathetic shiver passed through the room. 

Opening act, The Wounded Stag, an inventively disturbing collaboration between performance artist Dan Carbone and musician Andrew Goldfarb, a.k.a. The Slow Poisoner (plus a cameo appearance by dancer Erica Blue) provided a worthy introduction to the darkside, with lyrics like “please don’t let me go to heaven with a swollen gun in my pocket,” and “aren’t we all already dead?” Crooning, warbling, screaming, even grunting like a monkey, singer-lyricist Carbone’s expressive use of props and masks underscored his theatrical background while Goldfarb, another amiable foil, provided the swamp-rock tinged musical ballast with his electric guitar and a single, expressive kickdrum. 

On the other side of the Bay Bridge, Joanna Haigood’s Zaccho Dance Theatre company was remounting their 2008 exploration of racism in America, The Monkey and the Devil at YBCA. Inventively set in an installation known as “a house divided” (designed by Charles Trapolin), two section of a single wooden edifice split in two and mounted on shaky, unbalanced foundations, Monkey featured two couples, one black, one white. Mocking each other’s mannerisms and posturing for dominance, the women started the piece off, culminating in a pitched battle royale in a boxing spotlight “ring”. Settling back into their separate quarters, they proceeded to hurl racially-charged epithets at each other in muted monotones until abruptly the tenor of the scene shifted to one of palpable threat as the men leapt to the top of each “house” and then through the windows, menacing the women with silence and measuring tapes which coiled and uncoiled like whips.

In the final tableau, each couple danced in desperate tandem, being spun violently around and around by a member of the other duo to a soundtrack of waves and traffic which crashed over their bodies slamming against the wooden walls of their unstable fortresses. After a pause the cycle resumed itself, this time with the men in the posturing position. Then once more with the women, an endlessly repeating loop, as fitting a metaphor for the persistence of racism in America as any written word.

 

 

4/20 fantasy: Ziggy’s new comic book

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Attention, WonderCon, Ziggy is missing. Repeat, we are missing Ziggy Marley. But only for a second – turns out the “Love is My Religion” star had only wandered away from the Image Comics booth into the dizzying panorama of the comics convention for a moment to snag his son some of the new Green Lantern toys. “He’s into it,” he tells me, smiling as his fixers and Image staff scramble to set up the seats for our interview.

But to be clear about what exactly we’re doing here: Ziggy Marley is releasing a comic book on 4/20. It’s called Marijuana Man, obviously. 

It’s about a hero (a white guy!) named Sedona, a being from the planet Yelram – like, read it backwards — on Exodus, where the for-real (a.k.a., the weed smoking, freedom-fighting, down) Earthlings are trying their best to defeat the evil, environment-ruining, pill-pushing Pharma-Con. Sample Pharma-Con line: “I want to get this over with so we can get back to the business of selling people chemicals they don’t need.” Hiss.

The book really is gorgeous, illustrated by Jim Mahfood of 40 Oz. Comics, who pretty much has the sexy street art graphic novel on lock. I mean, the guy illustrated Colt 45’s label, for chrissakes.

“There’s quality in the textures,” Marley tells me (still smiling, he’s always smiling because love is his religion). “It’s a collector’s edition.” Some characters’ speak with a smoker’s patois, a lushly-proportioned-yet-badass guerilla named MJ – like, think about it – bonds with Sedona in a ecstatic, abstract sex session also patronized by the Lion of Judah and the crashing wave from Katsushika Hokusai’s 36 Views of Mt. Fuji series. And there’s whizzing, crashing battles between Sedona and a Pharma-Con mercenary on a motorcycle that leaps and murders. 

The Marijuana Man gang

But. Ziggy Marley, you have never once made a comic book before. I had doubts, doubts as to whether this book, with its “Ziggy Marley’s” inscribed over its title, was indeed the work of the genial reggae star in front of me. I put it to him: Ziggy, was Marijuana Man really your idea?

He says: yes. Ziggy uses the royal “we,” which is fine because Bob Marley is his dad.

“We had the idea to create a superhero who gets his powers from a plant.” It seems that royal Ziggy, or team Ziggy (this last probably includes Snoopy, his genial bodyguard who takes photos of Ziggy bonding with childrens in Brazil and later bemoaned to me the fact that Shakira got a helicopter to airlift her to a concert in Argentina that the two headlined, while team Love = My Religion had to proceed on a congested road, which I agree isn’t right) were ready for a superhero that got righteous not through the ingestion of toxic chemicals, or prosthetics, or capitalism, but rather natural medicine. 

So Marley had the original idea for the comic, but then chose a crack team of comic professionals to make it come to fruition. “Jim and Joe [Casey, another big deal-guy who wrote the book] would do their thing, and every once in awhile I’d say ‘what about this.’” 

Basically, there’s a cause involved here, and not least because Marley plans to make Marijuana Man‘s 4/20 release an annual occurrence. “Sedona’s a metaphor for the plant itself. We believe the plant is special, if used properly,” he says, admitting that Marijuana Man carries an additional message. To wit: “to get rid of the stigma and the demonization of the plant.”

“I have a vivid imagination,” he smiiiiles. There is nothing more that I want to do with my day past hang out with this happy, sun-shiney man and his comic book dreams, so I start asking him what comic books he likes.

He likes Jonah Hex, “the weirdest Western hero” who was born to a prostitute mother and a father who sells him to the Apaches, whose respect he earns and then loses at the hands of a jealous chief’s son, who messes up his face with a hot tomahawk. Hex becomes a bounty hunter anti-hero. At some point, Hex is catapulted into 2050. When he dies (card game) his body is stolen, stuffed, and unfairly displayed by a touring circus. I think he is later resurrected, and takes to fighting for and against crime again with the Black Lantern Corps. 

“Jonah Hex, he’s a bad good guy, he’s a good bad guy,” Ziggy says. I wish I could walk around WonderCon all weekend with Ziggy Marley and talk about this, but his next interview is already waiting for him and then he has a big stack of Marijuana Man posters to sign for fans. 

“The thing about comic books, it’s a deep thing. They’re not frivolous, they have meaning,” he tells me. “Music fans who love our philosophies and ideas, I think they can relate to that. They’re art. They’re not just about drawing people, hands, and feet.” 

