Green

The Peformant: Neither bloody nor bowed

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Bullfighting Cali-style

If you want to go to a bullfight in California, you have to do a little preliminary sleuthing. Just why you would decide to go in the first place can’t be easily explained. But it helps to note that unlike more traditional forms of bullfighting, California bullfighting is billed as “bloodless.” That is to say, no bulls are killed in the ring.

It helps too that bullfighting in California is allowed only in conjunction with religious festivals, conducted primarily by and for a tightly-knit yet far-flung community of Portuguese-Americans who travel long distances to attend, and connect with family from all across California, even farther.

Your bullfight-savvy buddy sleuths away. One website in particular yields good information. The last bullfights of the season are scheduled during the “Festa de Nossa Senhora de Fatima” in Thornton, California. You make a plan.

It’s a hot day, but the seats of the Praça de São João are packed. Portuguese is the vernacular language of the day; all announcements and introductions will be conducted in it, as well as much of the multi-generational spectator chatter. Portuguese bullfighting differs from its Spanish counterpart in its proscribed cast of characters. The first to enter the ring is a cavaleiro on horseback, who performs in tandem with two bandarilheiros whose job it is to distract the bull with capes at crucial times during the fight.

The cavaleiro rides slowly around the arena and cautiously approaches the bull, allowing it to rush at him whereupon he aims a Velcro-covered staff at a Velcro pad positioned on the back of the bull, then repeats in a series of daring passes. Once the cavaleiro has reached his quota of strikes, it’s time for the forcados to perform. 

What could possibly compel a team of grown men to approach an angry bull unarmed, wait for it to charge, and grab onto its face (the pega de cara) for a joyride is truly a mystery, but there they are, one man strutting in front of the bull in a green-and-red elf cap, the others hanging back behind him in a line, ready to rush the bull and rescue their buddy as soon as his feet leave the ground. One experimental maneuver has the line of backup forcados waiting in the stands rather than standing in the ring. The audience becomes concerned—this is not the norm. 

“What the hell is this?” grumbles the vocal gentleman in the row behind you. The experiment does not go well, a dramatic trampling ensues, not once but twice. A collective sigh of relief rises from the stands as once more, all eight men stand together in the ring, ready to pounce. Once they have successfully completed their counter-intuitive task, the bull is led out of the ring by a docile herd of cows, and the fighting team makes a circuit of the ring to be showered with flowers from the women, hats from the men.

Lest Ernest Hemingway enthusiasts feel completely left out, Spanish matador Sánchez Vara also displays his gracefully balletic bullfighting skills: drawing the bull in close with a flutter of an iconic red cape, pretending to ignore it by turning his back to it, then paying homage to it on bended knee, the ultimate bravery. Outside the ring, the prayerful begin to gather for the outdoor mass and the candlelight procession to honor “our lady of Fatima”. You eat lukewarm linguiça and piping-hot tacos from stands lining the road and ride off into the sunset—not on horseback, nor even clinging to the face of a charging bull — but in that ubiquitous new-world contraption, the rental car. You still aren’t entirely sure how you feel about California-style bullfighting. But at least you can say you went.

 

Marc Bamuthi Joseph gets the green movement to live, already

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Consider, if you will, the prosaic class issues in the green movement. The price of BART vs. driving, the utility of feeding one’s children McDonald’s after one’s shift is order so you can play with them outside the kichen, the inconvinient truth of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Now add race, and stir. 

Dancer-community activist-poet Marc Bamuthi Joseph did. The result was the Life is Living festival, which he stages in underserved ‘hoods throughout the country (and took place in West Oakland Oct. 8). The festival’s amazing, but its creation was a journey — which Bamuthi has brilliantly set to stage with dancing and singing at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts through Sat/22. It’s called red, black & GREEN: a blues“I’ve got this male Liz Gilbert eat-pray-hip-hop kind of thing,” recounts Bamuthi onstage during opening night at YBCA. Around him, bisected sharecropper’s cabins swing open and shut, revealing their innards and front porches by turns. The set was made from repurposed materials and clay by Theaster Gates (new favorite name), who is participating in double-time — Gates is one of three supporting characters in the play, mainly contributing those eponymous blues in a rich voice from a porch.

Bamuthi’s flip remark (it reaps a guffaw from the audience, one of many garnered from the play’s dealings with race and class) evokes the difficulties that he and his “do-gooder” team faced in cobbling together Life is Living. Originally meant as an eco-festival — Bamuthi’s account of meeting with New Age Oakland environmental activists is gold — the group shifted the traveling events focus to “the celebration of living.” 

The cast of red, black & GREEN: the blues. Photo by Bethanie Hines

The play could be read as an explanation of why this transformation took play. In the scene that serves as the performance’s chorus, repeating through the play, Bamuthi talks to a grieving mom about his festival. “I ask a mother about environment/She tells me of guns/Of emotionally disabled boys.”

She’s got bigger fish to fry than hydroponic gardens. As does a sculptor: “He speaks to me of misters/Old men gathered to pastime/Play young/men games/Share news/Insult/Seed comfort/Cultivate friendship.” A freezing crackhead in the New York winter: “I’m calling collect from tomorrow/track riding.”

And you forget you’re being taught (Bamuthi is fond of likening himself to a 10th grade teacher) because it’s all gorgeous, real artists doing their real artist things. Characters recreate sunny day hip-hop cut-ups, but they also morph their bodies to evoke addiction, old age — two miraculous transformations that showcase the talent in their bodies through the way they restrict their own mobility.

Asking about “what sustains life” instead of “what is sustainable” could be an important cognitive shift for the green movement — one that would reactivate the choir and provide an entry point for people just coming to the green movement. Bamuthi was a featured artist for the NAACP’s centennial anniversary celebration during Barack Obama’s inauguration exercises. President Obama… I hear you’re having some PR troubles. Were you listening to this guy? 

 

red, black & GREEN: a blues

Thu/20-Sat/22 7:30 p.m., $10-$25

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission, SF

(415) 978-2787

www.ybca.org

The art and music of OccupySF: a work in progress

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In a recent Super Ego clubs column, I challenged the San Francisco music, arts, and nightlife community to create a better OccupySF soundtrack than old Michael Franti tracks — and to perhaps update the slightly cliche V for Vendetta look of the movement a bit. (Not to mention throw a few hot-hot benefit parties.) We can do it!  

I was originally inspired by a bangin’ mix posted on Faceboook by former Bay Arean global funk DJ Tee Cardaci (see below). I was also stoked by news of amazing writer Hiya Swanhuyser’s “OccupySF: Art and Performance Series” which featured some major players performing at the ocupado camp downtown, like Heklina, Lil Miss Hot Mess, W. Kamau Bell, and Nato Green — and totally distraught that I had missed the series completely. (Although she just told me she’s got Michelle Tea and Brontez Purnell reading down there at 5pm on Thu/20 — check the series Tumblr for updated info.) In fact, there’s been so much Occupy SF art, music, and expression going on that it’s easy to miss quite a bit of it.

So I wanted to make a page that gathers together some of the stuff people are doing in solidarity with the OccupySF movement — DJ mixes, music tracks, guerilla artwork, unique performance, wild parties (oh hey, you should really hit up the rad Salsa Sunday OccupySF benefit at El Rio this Sunday, 10/23). 

I really want this page to grow and grow — and also help connect the activist-creative community that’s been mobilized and inspired by the #occupy movement in general. Rap tracks, recipes, animated gifs, spoken word, mixtapes, collages, mashups, whatever you’ve made and dedicated to the indignados. If you have something you’d like me to post, please email me at marke@sfbg.com and I’ll see about adding it (no attachments more than 2MB please). Let’s keep this thing rolling!

DJ Tee Cardaci’s #OccupyThisMixtape:

#OccupyThisMixtape – tee cardaci by OneLoveMassive

A great track composed by dread bass master Kush Arora last year in honor of Anonymous, rededicated here to the OccupySF folks hacking the system:

Kush Arora – The Hacker 2010 by KushArora

The group Classical Revolution performing as part of the Occupy SF: Arts and Performance Series:


Occupy Jello! (Biafra)

Brontez Purnell and Michelle Tea read at OccupySF

Our Weekly Picks: October 19-25

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THURSDAY 20

Gabrielle Hamilton

Gabrielle Hamilton is a chef, first and foremost. Food critics praise her homegrown 30-seat New York City restaurant Prune. The James Beard Foundation (think the foodie Emmys) named her the Big Apple’s top chef this year. She topped Bobby Flay in an Iron Chef showdown. But when she’s not roasting duck breast or braising lamb shank, Hamilton is writing about cuisine for the New York Times, Saveur, Bon Appétit, and Food & Wine. She draws the connections between family and food in her earnest and unsparing New York Times bestselling memoir, Blood Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef. Tonight, she appears in conversation with with fellow food writer Kim Severson at Herbst Theater. (Kevin Lee)

8 p.m., $17–$27

Herbst Theater

401 Van Ness, SF

(415) 392-4400

www.cityarts.net

 

John Doe

Continuously proving himself a multi-talented singer-songwriter-actor and jack-of-all-artistic-trades, John Doe has been hitting the stage for more than three decades now, from his time with punk icons X, the Flesheaters, and the Knitters, to his solo releases and collaborations with a wide variety of other artists. His latest effort, Keeper (Yep Roc 2011) is his eighth solo foray, and features both stellar tunesmithing and punctuating contributions from guests including Patty Griffin, Jill Sobule, Don Was, and Steven Berlin. (Sean McCourt)

With Dead Rock West

8 p.m., $20

Great American Music Hall

859 O’Farrell St., SF

(415) 885-0750

www.gamh.com


FRIDAY 21

Four Tet Kieran Hebden a.k.a. abstract eclecticist Four Tet played two shows in the Bay Area last year: one headlining at the Independent and another an afternoon set at the Treasure Island Music Festival. The difference was night and day, illustrating that not so surprisingly, Four Tet was most at home in a particular setting. Underlining this point is a recent entry for super club Fabric’s FabricLive series. Not simply a typical set, Four Tet’s mix is designed to replicate a night out, a heady mix of UK garage, that’s at once full of steadily driving breaks and hypnotic backing tracks, as much about getting lost in the music as a particular space. (Ryan Prendiville)

With Rub N Tug (Thomas Bullock DJ Set), Jus Wan, Shawn Reynaldo, DJ Dials, Chris Orr, Eug, Ryury

10 p.m., $15-20 presale

103 Harriet, SF

(415) 431-1200

www.1015.com


Kendrick Lamar

On stage at a concert in Los Angeles this past August, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, and Game “passed the torch” to a teary-eyed Kendrick Lamar, officially pronouncing him the new King of the West Coast. Born and raised in Compton, the 24-year-old rapper has gained swift notoriety thanks to a series of popular mixtapes including the critically acclaimed Section.80. He cites Tupac as his greatest influence, but he sounds more like underground legends Souls Of Mischief or the Pharcyde. In November, Lamar will head east to embark on a brief tour with none other than Drake. Before he does, you can catch him headlining the New Parish on Friday. (Frances Capell)

9 p.m., $23–$35

New Parish

579 18th St., Oakl.

(510) 444-7474

www.thenewparish.com


DJ Shadow

Like everyone else, I got lost in the instrumental hip-hop collages found on Endtroducing (1996), the first album from DJ Shadow. That album literally introduced turntablism to people like me who imagined it was merely that scratching sound heard on Beck and Garbage. I can even remember my conservative father (this is saying a lot) being intrigued by Endtroducing. Since then though, the progenitor of vinyl sampling has moved on to other, unforeseen sonic experiments. On his first studio album in five years, The Less You Know, The Better, Shadow builds up everything from bluesy jazz to rock and heavy metal; an experiment that may alienate some, perhaps, but thrill Shadow’s most devoted. (James H. Miller)

9 p.m. $35–$38

Regency Ballroom

1290 Sutter, SF

(800) 745-3000

wwww.theregencyballroom.com


SATURDAY 22

Masquerotica What this town really needs right about now is a Masquerade Ball — it must have been at least two weeks since the last one! Oh, I jest. But seriously, what we never can have too many of are large-scale Halloween bashes, alternatives to the sleeping giant of the currently-banned Castro Street frenzy. Adding another AnonEvent to the year’s calendar ‘o’ fun, Masquerotica will be an all-you-can-eat buffet of sensory overload, with nine separate stages showcasing acts as diverse as punk jazz-circus rock ensemble the Mutaytor, Kinky Salon’s zombie strippers, Unkle Paul’s Dark Kabaret, Asian Diva Girls a’plenty, and Annie Sprinkle and Margo St. James holding court at the Hooker’s Ball Brothello. There will be music, masques, a food court, and some very sexy people. Maybe you too? Costumes required. (Nicole Gluckstern)

8 p.m., $45–$100

Concourse Exhibition Center

635 Eighth St., SF

www.masquerotica.com


SUNDAY 23

Cashore Marionettes

Perhaps the universal attractiveness of puppets comes from the fact that they look so alive when we know full well that they are just a bunch of rags and wires. Borrowing his title from the Shakers, who danced to transport themselves into ecstasy, Joseph Cashore named his latest show after their most famous hymn “Simple Gifts.” He has been making and performing with marionettes for more than 20 years and has grown a master of his craft. There is nothing “simple” about the sophistication of his artistry and sheer acts of love he showers on his audiences. If you go with a child, you’ll open a world; if you don’t have an easily-available kid, take a friend. You’ll both be transported back to the time when “pulling strings” meant bliss. (Rita Felciano)

11 a.m. And 3 p.m. $24.

Cal Performances, Wheeler Hall, Berk.

