Emily Appelbaum

Bug artist under glass

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Kevin Clarke is riffling through drawers, tossing around their various contents and muttering to himself, “I can’t believe I can’t find the lingerie.”

On every surface of his Richmond home, which doubles as his studio, the instruments of his trade are scattered: pins, needles, razorblades and film. But this isn’t some sort of dungeon, and Clarke’s job isn’t to indulge clients’ fetishistic fantasies. His trade is insect art, and the lingerie is for his beetles.

Clarke is a trained conservation biologist who now spends his days boiling butterflies and spreading insect wings, creating whimsical dioramas and gorgeous butterfly wing necklaces he bills as “museum quality insect art.” This year marks the first that his company, Bug Under Glass, has been his sole source of income, but Clarke’s fascination with all things creepy-crawly started long ago.

“I grew up in Massachusetts, where I was fortunate enough to have a huge tract of land behind my house,” he says. “I explored, played with dirt, and got to know insects really well.”

A generation later, Clarke – who is expecting a wee one of his own with wife, Jen – worries that children today won’t have access to anything like the natural world he experienced as a youngster. Urban and suburban areas in the United States are undergoing a process of fragmentation, he explains, that leaves mere pockets of green space too small to support native species. 

“Most people driving by don’t even realize it,” he says. Which is the reason he’s given up flirtations with dentistry and psychology – and a bona fide job in financial analysis – in order to educate through beautiful and humorous entomological displays.  

Though he draws the connection between finance and ecology – studying patterns in order to make predictions – Clarke simply wasn’t meant to wear a suit and sit behind a desk. In 2002, when a friend informed him that the California Academy of Sciences needed help preparing and cataloguing insects for a terrestrial arthropod inventory of Madagascar, Clarke began pinning bug parts for free.  Six months later, anticipating an opportunity to work in South Africa for famed ant scientist Brian Fisher, Clarke quit his finance job cold in order to train.

Clarke says he was a “geeky, eager kid who was always pestering (Fisher) for a job” – a description Fisher agrees with wholeheartedly, adding that “people studying insects tend to feel free to be more themselves.”

Indeed, it was after working for Fisher that Clarke returned to his hometown of Medfield, Mass., moving in with his parents at age 30 in order to pursue graduate studies in conservation biology. There, he saw his former backyard playground taken over by housing developments, his town “consumed by urbanization.” Suddenly, habitat preservation became a real, tangible issue.

 So how did the formally trained conservation biologist end up gluing farm-raised beetles to bicycles for a living? The seed was planted at the California Academy of Sciences, where Clarke worked in a room amidst 14 million specimens. 

“I was blown away by the diversity of insects, yet I was disappointed that these beautiful insects were in an area of the museum that people don’t ever see.”

Clarke’s art is his response to the growing alienation of people from their natural world. He is a purveyor of formally matted butterflies, artful displays of insects foiled by paper ephemera, and – to the delight of the young and young-at-heart – beetles humorously inserted into an array of human landscapes.

“It’s a great way to have a product that is educational, conservation-minded, and reminds people of a world they can’t necessarily always see,” Clarke says.

Clarke notes that the anthropomorphized insects – beetles playing the saxophone or sitting on the toilet reading a newspaper – are a particularly good way to draw in audiences with an insect aversion. “The same people who look at spiders in my traditional displays – the ones whose reactions are ‘ick, argh, eww’ – will get up real close,” he says. “It brings the natural world a little closer in a weird, distorted way.”

Clarke started building his displays as gifts for friends, but says “I’d always had this dream of making bugs my business.” Today that business supports his family, but also supports butterfly farmers – and conservation efforts – across the world. 

According to Kristin Natoli, a California Academy of Sciences biologist who supervises the importation of farmed butterfly chrysalises for the museum’s live exhibits, butterfly farming provides an important form of economic activity that doesn’t rely on destroying ecosystems, as agriculture or logging might. Instead, it ensures that rainforest areas from Costa Rica to Thialand, Indonesia to Africa are preserved, because butterfly farmers must collect wild larvae to breed, and plant native habitat on their property to raise their captive population. 

Clarke adds that butterfly farming is supported by the UN Wildlife Fund and The Nature Conservancy. “It’s a way to help impoverished people around rainforest areas that isn’t destructive,” he says.

Clarke has personally visited many of the farms from which he purchases his insects, and unlike butterfly observatories, Clarke’s shadowbox displays make use of animals that have lived out their full lifecycles and died naturally. They also provide a product that people can take home, sit on their shelf, and experience forever. 

For Clarke, who once worked as a stager for Pottery Barn making “life-size dioramas,” gluing arthropods onto park benches seemed like a natural next step. Fascinated by miniatures since childhood, he grew up with a huge train set in his basement and a family of hermit crabs who were treated to a constant stream of newly-renovated Lego architecture.