That man, I swear, love him. To celebrate your holiday with Marijuana Man, here’s a website that’ll point you to the nearest comic book store. 

Cherry Blossom Festival in Japantown, 4/17/11

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Every which way you turned, there was someone else you wanted to get your picture taken with, from the big wooly Totoro to people decked out in over-the-top anime costumes. The annual Cherry Blossom Festival in Japantown was in full bloom this weekend, April 16-17, and everyone in town seemed to be there. The streets were packed with yummy eats, colorful clothing, and of course, lots of stands dedicated to raising money for Japan and their rescue relief efforts.

On Sunday, the morning started with the Grand Parade, which went from Civic Center to the heart of Japantown. For me, there was one main attraction: the anime costume contest. I’ll confess, I don’t know much about anime or what characters the contestant’s threads were representing. But I do know that they were all super-creative and I loved how much attitude everyone on stage had. In my mind, pyramid head, with his jumbo-sized bloody sword and yarn-ball-head sidekick, definitely should have won. They rocked.

 

Live Shots: Fact/SF at The Garage, 4/14/11

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I remember when I was a little girl, I used to live down at my Grandma Kay’s house in Belmont. She had a big living room, with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the bay. I used to dance around on the wooden floors in my socks to her Peggy Lee and Patsy Cline cassettes, which I played over and over again. It was a strange time. Grandma Kay was sick with cancer and I was too young to totally understand what was going on.

Last night I went to watch FACT/SF at the Garage. The first piece was two people, sitting in metal folding chairs, a lit cigarette filling the room with sweet smoke. There was not an inch of movement, just the sound of Peggy Lee singing “Is That All There Is.” It was melancholy and brought me right back to that living room in Belmont, and I wondered how many other people in the audience had some strange connection to that song.

This is my third time seeing FACT/SF and every time I see them it’s emotional. Yes, there are perfect pirouettes and elegant extensions, but then there’s always something deep, slightly dark and always thought-provoking. 

There’s a little bit of theater, at least a few wonderfully wacky costumes, and of course, there are the eyeballs. Choreographer Charles Slender has a serious thing about eyeballs and their ability to transform his dancers into more than just moving bodies. Whether the dancers are staring straight into your own eyes, or directly up at the ceiling, there’s an intensity about those eyeballs that brings so much to the performance.

The show, which has one more run tonight, is a collection of new and old works, including an excerpt from the evocative “The Consumption Series,” with it’s fluffy red tutus and bright orange tangerines. I know you haven’t made any plans for tonight, so now you’ve got some. Now then: let’s keep dancing. Let’s break out the booze and have a ball …

 

Welcome to the neighborhood, museum mural

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Ellen and Lance Anderson are visiting their son in the Sunset, all the way from upstate New York. They’d read about the mural they’re now standing in front of in the newspaper that morning, and decided to make a trip out to the Mission to check it out. “And maybe get something to eat,” Lance told me, looking around at the vendors setting up around us and the mural for the Mission Community Market‘s first day of 2011. 

No snacks being forthcoming, the Andersons settled on peppering artist Ben Wood with questions about the seven years of work that had culminated on the wall in question. Was he really the one who had photographed the 1700s mural on an interior wall of the Mission Dolores, a mural hidden for centuries by the main reredos?

He was, he told them. Wood must be used to answering such questions – his project to transcribe a historic mural has gotten tons of press. But here I zone out and regard the mural itself. I’ve heard its back story

It is something to see the mural there’s been so much buzz about in paint-and-plaster person, and mainly because it’s not what I was expecting. For one, it’s not very pretty, strictly speaking. 

Being familiar with Wood’s work, I probably could have anticipated its realness. He’s not in the business of creating ornamental works, that one. Most of Woods’ projects to date have involved digging up historical events and subjecting them to the public imagination. In the past, that’s meant projecting images of Ohlone Indians on the Coit Tower on the Fourth of July and making a short film that animates the Diego Rivera mural that was removed from the Rockefeller Center with videos of people telling its story.

So here’s the Mission Dolores mural, an exact translation of a piece of what you’d see if you had dropped into that foot and a half crawl space between the altar and the wall on the day that Wood and historian-archaeologist Eric Blind photographed it in 2004. There are meticulously rendered dents, areas where the paint was torn off by less-than-meticulous workers, cracks in the wall, all faithfully recorded by Clarion Alley artists Jet Martinez, Bunnie Reiss, and Ezra Eismont. 

Between the blemishes and the colorful geometric pattern taken from a different part of the church that frames the mural, it’s certainly an artistic statement. But what I find interesting about the piece is that it uses the form of street mural to communicate history and open up years gone by to neighbohood discussion.

Passer-bys and Mission Community Market-goers can interprete for themselves just how much of the Ohlones’ own faith was put into the work, how much Christianity had already penetrated their lives. Maybe it can be a hint to what life was like back then, at the dawning of the Mission District.

At the mural’s official unveiling ceremony and market kick-off, Supervisor David Campos addressed the crowd that had formed as the farmers and vendors finished pyramiding their mandarins, angling their mini-pies, and smoothing their Mission bus line t-shirts for optimal visual appeal. “The Mission is thriving because of the organizing that happens here,” he said.  

Campos passes the mic to Wood, who wonders out loud how much of the journey to the wall behind him he has time to share (not a lot). Blind gets the mic next, and comments on how great it was to work with Woods, sharing his archaeologist’s pleasure at seeing his findings erected in a busy neighborhood farmers market.

“So often we find things like this that are hundreds of years old and it’s so hard to figure out how to share them with large groups of people.”

Martinez talks about the piece’s future on this block as his little boy Lazlo runs circles around him. “We’re not trying to combat graffiti, we’re trying to share the space.” 

The owner of the Mission Market building was surely attracted to the mural project as a way of preventing the tags that still cover the non-muraled side of his property’s wall (for which there is plans for another Martinez mural). One hopes for the best for the Ohlone mural, but even with the explicatory paragraph that Martinez lettered over the door of the indoor marketplace on which it’s painted, the unassuming nature of the piece seems a ripe target for taggers. 

Lazlo cuts the ribbon hastily strung up across the wall and bam: the Mission has a new mural. I hope it treats it well, but either way, welcome to the neighborhood. 

