Parking

The odd evictions at Parkmerced

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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The odd evictions at Parkmerced

rebeccab@sfbg.com

The San Francisco City Attorney’s Office has started investigating conditions at Parkmerced in the wake of housing advocates’ concerns that tenants have been issued a high volume of notices warning that they could face eviction due to unpaid utility fees.

The questions surrounding back payments and pending evictions, many of which impact low-income renters, have emerged only a few months after the Board of Supervisors narrowly approved a controversial redevelopment project at the neighborhood-scale housing complex. When it was under consideration, project opponents voiced concerns that housing for low-income residents could be jeopardized under the plan if tenant protections guaranteed by the developers did not stand up in court.

“The timing of it is a little suspicious,” said Tyler McMillan, executive director of the San Francisco-based Eviction Defense Collaborative. “A lot of folks suddenly are moving toward the eviction process … right after they got approved for this big development. It all just smells really bad.”

Parkmerced spokesperson PJ Johnston told the Guardian the notices had nothing to do with the development approval, and were simply a consequence of unpaid bills. “I don’t think the city attorney is going to find anything of particular interest,” he said. “This is an issue of a property owner telling people who owe bills that they have to pay their bills.”

Stellar Management, Parkmerced’s property management company, issued 196 notices this past summer and in September warning tenants that they could face eviction if they did not take steps to bring their accounts current within three days.

In some cases, back payments had piled up for more than a year, and the bills ranged from around $400 to $1,200 — a burdensome dilemma for very low income residents getting by on fixed incomes.

The issue wasn’t payment of rent; most of the charges stemmed from water, sewer, and trash pick-up fees administered by a third-party billing company called American Utility Management (AUM). Parkmerced cited breach of the lease agreement as grounds for eviction.

Some tenants dispute the charges, and have told the San Francisco Rent Board and other agencies that they were surprised to receive the bills and didn’t know they had past-due amounts until they were presented with the high bills.

In any case, it’s an unusual situation — San Francisco tenants rarely face eviction over water or garbage bills.

 

A HUGE GROUNDSWELL

Many tenants have since been given a chance to set up payment plans and were granted a 45-day timeline to work out a payback system, noted San Francisco Rent Board director Delene Wolf. But not everyone was lucky enough to dodge the bullet. Since the notices went out, the Eviction Defense Collaborative has taken on cases for 14 separate eviction proceedings at Parkmerced, McMillan said.

“They are evicting a lot more people in the last couple months than they were at this time last year,” McMillan noted. Wolf confirmed this, saying, “We saw a huge groundswell.”

The city attorney has been responsive to advocates’ concerns. “We met with the City Attorney’s office, and they’re collecting cases,” explained Sara Shortt, executive director of the Housing Rights Committee. “A key question is, why are these low-income renters behind?”

So far, the answer remains unclear. Tenant advocates remain skeptical that the charges are legitimate, in part because they have questions about how fees were assessed. There have also reports of monthly parking fees charged to tenants who don’t own vehicles. “They’re really questionable amounts … that are years and years old,” McMillan noted. “There’s so much doubt about whether they owe this money.”

Some of the 196 tenants who received warning notices claimed they didn’t know they were responsible for the fees. John Martinek tried to help his friend, a 55-year-old Parkmerced resident and veteran, after he was hit with a bill totaling more than $600.

“He might’ve owed it, but here’s the thing: They never told him anything about paying water and garbage,” Martinek said. “They never once asked him, they never once said a word. They were trying to scare him, there’s no question about it. They were trying shake him out of there.” He said his friend had been spared from eviction thanks to legal assistance.

Johnston, meanwhile, dismissed the idea that tenants were in the dark on how much they owed. “It’s patently ridiculous to suggest that residents who have signed a lease weren’t aware that they had to pay their bills,” he said.

In most cases, garbage charges in San Francisco are either included in the rent or are completely separate from rent, collected by a private company and can’t be grounds for eviction. Water bills are typically included in monthly rent or collected by the city — and thus aren’t grounds for eviction either.

 

WHERE IS DAVID CHIU?

Of the 14 eviction proceedings that are going forward, McMillan said, 10 involve tenants who receive Section 8 housing assistance, a federal program administered by the San Francisco Housing Authority. Of those 10, eight concerned disputed fees, he said.

There are a total of 170 Section 8 tenants at Parkmerced, according to figures cited by Megan Baker of Catholic Charities CYO, and 82 of them were among the 196 tenants who received three-day notices.

While Parkmerced previously attracted renters enrolled in the Section 8 program, Stellar stopped accepting those housing applications about a year ago, Baker said. Her organization provides emergency financial assistance for families at risk of homelessness and has been working with Parkmerced tenants since October 2009.

Baker added that she’d met with some tenants who were charged attorney’s fees on top of the back-payments. “They don’t have the means to pay legal costs,” she said. “These very large charges are not going hand-in-hand with their monthly statements. It’s all of a sudden. It leads us to think that in the process of changing management and gearing up for redevelopment, they really don’t want low-income tenants.”

In the wake of recent coverage about the trend of eviction notices in the Guardian and other publications (See “Low Income Tenants Face Possible Eviction at Parkmerced,” Politics Blog, Oct. 7, 2011), the three-day notices have slowed, reports Wolf, of the Rent Board. “There were no notices this month,” she said, referring to October, which could be a sign that management had taken a different tack under pressure from housing advocates and media scrutiny.

Shortt, of the Housing Rights Committee, noted that she had sought assistance from Board President David Chiu after her organization began working with impacted tenants. Chiu cast the swing vote on Parkmerced, sparking the ire of tenant advocates, but professed to be looking out for tenant interests.

Chiu introduced 14 pages of amendments to the Parkmerced development agreement intended to strengthen tenant protections, and used those changes to justify his support for the project. However, the Sunshine Ordinance Task Force determined Nov. 1 that members of the Land Use and Economic Development Committee violated the San Francisco Sunshine Ordinance when it considered Chiu’s amendments, because the public wasn’t provided with full documentation of the proposed changes.

Chiu’s office contacted Parkmerced with questions about the eviction notices, but Shortt said she came away with the impression that the board president was not about to exert pressure on Stellar Management or Parkmerced developers over this issue. Chiu’s office indicated to Shortt that they planned to collaborate with Sup. Sean Elsbernd, whose District 11 includes Parkmerced, to decide how to proceed.

“We haven’t seen any evidence that this is connected to the development in any way,” Judson True, Chiu’s legislative aide, told the Guardian. “We’re committed to working with Parkmerced, Sup. Elsbernd’s office, and the residents to keep as many people in their homes as possible.”

The San Francisco City Attorney’s office is urging any Parkmerced tenants experiencing questionable late-payment charges to contact the Code Enforcement Hotline at 415-554-3977.

Stage Listings

Andrew Lam
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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

Fela! Curran Theatre, 445 Geary, SF; www.shnsf.com. $31-200. Opens Tues/15, 8pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 8pm (also Wed and Sat, 2pm; no show Nov 24); Sun, 2pm (also Nov 27, 7:30pm). Through Dec 11. The life and music of Nigerian superstar Fela Kuti is captured in this show with choreography by Bill T. Jones.

Forgetting the Details Bindlestiff Studio, 185 Sixth St, SF; www.nicolemaxali.com. $20. Opens Thurs/10, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Sun/13, 3pm. Through Nov 19. Nicole Maxali performs her solo work about the effects of Alzheimer’s.

The Importance of Being Earnest Notre Dame Senior Plaza, Community Room, 347 Dolores, SF; (650) 952-3021. Free. Opens Fri/11, 7:30pm. Runs Fri, 7:30pm; Sat-Sun, 3pm. Through Nov 20. 16th Street Players perform the Oscar Wilde classic.

Language Rooms Thick House, 1695 18th St, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $20-28. Previews Thurs/10-Fri/11, 8pm. Opens Sat/12, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm (no show Nov 24); Sun, 7pm (no show Sun/13). Through Dec 4. Golden Thread Productions and Asian American Theater Company present the West Coast premiere of Yussef El Guindi’s dark comedy.

SexRev: The José Sarria Experience CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission, SF; (415) 552-4100, www.therhino.org. $10-25. Previews Thurs/10-Sat/12 and Nov 17-18, 8pm (also Sat/12, 10:30pm); Sun/13, 3pm. Opens Nov 19, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 10:30pm; no show Nov 24); Sun, 3pm. Through Nov 27. Theatre Rhinoceros performs John Fisher’s musical celebration of America’s first queer activist — a hit for the company in 2010.

BAY AREA

The Soldier’s Tale Aurora Theatre, 2081 Addison, Berk; (510) 843-4822, www.auroratheatre.org. $10-55. Previews Fri/11-Sat/12 and Nov 16, 8pm; Sun/12, 2pm; Tues/15, 7pm. Opens Nov 17, 8pm. Runs Tues, 7pm; Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Dec 18. Aurora Theatre presents a re-imagined version of Igor Stravinsky’s 1918 musical by Tom Ross and Muriel Maffre.

ONGOING

Absolutely San Francisco Alcove Theater, 414 Mason, Ste 502, SF; (415) 992-8168, www.thealcovetheater.com. $32-50. Sun, 6pm; starting Nov 19, Thurs and Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 29. Not Quite Opera Productions presents Anne Nygren Doherty’s musical about San Francisco, with five characters all portrayed by Mary Gibboney.

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. The Lorraine Hansberry Theatre christens its grand new home near Union Square with two well-acted one-act plays under sharp direction by artistic director Steven Anthony Jones. Almost Nothing by Brazilian playwright Marcos Barbosa marks the North American premiere of an intriguing and shrewdly crafted Pinteresque drama, wherein a middle-class couple (Rhonnie Washington and Kathryn Tkel) returns home from an unexpected encounter at a stop light that leaves them jittery and distracted. As an eerie wind blows outside (in David Molina’s atmospheric sound design), their conversation circles around the event as if fearing to name it outright. When a poor woman (Wilma Bonet) arrives claiming to have seen everything, the couple abandons rationalization for a practical emergency and a moral morass dictated by poverty and class advantage — negotiated on their behalf by a black market professional (Rudy Guerrero). Next comes a spirited revival of Douglas Turner Ward’s Civil Rights–era Day of Absence (1965), a broad satire of Southern race relations that posits a day when all the “Neegras” mysteriously disappear, leaving white society helpless and desperate. The cast (in white face) excel at the high-energy comedy, and in staging the text director Jones makes a convincing parallel with today’s anti-immigrant laws and rhetoric. But if the play remains topical in one way, its too-blunt agitprop mode makes the message plain immediately and interest accordingly pales rapidly. (Avila)

Annapurna Magic Theatre, Bldg D, Fort Mason Center, Marina at Laguna, SF; (415) 441-8822, www.magictheatre.org. $20-60. Opens Wed/9, 8pm. Showtimes vary, through Dec 4. Magic Theatre performs Sharr White’s world premiere drama about love’s longevity.

How to Love Garage, 975 Howard, SF; www.pustheatre.com. $15. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Nov 20. Three demigod-like personalities at the center of the earth are charged with answering life’s mysteries, big and small, but find themselves stymied by their latest task, namely, explaining “how to love.” They have only a week to do it, for some reason, or humanity will be consigned to everlasting consternation, or something like that — coherence is not a priority here — anyway: stakes are high. Their boss, the Magistrate (Geo Epsilanty), has them present their findings each day, but each of them — the Very Sexy One (Jessica Schroeder in sassy lingerie), the Stern One (Gloria MacDonald in girl-school uniform), and the Young One (Brian Martin in caped crusader outfit) — comes up with bupkus. Finally, the Young One gets the inspiration to kidnap a surface-dwelling earthling (Valerie Fachman) to help them figure it all out. Local playwright Megan Cohen’s mumbling comedy, directed with robust attention to blocking and movement by Scott Baker for Performers Under Stress, is far too skit-like a conceit to merit its two plodding acts. More to the point, its humor is very silly but generally dim. Despite being set at the center of the earth, this is too shallow and glancing an investigation of love to intrigue or tickle the genuinely curious. (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/12, 8:30pm; Sun/13, 7pm. This new autobiographical solo show by Don Reed, writer-performer of the fine and long-running East 14th, is another slice of the artist’s journey from 1970s Oakland ghetto to comedy-circuit respectability — here via a partial debate-scholarship to UCLA. The titular Los Angeles residency hotel was where Reed lived and worked for a time in the 1980s while attending university. It’s also a rich mine of memory and material for this physically protean and charismatic comic actor, who sails through two acts of often hilarious, sometimes touching vignettes loosely structured around his time on the hotel’s young wait staff, which catered to the needs of elderly patrons who might need conversation as much as breakfast. On opening night, the episodic narrative seemed to pass through several endings before settling on one whose tidy moral was delivered with too heavy a hand, but if the piece runs a little long, it’s only the last 20 minutes that noticeably meanders. And even with some awkward bumps along the way, it’s never a dull thing watching Reed work. (Avila)

Making Porn Box Car Theatre Studios, 125A Hyde, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25-50. Thurs, 8pm; Thurs, 8pm; Fri-Sat, 9pm; Sun, 7pm. Extended through Nov 27. 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. Based loosely on personal history, Athol Fugard’s drama explores institutionalized racism in South Africa’s apartheid era ensconced in the seemingly innocuous world of a Port Elizabeth tea room. The play opens during a rainy afternoon with no customers, leaving the Black African help, Willie (Anthony Rollins-Mullens) and Sam (LaMont Ridgell), with little to do but rehearse ballroom dance steps for a big competition coming up in a couple of weeks. When Hally (Adam Simpson), the owner’s son, arrives from school, the atmosphere remains convivial at first then increasingly strained, as events happening outside the tea room conspire to tear apart their fragile camaraderie. The greatest burdens of the play are carried by Sam, who fills a range of roles for the increasingly pessimistic and emotionally-stunted Hally — teacher, student, surrogate father, confidante, and servant — all the while completely aware that their mutual love is almost certainly doomed to not survive past Hally’s adolescence, and possibly not past the afternoon. Ridgell rises greatly to the challenges of his character, ably flanked by Rollins-Mullens, and Simpson; he embodies the depth of Sam’s humanity, from his wisdom of experience, to his admiration for beauty, to his capacity to bear and finally to forgive Hally’s need to lash out at him. It is a moving and memorable rendering. (Gluckstern)

More Human Than Human Dark Room Theater, 2263 Mission, SF; (415) 401-7987, www.brownpapertickets.com. $25. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Nov 19. B. Duke’s dystopian drama is inspired by Philip K. Dick.

