Kids

New Zealand’s Cup

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New Zealand’s Cup

news@sfbg.com

A few weeks ago I was walking down the dock in the marina where I live, in Wellington, New Zealand, when I passed a woman and a young boy. I’d never seen them before, which is uncommon here in this municipal marina — about 100 boats — in a small suburb of the country’s capital.

The boy was walking from berth to berth pointing out certain rig and hull features and expounding on them as only a future aficionado can. “Lots of different boats, huh?” I asked as I passed.

“Different than America,” he confirmed in an accent the same as mine.

The kid is sharp, I thought, or maybe it’s just obvious, even to an eight-year-old from Chicago. The New Zealand sailing scene is vastly different than its American counterpart, which is not to say there’s no comparing — they’re not exactly navigating carved logs with gunnysack sails down here.

But the boats in my marina are, in fact, mostly homebuilt from steel, cement, aluminum, and wood. They appear a motley crew compared to the cookie-cutter production fiberglass Beneteaus, Catalinas, and Hunters, with their identical pacific blue sail covers lined up in San Francisco’s South Beach Marina.

In New Zealand, a boat is rarely a status symbol — it’s part of the middle-class way of life, the home base for holidays and weekend fishing trips and lots and lots of competitive racing. If I’ve noticed one thing since I arrived in this country (aboard a sailboat, after leaving San Francisco and my job as a Bay Guardian staff writer), it’s that every little harbor town has a yacht club and an awful lot of Kiwis own boats — and they sail the shit out of them.

Which is part of the reason why the New Zealand government is willing to invest NZ$36 million (US$27 million) to compete in the 34th America’s Cup against some of the richest men in the world in a race that has become so elite there’s barely any competition.

Small as the field is, Emirates Team New Zealand (ETNZ) is quickly shaping up to be the team to beat if you’re on a high-speed, air-catching AC72 catamaran. If they succeed, it will show that developing an America’s Cup team doesn’t have to come from having deep pockets in your Nantucket Red pants — it comes from having the sport ingrained in your culture, filtered through affordable local boat clubs, city-run facilities, volunteer programs, publicly accessible shorefronts, and an innovative marine industry.

In fact, without New Zealand’s maritime way of life, Larry Ellison wouldn’t have much of a team: of the 27 sailors and management crew aboard Oracle, a third are Kiwis. Another third are Australians. If you count Ellison, there are only three Americans aboard. Just one of them — tactician and grinder John Kostecki — grew up sailing on San Francisco Bay.

Ellison’s boat is mostly a Kiwi production, too — the fixed-wing sails and structural components for Oracle’s two AC72s were made in New Zealand, as were the boats, sails, and rigs for ETNZ and Luna Rossa. The only other syndicate competing, Sweden’s Artemis, in the wind since the death of crewmember Andrew Simpson, is the outlier, but they still have eight New Zealanders on board.

America’s Cup is looking more and more like it owes a lot to New Zealand. Is the Cup doing as much for San Francisco as it is for this little island nation, with a population just a tenth of California’s?

“If it wasn’t called Team New Zealand, we wouldn’t get a lot out of it,” says Sven Pannell, a competitive dinghy racer and employee of the economic development agency Grow Wellington. “The numbers of boat builders, carbon fabricators, sail makers, yacht designers coming out of New Zealand are the reason we’re still at the top of the global game. If we can bring the Cup home that means a lot for our country.”

It may also save America’s Cup from becoming even more out of touch with reality.

 

IT’S THE CULTURE, STUPID

It’s June 8, summer in San Francisco but winter in Wellington. The first race of the 2013 Winter Series at Evans Bay Boat Club hits hypothermic seas beneath steely overcast skies and 20-30 knots of wind — “perfect conditions,” one sailor enthuses. Tame, actually, for Wellington. A week ago, wind blew out the fifth story windows of a building downtown.

Sven Pannell has just finished racing a 12-foot skiff, a super lightweight, often homebuilt boat that probably originated in Australia and is almost exclusively raced in the Southern Hemisphere, though an 18-foot version will be showcased in San Francisco this September alongside the America’s Cup finals. Weighing about 100 pounds, with no class restrictions on sail area, they rooster-tail around Wellington harbor, bow high, barely in the water. They seem to require a similar caliber of nerve as the AC72s.

Which Pannell, who won today, evidently has. He grew up sailing as a kid, as did his crew, Craig Anderson. Neither of them can think of anyone who didn’t get into sailing as a child.

“A lot of people around the world think yachting is a well-heeled sport, but not in New Zealand,” he says. “There’s a reason that half those [America’s Cup] boats are full of Kiwis and Aussies. Go out and see the number of eight-year-olds in Optis in all kinds of weather here. A high number of people sailing at that age creates a deep pool of sailors in demand.”

“America’s Cup is about stretching the limits, but it starts here, when you’re eight years old,” he adds.

Eager to get out of the icy Antarctic wind, I enter the boat club where about 35 people are gathered at the bar, buzzing from adrenalin, barefoot and wet from spray or capsizes, gripping ginger beers and green bottles of Steinlager, the Budweiser of New Zealand. It’s a humble looking crowd — no flash gear or cashmere.

I’m introduced to Mike Rhodes, 26, wearing a blue sweatshirt and camo pants. He’d love to race an America’s Cup boat, but he also satisfies himself with a 12-foot skiff, which he stripped and rebuilt, fashioning the stainless steel fittings himself — he’s a sheet metal worker.

“New Zealand sailing is all about learning and moving forward,” he says. “The boats we’re sailing are always changing. We have set rules for weight, width, and length. After that it’s wide open. You can put up as much rig as you can handle. We went out in 50 knots last weekend. It was insane. We probably had boat speeds of 30 knots.”

The speed and innovations are what appeal to Rhodes and also connect to the America’s Cup, which has been an historic proving ground for leaps forward in boat design. “Who thought New Zealand could make the boat fly first?” he says of ETNZ’s proficiency at foiling the AC72 — going so fast the hull actually lifts off the water.

We’re soon joined by Laura Hutton, a 30-year-old from Cape Cod. She’s raced dinghies, coached and taught sailing for years. Now a speech therapist, she moved to New Zealand three months ago and immediately hooked into the local yachting scene. It’s palpably different than what she’s used to in the States. Here, she says, “It’s a lot more laid back. It’s more inclusive than exclusive. I used to go to events at New York Yacht Club in Newport and I felt so uncomfortable there. It’s the most elite, snobby place.”

“You can’t get coaching in the US unless you’re part of a yacht club or go to a school with a racing team,” she adds, and there’s often a huge cost to enter the sport. “Here, I can join the local yacht club for $35 a month,” she deadpans.

I spend more money riding the bus, I tell her, but I wouldn’t in San Francisco, where it’s cheap to catch a bus but where most people rarely board boats.

The American yacht club tradition has a certain “if you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford it” attitude. Ellison is one of 300 members of Golden Gate Yacht Club, official host for the Cup. Its neighbor, St. Francis Yacht Club, 2,300 strong, also has a role in the festivities. Both are exclusive, members-only clubs and neither would tell me what their members pay for the club’s privileges.

However, they’re officially nonprofit organizations and filings with the IRS show St. Francis made nearly $13 million in 2011. Golden Gate Yacht Club took home $660,000 the same year. Ironically, both clubs are on public lands, leased from San Francisco’s Recreation and Parks Department for $231,125 and $64,000 annually respectively.

Both clubs run learn-to-sail programs for kids — $350 for St. Francis and $200 for GGYC — which seem affordable, but what’s the next step? Joining the club, but apparently it’s too rude to query the price.

By contrast, Wellington’s Evans Bay Boat Club charges NZ$281 (US$210) to join and Royal Port Nicholson Yacht Club, which is a sister club to St. Francis, costs NZ$160 (US $120). The Bay Area is lucky — Berkeley and Treasure Island both have affordable clubs, however one could argue that if St. Francis and GGYC are on public lands, they should be paying more in dues to the city.

If there’s a posh club in Auckland, it’s ETNZ’s home — the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron. “But it’s a Kiwi version of posh, nothing like some of the yacht clubs I have been to in places like England, where women aren’t allowed to order drinks at the bar,” says Ben Gladwell, a journalist for Boating New Zealand who will be racing an 18 foot skiff in San Francisco in a regatta concurrent with the Cup finals. “At the Squaddy, there are obviously rules, like no cell phones, and dress codes and such like, but the fees are still only a few hundred dollars per year and it is much more inclusive than other yacht clubs around the world.”

Gladwell explored the health of New Zealand’s sailing culture in a story called “State of the Racing Nation” for Boating New Zealand. He found that although there is a drop-off in interest during university years, many yacht clubs have created partnerships to keep kids in the sport, there are mobile learn-to-sail units roaming the country, and lots of accessible city-run programs for kids. Couple that with low lifetime fees to stay in the sport and you see healthy clubs like Evans Bay, where people of all ages are out racing every weekend, all year round.

“Having so many people involved in sailing is a major reason we are successful,” he says. “Children are introduced to it at such a young age…by the time they come to competing at youth international regattas, they are hugely experienced and winning becomes a habit.”

 

“AMERICA’S CUP IS NOW NEW ZEALAND’S CUP”

In 1995, when Black Magic smoked Dennis Connor’s Stars and Stripes in a five-race shut-out, commentator Peter Montgomery famously quipped “America’s Cup is now New Zealand’s cup,” a line that’s gone down in Kiwi history like the “I have a dream” speech.