(510) 642-9988

www.calperformances.org

 

Mammatus

Named after that most awe-inspiring of all cloud formations, Mammatus is as epic sounding as its meteorological namesake is visually stunning. Hailing from the wooded and misty hills of Santa Cruz, the three-piece reaches spectacularly ripping heights with songs like “Excellent Swordfight,” “Dragon of the Deep,” and “The Coast Explodes” (among others) that bridge the gap between jam band technical wizardry and space rock headbangery. Speaking of wizards, Mammatus used to perform with one, and although he no longer shares the stage, the atmosphere remains one friendly to bearded magicians with pointy hats and a long pipe filled with something pungent. When Gandalf indulges in “Longbottom Leaf,” (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) he listens to Mammatus. (Cooper Berkmoyer)

With Swanifant and San Francisco Watercooler

9 p.m., $10

Cafe Du Nord

2170 Market, SF

(415) 861-5016

www.cafedunord.com

 

Anthrax

Anthrax might be a junior partner when it comes to the massive “Big Four” concerts recently held in L.A. and New York, but it’s a giant on every other bill. The NYC-based band stayed ahead of the curve back in the day by embracing hardcore and hip-hop, and this year it put its arena-filling colleagues to shame with Worship Music, an urgent, heavy album that stands in sharp contrast to dreck like Lulu or Death Magnetic. At the head of a potent tour that includes Bay Area heroes Testament and Death Angel, Gotham’s finest thrashers plan to demonstrate their undiminished ferocity. (Ben Richardson)

With Testament, Death Angel, and Chimaira 6 p.m., $35 Warfield 982 Market, SF (415) 345-0900 www.thewarfieldtheatre.com


MONDAY 24

1Q84 release party

It goes without saying that Green Apple Books loves the written word. Just the other day, I was browsing its stacks and saw a staff note by an Ambrose Bierce collection that read, “If you haven’t read Ambrose Bierce you must be very, very sad.” It seems Green Apple also loves Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami. So much so that it’s hosting a release party, complete with a taco truck camped out front, for the author’s new novel, 1Q84. If you pre-order a copy of 1Q84 before it becomes available at midnight, Green Apple hooks you up with a taco and a beer, and then enters your name into a raffle to receive a signed copy — free of charge. Which are reasons, in turn, to love Green Apple. (Miller)

9:30 p.m. Free

Green Apple Bookstore

506 Clement, SF

(415) 387-2272

www.greenapplebooks.com

 

“An Injury to One”

Travis Wilkerson’s An Injury to One is nearly 10 years old, but I haven’t seen another American documentary since that comes close to matching its fire. The film takes up the buried history of Frank Little, an organizer murdered for aiding the workers of the aptly named Anaconda Mining Corporation in their efforts to unionize. Wilkerson deploys a radical form of graphic rhetoric to engage with this incendiary content. He’ll have nothing to do with the polite distance maintained in mainstream documentary (just think of all those nonfictions of ostensibly radical solidarities that come packaged in a conservative style made to order for HBO and PBS). Anyone with even a passing interest in political cinema and American class warfare needs to see this film. (Max Goldberg)

6:30 p.m., $9–$11

New People Cinema

1746 Post, SF

(415) 525-8630

www.sffs.org


TUESDAY 25

Gold Panda

I paid $10 to see Gold Panda. Supposed to be $15, but the woman gave me a deal, since the show’d been on for a while. Couldn’t tell from the crowd. Aside from a few people in the front, everyone was still. Eyes closed, a few were touching themselves. (No, not like that.) Just rubbing their neck or arm, minds so inwardly withdrawn and focused on hearing that their bodies wanted attention. The song was from 2010’s Lucky Shiner (a mix for DJ-Kicks comes out this month), mostly an airy drone, overlaid with choked, tightly modulated samples. Totally warm. After about fifteen seconds, the set was done, and I’ve meant to catch the rest ever since.(Prendiville)

With Jonti, and Blackout Make Out

8 p.m., $15

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com


TUESDAY 25

Male Bonding

If you’ve heard Male Bonding’s Endless Now (Sub Pop), there’s a good chance it’s still stuck in your head. The noisy English trio swapped the lo-fi grunge of its debut Nothing Hurts for a sunny, slightly more polished pop-punk aesthetic on its second full length release. Despite its differences, a ’90s Seattle slacker rock influence remains clear throughout the short, infectious album. Endless Now boasts so much slurry, layered guitar, the band enlisted an additional member for tour. Put on a flannel and check ’em out. (Capell)

With WATERS and Lilac

8 p.m., $12

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

(415) 861-2011

www.rickshawstop.com

 

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Stage Listings

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Stage listings are compiled by Guardian staff. Performance times may change; call venues to confirm. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Rita Felciano, and Nicole Gluckstern. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks.

THEATER

OPENING

Fear SF Playhouse, Stage Two, 533 Sutter, SF; www.un-scripted.com. $12-25. Opens Tues/25, 8pm. Runs nightly through Oct 31, 8pm. Un-Scripted Theater Company performs improvised horror stories.

Pellas and Melisande Cutting Ball Theater, Exit on Taylor, 277 Taylor, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.cuttingball.com. $10-50. Previews Fri/21-Sat/22, 8pm; Sun/23, 5pm. Opens Oct 27, 8pm. Runs Thurs, 7:30; Fri-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 5pm. Through Nov 27. Cutting Ball Theater performs Rob Melrose’s new translation of Maurice Maeterlinck’s avant-garde classic.

Race American Conservatory Theater, 415 Geary, SF; (415) 749-2228, www.act-sf.org. $10-85. Previews Fri/28-Sat/22 and Tues/25, 8pm (also Sat/22, 2pm); Sun/23, 7pm. Opens Oct 26, 8pm. Runs Tues-Sat, 8pm (Nov 1, performance at 7pm; also Wed and Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2pm (no matinee Oct 26; additional show Nov 6 at 7pm). Through Nov 13. ACT performs David Mamet’s wicked courtroom comedy.

Richard III Curran Theatre, 445 Geary, SF; 1-888-746-1799, www.shnsf.com. $35-150. Opens Wed/19, 7:30pm. Runs Tues-Fri, 7:30pm; Sat, 2 and 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Oct 29. Kevin Spacey plays the lead in this Sam Mendes-directed production of the Shakespeare classic.

The Rover, or the Banish’d Cavaliers, The American Clock Hastings Studio Theater, 77 Geary, SF; (415) 749-2228, www.act-sf.org. $10 ($15 for both productions). Oct 19-Nov 5, performance times vary. American Conservatory Theater’s Masters of Fine Arts program presents plays in repertory by Aphra Behn and Arthur Miller.

Savage in Limbo Actors Theatre of San Francisco, 855 Bush, SF; (415) 345-1287, www.actorstheatresf.org. $26-38. Opens Wed/21, 8pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 3. Actors Theatre of San Francisco performs John Patrick Shanley’s edgy comedy.

You Will Gonna Go Crazy Bayanihan Community Center, 1010 Mission, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $7-17. Opens Fri/21, 8pm. Runs Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Oct 30. Kularts presents a multimedia dance-theater play.

BAY AREA

Doubt: A Parable Live Oak Theatre, 1301 Shattuck, Berk; www.aeofberkeley.org. $12-15. Opens Fri/21, 8pm. Runs Fri-Sat, 8pm; Nov 13, 2pm. Through Nov 19. Actors Ensemble of Berkeley performs John Patrick Shanley’s Pulitzer-winning drama.

Rambo: The Missing Years Cabaret at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. Opens Thurs/20, 7pm. Runs Thurs-Fri, 7pm; Sat, 8:30pm. Through Dec 10. Howard “Hanoi Howie” Petrick presents his solo show about being an anti-war demostrator — while also serving in the Army.

Sam’s Enchanted Evening TheaterStage at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. Opens Thurs/20, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 8:30pm. Through Nov 26. The Residents wrote the script and did the musical arrangements for this musical, featuring singer Randy Rose and pianist Joshua Raoul Brody.

ONGOING

“AfroSolo Arts Festival” Various venues, SF; www.afrosolo.org. Free-$100. Through Thurs/20. The AfroSolo Theatre Company presents its 18th annual festival celebrating African American artists, musicians, and performers.

Almost Nothing, Day of Absence Lorraine Hansberry Theatre, 450 Post, SF; (415) 474-8800, www.lhtsf.org. $43-53. Wed-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2pm. Through Nov 20. Lorraine Hansberry Theatre performs one-act plays by Marcos Barbosa and Douglas Turner Ward.

Desdemona: A Play About a Handkerchief Boxcar Theatre Playhouse, 505 Natoma, SF; www.boxcartheatre.org. $15-35. Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Nov 5. Written in 1979 by a 28-year-old Paula Vogel, Desdemona retells a familiar Shakespearean tragedy, Othello, through the eyes of its more marginalized characters, much as Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead did with Hamlet in 1966. In Vogel’s play, it is the women of Othello — Desdemona the wife, Emilia her attendant (demoted down to washer-woman in Vogel’s piece), and Bianca, Cassio’s lover, and the bawdy town pump — who are the focus, and are the play’s only onstage characters. Whiling away an endless afternoon cooped up in the back room of the governor’s mansion, the flighty, spoiled, and frankly promiscuous Desdemona (Karina Wolfe) frets over the loss of her “crappy little snot-rag,” while her subservient, pious, but quietly calculating washer-woman Emilia (Adrienne Krug) scrubs the sheets and mends the gubernatorial underpants with an attitude perfectly balanced between aggrieved, disapproving, and cautiously optimistic. Though the relationship between the two women often veers into uncomfortable condescension from both sides, their repartee generally feels natural and uncontrived. Less successfully portrayed is Theresa Miller’s Bianca, whose Cockney accent is wont to slip, and whose character’s boisterous nature feels all too frequently subdued. Jenn Scheller’s billowing, laundry-line set softens the harsh edges of the stage, just as Emilia’s final act of service for her doomed mistress softens, though not mitigates, her unwitting role in their mutual downfall. (Gluckstern)

Honey Brown Eyes SF Playhouse, 533 Sutter, SF; (415) 677-9596, www.sfplayhouse.org. $20-50. Tues-Thurs, 7pm; Fri-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 3pm). Through Nov 5. Bosnia in 1992 is divided in a horrifying civil war, some characteristics of which play out in parallel circumstances for two members of a single rock band in SF Playhouse’s west coast premiere of Stefanie Zadravec’s new play. In the first act, set in Visegrad, a young Bosnian Muslim woman (Jennifer Stuckert) is held at gunpoint in her kitchen by a jumpy soldier (Nic Grelli) engaged in a mission of murder and dispossession known as ethnic cleansing. The second act moves to Sarajevo and the apartment of an elderly woman (Wanda McCaddon) who gives shelter and a rare meal to an army fugitive (Chad Deverman). He in turn keeps the bereaved if indomitable woman company. Director Susi Damilano and cast are clearly committed to Zadravec’s ambitious if hobbled play, but the action can be too contrived and unrealistic (especially in act one) to be credible while the tone — zigzagging between the horror of atrocity and the offbeat gestures of romantic comedy — comes over as confused indecision rather than a deliberate concoction. (Avila)

The Kipling Hotel: True Misadventures of the Electric Pink ’80s Marsh San Francisco, 1062 Valencia, SF; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. Sat, 8:30pm; Sun, 7pm. Through Nov 13. Acclaimed solo performer Don Reed (East 14th) premieres his new show, based on his post-Oakland years living in Los Angeles.

Making Porn Box Car Theatre Studios, 125A Hyde, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25-50. Thurs, 8pm; Fri-Sun, 7pm (also Fri-Sat, 10pm). Through Oct 29. Ronnie Larsen brings back his crowd-pleasing comedy about the gay porn industry.

“Master Harold” … and the Boys Phoenix Theater, 414 Mason, Ste 601, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.offbroadwaywest.org. $18-40. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Nov 19. Off Broadway West Theatre Company performs Athol Fugard’s South African-set drama.

Not Getting Any Younger Marsh San Francisco, Studio Theater, 1062 Valencia, SF; (415) 826-5750, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. Thurs/19-Fri/21, 8pm; Sat/22, 8:30pm; Sun/23, 3pm. Marga Gomez is back at the Marsh, a couple of too-brief decades after inaugurating the theater’s new stage with her first solo show — an apt setting, in other words, for the writer-performer’s latest monologue, a reflection on the inevitable process of aging for a Latina lesbian comedian and artist who still hangs at Starbucks and can’t be trusted with the details of her own Wikipedia entry. If the thought of someone as perennially irreverent, insouciant, and appealingly immature as Gomez makes you depressed, the show is, strangely enough, the best antidote. (Avila)

Nymph Errant Eureka Theater, 215 Jackson, SF; (415) 255-8207, www.42ndstmoon.org. $20-50. Wed, 7pm; Thurs/19-Fri/21, 8pm; Sat/22, 6pm; Sun/23, 3pm. 42nd Street Moon performs Cole Porter’s madcap 1933 musical.

*The Odyssey Aboard Alma, Hyde Street Pier, San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park, SF; www.weplayers.org. $160. Oct 28-29, Nov 4-6, 11-12, and 18, 12:30pm. Heralding their hugely ambitious Spring 2012 production of The Odyssey, which will take place all over Angel Island, the WE Players are tackling the work on a slightly smaller scale by staging it on the historic scow schooner Alma, which is part of the Maritime National Historical Park fleet docked at the end of Hyde Street Pier. Using both boat and Bay as setting, the essential chapters of the ten-year voyage — encounters with the Cyclops, Circe, the Underworld, the Sirens, Aeolus, the Laestrygonians, and Calypso — are enacted through an intriguing mash-up of narration, choreography, sea chanteys, salty dog stories (like shaggy dog stories, but more water-logged), breathtaking views, and a few death-defying stunts the likes of which you won’t see on many conventional stages. High points include the casual swapping of roles (every actor gets to play Odysseus, however briefly), Ross Travis’ masked and flatulent Prometheus and sure-footed Hermes, Ava Roy’s hot pants-clad Circe, Charlie Gurke’s steady musical direction and multi-instrumental abilities, and the sail itself, an experiential bonus. Landlubbers beware, so much time facing the back of the boat where much of the action takes place can result in mild quease, even on a calm day. Take advantage of the downtime between scenes to walk around and face forward now and again. You’ll want to anyway. (Gluckstern)

On the Air Pier 29 on the Embarcadero (at Battery), SF; (415) 438-2668, love.zinzanni.org. $117 and up (includes dinner). Wed-Sat, 6pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Dec 31. Teatro ZinZanni’s final performance at Pier 39 riffs on the company’s own struggles to stay in San Francisco. Geoff Hoyle and Duffy Bishop are the headlining guest stars.

*red, black & GREEN: a blues (rbGb) Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission, SF; (415) 978-2787, www.ybca.org. $5-25. Thurs/19-Sat/22, 7:30pm. This remarkably protean new piece from Marc Bamuthi Joseph/The Living Word Project searches for common ground between the environmental movement at large and movements for social justice rooted in poor communities of color (where ecological crisis is only one among multiple life-threatening issues). Structured as a vibrant multimedia installation and performance work at once, red, black & green transforms co-commissioner YBCA’s Forum stage into an evolving environment audiences can walk through and linger in, as performers Bamuthi Joseph, Theaster Gates, Tommy Shepherd, and Traci Tolmaire deliver a multifaceted narrative road-trip through Chicago, Huston, New York, and West Oakland, following the “Life Is Living” festivals bringing arts, education, and activism to urban parks. The highly attuned ensemble conveys and accentuates this narrative with a commanding mix of firsthand accounts, poetry, dance, song, and percussion (tapped out on surfaces with fingers, palms, or carving knives). Theaster Gates’ gorgeous set design, meanwhile, blends repurposed materials into mobile environments — floating island habitats beautifully lit by James Clotfelter, decorated with sculpture and video designs (evocative media collages composed by David Szlasa), and continually reconfigured as neighborhoods, shotgun houses, storefronts, and other environs. Intended to provoke discussion about social justice struggles in the age of environmental crisis, the production’s ambitious balancing of history, contemporary politics, center and periphery, personal idealism and doubt, and individual voices feels perhaps inevitably uneven and incomplete, but the attempt is frequently bracing and the delivery as sure as it is urgent. (Avila)

“San Francisco Olympians Festival” Exit Theater, 156 Eddy, SF; www.sfolympians.com. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Oct 28. No Nude Men Productions presents a festival of 12 new full-length plays written by 14 local writers. Each play focuses on one of the Olympian characters from ancient Greece.

ShEvil Dead Cellspace, 2050 Bryant, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25. Fri/21 and Oct 28-29, 8pm. Primitive Screwheads return with a horror play (in which the audience is literally sprayed with blood, so leave the fancy suit at home!) based on the Evil Dead movies.