“It took me over a year to figure out how exactly to get them to stay on there,” he says, describing the day he finally conquered the difficulty of manipulating the bugs, which must be soaked, softened and pinned in place in a multi-step process. “I had just broken up with I girlfriend. I was drinking. It was euphoric.”

And the type of glue he uses?

“It’s a trade secret.  I can’t tell you,” he grins. “But I’ll give you a hint: I use three kinds.” 

Clarke hopes that his epiphany will ultimately help children relate to insects with less apprehension and more curiosity.  

“Fear of insects is a learned behavior,” he says. “When I see kids at my craft shows, they always want to come right up to the displays. Their parents are afraid.”

Clarke notes that insects account for 80 percent of all animals. Of nearly one million known insect species, less than one percent have been evaluated.  With some sources estimating that several thousand species go extinct each year, Clarke understands the importance of turning around our “nuisance” mentality toward insects.

“We’re stung by a bee or see ants in our kitchens, so our conception of insects is negative. We forget about the great things: ants spread 30 percent of all plant seeds and aerate more soil than earthworms … we learn things from insects, and they provide one in three free ecosystem services – things like pollination, that amount to billions, trillions of dollars annually.”

But “in general, scientists are horrible communicators,” Clarke says. He argues that showcasing insects in terms of their beauty, wonder, and – yes – humor can help bring the whole issue a little closer to home. 

“Because,” he says, paraphrasing author E.O. Wilson’s view on environmental destruction, “when it happens in your own backyard, you’ll care.”

You can shop Kevin’s creepy-crawlies online at www.bugunderglass.com

Spa steals

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Hey pretty! We had so much Renew Issue we couldn’t fit it all in the paper today. So below, please find assembled some of the best ways to spa yourself in SF on the cheap. Because it’s easier to enjoy a nice steam without watching one’s rent money go up in smoke.

 

Nob Hill Spa 

Located in the classy Huntington Hotel, the price of this spa’s treatments are not for the thrifty-at-heart. Luckily, Nob Hill makes its facilities available to the average bear for the relatively humble cost of $35 a day, so that even without paying hundreds of dollars to be wrapped in seaweed like a man-sized maki roll, one can enjoy the use of an indoor pool, steam room, sauna, Jacuzzi, deck, work-out facility, tea service, and lounge mysteriously titled the “Zen Room.” Available Mon-Thurs, and on the weekends with a reservation.

1075 California, SF. (415) 345-2860, www.nobhillspa.com

The Hot Tubs

The Hot Tubs’ water, according its website, is filtered once every six minutes, so you have little reason to worry – overmuch – about what your room’s previous tenants were getting up to. Simple: private rooms with showers, redwood saunas and squeaky-clean hot tubs, $19.95 for one hour, with a free half-hour included if you wanna soak before 5 p.m. Difficult: finding a cozier spot for DIY massage.

2200 Van Ness, SF. (415) 441-8827, www.thehottubs.com


Apotheca 

Apotheca’s motto is “spas are swell, but we are not a spa.” It doesn’t offer fluffy robes, or expect patrons to settle for fluffy service. there’s no luxe lounge or  bubbling hot tub, but there is a staff of certified message therapists and licensed estheticians who claim they’ll tailor a treatment just for you. Furthermore, there’s a commitment to sustainability in Apotheca’s products and services — they’ll even encourage you to take the bus, oh my! Facials start at $85 for 60 minutes, massages start at $80 for 40 minutes.

582 Marshall, SF. (415) 573-9077, www.apotheca.com


Imperial Day Spa 

With an atmosphere that’s more YMCA than Club Med, this Korean wellness center offers a traditionally vigorous head-to-toe scrub-down followed by a milk-yogurt-cucumber moisturizing treatment and a shampoo that will set you back only $60 for 30 minutes and $90 for 80 minutes. Take advantage of the spot’s assortment of Jacuzzis, showers, saunas, and steam rooms before your treatment and you’ll go forth into the world silky-smooth and shining. Pick up a facial mask infused with ginger, lemon, tomato, or potato (!) at the front counter when you check in – nothing says spa day like wearing vegetable-scented tissue paper on your face.

1875 Geary, SF. (415) 771-1114, www.imperialdayspa.com


International Orange 

Named for the paint color on the Golden Gate Bridge, International Orange offers a full range of spa services, plus a light-drenched yoga studio, lounge, and redwood deck. This is the place to go for soft slippers, flavored water, and silky robes — and while prices tend to reflect the fact that dried fruit and gourmet chocolate are available in the waiting area, International Orange offers a variety of specials and membership packages that help soothe the sub-cutaneous layer and the wallet alike. Check the website for the ever-changing specials and save up to 30 percent.