For the first time, the Auld Mug would be defended in New Zealand. Back then, Auckland’s Viaduct Harbor probably looked a lot like parts of San Francisco’s waterfront does today — dilapidated piers and old industrial buildings crumbling on their pilings. It would cost of NZ$58 million (US$29 million at the time) to dredge the harbor and spruce up the waterfront for the Cup.

The city made its money back. Hosting for two years, in 2000 and 2003, brought NZ$1 billion (US$500 million, at the time) in economic benefits to the country, about 85 percent of that going to Auckland’s local businesses, mostly from visiting megayachts and the services required for the nine syndicates that competed — twice as many as are in San Francisco today.

And Auckland made a lot less than the US$900 million predicted for San Francisco, already trimmed from the US$1.4 billion initially estimated. What the city actually gains from the $22.5 million investment they’ve been forced to make remains to be seen. Meanwhile, Auckland continues to benefit from the race.

It’s been estimated that the four Cup contenders have collectively spent half a billion on their campaigns and a decent chunk of that has been in Auckland, particularly during the AC72 design, build, and testing phases. Already, taxes paid by ETNZ employees amount to NZ$22.4 million (US$16.5 million). That doesn’t include the employee payroll taxes of all the businesses doing Cup-related activity, like the boat builders, riggers, and sailmakers.

ETNZ CEO Grant Dalton has netted sponsorships from more than 100 companies and argues that the Cup efforts have kept many marine businesses afloat that would have otherwise shuttered. Kiwis have not been immune to the world financial situation: the high New Zealand dollar hurting exports and the NZ$30 billion (US$22.5 billion) price tag for the February 2011 Christchurch earthquake have stressed the country’s coffers.

Because of that, funding ETNZ has been as contentious here as hosting Ellison’s party has been to San Franciscans. The agreement was signed in 2007 by a Labour Party-led government and when National Party’s John Key won the Prime Minister’s seat in 2008, he looked into breaking the contract, a move supported by other parties. “Funding the America’s Cup is surely a ‘nice to have’, rather than essential spending, in the current economic climate,” said Green Party co-leader Metiria Turei at the time.

The government was advised they’d still be legally on the hook for the money if they broke the contract, so ETNZ proceeded, but proof of economic return was a contingency and Dalton has taken pains to keep the public good in the conversation, a sharp contrast to Ellison’s attitude toward San Francisco. Dalton has said if New Zealand wins, the world should expect a sharp scaling back of costs. “We stand for nationality rule and we stand for real budget numbers that real people can raise,” he has said.

There’s definitely a sense that this could be New Zealand’s last chance to bring the Auld Mug home. If they don’t, the America’s Cup also loses. Who else will save it from American-style exclusiveness?

Heads Up: 6 must-see concerts this week

Tony Robles
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Not to give this family any more attention, but here I go. Are you aware of the fact that the Balloon Boy is now a long-hair tween, in a darker Hanson trio with his brothers, singing operatic heavy metal bits? It’s all here, in a Gawker long-read post. The article notes that the group (Heene Boyz) considers itself the “World’s Youngest Metal Band.” — don’t we have that already here in the Bay with our own Haunted by Heroes? Take that, Balloon Boy. (Whatever, technically they’re billed as “The World’s Youngest Rock Band.”)

But my real point is this: America, home of the free, free to whore oneself and one’s family out on reality TV, to sneak kids into homemade balloon UFOs, to shoot for fame from birth. Happy Fourth of July week, everyone. Celebrate it with the bedlam of Bob Log III, the annual Big Time Freedom Fest at El Rio or Fillmore Jazz Festival, dreamy R&B producer Giraffage, or, the snacktastic Burger Boogaloo fest with headliners Redd Kross, the Oblivians, the Trashwomen, and more! Paint your face red, white, and blue, stick a sparkler behind your ear, and rage out into the night, it’s what the founding fathers would have wanted.

Here are your must-see Bay Area concerts this week/end:

Bob Log III
What’s more US of A than a lone multi-instrumentalist on stage in a glittery bodysuit and microphone-affixed motorcycle helmet, looking like a futuristic Bowie-esque alien, and sounding like a punky blues madman, or a scrappier Bo Diddley meets the Coachwhips, on slide guitar. As the Kansas City Star puts it, “If he hired a drummer, ditched his helmet, and requested a standard swizzle stick to stir his scotch, Bob Log III would still draw an audience. His music is that entertaining.”
With The Okmoniks, Los Vincent Black Shadows (Mexico City).
Wed/3, 8:30pm, $15
Hemlock Tavern
1131 Polk, SF
www.hemlocktavern.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQmX4LzaDDU

Big Time Freedom Fest
It’s back, El Rio’s annual Fourth of July patio party Big Time Freedom Fest is here again, and this time brings out the worthy local Black Sabbath tribute act that is Bobb Saggeth, fronted by wailing female powerhouse Meryl Press. The band isn’t nearly as active as I’d prefer, but always plays parties on Halloween and Fourth of July, usually at places like Thee Parkside, Hemlock Tavern, and yes, El Rio. Plus, newish local heavy-psych band Golden Void headlines the show, and Wild Eyes, Couches, and Upside Drown open. And it’s all on the back patio, so you can officially say you spent the holiday outdoors, (with your favorite local rock‘n’rollers).
Thu/4, 3:30pm, $8
El Rio
3158 Mission, SF
www.elriosf.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ebe9BtnD6wQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmXB7-plWrY

Giraffage
“San Francisco-based futuristic dream R&B producer Charlie Yin has made some big leaps in 2013, with a performance at SXSW along with upcoming gigs at Southern California’s Lightning in a Bottle festival and SF’s Treasure Island Music Festival. His new album Needs on Los Angeles label Alpha Pup Records is a thesis in music manipulation, a comprehensive counterargument to straightforward 4/4. Vocal samples are up-shifted in tempo to lend a playful mood. Tracks are sometimes dipped in sonic mud halfway through, decelerating to a crawl before jumping back to normal time. But Needs never feels jerky, which owes to Yin’s tight transitions and harmonious melodies throughout. The sensual, infectious, shifty third track “Money” sounds like it will be played in lounges in 2050.” — Kevin Lee
With Mister Lies, Bobby Browser
Thu/4, 9:30pm, $13–$15
Rickshaw Stop
155 Fell
(415) 861-2011
www.rickshawstop.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PVWP1Zrh4Q

Fillmore Jazz Festival
“Live jazz music, crafts, and gourmet food, all in one place (and most of it is free to check out). The Fillmore Jazz Festival is the largest of its kind on the West Coast, reportedly luring in a mind-blowing 100,000 visitors over the two-day event. Sultry local vocalist Kim Nalley will again bring her jazzy blues blend to the stage, as will instrumentalist-composer Peter Apfelbaum, Mara Hruby, John Santos Sextet, Beth Custer Ensemble, Crystal Money Hall, Bayonics, and Afrolicious, among many others.” — Hillary Smith
Sat/6-Sun/7, 10am-6pm, free
Fillmore Street between Jackson and Eddy, SF (800) 310-6563
www.fillmorejazzfestival.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XRE8FSkxQg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hall_F7pTbg

Woolfy
“I miss Kevin Meenan’s show listings at epicsauce.com. At one time it was a go-to for highlights of small shows going on in the city, filler free, and super reliable for finding a new act to see live. Meenan has since dropped the showlist (perhaps made redundant with the availability of social apps), but is still active with his regular event Push The Feeling. This edition features a DJ set by English born, LA musician, Simon ‘Woolfy’ James, whose eclectic and spacey post-punk dance sensibility first got my attention with the caressingly Balearic “Looking Glass” and the recent James Murphy-esque snappy cut on Permanent Release, ‘Junior’s Throwin’ Craze.’” — Ryan Prendiville
With Bruse (Live), YR SKULL, and epicsauce DJs
Sat/6, 9pm-2am, $6, free before 10 w/ RSVP
Underground SF
424 Haight, SF
www.undergroundsf.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9WMPPiBimc

Burger Boogaloo
We blurbed this early: everyone is talking about the disparate headliners early LA punk band Redd Kross and Modern Lover/singer-songwriter Jonathan Richman — and rightfully so, they are incredible — but can we also take a minute to thank satan for the Trashwomen addition to the lineup? For those somehow unaware, the Trashwomen are Bay Area noisy surf-punk royalty, born of the ‘90s, and featuring Tina Lucchesi (of every band, ever), Danielle Pimm, and Elka Zolot (Kreayshawn’s hot mama). Check the paper this week for an interview with the Trashwomen. And check Mosswood Park for a sloppy soul dance party.
With the Zeroes, Oblivians, Fuzz, Mikal Cronin, Audacity, Guantanamo Baywatch, Mean Jeans, Pangea
Sat/6-Sun/7, noon-9pm, $25
Mosswood Park
3612 Webster, Oakl.
www.burgerboogaloo.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QP4hxwyWxHY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJx5c_cFq5o
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jI3XM-X72eQ

From around the Internet: San Franciscans celebrate marriage equality

Sasha Cuttler And Mary Magee
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All around San Francisco yesterday, gay couples, city leaders, and street revelers celebrated the Supreme Court’s rulings striking down Proposition 8 and the Defense of Marriage Act. Here’s a glimpse of the how the city reacted to the news on June 26, as told by San Franciscans who uploaded videos to YouTube (video after the jump):

Our video mashup features (in order of appearance) Jay and Bryan Leffew with their two kids, Daniel and Selena; a crowd reacting with cheers as they attended an early-morning gathering at San Francisco City Hall (video uploaded by Will Kivinski); San Francisco City Attorney Dennis Herrera, Lt. Gov. Gavin Newsom, and District 9 Supervisor David Campos (all featured in a video of the press conference produced by the city); Cindy Sunshine and friends (uploaded by Prana Fitte); and scenes of a street-party celebration in the Castro uploaded by HiWorld798 and Elena Olzark.