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. Extended through Dec 17. 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)

*The Odyssey Aboard Alma, Hyde Street Pier, San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park, SF; www.weplayers.org. $160. Fri/11-Sat/12 and Nov 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)

Oh, Kay! Eureka Theatre, 215 Jackson, SF; (415) 255-8207, www.42ndstmoon.org. $20-50. Wed, 7pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 6pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Nov 20. 42nd Street Moon performs George and Ira Gershwin’s Prohibition-set comedy.

*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 production at its longtime nest on Pier 29 is a nostalgia-infused banquet of bits structured around an old-time radio variety show, featuring headliners Geoff Hoyle (Geezer) and blues singer Duffy Bishop. If you haven’t seen juggling on the radio, for instance, it’s pretty awesome, especially with a performer like Bernard Hazens, whose footing atop a precarious tower of tubes and cubes is already cringingly extraordinary. But all the performers are dependably first-rate, including Andrea Conway’s comic chandelier lunacy, aerialist and enchanting space alien Elena Gatilova’s gorgeous “circeaux” act, graceful hand-balancer Christopher Phi, class-act tapper Wayne Doba, and radio MC Mat Plendl’s raucously tweeny hula-hooping. Add some sultry blues numbers by raunchy belter Bishop, Hoyle’s masterful characterizations (including some wonderful shtick-within-a-shtick as one-liner maestro “Red Bottoms”), a few classic commercials, and a healthy dose of audience participation and you start to feel nicely satiated and ready for a good cigar. Smoothly helmed by ZinZanni creative director Norm Langill, On the Air signals off-the-air for the popular dinner circus — until it can secure a new patch of local real estate for its antique spiegeltent — so tune in while you may. (Avila)

*Pellas and Melisande Cutting Ball Theater, Exit on Taylor, 277 Taylor, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.cuttingball.com. $10-50. Thurs, 7:30; Fri-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 5pm. Through Nov 27. The Frog Prince, Rapunzel, the Swan Maiden: shimmering strands of each timeless tale twist through the melancholy tapestry of the Maurice Maeterlinck play Pelleas and Melisande, which opens Cutting Ball Theater’s 12th season. Receiving a lushly atmospheric treatment by director and translator Rob Melrose, this ill-fated Symbolist drama stars Joshua Schell and Caitlyn Louchard as the doomed lovers. Trapped in the claustrophobic environs of an isolated castle at the edge of a forbidding forest and equally trapped in an inadvertent love triangle with the hale and hearty elder prince Golaud (Derek Fischer), Pelleas’ brother and Melisande’s husband, the desperate, unconsummated passion that builds between the two youngsters rivals that of Romeo and Juliet’s, and leads to an ending even more tragic — lacking the bittersweet reconciliation of rival families that subverts the pure melodrama of the Shakespearean classic. Presented on a spare, wooden traverse stage (designed by Michael Locher), and accompanied by a smoothly-flowing score by Cliff Caruthers, the action is enhanced by Laura Arrington’s haunting choreography, a silent contortionism which grips each character as they try desperately to convey the conflicting emotions which grip them without benefit of dialogue. Though described by Melrose as a “fairy tale world for adults,” the dreamy gauze of Pelleas and Melisande peels away quickly enough to reveal a flinty and unsentimental heart. (Gluckstern)

*Race American Conservatory Theater, 415 Geary, SF; (415) 749-2228, www.act-sf.org. $10-85. Opens Wed/26, 8pm. Wed/9-Sat/12, 8pm (also Wed/9 and Sat/12, 2pm); Sun/13, 2pm. A very rich older white guy (Kevin O’Rourke) accused of sexually assaulting a poor woman of color looks for representation from the racially diverse firm headed by Jack (Anthony Fusco) and Henry (Chris Butler) with assistance from Jack’s African American protégé, Susan (Susan Heyward). With shades of Oleanna and Speed the Plow, David Mamet’s fleet new play mixes race and gender in the so-called justice system (in fact solely adversarial in the playwright’s unsurprising view, with winning being the only point). The result is an ultimately vindictive struggle both volatile and familiar. Some of that familiarity naturally stems from the world beyond the playwright’s immediate control — especially with the odor of the Dominique Strauss-Kahn affair still in the air — but the play’s action feels managed throughout by a political worldview too, um, black-and-white to register as up-to-the-moment. That said, muscular writing and the strong and appealing cast under intelligent direction by Irene Lewis guarantee an enjoyable, crackerjack production from American Conservatory Theater. (Avila)

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

“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)

Shoot O’Malley Twice StageWerx, 446 Valencia, SF; www.viragotheatre.org. Thurs-Sat, 8pm (no show Nov 24). Through Nov 26. Virago Theater Company performs Jon Brooks’ world-premiere existential comedy.

Sitting in a Circle Intersection for the Arts, 925 Mission, Ste 109, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $15-25. Fri/11-Sat/12, 8pm. We are here to question the ways we present ourselves, communicate, and commune, but the masks never really come off and — unlike, say, a general assembly meeting down at Occupy SF — a circle of equals never really forms in this new work by the Erika Chong Shuch Performance Project, debuting at Intersection for the Arts’ new downtown space. The audience sits in or around a large circle of chairs, initially bathed in the harsh glow of office-space fluorescence. This much is as expected. But as the room transforms (amid production designer Allen Willner’s protean, mood-shifting lighting scheme) into some in-between world of personal-transformation workshop, talk show confessional, art therapy session, and psychic retreat, the accompanying conceit of spontaneous open-ended “coming together” gives way to a highly choreographed, largely jocular entertainment managed by a group of seven performers planted among the assembled. The results are varied, sometimes amusing, sometimes pushy, and usually too stylized or arch to be very moving or discerning. But a dance solo by adroit 13-year-old Rio Mezey Anderson comes as an unexpected, mesmerizing moment that — in its channeling of pure, unguarded expression — is also the evening’s most authentic. (Avila)

Sticky Time Brava Theater, 2781 24th St, SF; www.vanguardianproductions.com. $15-40. Wed-Sat and Mon/14, 8pm. Through Nov 18. Crowded Fire and Vanguardian Productions present playwright-director Marilee Talkington’s multimedia science fiction about a woman running out of time in the worst way. The prolix and histrionic story is the real sticking point, however, in this otherwise imaginatively staged piece, which places its audience on swivel chairs in the center of Brava’s upstairs studio theater, transformed by designer Andrew Lu’s raised stage and white video screens running the length of the walls into an enveloping aural (moody minimalistic score by Chao-Jan Chang) and visual landscape. Thea (Rami Margron) heads a three-person crew of celestial plumbers managing a sea of time “threads,” an undulating web of crisscrossing lines (in the impressive video animation by Rebecca Longworth). The structure is plagued by a mysterious wave of “time quakes” that Tim (Lawrence Radecker) thinks he may have figured out. Coworker Emit (Michele Leavy), meanwhile, goofing around like a hyperactive child, spots some sort of beast at work in the ether. When Thea gets stuck by a loose thread, she becomes something of a time junky, desperate to relive the color-suffused world of love and family lost somewhere in space-time as reality starts to unravel (with a dramatic assist from cinematographer Lloyd Vance) and the crew seeks help from a wise figure in a tattered gown (Mollena Williams). A little like a frenetic, stagy version of Andrey Tarkovsky’s Solaris (1972), the story gets credit for dramatizing some confounding facts about time and space at the particle level but might have benefited from less dialogue and more mystery — just as the audio-visual experience works best when the house lights are low. (Avila)

The Temperamentals New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness, SF; (415) 861-8972, www.nctcsf.org. $25-45. Previews Wed/9-Fri/11, 8pm. Opens Sat/12, 8pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Dec 18. New Conservatory Theatre Center performs Jon Marans’ drama about gay rights during the McCarthy era.

Totem Grand Chapiteau, AT&T Park, Parking Lot A, 74 Mission Rock, SF; cirquedusoleil.com/totem. $58-248.50. Tues-Sun, schedule varies. Extended through Dec 18. Cirque Du Soleil returns with its latest big-top production.

Two Dead Clowns Box Car Theatre Studios, 125A Hyde, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. Fri-Sat, 7pm. Through Nov 26. Ronnie Larsen’s new play explores the lives of Divine and John Wayne Gacy.

The Waiting Period MainStage, Marsh San Francisco, 1062 Valencia, SF; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-35. Fri, 8pm; Sat, 5pm. Through Nov 26. Brian Copeland (Not a Genuine Black Man) presents a workshop production of his new solo show.

*Working for the Mouse Exit Theatre, 156 Eddy, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $22. Thurs-Sat, 8pm (no performances Nov 24-26). Through Dec 17. It might not come as a surprise to hear that even “the happiest place on earth” has a dark side, but hearing Trevor Allen describe it during this reprise of 2002’s Working for the Mouse will put a smile on your face as big as Mickey’s. With a burst of youthful energy, Allen bounds onto the tiny stage of Impact Theatre to confess his one-time aspiration to never grow up — a desire which made auditioning for the role of Peter Pan at Disneyland a sensible career move. But in order to break into the big time of “charactering,” one must pay some heavy, plush-covered dues. As Allen creeps up the costumed hierarchy one iconic cartoon figure at a time, he finds himself unwittingly enmeshed in a world full of backroom politics, union-busting, drug addled surfer dudes with peaches-and-cream complexions, sexual tension, showboating, job suspension, Make-A-Wish Foundation heartbreak, hash brownies, rabbit vomit, and accidental decapitation. Smoothly paced and astutely crafted, Mouse will either shatter your blissful ignorance or confirm your worst suspicions about the corporate Disney machine, but either way, it will probably make you treat any “Casual Seasonal Pageant Helpers” you see running around in their sweaty character suits with a whole lot more empathy. (Note: review from the show’s recent run at La Val’s Subterranean in Berkeley.) (Gluckstern)

BAY AREA

Annie Berkeley Playhouse, Julia Morgan Center for the Arts, 2640 College, Berk; (510) 845-8542, www.berkeleyplayhouse.org. $17-35. Thurs-Sat, 7pm; Sun, noon and 5pm. Through Dec 4. Berkeley Playhouse performs the classic musical.

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

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 show Nov 18); Wed and Sun, 7pm (also Sun, 7pm). Through Nov 20. An aspiring writer who later becomes a priest, Bill (Tyler Pierce) is the caregiver for his aging mother (Linda Gehringer) during her long bout with cancer. His father (Leo Marks), though already dead, still inhabits his mother’s flickering concept of reality, made all the more dreamlike by her necessary dependence on pain medication. His brother (Aaron Blakely), meanwhile, has returned from Vietnam with survivor guilt but lands a meaningful career as a schoolteacher in the South. The latest from playwright Bill Cain (Equivocation, 9 Circles) is a humor-filled but sentimental and long-winded autobiographical reflection on family from the vantage of his mother’s long illness. It gets a strong production from Berkeley Rep, with a slick cast under agile direction by Kent Nicholson, but it plays as if narrator Bill mistakenly believes he’s stepped out of an Arthur Miller play, when in fact there’s little here of dramatic interest and far too much jerking of tears. (Avila)

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

*Rita Moreno: Life Without Makeup Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. $14.50-73. Wed/9, 7pm; Thurs/10 and Sat/12-Sun/13, 2pm; Fri/11, 8pm. 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)

Sam’s Enchanted Evening TheaterStage at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. 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.

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.

Stage Listings

Andrew Lam
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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

Annapurna Magic Theatre, Bldg D, Fort Mason Center, Marina at Laguna, SF; (415) 441-8822, www.magictheatre.org. $20-60. Previews Wed/2-Sat/5, 8pm; Sun/6, 2:30pm; Tues/8, 7pm. Opens Nov 9, 8pm. Through Dec 4, showtimes vary. Magic Theatre performs Sharr White’s world premiere drama about love’s longevity.