“Shocktoberfest 12: Fear Over Frisco” Hypnodrome Theatre, 575 10th St, SF; (415) 377-4202, www.thrillpeddlers.com. $25-35. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Nov 19. In its annual season-scented horror bid, Thrillpeddlers joins forces with SF’s Czar of Noir, writer-director Eddie Muller, for a sharply penned triplet of plays that resurrect lurid San Francisco lore as flesh-and-blood action. In the slightly sluggish but intriguing Grand Inquisitor, a solitary young woman modeling herself on Louise Brooks in Lulu (an alluringly Lulu-like Bonni Suval) believes she has located the Zodiac killer’s widow (a sweet but cagey Mary Gibboney) — a scenario that just can’t end well for somebody, yet manages to defy expectations. An Obvious Explanation turns on an amnesiac (Daniel Bakken) whose brother (Flynn de Marco) explains the female corpse in the rollaway (Zelda Koznofski) before asking bro where he hid a certain pile of money. Enter a brash doctor (Suval) with a new drug and ambitions of her own vis-à-vis the hapless head case. Russell Blackwood directs The Drug, which adapts a Grand Guignol classic to the hoity-toity milieu of the Van Nesses and seedy Chinatown opium dens, where a rough-playing attorney (an ever persuasive Eric Tyson Wertz) determines to turn a gruesome case involving the duplicitous Mrs. Van Ness (an equally sure, sultry Kära Emry) to his own advantage. The evening also offers a blackout spook show and some smoothly atmospheric musical numbers, including Muller’s rousing “Fear Over Frisco” (music composed by Scrumbly Koldewyn; accompaniment by Steve Bolinger and Birdie-Bob Watt) and an aptly low-down Irving Berlin number — both winningly performed by the entire company. (Avila)

Sorya! A Minor Miracle (Part One) NOHSpace, Project Artaud, 2840 Mariposa, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $12-18. Sun/23-Mon/24, 7pm. Each year, NOHspace residents Theatre of Yugen present a program of short Kyogen and Noh pieces, demonstrating the building blocks that define their unique approach. Blending classical Japanese theatrical styles with original and contemporary works, the company’s multi-cultural ensemble has been performing their specialized brand of East-West fusion since 1978. This year’s Sorya! program includes two modern-day works written by Greg Giovanni, a Philadelphia-based playwright and Noh artist, directed by Theatre of Yugen artistic director Jubilith Moore, and one traditional comedy, Boshibari (Tied to a Pole), directed by company founder Yuriko Doi. This piece is by far the strongest of the three, a tale of two servants pulling one over their master, who has tied them up in order to prevent them from breaking into the sake cellar. Lluis Valls and Sheila Berotti as Taro and Jiro execute the highly-ritualized aspects of the Kyogen farce with deft mobility and expressiveness, working together to overcome their captivity just enough to enjoy a few drinks before being discovered by their irate master (Sheila Devitt). The other two pieces, one set in Narnia and the other based on an Irish folk ballad, are less compelling, though no less ambitious, and Stephen Siegel and Karen Marek’s joint performance as a pair of squabbling dwarves is worthy of praise. (Gluckstern)

*Tutor: Enter the Enclave Exit Studio, 156 Eddy, SF; (415) 673-3847, www.darkporchtheatre.com. $15-25. Thurs/19-Sat/22, 8pm. Dark Porch Theatre performs Martin Schwartz’s play, inspired by an 18th century German drama, about a tutor who realizes the creepy family he works for is not quite what they seem.

*Wallflower Little Theatre, San Francisco State University, 1600 Holloway, SF; creativearts.sfsu.edu. $8-12. Thurs/20-Sat/22, 8pm; Sun/23, 2pm. One by one a baker’s dozen appears in the otherwise abandoned gymnasium: high schoolers in their awkward finery all fleeing prom night, which rages away on the other side of the wall like a blast furnace and shrieks like a jet engine every time the double doors are thrown open in escape. Here, in relative silence and stillness, begins a dream-dance of its own, largely wordless but speaking volumes through a brilliantly devised choreography of hesitation, alienation, attraction, and repulsion — the push-and-pull of fear and desire epitomized by adolescence in all its desperate and beautiful vulnerability (but of course from this school no one ever really graduates). At turns hilarious, raucous, wrenching, and sweetly, smolderingly sensual, Wallflower is another must-see collaboration between Bay Area director Mark Jackson and a remarkably adept cast and crew from San Francisco State’s theater department — collaborations that have blazed a regular path out to Lakeside for discriminating theatergoers. Like last year’s stunning Juliet, Wallflower draws equal inspiration from Shakespeare (here A Midsummer Night’s Dream) and the personal insecurities and compulsions offered up by the performers themselves. Impressively designed throughout — including a choice and supple sound design by Teddy Hulsker — this dance-theater performance is an elating mixture of flooring choreography and the mesmerizing personalities and relationships registered in the subtlest of words and gestures. It’s all as enchanting and revelatory as the intoxicating dream it describes. (Avila)

BAY AREA

Bellwether Marin Theatre Company, 397 Miller, Mill Valley; (415) 388-5208, www.marintheatre.org. $34-55. Tues, Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Thurs/20, 1pm; Oct 29, 2pm); Wed, 7:30pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Oct 30. Marin Theatre Company performs Steve Yockey’s spooky fairy tale for adults.

Clementine in the Lower 9 TheatreWorks at the Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts, 500 Castro, Mtn View; (650) 463-1960, www.theatreworks.org. $19-69. Tues-Wed, 7:30pm; Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Oct 30. TheatreWorks presents the world premiere of Dan Dietz’s post-Katrina New Orleans drama.

*A Delicate Balance Aurora Theatre, 2081 Addison, Berk; (510) 843-4822, www.auroratheatre.org. $10-48. Wed/19-Sat/22, 8pm; Sun/23, 2 and 7pm. Aurora Theatre performs Edward Albee’s comedy of manners.

How to Write a New Book for the Bible Thrust Stage, 2025 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. $14.50-73. Tues, Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm; no matinee Sat/22; no show Nov 18); Wed and Sun, 7pm (also Sun, 7pm). Through Nov 20. Berkeley Rep performs a world premiere by Bill Cain.

Inanna’s Descent Codornices Park, 1201 Euclid, Berk; www.raggedwing.org. Free. Sat-Sun, 1pm. Through Oct 30. Special Halloween show Oct 31, 5-8pm. After last year’s memorable presentation of the Persephone myth as a site-specific, Halloween-heralding, multi-disciplinary performance in the wooded glades of Codornices Park, it seemed inevitable that Ragged Wing Ensemble would want to build on that success by following it up with an equally memorable exploration of another mythological underworld. This year’s chosen subject, the descent of the Sumerian Goddess Inanna, Queen of the Heavens into the Underworld where her jealous sister Ereshkigal reigns, is enacted as a half-hour play as well as a self-guided, seven-station circuit around the park, from the tunnel to the fire pit, where the central performance is held. Each station is hosted by a different character from the play, who engages each passing audience member in a series of activities: from wishing on the future to coloring in a self-portrait of “meat.” The play itself stars Kelly Rinehart as Inanna, “the bombshell of the story,” who appears onstage clad in a dress of shredded reflective insulate and a giant leonine headdress. The other ensemble-created costumes are cleverly constructed of equally non-biodegradable materials: a faux-fur cloak decorated with remote controls, robes of state made entirely from rustling plastic shopping bags, a bandolier of empty water bottles. More genial and thought-provoking than a typical trip to a haunted house, Inanna’s Descent is an inventive Halloween expedition for children of most ages, and adults with young hearts. (Gluckstern)

*Phaedra Ashby Stage, 1901 Ashby, Berk; (510) 841-6500, www.shotgunplayers.org. $17-26. Wed/19-Thurs/20, 7pm; Fri/21-Sat/22, 8pm; Sun/23, 5pm. Catherine (Catherine Castellanos) is the loveless matron in the impeccably tidy, upper-class home of middle-aged right-wing judge Antonio (Keith Burkland), secretly infatuated with her stepson (Patrick Alparone), the prodigal returning home from jail and rehab for a new start. Catherine’s cold, obsessively ordered run of the household — with heavy-lifting by her cheerful, steadfast housekeeper (a wonderfully genuine Trish Mulholland) — masks a desolation and chaos inside her, a churning emptiness evoked in the deliberately listless pace of act one and the skudding clouds we can see reflected in the walls of designer Nina Ball’s impressively stolid, icily tasteful living room. Portland Center Stage’s Rose Riordan directs a strong cast (which includes Cindy Im, as the stepson’s rehab partner and sexual interest) in a modern-day adaptation of the Greek myth by Adam Bock (The Shaker Chair, Swimming in the Shallows), in a worthy premiere for Shotgun Players. The drama comes leavened by Bock’s well-developed humor and the dialogue, while inconsistent, can be eloquent. The storm that breaks in the second act, however, feels a bit compressed and, especially after the languid first act, contributes to a somewhat pinched narrative. But whatever its limitations, Catherine’s predicament is palpably dramatic, especially in Castellanos’s deeply moving performance — among her best work to date and alone worth giving Phaedra a chance. (Avila)

*Rita Moreno: Life Without Makeup Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. $14.50-73. Tues-Sun, showtimes vary. Through Oct 30. The life of stage and screen legend Rita Moreno is a subject that has no trouble filling two swift and varied acts, especially as related in anecdote, song, comedy, and dance by the serene multiple–award-winning performer and Berkeley resident herself. Indeed, that so much material gets covered so succinctly but rarely abruptly is a real achievement of this attractively adorned autobiographical solo show crafted with playwright and Berkeley Rep artistic director Tony Taccone. (Avila)

The World’s Funniest Bubble Show Marsh Berkeley, TheaterStage, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 826-5750, www.themarsh.org. $8-50. Sun, 11am. Through Nov 20. Louis “The Amazing Bubble Man” Pearl returns with this kid-friendly, bubble-tastic comedy.

DANCE/PERFORMANCE

*”PanderFest 2011″ Stage Werx 446, 446 Valencia, SF; www.panderexpress.com. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Oct 29. $20. San Francisco’s Crisis Hopkins and (PianoFight’s S.H.I.T. Show makers) Mission Control join forces for a tag-team evening of sketch and “improv” (quotes kind of necessary this time). Claiming dubiously to fill a need for yet another festival in this city (though at the same time striving for above-average fawning of the public), the show delivers two acts of mostly spot-on comedy by two agreeable ensembles and is thus a fine night out anyway. The program (based rather loosely on online-video–generated audience suggestions, interspersed with the sneezing Panda baby and other YouTube perennials) also inaugurates Stage Werx’s cozy new Mission District venue — the former digs of Intersection for the Arts and a huge improvement over Stage Werx’s old subterranean lair on Sutter Street. Highlights of a ridiculous evening include a two-part Crisis Hopkins sketch detailing a site visit by a ball-wrecking contractor (Christy Daly) to her chary foreman (Sam Shaw) and his withering cherries; and Mission Control’s pointed ’70s TV show homage with a twist, Good Cop, Stab Cop. (Avila)

When OccupySF occupied my car

13

By David Adler

I began the week a brooding and self-pitying writer, who was spending far too much time sucking on sour grapes until they were bitter raisins.  I even went back and forth via email with an editor who had rejected one of my stories.  This is not a good way to endear yourself with potential future patrons.  But it had been far too long a time since I’d torched a bridge (and, in this case, I’m fairly certain that I burned the fucker to the ground), and in that sort of “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” empty machismo way, well, I still didn’t feel better.  I felt like I do when I yell at the television while watching a Laker game, screaming at Andrew Bynum as if I were sitting courtside next to Jack Nicholson and sneaking out with him for blow during TV timeouts or just when we damn well wanted to.  I was a crazy man.  A loon in sweats and a Cal hoodie. 

Determined to regain a semblance of human dignity, and equally committed to acquiring as little of it as necessary (the stuff is pricey, I don’t care what my therapist says), I got on the BART last Wednesday, October 5th, at the cavernous and exposed Millbrae station, the end of the peninsula line. 

The electric train screeched and squealed and screamed north into the city, where a half hour later I emerged from the Embarcadero station on Market Street.  A motley camp came into view, pitched on the sidewalk in front of the Federal Reserve building.  It was the Occupy San Francisco Financial District camp.  In solidarity with the original Occupy Wall Street movement, and the dozens other others cropping up daily, which defibrillates my long spasming liberal heart into a peaceful rhythm. The 99% in action. Could’ve been 1969.  They had a kitchen, a library/bookstore, it was a little city of dissent, and the forces of everyday people were now gathering, enlarging the camp’s population, in anticipation of the noon march.  The police were mostly in the background, talking with a few suits and ties out for a smoke, or lunch, who observed with amused smiles on their faces as they looked at the Occupy camp and the crowd.  Stupid people, they seemed to be thinking, though I obviously can’t know.  Perhaps they just didn’t get it. But they didn’t have to.  It was getting itself just fine. 

There were old and young, every race and color and creed.  There were hippies in their seventies and students in their teens and twenties, nurses of all ages, punks and patriots of equal concern, workers and laborers and normal folkies of every stripe and sandal.  Yes there was a progressive and lefty and outsider’s insider vibe to the signs and the chants. Banks got BAILED out, we got SOLD out!! Banks got BAILED out, we got SOLD out!!  We ARE the 99 percent!!  We ARE the 99 percent!!  But that’s the whole friggin’ point. There was a tiny dog, a Puggle the owner told me, who was wearing a sign that said “Justice for the Little Guys.”  A woman who looked to be on lunch break held a small sign aloft: “I’m here because I can’t afford a lobbyist.”  End The Fed.  Tax the Rich.  So many more, so varied.  And my favorite, which was a bit longer:

The Amercian Paradox:
Unionized Public Employees
Cracking Down on Those
Seeking to Save Their Jobs & Pensions

Now, I may not agree with everything and everyone in this movement, not even close, but the fetid financial powercore as the center of this mass and evolving dissent?  Bring it on.  My wife works for a good little bank, worked for another one in Southern California that was shut down by regulators and sold off under dubious circumstances, and those kinds of community institutions have been run over by the too-big-too-fail Gods.  I loved it, in other words.  And we marched.  The official count, I read, was 800.  Horseshit.  No way.  I couldn’t give an exact number, but I know it was many more than that paltry figure.  Cabbies were honking at us, but in a rhythm, a beat that said they were with us and not annoyed.  I carried my sign, given by a representative of the nurse’s union, because their cause really resonates with me: Tax Wall Street Transactions – Heal America.  I waved it for a few miles, but my arms never got sore.  The spirit was grand and vital and patriotic and American.  We were engaged in the only thing freedom really means.  The right to say no to the powers that be, to protest without the fear of unjust reprisal.

And there’s the rub.

After marching, I had to hop the train home quickly and pick up my son from school.  I rode south toward Millbrae, while behind me in the city the ruckus remained and grew and settled back into camp for the night. 

The night.

Always the best time for the authorities to do their dirty work. The next morning, after being told by my wife that on the news they reported the police had busted up the Occupy camp, I watched the videos that had already been posted online.  And there they were, those unionized public employees, heading down the street in riot gear toward the Occupy Camp.  The irony is too rich.  And disturbing.  They came in riot gear, apparently, to protect themselves from a bunch of barefoot hippies and thread-thin vegan rebels. The police confiscated a lot of the stuff from camp, ordering the reluctant Department of Public Works employees to carry out the deed, without giving the kids time enough to gather it themselves.  Then the police got rough, nightsticks into ribs and arms and thighs. All of it, needless to say, completely unnecessary.  The only thing freedom means, and that’s what it gets you.  In America.  Didn’t those police want to set a better example, to be better than the police and soldiers we see all over the world stomping on their people’s hopes?  I guess not.  They’ll say it was a safety issue, a private property issue, that it was this or that, but none of it required riot gear and physical violence at all. Disgraceful and depressing.