The Performant: A Declaration of Independence

Sue Vaughan
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Taking the road less traveled with the Independent Eye

In a cozy living room in Cole Valley, a small but attentive oddience gathers to watch a trio of short theatrical vignettes performed by maverick theater-makers the Independent Eye.

Entitled Gifts, the three pieces have been performed over the years in previous incarnations, but never together, and the subtle commonalities that bind them are elegant and startling in equal measure. Focused primarily on human relationships, the complexity of desire, and the precarious yet universal nature of a journey into the unknown, Gifts follows three couples on their respective paths as they encounter all the unexpected complications and mysterious rewards that life throws at them along the way.

For Conrad Bishop and Elizabeth Fuller, who have been both the creative partnership behind the Independent Eye and also life partners for over 50 years, revisiting these pieces with a deepened perspective honed by the implications of entering their final decades has been a process as revelatory to them as when they were created the first time.

“Everything resonates differently,” points out Fuller, with a gracious smile.
After celebrating their Quinquagenary touring their joint memoir of the life artistic, Co-creation, holding readings in the private homes of friends and acquaintances scattered around the country as well as the usual arts venues, the two began developing a show that could be toured in the same way, in order to utilize the unique intimacy that only a house concert-style performance can capture. A way to demystify and decommodify the theatrical experience, as well as a way to inexpensively return to their touring roots, during which they would perform upward of 200 performances a year, criss-crossing the country in a van, kids and puppets in tow.

What they ended up with was Gifts, a series of tenuously-linked duets, compressed enough in form and expansive enough in intention that Bishop refers to them as “dramatic haikus”.

Completely contained within the parameters of a throw rug, a small table and a pair of stools form the entirety of stage and set, while an array of props and puppets issue forth from a modest pair of suitcases, transforming the small space into an endless series of freeways, the tree of life, an amorphous dreamscape, a three-story walk-up, and the ephemeral realm of a pair of hungry gods. In fluid succession, a wrong turn on the freeway becomes a 40-year commitment to a path that feels as much like a mistake as a destination, the prospect of receiving a major award becomes a bittersweet comitragedy of errors, a couple facing the erosion of their golden years by the leaden weight of market forces experience a visitation from the gods — forces much more powerful than the merely mortal ones that have previously formed their trajectory.

And through it all, the almost subversive notion simmering, that a life lived creatively is a life worth whatever the material drawbacks, and that the transformative nature of the journey is by far the greatest reward.

Or, as Fuller succinctly puts it, “these pieces are a validation of different ways of getting ‘there’.”

See Gifts at the Garden Gate Creativity Center:

Fri/28, 8 p.m.
Garden Gate Creativity Center
2911 Claremont Ave, Berk.
www.gardengatecreate.com
www.independenteye.org

A hackivist’s call for a culture of engagement

Sasha Cuttler And Mary Magee
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By Shava Nerad

[Editor’s note: Last week, the Guardian reached out to a number of experts and technologists to gauge reactions on revelations of the massive National Security Agency spying program that recently came to light. Shava Nerad, who started her career as a software engineer and was previously involved with the Tor Project, which offers online anonymity in web browsing, has also been engaged in various forms of political activism. Nerad submitted comments via email in response to the Bay Guardian’s request for an interview. We’ve published an edited version of her thoughts here.]

My dad worked with MLK and the SCLC [Southern Christian Leadership Conference] every summer of the early/mid 60s — and the FBI knew who he had lunch with every day of those summers — this stuff isn’t really that new, it’s just automated. I got to go from “We Shall Overcome” to making sure that the Tor Project could get US nonprofit status, a good foundation of funding, a great reputation internationally, and become infrastructural for free press, free speech, and free expression on the net.

I come from a family of old style liberals from a time before the 60s, when intellectual liberals were in the military, in finance, in civil service and all parts of civic life. We moderated all parts of American society. After the 60s, to a large extent, it became uncool for liberals and intellectuals (even non-hippie types) to go into these Establishment pastimes, especially the volunteer or low paying scutwork that keeps this country running. So after half a century, what are we seeing? Largely unmoderated by liberal intellectual thought, with two generations of kids who don’t even know how to go to a public meeting or why or how politics actually works at most levels in this country, we are a goddamn mess.

I have a son in the military, and I have friends in the [Department of Homeland Security], law enforcement, a friend who’s a retired CIA analyst. But many of my friends consider me an outspoken lefty liberal (I don’t) because I am a Democratic Party activist, a strong civil libertarian, a union member … and a sort of hippie chick.

I love this wonderful flawed country. I want to tell every one of my folks here, get out of your ergonomic chairs … and get involved. Congress’ approval rating is up two percent since March to fifteen percent — and they won’t fix the USA PATRIOT Act because they aren’t a bit afraid of your disapproval!  In fact, if you say you disapprove, they will make googly eyes at you, and say “Oooooo TERRORISTS!!!” and expect you to back down and shut up — and unfortunately they are probably right.

If we are the engineers and the scientists, the innovators and the entrepreneurs — can’t we find the best way to fix our culture of engagement?  Make our culture a culture where the makers learn applied civics and share their successes on social networking?

Many of us who are “hactivists” are post-conventional thinkers, if you are familiar with that concept. Most of us do not believe that the system is irrevocably broken — we are not revolutionaries or traitors or terrorists. This is why we are making moves that are aimed toward waking up the public, not blowing them up.  If that isn’t clear enough, I can’t see what would be — we certainly have ample examples of violence in the world. We are sending signals that say, “Please, see that everything is not exactly as you have been told. You are citizens of a Republic. Take the reins and bring it back to rights. Your rights.”

Civil disobedients, whistleblowers, leakers, facilitators like Bradley Manning, Edward Snowden, William Binney, Nicholas Merrill, Jake Appelbaum and more — these people should be honored rather than vilified as people who were willing to risk everything they had in order to send up a distress signal to the nation to say, “All is not right.”

But if every person of good character left all the military, law enforcement, DHS, government — then we would be a mess. Not everyone can leave. Someone has to break ranks, betray unit cohesion, take these risks, and risk being branded as a traitor even (and all of those men have been by some people).  

The American public has to wake up and understand that all is not right BECAUSE IT IS NOT.  DHS cannot fix the USA PATRIOT Act. Congress won’t fix it so long as the people moan about it on blogs and don’t insist that action be taken.

I have spoken to people in DHS since 9/11 who have been waiting to exhale for over a decade. Do you understand the situation that many in the career diplomatic services believed that they were in during [George W. Bush’s]’s administration? That they were hanging on by their fingernails, as professional diplomats and civil servants? 

Well, oddly, when Obama came in, State gave a great many of these people an opportunity to exhale. But … oddly, the new boss, and the Congress just piled on more of the same. No reprieve.

So we have the State Department declaring Internet Freedom and distributing Tor overseas, and Prism turned inward at our own people?  What sense does this make?  Praising the Arab Spring, and chasing American citizens with drones?  

The nation is sleeping or ostriching, and I’m sorry, but the press is sleeping or at the least, distracted by survivability issues. We need to turn this into a great and heroic national adventure story, or it’s going to turn into a national tragedy.

Console prizes

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Console prizes

arts@sfbg.com

GAMER The days of game consoles being all about pretty graphics are over. The leap in visual fidelity when we went from PlayStation 2 to PlayStation 3 isn’t going to happen this time, which is one reason it’s been seven years since the current consoles have been refreshed. All that changes this year, with the impending release of the Xbox One and the PlayStation 4.

Microsoft had a false start last month, with the reveal of Xbox One occurring ahead of the Electronic Entertainment Expo, better known as E3. Showing off the sleek new console, the One was positioned as a unifying “everything” box, addressing the many Xbox users who regard the system as a gateway to all things movies, TV, and Netflix. However, by ignoring games and being cagey on important issues of DRM (a type of copy protection that has caused much past furor) and positioning the console as a high-speed always-online device, Microsoft willfully alienated a chunk of its audience.

The Xbox conference in Los Angeles last week saw the company hoping to gain ground by backing off its usual focus on sports, Kinect, and kids games and keeping true to “core game” experiences. In this regard, Microsoft was smart to tempt the Metal Gear Solid franchise to launch simultaneously on Xbox for the first time, and likewise big-time Sony-only developer Insomniac Games announced the One-exclusive Sunset Overdrive. Other Xbox-only experiences included Titanfall from the newly formed Respawn Games, which has the chops to be as big as the team’s last huge success — Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. And of course, more Halo is ever imminent.

Initially, Sony’s E3 conference appeared less cohesive, and quite a bit sloppier, than the Xbox conference as it proclaimed a new life for its struggling Vita handheld, but failed to follow its passionate declaration for the console with big game announcements. The company chose instead to revisit previously announced PS4 games, Killzone: Shadow Fall and Infamous: Second Son.