More Human Than Human Dark Room Theater, 2263 Mission, SF; (415) 401-7987, www.brownpapertickets.com. $25. Opens Fri/4, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Nov 19. B. Duke’s dystopian drama is inspired by Philip K. Dick.

Oh, Kay! Eureka Theatre, 215 Jackson, SF; (415) 255-8207, www.42ndstmoon.org. $20-50. Previews Wed/2, 7pm; Thurs/3-Fri/4, 8pm. Opens Sat/5, 6pm. Runs Wed, 7pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 6pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Nov 20. 42nd Street Moon performs George and Ira Gershwin’s Prohibition-set comedy.

The Temperamentals New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness, SF; (415) 861-8972, www.nctcsf.org. $25-45. Previews Fri/4-Sat/5 and Nov 9-11, 8pm; Sun/6, 2pm. Opens Nov 12, 8pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Dec 18. New Conservatory Theatre Center performs Jon Marans’ drama about gay rights during the McCarthy era.

Two Dead Clowns Box Car Theatre Studios, 125A Hyde, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. Previews Thurs/3, 8pm (free preview). Opens Fri/4, 7pm. Runs Fri-Sat, 7pm. Through Nov 26. Ronnie Larsen’s new play explores the lives of Divine and John Wayne Gacy.

The Waiting Period MainStage, Marsh San Francisco, 1062 Valencia, SF; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-35. Opens Fri/4, 8pm. Runs Fri, 8pm; Sat, 5pm. Through Nov 26. Brian Copeland (Not a Genuine Black Man) presents a workshop production of his new solo show.

*Working for the Mouse Exit Theatre, 156 Eddy, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $22. Opens Thurs/3, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm (no performances Nov 24-26). Through Dec 17. It might not come as a surprise to hear that even “the happiest place on earth” has a dark side, but hearing Trevor Allen describe it during this reprise of 2002’s Working for the Mouse will put a smile on your face as big as Mickey’s. With a burst of youthful energy, Allen bounds onto the tiny stage of Impact Theatre to confess his one-time aspiration to never grow up — a desire which made auditioning for the role of Peter Pan at Disneyland a sensible career move. But in order to break into the big time of “charactering,” one must pay some heavy, plush-covered dues. As Allen creeps up the costumed hierarchy one iconic cartoon figure at a time, he finds himself unwittingly enmeshed in a world full of backroom politics, union-busting, drug addled surfer dudes with peaches-and-cream complexions, sexual tension, showboating, job suspension, Make-A-Wish Foundation heartbreak, hash brownies, rabbit vomit, and accidental decapitation. Smoothly paced and astutely crafted, Mouse will either shatter your blissful ignorance or confirm your worst suspicions about the corporate Disney machine, but either way, it will probably make you treat any “Casual Seasonal Pageant Helpers” you see running around in their sweaty character suits with a whole lot more empathy. (Note: review from the show’s recent run at La Val’s Subterranean in Berkeley.) (Gluckstern)

ONGOING

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. The Lorraine Hansberry Theatre christens its grand new home near Union Square with two well-acted one-act plays under sharp direction by artistic director Steven Anthony Jones. Almost Nothing by Brazilian playwright Marcos Barbosa marks the North American premiere of an intriguing and shrewdly crafted Pinteresque drama, wherein a middle-class couple (Rhonnie Washington and Kathryn Tkel) returns home from an unexpected encounter at a stop light that leaves them jittery and distracted. As an eerie wind blows outside (in David Molina’s atmospheric sound design), their conversation circles around the event as if fearing to name it outright. When a poor woman (Wilma Bonet) arrives claiming to have seen everything, the couple abandons rationalization for a practical emergency and a moral morass dictated by poverty and class advantage — negotiated on their behalf by a black market professional (Rudy Guerrero). Next comes a spirited revival of Douglas Turner Ward’s Civil Rights–era Day of Absence (1965), a broad satire of Southern race relations that posits a day when all the “Neegras” mysteriously disappear, leaving white society helpless and desperate. The cast (in white face) excel at the high-energy comedy, and in staging the text director Jones makes a convincing parallel with today’s anti-immigrant laws and rhetoric. But if the play remains topical in one way, its too-blunt agitprop mode makes the message plain immediately and interest accordingly pales rapidly. (Avila)

Desdemona: A Play About a Handkerchief Boxcar Theatre Playhouse, 505 Natoma, SF; www.boxcartheatre.org. $15-35. Wed/2-Sat/5, 8pm. 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. Wed/2-Thurs/3, 7pm; Fri/4-Sat/5, 8pm (also Sat/5, 3pm). 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)

How to Love Garage, 975 Howard, SF; www.pustheatre.com. $15. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Nov 20. Performers Under Stress Theatre presents Megan Cohen’s Plato-inspired world premiere.

*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. This new autobiographical solo show by Don Reed, writer-performer of the fine and long-running East 14th, is another slice of the artist’s journey from 1970s Oakland ghetto to comedy-circuit respectability — here via a partial debate-scholarship to UCLA. The titular Los Angeles residency hotel was where Reed lived and worked for a time in the 1980s while attending university. It’s also a rich mine of memory and material for this physically protean and charismatic comic actor, who sails through two acts of often hilarious, sometimes touching vignettes loosely structured around his time on the hotel’s young wait staff, which catered to the needs of elderly patrons who might need conversation as much as breakfast. On opening night, the episodic narrative seemed to pass through several endings before settling on one whose tidy moral was delivered with too heavy a hand, but if the piece runs a little long, it’s only the last 20 minutes that noticeably meanders. And even with some awkward bumps along the way, it’s never a dull thing watching Reed work. (Avila)

Making Porn Box Car Theatre Studios, 125A Hyde, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25-50. Thurs, 8pm; Thurs, 8pm; Fri-Sat, 9pm; Sun, 7pm. Extended through Nov 27. 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. Based loosely on personal history, Athol Fugard’s drama explores institutionalized racism in South Africa’s apartheid era ensconced in the seemingly innocuous world of a Port Elizabeth tea room. The play opens during a rainy afternoon with no customers, leaving the Black African help, Willie (Anthony Rollins-Mullens) and Sam (LaMont Ridgell), with little to do but rehearse ballroom dance steps for a big competition coming up in a couple of weeks. When Hally (Adam Simpson), the owner’s son, arrives from school, the atmosphere remains convivial at first then increasingly strained, as events happening outside the tea room conspire to tear apart their fragile camaraderie. The greatest burdens of the play are carried by Sam, who fills a range of roles for the increasingly pessimistic and emotionally-stunted Hally — teacher, student, surrogate father, confidante, and servant — all the while completely aware that their mutual love is almost certainly doomed to not survive past Hally’s adolescence, and possibly not past the afternoon. Ridgell rises greatly to the challenges of his character, ably flanked by Rollins-Mullens, and Simpson; he embodies the depth of Sam’s humanity, from his wisdom of experience, to his admiration for beauty, to his capacity to bear and finally to forgive Hally’s need to lash out at him. It is a moving and memorable rendering. (Gluckstern)

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. Extended through Dec 17. 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)

*The Odyssey Aboard Alma, Hyde Street Pier, San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park, SF; www.weplayers.org. $160. Fri/4-Sun/6, Nov 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 production at its longtime nest on Pier 29 is a nostalgia-infused banquet of bits structured around an old-time radio variety show, featuring headliners Geoff Hoyle (Geezer) and blues singer Duffy Bishop. If you haven’t seen juggling on the radio, for instance, it’s pretty awesome, especially with a performer like Bernard Hazens, whose footing atop a precarious tower of tubes and cubes is already cringingly extraordinary. But all the performers are dependably first-rate, including Andrea Conway’s comic chandelier lunacy, aerialist and enchanting space alien Elena Gatilova’s gorgeous “circeaux” act, graceful hand-balancer Christopher Phi, class-act tapper Wayne Doba, and radio MC Mat Plendl’s raucously tweeny hula-hooping. Add some sultry blues numbers by raunchy belter Bishop, Hoyle’s masterful characterizations (including some wonderful shtick-within-a-shtick as one-liner maestro “Red Bottoms”), a few classic commercials, and a healthy dose of audience participation and you start to feel nicely satiated and ready for a good cigar. Smoothly helmed by ZinZanni creative director Norm Langill, On the Air signals off-the-air for the popular dinner circus — until it can secure a new patch of local real estate for its antique spiegeltent — so tune in while you may. (Avila)

*Pellas and Melisande Cutting Ball Theater, Exit on Taylor, 277 Taylor, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.cuttingball.com. $10-50. Thurs, 7:30; Fri-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 5pm. Through Nov 27. The Frog Prince, Rapunzel, the Swan Maiden: shimmering strands of each timeless tale twist through the melancholy tapestry of the Maurice Maeterlinck play Pelleas and Melisande, which opens Cutting Ball Theater’s 12th season. Receiving a lushly atmospheric treatment by director and translator Rob Melrose, this ill-fated Symbolist drama stars Joshua Schell and Caitlyn Louchard as the doomed lovers. Trapped in the claustrophobic environs of an isolated castle at the edge of a forbidding forest and equally trapped in an inadvertent love triangle with the hale and hearty elder prince Golaud (Derek Fischer), Pelleas’ brother and Melisande’s husband, the desperate, unconsummated passion that builds between the two youngsters rivals that of Romeo and Juliet’s, and leads to an ending even more tragic — lacking the bittersweet reconciliation of rival families that subverts the pure melodrama of the Shakespearean classic. Presented on a spare, wooden traverse stage (designed by Michael Locher), and accompanied by a smoothly-flowing score by Cliff Caruthers, the action is enhanced by Laura Arrington’s haunting choreography, a silent contortionism which grips each character as they try desperately to convey the conflicting emotions which grip them without benefit of dialogue. Though described by Melrose as a “fairy tale world for adults,” the dreamy gauze of Pelleas and Melisande peels away quickly enough to reveal a flinty and unsentimental heart. (Gluckstern)

Race American Conservatory Theater, 415 Geary, SF; (415) 749-2228, www.act-sf.org. $10-85. Opens Wed/26, 8pm. Tues-Sat, 8pm (also Wed and Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2pm (also Sun/6, 7pm). Through Nov 13. ACT performs David Mamet’s wicked courtroom comedy.

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). Through Sat/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. Wed-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 3. Actors Theatre of San Francisco performs John Patrick Shanley’s edgy comedy.

“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)

Sticky Time Brava Theater, 2781 24th St, SF; www.vanguardianproductions.com. $15-40. Wed-Sat and Nov 14, 8pm. Through Nov 18. Crowded Fire and Vanguardian Productions present playwright-director Marilee Talkington’s multimedia science fiction about a woman running out of time in the worst way. The prolix and histrionic story is the real sticking point, however, in this otherwise imaginatively staged piece, which places its audience on swivel chairs in the center of Brava’s upstairs studio theater, transformed by designer Andrew Lu’s raised stage and white video screens running the length of the walls into an enveloping aural (moody minimalistic score by Chao-Jan Chang) and visual landscape. Thea (Rami Margron) heads a three-person crew of celestial plumbers managing a sea of time “threads,” an undulating web of crisscrossing lines (in the impressive video animation by Rebecca Longworth). The structure is plagued by a mysterious wave of “time quakes” that Tim (Lawrence Radecker) thinks he may have figured out. Coworker Emit (Michele Leavy), meanwhile, goofing around like a hyperactive child, spots some sort of beast at work in the ether. When Thea gets stuck by a loose thread, she becomes something of a time junky, desperate to relive the color-suffused world of love and family lost somewhere in space-time as reality starts to unravel (with a dramatic assist from cinematographer Lloyd Vance) and the crew seeks help from a wise figure in a tattered gown (Mollena Williams). A little like a frenetic, stagy version of Andrey Tarkovsky’s Solaris (1972), the story gets credit for dramatizing some confounding facts about time and space at the particle level but might have benefited from less dialogue and more mystery —just as the audio-visual experience works best when the house lights are low. (Avila)

Totem Grand Chapiteau, AT&T Park, Parking Lot A, 74 Mission Rock, SF; cirquedusoleil.com/totem. $58-248.50. Tues-Sun, schedule varies. Extended through Dec 18. Cirque Du Soleil returns with its latest big-top production.

BAY AREA

Annie Berkeley Playhouse, Julia Morgan Center for the Arts, 2640 College, Berk; (510) 845-8542, www.berkeleyplayhouse.org. $17-35. Thurs-Sat, 7pm; Sun, noon and 5pm. Through Dec 4. Berkeley Playhouse performs the classic musical.

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

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 show Nov 18); Wed and Sun, 7pm (also Sun, 7pm). Through Nov 20. An aspiring writer who later becomes a priest, Bill (Tyler Pierce) is the caregiver for his aging mother (Linda Gehringer) during her long bout with cancer. His father (Leo Marks), though already dead, still inhabits his mother’s flickering concept of reality, made all the more dreamlike by her necessary dependence on pain medication. His brother (Aaron Blakely), meanwhile, has returned from Vietnam with survivor guilt but lands a meaningful career as a schoolteacher in the South. The latest from playwright Bill Cain (Equivocation, 9 Circles) is a humor-filled but sentimental and long-winded autobiographical reflection on family from the vantage of his mother’s long illness. It gets a strong production from Berkeley Rep, with a slick cast under agile direction by Kent Nicholson, but it plays as if narrator Bill mistakenly believes he’s stepped out of an Arthur Miller play, when in fact there’s little here of dramatic interest and far too much jerking of tears. (Avila)

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

*Rita Moreno: Life Without Makeup Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. $14.50-73. Wed-Sun, showtimes vary. Extended through Nov 12. 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)

Sam’s Enchanted Evening TheaterStage at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. 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.