On Thursday evening, the 6th, on the Occupy SF website I saw that they had put out a call for anyone with a car or truck to help them get their stuff back.  It had been taken to the Department of Public Works yard off Bayshore.  Friday morning, as I sat staring at my computer trying to write, I decided to do something to help these kids out.  I got in my Prius and headed into the city, to the DPW yard.  On the way there, in my idealistic mind (at least I still have one at my age), I envisioned a huge caravan of progressive minded people arriving on the scene in solidarity, ready to help get this stuff back to whom it rightfully belonged. I wished.  But when I got there a little after nine, I was the only one there.  Soon, however, a tiny old Japanese hatchback rumbled past with what I took to be three activists of various ages riding inside.  They had to be Occupy people, I thought. But they drove past, appearing lost, and turned out of sight at the far corner.  Hmm.  In a few seconds, however, they reappeared, the car pulling to a stop at the red curb where I was standing at what looked like the front door to the DPW offices.

“Are you with Occupy?” I asked the bearded young man in the passenger seat, who had a thick mane of wavy dark hair pulled back into a long ponytail.

Yes, they all answered, who are you?  Where do we park?  The driver was in her sixties, clad in black I noticed, with long gray hair.  The passenger in the back seat was a younger gal, heavy, a punk lesbian vibe about her, with her short cropped hair painted red, blonde, and blue.

“I’m just a guy,” I told them.  “Just someone who showed up to help you out.”  The young gal in the back looked at me oddly, with an expression of curious surprise, then pointed at me slowly, like a b-ball teammate acknowledging a sweet assist, as if thinking, “Yes, even the fake hippies in the Adidas gear are with us!”

“And you probably want to park anywhere you can,” I continued. “I just got lucky across the street there.”

Just then we got the attention of a DPW worker inside the glass door.  A big African-American guy in a yellow work vest, he asked if we were from Occupy and looking to get our stuff back.  He gladly directed us where to pull our cars, and he told us he’d instruct someone to meet us back there.  This is when I learned, from the kid with the ponytail, that the DPW workers were not happy about having to obey the police and confiscate the protesters’ stuff, their own union supporting the Occupy movement.  So the courtesy and patience of all these DPW workers was no surprise.

A few minutes later, as the four of us waited on the sidewalk, I realized I’d forgotten their names, or if we’d exchanged them at all.  I thought we had, but I’m terrible with names, which I told the young guy with the beard and ponytail.

“Chris,” he replied to my re-query. “You’re Dave, right?”

I felt guilty that he remembered and I didn’t. 
“I’m Diana,” the younger gal introduced herself, “And I really have to pee.  You think you guys could form a perimeter here for me so I can go in the bushes?”

I suggested she go behind the black van that was completely blocking some bushes about twenty feet away.  She nodded, good idea, and walked over to relieve herself.

“I’m Dagny,” the older woman said as she sat on the curb and lit a cigarette.  “And the name’s not from that useless fucking Ayn Rand book, thank you very much.”  Dagny seemed an experienced San Francisco hellraiser, and I would discover that she had little time for taking any shit or wasting any time. 

Returning from her bathroom bivouac, Diana was hopping mad.  “You’ll have to excuse me, I really got a fire in me today, after what went down last night.  I may be young, but I can get stuff done.  And today we’re going to.”

I told her I understood the fire she had in her.  When I asked how old she was, she replied twenty-two.  Exactly half my age, I told her.  She thought for a second and mouthed forty-four, barely audible enough to be heard.  Just then another DPW worker showed up and told us to follow him in our cars.  He led us through the sprawling yard, crowded with trucks and tankers and service vehicles of every odd variety and size, many in the repair bays, where workers crawled under and around and atop them like Lilliputians upon Gulliver.

We finally made it to a parking area, filled with more trucks, and with a storage area surrounded by a patchwork chain link fence.  The DPW guy unlocked the fence gate and led us in.  There was junk covered in blue tarps on both sides, with a cleared path in between. Everything on the left, he told us, was homeless stuff, which made sense once we saw how many bicycles and shopping carts poked out from under the tarps.  On the right side was the Occupy SF stuff.  It had rained the previous night, so it was a wet mess of backpacks and chairs and tarps and toolboxes, storage containers and tents and camp stoves, furniture and clothes and food. A lot of food.  They’d been living there, after all. Some of it had spoiled, some was still good.  Chris and Diana were kind of overwhelmed at first, but Dagny just laid it down: let’s just get all the food out first, and figure out what’s still good to keep, and what’s not, and we’ll put the good stuff here, and the bad stuff goes in this trash bag.  Wet clothes over there, office stuff here, tarps in a pile, Dagny continued like a former flower-child field general, until we were moving with as swift an organization as possible under the shorthanded circumstances.

A half-hour later my car had been designated as the de-facto catering truck.  It was full of all the canned food, as well as the fresh stuff that hadn’t gone bad.   Bread and bagels that stayed dry, tea and coffee, oats and nuts, produce that included a large crate of oranges and a box full of various types of squash.

We had my Prius packed tight and Dagny’s hatchback full to the brim, with at least several more trips worth ahead of us, if no other vehicles showed up to help with the rest. More importantly, we had no place to go.  Diana made a harried phone call.  Then Chris made another.  There was supposed to be a storage space rented, but no one could seem to figure out who to contact to find out where it was.  It was then that a pickup truck and an SUV showed up.  Cool, now we could at least get the rest of the stuff loaded, those two trucks should be big enough to hold it all.  The truck and SUV, as well, brought four or five other people.  A guy about my age from Marin, who had picked up a gal from the city, and three younger guys in their early twenties (or so I assumed).  These threee were thin and vegan and dressed in clothes that looked like they’d been living outside for a couple of weeks.  When I introduced myself to one of them, he told me that I could call him “Just One.”  After a few moments, I got it.  A leaderless movement.  He was just one. There was something poetic and beautiful about it.  Just One seemed a tad wary of me at first, but by the end of the day was thanking me profusely.

“I really appreciate it, man.  I was worried I was gonna be the only mule out here.”

With more hands to help and more trucks to load, Just One and his friends started to voice their own concerns about how we should be separating the stuff.  They started to disagree among each other while trying to come to a community decision.  Dagny took charge once again, overriding the consensus confusion.

“We’re packing it all up and just taking it to this damn storage space, if anyone can figure out where the hell it is.  Then we’ll deal with it all there.  These people who volunteered their cars and trucks have to get other places, so we need to waste as little of their time as possible.”
Focused by a veteran of many movements, we got the remaining stuff loaded into the trucks, cramming in furniture and containers and everything we could that seemed worth saving. Dagny had decided to take all the wet clothes that looked like they could be salvaged and washed.  She told the kids that she’d bring it clean and dry to camp the next day.  She even told Chris that she was going to lend him her car for the rest of the day, all he needed to do was drop her off and pick her up from a class she teaches.  Lefty teamwork gave us an energizing rush.  Unity flowed like fine, and rare, wine.  On the last sweep of the space, Chris found the handmade red and black OccupySF flag, that had flown at the campsite. It was under a tarp and was still attached to the end of its long bamboo pole, having survived relatively undamaged.

“Yes!” Chris declared, holding it up.  “The flag survived!”  The others shared his small victory enthusiasm.  “We’ll take it with us,” he told me.

Colors ready to fly again, trucks and cars loaded with recovered possessions, we nonetheless continued to wait.  No one, still, could figure out where this storage space was.  A few people made a few more harried phone calls to certain people, not leaders of course, but people in the movement who might know who else in the movement would know where to send us.

“Quite a lovely clusterfuck” Dagny said to me.  “And what the hell am I thinking?  I’m missing prime smoking time here.”

As the guy from Marin, who brought the truck, finally managed to pin down the location of the storage space, I told Diana she could ride over with me, I had a passenger seat free.  She said okay, but didn’t seem too enthused.  As directions to the storage space were given out, Diana hung out next to the passenger door of Dagny’s car.

“I think she’d be more comfortable riding with you,” I said in Dagny’s ear. 

“I think you’re right.  Take Chris and we’ll meet you there.  It’s easy to find, right down 3rd.”

In the Prius and on the way, Chris told me he’d been living at the camp since he got into San Francisco.  He was raised in New Jersey, then he spent some time in Florida, which he hated.  “So I just took off west, ended up here, and I don’t think I’ll ever leave.  I just love the whole spirit here.”  I told him that I’d just moved to the bay area, with my wife and son, from San Diego, and that I’d spent my whole live in Southern California until we moved up here.  When he asked what I did, I talked for a few minutes about being a Hollywood dropout (though I made some good money for a brief time), and that I was now trying to write some fiction.  After I described what made SoCal and NoCal seem like two separate states, Chris repeated his mantra. “I just love it here.”

“Dagny’s a character,” I said after a moment.

“Oh man, she’s hilarious, you shoulda heard the stuff she was saying on the way over here.”

I asked him about Wednesday night, when the police in riot gear had busted up the Occupy camp in front of The Fed.. 

“They were the instigators of the violence, they really were,” he said.  “I mean a couple people yelled some stupid stuff, but we weren’t violent at all, and they just come at you with those batons.  I got nice lump right here on my arm.”

I said I’d heard that some of the police didn’t want anything to do with it.

“Yeah, there were some who wouldn’t even look at you, and you knew they were just torn and didn’t want to be there.  And the female cops, as usual, were fine.”

“Never had a problem with a woman in uniform,” I told him.  “Never even that cop attitude you get if you have the nerve to politely question them.”

He agreed, his eyes looking for the street off Third where we’d find the storage place. 

“Here it is!”

I made a quick sharp right, and I heard several oranges spill out of the crate and juggle down onto the floor.

Pulling into the parking lot, Chris and I realized everyone had made it there before us, even though we’d left pretty much first.  “That’s how you know we haven’t been in the city long,” he smiled, getting out to help unload.

Most of the food packed into my car, it turned out, was headed for a charity called Food Not Bombs.  I was going to drive it over there, a task Dagny had assigned to me, but she couldn’t get Food Not Bombs to pick up their phone, and no one knew where it was.

“They kind of operate under the radar,” Just One told us.  “They really don’t want the authorities to know where they are, so they kind of move around.”

I was stuck with a carload of provisions with no charity to feed.  Damn.  As my time got short, Dagny saved me again and told the kids that they should unload the food from my car, and set it aside with everything else that wasn’t going to stay at the storage space.
“We’ll put it all into one truck, keep it as organized as we can.”
Good call.  I pulled out the bamboo pole with the OccupySF flag on it.  I waved it around for them, and everyone gave a cheer.  “Let it fly, man!” Chris exhorted.  I flew it from the Prius for my last few minutes there.

Chris and I exchanged cell phone digits, and I told him to keep me in mind if they ever needed a car during the week, that mornings and early afternoons are when I’m mostly free.  We shook hands, and he thanked me again, so genuinely, as did everyone else. 

I drove away, got onto 101 south and headed back to Millbrae.  And, in my swelling head, I heard the line from Jack Kerouac’s “October in the Railroad Earth”: …and here’s all these Millbrae and San Carlos neat-necktied producers and commuters of America and Steel civilization rushing by with San Francisco Chronicles and green Call-Bulletins not even enough time to be disdainful…

I cherish those words: …not even enough time to be disdainful. 

So many critics fit that suit perfectly.  It offends them simply to take the time to disdain it.  It bothers them to even bother.  The people, many young, who started this Occupy movement and continue it, deserve much better, as does the entire nation.  These free and peaceful Americans have made the time to do much more than disdain or merely talk. For now, until who knows when, they have made it their lives to act.

The positive vibes from that day must have carried over, because on Sunday I pulled off another online poker miracle.  (I say another because last year I turned thin air, literally nothing but a few bucks won in a free tournament, into more than ten grand in about four months.  All of it ended up in the bank, thankfully.)

This was an equally daunting assignment.  Two thousand and fifty-six players were entered in the tournament on ClubWPT dot com.  It was first place or nothing.

Four hours later, I had beaten them all.

And I had won the grand prize: a $3500 Main Event seat at the World Poker Tour Jacksonville event in November, plus another $1000 in travel money. 

Now what the hell do I do?  I never play live.  And the tournament is at a dog track, of all places.  Greyhound Rescue, condemn me now.

But I could win a bundle.  Or nothing, in which case I’m still on the hook for taxes on this $4500 package.

Wall Street has their casino, albeit a much more rigged one, and I have mine.  Stay tuned.

Period Piece: A Carnegie library reopens in the Marina

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Period Piece is Lucy Schiller’s recurring feature on the hidden histories of San Francisco. Give her a shout at culture@sfbg.com if you know of some hot dirt on olden times in the city

About a hundred years ago, Andrew Carnegie was giving away most of the money he had amassed from a gargantuan steel empire. Eight libraries in San Francisco directly resulted from Carnegie’s efforts, including the Marina’s Golden Gate Valley branch – the recipient of a much needed facelift that concluded last week.

The library was the eighth branch to open in San Francisco. It was born in 1918 to a city less than thrilled about accepting money from a man with a terrible labor rights record. Various arguments at City Hall had already played out over whether to accept the dirty money or refuse it, dedicate most of the funds to a main library or allocate more to several branches, elect trustees or keep the wealthy, elite ones around. 

After years of stalling, it was decided. Half of Carnegie’s grant went to the Main Library, the other half to seven branches. Last week, the Golden Gate Valley branch reopened after an extensive renovation thanks to B.L.I.P. (the inauspicious acronym for the Branch Library Improvement Project).

You can sense the money that went into this place’s initial construction. Shaped like a big wedge of cake, the Golden Gate Valley branch nestles into the corner of Octavia and Green and is decked out with stately columns, heavy copper doors, and high ceilings. 

Libraries have come a long way from their original intended purpose of providing literature to the masses. There are books here, of course — lots and lots of them. But the Golden Gate Valley branch also holds features for kids who can’t even read yet, digital signage in the teens’ area, a program room for community events, and of course, rows of computers for what is perhaps the library’s most salient role in today’s society: free Internet access. 

“Part of the mission of the library is to be a family destination,” says Mindy Linetzky, bond program administrator for BLIP. “We really want teens to come, for example.” With the library’s plans to hold occasional Wii gaming days, you can be sure they will, in droves.

B.L.I.P. has seen marked increase in community engagement since the start of the renovations. According to Michelle Jeffers, public relations officer at SFPL, the Visitation Valley branch’s recent renovation was met with a 406 percent increase in library card registration. 

BLIP’s job is almost done now with twenty-two refurbished libraries under its belt and only two more on the docket. Safer (with seismic bracing), greener (with solar panels), and more accessible (with elevators), our new libraries hold a lot of their former glory but also some fancy new swag.

Golden Gate Valley Public Library
 1801 Green, SF
(415) 355-5666

 

Appetite: Recapping Whiskyfest 2011

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Another year, another WhiskyFest. I’ve been attending a number of years now, ever relishing an opportunity to try unexplored whiskies, refresh my taste memory on others, and connect with whisk(e)y industry folk and distillers here from Kentucky to Scotland.

A number of options listed as VIP tastes (more than ever this year) were not, in fact, available at all. Some purveyors said these bottles — like Isle of Jura’s Shackleton or Pierre Ferrand Ancestrale Cognac — hadn’t reached the States yet. I find this a problem, particularly for those paying more to hit VIP hour for these rare tastes ($135 regular tickets; $185 for VIP hour).