But Sony’s presentation deficiencies were quickly forgotten as the show drew to a close. Directly addressing complaints about Microsoft’s next-gen policies, Sony loosed a salvo of not so subtle digs against Xbox One, announcing the PS4 to be DRM-free and offline-friendly — not to mention the PS4 at $399 would cost $100 less than the One. Such brazen acts of competition are rare between these two, but Sony apparently found the cracks in Microsoft’s strategy too tempting to ignore.

Since the 2011 PlayStation network hack that left many users’ personal data at risk, Sony has performed the humble, pro-consumer act well and, even if it doesn’t always offer a superior console experience, it knows its audience. For once, it didn’t matter who had the better games, the bigger hard drive or the best specs. This E3 was all about attitude.

 

THE BEST FOR ‘LAST’

As we wave goodbye to the consoles that have kept us warm for the past seven years, gamers have been looking for a game to dub “the last great game of the generation.” Releasing amid all the hubbub of E3, The Last of Us (Naughty Dog/Sony; PS3) is a fitting final hurrah, capping the reign of the PS3 with not so much a bang but with an assurance and a confidence that are unfamiliar to the medium of video games.

Set a number of years after a worldwide infection has destabilized the country, The Last of Us follows Joel, a no-nonsense smuggler, as he attempts to transport a 14-year-old girl named Ellie out of Boston. From the developers behind the Uncharted series, one might expect big action set-pieces and witty banter, but The Last of Us is more true to the conceits of survival horror. At heart, this is a stealth adventure, until the odds invariably and adamantly force your hand into acts of ferocious brutality. There are bad people, bad monsters, and a whole lot of riveting moments — which I won’t spoil — but it’s not so much the story as how it is told. Despite its gloom, The Last of Us has sweetness and a sense of hope that shapes the characters and makes their journey all the more impactful.

In other words, The Last of Us is the game to beat in 2013.

The Selector

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WEDNESDAY 19

Camera Obscura

“If you want me to leave, then I’ll go/If you want me to say, let it show/Do you want me to leave, let me know,” pleads Scottish indie pop group Camera Obscura on heartstruck ballad “Fifth in Line to the Throne” off the group’s newest full-length, Desire Lines. It’s the Glasgow five-piece’s first new record in four years (the most recent being My Maudlin Career). And yes, the new one maintains the band’s 17-year-strong streak of stunning, wistful ballads, laced gently through with heartfelt vocal musings. Much like that other lauded Glasgow-based gentle indie pop act, Belle and Sebastian, Camera Obscura has mastered the art of the melancholy pop song, seeped in lovely whispers and lilting moans, gentle strings, soft piano keys, drumming pitter-patters, the works. But we love them for it, like those weepy torch songs of yesteryear. The show gives you the chance to cry in public. Want you to leave? No, we’ll let it show. (Emily Savage)

With Photo Ops

8pm, $25

Regency Ballroom

1290 Sutter, SF

(415) 673-5716

www.regencyballroom.com

 

Dogcatcher

If Dogcatcher was a brand of alcohol, it’d be Jameson — it’s that smooth. By crafting tight rhythms and jazzy guitar riffs, the San Jose-based trio provides an almost flawless fusion of jazz and rock. And its simple and soft vocals create an intimate experience on stage. Dogcatcher’s songs are well-constructed and the delivery creates a calmer version of traditional jazz. Song “Be Easy” off its most recent album It’s Easy reflects this: “Because tonight you know, it’s all about the sound/Just be easy,” sings Andrew Heine in a lazily seductive voice that makes you believe that for him, it really is just that simple (Hillary Smith)

With the Sam Chase, the Gallery

9pm, $8

Bottom of the Hill

1233 17th St., SF

(415) 861-1615

www.bottomofthehill.com

 

THURSDAY 20

Fresh Meat Festival

With “Trailblazers,” the 12th annual Fresh Meat Festival — a celebration of transgender and queer performance — is paying tribute to musicians, dancers, and theater people who hoe their own rows. This year they all do it in our own neighborhoods. The dancers, AXIS Dance Company, Barbary Coast Cloggers, Allan Frias’ Mind over Matter and Sean Dorsey Dance and Las Bomberas de la Bahia couldn’t be more different from each other. What they share, beyond working in the Bay Area, is a clear vision of what they want to do and the skill and perseverance to stick to it. Very simply, they have become tops in their field. To see them now in a sort of meta context of their sexual orientation, is a joyous opportunity to add another notch to their trailblazers spirit. (Rita Felciano)

Through Sat/22, 8pm, $15–$25

Z Space

450 Florida, SF

www.brownpapertickets.com

 

 

The Ape Woman: A Rock Opera

Step right up and view Dark Porch Theatre’s presentation of The Ape Woman, May van Oskan’s rock opera exploring the life of one Julia Pastrana, an indigenous Mexican woman who achieved fame (infamy?) on the 19th century circus sideshow circuit. Sometimes also dubbed “the Bear Woman,” the diminutive Pastrana suffered from hypertrichosis — resulting in thick, dark hair all over her face and body, a trait that made her a valuable prize for unscrupulous promoters. With a set styled like a Victorian sideshow tent, van Oskan’s opera tells Pastrana’s fascinating live story via 14 original songs, backed up by a seven-piece ensemble. (Cheryl Eddy)

Opens tonight, 8pm

Runs Thu-Sat and June 26, 8pm; Sun/23, 4pm, through June 29, $15–$30

Exit Studio

156 Eddy, SF

www.theapewoman.com

 

The Bottle Kids

I once saw Bottle Kids frontperson Annie Ulukou at the Stork Club with nothing but a ukulele. This could have gone any which way, but instead of succumbing to the soft, lullaby tone inherent to the miniature instrument, Annie amplified and distorted its sound to backup the heartbreak and pure aggression of her voice. This is indicative of the Bottle Kids sound as a whole. Their shows can be as personal, subtle, soulful and as easy to access as a ukulele in a small room while still sucker-punching you square in the gut. Check this band out while it’s still free to see it live. (Ilan Moskowitz)

9:30pm, free

Grant and Green Saloon

1371 Grant, San Francisco

(415) 693-9565

www.grantandgreensaloon.com

 

FRIDAY 21

PANSY

Why does nightlife hold us in its timeless spell? And, perhaps more topical, will the nostalgia for the necessary craziness and joy of ’90s nightlife ever let us go? Evan Johnson, one of our most intriguing drag performers (beloved alter-ego Martha T. Lipton, the Failed Actress, is a hoot) goes deeper in solo stage show Pansy, conceived with Ben Randle. His character, Michael, discovers a time capsule full of VHS tapes, cassettes, and flyers documenting ’90s gay club kid Peter Pansy, and finds shivery parallels with his own life emerging. “I want to address the ‘shadows’ of AIDS and queer history and Pride… That time period, 1993-95, became the vehicle for me to address the vital nostalgia and escape of the San Francisco queer fantasy,” he says. Johnson’s been hosting lively Q&As with legendary nightlife biggies after each performance, including Pansy Division’s Jon Ginoli, Dan Nicoletta, Alvin Orloff, and Sister Roma. (Marke B.)

Through June 29th, $10-$15

New Conservatory Theatre

25 Van Ness, SF

(415) 861-8972

www.nctcsf.org

 

SATURDAY 22

San Francisco Bicycle Music Festival

First of all, can we just enjoy this awesome WTF moment? A music festival. Powered by bicycle pedaling. Even in its seventh year, SF’s annual Bicycle Music Festival is still a wonder to locals. It offers the chance to listen to great music by folk band Laurie Lewis and the Righthands, Bill McKibben, Justin Ancheta Band, Manicato, and more, in a beautiful setting for free. In fact, it’s in three beautiful settings, because the event is packed up and deployed throughout Golden Gate Park. The event is known to draw some crazies, the cool kind who perform synchronized dances or twirl around on cycles while playing the trumpet — so be warned. It is definitely worth checking out, particularly if you’re a bike enthusiast interested in meeting fellow cyclists, or just a live music fan. And if the bicycle-powered music bit doesn’t have the same amazeballs effect on you, there will also be hand-cranked ice cream and smoothies made from the same bike power. (Smith )

Noon-5pm, free

Golden Gate Park

Pioneer Log Cabin Meadow to Stow Lake Drive at JFK Drive, SF

bicyclemusicfestival.com

 

Grandpa Fest

You don’t know Grindcore Grandpa? Hmm, how to explain to this. Basically, he’s the stoic elder gent who shows up at tons of hardcore and underground punk shows, lives for grind, and has a Lack of Interest shirt with his own face on it (as such, he’s more known as Grandpa of Interest). He’s turning 86, and that’s a big deal, so the Gilman is hosting Grandpa Fest and bringing in some of his favorite acts, legends of the scene including experimental Man is the Bastard offshoot Bastard Noise, and sludge-master Noothgrush, along with Stapled Shut, To the Point, Connoisseur, and Happy Pill Trauma. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll honor the man with a dive in the pit at breakneck speed. (Savage)

7pm, $10–$12

924 Gilman, Berk.

www.924gilman.org

 

Fete de la Musique

“The music everywhere and the concert nowhere,” declared French composer Maurice Fleuret in 1981. And then e went on to launch “Fete de la Musique” on the summer solstice of 1982, slyly celebrating that pagan holiday by bringing the French population out into the streets to play all the music they could. Soon the festival spread, and became a French tradition. Now, San Francisco’s Alliance Francaise is reviving the tradition with a roisterous day full of bands (Rue 66, Horse Horse Tiger Tiger, Crash Landings, Kiwi Time, more), drum circles, guitarists, and more — plus a few bars stocked with great wine, natch, to keep us in the spirit — on three floors. “Enjoy some Canadian music and food as well,” the Alliance promises, “as we welcome our Quebec cousins to celebrate their national holiday, the Fête de la Saint-Jean Baptiste.” French sounds all round! (Marke B.)