 

Lemi Ponifasio’s Tempest: Without a Body has a soul

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Watching Lemi Panafasio/MAU’s Tempest: Without a Body on Thurs/7 amplified the grave feeling I often possess when I read the newspaper. The sense of deep empathy and sadness in an effort to understand the unsettling and horrific events in the world permeated the experience. Tempest delivered a heavy reminder of the ugly oppression and destruction of which humans are capable. The visceral result of the performance lingered after the curtain descended, as many of my generally chatty acquaintances remained quiet and introspective in the lobby. The post-show vibe highlighted the transformative power of this very big work composed of rich imagistic theater and ritual dance from the Pacific. The company, MAU, employs indigenous artists to perform outside of the original context of their art form, and the form strongly translates in the context of Tempest.

The dark nature of the work was, thankfully, not elicited by shock factor. A spaciousness allowed for images to shift and resonate, from the pure energy of a man acting in resistance with a quivering hand and ejected tongue, to the creaturely walking of another on all fours, with fisted hands and jutting hips. A silvery naked figure, supine and slithering, offered a luminous embodiment of human breath and life, juxtaposed with a dusty, bloody fallen angel with crooked wings and a blood-curling scream. Throughout the evening, a rumbling stasis reinforced the sense of doom. The images of chaos and toil, absent of overt literality, accumulated and stirred.

Excerpt from Tempest: Without a Body:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfLqv85uCww

Despite the bleak environment, the performers embodied resilience during certain scenes. Charles Koroneho, with his expressive tattooed face, delivered in the Maori tongue a powerful passage called “The Establishment of Life Principle.” He was dwarfed by a large projection of a man’s face, thus appearing to stand up to a grand opposing force. During his oration he experienced each word with his entire body, stamping feet and thrusting limps, completely consumed and incensed to emphasize his message. Within the doomed landscape, he revealed a striving and a voice. Later, a handful of robed men also brought forth a thread of hope, as they executed precise gestural movements and shuffled through a cloud of dust singing a harmonic song, which intensely cut through the dark rumbling.

True to the company’s mission, the work emerges as activist art. In blending politics and performance, Tempest calls on us to do better, to reconnect with that which is nourishing, to take better care of ourselves, each other, our world. Even in an adverse environment, Lemi Ponifasio’s performers boldly demonstrate the pursuit and challenge of humanity in the chaos. Tempest is, indeed, completely unsettling, which fuels its potency and power to transform. This moving work of art shakes us around and asks us to consider our action given the uncomfortable and ugly truths of our time. 

Hey Nikki! Sixx heads to SF to sign his new book, “This Is Gonna Hurt”

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Known not only for his fiery stage presence and key songwriting contributions as bassist for Mötley Crüe, Nikki Sixx gained a notorious reputation for his off-stage antics as well, particularly his legendary appetite for drugs and debauchery. Sober now for several years, Sixx detailed many of these early escapades and horrors in his 2007 book The Heroin Diaries.

He returns — just in time before a major summer tour featuring Mötley Crüe, Poison, and the New York Dolls, which hits San Francisco June 15 — with the follow up, This Is Gonna Hurt: Music, Photography and Life Through The Distorted Lens of Nikki Sixx (William Morrow), a look at his post-addiction life that finds him a successful author, radio host, and of course, still rocking the stage as a member of the Crüe and Sixx: A.M.

The new book, which Sixx signs tonight (Thurs/14) at Book Passage in the Ferry Building, is a strikingly designed collection of attention grabbing and thought-provoking photos and essays, a body of work that covers a wide variety of subjects. When he came up with his first draft of the project, Sixx says that it wound up being 500 pages long — his passions for the book and subjects inspiring a flurry of writing that he eventually streamlined into the 200 page tome that was released earlier this week.

“I had this body of work from the last ten years as a photographer, and once I started talking about photography, it was really like peeling an onion; I started looking at a lot of social issues, a lot of issues of my own, where I came from, where I’m at and where I’m going,” says Sixx.

“It took a lot of trimming down and finding that thread — when I write I kind of just do this stream of consciousness writing, I’m really influenced by Beat Generation writers. I can really get lost in words, and sometimes that’s hard for a reader to follow, so it really took an editor to help me figure out the best way to deliver the message.”

That main message, which Sixx touches on throughout the book, is that he hopes to show people a different way of looking at life, that where mainstream society sees freaks and deformities, he sees through to the inner beauty.

Some of the images he captured while travelling the world on tour with Mötley Crüe; there are pictures of the band included, but the collection mainly focuses on his adventures offstage: exploring brothels in Germany, drug-infested alleys in Vancouver, gothic churches in St. Petersburg, Russia. Several images featured in the book were shot in his private photography studio, with models running the gamut from women who could be called obese to men with a variety of birth defects to a double amputee.

“For me, it’s all about seeing something and going for it, I wanted to push myself to the next level as a photographer,” says Sixx, who says that after working with the models, he often felt that they were the type of person that he — and others — should aspire to be.

In one passage of the book, he relates a story of visiting San Francisco a few years ago; while walking down by the waterfront and piers, he was approached by a large, African American homeless man, who said, “Hey Tattoo Man…you have any money?”

Sixx replied, “I’ll do you a favor if you do me one…don’t judge me by the color of my skin, ok?”

The man apologized, Sixx smiled and told him “It’s ok, happens all the time.”

The man’s response: “Yeah, me too.”

“That fit with what the overall message of This Is Gonna Hurt is all about, it really is in a nutshell what we do to each other as people, and this man who has been judged is whole life is judging another man. And I’m guilty of it too, it’s something I have to work on,” says Sixx.

With several book signings in the near future, the release of the book’s companion CD from Sixx: A.M., the summer Mötley Crüe tour, his radio show and new clothing line, Sixx certainly has his plate full; he admits to being a workaholic in the book, but it clearly brings him satisfaction and inspiration.

“I’m just so excited to get out there and see what kind of reaction that it raises in people,” says Sixx, who hopes that the book will inspire his fans to do something creative and fulfilling in their own lives. “Music will always be there, along with other creative outlets, whether its clothing design, or photography, or writing. For me, creativity is something anybody can do at any age — not have, do. Some people say, ‘Well I’m not a creative person’ — that’s not true. If you want to be creative you can be, you can pick up a guitar or a pen or whatever, and it’s sort of like being a magician — you just make stuff appear, it can come out of thin air. It’s amazing.”