One that WAS there however, was the soft, layered, fruity yet slightly oaky, Tamdhu 30 year from Gordon and MacPhail.

Their Benromach 10 yr (available all night, not just during VIP hour) is surprisingly complex, with essence of cedar, nuts, smoke, and spice. Aged in bourbon casks, then finished off in sherry, it does not taste a full 20 years younger than the Tamdhu. I chatted with the company’s friendly managing director, Michael Urquhart, one of 3rd and 4th generations of the Urquhart family who own the company and have been making single malts long before they were ever marketed as a category.

My favorite VIP taste may have been Ardmore’s gorgeous 30 yr Scotch. Surprisingly light, it evokes coffee, caramel, dried orange and a long, gently peaty finish. I found this beauty at the Laphroaig table, where I also enjoyed another taste of Laphroig’s Cairdeus and Triple Wood whiskies).

Italian company Samaroli imports a number of special edition whiskies, but of greater interest to me were their unique rums, some layered and elegant, others funky, but all fascinating, particularly Caribbean2003, a rum that is predominantly Cuban, and a French-style rhum agricole: Guadaloupe 1998.

Bruichladdich, who wins for hippest, out-of-the-norm packaging, is doing some interesting things, particularly with their new gin (yes, I said gin), The Botanist. Though containing far too many botanicals (22 in all, from bog myrtle leaves to apple mint), somehow it manages to come together in a cohesive, smoothly refined whole. Their unique Black Art 2 whisky, an uber-secretive recipe that purportedly only distiller Jim McEwan knows, was aged in a range of unlisted barrels, possibly sherry, even wine casks, just like the first limited edition of Black Art.

High West Distillery in Park City, Utah, has a new bottled Manahattan cocktail. Though it’s a decent product, I couldn’t fathom preferring it to a freshly made (or barrel-aged at a bar) Manhattan. All initial barrels in Utah sold out in 8 days, so they launched the product beyond. I sampled their new 21 yr Rocky Mountain Rye, but actually preferred another new bottling: OMG (meaning Old MononGahela, a Western Pennsylvania river) Pure Rye Silver Whiskey. They left the heads and tails in, giving it a rugged, green profile of Meyer lemon citrus and rye spice, best enjoyed neat at room temperature.

Tequila Corrido, a tequila line I enjoy from start to finish, poured their new Extra Anejo from the first barrel to ever leave the distillery. It tastes of lemongrass, oak and chocolate, with agave actually detectable (a fault of many anejos when wood drowns out the agave).

Great King Street
, a blended Scotch made by the Compass Box Whisky Company wasn’t my top taste of the night, but is a smooth blend of Lowland, Highland and Speyside single malts, lightly toasty with vanilla and spice. It’s fresh, classically modern packaging and approach of bringing back respect for blends make it stand out.

WHISKYFEST Seminar with Parker Beam and Alain Royer

My seminar of choice was the evening’s highlight, led by one of my whiskey heros, Parker Beam (who I had the privilege of meeting last year and chatting again with this week), and master Cognac blender Alain Royer of the Renaud Cointreau Group. Beam and Royer discussed Parker’s Heritage Collection 2011 release: a 10-year bourbon aged first in charred American white oak barrels, then 6 months in used Limousin oak Cognac casks. You wouldn’t know it’s a bracing 100 proof, as it goes down smooth, sweet and silky with maple, apple, and gentle spice. It might not be as revelatory as Parker’s Golden Anniversary or 27 year whiskeys, but alongside last year’s robust Wheated Bourbon, it’s yet another winner in Beam’s impeccable collection.

Only Heaven Hill, the company that makes Parker’s Heritage Collection (among my top bourbons of all time), can claim that since 1934 every drop of whiskey from their distillery (all their brands) is overseen by Earl, Parker or Craig Beam of the esteemed Beam family. They produce 900,000 barrels of whiskies out of 49 rickhouses across 30+ acres.

Parker ever charms with his slow-as-molasses (or maybe even slower) Southern drawl belying his feisty sense of humor. Keeping it real, he says, “If you want to make good bourbon, you make it in Kentucky. If you want to sell it, you damn well make it in Kentucky.” He sips one of Heaven Hill’s most popular, affordable whiskeys during his down time, however: “At home I kick back with our Evan Williams single barrel.”

In regards to joining forces with Parker to make Parker’s Heritage Cognac Barrel-finished Bourbon, Alain states: “When I tasted Parker’s bourbon, it reminded me of Borderies.” Known for their floral richness, Cognacs from Cognac’s Borderies region are often elegant beauties with heart, just like Parker’s Cognac Bourbon.

Parker talked about the process of deciding what this year’s special release would be (each of his annual releases are rare, limited editions): “We had some older products [older than his 27yr bourbon] that wasn’t up to snuff. I didn’t like it, anyway… To make Cognac bourbon we went gung ho, as we knew the bourbon was gonna be good… and we trusted Alain’s selection of barrels”.

Next to the final product, we sampled Heaven Hill’s Bourbon Rye Mashbill (10yr bourbon, 100 proof) from new charred white oak barrels. Even in its raw form, the rye exhibits fullness and spice, coconut and vanilla. We also savored Alain’s Chateau de Fontpinot XO Cognac, aged an average of 18-20 years and produced on one single estate from ugni blanc grapes. It’s seductive with apple and apricot, subtly earthy with hay and wood notes, a sophisticated Cognac.

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Stage Listings

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Stage listings are compiled by Guardian staff. Performance times may change; call venues to confirm. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Rita Felciano, and Nicole Gluckstern. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks.

THEATER

OPENING

“Master Harold” … and the Boys Phoenix Theater, 414 Mason, Ste 601, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.offbroadwaywest.org. $18-40. Opens Sat/15, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Nov 19. Off Broadway West Theatre Company performs Athol Fugard’s South African-set drama.

On the Air Pier 29 on the Embarcadero (at Battery), SF; (415) 438-2668, love.zinzanni.org. $117 and up (includes dinner). Opens Thurs/13, 6pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 6pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Dec 31. Teatro ZinZanni’s final performance at Pier 39 riffs on the company’s own struggles to stay in San Francisco. Geoff Hoyle and Duffy Bishop are the headlining guest stars.

red, black & GREEN: a blues (rbGb) Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission, SF; (415) 978-2787, www.ybca.org. $5-25. Opens Thurs/13, 7:30pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 7:30pm. Through Oct 22. Marc Bamuthi Joseph’s world premiere is a collaborative, multimedia performance work and installation addressing environmental racism, social ecology, and other topics.

BAY AREA

Inanna’s Descent Codornices Park, 1201 Euclid, Berk; www.raggedwing.org. Free. Opens Sat/15, 1-5pm. Runs Sat-Sun, 1pm. Through Oct 30. Special Halloween show Oct 31, 5-8pm. Ragged Wing Ensemble presents its second annual “outdoor, site-specific, ritual performance event for Halloween.”

ONGOING

“AfroSolo Arts Festival” Various venues, SF; www.afrosolo.org. Free-$100. Through Oct 20. The AfroSolo Theatre Company presents its 18th annual festival celebrating African American artists, musicians, and performers.

Alice Down the Rwong Wrabbit Whole Emerald Tablet, 80 Fresno, SF; (415) 500-2323, www.brownpapertickets.com. $15. Fri/14-Sat/15, 9pm. Karen Light and Edna Barrón perform their new comedy based on Alice in Wonderland.

Almost Nothing, Day of Absence Lorraine Hansberry Theatre, 450 Post, SF; (415) 474-8800, www.lhtsf.org. $43-53. Previews Wed/12-Thurs/13, 8pm. Opens Fri/14, 8pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2pm. Through Nov 20. Lorraine Hansberry Theatre performs one-act plays by Marcos Barbosa and Douglas Turner Ward.

Desdemona: A Play About a Handkerchief Boxcar Theatre Playhouse, 505 Natoma, SF; www.boxcartheatre.org. $15-35. Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Nov 5. Boxcar Theatre performs Pauls Vogel’s dark comedy, inspired by the three female characters from Shakespeare’s Othello.

Honey Brown Eyes SF Playhouse, 533 Sutter, SF; (415) 677-9596, www.sfplayhouse.org. $20-50. Tues-Thurs, 7pm; Fri-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 3pm). Through Nov 5. Bosnia in 1992 is divided in a horrifying civil war, some characteristics of which play out in parallel circumstances for two members of a single rock band in SF Playhouse’s west coast premiere of Stefanie Zadravec’s new play. In the first act, set in Visegrad, a young Bosnian Muslim woman (Jennifer Stuckert) is held at gunpoint in her kitchen by a jumpy soldier (Nic Grelli) engaged in a mission of murder and dispossession known as ethnic cleansing. The second act moves to Sarajevo and the apartment of an elderly woman (Wanda McCaddon) who gives shelter and a rare meal to an army fugitive (Chad Deverman). He in turn keeps the bereaved if indomitable woman company. Director Susi Damilano and cast are clearly committed to Zadravec’s ambitious if hobbled play, but the action can be too contrived and unrealistic (especially in act one) to be credible while the tone — zigzagging between the horror of atrocity and the offbeat gestures of romantic comedy — comes over as confused indecision rather than a deliberate concoction. (Avila)

The Kipling Hotel: True Misadventures of the Electric Pink ’80s Marsh San Francisco, 1062 Valencia, SF; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. Sat, 8:30pm; Sun, 7pm. Through Nov 13. Acclaimed solo performer Don Reed (East 14th) premieres his new show, based on his post-Oakland years living in Los Angeles.

Making Porn Box Car Theatre Studios, 125A Hyde, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25-50. Thurs, 8pm; Fri-Sun, 7pm (also Fri-Sat, 10pm). Through Oct 29. Ronnie Larsen brings back his crowd-pleasing comedy about the gay porn industry.

Not Getting Any Younger Marsh San Francisco, Studio Theater, 1062 Valencia, SF; (415) 826-5750, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 8:30pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Oct 23. Marga Gomez is back at the Marsh, a couple of too-brief decades after inaugurating the theater’s new stage with her first solo show — an apt setting, in other words, for the writer-performer’s latest monologue, a reflection on the inevitable process of aging for a Latina lesbian comedian and artist who still hangs at Starbucks and can’t be trusted with the details of her own Wikipedia entry. If the thought of someone as perennially irreverent, insouciant, and appealingly immature as Gomez makes you depressed, the show is, strangely enough, the best antidote. (Avila)

Nymph Errant Eureka Theater, 215 Jackson, SF; (415) 255-8207, www.42ndstmoon.org. $20-50. Wed, 7pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 6pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Oct 23. 42nd Street Moon performs Cole Porter’s madcap 1933 musical.

*The Odyssey Aboard Alma, Hyde Street Pier, San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park, SF; www.weplayers.org. $160. Oct 28-29, Nov 4-6, 11-12, and 18, 12:30pm. Heralding their hugely ambitious Spring 2012 production of The Odyssey, which will take place all over Angel Island, the WE Players are tackling the work on a slightly smaller scale by staging it on the historic scow schooner Alma, which is part of the Maritime National Historical Park fleet docked at the end of Hyde Street Pier. Using both boat and Bay as setting, the essential chapters of the ten-year voyage — encounters with the Cyclops, Circe, the Underworld, the Sirens, Aeolus, the Laestrygonians, and Calypso — are enacted through an intriguing mash-up of narration, choreography, sea chanteys, salty dog stories (like shaggy dog stories, but more water-logged), breathtaking views, and a few death-defying stunts the likes of which you won’t see on many conventional stages. High points include the casual swapping of roles (every actor gets to play Odysseus, however briefly), Ross Travis’ masked and flatulent Prometheus and sure-footed Hermes, Ava Roy’s hot pants-clad Circe, Charlie Gurke’s steady musical direction and multi-instrumental abilities, and the sail itself, an experiential bonus. Landlubbers beware, so much time facing the back of the boat where much of the action takes place can result in mild quease, even on a calm day. Take advantage of the downtime between scenes to walk around and face forward now and again. You’ll want to anyway. (Gluckstern) *Once in a Lifetime American Conservatory Theater, 415 Geary, SF; (415) 749-2228, www.act-sf.org. $10-85. Wed/12-Sat/15, 8pm (also Wed/12 and Sat/15, 2pm); Sun/16, 2pm. Three enterprising small-time New York theater makers head to Hollywood as voice coaches for silent screen actors fumbling the transition to talkies in American Conservatory Theater’s revival of George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart’s first Broadway collaboration. Originally premiered in 1930, the satirical take on the industry and its corruption of art and more is ever apt if not exactly fresh, and not all the comedy in its hefty three acts still lands where it should. That said, you probably couldn’t ask for a better revival of the piece, which retains much to admire and enjoy. Beautifully designed in grand fashion (including wowing sets by Daniel Ostling and snazzy costuming by Alex Jaeger), director Mark Rucker’s slick and savvy production ensures a perfect pace and wonderfully sharp ensemble acting led by the terrific trio of Julia Coffey, Patrick Lane, and John Wernke — but including some notable turns in multiple roles, including by René Augesen, Margot Hall, and Will LeBow. Rucker inserts some choice period film clips (the mesmerizing moments speaking with perhaps inadvertent force to the power of the celluloid medium and its tensions with theater, a sub-theme of the story), while Alexander V. Nichols’ video design adds further moment to this continent-crossing Hollywood escapade. (Avila)

“San Francisco Olympians Festival” Exit Theater, 156 Eddy, SF; www.sfolympians.com. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Oct 28. No Nude Men Productions presents a festival of 12 new full-length plays written by 14 local writers. Each play focuses on one of the Olympian characters from ancient Greece.

ShEvil Dead Cellspace, 2050 Bryant, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25. Sat/15, Oct 21, and 28-29, 8pm. Primitive Screwheads return with a horror play (in which the audience is literally sprayed with blood, so leave the fancy suit at home!) based on the Evil Dead movies.