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.

Bronc busting: Allegations of cruelty to animals at this year’s Grand National Rodeo

Andrew Lam
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When the Grand National Rodeo was in town Oct. 14-15 and 21-22, we wrote about the presence of animal rights advocates lofting signs in the parking lot of Cow Palace outside the vernerable event. But it turns out the activists got to catch the show too — the Guardian has been sent videos from a local animal advocate that suggest that animals were in fact being mistreated at the event. The video shows a man prodding a bronco that’s waiting to be ridden with a long, angular object. Broncs are also shown having their tail twisted and at one point, being touched with a black object by a cowboy that Andrew Zollman of animal rights group LGBT Compassion says the video is “clearly showing two instances of electric shocks administered to animals” — and that’s illegal.

But when contacted for comment Lindsay Branquinho, press liasion for the Grand National stuck by what she had told this reporter on the sidelines of the very event in the video.

“For these animals their quality of life far exceeds that of most. They are fed the highest quality feeds, given frequent regular medical attention (i.e., check-ups, vaccinations, etc). The amount of time, money, and love that is wrapped up in these animals is huge and the people that own them do all that they can to protect them. These animals are their livelihood, and they would not jeopardize that.” She denied that the black object seen in the video was an electric prod, and said she’d get back to us about what it really was.

But Zollman wasn’t surprised by the contents of the video at all. He says that abuse from the kinds of offenses he sees in it — in addition to “painful caustic ointments” and stabbing, all which he says are violations of California’s penal code section 597(b) which bars tormenting, needless suffering, and unnecessary cruelty towards animals with the exception of slaughter for food — is endemic to all rodeos. He leads a campaign against the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association as well. A history of the Grand National Rodeo’s past offenses can be found here. 

The official response from the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association was as follows (yawn): 

The Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA) is committed to the proper care and handling of all animals that participate in our sanctioned rodeos.  There are 60 rules governing the treatment of the livestock are enforced by on-site rodeo officials.  A veterinarian is in attendance at all rodeo competition.  In addition to the PRCA rules, we are aware that the Grand National has additional standards for livestock care. 

The PRCA and the management of the Grand National were contacted regarding videotapes taken by those who wish to ban many uses of animals, including rodeo.  The videotapes have been reviewed by officials at the Grand National, the PRCA  as well as experts on the care of livestock and upon initial review the overall opinion is that the livestock were properly handled in accordance with standard livestock practices and PRCA rules.  There were, however,  a few instances where the care and handling of the livestock was not up to Grand National standards.  In one case, a livestock handler’s actions did not meet Grand Nationals standards for livestock care and was dismissed from working the remainder of the show.  

 The PRCA will continue to work with local officials, rodeo judges, on-site rodeo veterinarians, rodeo livestock owners and our members to insure that the livestock at PRCA sanctioned events is afforded proper care and handling. 

Calls for comment from the SFPD Mounted Unit (who ride at the Grand National and were also forwarded Zollman’s emails) and the Peninsula Humane Society, the organization who handles animal cruelty law enforcement for San Mateo County Animal Control, have so far gone unanswered. We’ll update when they get back to us. 

But is tail twisting inexcusable abuse? Akin to a horseback rider’s spurs? This reporter attended the rodeo and was standing quite close to the bronco pit as the above video was being taken — the tail twisting seemed a little harmful, but it’s hard to say with animals this large how much permanent damage that could cause to a 1,700 pound bull. Of course, some would say that any abuse to animals, regardless of severity, counts as cruelty. And the cattle roping — in which calves are lassoed around the neck as they run at top speed through the ring and thrown to the ground — definitely gave me pause. How much discomfort should animals have to endure to lead cushy lives (as doubtless the broncs’ are, bred as they are for generations to be in top form for the events). 

Thoughts from the cowpokes?

 

Parking it

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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CHEAP EATS So they have that classic car show every year in Alameda. It’s a pretty big deal, and Park Street is closed to traffic. The classic cars park in the parking spots, and the people walk down the middle of the road and look at them, and into them, and under the hood.

My own personal interest in classic cars would best be described as D) Nonexistent. But Boink and his dad like to go. They have a whole tradition around it, which ends in pizza. They look at the cars, they eat the pizza. It’s a boy thing. I wouldn’t know.

Except that this particular Saturday I didn’t have any football or soccer or even necessarily baseball to play. And there was an apartment to look at on Park Street, in Alameda. (This was a couple weeks ago, back when Hedgehog and me were still relatively homeless.) So, OK, so, we went.

Hedgehog looked at the apartment without me. We had by this time begun to start to feel almost a little bit paranoid about the fact that no one seemed to want to sublet to us. Not in Berkeley, not in Oakland, not in San Francisco. The day before, we had looked at a shithole in the Tenderloin and, out of desperation, loved it!

But the guy decided to rent to someone else, for no real reason.

“Why?” I asked him on the phone. We had seen the place first. Our credit is perfect. We are clean, upstanding, even accomplished citizens.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a long pause. “No real reason.”

“Oh,” I said. “OK.” Because what else can you say?

This much we knew: it couldn’t possibly be because we are a gay couple, this being San Francisco. So, we decided, it must be me. To wit, that I am too witty. That I am intimidatingly charming, classy-looking, and well-spoked. Technically, I decided this. But Hedgehog agreed to go see the next place by herself. And that was in Alameda. On Park Street. During the car show.

While she was scoping the place out I wandered aimlessly, people watched, car watched, and just generally sat down on a manhole cover. I was hoping to see Boink and his dad, and/or Popeye the Sailor Girl and her mom. I hadn’t seen any of them all since early summer, so was quite unreasonably excited about the possibility of seeing them.

But mostly I saw legs.

Which made me hungry. Then Hedgehog came back and said the apartment was ours for the taking.

Well, hers. But: no tub, no natural light, no me (technically), and it smelled like dude.

“Let’s eat,” I said, standing up.

And then, as if by some sort of cartoon magic, there was Popeye the Sailor Girl, holding her mom’s hand, the both of them looking about as cute as some buttons. What’s more, they were hungry too!

Then Boink and Dad came by, and they were looking cute too, but not hungry, not like us’ns. They just wanted cars and pizza.

Popeye the Sailor Girl and her mom being both gluten free, their favorite restaurant is Burma Superstar. Hedgehog loves Burmese food.

Ergo: our decision was easy. It’s the same place as the one in the city, on Clement Street, only no lines! Not even at exactly lunch time on a beautiful special-event weekend.

I had me some mint chickeny thingy without mint and Hedgehog had duck garlic noodles without hardly any garlic. But to illustrate what a super restaurant Burma Superstar is, both dishes were still good.

And we had the chicken coconut noodle soup, which was especially tasty, of course. It’s kind of like the Thai classic Tom Ka Gai, only eggs instead of mushrooms, which is trading up in my book. Oh, and noodles — which I always thought Tom Ka Gai should have, anyway.

It was so nice to catch up with Popeye the Sailor Girl, and to play Steal Mommy’s Purse with her while her mom was in the restroom.

A delightful time.

A new favorite old favorite restaurant.

And I don’t know about the classic car show but, hey, I like Alameda.

BURMA SUPERSTAR

Lunch: Tue.-Sat. 11 a.m.-3 p.m., Sun. 11:30 a.m.-3 p.m.; Dinner: Tue.-Thu., Sun. 5-9:30 p.m., Fri.-Sat. 5-10 p.m.

1345 Park, Alameda

(510) 522-6200

AE/D/MC/V

Beer & Wine

Stage Listings

Andrew Lam
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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

How to Love Garage, 975 Howard, SF; www.pustheatre.com. $15. Opens Fri/28, 8pm. Runs Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Nov 20. Performers Under Stress Theatre presents Megan Cohen’s Plato-inspired world premiere.

Totem Grand Chapiteau, AT&T Park, Parking Lot A, 74 Mission Rock, SF; cirquedusoleil.com/totem. $58-248.50. Opens Fri/28, 8pm. Runs Tues-Sun, schedule varies. Through Dec 11. Cirque Du Soleil returns with its latest big-top production.

BAY AREA

Annie Berkeley Playhouse, Julia Morgan Center for the Arts, 2640 College, Berk; (510) 845-8542, www.berkeleyplayhouse.org. $17-35. Opens Thurs/29, 7pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 7pm; Sun, noon and 5pm. Through Dec 4. Berkeley Playhouse performs the classic musical.

ONGOING

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. The Lorraine Hansberry Theatre christens its grand new home near Union Square with two well-acted one-act plays under sharp direction by artistic director Steven Anthony Jones. Almost Nothing by Brazilian playwright Marcos Barbosa marks the North American premiere of an intriguing and shrewdly crafted Pinteresque drama, wherein a middle-class couple (Rhonnie Washington and Kathryn Tkel) returns home from an unexpected encounter at a stop light that leaves them jittery and distracted. As an eerie wind blows outside (in David Molina’s atmospheric sound design), their conversation circles around the event as if fearing to name it outright. When a poor woman (Wilma Bonet) arrives claiming to have seen everything, the couple abandons rationalization for a practical emergency and a moral morass dictated by poverty and class advantage — negotiated on their behalf by a black market professional (Rudy Guerrero). Next comes a spirited revival of Douglas Turner Ward’s Civil Rights–era Day of Absence (1965), a broad satire of Southern race relations that posits a day when all the “Neegras” mysteriously disappear, leaving white society helpless and desperate. The cast (in white face) excel at the high-energy comedy, and in staging the text director Jones makes a convincing parallel with today’s anti-immigrant laws and rhetoric. But if the play remains topical in one way, its too-blunt agitprop mode makes the message plain immediately and interest accordingly pales rapidly. (Avila)

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)

Fear SF Playhouse, Stage Two, 533 Sutter, SF; www.un-scripted.com. $12-25. Wed/26-Mon/31, 8pm. Un-Scripted Theater Company performs improvised horror stories.

Hanging Georgia Thick House, 1695 18th St, SF; www.theatrefirst.com. $15-30. Thurs/27, 7:30pm; Fri/28-Sat/29, 8pm; Sun/30, 5pm. TheatreFIRST, in collaboration with BootStrap Theater Foundation, presents an ambitious but shallow new play by Sharmon J. Hilfinger about the emergence of artist Georgia O’Keefe (Paz Pardo), with emphasis on her rocky but crucial relationship with groundbreaking modernist photographer and exhibitor Alfred Stieglitz (Michael Storm). Set to a tuneful score by Joan McMillen, the play unfolds as a creative series of tableaux, in which director Jake Margolin has actors animating art objects and making live sound effects as well as stepping into various historical roles, including art patron and salon queen Mabel Dodge (Claire Slattery) and photographer Paul Strand (Nick Allen). In addition to some weak or doubtful interpretations of these personages, the acting is uneven and overly presentational throughout. No doubt the musical underscoring pushes the volume up but Hilfinger’s dialogue tends to be didactic anyway. At times the whole production feels as if it were being pitched to children, with little sense of the complexities of lived experience but rather a one-note history lesson whose characters and moral, however closely pegged to biographical details, are hard to credit as real life. (Avila)

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/27, 8pm; Fri/28-Sat/29, 7 and 10pm. 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. Based loosely on personal history, Athol Fugard’s drama explores institutionalized racism in South Africa’s apartheid era ensconced in the seemingly innocuous world of a Port Elizabeth tea room. The play opens during a rainy afternoon with no customers, leaving the Black African help, Willie (Anthony Rollins-Mullens) and Sam (LaMont Ridgell), with little to do but rehearse ballroom dance steps for a big competition coming up in a couple of weeks. When Hally (Adam Simpson), the owner’s son, arrives from school, the atmosphere remains convivial at first then increasingly strained, as events happening outside the tea room conspire to tear apart their fragile camaraderie. The greatest burdens of the play are carried by Sam, who fills a range of roles for the increasingly pessimistic and emotionally-stunted Hally — teacher, student, surrogate father, confidante, and servant — all the while completely aware that their mutual love is almost certainly doomed to not survive past Hally’s adolescence, and possibly not past the afternoon. Ridgell rises greatly to the challenges of his character, ably flanked by Rollins-Mullens, and Simpson; he embodies the depth of Sam’s humanity, from his wisdom of experience, to his admiration for beauty, to his capacity to bear and finally to forgive Hally’s need to lash out at him. It is a moving and memorable rendering. (Gluckstern)

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. Extended through Dec 17. 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)

*The Odyssey Aboard Alma, Hyde Street Pier, San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park, SF; www.weplayers.org. $160. Fri/28-Sat/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.