Thurs/14
6 p.m., purchase of book ($29.99) is required for admission.
Book Passage
1 Ferry Building, SF
(415) 835-1020
www.bookpassage.com

The Performant: Here be pirates

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Joining the saltwater chorus at the monthly Chantey Sing at Fisherman’s Wharf

Landlubbers arise. San Franciscans of the not long-distant past were a sea-faring folk, and you don’t have to scratch the surface very far to dig up old salt. Sailboats, houseboats, fishing boats, and ferries all still have their place in the bay, churning in the wake of container ships and visiting cruise lines, and the waterfront pubs are still prime locations to be regaled by gusty tall (ship) tales by grizzled old-school longshoremen and maritime amateurs alike.

One of the most unexpected legacies of our boating heritage is the monthly Chantey Sing aboard The Balclutha, a historic square rig docked at the end of the Hyde Street Pier. Six months shy of its 30-year anniversary, the Chantey Sing is one of those wonderfully hidden-in-plain-view pockets of locals-only camaraderie that you could spend years of urban assimilation hoping to stumble upon.

That singing in public is one of the top-rated social anxieties in America is a statistic that has blissfully passed the Balclutha by, and on the first Saturday of every month its shelter deck fills up with as mixed a group in terms of age, background, musical ability, and general sea-worthiness as any 120 year-old square-rigger could possibly hope to attract. Anchored at the end of Hyde Street pier and maintained by the National Park Service, the Balclutha sails no more, but when night falls and the tourist dives on Fisherman’s Wharf become flatlander-infested, the comfortable embrace of the historic ship welcomes Chantey novices and old hands alike.

Like any style of call-and-response work song, the typical sea chantey takes its rhythm from the work involved, in this case a slowly rolling pace punctuated by rollicking bursts of chorus, meant to be sung while heaving to or hoisting sails. Themes revolve predominantly around certain bodies of land or water, ladies left behind, dangerous capes, and rough seas, with songs of a salacious nature given a deserved airing after the 11 p.m. mark. Anyone is free to lead a song, and although some chanteys are certainly more immediately recognizable than others – the Pogues-immortalized “South Australia” for instance — the wealth of material ensures a comfortable four-hour singalong with no repeats. 

There’s a certain campfire chumminess about the event, right down to the marshmallows in the hot chocolate (bring your own mug!) but instead of wandering off to get lost  in the woods, the restless patron of the Chantey Sing can wander off to explore the ship itself: the captain’s close quarters, the vast cargo hold, the galley, the poop deck. And though the proceedings are considerably less rum-soaked and catastrophic than the typical night-out-at-sea in 1886 might have been, the experience does provide a bracing injection of salt-sea mystique to even the most landlocked veins. 

 

Chantey Sing

First Saturdays of the month 8 p.m., free

The Balclutha, Hyde Street Pier

2905 Hyde, SF

(415) 561-7171

www.nps.gov/safr/historyculture/chantey-sing.htm

 

The loveliness of libraries, now at your local library

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En route to City Hall the other day, the wind must have been at my back. Because? I got there very early, nearly a half hour before the intermidable Board of Appeals hearing I’d convinced myself was a good idea to attend was slated to begin. A couple options here:

a. Arrive at City Hall early and see how the government is coping with loiterers these days. 

b. Lounge about on the wind-swept tundra that the Civic Center often becomes in this uncertain world in which we live

c. Go to the library.

So thank goodness for the library. Of course, my holds queue is currently stuffed with requests for Joan Didion and David Byrne’s The Bicycle Diaries, but even setting aside its magic book-producing capabilities, consider what the institution of the free library brings to us all. A place to hang or hide or study, mercifully free of commerce, the last place in polite society where you can use someone else’s computer.

Charming people, those libraries. Sadly, along with everything else that is neither money-grubbing nor environmentally harmful, they are on the chopping block of many a local government these days. And though here in San Francisco we’d be able to go make asses of ourselves in any number of community and cultural centers across town, in many places in America if the library closes, it marks the end of any indoors public space not geared towards selling stuff. Or specifically built for the education of children, who get all the breaks. 

At any rate, it is a good moment to breathe in the steadfastness of the library, illustrated nicely in the photos of Robert Dawson and on display in our main library through June. Our main library, by the way, has these amazing historical-artistic exhibitions, on view free of charge of course, all the time. Last go-round, it was a round-up of San Francisco restaurant ephemera.

Dawson is showing up later today to do an artist Q&A on what would appear to be a very nice road trip he took all about the country, snapping shots of our book receptacles, public rec rooms, bastions of civilization. I’d like to ask him how big of a late fee balance it is acceptable to carry, in this era of cash-strapped social services and people. 

For a more extensive slideshow of Dawson’s libraries, you can go here

 

“Public Library: An American Commons”

Through June 12

Artist talk with Robert Dawson:

Tues/12 6 p.m., free

Koret Auditorium

Main Library

100 Larkin, SF

www.sfpl.org

 

Survivin’ sunshine: Sunday Streets Great Highway, 4/10/11

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A friend made a good point today: in case shit hits the fan, you could do worse than own a bicycle. Think about it: earthquake, tsunami, governmental shut-down, what have you — gas is not going to be cheap or easy to get, and you’re still going to need to be able to get around. Why the morbid turn of conversation? Probs because we spent today cruising through (a completely unmorbid) Sunday Streets, Great Highway edition.

Crashing waves and hordes of bikers, you see, were the catalyst for all the survivalist talk — as well as my own, admittedly poor follow-up thought that bike folk could build coalitions with the gun rights groups over the question of self-sufficiency.

But around me, folks were reveling in their break from excessive use of fossil fuels, not morosing out. The second Sunday Streets of the year was not the most densely packed and attraction-studded event the series has held (the Mission, etc., makes for better people watching, strictly speaking) but it was the most pleasant this year to traverse on a bike.

Long, glorious stretch of beachside road, the SF Arts Commission Streets Smarts program’s DIY mural wallRock the Bike utilizing its double decker pedal tree to pump up the crowd and simultaneously get people stoked for June’s Bicycle Music Festival, a Twister game courtesy of the Urban Diversion folks greeted bikers emerging from Golden Gate Park, locally screen-printed whale tees hawked by a guy who lives across the street — not to mention your usual Sunday afternoon Lindy Hop session and an attempt at breaking the Guinness record for longest chain of roller skaters, both out on JFK Drive by the deYoung. And the bao truck, of course. 