“Shocktoberfest 12: Fear Over Frisco” Hypnodrome Theatre, 575 10th St, SF; (415) 377-4202, www.thrillpeddlers.com. $25-35. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Nov 19. In its annual season-scented horror bid, Thrillpeddlers joins forces with SF’s Czar of Noir, writer-director Eddie Muller, for a sharply penned triplet of plays that resurrect lurid San Francisco lore as flesh-and-blood action. In the slightly sluggish but intriguing Grand Inquisitor, a solitary young woman modeling herself on Louise Brooks in Lulu (an alluringly Lulu-like Bonni Suval) believes she has located the Zodiac killer’s widow (a sweet but cagey Mary Gibboney) — a scenario that just can’t end well for somebody, yet manages to defy expectations. An Obvious Explanation turns on an amnesiac (Daniel Bakken) whose brother (Flynn de Marco) explains the female corpse in the rollaway (Zelda Koznofski) before asking bro where he hid a certain pile of money. Enter a brash doctor (Suval) with a new drug and ambitions of her own vis-à-vis the hapless head case. Russell Blackwood directs The Drug, which adapts a Grand Guignol classic to the hoity-toity milieu of the Van Nesses and seedy Chinatown opium dens, where a rough-playing attorney (an ever persuasive Eric Tyson Wertz) determines to turn a gruesome case involving the duplicitous Mrs. Van Ness (an equally sure, sultry Kära Emry) to his own advantage. The evening also offers a blackout spook show and some smoothly atmospheric musical numbers, including Muller’s rousing “Fear Over Frisco” (music composed by Scrumbly Koldewyn; accompaniment by Steve Bolinger and Birdie-Bob Watt) and an aptly low-down Irving Berlin number — both winningly performed by the entire company. (Avila)

Sorya! A Minor Miracle (Part One) NOHSpace, Project Artaud, 2840 Mariposa, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $12-18. Sun-Mon, 7pm. Through Oct 24. Each year, NOHspace residents Theatre of Yugen present a program of short Kyogen and Noh pieces, demonstrating the building blocks that define their unique approach. Blending classical Japanese theatrical styles with original and contemporary works, the company’s multi-cultural ensemble has been performing their specialized brand of East-West fusion since 1978. This year’s Sorya! program includes two modern-day works written by Greg Giovanni, a Philadelphia-based playwright and Noh artist, directed by Theatre of Yugen artistic director Jubilith Moore, and one traditional comedy, Boshibari (Tied to a Pole), directed by company founder Yuriko Doi. This piece is by far the strongest of the three, a tale of two servants pulling one over their master, who has tied them up in order to prevent them from breaking into the sake cellar. Lluis Valls and Sheila Berotti as Taro and Jiro execute the highly-ritualized aspects of the Kyogen farce with deft mobility and expressiveness, working together to overcome their captivity just enough to enjoy a few drinks before being discovered by their irate master (Sheila Devitt). The other two pieces, one set in Narnia and the other based on an Irish folk ballad, are less compelling, though no less ambitious, and Stephen Siegel and Karen Marek’s joint performance as a pair of squabbling dwarves is worthy of praise. (Gluckstern)

*Tutor: Enter the Enclave Exit Studio, 156 Eddy, SF; (415) 673-3847, www.darkporchtheatre.com. $15-25. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Oct 22. Dark Porch Theatre performs Martin Schwartz’s play, inspired by an 18th century German drama, about a tutor who realizes the creepy family he works for is not quite what they seem.

BAY AREA

Attempts on Her Life Zellerbach Playhouse, Bancroft at Telegraph, UC Berkeley, Berk; tdps.berkeley.edu. $15. Fri/14-Sat/15, 8pm; Sun/16, 2pm. “Annie” never appears onstage but is the much discussed, indeterminate subject of British playwright Martin Crimp’s dazzling 1997 play, which spins the titular “her” into a postmodern cipher-self coughing up — in a shrewd, caustic, at times hilarious slew of discrete but interrelated scenes — the detritus of an international world/netherworld of consumerism, terrorism, media, and murder. The play, which premiered at the cusp of the millennium (and locally in a memorable 2002 production by foolsFURY), retains perhaps all of its original force in these menacing times, but unfortunately much of it is lost or diluted in director Scott Wallin’s production for UC Berkeley’s Department of Theater, Dance, and Performance Studies. The staging (set within a large initially bare stage with audience members on either side arena-style) holds some effective surprises, but is unhelpfully diffused or static at times, while the performance of the polyglot 10-actor ensemble is generally weak (the monologue “Kinda Funny” is one among a handful of notable exceptions), especially when the cast attempts singing and moving together. The decidedly mixed success here leaves room for another attempt soon on this elusive and stimulating work. (Avila)

Bellwether Marin Theatre Company, 397 Miller, Mill Valley; (415) 388-5208, www.marintheatre.org. $34-55. Tues, Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat/15 and Oct 29, 2pm; Oct 20, 1pm); Wed, 7:30pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Oct 30. Marin Theatre Company performs Steve Yockey’s spooky fairy tale for adults.

Clementine in the Lower 9 TheatreWorks at the Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts, 500 Castro, Mtn View; (650) 463-1960, www.theatreworks.org. $19-69. Tues-Wed, 7:30pm; Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Oct 30. TheatreWorks presents the world premiere of Dan Dietz’s post-Katrina New Orleans drama.

*A Delicate Balance Aurora Theatre, 2081 Addison, Berk; (510) 843-4822, www.auroratheatre.org. $10-48. Tues, 7pm; Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm. Extended through Oct 23. Aurora Theatre performs Edward Albee’s comedy of manners.

*Phaedra Ashby Stage, 1901 Ashby, Berk; (510) 841-6500, www.shotgunplayers.org. $17-26. Wed-Thurs, 7pm; Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Oct 23. Catherine (Catherine Castellanos) is the loveless matron in the impeccably tidy, upper-class home of middle-aged right-wing judge Antonio (Keith Burkland), secretly infatuated with her stepson (Patrick Alparone), the prodigal returning home from jail and rehab for a new start. Catherine’s cold, obsessively ordered run of the household — with heavy-lifting by her cheerful, steadfast housekeeper (a wonderfully genuine Trish Mulholland) — masks a desolation and chaos inside her, a churning emptiness evoked in the deliberately listless pace of act one and the skudding clouds we can see reflected in the walls of designer Nina Ball’s impressively stolid, icily tasteful living room. Portland Center Stage’s Rose Riordan directs a strong cast (which includes Cindy Im, as the stepson’s rehab partner and sexual interest) in a modern-day adaptation of the Greek myth by Adam Bock (The Shaker Chair, Swimming in the Shallows), in a worthy premiere for Shotgun Players. The drama comes leavened by Bock’s well-developed humor and the dialogue, while inconsistent, can be eloquent. The storm that breaks in the second act, however, feels a bit compressed and, especially after the languid first act, contributes to a somewhat pinched narrative. But whatever its limitations, Catherine’s predicament is palpably dramatic, especially in Castellanos’s deeply moving performance — among her best work to date and alone worth giving Phaedra a chance. (Avila)

*Rita Moreno: Life Without Makeup Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. $14.50-73. Tues-Sun, showtimes vary. Through Oct 30. The life of stage and screen legend Rita Moreno is a subject that has no trouble filling two swift and varied acts, especially as related in anecdote, song, comedy, and dance by the serene multiple–award-winning performer and Berkeley resident herself. Indeed, that so much material gets covered so succinctly but rarely abruptly is a real achievement of this attractively adorned autobiographical solo show crafted with playwright and Berkeley Rep artistic director Tony Taccone. (Avila)

The Taming of the Shrew Bruns Amphitheater, 100 California Shakespeare Wy, Orinda; (510) 809-3290, www.calshakes.org. $35-66. Wed/12-Thurs/13, 7:30pm; Fri/14-Sat/15, 8pm; Sun/16, 4pm. California Shakespeare Theatre’s last show of the season is a high-fashion, pop-art take on Shakespeare’s battle of the sexes.

The World’s Funniest Bubble Show Marsh Berkeley, TheaterStage, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 826-5750, www.themarsh.org. $8-50. Sun, 11am. Through Nov 20. Louis “The Amazing Bubble Man” Pearl returns with this kid-friendly, bubble-tastic comedy.

DANCE/PERFORMANCE

Alonzo King LINES Ballet Novellus Theater, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 700 Howard, SF; www.linesballet.org. Fri/14-Sat/15 and Oct 21-22, 8pm; Sun/15 and Oct 23, 5pm; Oct 19-20, 7:30pm. $15-65. The company performs its fall home season, featuring two world premieres.

“Hula Show 2011” Palace of Fine Arts Theatre, 3301 Lyon, SF; (415) 392-4400, www.cityboxoffice.com. Sat/15, Oct 21-22, 8pm; Sun/16, 4pm; Oct 23, noon (family matinee) and 4pm. $10-45. Patrick Makuakane’s Na Lei Hulu I Ka Wekiu performs its annual show mixing traditional and contemporary forms of hula, with special guests Golden Gate Men’s Chorus.

*”PanderFest 2011″ Stage Werx 446, 446 Valencia, SF; www.panderexpress.com. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Oct 29. $20. San Francisco’s Crisis Hopkins and (PianoFight’s S.H.I.T. Show makers) Mission Control join forces for a tag-team evening of sketch and “improv” (quotes kind of necessary this time). Claiming dubiously to fill a need for yet another festival in this city (though at the same time striving for above-average fawning of the public), the show delivers two acts of mostly spot-on comedy by two agreeable ensembles and is thus a fine night out anyway. The program (based rather loosely on online-video–generated audience suggestions, interspersed with the sneezing Panda baby and other YouTube perennials) also inaugurates Stage Werx’s cozy new Mission District venue — the former digs of Intersection for the Arts and a huge improvement over Stage Werx’s old subterranean lair on Sutter Street. Highlights of a ridiculous evening include a two-part Crisis Hopkins sketch detailing a site visit by a ball-wrecking contractor (Christy Daly) to her chary foreman (Sam Shaw) and his withering cherries; and Mission Control’s pointed ’70s TV show homage with a twist, Good Cop, Stab Cop. (Avila)

“San Francisco Trolley Dances 2011” Tours leave from SF Public Library, 100 Larkin, SF; (415) 226-1139, www.epiphanydance.org. Sat/15-Sun/16, every 45 minutes from 11am-2:45pm. Free with Muni fare ($2). Ephiphany Productions presents its eighth annual moving festival of local dance companies performing site-specific, outdoor pieces.

“To Bury a Cat: A Clown Show” NOHspace in Project Artaud, 2840 Mariposa, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. $10. Theatre of Yugen’s ARTburst Program presents this performance by Clowns On a Stick.

“Witches of Wonder” Big Umbrella Studios, 960 Divisadero, SF; www.bigumbrellastudios.com. Fri, 7pm. Free. All all-female cast sends up Halloween, Day of the Dead, and “all things goth” in this performance.

One last cannabis fest? Despite IRS ruling, medical community soldiers on

1

Last week, the IRS’ two year audit of Harborside Health Center ended poorly for the medical marijuana industry. The federal government agency decided that the dispensary (Oakland’s largest, as the Bay Citizen reported in its coverage of the craziness — check out our story in today’s paper about the additional threats that have been made) couldn’t deduct standard business expenses, a move that left Harborside in the hole for $2 million and the rest of its industry in need of a joint. 

Such was the setting for the West Coast Cannabis and Music Festival this weekend (Fri/7-Sun/9). Things got a little weird. Which is not to say that things weren’t also good. The 215 legal smoking area was ample proof that medical cannabis is alive and thriving, especially in the here and now. How else to explain the booths hawking aphrodisiac cannabis drinks and medicated vanilla chai truffles? Outside, the fresh-faced and strongly-quadricepped carried forth at the Rock the Bike music stage, its live and DJ offerings projected into the Cow Palace parking lot by a woefully shallow pool of volunteers. The muscle mass we pay for music… 

Even the charming gentlemen at the Harborside booth were all kinds of upbeat, eager to talk about their new Discovery Channel reality TV show. They were handing out copies of their dispensary’s newsletter, the Harborside Illuminator. In it, general manager Andrew DeAngelo’s column, which contained a transcript of a conversation he had with the show’s producer, Chuck Braverman:

DeAngelo: Chuck, I really liked the name Cannabis Confidential — why did they go with Weed Wars?

Braverman: Bigger tent

DeAngelo: What do you mean bigger tent?

Braverman: The title Weed Wars will get more people into the tent to watch the show.

DeAngelo: But we don’t call it ‘weed’ and there is no war.

Of course, some would say there is a war on now. It certainly felt like I was being drafted by Sunday afternoon, when California state senator John Vasconsellos’ time to occupy the speaker’s stage was approaching. A barker alternatively sang and cajoled into the microphone, eventually resorting to bribes. “Anyone who sits down over here will receive a free joint. People, you need to hear this!” Ever obliging, we sat and listened to the woman who introduced the senator. She informed us she was filming the talk, although the final destination of the video was unclear to those of us who had just made her acquaintance. 

“Senator,” she trilled. “Look at all these people here who love you!” You and free marijuana, doll. 

Which is a really snarky thing to say, because we had little to say against the senator’s speech, which was 45 minutes of a call to arms to save patients’ right to access their medicine. And truly, we had to agree with the woman who had repurposed an electric green sleep sack as a dress, but not before cutting out the tits, donning a black mesh garment underneath, affixing a fake weed plant to the crotch area, and boldly Sharpie-ing across the front of it all “Obama can you replace our tax revenue?”

She giggled and posed in front of a strangely perfect WCCMF logo-ed wall when asked by (more than one) photographer if they could digi-capture her. Probably because she knew we all agreed with her, which come to think of it is a big part of these festivals: meeting other stoners that share your concerns. 

Like, does that aphrodisiac stuff really work or what?

Feds crack down

8

steve@sfbg.com

HERBWISE Reversing its previous pledge to abide people’s rights to legally obtain medical marijuana in California and the 14 other states that have legalized it, the Obama Administration has launched a crackdown on the industry using several different federal agencies.

During an Oct. 7 press conference in Sacramento, California’s four U.S. attorneys announced their intention to go after the industry with raids on large-scale growing operations and big dispensaries and civil lawsuits targeting the assets of people involved in the cannabis business.

“We want to put to rest the notion that large marijuana businesses can shelter themselves under state law,” Melinda Haag, the U.S. attorney for Northern California, based here in San Francisco, said at the press conference.

That pronouncement is just the latest in a series of federal actions against those involved with the production and distribution of California’s top cash crop, an industry that the California Board of Equalization estimates to be worth about $1.3 billion in tax revenue annually. Sources in the medical marijuana business say the crackdown began quietly this summer.

Hundreds of dispensaries and other medical marijuana operations had their bank accounts shut down after the Treasury Department contacted their banks and warned them of sanctions for doing business with an industry that remains illegal under federal law. The Internal Revenue Service last month also notified many large dispensaries — including Harborside Health Center in Oakland, the largest in Northern California — that they cannot write off normal business expenses and must pay a 35 percent levy on those claims going back for three years.

Harborside’s Steve DeAngelo told us that would put Harborside — or any company with high overhead costs — out of business. “This is not an effort to tax us, it’s an effort to tax us out of existence,” he said, noting that Harborside paid the city of Oakland $1.1 million in taxes this year. In addition, the Department of Justice recently began sending 45-day cease-and-desist letters to hundreds of dispensaries around the state, including at least two in San Francisco, warning the clubs and their landlords that the operations violate federal law and could be subject to federal laws on the seizure of assets from the drug trade.

“It’s a multi-agency federal attack on patients’ access to this medication,” DeAngelo said. “It’s going to drive sick and dying patients back out onto the street to get their medicine.”

Haag claimed the state’s medical marijuana laws, which California voters approved back in 1996, have been “hijacked by profiteers.” Yet both local officials and people in the industry say that characterization is ridiculous, and that the federal government’s new stance will destroy an important industry — one that is very professional and well-regulated in San Francisco — and send legitimate patients back into the black market.

“I think it’s a step in the wrong direction and counter-intuitive to the Obama Administration’s contention that he would respect state’s rights,” said Sup. Ross Mirkarimi, who authored groundbreaking legislation regulating San Francisco’s two dozen dispensaries, a system that he said “is working well…But now the federal government is pulling the rug out from under us.”

Shortly after taking office in 2009, the Obama Administration released the “Ogden memo,” written by Deputy Attorney General David Ogden, stating the federal government would respect the rights of states to legalize and regulate medical marijuana. It was seen by cannabis activists as a sign that Obama was de-escalating the war on drugs, at least as it applied to marijuana.

But in June of this year, the DOJ release the “Cole memo,” by Deputy Attorney General James Cole, which it said “clarifies” the Ogden memo. In fact, it reversed the position, stating unequivocally that federal marijuana prohibition prevails and “state laws or local ordinances are not a defense to civil or criminal enforcement of federal law with respect to such conduct.”