2044 Fillmore, SF. (415) 563-5000, www.internationalorange.com


La Biang Thai Masssage

Traditional Thai massage includes stretching, yogic poses, reflexology, energy line work and pressure – lots and lots of pressure. But its proponents swear by the beating and for those who leave ‘Merican massage parlors longing for something a bit deeper, this may be your ticket. None of that tickle-and-feather stuff: this is intense, serious body work at a price that can’t be beat: $30 for 30 minutes, $55 for 60 minutes, and $105 for 120 minutes. 

1301 Polk, SF. (415) 931-7692, www.labiangthai.com


Spa Vitale

A private penthouse infinity pool in a bamboo garden terrace laps sunset bathers with luxury. Sound spendy? Well at $60 for 25 minutes, this rooftop ritual is steep in more ways than one, but the view combined with scented water, herbal beverages, and cucumber cooling pack for the eyes, make this a nice excuse to fake it ’til you make it. 

3000 Bridgeway, Sausalito. (415) 331-1611, www.hotelvitale.com

 

Hoop dreams

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culture@sfbg.com

RENEW Christabel Zamor moves like a snake — eyes fixed, lithe body writhing, hips rippling back and forth — which isn’t really surprising, considering the number of times she’s shed her skin.

Zamor is a hoopdancer — one of those sylph-like sirens who show up at parties and raves and on the playa in order to make the men drool and the women vow to do sit-ups. She credits hooping as the secret to her sensuous shape — but if you’re thinking of getting out your snake charmer’s flute, let’s get one thing straight: in this case, it’s the sexy serpent who’s charming you.

Zamor is magnetic and incredibly talented, but what sets her apart from other Bay Area hoopers is her avid following, cultivated by Hooping! The Book!, an array of instructional DVDs and 72-hour teacher training program that has certified 570 instructors in 16 countries. Zamor is HoopGirl® — a persona that not only has allowed her to whittle her waist and tone her tummy but to explode into a fitness franchise.

An erstwhile doctoral student and one-time “heavy-set, shy academic,” Zamor says she transformed her life — and her body — through hooping’s calorie-burning workouts and confidence-building powers. She now travels the world as a fitness trainer and empowerment coach, teaching people that they can do the same thing.

“I wasn’t really looking for hooping,” she says. At 27, Zamor was a UC Santa Barbara PhD student struggling to find academic support for her interest in ethnomusicology and drumming. Frustrated, she dropped out from her program after receiving a master’s degree, traveled to Senegal to study djembe, returned to the States, enrolled in Pacifica Graduate Institute’s master’s program in mythology and depth psychology, and began working as a personal assistant. Amid the confusion, she says she didn’t have the power to envision a life outside her studies. “I wanted to be a healer but didn’t know it,” she says.

But a simple circle changed all that. At a Gathering of the Tribes conference in Los Angeles, Zamor fortuitously picked up her first hoop — and HoopGirl was set in motion.

Zamor claims she never had a hula hoop as a child, but from the first instant she picked up the plastic ring and it clattered uncooperatively to the ground, she was hooked. Despite the initial “experience of not succeeding,” she was captivated by the hoopers around her — “beautiful nymphs undulating gorgeously” — and she was determined to become one.

“I got a hoop and started practicing in the park, in rhythm with high-energy trance or electronic music,” she says, and crowds “just started gathering.” When a newspaper reporter wrote a story on her weekly spin sessions, “100 people showed up wanting to hoop.”

Hooping has provided Zamor with a means of transformation, for her physical body as well as her spiritual self. She describes hooping as the portal that awakened her to underground subcultures like the circus-arts scene and artistic communities like Burning Man.

Zamor found that she could hoop for six hours at a time and that it catalyzed a level of physical and spiritual presence she describes as a “quickening” of the body. She interprets the orbital motion of the hoop as “intrinsically about coming back to your center,” a practice that stills mental chatter.

Hooping also began to fill in for the cultural activity that Zamor had so desperately wanted to study at UCSB. She had sought to understand how tribal rituals played a role in society, but she realized that dissecting a cultural form appropriated from the third world brought up questions of co-optation that she didn’t want to wrestle with. Hooping provided the same rhythmic, percussive, ritualistic aspects and counted as an indigenous rite in California in the early aughts, when its popularity was exploding. Burning Man was where Zamor tapped into hooping as a “sacred, transcendent experience,” one that she ultimately felt empowered to interpret for a national audience.

Now 10 years later, Zamor has performed at events for Warner Bros., Universal Pictures, and Cirque du Soleil. She has been hired to represent fitness brands and health club chains. She is licensing HoopGirl® Workout teachers across Canada, England, Australia, and the United States, where her hoop regimen has been certified by the Aerobics and Fitness Association of America.