Anyway, just another sunny weekend in SF. I’m sure you were braving the sunshine and high winds somewhere equally lovely, but all the same you might like to see how your city brethren survived their Sunday.

Sunday Streets could spawn skating world records

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A Guinness world record for the longest roller skating chain may be broken here in San Francisco this weekend. The car-free Sunday Streets returns to the Great Highway and Golden Gate Park, where “godfather of skating” David Miles plans to break the record now held by Samsung Asia Pte Ltd. in Singapore, with 280 skaters on August 6, 2006.

In addition to the going for the longest chain of skaters record, he’ll also create the record for longest skating serpentine and longest chain of inline skating as well. For the longest inline skater record, each skater must hold onto the other skaters hips as the group moves together a distance of at least 400 meters without breaking the chain. For the longest serpentine, which includes both inline and regular roller skates, participants must hold hands and follow the head of the serpentine as he or she makes turns to the left and right and moves forward creating a snake like motion with the skaters.

Mayor Ed Lee has agreed to participate and possibly lead a group as well. Although Sunday Streets event is free, registration to participate in this record is $10 and skate rental is $5. Skaters who plan to be part of the record must be registered and can do so here. Miles says there are currently 120 participants signed up but people wanting to participate can register the day of the event starting at 8a.m. The first attempt to break the record starts at 11 a.m. starting at the skating center at 6th Ave and JFK. In addition, Miles and his crew will be performing a “Thriller” dance on skate and “Cha-Cha-Cha Slide” starting at 2:30 p.m.

Sunday Streets also offers free bike rentals for one hour from Bike and Roll and Bay City Bikes at JFK and Transverse or at Lincoln and Great Highway. The seven-person funcycle will be on route and can be flagged down for a try. Roller skate rentals will be at 6th Ave and JFK. Rock the Bike returns with a bike pedal-powered stage at the Rivera sea wall on the Great Highway. For five hours, feel free to walk, run, bike, skate, or waddle. Other fun activities will start at the end of Martin Luther King Drive.

At this event, The Department of Public Works in collaboration with the SF Arts will host a free mural wall painting at The Great Highway and Lincoln. The art piece will be 40 foot long on a blank wall and everyone is invited to paint on it. Spray paint is provided and Francisco “Twick” Aquino, who created the mural at 21st and Capp streets in the Mission, will be the guest host at the free wall.

Sunday Streets encourages people to enjoy streets as open space and perform or lead activities such as yoga. The idea of this event comes from Bogota, Columbia and San Francisco joined this global movement in 2008 to create a healthier city.

“As San Franciscans, we are tapping into what communal creating is,” Sunday Street Coordinator Susan King said. “For 2011, Sunday Streets created a new policy for programming events, allowing for greater community participation and, allowing for more spontaneous activities. We are making participation more accessible and leading activities at Sunday Streets easier…the space itself is the activity.”

Miles also says, “when roads are closed to traffic, we can do all the things we are supposed to do, like be active and be healthy.”

The car- free event will last from 11am to 4pm, rain or shine.

First Thursday: Deathly portraits, cubic rams, smudgy painted mutts, and Aids 3-D

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April is usually one of the liveliest months for the make-your-own-maze blitz of art openings that is “first Thursday,” and this year is no exception. One highlight is definitely the debut solo show by Dean Dempsey, who graced the cover of the 2010 Photo Issue of the Guardian, and was interviewed on the Pixel Vision blog. Dempsey has since relocated to New York, and “Selected Works” at Togonon Gallery offers a new glimpse into his idiosyncratic “pictorial sculpture” take on portraiture. Speaking of which, glitter painter Jamie Vasta invokes Caravaggio in a new show at Patricia Sweetow Gallery. More about hers and other openings after the jump.

In “After Caravaggio,” 2007 Guardian “Flaming Creator” Vasta gathers friends and associates as subjects for a take on the master painter that coincides with the 400th anniversary of his death. There’s a deathly presence in more than one or two first Thursday shows, from Dempsey’s and Vasta’s to the X-ray images in Guardian Photo Issue alum David Maisel’s “History’s Shadow” at Haines Gallery, a logically dis-ease oriented extension of his recent large-scale renderings of rusty urns containing the ashes of anonymous mental institution patients.

Other first Thursday shows, works, and exhibitions of note: Aids 3-D (Daniel Kollar and Nik Kosmas) bring audience-energy solar panels to Altman Siegel Gallery; Shawn Smith serves up a colorful cubic ram at Cain Schulte Contemporary Art; Eric Zener presents emotionally evocative tree paintings at Hespe Gallery; Eric Ginsberg’s smudgy mutts and other dogs find a home at Mina Dresden; and Fauxnique talks about performance at Gallery 16.

WonderCon: Local legends

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All photos by Luis Allen

Sure, the glitz and glamour of the big labels, with their video game consoles and upcoming movie tie-ins, were enticing at WonderCon (check out yesterday’s post for more costume awesomeness and our sociology nerd analysis of the convention). But of course, this being San Francisco and this being the Guardian, we found the “small press” aisles of the convention a little more enticing. Below, three of our favorite independent comic projects from around California.

Age Scott

When he was but a young thing in the East Bay, Age Scott’s teacher assigned him his final in comic book form, trying his best to get Scott interested in schoolwork. “I asked him what it had to be about, and he said ‘whatever you want.’” He wound up making a seven page book about a hip-hop mouse, his classmates started asking him for copies, and Scott realized that this whole comic book thing could work for him. 

Fast forward twenty years, Scott is still making it work. A self-dubbed “raptoonist,” at WonderCon he was hawking a series of titles about his characters Won and Phil, “hip-hop heroes.” I checked out Won and Phil: Dedicated to the Rap Generation, which turned out to be a choose your own adventure story, wherein the reader gets to decide the duo’s journey throughout the game. Sign with Death Row, Wu Tang, or Rocafella? Follow Old Dirty Bastard when the cops bust into the studio or hang back? Have beef with other emcees, wind up in the mental hospital, side with Jay-Z or Damon Dash? It’s all in there. 