Pellas and Melisande Cutting Ball Theater, Exit on Taylor, 277 Taylor, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.cuttingball.com. $10-50. Opens Thurs/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. Opens Wed/26, 8pm. Runs Tues-Sat, 8pm (Tues/1, performance at 7pm; also Wed and Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2pm (no matinee Wed/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. Wed/26-Fri/28, 7:30pm; Sat/29, 2 and 8pm. 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). Through Nov 5, performance times vary. American Conservatory Theater’s Masters of Fine Arts program presents plays in repertory by Aphra Behn and Arthur Miller.

“San Francisco Olympians Festival” Exit Theater, 156 Eddy, SF; www.sfolympians.com. Thurs/27-Fri/28, 8pm. 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.

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

ShEvil Dead Cellspace, 2050 Bryant, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $25. Fri/28-Sat/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)

You Will Gonna Go Crazy Bayanihan Community Center, 1010 Mission, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $7-17. Fri/28-Sat/29, 8pm; Sun/30, 3pm. Kularts presents a multimedia dance-theater play.

BAY AREA

Bellwether Marin Theatre Company, 397 Miller, Mill Valley; (415) 388-5208, www.marintheatre.org. $34-55. Wed/26, 7:30pm; Thurs/27-Sat/29, 8pm (also Sat/29, 2pm); Sun/30, 2 and 7pm. 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. Wed/26, 7:30pm; Thurs/27-Sat/29, 8pm (also Sat/29, 2pm); Sun/30, 2 and 7pm. TheatreWorks presents the world premiere of Dan Dietz’s post-Katrina New Orleans drama.

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

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 show Nov 18); Wed and Sun, 7pm (also Sun, 7pm). Through Nov 20. An aspiring writer who later becomes a priest, Bill (Tyler Pierce) is the caregiver for his aging mother (Linda Gehringer) during her long bout with cancer. His father (Leo Marks), though already dead, still inhabits his mother’s flickering concept of reality, made all the more dreamlike by her necessary dependence on pain medication. His brother (Aaron Blakely), meanwhile, has returned from Vietnam with survivor guilt but lands a meaningful career as a schoolteacher in the South. The latest from playwright Bill Cain (Equivocation, 9 Circles) is a humor-filled but sentimental and long-winded autobiographical reflection on family from the vantage of his mother’s long illness. It gets a strong production from Berkeley Rep, with a slick cast under agile direction by Kent Nicholson, but it plays as if narrator Bill mistakenly believes he’s stepped out of an Arthur Miller play, when in fact there’s little here of dramatic interest and far too much jerking of tears. (Avila)

Inanna’s Descent Codornices Park, 1201 Euclid, Berk; www.raggedwing.org. Free. Sat/29-Sun/30, 1pm; Mon/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)

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

*Rita Moreno: Life Without Makeup Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. $14.50-73. Wed-Sun, showtimes vary. Extended through Nov 12. 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)

Sam’s Enchanted Evening TheaterStage at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-50. 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.

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

“Night Falls” ODC Theater, 3153 17th St, SF; (415) 863-9834, www.deborahslater.org. Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. $17-20. Peregrine is a freelance film writer awoken from bad dreams on the eve of her 60th birthday in this fitful but witty dance-theater rumination on aging and success co-directed by writer Julie Hébert and choreographer Deborah Slater. Played by a restless, irascible Joan Shirle (a force in pajamas and leather jacket with wild graying hair), Peregrine is alone yet not — shadowed by a younger self (Jessica Ferris) and the shade of her aging mother (Patricia Silver) as well as a certain feminine spirit known (in the program) as Prima (Patricia Jiron) who sings snatches of a Beatles song while flashing a flummoxing eight of spades at troubled Peregrine. Set against, and on, a large metal staircase covered by a wall of driftwood curled at the top like a cresting wave (in Giulio Cesare Perrone’s scenic design), Peregrine chews up the night with worry and regret, yet to write tomorrow’s commencement speech for MFA grads despite the job that may be riding on it. Feeling she has nothing to say, wondering where her youth went, and cynical about mentoring students in a ruthless freelance economy, she makes a desperate call to her ex-husband only to retrieve his brother (Robert Ernst) by mistake. He too comes shadowed by a youthful spirit (Stephen Buescher), who flirts shamelessly with Peregrine’s counterpart, but ultimately retreats in hesitation back into his own pain, though not without some good accomplished. From scattered anguish and anxiety, amid a gestural choreography alternately suggesting slow-tumbling physicality and imperfect or vaguely noisome communication, the performers finally coalesce around an individual acceptance of the persistence of the body itself, site and measure of all that — in the wee hours of truthful night — could ever be called success. (Avila)

*”PanderFest 2011″ Stage Werx 446, 446 Valencia, SF; www.panderexpress.com. Thurs/27-Sat/29, 8pm. $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)

Notes from the indie underground: the ATA Film Festival

Sue Vaughan
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Notes from the indie underground: the ATA Film Festival

For more reviews from the sixth ATA Film and Video Festival, check out this week’s film listings. The fest kicks off tonight with an opening reception.

Piena En Mi Alexandra Cuesta’s short film “Piena En Mi” is an impressionistic portrait of Los Angeles, where, in addition to Quito, Ecuador, the filmmaker lives and works. Primarily shot from a bus that traverses the sprawling metropolitan, the film is told with the the city’s different neighborhoods, its sounds, and its patchwork of ethnic groups. It’s an honest portrait of  LA — economically depressed in most places, polluted, congested – but beautiful, nonetheless, and unapologetic. Cuesta treats her city with tenderness and it renders her film graceful and intimate. It’s sensitive to the very subtlties that make LA radiate with character, whether it’s odd haircuts, dirty bus windows, or bells on an ice cream carriage. It’s in these shots that the filmmaker’s background in street photography shows, and make it a highlight of the ATA festival. Program One, “City Symphonies”
Imperceptihole Vivid and atmospheric, “Imperceptihole” is a high contrast, black & white film by Lori Felker and Robert Todd. Developed from a correspondence wherein the two filmmakers exchanged film rolls, “Imperceptihole” is shot between desolate woods, a hay bail structure, an ice skating rink, and several other seemingly random places. Using sychzophrenic pans, transparent shots, breathing and harsh grating sounds that gradually intensify, the film creates the sensation of a deep, hair-raising descent. It’s the camerawork that builds up this sensation, which is either swinging, crawling, sprinting or dead still. And it’s that very camerawork that is most impressive about the film. Vaguely disquieting, the film is initially very stimulating, but in light of its ambiguity, rather too long. Over the course of the fourteen minutes,  the visual experience is lost and you’re wondering what it’s all about. Program One, “City Symphonies”

Workers Leaving the Googleplex While working for a company called TransVideo, Andrew Wilson was subcontracted by Google to work at its Silicon Valley headquarters where he started an investigation into the company’s class structure and what the different colored badges worn by employees represented. “I found the social situation interesting,” he says in the film. He became particularly interested in the yellow badge wearers, employees who are denied most of the Google benefits such as bikes and gourmet meals. Wilson’s investigation led him into conflict with Google when he was caught filming the yellow badge wearers in the parking lot and trying to interview them. Ultimately, he was fired from TransVideo. Wilson’s film is an interesting look at class as well as an honest personal story, and an inside look at the workings of one of America’s most powerful companies. It’s a story you could very well have heard on “This American Life.” Program Two, “Sling-Shots”

“ATA Film and Video Festival”

Opening reception Wed/19, 7 p.m

Short film screenings Thurs/20 (“City Symphonies”) and Fri/21 (“Sling-Shots”), 8 p.m.

Super 8 film workshop, Sun/23 and Nov. 12, 1-4 p.m., free-$35

Artists’ Television Access
992 Valencia, SF
www.atasite.org

Queens, riders, fancy hats

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Queens, riders, fancy hats

caitlin@sfbg.com

>>See more high-steppin’ photos of the Grand National Rodeo here.

RODEO Shelby Terry is a cowboy. To be more specific, he is a bucking bronco rider. Despite the fact that he was a little disappointed in the ride he had just finished at the Grand National Rodeo at Cow Palace on Friday night, he was willing to talk about the importance of the yearly event — which has been taking over the grounds for 66 years now.

“I hope they don’t ever get rid of it. If they just added 10 to 20 thousand dollars to the budget they’d be able to attract the really big name riders.” Then a camera was brandished and all of a sudden, the cowboy morphed into the Marlboro man.

Fact: cowboys are hot. This is one of the reasons why the half-empty stadium was a shame on Friday night at the Cow Palace. But beyond the titillation of watching intent, muscular men and women put themselves in the way of bodily harm from the hooves of a multi-ton animal, there are other reasons to make the journey down to Geneva Avenue.

For one, the glittery horses. Not since the heyday of My Little Pony have steeds been this tricked out — the horses ridden by the rodeo queens not only have silky braids and fancy saddles, but also sparkly behinds (which you can see up close and personal in the stables, where show ponies hang and you’re welcome to wander during the event). There’s also goat, dog, and rabbit shows, designer hat stands, beer for sale, and shooting exhibitions.

Miss Grand National Rodeo 2010, Holly Kucera won her title last year based on her appearance, horsemanship, and comportment. She’s a skinny blonde with curly hair and pageant makeup who was happy to speak with the Guardian about the Grand National.

“This is just a one-after-the-other kind of thing,” Kucera smiled from atop her white horse as she waited to ride out into the arena. “It’s a real entertainment sport.” Both Kucera and Terry mentioned, however, that the rodeo is far from its glory days, when weekend shows would be sold out and athlete entry was more competitive.

And it bears mentioning that — amidst the sparkles and snorts of humans and animals — not everyone was thrilled about the Grand National’s high octane roping and slamming. A group of activists from Showing Animals Respect and Kindness (S.H.A.R.K.) stood outside in the balmy parking lot during the event, holding up “Not Fun For the Animals” and talking to passers-by about the neck-jerking cruelty of cattle roping.

GRAND NATIONAL RODEO

Remaining dates: Fri/21-Sat/22 7:30 p.m., $23–$44

Cow Palace

2600 Geneva, Daly City

www.cowpalace.com

 

When OccupySF occupied my car

Zelda Bronstein
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13
When OccupySF occupied my car

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.

A decade of DocFest: more reviews!

Sue Vaughan
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0

Check out more coverage of the 10th San Francisco Documentary Film Festival in this week’s Guardian.

Beaverbrook (Matthew Callahan, U.S., 2010) If you attended Camp Beaverbrook, which operated in California’s Lake County from 1961-85, this film is required viewing. It offers an intensely wistful look at an old-fashioned sleepaway camp that thrived in an era before insurance companies started frowning on things like helmet-free kids galloping wildly on horseback. If you don’t have Beaverbrook in your blood, however, watching 1979’s Meatballs will offer a similar overdose of nostalgia, plus the huge added bonus of Bill Murray. Sun/16, 5 p.m. and Oct. 18, 7:15 p.m., Roxie; Fri/14, 7:15 p.m., Shattuck.

Heavy Metal Picnic (Jeff Krulik, U.S., 2010) Everyone’s seen Heavy Metal Parking Lot, the 1986 Jeff Krulik and John Heyn short that became a pre-internet cult classic. Shot amid the beer-y, mullet-y, “party-as-a-verb” shenanigans that transpired before a Judas Priest-Dokken show, Parking Lot is a seminal document for metalheads and anthropologists alike. Twenty-five years later, the prolific Krulik, again with Hayn, returns to the subject matter that made him famous with Heavy Metal Picnic, a 666 … er, 66-minute look at an notorious 1985 concert known as “The Full Moon Jamboree” — described as a “heavy metal Woodstock” by the nervous local press at the time. Basically, this is Parking Lot shifted to the Maryland woods; there’s a concert going on in the background (the bigger acts were Pentagram and the Obsessed, but there’s hardly any footage of them; local boys Asylum and show organizer Billy Gordon of Blue Rockers are prominently featured, however) but the main attraction is, as ever, the fans assembled for raucous raging.

Krulik adds depth to the footage shot that weekend (not by him; from what I can tell, he didn’t actually attend) by tracking down various participants — from the show’s perma-grinning hosts to the members of Asylum to the ne’er-do-wells who patrolled the crowds with a video camera, still a novelty at the time, pouncing on pretty girls and eliciting slurred commentary from the assembled shirtless masses — and interviewing the 21st century versions. The film also traipses back to the spot where the party was held, still intact but now closely surrounded by McMansions. Times have changed, hairlines have receded, cut-off T-shirts are no longer fashionable — but the pursuit of establishment-ranking good times remains irresistible. Essential hesher viewing. Sat/15 and Mon/17, 7:15 p.m., Roxie; Oct. 19, 9:30 p.m., Shattuck.

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

Peep Culture (Sally Blake, Canada, 2011) Sally Blake’s Peep Culture adds one more layer of media to the journey of one Hal Niedzviecki, following him as he agrees (for the documentary) to have cameras installed in his house so he can join the legions of “lifecasters,” everyday folks who believe sharing every detail of their lives will lead to internet-borne fame and possibly fortune. (His wife, who lives in the house too, along with the couple’s young daughter, is less than thrilled by this.) Though his online profile was previously pretty low, Niedzviecki did build up some expertise on the matter: he’s the author of The Peep Diaries: One Man’s Journey into Self-Exposure, Surveillance, and the Future of Voyeurism. But why read the book when you can actually peep at the guy, as he goes about his everyday life (making lunch, sleeping, peeing) on camera?