At 38, she is a fitness guru and the leader of a profitable exercise business. In her books and DVDs, she maintains a bubbly exuberance in describing her physical transformation. “My unwanted extra fat just disappeared and was replaced by gorgeous muscle,” she crows, describing her journey. But she leaves out transcendence at Burning Man in favor of the elation of calories burned.

Zamor admits that she has had to be a chameleon to market herself and her hooping. Unlike other elite hoopers who began to develop the art form around the same time or even earlier, Zamor hasn’t been content to limit herself to a part of the San Francisco subculture. She hopes to bring legitimacy to hooping, which sometimes means talking abs and aerobics. “To spread hooping, I have to be able to spread the lingo. I gain respect by speaking a language that people respect.”

But when she is training HoopGirl dancers, she says she still refers to hooping as a spiritual practice. Her mantra — hooping is sexy! — is as much about a sense of self-worth as a satisfying session in the sack. The once “introverted loner” has been able to use hooping to help shed her old self, literally — and she’s eager to show us that results are replicable at home.

“The hoop adheres better to bare skin,” she explains, “so I started wearing less clothing. Showing my arms, showing my legs — it’s like the hoop was asking me to take those things off. I started to feel like I didn’t have to hide who I was.”

Flipping through pages of toned hotties in her book, or watching the bootie-shorted babes in her DVDs, it might be difficult to believe that the sexiness of hooping isn’t about, well, sex. But Zamor says there is something deeply and inherently feminine about the hoop — and it’s not just that the ladies look better shakin’ it.

After two surgeries for endometriosis, Zamor is convinced that the “soothing gyrations” of the hoop against her pelvis have helped heal her. “Hooping provided the insight I needed to slow down and focus on my body,” she says, explaining that it’s also a way to strengthen her core and reproductive organs, bringing fresh blood to the pelvic region and awakening her libido. Now, six years since her last surgery, she emphasizes that her doctor was amazed at how quickly she healed by hooping through the ordeal.

Next up, Zamor will be working on bringing that whole-body healing to women who may not be willing to step inside the hoop. She has expanded her business to include empowerment classes that honor the “divine, delicious feminine” and that will help women become a more supple, radiant, and luminous version of themselves, she says.

These classes in “hooping outside the hoop” are geared toward helping others uncover the empowerment and sense of self-worth that Zamor has found through HoopGirl. Of course, unless Zamor is planning on turning out hundreds of successful fitness revolutionaries with profitable book deals of their own, it’s hard to say whether her personal transformation will be replicable. But with one irresistible smile from Zamor, it’s easy to see that the hoop has worked for her — and difficult to resist the urge to run out and buy one for oneself.

Dad, Millennium. Millennium, Dad

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San Francisco is composed of many worlds: in one, men and women wear suits and whiz up high-speed elevators to the top of the Transamerica building (until recently, I held to the belief that the uppermost floor is built entirely from Lindor truffles and boasts a wine fountain). In a cross-town galaxy, “Transamerica” might be a documentary on one’s downstairs neighbor.  

But the great thing about the city is that its various worlds frequently overlap – in laundromats, at last call, and in the occasional rare dining experience that leaves everyone happy and full, even in the wallet. Case in point: Millennium, an artful mash-up of hippie and high class.

This weekend, I experienced just such a coalescence when my father, a venerable business-type, flew in for a meeting and informed me that the highest occupiable floor of the Transam Pyramid is just an inconveniently small conference room. After introducing him to my roommate Bella Donna (formerly Donald), I wanted to treat him to a taste of the city that would satisfy his unabashedly carnivorous appetite, impress him with SF’s classy culture, and yet not leave me scrambling to find a menu item that didn’t involve au jus.

I settled on Millennium, a veggie-only venue in the Hotel California, and shuffled my old man out the door before he could ask what kind of cuisine we were headed for. We’d already de-cabbed (traveling in style being one of the many perks of dining with Pop) in front of the restaurant when he finally weaseled it out of me.

“Vegetarian? Vegetarian!” he spluttered, looking genuinely shocked that I, his own flesh and blood, would so betray and deprive him of some other animal’s skin and bone. I almost felt bad as he plopped into his seat, not at all trying not to sulk.

The décor was the first thing to soothe his spirit: rich, heavy woodwork; black-and-white tiled floor á la French bistro, and an ornate, substantial zinc-topped bar may have reassured him that his meal, too, would be a satisfyingly substantial one. Even when I informed him that the restaurant’s interior had been recently redesigned with sustainability in mind (Charles de Lisle of Your Space Interiors chose curtains from recycled plastic bags, chandeliers that started life as paper grocery sacks, and earth-toned interior paints) he seemed at home in the cozy, cruelty-free faux leather booth – or at least sufficiently insulated from SF’s raging counter-culture, viz. a heavy tattooed specimen one table over. 