Emily C. Martin

She had me at “fish people,” the hoodie-wearing gang of squat fish-men that show up halfway through Emily C. Martin’s SF-based graphic novel adventure, Otherkinds. “They’re in an antagonist role in this story,” Martin tells us. “But eventually I want them to be protagonists.” The fish men steal a nautilus from Steinhart Aquarium, and “imply a connection with a huge under-Atlantis beast,” says the Sonoma County comic artist, who includes an illustrated guide at the back of the book that talks about each of the fishmen’s real-life aquatic counterparts. I love the fishmen so much that their good-evil status doesn’t concern me, and briefly consider buying one of the buttons with the characters that Martin was displaying on her table. 

Chula Vista High Tech High Graphic Novel Project

Tucked away in the Moscone Center’s labyrinth network of halls and conference rooms, we stumbled across a panel of young men and women who were using comics to connect with their community. Students from a charter school in the San Diego area had started making comics and holding classes in the art for younger kids. The group produces full-length graphic novels with names like La Sombra de America and Wings of Freedom that benefit youth programs and organizations that help build community across the border. The Chula Vista kids were all wearing black buttondowns, they had the funniest PowerPoint presentation of the conference (as far as I’m concerned) and most importantly, these wonderkids are using their powers for good.

 

Choices, choices at this weekend’s Green Fest

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Red, white, or green? You can go for all three, at least at this weekend’s celebration of all things sustainable. Jon Frey’s biodynamic vineyard will be pouring away — alongside 190 other exhibitors — at Sat/9-Sun/10’s Green Festival.

If the extensive alphabetical list of vendors gives an apt portrayal of Green Fest’s floorplan, Frey will shack up alongside From War to Peace, a husband-wife jewelry team that creates fashion from dismantled nuclear missile systems. One booth over, Frontier Angel Soap will leave passer-bys sweet-smelling and squeaky clean. Displays of sustainable goodies in other aisles of the Concourse Exhibition Center? Eco-friendly river rafting, passively-powered thermal art, and rolfing, a holistic system of soft tissue massage created by Dr. Ida Rolf.

In addition to the dozens of exhibitions, more than 130 speakers from the US and abroad will cover topics ranging from environmental justice to green finance to the chic new farming movement (courtesy of Planet Green’s “Beekman Boys,” Josh Kilmer-Purcell and Brent Ridge). Despite the festival’s distinctly international appeal, some home-grown representatives will peddle their nifty goods – or pedal, in the case of San Francisco-based electric bike company New Wheel.  

Also in attendance, with one comfy, sustainably-sandaled foot in SF and one in Bali, will be IndoSole, a shoemaker that uses salvaged motorbike tires for its soles with soul. And for the fully foreign, be sure to visit Mr. Ellie Pooh LLC. Though based in Brooklyn, the company specializes in fair trade exotic gifts and paper made from – you guessed it – elephant excrement. The, er, raw material comes from Sri Lanka, and helps ensure the elephant’s continued presence in that increasingly densely settled county.

And just in case you were wondering the Green Festival has a history of offsetting its impact through recycling, composting, and other programs — both here in its SF incarnation and in the five other cities where it unleashes the green team.

 

For more info on getting green in the big city, check out this week’s SFBG Green Issue, on newsstands today. 

 

Green Festival SF

Sat/9, 10 a.m. – 7 p.m.; Sun/10, 11 a.m. – 6 p.m., $10-$25

Concourse Exhibition Center

635 Eighth St., SF

www.greenfestivals.org/sf     

Smooth criminal: Fantomas slinks into San Francisco!

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Tonight is the kickoff of City Lights’ “Fantomas By the Bay” series, with absinthe-soaked readings (by Brian Lucas, Andrew Joron, and others) and performances (including a collaboration between Daniel Handler and Jill Tracy). In honor of the festivities, the time is right to link to the opening passage of Guardian contributor Erik Morse’s intense and extensive 2008 rendering of the shape-shifting Fantomas phenomenon for Arthur magazine, and to present scene-stealing Maggie Cheung in a stealing scene from Olivier Assayas’s 1996 Fantomas-influenced movie Irma Vep. Look for more here on “Fantomas by the Bay,” and check out Cheung and info about tonight’s festivities after the jump.

Maggie Cheung in Irma Vep (1996):

FANTOMAS STRIKES THE BAY!
Wed/6, 7 p.m.
City Lights Booksellers
261 Columbus, SF
(415) 393-0100
www.citylights.com

WonderCon: Saturday’s sociology

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All photos by Luis Allen

“You gotta get down here,” my roommate texted me bright and early (11 a.m.) on WonderCon Saturday. “Oh my goodness, the costumes!” The costumes indeed! As you can see from photographer Luis Allen’s snaps from the day, Saturday was all about the clothes — the comic convention’s annual WonderCon Masquerade was slated as the day’s grand finale, so all the superfans were out in their homemade Wolverine-Boba Fett concotions and the like. Groups of manga characters lounged in the Moscone Center’s hallways, and Alien swung his crowd-defying tail about the artist alley as though he (she? It?) owned the place. Wide load, folks.

There are various trails one can follow through an event of the size, complexity, and passion of WonderCon. To choose your own adventure, you must introspect to find out in what field one’s nerdery lies. Are you a sci-fi series nerd? A DIY ambitious nerd looking to sharpen your animation/armor construction/intellectual property rights knowledge, perhaps network your way into the world of indie sci-fi? You may be a superhero nerd, or a comic gossip nerd. For each brand of enthusiasm there was a corresponding weekend’s worth of expert panels, celebrity sightings, movies, and artist booths to plan out.

Quickly, I pegged myself a sociology nerd, which meant that after getting my foodie fix from Chris Cosentino’s entry into the Marvel universe, I dove into the convention’s thick programming booklet, circling away on events entitled “Comics for Social Justice,” “Alt Weekly Political Cartooning” (note to organizers of this panel: although we enjoy Bad Reporter, the Chronicle does not qualify as an alt weekly. Clearly, the heyday of alt weekly cartoon budgets is long past, but please, rename or reconsider your premise), “Writing Queer,”  and “Geek Slant: Pop Culture from an Asian American Perspective.”