Fortunately, there’s more to Peep Culture than pee-pee. Niedzviecki also launches an investigation into the movement he’s recently, somewhat reluctantly, become a part of. He visits a few folks who’ve become “famous” due to their online openness, then travels to Hollywood to attend a boot camp for people desperate to get cast on reality TV shows, then checks out the Fox Reality Channel’s headquarters. That channel has since ceased to be, but reality shows are still going strong: hunting the next great American singer or chef, charting the foibles of Teen Moms and Housewives, exposing hoarders of objects and children, manufacturing lavish Kardashian weddings, etc., feeding the belief that absolutely anyone can be famous. (Which is, of course, the most important thing in life ever, aside from getting gloriously rich off that fame … right?) Though Niedzviecki is not the most compelling film subject ever (probably the biggest reason his online “life” never really takes off — he can’t quite put aside how ridiculous the whole thing is, and never lets totally loose) Peep Culture offers a timely take on the overshare era. Oct. 22 and 26, 7:15 p.m., Roxie; Fri/14, 12:30 p.m., Shattuck.

SAN FRANCISCO DOCUMENTARY FILM FESTIVAL
Oct 14-27, $11
Roxie Theater
3117 16th St, SF
Shattuck Theatre
2230 Shattuck, Berk
www.sfindie.com

The odd twist to the Chron’s Chiu endorsement

Zelda Bronstein
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18
The odd twist to the Chron’s Chiu endorsement

The most obvious interpretation of the San Francisco Chronicle’s endorsement of David Chiu is that the Chron thinks Chiu has completely left the progressive camp and is now aligned with the political wing the daily paper calls “moderates:”

What is impressive about Chiu is that “change” and “jobs” are not just campaign slogans for him. He can go into detail about the redundancies and red tape at City Hall that are holding back economic development: the 15 departments that regulate the private sector, the hundreds of fees that burden businesses big and small, a payroll tax that is a disincentive to hire … If elected, he would have a mandate to make city government more efficient and effective.

(I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but the payroll tax is NOT a disincentive to hire.)

The Chron — which, on economic issues like taxes and development, is a very conservative paper — clearly thinks Chiu can be trusted, which ought to make progressives nervous.

But here’s the other interesting twist.

Hearst Corporation bought the San Francisco Chronicle in 2000, at the top of the market, for more than $500 million. I guarantee the paper isn’t worth more than a tiny fraction of that today. It’s still losing money, and has been for years, and nobody’s buying daily newspapers any more, and if Hearst wanted to unload the Chron, the New York publishing chain would be lucky to get $50 million. Hell, they’d be lucky to get $25 million.

So the bean counters in New York have this nonperforming half-billion-dollar asset on their balance sheets, and there’s no way to recover that money — except for one thing: The Chron owns a bunch of land around Fifth and Mission, including its own historic building. And that property is potentially worth a whole lot of money. When the economy picks up, Hearst can develop the parking lots, old press facilities and even its HQ; turn it all into condos and office space, and suddenly there’s a real chance of recouping some of those deep losses.

The process is already underway — the Chron’s been moving tech firms into vacant space in its building, and is working with developers on the shape of what could be a major project still to come.

And guess what? In June, William Randolph Hearst III — heir to part of the Hearst fortune and a member of the Hearst Corp. board — made a rare campaign contribution to a San Francisco political candidate. He gave the maximum allowable $500 to … David Chiu. Around the same time, Michael Cohen and Jesse Blout, the partners in a firm called Strada that’s working on the redevelopment of the Chron’s property, also gave Chiu the maxiumum $500.

I figured the top people at the Chron would back Ed Lee because they figured he’d be down with whatever they wanted to do with that land — particularly since Lee’s good buddy Willie Brown is now a San Francisco Chronicle columnist. But it appears they’ve cast their lot with Chiu. As Mr. Spock would say, fascinating.

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

Andrew Lam
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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?

Localized Appreesh: The Soft White Sixties

Tony Robles
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Localized Appreesh: The Soft White Sixties

Localized Appreesh is our weekly thank-you column to the musicians that make the Bay. Each week a band/music-maker with a show, album release, or general good news is highlighted and spotlit. To be considered, contact emilysavage@sfbg.com.

You know that feeling when you’re aware you’re hearing a song for the first time, yet it feels as though it’s always been there? It’s new-to-you but there’s something familiar, reassuring – it just works right, pinging back and forth through your ear drums and pulsating brain muscle. That’s how I felt when I first listened to the cool swagger of San Francisco’s the Soft White Sixties. The hard rocking quintet, formed by Mexican-American singer-songwriter Octavio Genera, has a real tight grip (full disclosure, “real tight  grip” is a lyric from SWS’s song “Too Late”) on classic Seventies rock’n’roll – with all the shoulder-shaking percussion, the bluesy rock riffs, and Genera’s soul-tinged Southern rock bravado.

The band had a pretty memorable year, performing with pals the Stone Foxes at Great American Music Hall during Noise Pop, hitting SXSW, touring the States, and at the start of summer, appearing at the Harmony Festival in Sonoma and the High Sierra Music Festival. Now summer is officially over, and the boys are back in town. Next up, a show at Bottom of the Hill tomorrow night.

Year and location of origin: 2008, the Haight.
Band name origin: Somebody had a bright idea
Band motto: “Wear it a lot, wash it a little”
Description of sound in 10 words or less: Rock ‘n’ roll, heavy on the roll, dipped in soul
Instrumentation: Guitar, keys, bass, drums, and vocals – and a runaway tambourine
Most recent release: self-titled EP (April 2011) – get it here.
Best part about life as a Bay Area band: The coastal fog and burritos
Worst part about life as a Bay Area band: Bridge tolls and parking tickets
First record/cassette tape/or CD ever purchased:
Octavio: Sound Effects Vol.1 (Track 25, “Car Starting” was a favorite).
Joey: Jodeci.
Ryan: Skid Row s/t (cassette), Wreckx N Effect Hard or Smooth (CD).
Aaron: Probably something like Enema of the State or Punk in Drublic.
Josh: The Simpsons Sing the Blues.
Most recent record/cassette tape/CD/or Mp3 purchased/borrowed from the Web:
Octavio: Black Girl (iTunes single Lenny Kravitz).
Joey: 100 classic French songs for $9.99.
Ryan: Wilco The Whole Love, Belle & Sebastian “The Blues Are Still Blue” iTunes single.
Aaron: Portugal. The Man – In the Mountain In the Cloud.
Josh: Blakroc
Favorite local eatery and dish: La Santeneca(3781 Mission St), best pupusas in the city.

The Soft White Sixties
With Mona and Funeral Party
Weds/5, 9 p.m., $12
Bottom of the Hill
1233 17th St., SF
www.bottomofthehill.com

Taking sit-lie lying down: Graduate student beds down on Haight Street

Andrew Lam
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Some things seem strange even for San Francisco. The pedestrian double take was in full effect at the Haight Street curb where Bennett Austin fed the meter for his bed last Thursday. And it wasn’t even Parking Day. 

Austin hoped to create awareness about the homeless youth who wander, sleep, and hang out on Haight Street. The graduate school student set up a bed to demonstrate that the only safe space for the homeless to sleep in public are curb spots that they must pay for by the hour, joining the tradition of artists speaking out against sit-lie. 

His campaign, “Keep the Meter Running,” spun from last year’s sit-lie ordinance, which prohibits sitting or lying on the sidewalk or public spaces for more than three minutes at a time. Although this law is nominally meant to be enforced uniformly, it is widely understood that it targets the homeless. 

Austin wanted to do something. “I wanted to put creative efforts to solutions,” he told the Guardian that day on Haight Street. He contacted the Homeless Youth Alliance (HYA), a youth-focused organization in the Haight-Asbury which provides food, clothing, showers, counseling, and mental health and medical services to the homeless. Within three weeks his idea was in action. 

The project was also accepting donations for HYA’s HIV prevention program, whose  funding was recently cut, reducing the organization’s total funds by one-third. Mary Howe, founder and executive director for HYA, said she and her staff was very open to Austin’s advertising idea.

“It brings attention to the sit-lie law, which doesn’t solve the problem [of homelessness],” Howe said.  

Austin said he understands that everyone’s circumstances are different and he is hoping his campaign can help people become more open-minded. He said he has received very few negative responses. The first six people to donate to the HYA, Austin said, were homeless youth themselves.

Because the parking spot is paid for and Austin moves the bed every two hours (to comply with San Francisco parking laws) everything he is doing is legal. “Keep the Meter Running,” is costing Austin $16 per day to advertise on a historic street. For him, it is the cheapest and easiest way. 

“I’m reclaiming public space,” he added. “Because these kids are just as much a part of the Haight as the Haight is a part of them.”

Period Piece: Mission Creek houseboat community rocks with the tides

Andrew Lam
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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

Few wander into Mission Creek’s small houseboat community. It’s hard to find, unless you live in the luxury condos across the channel or are tailgating in a nearby parking lot for a Giants game. But tucked under the I-280 ramp floats a tiny neighborhood, an undiscovered fixture of San Francisco.

On a recent visit, I am shown a residence festooned with skulls and racks of antlers, another with windowboxes full of carnivorous plants, and another with a ghoulishly grinning blowfish decorating the front door. Neighbors here include stingrays, anchovies, pelicans, seals, and – according to one resident – an on-again-off-again sea lion visitor of rather large proportions.  During the small-scale tsunami in March, the floating community felt their homes rise up by about three feet. When asked if any families lived in the boats, one resident responded sharply, “Yes. We’re all a family.” It couldn’t get any quainter, really. 

The short waterway has a long history. Before the white settlement of San Francisco, Ohlone Indians lived and boated along Mission Creek’s course, which was then much wider and longer, stretching almost from Twin Peaks to the Bay. Fast-forward some years and butchers were sending unwanted guts downstream, railroad companies were slowly paving it over to make way for new transportation networks, and Del Monte was setting up shop, using cheap labor to offload and can fruit in massive volume.

Today, a few of the creek’s residents are descendents of the dockworkers who worked to unload shipment after shipment of bananas. The houseboat community first began taking form in the early 1960s, with many of the original members moving from neighborhoods only a stone’s throw away. 

Now, the small settlement seems comprised of individuals filling strangely specific roles – I met and heard of the caretaker, the doctor, the weaver, the ex-taxi driver-current waterway historian. A small but productive community garden grows on a nearby bank. Needless to say, all who live here hold their patch of water very dear.

And it has changed considerably. In the still-recent past, San Francisco’s skyline gleamed through the boats’ kitchen windows; façades of the Berry Street condos have replaced that view. Mission Creek Park, a winding green space running parallel to the creek, is also a recent development. The inherent charm of living on a houseboat in the middle of the city is pretty obvious to outsiders, and residents worry about being slowly bought out by folks less devoted to the existing community. After recently renewing a lease with the Port Authority, however, the boaters should be sitting pretty till at least 2043, to the nightly sounds of shrieking egrets and Giants fans alike.

 

Coyote moon

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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CHEAP EATS Ten minutes, she said. I promise you, the line does not take long. She was like a greeter, which seemed unusual for a grocery store, but I am willing to believe almost anything at this point.

It’s strange: to pride oneself on one’s gullibility. Nevertheless, I grabbed the bread that I wanted, and walked whistling with it to the back of the store, through the storage area past the back of the store, beyond the bathrooms, back outside into the loading zone on the opposite side of the building from the parking lot, through some bushes, under an overpass, entirely outside of the city and into the desert, where I took my spot at the end of the line and said to the person in front of me, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. It was a cold crisp night with stars and moons all over the place. And behind me the line kept getting longer, all the while time passing.

The line did not move at all. Apparently, people were buying houses and cars. They had to talk to their lawyers and spouses, and wait for bank loans to be approved. Inspections.

Before long I had finished all the bread and was standing in line with an empty paper bag. The city was nowhere in sight, not to mention the cashiers. Nor could I tell if the line of people who had lined up behind me stretched longer than the line still in front of me. I was, as usual, in the middle.

It’s my nature to use my time wisely, even when it’s only 10 minutes. (She’d promised.) I tried to talk to the man in line ahead of me. First I made eye contact, then I asked questions. I wanted to familiarize myself with concepts like escrow and closing, in case someone else in the line should prove worth flirting with.

Because you never know. Many of my girlfriends met their future husbands while waiting in lines. It’s true that for the most part their future husbands didn’t notice them; they just went about their business, as it is in man’s nature to do. But there are exceptions to every rule, I’m told, so who’s to say I wasn’t going to be one of them?

Instead of educating me, the man in front of me in line flirted with me. I never did learn about escrow; I learned about him. He was married but separated from his wife but still in love with her but she didn’t love him and was living with her tennis teacher.

“The man is a tennis teacher?” I said. I don’t know why I wanted to be perfectly clear about the person his wife was living with, and what he did for a living. In retrospect it seems far from the point.

Still, I said what I said and the man said, “Yes. Do you play?”

“No,” I said. This was a lie.