Conscious, not crunchy – Millennium’s classic décor is father-approved. Photo by Alison Bagby

Our server Justin was polite, just the right amount of chatty, and swift to suggest an array of dishes that would please my flesh-craving father, who at this point was becoming sort of embarrassed by his insistence on animal, given that the restaurant’s staff seemed to be nice folk.  

(“I don’t eat that much meat,” he squirmed. I reminded him that he grew up working in a meat-packing plant, the son of its branch manager. And that his eyes turn red when he goes too long without a steak.)

The first dish to come out was the housemade tortellini ($12.75) with black chanterelle and chestnut filling and an array of accoutrements that risked sounding prissy (“carrot butter, saffron-spring onion-white wine broth, braised sunchoke and spigarello kale”) but that actually rounded the plate out with a delightful and necessary balance of flavors and textures. From the dense, sweet cubes of sunchoke to the delicate crisp breadcrumbs topping the dish, each element melted lusciously into the whole, while somehow holding on to its own identity. Dad took one bite and then made haste to safely locate his portion of the dish to his plate: half, or actually, a fair bit more than half.

Next up was the black bean torte – Justin’s suggestion – stuffed with caramelized plantains ($10.75). In truth, I thought the bean filling was a bit pasty and bland, and that it didn’t do the plantains justice. But the pumpkin-habañero papazul more than supplied the needed kick, and the accompanying cashew “sour cream” was satisfyingly rich, tart, and abundant. Here, Dad broke out with a “this is totally vegetarian?” He scraped his fork across his already-clean plate and licked it. In other words, success.

From there, things just got better. We were surprised when oyster mushrooms ($11 in most circumstances) crusted with chickpea flour and thyme landed on our table, courtesy of the kitchen, simply because we commented that they sounded good. In truth, they were fantastic. Entrees included the seared sweet potato griddle cake ($23.25) with cauliflower, winter greens, and cilantro and lime chutney, which was crowned by an extravagant mound of sweet onion pakora. Resembling nothing so much as a bouffant-like mound of playafied burner-dreadlocks, the elaborate heap had my dad ready to rave. “This,” he said, waving his fork in the air. “This. This is… better than meat.” Whoa.

His awe and appetite carried us right through a Oaxacan green corn arepa ($24.75, billed as hearty fare to sate the meat-eaters among us), the chewiness and density of which was a slight disappointment to only me.  Furthermore, it carried the now-expected array of plays on texture and contrasting tastes: poblano chiles, grapefruit, avocado and roasted butternut squash frolicked in complete harmony.  

Three appetizers and two entrees later, and despite the generous portions, we were so charmed that we committed to a slice of chocolate almond midnight torte ($9.25). By the time it came out, my dad had been converted to a vociferous proponent of vegetarian cuisine and, eager to show his approval he said, “Great! I can’t wait to try this! I can’t believe they even make vegetarian dessert!”

Though I’m pretty sure my father hasn’t imbibed too many authentic mincemeat tarts or lard-and-suet pie crusts, I refrained from pointing out the slackmindedness of his statement. I just smiled into my vegetarian cappuccino, feeling wholly content and victorious.

So deeply entrenched was my father in the afterglow of a great gourmet experience that he didn’t even mind the mingled smells of urine and weed that wafted us along through the Tenderloin. “That was the only meal you could completely gorge on and still want to take a stroll afterwards,” he commented as we wandered, now cab-less, through the San Francisco streets.

 

 

Millennium

Sun-Thurs 5:30 p.m. – 9:30 p.m.;  Fri-Sat 5:30 p.m. – 10:30 p.m.

580 Geary, SF

(415) 345-3900

www.millenniumrestaurant.com

Beer, Wine and Full Bar

AE/DC/MC/V

Quiet

Wheelchair accessible

 

Viva la racy revolucion: SF’s newest burlesque babe talks back

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You’re an Ivy League graduate who spends your days carrying a briefcase through the city’s marble halls. So how do you spend your nights? If your name — stage name in this case — is Sugar Magnolia, then the answer is burlesque dancing. Last Friday, Red Hots Burlesque made its weekly appearance at El Rio and among the false eyelashes and frippery emerged Magnolia’s debut performance in San Francisco. We caught up with her to talk shop about the burlesque scene and bold brashness.

The performer first got her naughty on while working as a queer organizer at Yale University. She helped put on school drag shows and while she “enjoyed reclaiming pop songs and gaying them up,” it turns out dressing in dapper drag wasn’t quite her cup of tea. It wasn’t long before her day job took her to the Big Apple, where NYC’s fab femmes introduced her to a world of glitter, sequins, and good times. “I realized I could perform, feel sexy, and be revolutionary at the same time,” the dancer told us in a Guardian interview. “Burlesque was that path.”