2pm-8pm, free

Alliance Française de San Francisco

1345 Bush, SF

fetedelamusiquesanfrancisco.wordpress.com

 

SUNDAY 23

City Lights at 60

Bookstore, publishing house, Beat writers hub, San Francisco institution. City Lights, founded by poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Peter D. Martin in 1953 (and now co-owned by Ferlinghetti and Nancy Peters), has meant a great many things to several generations of San Franciscans and tourists that flock to its North Beach storefront. It’s published important tomes, hosted readings and acoustic concerts, political conversations and book release celebrations. Just this past year saw a Pussy Riot gathering, Richard Hell reading, and a Sister Spit anthology release party. In celebrating six decades of life (that’s right, City Lights is officially 60 years young), the bookstore will host “City Lights at 60” lectures and readings through the rest of the year (“Howl Legacy: The Continuing Battle for Free Expression,” July 14, “Women of the Beat Generation,” Nov. 19), and an ongoing “Sundays in Jack Kerouac Alley” series. It all kicks off with the official birthday party today at the shop. The fête includes flash readings, archival footage, store discounts, and a live performance by the Latin Jazz Youth Ensemble of San Francisco. (Savage)

2-5pm, free

City Lights

261 Columbus, SF

(415) 863-2020

www.citylights.com

 

TUESDAY 25

Tyler Bryant and the Shakedown

Listening to Tyler Bryant, I get the sense that music was his first love. And even though he sings, “take my hand/take my heart/now honey, my super lady,” in the song “Lipstick Wonder Woman,” (which, conceivably, is about a human woman) I still believe that his most sultry seductress is the raw power and electricity present in his songs. His Nashville-based group makes authentic rock’n’roll that’s not reliant on over-reverbed guitar tones or a few simple fuzz-laden chords. Bryant can play, and his songs overwhelming reflect this. Reminiscent of the Black Keys, Bryant’s vocals are filled with soul, and the energetic beats anchoring his songs beg you to dance. (Smith)

With Girls and Boys

9pm, $15

Brick and Mortar Music Hall

1710 Mission, SF

(415) 371-1631

www.brickandmortarmusic.com

 

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Crapitalism

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Crapitalism

Happy Father’s Day! Be good to your dad (assuming he’s alive/you know who he is) and enjoy your kids (assuming you have any/know who they are).

A remarkable story crossed my monitor this week. From back in the sacred Motherland of Massachusetts. Apparently, a pair of tandem parking spaces were auctioned off behind a toney Commonwealth Ave (Boston) condo for a whopping 560K–they’re shown in the photo. That’s over a half a million dollars in prime real estate yer gazing at.

Bid up from a sort of reasonable 42K and sold to a party that allegedly owns three spaces there already, this is the kind of story that makes one’s eyes glaze over in amazement. As primo as the location is, that tiny and stained bit of asphalt you’re looking at is not worth that price under any circumstances.

As that part of Boston is tightly zoned, it isn’t like it was bought to expand a brownstone. Nope, this is conspicuous consumption run completely amok or as a friend of mine back there put it, ”this could only have happened to people for whom money has no meaning”. (I suspect that the purchase was made as a “business expense” for a corporation, more to be revealed).

For 560 grand, you can still buy a modest home in Boston’s most desirable suburbs (all of which have better public schools than Boston and are cleaner and not plagued with unbearable traffic). And the property is but ten minutes on foot from downtown and the business district, cabs and car services are plentiful, therefore, why bother? As a possible long term investment? (Not a great idea as you will see).

This neighborhood, the Back Bay, was the first place I had my own digs. Adjusted for inflation, that apartment should go for about 420.00. It is now a million dollar and up condo and what was it? One gigantic room, likely the dining room of a three story home back in the 1800’s. And I still have friends in that neighborhood. Tellingly, all of them have been there at least 25 years and they could never afford it now.

By pricing all but the top of the top out of what once was an artist friendly neighborhood, the same neighborhood has the ripple effect of driving real estate values in adjacent neighborhoods past reason. Boston and San Francisco–joined at the hip by being the satellite cities to America’s twin powerhouses–are now unaffordable. 

A piece in the same paper that ran this story last year said it all. People aged 35-54 –which used to be an enormous demographic in Boston–no longer live there in large numbers. After university they just up and go because first jobs don’t pay enough to raise the scratch for a down payment. When a slab of concrete not even big enough to be a bedroom in a rooming house goes for 560K, it says that “what the market will bear” is not applicable.

This isn’t “free market capitalism”, it’s “crapitalism”. The laws of supply and demand have been so perverted by so few having so much, they almost don’t apply anymore. And my beautiful hometown–once a funky seaport with the best local music scene outside CB’s/Max’s–is now an overly exclusive playpen for folks that have brought back the Brahmin Age, only on ‘roids. Same as in SF—two small peninsulas whose essential character is being clobbered by venal plutocrats. Crapitalism couldn’t exist without tacit aid from the government–in SF, it’s in the form of tax breaks, in Boston, tax free academia is swallowing their city whole, reducing the amount of living units and artificially raising land value. That isn’t “supply and demand”.

The utlimate irony of this ridiculous transaction is that the Back Bay, like the Marina, is atop a landfill. The Charles River already overflows its banks and floods the basements of these expensive edifices more than it used to–so the parking spaces in question may be useless a fair amount of the time (of course, crapitalism being what it is, MA taxpayers will surely be stuck for the bill of seawalls and the like).

Bailouts, cronyism, loopholes–instead of an economic boom, we have Marie Antoinette style madness in our major cities. Pretty pitiful.

 

Jerry Garcia Street

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This spring, me and the missus brought our kids up to the City from LA for the first time, via Big Sur, Monterey and Santa Cruz. It was our best family trip ever–wild turkeys and great hikes in the Sur, hanging on the boardwalk in Cruz and finally, SF. Stayed a few nights in Japantown, climbed Mt Tam, watched the fog envelope the Golden Gate–touristy stuff (I passed on the cable cars, however–they loved them).

Naturally, we had to show our children where we once lived and as we’d been up to Twin Peaks already, the Haight was nice and easy. Plus, I had to make a stop at Amoeba to consign some music.

Our old neighborhood has changed since the middle 90’s, but mostly in subtle ways. Still a bunch of panhandlers about (carrying banjos and ukes now as opposed to guitars), the wonderful Pork Store and the panhandle itself. The biggest change is the proliferation of parents–I don’t recall many strollers back in the Clinton era, but there was much pram pushing down Haight Street (sorry, Mick) all the same. Saw lots of that in SoMa parks, too–kiddie city.

When I was dropping off the discs at Amoeba, me and the counterman started jawing about the changes underway and he shocked me by saying that a great deal of the shop’s foot traffic was tourist based. People that came up to that neck of the woods solely for the history. And I got to thinking and I wondered–why is there almost nothing named after the area’s most famous export and certainly its magnet, John Jerome “Jerry” Garcia?

The Dead and their compatriots made this little corner of SF the most famous place in the world for a spell and yet very little commemorates the fact. That they carried on for 28 years past the “summer of love” spreading their loping groove around the world means that the rest of the world (a lot of it) comes to SF to try and absorb a little of that long gone good feeling. In other words, more tourism and more business.

I wonder, wouldn’t it be something if upper Haight Street–from Divisidero to the terminus at Golden Gate Park (I would say Cala Foods, but that too is gone) be renamed “Jerry Garcia Boulevard?” If Army Street can become Cesar Chavez, why not? 

And please spare me the incoming crapola about “honoring junkies”. Garcia’s personal habits have nothing to do with his work and the idea that he represented the “corruption of youth” gives someone that eschewed being a role model way too much power. 

There’s already a “Joey Ramone Place” in the Bowery in NYC. As there should be. It’s high time (no pun) that San Francisco did the same for the creator of its underground scene as well. 

 

John Dwyer’s Thee Fuzz Warr Overload pedal

Tony Robles
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John Dwyer’s Thee Fuzz Warr Overload pedal

You can file this under: sure, why not? Spirited Thee Oh Sees frontperson John Dwyer has “inspired” a new custom pedal for Death By Audio, called Thee Fuzz Warr Overload.

The pedal is limited to 500, and so says Death by Audio, once they’re gone, they’re gone. The Brooklyn-based effects pedal company also put out a signature Ty Segall pedal (Sunshine Reverb) which sold out in a day.

Thee Fuzz Warr Overload is available now for pre-order on the Death by Audio site ($225, like whoa), and ships June 30. 

I’ll let Death by Audio excitedly describe the pedal in all its fuzzy glory:

“This pedal is based on the super powerful circuit of the Fuzz War combined with a switchable hot-rodded treble boost. The Fuzz circuit controls include Gain, Level, Tone and the Boost circuit has a Level control. Combining these circuits unlocks new and virtually endless guitar tone possibilities. The specialized Tone knob allows you to sweep between rumbling low end, scooped out mid section and sizzling highs. The Gain knob can go from a smooth overdrive through distortion and up into uncharted territories. Thee Fuzz Warr Overload combines raucous fuzz and a killer treble boost to bring your sound to the next dimension.”