“Well,” he said, then, “what is your story?”

And just like that I had him where I wanted. A captive audience, middle of nowhere, on a night much like this, waiting, waiting, and already mystified by my mystique. Which is, I’m told, considerable.

“Once upon a time,” I said.

“Don’t give me that shit,” said my future husband.

“Once upon a time,” I said again, because that’s the kind of storyteller I am, and, as if on cue, the rest of the line of people dissolved into the night, and all around us coyotes yipped and yapped.

“The corn on the cob was not fresh. Or it was overcooked,” I said, poking our little campfire with a stick, and my guest nodded, understanding me perfectly. “The brisket and the ribs were just fine, but, you know, it’s nice to have barbecue across the street from where you drink.”

“Where?” he said.

“Anywhere. Your neighborhood dive,” I said. “El Rio, in my case. One meets the love of one’s life in such a place, and the love of my life,” I said, “is barbecue.”

“But the corn …”

“It had dimples in it, yes,” I said. “It stuck to your teeth. Like something you feed to animals.”

He shook his head, in the smoke, in the night. And I shook mine.

We were supposed to have been so much more.

BABY BLUES BBQ

Sun.-Thu.: 11:30 a.m.-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat.: 11:30 a.m.-11 p.m.

3149 Mission St., S.F.

(415) 796-2837

Beer & wine

AE/MC/V

Our Weekly Picks: September 21-27

Andrew Lam
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0

WEDNESDAY 21

Veronica Falls CANCELLED

Apparently, this UK indie rock band found its relaxed retro pop sound right from the get-go. Singles “Found Love in a Graveyard” and “Beachy Head” combined jangly, propulsive rhythms with light, morbid lyrics for a result that could easily find an anachronistic home in the recent remake of Brighton Rock (and not just because every video for the band looks like it was ran through a Hipstamatic app.) Now with a self-titled debut album on Slumberland Records, Veronica Falls is scheduled to tour in support of the Drums and Dum Dum Girls next month. This will be their West Coast record release show. (Ryan Prendiville)

With The Mantles, Brilliant Colors

9 p.m., $13

Brick and Mortar Music Hall

1710 Mission, SF

(415) 800-8782

www.brickandmortarmusic.com

 

THURSDAY 22

Teengirl Fantasy at Icee Hot

They put something in the water over at Oberlin. Beach House, Blondes, Teengirl Fantasy. Now at work in the real world, which includes opening for Crystal Castles, Teengirl Fantasy has found a style that’s just as likely to draw from the pop charts as it is from their academic pedigree. A little Lil Jon on one track, a little Raymond Scott on the next. With cooled, slo-mo beats and hyped up MCs turned down, the result is an aural muscle relaxant, allowing you to focus on making bedroom eyes across the dance floor. Teengirl Fantasy comes our way to play monthly party Icee Hot. (Prendiville)

With Total Freedom, Magic Touch (Damon Palermo), Shawn Reynaldo, and Rollie Fingers

10 p.m., $5-10

Public Works

161 Erie, SF

(415) 932-0955

www.publicsf.com

 

FRIDAY 23

Smuin Ballet

The late Michael Smuin was not one of my favorite choreographers. But he left behind a substantial inheritance that had gained him respectable audiences. Smuin choreographed one his most serious pieces, “Stabat Mater” — Dvorak’s response to the death of his infant daughter — in the aftermath of 9/11. He also loved to play with pop eroticism; “The Eternal Idol” — you can see its inspiration at the Legion of Honor — and “Tango Palace” showcase that propensity. Amy Seiwert premieres what she calls her “most “Smuinesque” piece yet — to Patsy Cline. Not the least of the company’s attractions these days is the quality of its dancers. Parking around the Palace — because of the Doyle Drive reconstruction — is somewhat restricted, so plan for extra time. Muni 43 goes there as well. (Rita Felciano)

9/23-Oct.1

$25-62

Palace of Fine Arts, San Francisco

(415) 556-5000

www.smuinballet.org

 

FRIDAY 23

“Hong Kong Cinema”

Though this is the San Francisco Film Society’s first-ever Hong Kong Cinema mini-fest, there’s no shortage of HK film fanatics in this town, what with the SF International Asian American Film Festival, the programming at Frank Lee’s Four Star Theatre, and even the occasional HK flick that arrives via Hollywood. If you dug Benny Chan’s now-at-the-Four-Star Shaolin, you won’t want to miss his City Under Siege, about bank-robbing, superpowered circus performers. Also on tap: another superhero action comedy, Vincent Kok’s (Pixar-inspired?) Mr. and Mrs. Incredible; Clement Chan and Yan Yan Mak’s multigenerational drama Merry-Go-Round; All About Love, from Ann Hui (her latest, A Simple Life, has been tearing up the international fest circuit); Law Wing-cheong’s kidnap thriller Punished (starring Anthony Wong, always full of win); Alex Law’s coming-of-age drama Echoes of the Rainbow; and rom-com Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, a genre departure for action man Johnnie To. (Cheryl Eddy)

Through Sun/25, $13–$20

San Francisco Film Society New People Cinema

1746 Post, SF

www.sffs.org


FRIDAY 23

SF Cocktail Week: Barbary Coast Bazaar

San Franciscans have long enjoyed a romance with alcohol — from the debauchery of the Barbary Coast era, to the modern renaissance of the artisan cocktail, the city knows how to knock ’em back. Celebrate this high-proof history with SF Cocktail Week, which features a variety of tastings, dinners, seminars, and parties, including “Barbary Coast Bazaar,” a huge fete inside the Old Mint. Expect a roaring 1920s themed party, with vintage circus acts such as stilt walkers, jugglers, contortionists, magicians, and carnival games, along with food, and of course, a wide variety of tasty cocktails. (Sean McCourt)

SF Cocktail Week events run through 9/25, pricing varies

Barbary Coast Bazaar, 9/23

8-11 p.m., $85–$95

The Old Mint

88 5th St., SF

www.sfcocktailweek.com


SATURDAY 24

Moving Planet Worldwide Rally Day

You can make yourself sick thinking about it: what are you going to tell your kids (or — hey sexy single! — the neighbor’s kids) when they ask you what you did to stop climate change back when we still had a chance and the Bayview-Sunset commute didn’t call for a rowboat? Are we creeping you out? Then let us recommend Moving Planet Day. A worldwide rally for sustainability, it’s sponsored by 350.org and will include Sept. 24 actions from Buenos Aires to Nairobi. In SF, a march of self-propelled peoples on foot, bike, and skate will trek from Justin Herman Plaza to the Civic Center, where an afternoon of speakers, music, and other events awaits. (Caitlin Donohue)

10-a.m.-6 p.m., free

March starts at Justin Herman Plaza, SF

Afternoon activities at Civic Center Plaza, SF

www.moving-planet.org


Hank 3

The grandson of country music royalty, Hank Williams III, or as he’s now known, Hank 3, continues to hone his own brand of diverse music, releasing not one, but four brand new albums this month: Ghost to a Ghost/Guttertown, a double record in a country vein, Attention Deficient Domination, with more of a “hellbilly” feeling, and Cattle Callin, which is more on the metal side of things. The modern torch bearer of outlaw country is promising that this tour will touch on all of them, which he released through his own label, Hank 3 Records, and that fans can expect a two-and-a-half to thee-hour set at each barn burning show. (McCourt)

8:30 p.m., $26

The Regency Ballroom

1290 Sutter, SF

www.theregencyballroom.com


SATURDAY 24

Celsius 7

The superchill but often splendidly goofy Bay rapper, a former member of the Psychokinetics crew, hails from one of the golden ages of local hip-hop — that late ’90s-early ’00s period when earnest showmanship and a healthy dose of good humor trumped aggro attention-seeking, niche genre overload, and crass product placement. Cel’s kept himself busy through Bay rap’s recent twists and turns, though, traveling the world and dropping some ace tracks, all the while staying true to his roots. This release party for his poppin’ second solo album, Life Well Spent (which features a nice roster of collaborators including Dirt Nasty, iLL MEDiA, and Baby Jaymes) will showcase his grin-inducing verbal dexterity, be loaded with special guest appearances, and serve as a convention of true school heads. (Marke B.)

9 p.m., $10 (includes copy of album)

Shattuck Downlow

2284 Shattuck, Berk.

(415) 455-4735

www.shattuckdownlow.com


SUNDAY 25

Chinatown Music Festival

The Yerba Buena Center for the Arts has an exhibit going on called “Daily Lives,” a group showing by local Asian American artists that takes prosaic trinkets and uses them to express the psychic winds that ruffle our insides. This weekend, “Daily Lives” is taking this exploration of the private, public. Put on your dark glasses and check out the sidewalk art exhibit in Chinatown — where your ambling will be soundtracked by a day of rad live music; traditional tunes from the SF Guzheng Society and pianist Jon Jang (who will be sharing his recently-penned homage to the Xinhai Revolution of 1911), plus more modern grooves by the grown-up local kids in Jest Jammin’ and the SF Latin Jazz Youth Ensemble. (Donohue)

1-7 p.m., free

Portsmouth Square Kearny between Clay and Washington, SF

www.apiculturalcenter.org


SUNDAY 25

Ladytron

Given the harder direction that Ladytron has gone in over the last few albums — even touring with Nine Inch Nails — I was not expecting what I heard on Gravity the Seducer: ABBA. Whether or not they were invoking the Swedish gods of pop on purpose, the opener “White Elephant” sets a tone for a lighter album. Not simply a step backwards to the sounds of Ladytron’s early albums, it’s its most synthetically dreamy, spaced out record yet. Of course, harder and softer are relative terms with the band, which has generally stuck to a distinctive sound, becoming electronic pop mainstays and developing a cult following in the process. (Prendiville)

With SONOIO, Polaris at Noon, and DJ Omar

8 p.m., $25

The Regency Ballroom

1300 Van Ness, SF

(800) 745-3000

www.theregencyballroom.com

 

MONDAY 26

Dr Ruth

We all fondly recall Dr. Ruth Westheimer as the funny, entertaining, and educational “sexpert” that hit the mainstream media in the 1980s and 90s, but did you know her amazing background before she was a household name? Born in 1928 in Germany, she lost her parents in the Holocaust, and actually fought (and was wounded) as a sniper during Israel’s war of independence. The icon will be touching on all these subjects, along with her new book, Heavenly Sex: Sexuality in the Jewish Tradition, at tonight’s special event. (McCourt)

7 p.m., $20–$35

Jewish Community Center of San Francisco

3200 California St., SF

(415) 292-1200

www.jccsf.org


TUESDAY 27

Tony Bennett Night

As San Francisco Giants fans know, whenever the team wins a game here at home, the crowd exits the ballpark to the sounds of the legendary crooner Tony Bennett’s signature song “I Left My Heart In San Francisco.” The 85-year-old icon performed the song live at last year’s World Series, and the team is honoring him with this special event where he will be celebrated in a pre-game ceremony. He also will perform a short set, and fans will receive a “Tony Bennett” bobblehead that has a sound chip that plays his beloved ode to our city by the bay. (McCourt)

Game starts at 7:15 p.m.; arrive early for pre-game events. Pricing varies; see website for current availability.

AT&T Park

24 Willie Mays Plaza, SF

(415) 972-2000

www.sfgiants.com/specialevents


TUESDAY 27

Nurses

If you listened to Nurses’ earliest album, you might not recognize the groovy melodic rock trio that stands before you today, presenting 2011’s Dracula (Dead Oceans). In the past five years, the harmonic freak-folk band — with a penchant for toy instruments and pianos — has gone through lineup changes, sound modifications, and location shifts. The two Nurses mainstays, singer-guitarist Aaron Chapman and singer-keyboardist John Bowers, have lived in the sweet sunshine of San Diego, close quarters during cold winters — the tour van in Chicago — and finally, settled in the dewy DIY spirit of Portland, Oreg., where they gained drummer James Mitchell, and further developed their technique. But that’s the test of a true musician, isn’t it? The ability to roll with the punches, to grow, to evolve. (Emily Savage)

With Dominant Legs

9 p.m., $12

Cafe Du Nord

2170 Market, SF

(415) 861-5016

www.cafedunord.com

 

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Free Farm Stand faces an uncertain fall harvest after call from Rec and Parks Department

Andrew Lam
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1

Every Sunday at the Parque Niños Unidos in the Mission, an eager group of people gather to receive free, organic food from the Free Farm Stand. The incredible project has been going on since since 2008 and has to date given out almost 17,000 pounds of fresh produce.

This is the brainchild of Tree Rub, a volunteer who started the project “to create a network of neighbors and local farmers who grow fruit, vegetables, and flowers and share their surplus with the community and especially with those in need.” But last Sunday Tree announced that the SF Recreation and Parks Department had received two complaints that the Free Farm Stand is “having a negative impact on the park.”

He was also informed that the group would need a permit for its tent, which it set up to protect to food and volunteers from the sun. Tree says he applied for a permit in 2008 but “never heard back” from authorities.