So she’s not new to workin’ the crowd. Sugar Magnolia — she didn’t want her real name used, given that whole day job thing — teased and titillated audiences in Brooklyn and New Haven, so we wanted to know what the Burly Q SF stage was like compared to similar shimmyings she’s done across the country.  “I was super-anxious before Friday night’s event because I was worried my act wasn’t clever enough. But I was reminded by the other performers that burlesque is about the revolution, but it’s also about letting go and reveling in sexuality, sweetness, and sass.” So there.

“Performing in New Haven was a beautiful way to begin my journey in burlesque,” she says, noting that the city has a strong queer community. “I knew I would always have friends in the audience. I also knew that as a young college student, simply getting on stage and performing a radical gender role was applause-worthy.”

Sugar Magnolia credits her friends and mentors from the Femme Family in NYC as well as the femme community in San Francisco with supporting her and helping her find her feet (which can be tough given the height of those heels). The dancer, who works as a legal investigator by day, broke into the San Fran scene as a stage kitten for Red Hots and was invited to perform by Red Hots resident hot mama, Dottie Luxe. Now, the performer uses burlesque as a way to be less conciliatory and fearful, more outrageous and brazen.

“I feel like I often have to apologize for my loudness, queerness, and sexuality in the normie world,” she says. But in the dance hall, “the audience is there because they love the bold brashness of burlesque and the curvy, outrageous, lovely performers who do it up.”

A red-hot revolutionary whose battle cry is “go nipple pasties or go home”? Good enough for us…

 

Red Hots Burlesque

Every Friday, 7:30 p.m., $5-$10 sliding scale

El Rio

3158 Mission, SF

(415) 282-3325

www.redhotsburlesque.com

 

Artistic boot camp looking for recruits

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With an average body mass index of 24.8 (measured in 2008), SF rates as the second skinniest city in the United States. Work it out people – all those bikes, parks, and beaches paying off, or at least putting us out ahead in America’s race against obesity. But next to nearly every one of our yoga studios and muscle gyms is an art gallery. It’s fair to say that art appreciation is as ingrained in San Francisco culture as athletic mastery – but where does one go to buff up one’s rock hard appreciation of digital art film and radical myth iconography? Enter Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ new program, “YBCA: YOU”, currently accepting applications (this means you) for a free program that’ll have you doing heavy lifting of the city’s creative offerings in no time.

Your coach: Laurel Butler, an education and engagement specialist. From March 3 through November 30, Butler will act as an arts-focused personal trainer for up to 100 participants in the YOU program, crunching through a highly personalized, dynamic arts education curriculum. Her trainees will enjoy free admission to all YBCA performances, films, exhibitions and community engagement events, and are encouraged to use the all-access pass as they would a gym membership – minus the on-site showers and grunting, one imagines.

“Ultimately, we want more people having better and deeper experiences with art,” says Joël Tan, YBCA’s director of community engagement. “This pilot is about an actual live human guide connecting with individuals and small groups to experience arts and cultural events that are custom-tailored to their aspirations, desires, and educational goals. Tan invites “anyone looking to build their aesthetic muscles to register, whether they want to learn a few pointers for their next cocktail party or attend all the openings in town and just need the motivation to do it.”

You can register for YOU’s March 3rd orientation by e-mailing lbutler@ybca.org by February 28. See more details about the hows, whys, and wherefores of who is eligible at the website below. And don’t forget about us when you’re the next Taschen, mmkay? 

 

“YBCA: YOU”

Registration open through Mon/28, 5 p.m.

First orientation: March 3, 6-8 p.m.

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission St, SF

(415) 978-2787

www.ybca.org 

 

Local tokens

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V-DAY No need to go far for an anti-lame gift for the Feb. 14. C’mon hot child, live in the city — and snag your valentine a lil’ somethin’ from this list of SF-made gift ideas, sure to show your honey that you care about the local economy as well as that special something you guys have going on.

>> Rickshaw Bags’ precious Pipsqueak handlebar bag ($25) means an end to your valentine fumbling about in their messenger tote for Chapstick or a cell phone. Bike safety: so, so sexy.

Rickshaw Bags, 994 22nd St., SF; (877) 503-9542, www.rickshawbags.com

>> Your love’s got roots, but not without healthy soil. Get a pound of red wigglers ($20) for your favorite gardener from this vermi-composting stay-at-home-mom. Mama’s Worm Composting, available for pick-up in SF.

www.mamaswormcomposting.com

>> Blakely Bass, owner of RAG clothing gallery, makes Native American-inspired leather hair wraps ($15-20) with hides she buys at a SoMa tannery. Not only are the accessories uber local, but they’re beautiful and will be a hit with the long hairs who can’t be bothered with strands in their face.

RAG Residents’ Apparel Gallery, 541 Octavia, SF. (415) 621-7718, www.ragsf.com

>> Convinced your fates are intertwined? Have a batch of customized fortune cookies ($5 for a batch of 100) baked to reflect your bright future together, with a crunch. Same-day printing is available.