Dammit if they weren’t all fantastic – minus aforementioned reference to the Chronicle as an alt weekly – but they did set me to thinking outside of the DC/Marvel brand of bicep-bulgers. Because as utterly exciting and vein-poppingly entertaining as the headlining comics at WonderCon are, there are few forms of media today that are more stuck in the Stone Age than the missives we receive from the superhero universe. Pertinent exceptions notwithstanding, superheroes are hard-bodied, white, heterosexual men, and (how could we forget) women who surely must number among their superpowers the ability to stay agile despite extraordinarily uneven bust-to-waist ratios. 

I found this somewhat limited state of affairs incongruous particularly considering the diversity of the WonderCon attendees, who represented all ends and middles of the age, race, gender, and body type spectrums. Underneath the posters proclaiming frat boy-extraordinaire Ryan Reynolds’ upcoming cinematic turn as the Green Lantern, thousands of these enthusiastic, knowlegable souls strode mindfully (or wandered aimlessly) down their particular superfan track, unconcerned with what others thought of their baby’s Batman mask, or whether three straight hours spent in the anime movie room was overdoing it. 

Haykel S. Aria, an Indonesian eight year old wearing an island print shirt and becoming pony tail, quietly sketched away at his booth in the small press section of the convention floor. Even when a crowd gathers to check out his drawings, priced at a reasonable $5 for a color sketch of a comic god, he barely looked up from his pencil and paper even when being grilled by a local alternative journalist.

“Since pre-school,” he’s been drawing comic art. “Yes,” he wants to do this for a living when he grows up. When asked what it is about comics he finds inspiring, no visible response is forthcoming. That’s right kid, make ’em work for it!

That night, a darkened Esplanade Ballroom screened previews to upcoming summer blockbusters. A blonde Thor battled monsters to save a town (the townspeople featuring a becoming young lady who gazes appreciatively at the he-man’s juiced musculature), all the various tropes of who-will-save-us flashing across the double big screens on either side of the stage.

But then the costume show began, and I totally forget about gender stereotyping, monocultures, and hegemony (told you, sociology nerd). Men and women strut and kick and quip across the stage in their own creations – and though there are some storyboard-ready bodies present, by no means are all the contestants reflections of their surrealistically bulging print counterparts. Towards the end, a curvy woman in a tutu and heart-shaped sunglasses burst on stage, the announcer proclaiming that her super power is “to spread love.” She pauses her blissful jumping about and pulls her hands into a prayer position, still for a moment before bursting back into movement, to uproarious applause and only a smattering of heckler Haterade from the back of the room. 

I guess comics are like all other forms of mass media art: there’s a big difference between what goes on in the bright lights and the power that fans can take from it. WonderConventioneers, I salute you. 

Tomorrow: more of Luis Allen’s WonderCon photos and a run-down of dope local comics

 

Lookin’ forward to the weekend: Berkeley Art Museum faces a “Pigeon” invasion

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The “L@te: Friday Nights at BAM/PFA” series has brought some great programs since its inception, and this Friday’s promises to be one of them. Programmed by Betty Nguyen, “Pigeon Dealers” includes a DJ set (by artist Dave Muller) as well as stand up comedy (by Chris Thayer) and Motorik sounds (by Bronze), but my chief reason for going is the rare chance to see some of David Enos’s movies projected large. In the years since his time with the 2005 Goldie-winning Edinburgh Castle Film Night crew, Enos has continued to create unique and at times alchemically uncanny short video works while also making paintings and music. He’s one of the best artists in the Bay Area today. Check out his spookily superb mystery Hidden Host after the jump.

David Enos, Hidden Host:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfJFtSVYPG8

 

L@TE: PIGEON DEALERS
Fri/8, 7:30 p.m.; $7 (free for students and members)
Berkeley Art Museum, Gallery B
2626 Bancroft Way, Berk
(510) 642-0808
www.bampfa.berkeley.edu

The Performant: Stupid is in the eye of the beholder

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St. Stupid and Karen Finely ride again

For anyone who could count that high, Friday’s St. Stupid’s Day parade marked its 33rd anniversary — a year that was also auspicious, it should be noted, for that famous first martyr, Jesus Christ Superstar. Will St. Stupid, revered patron of the First Church of the Last Laugh, succumb to a similar fate as JC? 

Methinks not. The Romans have yet to suss out the threat St. Stupid’s low-maintenance doctrine poses to their empire building, and the Stupids are not about to let them in on that little secret. After all, on the surface it seems pretty benign, a bit of only-in-San-Francisco color for the die-hards to cherish and the tourists to gawk at. But beneath the greasepaint, dirty balloon animals, and silly sloganeering (“Dum is Sexy,” “I Can’t Afford an Actual Sign,” “Serfs Up!”), there’s still a feverish drop of pure dada shivering in the mix.

Of course, before you can have chaos you must first have a veneer of order. There’s a certain ritual solemnity to this carnival of fools and surprisingly strict adherence to the “stations of stupid,” a chain of locations stretched throughout the Financial District. 

These include the statue of the bare butt mechanics, the sunken plaza of slack, the banker’s heart, this last a huge chunk of polished black marble squatting malignantly outside the Bank of America HQ. The route provides ample opportunity to poke fun at the suits sticking their puzzled heads out of high-rise windows and demystify the sacred symbols of commerce, particularly the old Pacific Stock Exchange (now a fitness gym) with an annual “sock” exchange in which the crowd pelts each other with holey/holy footwear. 

Within the cast of carousing hundreds there are even set roles, in particular that of the Bishop Joey, a.k.a., parade founder Ed Holmes, who leads the parade with as much pomp and circumstance as a man in court-jester dishabille can. Like any good parade there are noisemakers, chants (“No more chanting, no more chanting”), and even a float bearing three iconic Doggy Diner heads — plus Wavy Gravy — but they are all mere means to justify an end, and in the best tradition of participatory anarchy, what you take away from the experience is very much equal to what you put in.

What has performance artist Karen Finley taken away from a lifetime of participatory anarchy? Finley’s a woman who has been derided as obscene by racists, who uses confrontational nudity to inflame not loins but synapses – an act of protest that can be likened to that of the infamous Nigerian “curse of nakedness.” 

Reading excerpts from her new book The Reality Shows, Finley kept her clothes on, but still provoked a few good reactions imagining a love match between George W. and Martha Stewart, embodying the persona of a cranky New Yorker (“no, USA Today is not a real paper, no, I do not want to just ‘hang out’”), and portraying a woman who loves to fuck amputee veterans of the first Gulf War. In fact, her quiet confidence and leopard print outfit made her seem exactly like the kind of person who could roll with the St. Stupid’s Day festivities for the right reasons, if only because there are no wrong ones.