Here’s Dwyer demoing the pedal (plus a real cute turtle and some kids):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPDYcA9kG1k

The next local Thee Oh Sees show is the Phono Del Sol fest July 13 in Potrero Del Sol Park ($25).

Explaining Osama and 9/11

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My oldest son just graduated elemetary school and so my wife and I gave him an IPad as gift. He loves the thing. Unlike his gadget n geegaw loathing father, he takes to that stuff with a vengeance.

As an internet scouring curiosity-laden child, he’s gotta be watched carefully. Sometimes he finds “acceptable” videos on YouTube that scare him, however. Today he saw for the first time the footage of the World Trade Center being hit by plane and collapsing on September 11th, 2001. I was on an errand when his mother called me and told me how upset he’d been, seeing the people jump hand in hand to their deaths. 

When I returned home, I explained to him what had happened. And why New York had been attacked and how it had affected our family directly (his uncle’s boss was flown into the towers killing her). I explained to him that human beings were capable of incredible cold blooded cruelty but also kindness and love. He still wanted to know why Bin Laden had planned and executed the attacks and I replied that the motive may have been to force American troops off the holy Saudi soil or maybe that as a former CIA employee, he’d been stiffed for cash. We don’t really know.

What I do figure, I explained to him, is that Bin Laden had a history of being part of suckering Western powers into unwinnable wars. By knocking down the World Trade Center, America would be dragged into a bloody morass like the Red Army was and we’d collapse like the USSR did. And then something hit me that I’d never thought of.

When Bin Laden was laying out this grand scheme of destruction, how come no one ever said anything like “well, it’s true that the Americans are infidels, dude–but this retaliation of theirs that you’re hoping for? That’s gonna be thousands and thousands of our people that get snuffed in a war that really doesn’t have to take place. Like, they may be imperialistic whatevers, man, but this provocation means lots of dead civilians, kids. That’s not really a great idea–got anything else?”

Of course that never happened and not because of Islamofascism or whatever other completely human trait is laid on one group of people as opposed to all of them. It never seems to keep the Bin Laden’s of the world up at night that they’re responsible for death and carnage nor does anyone ever tell them that this isn’t heroism or martyrdom but murder. 

So I explained this to my boy and he nodded by way of “OK, dad–cool”. I dunno if it sank in but if I ever get word back that he walked away from a fight because he knew it never leads to anything but pain, that’s a job well done.

 

The Mission ‘douchebags’

Zelda Bronstein
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The Mission ‘douchebags’

Okay, you have to read this. When a 1990s tech-startup guy who admits he was part of the last generation of gentrification is now so fed up with the new arrival of high-paid techies that he’s ready to leave, it’s pretty serious.

Chris Tacy makes an excellent point: When you move into the Mission, you need to understand that there are already other people living there, some of whom have been there a long time, and that it isn’t just you’re rich-kids playground:

Be considerate. That little old hispanic lady at the bus stop? Help her onto the bus instead of loudly bitching about how she’s going to make you late to your meeting at The Creamery. Be respectful. This neighborhood was here before you and will be here after you leave. It’s not your trashcan, your toilet or your playground. Understand the history and the culture and the people and act in a manner that isn’t stupidly offensive. Be sensitive. The traditional residents of this neighborhood are not rich and never will be. Flaunting your wealth and your opportunities is a douche move.

A guy I knew in college came from a very wealthy family, and his parents set up a trust fund for him. But he wasn’t going to get a penny until he was 30, and most of it would come to him later in life. His dad’s rationale: People who have a lot of money in theirs 20s become assholes. They don’t have enough life experience to handle the sudden riches. Get a job, live like a normal person, find out what life is like.

That’s how riches used to happen — the great industrial fortunes of the previous American generations tended to come to people who had worked for a while first; there weren’t a lot of 20-something millionaires. I think that’s a big change in the current economy. Some people are just too young to be rich.

I know, I’m an old fart who is not rich and never will be. Sometimes I feel like a curmudgeon. But if you’re lucky enough to be rich in your 20s, show some respect.

Polo in the park

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Polo in the park

le.chicken.farmer@yahoo.com

IN THE GAME The lights at Jose Coronado Playground stay on until 10 p.m. Like most playgrounds, it has a life of its own: a heart, a brain, a bloated liver, and a basketball hoop. In fact: two — but most nights the basketball court is cut in half by an extension of the tennis court to create a bike polo court. Which is cut in half by the slightly grassy crack between tennis-top acrylic and just plain asphalt.

So you don’t always get a clean roll, but that’s life.

Also life: the ragtag collection of drunks and disorderlies congregating on the sidewalk near the 21st St. entrance to the courts most evenings. They bring chairs, or huddle around the trash bin there.

One of their number, long gray hair scare-crowing out from under his hat, saunters onto the empty half-court with a worn black basketball and starts shooting free throws. He’s wearing a suit jacket. After missing four straight from the line, he backs up to almost half court, heaves awkwardly from his rib cage, and finally sinks one.

Nobody cheers.

On the unbicycled part of the next-door tennis court, a couple of much younger folks, a pink-haired woman and a regular ol’ facial-haired man, are riding around in electric-wheelchair-based cardboard robots. They look like something from a sixth-grade science fair, modified boxes with marker-drawn robot features. One has corrugated heating ducts for arms, dangling down to the pavement.

“You go on ahead without me,” I say to Hedgehog.

Jose Coronado is smack between our favorite restaurant (Limon Rotisserie) and our favorite ice cream (Humphry Slocombe).

“Do you want me to bring you something?” she says.

“Your call,” says I. I eat ice cream, but it’s not my thing.

Nor are homemade robots. But I have to ask, so while Hedgehog is walking on to 24th and picking out our flavors, I manage to make my way into the driver’s seat for a test drive. There is a camera mounted high on the chain-link fence surrounding the playground, and you have to drive by video, which is transmitted to a pair of goggles.

It’s like playing a video game from inside the screen. You are the little thing that you’re looking at.

I don’t like video games.

Zipping around pretty much blindly, I get almost immediately dizzy and lost, and almost crash into some bikes.

They’re going to race these funny wheelchair robots next day at SubZERO, San Jose’s annual subcultural festival, and I wish them luck.

While I’m waiting for Hedgehog to get back with our ice cream, I watch a little bike polo on the other side of the tennis net. It’s a pretty intense pick-up scene. Three-on-three, with a basketball hoop and a light pole in the field of play.

Most of them wear helmets. Some, knee pads and elbow pads. They drink beer, they smoke. One girl is playing with a cigarette in her mouth.

Plastic mallets awhirl, they circle and sprint, skid, bounce, and sometimes fall. If your foot touches the ground, you have to touch one of the mid-court posts with your mallet before returning to play.

It looks goddamn fun.

Another woman scores her second goal of the game and a dude against the fence, waiting his team’s turn, hollers, “My nipples are hard!”

“I didn’t know he had nipples,” quips a guy on a bike, racing back to defend his goal.

On the hard-top soccer pitch other side of the fence from all this, a couple of moms are kicking around with their kids. I fantasize about joining them, but here comes Hedgehog with our ice cream: mango and carrot, and basil lime.

The basketball scarecrow has moved on, and now two short guys are playing one-on-one. Someone else is practicing his fancy dribbling in the shadows, and occasionally pulls up and bounces a shot off of a light pole.

Twenty Major League Baseball players face possible suspension for alleged use of performance enhancing drugs, and these moms, kids, kooks, and badasses are out here every time I walk by, which is often.

Between Shotwell and Harrison on 21st Street in the Mission. Jose Coronado Playground. This has been a night in the life. Of it.

Newcomer Nights are on Wednesdays, in case you’re interested in getting in the game, bike polowise.

Otherwise, it’s not a bad spectator sport. Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays they play, from seven to ten. Check it out.

www.sfbikepolo.com

 

Wish you weren’t here

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Wish you weren’t here

arts@sfbg.com

FILM Austrian Ulrich Seidl has been making films since the early 1980s, but didn’t get much attention internationally until 2001’s Dog Days, a bleak and nasty ensemble piece about some seemingly ordinary — but all variably pathetic, ugly and/or perverse — Viennese suburbanites sweating through a heat wave. It was the sort of movie that demanded attention, being grotesque, funny, surprising, meticulously crafted, and arguably just plain mean.

Following decades of mostly documentary work, he’d suddenly joined the ranks of what you might call the New (though not necessarily young) Misanthropes: directors like his fellow countryman Michael Haneke, France’s Gaspar Noé, and the Philippines’ Brillante Mendoza. For some their invariably depressing, often upsetting films illuminate the human capacity for cruelty. For others, they wallow in it.

After taking his time making a Dog Days follow-up (2007’s Import/Export, a predictably grim comment on Europe’s immigration inundation), Seidl is back in atypical bulk with his Paradise Trilogy, three lightly interlocking (there’s no real overall arc) features more tightly focused on hapless individual protagonists. Each are observed — and this director is among the most ruthlessly clinical observers around, as if cinema were a laboratory and characters his test subjects — on vacation. But of course the experience of any earthly paradise is a sour joke in the contexts they find themselves in. Striking if unpleasant, the trio gets its Bay Area debut over the next three weekends at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.

Paradise: Love (2012) makes the pursuit of pleasure look grim indeed, from the rather cheap-shot opening of Teresa (Margaret Tiesel) overseeing mentally handicapped adults as they enjoy an amusement-park outing on bumper cars — a scene whose “grotesquerie” feels exploitative. But once she’s on her holiday in sunny Kenya, it’s Teresa who does the exploiting. At the urging of a cheerfully horny friend (one among many plus-sized, German-speaking women well into middle age holidaying there), she partakes of the local populace of young men who offer gigolo-type services for a price.