Golden Gate Fortune Cookies, 56 Ross, SF. (415) 781-3956

>> We get it: you wanna be original. But hey Juliet, sometimes the tested-and-true got to be that way for a reason, so spring for some chocolate. Sweeten ’em up with some Poco Dolce popcorn toffee squares ($16) — these ain’t your grandma’s box of brittle. Available in various SF grocery stores.

www.pocodolce.com

>> Your baby deserves a nice new ‘fit to step out in. We’re betting the sweet pleats dress ($110) from Noo Works — a chic company that sells its well-fitting, stylin’, yet casual clothes out of its Mission District storefront — will bring some spring to her strut.

Noo Works, 395 Valencia, SF. (415) 821-7623, www.nooworks.com

>> Blossom Organics Pure Pleasure Arousal Gel ($16) has amassed quite a following in the city — which shouldn’t come as a surprise. After all, if you can’t make a lube to light up San Franciscans’ x’s and o’s, then we’re going about it all wrong.

Good Vibrations, Various SF locations. www.goodvibes.com

>> No sk8r boy (or boi) is gonna coast off from a love note accompanied by these Spitfire skateboard wheels ($24 for four) — a V-Day gift like these says “I’ll never bolt my ledges.”

DLX Skateboards, 1831 Market, SF. (415) 626-5588, www.dlxsf.com

>> Kitty-cats and doggies need love too! Jeffery’s Natural Pet Foods stocks great options for your four-legged friend — the foods come in raw varieties that go easy on their fuzzy tummies.

Jeffery’s Natural Pet Foods, 3809 18th St., SF. (415) 864-1414 and 1841 Powell, SF. (415) 402-0342, www.jefferysnaturalpetfood.com

>> Zine-and-crafteria Needles and Pens has all sorts of SF-made goodies that look swell wrapped up in red construction paper. Try Matt Furie and Sam Gaskin’s recently released zine Hot Topik ($5) for your boo-boo who is into stoner humor or vinyl heart earrings made from repurposed records ($20) for LP lovers.

Needles and Pens, 3253 16th St., SF. (415) 255-1534, www.needles-pens.com

>> But enough of the hearts and kitty-cats — when do we get to the dead bug gifts? Local jeweler Bug Under Glass makes a surprisingly sweet butterfly wing necklace that’ll give your little love bug ants in their pants — in a good way. Available at various SF stores.

www.bugunderglass.com

>> SF-made fetish wear: a real turn-on for City by the Bay pervs. Hook her with the heartbreaker pasties from Madame S — encourage her to give them a test drive and hey howdy! Happy Valentine’s Day to you!

Madame S, 385 Eighth St., SF. (415) 863-7734, www.madame-s.com

Deconstructing Cinderella, deconstructing La Llorona

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They say you shouldn’t judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. Ana Teresa Fernandez, the featured artist in Galería de la Raza’s upcoming video exhibition “La Llarona Unfabled,” (opening Sat/12) has obliged in regards to that feminist foil, Cinderella. For her video installation, Fernandez spent hours standing wearing a melting pair of “glass slippers” made of ice on a dirty West Oakland street. The experience, she feels, left her more than qualified to criticize the social constructs embodied by fairy tale’s scullery maid-cum-princess.

Originally conceived by Galería’s executive director Carolina Ponce de León, “La Llorona Unfabled” will include work from four other artists: Monica Enriquez-Enriquez, Geraldine Lozano, Rosario Sotelo, and Tanya Vlach. The five will respond to issues of gender, class, identity, and migration in an effort to re-craft cultural narratives into feminist and Latina perspectives.

Which is not to say the exhibition won’t speak to all women. “It isn’t about brown, white, rich, poor,” Fernandez affirms. “It is about the self, learning to find your true voice and talents and making that voice the thing which sustains you in life.”

In her art, Fernandez uses lessons from her own life to challenge feminine mythologies — from the Mexican folktale of La Llorona, the weeping woman, to the story of Cinderella –  to “show little girls that they can be the protagonists of their own stories,” she says. Born in Tampico, Mexico, Fernandez was recruited by San Francisco Art Institute with a full scholarship – an opportunity that she met with amazement, and which enabled her to do the art she loves for a living. But Fernandez didn’t have a Prince Charming to make her dreams come true, or a fairy godmother for that matter. For that, she had to rely on talent, hard work and a passion for subverting the macho norms of classic art.

Growing up, the artist experienced very clear ideas about where women belonged. Her mother, a runner, was chastised for wearing short-shorts and sneaking out of the house to race with men. Ana, also an athlete, broke four national swimming records by the time she was eight. “They had to train me with the boys,” she recalls. Now 29, the artist has traveled the world but still feels that by supporting herself through painting, she is swimming against the current.  