“They’re bringing the hammer down,” said David Goldman, who works for Americans for Safe Access and sits on San Francisco’s medical marijuana task force. “This is not U.S. attorneys doing this on their own, this is coming from the top levels of the DOJ.”

Actually, Goldman and others suspect it goes even higher than that, right to Obama and his political team, who appear to be making a calculation that cracking down on medical marijuana is a good move before an uncertain reelection campaign.

“It’s political. It’s all about Obama appealing to the middle to win reelection,” Goldman said.

“I don’t think there’s any rational basis for what’s going on. It was clearly a political calculation,” DeAngelo said. “Why do they think it’s better for patients to buy their medicine from the black market?”

He said the crackdown will bolster the Mexican drug cartels, destroy a thriving industry that provides jobs and pays taxes, hinder efforts at better quality control and growing conditions (see “Green buds,” Aug. 16), and waste law enforcement resources to seize and destroy a valuable commodity.

“It’s a policy with all downsides and no upsides,” DeAngelo said.

Mirkarimi said that this crackdown could finally force cannabis activists to take on the federal prohibition of marijuana directly: “Bottom line, marijuana is the United States needs to be reformed so it’s not a Schedule 1 drug,” referring the federal government’s conclusion that marijuana is a dangerous drug with no medical applications.

But for now, DeAngelo said the industry will fight back: “We will fight it in the legal system, we will fight it in the court of public opinion, and we will appeal to Congress.”

Really living at the Life is Living Festival (and now there’s a stage show too!)

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Every once in awhile, an festival comes along that seems so seamless, so positive, and so needed that it’s like it sprang from the Bay Area gods. Such an event is the Life is Living Festival, which took over West Oakland’s De Fremery Park last Sat/8 in big, happy puppy pile of art and kids and music. “We began this, but as you can see, it’s expanded so that it’s kind of everyone’s thing now,” says Marc Bamuthi Joseph, the founder of the Life is Living organization which has overseen the event’s growth into yearly happenings in Harlem, Houston, and Harlem. Bamuthi, who helped start the Bay’s pioneering spoken word nonprofit Youth Speaks, seemed as gleeful to be out in the Oakland sunshine as the kids flipping head over heels at the padded beginner’s parkour course set up in one side of the park.

In another corner, a spoken word stage pedal-powered by the velo-minded geniuses of Rock the Bike. In another, a simple floor set up on the grass where drummers pounded away for an all-are-welcome dance show-and-tell. A woman in her forties gyrated joyously in precisely free African patterns. A kid that didn’t go up to my waist breakdanced to thunderous applause, finally sitting down in a folding chair just offstage, rubbing the spot on the back of his head that had just been supporting his entire body in an upside-down spin. 

In between stellar sets by Panamanian-cum-Oaklanders Los Rakas and Questlove, a man took the stage to vocalize what it seemed like many in the crowd were already feeling — that this day, with its serenity and family-friendly vibes, was a big deal for West Oakland. He talked about how we were all standing on a corridor of public land. Across the street was a senior citizen’s center. It was a Saturday and its doors were locked. Was this, the man asked the crowd, acceptable? He encouraged us all to utilize public land as something that could nurture community, not to let it lie fallow. 

Such was the overall message of Life is Living — doing stuff with what we have, while we strengthen our voices to ask for more. What we had wasn’t too shabby — a food justice information area, a health and wellness zone that offered free HIV testing, shows from local hip-hop duo the Coup and Haitian dance troupe Ra Ra Loumen. 

Not to mention another of the festival’s major draws: the Estria Invitational Graffiti Battle. Around the country, Bay Area graff legend Estria Miyashiro has been organizing themed graffiiti contests. Competitors hear the word of the day’s showdown (Saturday’s was “proud”) and create vivid works of aerosol cleverness in an alloted time. When the panel of expert street artist-judges had tallied up their impressions Los Angeles artist Vyal received the day’s top honors for the second year in a row. 

The feel-good event of the year, I’m calling it. And community organizers are in luck: Life is Living directors and artists have come together to produce a performance piece about the festival that will combine its environmental agency, a call to arms for members of underserved communities across the country, and the festival’s graffiti art for visual punch. It starts on Thursday at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. Especially if you missed the message on Saturday, it’s a production that demands attention. 

 

“Red Black and Green: A Blues”

Thu/13-Sat/15 and Thu/20-Sat/22 7:30 p.m., $25 ($5 on Thursdays)

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission, SF

(415) 978-ARTS

www.ybca.org

 

Uncorking Jameson

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virginia@sfbg.com

APPETITE Ireland is a green land of rolling hills, sheep, and craggy coastline, to be sure. The people enchanted even more: a generous, welcoming, hilarious lot. One of my favorite people in recent Ireland travels was Liam O’Leary, distillery operations manager at New Midleton Distillery in County Cork, near the southern coast of Ireland.

The name New Midleton may not mean a lot to some, but if you follow Irish whiskey, you know there are merely three distilleries producing publicly sold spirits in all of Ireland and this one’s the mother. Most famously, it’s the home to Jameson (founded in 1780 by John Jameson and originally produced in Dublin at the Old Jameson Distillery, which I also visited). New Midleton also produces numerous Irish whiskies including Midleton, Powers Gold Label, Tullamore Dew, Paddy, and smaller pot still brands like my longtime favorite Irish whiskey, Redbreast, and new love Green Spot. (Oh, that it would become available in the States).

Liam hosted the Renaissance Man and I on a private tour of the grounds. Spending pleasurable hours talking of whiskey and his 40-year history at Jameson (long before it was the huge company it is now), we soon delved into a subject dear to my heart, and, it seems, to every local I spoke to: music. We watched mass distilling in action, and finished with a hearty Irish lunch in the distillery restaurant.

The New Midleton facility is to date the most colossal, high production I’ve yet seen: towering stills, control panels, endless storage buildings stacked with barrels, and the world’s largest pot still (able to hold up to 125,000 liters, or roughly 33,000 gallons), which is no longer in use but is viewable in the Old Midleton museum. Numerous copper pot stills operate simultaneously, holding a massive 75,000 liters each. The facility whirs and buzzes continuously, recalling Ireland’s past, creating its future.

Exploring New Midleton, it was only fitting we talk Jameson. Possibly the highlight of my trip to Ireland — and there were many — was tasting Jameson 20-year whiskey straight from bourbon barrels (of which the majority of Jameson is aged in), and alongside it, 10-year whiskey in sherry barrels, both of which are blended into higher-end final product.

Both were superb, the purest forms of Irish whiskey I’ve tasted, particularly the golden, 20-year in bourbon barrels. Its layers kept unfolding: warm, honeyed and bright, spicy, fresh with grain and fruit. Already perfection, this stuff should be bottled at cask strength on its own. The sherry cask whiskey adds round, dark notes, giving it fullness and sensual depth.

As I taste through the Jameson line here at home, notes from those unforgettable barrels come back to me. I pick up various strains from the bourbon and sherry oak, all with that ever-present smoothness Irish whiskey is known for as it is generally triple-distilled. As the biggest selling Irish whiskey in the world, Jameson has done much to advance the category. Here are my tasting notes:

Jameson Rarest Reserve, $279: Rarest Reserve is the granddaddy of the line. Winning numerous awards (including this year’s Double Gold at the SF World Spirits Competition), it’s an expensive but truly special imbibement. After one explores the full-bodied aromas of ripe plum and spice, the taste impresses with toasted wood, dusty peach, dark chocolate, a hint of slate, leather, and earth. Here I find encompassed the approachable yet elevated possibilities inherent in Irish whiskey.

Jameson 18-year Limited Reserve, $86.99: The 18-year is another big award-winner, hitting my taste buds with an intense amount of peach. For me it evokes a golden summer freshness. Though I prefer it neat, it’s also lovely on the rocks. A couple drops of water allow other tastes to unfold, including orange marmalade, gentle spice, nuttiness, and biscuit. It’s soft yet bright, and could convert the non-whiskey drinker.

Jameson Gold Reserve, $60.99: Gold Reserve is a richer whiskey than the 12-year or Jameson Irish Whiskey. I get creamy apple on the nose, a gentle honey texture, and a peppery finish.

Jameson 12-year Special Reserve, $39.99: The 12-year won Gold this year at the SF World Spirits Competition. It’s sweet and spicy with sherry, wood notes. Oddly enough, I find its astringency is softened and rounded out with food.

Jameson Irish Whiskey, $24.99: The original Jameson has never been my Irish whiskey go-to. I find it a bit hot and thin, despite sweet fruit, vanilla and nuts. But this is the great global seller in Irish whiskey, often the first introduction many have to the category.

Subscribe to Virgina’s twice monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot, www.theperfectspotsf.com

 

Spreading smoke

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caitlin@sfbg.com

HERBWISE When asked to describe herself, Green Cross Dispensary patient Nicole Williams laughs. “I work full time, I go to school, I care for my mom. My brother’s taking the LSATs on Saturday — what else should I say? Native San Franciscan, long time resident.”

She’s being interviewed by the Guardian to gauge the demand in the Excelsior neighborhood for a new business that’s relocating to the neighborhood where it will be the first of its kind: the Green Cross’ new marijuana dispensary walk-in facility. Currently, the company is the city’s sole licensed delivery-only dispensary.

The Green Cross is hoping to have a little more luck with 4218 Mission than it did with its first location, which opened in Noe Valley in 2004 as a more professional alternative to the stereotypical cannabis club with “long haired hippies behind the counter,” in the words of dispensary employee Caren Woodson.

But the idea attracted so many customers (some garnering complaints that marijuana was being sold on the street) that the city’s planning department rescinded owner Kevin Reed’s permit for the space. After a disappointing attempt to open a location in Fisherman’s Wharf, an aide to the Mayor encourage Reed to try for a delivery-only permit instead. Now, the dispensary hopes the third try’s the charm. A public hearing to discuss its application to re-open in the Excelsior is scheduled for Nov. 17.

“We’re going to make sure we’re addressing the neighbors’ concerns,” Reed says, sitting on a stool in the Green Cross delivery and call center, which operates out of the front rooms of his comfortably-appointed SoMa apartment. In front of him are the flashing screens of 32 security cameras — a glaring reminder that Green Cross’ first commitment is to safety.

Green Cross employees dress in business casual — even, as this reporter witnessed, when they’re up to their elbows in bowls of weed nugs they’re breaking apart. Though currently located in a mostly residential building, Woodson claims that the business has never received a single neighborhood complaint.

The delivery service has now served over 3,000 clients. Having sunk a half million dollars into failed permitting procedures, Reed hopes he’s created a comprehensive plan that will pass the expectations of the various city agencies through which one must venture to open a weed dispensary.

The new location will necessitate a focus on discretion and security. Monroe Elementary School and the Mission YMCA are both a few blocks away. Plans include a wall that would block all view of the goings-on inside the dispensary. Plans do not include a space for on-site smoking, and members will have to sign a code of conduct that says they’ll be respectful of the surrounding neighborhood.

350 patients in the Green Cross’ database live in the proposed site’s 94112 zip code. Williams is one of them, and has been a patient since Green Cross’ Noe Valley days. She’s nowhere near the image of a troublemaking pothead, but it’s small wonder she was “pretty excited” to hear that she might be getting a new neighbor.

“You’re just looking for a safe place where you can get your medicine and go home.”

GREEN CROSS MANDATORY REVIEW HEARING

Nov. 17, time TBA

Room 400, City Hall

One Dr. Carlton B. Goodlett, SF

(415) 558-6377

www.sf-planning.org

www.thegreencross.org

Breaking free

20

rebeccab@sfbg.com

An ordeal that began with a hiking trip on July 31, 2009 in Northern Iraq came to a close Sept. 21 when Shane Bauer and Josh Fattal were released from Tehran’s Evin Prison. They’d languished in an 8-by-13-foot cell for 781 days while their friends and supporters waged a creative, behind-the-scenes campaign to free them.

Bauer and Fattal were ferried out in a convoy with Swiss and Omani officials and flown to Oman, where news cameras captured their joyful reunion with loved ones. Waiting on the tarmac with their family members was Sarah Shourd, Bauer’s fiancée, who’d been arrested with them and was released last September after spending 410 days in solitary confinement. It was the first time since their arrest that “the hikers” — as the trio came to be labeled in the campaign calling for their release — were together outside prison walls, free at last.

Watching their reunion from Seattle, their friend Shon Meckfessel — who went to Northern Iraq with them but hadn’t felt up to hiking that day — was overjoyed. “It’s like I’ve collapsed from relief,” he told us by phone. “I just feel like I’ve been asphyxiated for the last two years, and suddenly I remember what air smells like.”

In the Bay Area, friends who’d pulled together to work toward their release breathed a huge, collective sigh of relief. “It was just a crazy, amazing adrenaline rush of happiness,” said Jennifer Miller, who befriended Shourd years earlier while doing human rights work focused on violence against women in Juarez.

Bauer and Fattal had stood trial only weeks earlier in an Iranian court, on charges of espionage and illegally crossing an unmarked border between Iraq and Iran. They were found guilty and sentenced to eight years each in prison. Their release coincided with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s visit to the United States for the United Nations General Assembly conference.

As Bauer, Shourd, and Fattal remained isolated at the mercy of guards they could barely communicate with, their family and supporters kept up a steady drumbeat calling for their release. They recruited actors, intellectuals, and foreign diplomats to urge the Iranian government — which has not had diplomatic ties with the U.S. Since 1979 — to let the Americans go. Once Bauer and Fattal were free and wandering around New York City, they’d morphed into minor celebrities — strangers approached them in the streets to wish them well.

In the end, nobody can say just what persuaded the Iranian government to release Bauer and Fattal. “Sarah was talking with diplomats in all kinds of countries. The thing is, none of us really knows what the calculus was,” said Liam O’Donoghue, a friend who helped out with the campaign.

The campaign was multi-faceted, with friends and family coordinating parallel efforts from various locales. While Bauer and Fattal’s group of friends in the Bay Area are quick to note that their work reflected just one slice of the overall push for the young men’s freedom, the grassroots organizing effort they created clearly had some effect in the end.

“If Shane, Sarah, and Josh were just three random people who didn’t have this group of friends who were so proficient at organizing, I think they would have still been in jail,” O’Donoghue mused.

Shortly after Bauer and Fattal were freed, Iran’s foreign ministry issued a statement acknowledging the involvement of the Sultan of Oman, United Nations Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon, Iraqi President Jalal Talabani, and — more surprisingly, given his adversarial relationship with the U.S. — Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, who enjoys a close relationship with Ahmadinejad.

Once reports surfaced emphasizing Chavez’s involvement, the news broke that actor Sean Penn had played a role, too — by flying to Venezuela to encourage Chavez to approach Ahmadinejad about the case.

Yet the stage had already been set by friends of the hiking trio, a small crew of passionate social justice activists based in San Francisco and Oakland. They possessed skills as organizers, but this time the goal was more personal — they wanted nothing more than for their friends to be free.

 

TIME TO ORGANIZE

Based on the 17 alarmed messages on his voicemail, David Martinez knew something terrible had happened involving Bauer and Shourd. An independent filmmaker, Martinez was close to both and had collaborated with Bauer in 2007 to produce a film about Darfur.