But Teresa wants something more — or at least the illusion of it. Ergo she’s thoroughly suckered when the first seemingly non-predatory beach stud she encounters (Peter Kazungu as Munga) starts asking for money — he’s got no end of needy sick relatives, it seems — once they’ve consummated his declared “love.” Similar disappointments ensue. Teresa’s naiveté isn’t exactly sympathetic, however. She unconsciously brings the full weight of class/racial privilege and condescension with her, and is endlessly, petulantly demanding as a sex tourist who insists on being treated as a lover. (The negotiation around how her breasts should be touched by Munga seem to take half an hour alone.) She just wants to be desired. Yet she acts like a pushy colonialist bargain shopper.

In Paradise: Faith (2012), the spotlight is taken by Teresa’s older sister Anna Maria (Maria Hofstaetter), who most certainly is not looking for romance, let alone sex — without wearing a cowl, this hospital radiologist has become a fervent bride of Christ. She spends her vacation time alone in her over-large house, scrubbing it spotless, flogging herself clean of impure thoughts before Jesus, and singing hymns at the Casio keyboard. She also goes on daily outings to the homes of strangers, frequently immigrants. She barges in with sizable Virgin Mary statues crying “The Mother of God has come to visit you!,” and tries browbeating them into sin-abjuring prayer. Needless to say, this all seems much more about her needs than theirs.

She returns one day to the unwelcome surprise of husband Nabil (Nabil Saleh), an Egyptian Muslim back after an unexplained two-year absence. They’ve both changed greatly — back then he wasn’t yet paralyzed from the waist down, and she wasn’t a born-again fanatic. He’s nonplussed that her vinegary form of “Christian charity” treats him more as a home-nursing burden than a marital partner, and hostilities between them soon escalate to nightmarish proportions.

Ultimately, faith provides no comfort — and that failure induces a crisis of faith. Rigorously controlled in aesthetic terms, Seidl goes over the top content-wise at times — as when Anna Maria stumbles upon a public park orgy, or uses a crucifix à la Linda Blair — yet this cruel portrait of religious fixation has a certain compulsive, often cringe-inducing tension.

Finally, there’s some light at the end of the tunnel with Paradise: Hope (2013). While Teresa is fucking Africans and Anna Maria proselytizing, the former’s teenage daughter Melanie (Melanie Lenz) has been packed off to fat camp, where she and other pudgy youths endure long days of tortuous exercise and other “improving” programs. But the kids have each other; rather surprisingly, Seidl doesn’t rain gloom on their giddy rapport. Melanie also develops a serious crush on the resident doctor, a handsome, friendly, and flirtatious fellow (Michael Thomas) approximately four times her age.

Convinced she’s overdue to lose her virginity, she’s an avid pursuer — and disturbingly, he’s kinda interested. It is the movie’s major failing that seemingly kind, intelligent, grounded Dr. Arzt remains too much of an enigma for us to grasp why he’d even consider taking up a 13-year-old on the offer of herself. Yes, Melanie is cute, vivacious, and likable … but, well, come on. Of course this won’t end well. Still, Hope is indeed the most hopeful of the Paradise trilogy: its main character’s life isn’t ruined already, and she might well survive the hard knocks she’s given here to experience actual happiness.

ULRICH SEIDL’S PARADISE TRILOGY

June 13-30, $8-$10

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission, SF

www.ybca.org

 

Stretch out

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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3
Stretch out

culture@sfbg.com

On the Om Front The days are getting longer. The college kids who live next door are throwing parties seven nights a week instead of the usual four. Your dog is asking to be walked so early in the morning that you’re not certain you’ve ever actually gone to sleep. It’s summertime! And it’s the perfect time to get out of town for a few days, and do what yogis (and defeated armies) do best: retreat.

Yoga and meditation retreats can take many forms. They can be active and playful (think Acro Yoga on the Yuba River) or tranquil and introspective (like a silent meditation retreat in Santa Cruz). The Bay Area is a prime launch pad for a whole range of extro- and introverted magical adventures that will stretch your body and your mind into dimensions you never knew existed.

Of course the hardest part about planning a retreat or festival getaway is actually planning it. So, here’s a little help for you. Now, all you need to do is whip out your smart phone or old-school paper calendar, flag the summer days on which you’ll say a temporary sayonara to the daily grind, and book it. See you on the flip side.

 

ACRO YOGA AND YUBA RIVER

You’ve seen those brightly dressed yogis in Dolores Park on summer Sundays balancing on slack lines and doing crazy partner acrobatic tricks. Learn how to do what they do on this high-energy retreat in Nevada City, led by Jason and Chelsey Magness of the YogaSlackers. Retreat includes all-levels training in Acro Yoga and slacklining plus plenty of time on the river.

June 20-23, $400. Nevada City, CA. www.yogaslackers.com

 

AS-ONE-WE-FLOW RIVER RETREAT

This “Interdepen-dance” retreat, run by River Guidess, will blow your July 4th out of the water. It features yoga, ecstatic dance, seven miles of mellow rafting (all gear provided), deluxe camping accommodations, organic meals, and live music. The Stanislaus river is so otherworldly that you may start dreaming in an alien language. And the best part: no wetsuits required.

July 4-7, $395–$475, Oakdale, CA. www.riverguidess.com/july-4-2013/

 

YOSEMITE YOGA

The towering mountains of Yosemite are just a hop, skip, and car ride away, but we city-dwellers rarely make it over there. Toss your yoga mat and some hiking shoes into your backseat, and head for the (really big) hills with Back to Earth’s annual Yosemite Yoga trip. Each day includes guided hiking to gorgeous spots, yoga classes, Thai Massage, delicious meals, campfires, and swimming in local creeks.

July 10-July 14, $675. Yosemite, CA. www.backtoearth.org/trips/yosemite-yoga

 

WANDERLUST

This is pretty much the hottest local-ish yoga festival of the year. Featuring a panoply of talent, this Lake Tahoe event includes world-class yoga instructors (including several Bay Area teachers like Janet Stone and Pete Guinosso) and like-minded musical artists like Moby, Grammatik, DJ Drez, and The Shimmy Sisters. Oh, and jaw-dropping vistas of Lake Tahoe.

July 18-21, $125–$475. Squaw Valley, North Lake Tahoe, CA. squaw.wanderlustfestival.com

 

SECOND ANNUAL YOGA ESCAPE

If you’re down for something mellower and more introspective, this Cazadero retreat with Danae Robinett offers yoga, delicious food, and deluxe accommodation amongst redwood trees and wandering wild turkeys. You’ll also get to experience Shake Your Asana, Robinett’s unique combo of yoga and rump-shaking.

July 25-28, $650. Cazadero, CA. www.smore.com/2t0b

 

INTRODUCTION TO MINDFULNESS MEDITATION RETREAT

Looking to shift your perspective on life for more than just a weekend? Try this introductory silent meditation (and Qi Gong) retreat at the Insight Retreat Center in Santa Cruz. Silent retreats give us the opportunity to look at our thoughts and patterns so that we can start shifting them to better our lives. The insights gained on a silent retreat are well worth corking your pie hole for a few days. You may not even want to talk again when you return. Donation-based.

August 15 to 18, free ($100 refunded deposit). Santa Cruz, CA. www.insightretreatcenter.org

 

DEEP RESTORATION, DEEP HEALING: ZEN MIND, YOGA BODY RETREAT

If relaxation is on your agenda (and not the kind that requires a cocktail), head to Tassajara, a Zen Buddhist retreat center in Carmel Valley. In this retreat, teachers Samantha Ostergaard and Do-On Robert Thomas will combine Restorative Yoga (an effortless, passive yoga practice) and Zen meditation techniques to create a feeling of calm in the body and mind.

August 22-25, $240, Carmel, CA. www.sfzc.org/tassajara

 

BHAKTI FEST

Indian chanting or “kirtan” is a juicy part of yoga practice for lots of folks, and this festival is the ultimate event to get your kirtan on. Located in Joshua Tree (close to the state park, but not in it), the festival offers four days of music with bands performing on two different stages all day and night, as well as a mad plethora of yoga classes. Hot desert nights plus divine tunes equals a personal favorite of mine.

September 5-8, $200–$400 plus camping fee. Joshua Tree, CA. www.bhaktifest.com

 

Selector: June 12-17, 2013

Andrew Lam
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0

WEDNESDAY 12

The Trashies

What would you get if you paired those slimy Garbage Pail Kids with primal 1960s garage rock band the Monks? It’d probably turn in to something like the Trashies. A few weeks back, the Bay Guardian premiered a new video from the sloppy Seattle-and-East Bay act, featuring the band writhing in the mud at the Albany Bulb, screeching and freaking out psychedelically on guitars, and yelping “I’m a worm!/watch me squirm.” If it all sounds a bit familiar, this beach squelch shimmy, it’s because Uzi Rash frontperson Max Nordile also has a hand in Trashies, lending his particular style to the band’s intoxicating sounds. (Emily Savage)

With Buffalo Tooth, Scrapers

8:30pm, $7

Hemlock Tavern

1131 Polk, SF

(415) 923-0923

www.hemlocktavern.com

 

FRIDAY 14

Queer Women of Color Film Festival

Five vibrant screening programs, 57 short films, and a particular focus — “Bridge To Truth: Queer SWANA/AMEMSA Communities” — on the feminist threads weaving through recent revolutions in Southwest Asian, North African/Arab, Middle Eastern, Muslim, and South Asian communities: if this year’s festival doesn’t open your eyes to some amazing things happening in the world of queer women of color, well, here’s a loaf of Wonderbread, go nuts. “From the intoxicating first kiss to candlelit prayer rugs, from transmen of color dating to Navajo beauty pageants, to the ebb and flow between parents and children, this festival is awash with films that fill our spirits,” QWOCMAP, the great local arts institution that produces the fest, promises. Three days of flicks culminate in a party, 9pm on Sun/16 at Slate Bar, with DJs Wepa and AlmiuX and a host of friendly faces. (Marke B.)