Sometime the produce that’s given out is extremely ripe and almost past it’s peak, but the savvy San Franciscans who receive the Free Farm Stand’s food (the bounty can include heirloom tomatoes and sun-kissed white peaches) are happy to take the time to can and preserve them. The stand not only creates access to extremely nutritious foods, it saves them from getting composted. Tree also distributes organic seedlings so that people can grow their own veggies and then share any surplus they might have with the community — a feedback loop of neighbors nourishing each other.

I contacted the permits office at SF Rec and Park to ask about the future of the Free Farm Stand and got a message back from Dana Ketcham, the permits and reservations manager.

According to Ketcham, her office doesn’t want to shut down the Free Farm Stand, but employees there “have received complaints that families feel overwhelmed by the crowds as they use this park with their children.”

As of two weeks ago, people waited in line outside of the park, and were only actually in the park when receiving produce. Since the lines have gotten long, last Sunday a new system had been implemented in which numbers are handed out so that people can relax in the grass until it their turn to get food.

Ketcham said that parks are “not authorized places for distribution of food” and “that we needed to give the organizer time to find a new location.” The Free Farm Stand has until October 15th to find an alternative location.

As a long time patron of the Free Farm Stand, this came as very sad news. Tree has created an amazing community that feels like a gigantic potluck. You can meet up with friends and enjoy the sunshine there, in addition to getting fresh food for dinner.

Ketcham suggested the Free Farm Stand re-locate to an “empty parking lot” in her email to me. That plan would mar the beauty of having the stand alongside a community garden where people sometimes wander while they wait and are able to relax in the shade of a tree.

I made of a video of the Free Farm Stand right when it opened, back when it was still a pretty small operation. Tree was handing out jars of honey from his personal bee hives and sprouts. Now, there’s the Free Farm and more than 200 people receiving food each week. It would be a horrible loss to San Francisco if Free Farm Stand disappears.

If you know of any locations where the Free Farm Stand might be able to re-locate, please contact Tree at: iamtree99@gmail.com.

 

On Guard!

Andrew Lam
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On Guard!

news@sfbg.com

BART’S CRACKDOWN

For weeks now, protesters have descended on Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) stations to denounce the fatal July 3 shooting of homeless passenger Charles Hill by a BART Police officer, and to call for the agency’s long-controversial police force to be disbanded. Commuters have had to contend with service disruptions and delays, and costs to the transit agency have exceeded $300,000. Yet it isn’t just bullhorn-wielding protesters who’ve been thrust into the spotlight — BART’s police force is also facing scrutiny for its conduct under pressure.

BART drew the ire of numerous media outlets after a Sept. 8 protest when transit cops detained members of the press along with protesters on suspected violation of California Penal Code Section 369i, which prohibits interfering with the operations of a railroad. Most journalists were eventually released, but the protest resulted in 24 arrests.

Although BART police later contended that they issued dispersal orders prior to closing in, many who were encircled and detained (including me) insisted they’d heard no such announcement. BART police also instructed San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) officers who were on hand to assist to seize reporters’ SFPD-issued press passes — a move that SFPD spokesperson Troy Dangerfield later told the Guardian was an error that went against normal SFPD protocol.

In a Sept. 10 editorial, the San Francisco Chronicle blasted BART police for placing Chronicle reporter Vivian Ho in handcuffs despite being informed that she was there as a journalist. Ho’s experience was mild compared with that of Indybay reporter David Morse (aka Dave Id), who told the Guardian he was singled out for arrest by BART Deputy Police Chief Daniel Hartwig and isolated from the scene — even though Hartwig is familiar with Morse and knows he’s been covering protests and BART board meetings for the free online publication. Asked why Morse was arrested when other journalists detained for the same violation were released, BART spokesperson Jim Allison told us, “The courts will answer that, won’t they?”

No Justice, No BART — a group that was instrumental in organizing the Sept. 8 protest — telegraphed to media and police at the outset that they intended to test BART’s assertions that people’s constitutionally guaranteed rights to free speech would be upheld as long as they remained outside the paid areas of the station, in what was dubbed a “free speech zone.” (Rebecca Bowe)

 

CHRON VS. WIENER(S)

Scott Wiener tried to do something eminently reasonable, and ask the naked guys in the Castro to put down a towel before they sit on public benches. Although the Department of Public Health hasn’t made any statements about the issue (and people put their naked butts on public toilet seats without creating major social problems), it’s pretty much an ick factor thing — and using a towel is an unwritten (sometimes written) rule at almost every nudist resort in the country.

The whole thing is a bit ironic, since it’s already illegal for fully clothed poor people to sit on the street — but so far, it’s not illegal for naked people to sit on benches. So far.

Wiener’s move set off an anti-nudity campaign at the San Francisco Chronicle, starting with columnist C.W. Nevius suggesting that the nudies are all perverts: “If these guys were opening a trench coat and exposing themselves to bystanders in a supermarket parking lot we’d call them creeps.” A Chron editorial called for a new law banning nudity in the city (an excellent use of time for a police department that already says it can’t afford community policing). The national (right-wing) press is having a field day. The commenters on sfbg.com are arguing about whether the pantsless men are shedding scrotal hair, or whether they’re mostly shaved. For the record, we haven’t checked.

And for the record, in a couple of months it’s going to get way too cold and rainy for this sort of thing anyway. (Tim Redmond)

 

HERRERA’S SMACKDOWNS

City Attorney Dennis Herrera has always been limited by his office’s neutral role in criticizing city policies and officials. But as a mayoral candidate, he seems to have really discovered his political voice, offering more full-throated criticisms of Mayor Ed Lee and his policies than any of the other top-tier candidates.

“I think it’s kind of liberating for him that he can talk policy instead of just about legal issues,” Herrera’s longtime spokesperson Matt Dorsey, who recently took a leave from his city job to work on the campaign full-time, told the Guardian.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Herrera’s shift began a little more than a month ago when Lee bowed to pressure from Willie Brown, Rose Pak, and other top power brokers to get into mayor’s race, prompting Herrera’s biting analysis that, “Ed Lee’s biggest problem isn’t that he’s a dishonest man — it’s that he’s not his own man. The fact is, if Ed Lee is elected mayor, powerful people will continue to insist on things. And I don’t think San Franciscans can be blamed for having serious doubts about whether Ed Lee would have the courage to say no.”

Herrera followed up last week by providing an example of something Lee and most other mayoral candidates don’t have the courage to say no to: the Central Subway project, with its runaway price tag and growing number of critics that say it’s a wasteful and inefficient boondoggle that will worsen Muni’s operating budget deficit.

“Fiascos aren’t born that way. They typically grow from the seeds of worthy idea, and their laudable promise is betrayed in subtle increments over time,” was how Herrera began a paper he released Sept. 8 called “It’s time to rethink the Central Subway,” in which he calls for a reevaluation of a project that he and the entire Board of Supervisors once supported.

He notes that the project’s costs have tripled and its design flaws have been criticized by the Civil Grand Jury and numerous transit experts. “Let’s look at this thing and see if it still makes sense,” Herrera told us, a stand that was greeted as blasphemy from the project’s supporters in Chinatown, who called at least two press conferences to decry that they called a “cheap political stunt.”

While the stand does indeed help distinguish Herrera from a crowded mayoral field, he insists that it was the grand jury report and other critiques that prompted him to raise the issue. “Good policy is good politics, so let’s have a debate on it and let the validity of the project stand or fall on its merits,” he said.

Herrera and fellow candidate John Avalos were also the ones who called out Lee on Sept. 2 for praising Pacific Gas & Electric Co. as “a great company that get it” for contributing $250,000 to a literacy program, despite PG&E’s deadly negligence in the San Bruno pipeline explosion and its spending of tens of millions of dollars to sabotage public power efforts and otherwise corrupt the political process.

“It shows insensitivity to victims’ families, and poor judgment for allowing his office to be used as a corporate PR tool. No less troubling, it ignores the serious work my office and others have done to protect San Franciscans from PG&E’s negligence,” Herrera said in a prepared statement.

Now, his rhetoric isn’t quite up to that of Green Party mayoral candidate Terry Baum, who last week called for PG&E executives to be jailed for their negligence, but it’s not bad for a lawyerly type. Herrera insists that he’s always wielded a big stick, expressed through filing public interest lawsuits rather than campaign missives, “but the motivation in how I do either is not really different.” (Steven T. Jones)

 

JACK IS BACK

The mayor’s race just got a new player, someone who is guaranteed to liven things up. His name is Jack Davis — and he’s already gone on the attack.

Davis, the infamous bad boy of political consulting who is so feared that Gavin Newsom paid him handsomely just to stay out of the 2003 mayor’s race, has been keeping a low profile of late. But he’s come out of semi-retirement to work for Jeff Adachi, the public defender who is both running for mayor and promoting Prop. D, his pension-reform plan.

Davis and Adachi first bonded when Adachi ran against appointed incumbent Kim Burton in 2002. Now, Davis has begun firing away at Mayor Ed Lee, with a new mailer that calls the competing Lee pension plan a “backroom deal.” The piece features a shadowy figure (who looks nothing like Ed Lee) slipping through a closing door, a fancy ashtray full of cigars and an allegation that Lee gave the cops a sweet pension deal in exchange for the police union endorsement.

Trust us, that’s just the start. (tr)

 

PENSION PALS

Meanwhile, Adachi sent Lee a letter on Sept. 8 challenging him to debate the merits of their rival pension measures — Lee spearheaded the creation of Prop. C, with input from labor unions and other stakeholders — sometime in the next month.

“I believe there is a vital need — if not an obligation — for us to ensure that the voters of San Francisco understand both the severity of our pension crisis as well as the significant differences between our two proposals,” Adachi wrote, later adding, “As the two principals behind the competing ballot measures, I hope that we can work together to increase awareness of this important issue and work toward a better future for our city.”

Lee’s campaign didn’t respond directly to Adachi, but Lee’s ever-caustic campaign spokesperson Tony Winnicker told the Guardian that the request was “the oldest political trick in book” and one they were rejecting, going on to say, “Voters deserve to hear from all the candidates on pension reform, not just two of them.”

Perhaps, but given the mind-numbing minutiae that differentiates the two measures, some kind of public airing of their differences might be good for all of us. Or I suppose we can just trust all those dueling mailers headed our way, right? (stj)

For more, visit our Politics blog at www.sfbg.com.

The Guardian Final Forum — featuring the candidates

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The Guardian Final Forum — featuring the candidates

A chance for candidates for mayor to review the progressive platform we’ve developed in community meetings over the summer and tell us where they stand

Wednesday, September 21st from 6:00 – 7:30 pm

LGBT Center 1800 Market Street (at Octavia), San Francisco, CA
(Limited street parking.  MUNI METRO LINES J,K,L,M,N, the F STREETCAR, or MUNI BUS LINES 6,7,9, 10, 14, 21, 26, 47, 49, 66 and 71.  BART to SF Civic Center, then transfer to Muni Metro or F lines.)

Previously Discussed Issues
Issue One: Economy, Jobs and the Progressive Agenda
Issue Two: Budget, Healthcare and Social Services
Issue Three: Tenants, Housing and Land Use
Issue Four: Immigration, Education and Youth
Issue Five: Environment, Energy and Climate Change

 

PLUS: The Guardian’s mayoral endorsement interviews are underway, and you can get full audio versions of all the discussions on the politics blog.

The Chron’s war on nudity

Zelda Bronstein
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The Chron’s war on nudity

Poor Scott Wiener. He tries to do something practical — telling naked guys to sit on a towel or something when they occupy public benches — and all of a sudden the Chron launches a war on nudity. First there’s this shit from Chuck Nevius, who suggests that anyone who isn’t wearing clothes is some sort of a pervert:

Why? If these guys were opening a trench coat and exposing themselves to bystanders in a supermarket parking lot we’d call them creeps. But if they sit on public chairs and expose themselves to bystanders, they’re defenders of free speech. Here’s some free speech – when moms and dads walk their kids to school, they don’t want to see you naked. This isn’t a civil rights issue, it’s just obnoxious.

Actually, I’ve often walked my daughter to school along Castro Street, and I don’t care whether people are naked or not. Neither does she. My kids are San Francisco city kids; it’s all a big Whatever. And the naked guys in the Castro, mostly middle-aged men, aren’t “exposing themselves” in the way of a sex offender who gets off on it; they don’t confront anyone, or jump in front of anyone, or try to force anyone to look at them. They aren’t fucking in the streets. They’re just walking around (and sitting down) without clothes on.

Whatever.

But then the Chron decides this is all worth a scathing editorial:

Here’s an idea, San Franciscans: Keep your pants on – at least in public. Most people don’t want to see that much of you. And even in a city known for tolerance of unusual behavior, inflicting nudity on an unsuspecting public can scare youngsters and offend adults. … People who insist on walking down Market Street without clothes should be cited.

Now there’s going to be pressure on the cops to find a way to bust the nudists (some of whom will love the attention), and the city will either waste a lot of money prosecuting and defending them when there’s no actual law that’s been broken — or the supervisors will be under pressure to outlaw public nudity, which will create another big fuss and waste a lot of all of our time.

Besides, the Chron ought to love the Wiener law. If I ran that paper, I’d put a couple of new racks at Castro and Market. The guys who forget their towels are going to need something to sit on.

PS: If nudity doesn’t offend you, check out our hottest butt in SF contest here.

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