Soon after learning that they were being detained in Iran, he found himself swept into a whirlwind, ad-hoc grassroots organizing effort as friends and family of the hikers contacted one another, fired off rapid emails, and organized conference calls to try and determine how to respond.

“We created this working group, this conference group — we wanted everybody’s expertise,” explained attorney Ben Rosenfeld, who has known Shourd for more than a decade and offered free legal representation to Shourd’s mother. “We set out to build a brain trust, essentially, and we did that very, very quickly.”

Shourd and Bauer had been living in Damascus, Syria, at a Palestinian camp when they decided to take a short trip to Iraqi Kurdistan. Shourd was teaching English to Iraqi refugees, and Bauer — a photojournalist — was writing articles about the Middle East. Fattal, an environmental educator, was visiting them. They journeyed along with Meckfessel to Kurdistan, a forested region of Iraq known as a safe destination for U.S. citizens. But once they arrived, Meckfessel felt groggy, so he opted to stay behind while the other three went off in search of a waterfall.

“I was on a bus to meet them and got a call from Shane that they were being arrested by Iranian authorities,” Meckfessel told the Guardian. After notifying their families, he flew to Istanbul to stay with a friend.

Back in the Bay Area, word of the hikers’ plight was starting to make news. “I had producers from morning shows like Good Morning America ringing my doorbell from the beginning,” Rosenfeld said.

Martinez was on a conference call with the core group of organizers when Meckfessel contacted him via Skype from Istanbul — and by that point, the national media was hungry for a statement from the elusive fourth hiker. So the group worked with Meckfessel to craft a statement for the press.

The first challenge they faced was this: Should they emphasize that Bauer, Shourd, and Fattal were humanitarian activists, or should they downplay their political leanings by casting them as adventuresome Americans with a love of the outdoors? Both portrayals were true, but the most important audience, as Rosenfeld pointed out, was ultimately their captors.

Meckfessel said he thought highlighting their politics would help their case. “The first minute after I got the phone call [from Bauer] … I thought that basically our involvement in the region as journalists, as academics, and as educators, and our long public record speaking out for human rights and as critics of US foreign policy in the area … would get them out,” he said.

Meckfessel later created a website, FreeOurFriends.eu, to emphasize the humanitarian and journalistic work that the three were engaged in. In the summer of 2010, he maxed out two credit cards to go on a 30-city European tour to drum up support overseas.

Despite the group’s initial contact with the Committee to Protect Journalists as well as Bauer’s editors at The Nation and Mother Jones, some were opposed to emphasizing the journalism aspect. “Think back to July 2009 in Iran,” Martinez said, referencing the popular uprising known as the Green Revolution that had sent shockwaves through Iran just months earlier. “Our friends were and are journalists involved in social movements and people’s movements. I’m pretty sure if you did a Google search with ‘Iran, July, 2009, activists,’ you’d come up with something like torture, prison. That is why we thought … let’s just say they’re hikers.”

So they came to be known as “the hikers,” and a website was created to go along with the campaign, called Free the Hikers.

“We wanted to make sure we weren’t divulging details about them that they weren’t divulging to their interrogators,” Rosenfeld said. “We wanted to be careful not to piss off the U.S. or the State Department. And, if we seemed too orchestrated, it might feed into Iran’s paranoid theories that they were spies. So we had to try to solve for all of these variables at the same time.”

It began to dawn on them that they were contending not only with the soured relationship between the U.S. and Iran, but an internal power struggle within Iran that had intensified in the wake of mass internal dissent. “The government that grabbed Shane, Josh, and Sarah was at war with its own people,” Martinez reflected. “They were prisoners of the historical moment.”

Nor was the trio the first in their circle of friends to stumble into a horrendous situation overseas. Tristan Anderson, of Berkeley, was attending a nonviolent protest of the Israeli occupation in a Palestinian village at the beginning of 2009 when he was hit by a high-velocity teargas projectile fired by Israeli Defense Forces, and sustained serious brain injuries.

“Tristan’s like a minor celebrity in Iran,” Meckfessel noted. “He’s known not only for initially getting shot … but Tristan’s whole case got a lot of sympathetic media in Iran.” When his three friends were captured, “the first thought I had was, we have proof that we’re all friends with Tristan,” he said.

On Feb. 10, 2010, Anderson’s parents, Nancy and Mike Anderson, sent a letter to Ahmadinejad. “It pains us greatly, on top of the tragedy we have already suffered, to see Tristan’s close friends made to bear the burden of grievances between nations,” they wrote.

 

GAME OF DIPLOMACY

The idea to approach the Venezuelan government started when Raymor Ryan, an Irish author who lives in Chiapas, phoned Martinez. “He said, ‘The only thing that’s going to really affect them is state power — this is a game of diplomacy,'” Martinez recounted. He suggested Venezuela — a country that is not only on friendly terms with Iran, but has connections with social movements. Martinez liked the idea, but first he ran it by another friend, famed academic Immanuel Wallerstein.

In an email, Wallerstein summarized for the Guardian the advice he gave. “The Iranians are using this as part of their struggles with the United States,” he wrote. “The least likely way to obtain their release is to allow U.S.-Iranian relations to be the issue, or to allow the virtues of the Iranian regime to be the issue. I suggested that they try to work with various left-of-center governments in Latin America, which have friendly relations with Iran, and see if they will intervene with the Iranian government. I did not single out Venezuela. After that, I was out of the picture.”

In October of 2009, Rosenfeld reached out to an attorney he knew through the National Lawyers Guild, Eva Golinger, who’s authored seven books, lives in Caracas, and occasionally serves as an adviser to Chavez. She agreed to help.

Nicolas Maduro, Venezuela’s foreign minister, told her he thought Chavez would be open to helping. “The foreign minister went to Tehran, and they told me they were going to broach the subject,” Golinger said. “When they came back, they told me unfortunately, it wasn’t a topic that was received favorably by the Iranians.”

Rosenfeld and Martinez were crazed, but they had another idea. Perhaps Chavez would be more responsive to appeals from lefty luminaries. Thanks to behind-the-scenes arrangements made by campaign organizers working every connection they could muster, a letter dated Feb. 26, 2010 was sent to Chavez on behalf of Noam Chomsky, Angela Davis, and Harry Belafonte.

“All three of the hikers are dedicated to improving living conditions for poor and oppressed people throughout the world, and to fostering a better understanding among their fellow citizens of the U.S.’s hegemonic role in global politics and economic privation,” they wrote.

Soon after, Golinger had a chance to speak with Chavez directly, when she was invited to join him on a trip to Uruguay to attend the presidential inauguration. “He said, ‘do you think they’re spies?’ I said, look, I don’t think they’re spies. I think they were gringos in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she recounted. “Chavez said, yeah, no problem. I’ll help.”

Soon after, the campaign recruited anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan to write to Chavez, too. But the months rolled by without word of a trial date, let alone a release. Rosenfeld thought up a new way to reach Chavez — by encouraging actor Sean Penn to speak with him.

Penn enjoyed a good relationship with the Venezuelan president and had been regularly traveling to the region to aid in earthquake relief efforts in Haiti, which Venezuela was deeply involved in. Rosenfeld asked Matt Gonzalez, chief attorney of the San Francisco Public Defender’s Office and a friend of Penn’s, to mention it to him.

Within months, Penn discussed the hikers’ case with Chavez, according to Golinger. Then, in September of 2010, Shourd was finally released. Bay Area friends described it as a moment of sheer joy, but also bittersweet, because Bauer and Fattal remained behind bars. Miller invited friends and organizers over to her place in Oakland to join her in the surreal experience of watching their friend deliver a speech on television.

Meckfessel was in Rome as part of his “Free Our Friends” tour through Europe. “I got a text message from somebody that she had been released, and I burst into tears of relief,” he said. “Then, just as I was preparing to do my presentation in Rome, I got a call — and it was Sarah. I just shouted and cried in front of this big group of Romans, and everyone was applauding.”

Upon her return, Shourd wasted no time throwing herself into the campaign. “I just have so much admiration and respect for Sarah,” Miller said. “She went from coming out of prison, and needing time to heal from that, to becoming a full-force, 24/7 international diplomacy worker.”

Shourd, Bauer, and Fattal were unavailable for an interview for this article, but their families emailed a statement. “As Josh and Shane said when they got home, many of their friends put their own lives on hold to fight for their freedom,” they wrote. “We are grateful to the many people who worked in many different ways to help Shane and Josh. Every single effort mattered and made a difference.”

 

INEXCUSABLE ACTS

When the day of their release finally came, Golinger watched in Caracas as television broadcasts showed Bauer and Fattal bounding down the steps of the plane and leaping into the arms of their loved ones. She sent a text to Maduro, the Venezuelan foreign minister, who was in New York for the UN General Assembly. “I asked … were we involved?” Minutes later, she received a text in response. “He said, fundamentally, yes.” The Iranian foreign minister had told him that the release went through because of Chavez’s request.

Days later, in New York, the hikers visited the Venezuelan consulate. And on the same trip, their first time back on U.S. soil, Bauer and Fattal held a press conference.

“The only explanation for our prolonged detention is the 32 years of mutual hostility between America and Iran,” Bauer said. “The irony is that Sarah, Josh, and I oppose U.S. policies towards Iran which perpetuate this hostility. We were convicted of espionage because we are American. It is that simple.”

He went on: “In prison, every time we complained about our conditions, the guards would immediately remind us of comparable conditions at Guantanamo Bay. They would remind us of CIA prisons in other parts of the world, and the conditions that Iranians and others experience in prisons in the U.S. We do not believe that such human rights violations on the part of our government justify what has been done to us, not for a moment. However, we do believe that these actions on the part of the U.S provide an excuse for other governments, including the governments of Iran, to act in kind.”

Endorsement interviews: Terry Baum

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Terry Joan Baum is the Green Party candidate for mayor. She told us she got in the race to get progressive issues out and on the agenda; she was a candidate before Sup. John Avalos announced, and she says she’d be supporting him if she weren’t a candidate. She told us she’s the only candidate calling for criminal charges against PG&E in the San Bruno explosion. “I understand that I’m a longshot,” she said, “but I’ve already influenced the debates.” Listen to the interview and watch the video after the jump.


Baum by endorsements2011

We could ride trains

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The Muni trains are fun. I rode them for years before I figured that out. 

Muni was always a matter of function, a means of getting around. I was in a rush, a busy person with Places to Be. I was late; the train wasn’t there. When one of those historic clankers from Boston showed up on Church Street, I got even more crabby. The thing goes about four miles an hour; don’t they know we’re on a schedule here?

And then I had a son.

Even before he could talk, Michael loved trains. He’d point at them and start waving his hands up and down and laughing. “Choo-choo” was one of his first words; I think he knew that one even before “dada” and “mama.” And when I finally took him for a ride on the J-Church, around his second birthday, he became the happiest boy on the planet.

For the next year or so, every weekend morning, when he woke me up at the crack of dawn, I’d ask him what he wanted to do that day, and he’d say, with a big smile, “We could ride trains!” And almost every Saturday and Sunday afternoon, that’s what we’d do, from Church Street to Market Street, down Market, maybe along the waterfront to the end of the line at Fisherman’s Wharf. Then we’d get on another train and ride back home.

Sometimes we’d stop for a while at Dolores Park; sometimes we’d have doughnuts and check out the sea lions at the wharf. Sometimes we’d take a walk along the bay and look at boats. But really, as Zen masters and three-year-old boys have always known, the journey was the destination.

It’s different seeing the city through a child’s eyes.

I remember the amazing sense of wonder I had when I first arrived in San Francisco, a 22-year-old out of the New York suburbs and a Connecticut college town who had never been west of Buffalo. Everything seemed so alive, so special and strange and funny. And after a while, like everyone else, I had to pay the rent, and fight with the bank and the phone company, and the IRS found me, and life in the big city became, well, life in the big city.

But when you walk around with a kid, it all starts to come back. The whole urban world is an adventure. That stuff blowing around on the sidewalks isn’t garbage — it’s treasure. The graffiti on the walls isn’t vandalism (or even art) — it’s a clue to some sort of puzzle, maybe a map to where the pirates buried the gold. Even watching the train pull away just before you get to the corner isn’t any reason to be mad — because (as Michael always announces with glee) pretty soon there will be another one!

Just walking out the door is an explosion of scientific marvels. The wind is moving air, which is pretty cool when you think about it. The fog is a cloud on the ground. The rain makes puddles, and puddles lead to big splashes and soaking wet feet, and life doesn’t get much better than that. I suspect that every day in Michael’s life is like the first time I smoked pot and tried to talk about the difference between time and color.

There was a long period (and now it seems like another lifetime) when I could go for weeks without venturing beyond work, the 500 Club, a couple of take-out places, and my apartment. The advantage (and curse) of this city is that you can live quite well in your own neighborhood (particularly when it’s a place like the Mission District or Bernal Heights), so you don’t need to go anywhere else.

Amazing what I was missing.

I’ve lived in or around the Mission for 10 years, and I’d never been to Garfield Pool. You can swim there for three bucks, and it’s never crowded. The locker room feels like something out of a 1940s socialist paradise — everything’s one color, brutally utilitarian, and just a little bit broken. There are free kickboards, basketballs (and a poolside hoop), and sometimes even swim goggles (I guess when people leave them behind they become properly nationalized). The Upper Noe Recreation Center has the same sort of feel: on Saturday mornings, there’s a toddler gym, filled with a huge conglomeration of toys that look and feel like they were never actually new. But they work just fine and are durable as hell, and on rainy days, dozens of children stranded inside get a chance to ride welded tricycles and plastic cars around and crash into each other, with no ill effect. I smile just thinking about it.

The big children’s playground at Golden Gate Park has a long, steep slide made out of concrete that would make a modern-day insurance agent gasp in horror and alarm. Kids who have barely learned to walk somehow manage to climb up about 75 slippery, uneven steps that are almost too much for me, then sit on torn pieces of cardboard and careen down a hard, fast incline and skid to a stop at the bottom. It’s outstanding.

At Crissy Field, there’s a narrow, shallow channel where the water in the newly restored tidal marsh flows in and out of the bay. I don’t think the people who oversaw the ecological restoration of the wetlands area had any idea they were creating a swimming hole for kids, but that’s what happened: on warm days, dozen of children splash in the stream and build elaborate sand castles on the banks. When the tide goes out, a muddy island appears in the middle. Even with the tide coming in, the channel is never more than a few feet deep. It’s mind-boggling: you’re on the edge of the bay, in the shadow of the Golden Gate Bridge, a few yards away from the icy-cold currents and riptides where even seriously athletic adults in wet suits venture only with care — and three-years-olds are romping in the water with their dogs.

There’s a railroad museum at the old Hunters Point shipyard, with vintage steam engines that still work. There’s a model river (full of water and plastic fish) at the Bay Area Discovery Museum in Sausalito. There’s a working beehive in the bug house at the San Francisco Zoo, and the queen bee has a white dot painted on her abdomen. There’s an artificial earthquake that shakes up the Lego houses you can build at the California Academy of Sciences.

There are stores in the Mission that sell parachuting space aliens. If you ask nicely at Mitchell’s Ice Cream, they’ll stick a few green gummy worms in your chocolate-chip cone.

These are all things I didn’t know.

When I was a kid in the suburbs, I couldn’t imagine growing up in a city. I hope my kids see it differently. Because I’m getting to be a kid again right here in San Francisco — and I can’t imagine anyplace better.