Through June 16

Various prices and times Brava Theater

2789 24th St., SF

www.qwocmap.org

 

Date Palms

There’s this sense of impending doom ever-present in any given Date Palm piece. The instrumental band — which once described its sound to me as “psychedelic minimalism with Eastern tinged melodies driven by cyclical, distorted bass patterns” — has thriller cinematic appeal. Without the distraction of vocals, the mind is left to wander in these unsettling patterns, wobbling toward the deep unknown, creating eerie visions. In this way, it’s the soundtrack to the mini movies fluttering through your brain. This is never more apt than in single “Dusted Down,” off new album, Dusted Sessions, out this week on Thrill Jockey. And yet, one needn’t conjure a mind-flick for that particular track. There’s already a video, and it’s as trippy as deserved, with blurry visions of the band, analog video feedback, and a looping rainbow of madness. (Savage)

With Jackie O-Motherfucker, Soft Shells, Lady Free Mountain

9pm, $7

Night Light

311 Broadway, Oakl.

www.thenightlightoakland.com

 

The Bats

New Zealand rockers the Bats got their start 30 years ago, and have stayed together all this time, with all four original members still in the fold, an almost unheard of feat these days. The cult Kiwi favorites released their latest album, Free All The Monsters (Flying Nun Records) in 2011, imbued with an almost ethereal sound and feel, which could be partly due to the fact that it was recorded in a former lunatic asylum. The video for the single “Simpletons” shows haunting scenes of the aftermath of the major earthquake that struck the Bats hometown of Christchurch that year — but like their fellow countrymen, the band is as resilient as ever. (Sean McCourt)

With the Mantles, Legs

9pm, $15–$17-

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

(415) 861-2011

www.rickshawstop.com

 

Monster Drawing Rally 2013

There will be no Grave Digger, no Bigfoot, no Mean Green Machine. There will be no Mud Tractor Pull (pull … pull …pull …) — or mud for that matter, either. But you never know what else will arise from the annual, hugely popular Monster Drawing Rally at Southern Exposure Gallery. A honkin’ 120 artists rev their creative engines in one hour shifts of 30 artists each to produce spectacular works, instantly available for sale at $60 each. Meanwhile, spectators can egg these MONSTER ARTISTS on while enjoying the inspirationally arty yet danceable sounds of DJs Juan Luna-Avin and Joshua Pieper and food from select street trucks. It all takes place at underground-feeling Mission design warehouse the NWBLCK, and proceeds go to Southern Exposure’s community art programs. Gentledrawers, start your engines. (Marke B.)

6pm-11pm, $15

1999 Bryant, SF

(415) 863-2141

www.soex.org


SATURDAY 15

Papa Bear and the Easy Love

Papa Bear and the Easy Love create a river of music and then go for a swim inside it. Some artists wear their music like accessories, a backdrop to their eccentric selves. Some become one with it, creating a pleasant unity on stage. Others stomp on top of the sound, trying to resuscitate the riffs and beats as they plunge from the speakers to the ground. With Papa Bear and the Easy Love, beautiful harmonies and soft finger-picking acoustics become the mantra on stage — and it is beautiful to watch. It makes the crowd wish to go for a dip as well. (Hillary Smith)

With Big Tree, Song Preservation Society, City Tribe

9pm, $17

Great American Music Hall

859 O’Farrell, SF

(415) 885-0750

www.slimspresents.com


SUNDAY 16

StyleWOW

Dear San Francisco Art Institute,

You’re forgiven for the questionable taste shown in the naming of your annual student fashion show because I anticipate that its runway lewks will be fantastic. We are known as a fabulous city to live in (if one — or one’s parents — can afford it), but not to launch a high fashion career. The walls of your institution have long been a holding container for bright style stars who light out after graduation for more apace fashion worlds. And so: while the SF style scene continues to grow, your event remains one of the year’s more exciting chances to see high fashion here in the city. I for one am excited. Sincerely, (Caitlin Donohue)

7pm, $20–$50

San Francisco Design Center

101 Henry Adams, SF

stylewow.brownpapertickets.com

 

Lady Lamb the Beekeeper

Everything about the story of Aly Spaltro’s transformation into Lady Lamb and the Beekeeper seems old and out of time. In the Maine town where she went to high school, she practiced in the basement of that bygone establishment, a video store, and produced her first recordings through another, an independent record store. Then there’s her alter ego, the name of a Victorian woman who came to her in a dream (for real), which maybe that explains the biggest leap of time: Spaltro performs far beyond her 22 years. With her preternatural understanding of human feeling and her unique ability to sing about it, the very old and young Lady Lamb should not be missed. (Laura Kerry)

With Torres, Paige and the Thousand

8pm, $10

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

(415) 861-2011

www.rickshawstop.com

 

Tracy Morgan

Getting his first major mainstream exposure on the TV show Martin in the mid-1990s, Tracy Morgan quickly went on to join the cast of Saturday Night Live based on the strengths of his hilarious comedic talents. On SNL, he created classic characters such as animal expert “Brian Fellows” and the moonshine-swilling “Uncle Jemima” and performed a host of side-splitting celebrity impersonations. Now that 30 Rock — where he poked fun at his own celebrity in the guise of “Tracy Jordan” — has ended its cult hit run, Morgan is hitting the stage for a series of live gigs ahead of his new TV project, Death Pact, which is slated to air on FX.

(McCourt)

8pm, $35.50

Palace of Fine Arts

3301 Lyon, SF

(800) 745-3000

www.palaceoffinearts.org

 

The Front Bottoms

The Front Bottoms’ shows are usually teeming with fans who are just as excited as them — we’re talking double rainbow excited. The New Jersey indie-punk group’s sarcastic and humorous lyrics guarantee a sing-along show. “And you’re so confident, but I hear you cry in your sleeping bag,” scream the die-hards along with the Front Bottoms. Though the Ludo-esque vocals sound great and the songs are quite catchy, a good part of the energy comes from the party atmosphere provided on stage. Going to a Front Bottoms concert is like going to a house show, but with an above average band playing the gig. You still get to go bat-shit and get weird, just to good music instead. (Smith)

With Weatherbox, Night Riots

8pm, $12

Brick and Mortar Music Hall

1710 Mission, SF

(415) 800-8782

www.brickandmortarmusic.com

 

“A Radio Silence Live Tribute to Buddy Holly”

With all legend surrounding his untimely death, one tends to forget the most important thing about Buddy Holly: the bespectacled kid (age 22) had a serious knack for songwriting. He was a prolific musician who wrote a bunch of timeless rockabilly-blues blended rock’n’roll juke classics in his relatively short career. (“That’ll Be The Day,” “Peggy Sue,” “True Love Ways,” “Crying, Waiting, Hoping,” “Everyday.”) As a small gesture to correct the collective direction of remembrance — and to prove the music didn’t really die that day on the “Winter Dance Party” tour — local lit mag Radio Silence presents a tribute night to the songs of Holly. There’ll be Greil Marcus, an icon of rock journalism, reading from his as-yet-unpublished new book, plus conversations with and performances by Eleanor Friedberger of Fiery Furnaces, Van Pierszalowski of Port O’Brien and WATERS, and singer-songwriter Thao Nguyen. As with any proper SF event, there’ll be DJs and food trucks as well. (Savage)

7pm, $20

Public Works 161 Erie, SF (415) 779-6757

www.publicsf.com


TUESDAY 18

Brooke D.

Brooke D. is a solo artist — but unless you’ve seen her live you wouldn’t have a clue. The San Francisco native’s loops of soft hums and harmonies alongside simple beats offer a full backdrop (not that it’s needed) to her gentle, poignant vocals. And yet, the subtle empty spaces in D.’s tracks lend a withholding quality that is altogether alluring. The result is a refreshingly captivating performance. Worth seeing for the a capella novelty alone, D.’s show is also impressive because of her freestyle harmonies in which she flawlessly reaches high notes unattainable to most. She delivers a unique and skilled three-person performance for the price of one. (Smith)

With Sea Lioness, Doncat, Tendrils

9pm, $8

Bottom of the Hill

1233 17th St., SF

(415) 626-4455

www.bottomofthehill.com


The Guardian listings deadline is two weeks prior to our Wednesday publication date. To submit an item for consideration, please include the title of the event, a brief description of the event, date and time, venue name, street address (listing cross streets only isn’t sufficient), city, telephone number readers can call for more information, telephone number for media, and admission costs. Send information to Listings, the Guardian, 225 Bush, 17th Flr., SF, CA 94105; or e-mail (paste press release into e-mail body — no attachments, please) to listings@sfbg.com. Digital photos may be submitted in jpeg format; the image must be at least 240 dpi and four inches by six inches in size. We regret we cannot accept listings over the phone.

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