 

Live Shots: Nrityagram Dance Ensemble at the Palace of Fine Arts, 3/31/11

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You could hear the dancers before you could actually see them. The stage was dark, but there was a jingling of a hundred bells that encased the dancer’s ankles and jangled with each of their movements. When the lights went up, the audience came face to face with an array of brilliant colors as the dancers moved across the stage in dazzling Indian saris.

These performers have traveled all around the world to share dances that go back to dates that end in B.C. We’re talking ancient movements, ones that have been passed down for tens of generations. But what makes Nrityagram Dance Ensemble so unique is not the dances they perform, but the way in which they learn them.

The dancers live communally in India, in the Nrityagram dance village located on a rural farm. The dancers not only practice their performance pieces, but also yoga, meditation, and martial arts — to name just a few of their ongoing areas of study. The goal is not only to become great dancers but to become well-balanced human beings. Dance as a form of life. Ingenious, right?

The whole performance was strikingly beautiful, especially with the help of four live musicians, whose beats and rhythms could put anyone into a hypnotic trance. There were many movements that I’d seen in yoga class, from elegant hand mudras to precarious one-legged balancing acts. It was ancient and yet so modern — back in the B.C.’s, these kind of dance moves never would have made their mark on soil of San Francisco.

 

WonderCon diaries: Chris Cosentino is… Wolverine’s new buddy!

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I had seen chef Chris Cosentino (of Bay Area offal ground zero Incanto, also a The Next Iron Chef contestant and host of the Food Network’s Chef Vs. City) in person for the first time a few weeks ago – he’d just made an incredible multi-course meal for a bunch of beer journalists at Anchor Brewery and was racing around, saying hi to people and describing his thought process on the various beer-food pairings. My tablemates, friends of Cosentino, told me he had a comic coming out at WonderCon, or something. So I gave him a shout – hey, dope local angle on the convention, since I knew I was going anyway.

Maybe I should have known when I saw the massive poster of Cosentino in the Ferry Building at the stand of his other business, Boccolone Tasty Salted Pig Parts (signed by the man himself, “pork is the new vegetable,”), a few days later that this was going to be no mere small press comic release.  

Perhaps a nice interview about his project for some pre-event coverage? — I inquired of the king of offal. “You have to speak with Marvel first before anything can be written sorry it’s their protocol,” he replied. Marvel! At which point I embarked on the epic voyage that is reporting on Marvel Comics, much of which involves intriguing email exchanges with C.B. Cebulski, senior V.P. of “creator and content development.” Marvel, like most of the major comic labels, luxuriates in a cycle of suspense and sneak peeks. So are Cebulski’s emails: vague, then bombshell! Damn, they’re good at what they do. 

Which is to say, the convention approached and I still had no idea what the hell Chris Cosentino had to do with WonderCon, or Marvel at all for that matter. I dug out of C.B. that he was indeed, going to be the special guest at Marvel’s “Welcome to the X-Men” panel, so that at least I would be present for when the bomb was detonated. Still, Chris — are you going to be an X-Man? “No I’m not an X-Man,” is all his email in return said. So what the hell — ? Suspense!

On Friday Cebulski sent me the artwork of the upcoming Cosentino Marvel appearance, which was probably a big deal that I should have tweeted about immediately: Wolverine and the chef in a meat locker poised for battle, Wolverine with his metal alloy adamantium claws, Cosentino brandishing a pair of shiny butcher knives. Best friends! 

I was hooked. Thusly, I ferreted out said Marvel presentation on Saturday, the first WonderCon event I attended and the only time I would attend a major label event this weekend, I think. I saw Cebulski and Cosentino enter, was briefly and glancingly greeted by the two, watched Cebulski assume a spot at the panel table, Cosentino grab a seat towards the back of the conference room with a friend, and then the panel began discussing upcoming X-Men releases to a rapt audience, who cheered when individual series (there are many within the X-Men universe, of course): suspense, sneak peek!

“I can’t say a lot about what’s involved — but there are lots of giant robots involved,” said a much-loved Marvel artist on the panel. And on: “something drastic will be happening in the X-Men universe — I don’t think I can say much more about it.” Suspense, sneak peek! 

And then, the artwork I’d been sent earlier flashed on screen, with Cosentino’s figure replaced with a black shape with a question mark in the middle. And then, Cosentino! I think it’ll be bigger news on Chowhound, judging from the lukewarm  WonderCon entusiasm levels expressed upon his introduction. He arose from his seat towards the back of the room and assumed a spot at the panel table.  

“It’ll be very food centric, very San Francisco-located,” Cosentino announces of his impending dance with the X-Men universe. “We’re gonna have fun with this one.”

“I grew up being infatuated with Wolverine. As a little kid, I used to sit there and stare at my hands,” he says, the best line of the panel: the audience chuckles, remembering their own metal alloy adamantium dreams. Cebulski, panel moderating, asks what Wolverine’s favorite restaurant is. 

“He has so many food loves,” Cosentino replies, unwilling to pigeonhole his childhood hero. “Japan, Germany.” Which is to say: read the comic book! You can, it comes out in June exclusively in digital form. I for one, will be stoked to see where Cosentino takes Wolverine on whatever shredding and stabbing mayhem ensues – North Beach for cioppino? Nobu’s late night meaty buffet? 

Anyway, the audience members that surfaced for the post-panel Q&A was less intrigued with these culinary concerns. The closest ask came from a young man from the South Bay. When, he wondered, will the X-Men be spending some time on the peninsula? He sees them in San Francisco, Oakland, and Marin all the time, so he’d like to know. “I want to see X-Men on my street!”

“You want to see X-Men destroy your house and your street,” a panelist says, by way of very inconclusive response, albeit one that incites much enthusiasm from the questioner and the rest of the audience. Seeing one’s house destroyed by ones heroes being the ultimate honorific here in this crowd of Marvel enthusiasts, save becoming a character oneself. 

Anyways, now our chefs are cartoon characters. What’s next, the anime version of the Tamale Lady? Alice Waters vs. Godzilla? 

More WonderCon tidings are on their way, later this week. Ziggy Marley will be involved. How’s that for a tease, Marvel?