Like many children in Mexico, Fernandez grew up hearing the story of La Llorona, the colonial-era fable of a beautiful peasant girl who is abandoned by her noble (read: white) husband.  She drowns her two children, and then herself in the river and is condemned to forever wander its banks, wailing for her lost sons. To Fernandez, the story was a clear message that a woman need to rescued by a man or else face a life of desperation. “What’s that game?” she asks, snapping her fingers. “Old Maid. If you’re not chosen, you’re nobody.” 

Even as the child of educated parents from a big city, Fernandez feels she has to fight the story’s notions of class and race, isolation and empowerment. “There is something to be said about changing the incredible enlaid guilt of how you must act or what you must do as a woman where I grew up – which sounds so incredibly old-fashioned.” 

Inspired by the “strong, elegant women” of her childhood, Fernandez’s paintings – the body of her artistic work up til now – balance the sensuality of the female body with the constrictions that work and fashion place upon it. In “Siren’s Shadow,” a woman swims in a cocktail dress and heels, literally dragged down by those conventional symbols of femininity. In the “La Llorona”  show, these same themes are explored through video and performance art, with water taking on additional meaning as a symbol of La Llorona, weeping endlessly into the river.

“Siren’s Shadow” by Ana Teresa Fernandez 

With the added dimension of time that video brings to Fernandez’s work, its dismantling of the ideals of femininity encoded in myth and art is shown more dynamically. As she stands over sewage in her ice shoes cast from the exaggerated stilettos worn by exotic dancers, waiting for her prince to come, Fernandez’s “glass slippers” and the mythology they imply literally melt away. 

Fernandez is reluctant to align herself with the tradition of Chicana painters working in San Francisco. Her paintings are a far cry from the bold, primary colors of Mujeres Muralistas, the Mission’s famous group of female street artists who lit up Balmy Alley. While she says the Mission feels like her “home away from home,” with its pockets of Mexican culture, Fernandez admits that her work relates more to the European masters and is “much more influenced by male painters.”

Which seems a little incongruous, given her subject material, but Fernandez argues that the virtuosic style of her painting is in itself a subversion, given that the role of the virtuoso painter wasn’t always available to women. Many female artists, especially Latina artists, committed “rebellious acts” against virtuosic tradition in order to get noticed, creating Kahlo-like fantasy worlds rather than create art in the patriarchal classical vein. 

By contrast, Fernandez’s figures, richly constructed out of layers of oil on canvas, glow with heat and realism. “Michelangelo and Botticelli and Brunelleschi were all men that fascinated me,” she says. 

In fact, to someone not paying attention, the muscled, sculptural bodies in Fernandez’s work may not seem so different from the sexualized objects they are meant to replace. But “hyper-sensuality is not the same as sexuality – it oozes, rather than blurts out,” she explains. “It’s quieter, it lingers longer. That’s what I try to play with.” 

She hopes to balance the tradition by adding a female voice without compromising the work’s aesthetic qualities. “In painting women have always been interpreted by men.” As in her life, in her art Fernandez chooses not to retreat into the realm assigned to her by men. She would rather beat them at their own game.

 

 

“La Llorona Unfabled: Stories to (Re)Tell to Little Girls”

Artist Talk Sat/12, 2-4 p.m., free

Opening Reception Sat/12, 7:30 p.m., free

Through April 16

La Galería de la Raza

2857 24th St., SF

(415) 826-8009

www.galeriadelaraza.org

 

 

5 things you didn’t know about cable cars

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Get it out of the way now: roll those eyes. The cable cars are something no native San Franciscan would ever bring up in polite (that is, local) company, let alone write about in a blog post. But fact is, there’s a reason why these things are iconic. Those cars have as speckled and quirky a history as the City by the Bay. 

San Franciscans steeped in facts and figures about the tourist-movers probably know that ours is the last operating cable car system in the world and that its design hasn’t changed much since Andrew Hallidie devised it upon seeing an overloaded horse-car slip down a hill in the rain. Perhaps you’ve heard that the four remaining lines each rely on a continuous loop of cable running under your feet at a constant 9.5 miles per hour, powered by electrical motors and a system of pulleys and huge wheels. If you’ve ever visited the Cable Car Museum (c’mon folks, it’s free) you’ve seen the sheaves pulling the cable along, and you’ve learned that the cars operate by grabbing the cable with giant pliers that reach through the floor and into a slot in the street where the cable runs. 

Bored yet? Stifle that yawn, we’re just getting started. Read on for five things you haven’t heard about those postcard pretties.

 

I know why the caged bird . . . rings?

The famous author, poet, and social activist Maya Angelou dropped out of Mission High School at 15 to work the cable cars. “The thought of sailing up and down the hills of San Francisco in a dark-blue uniform, with a money changer at my belt, caught my fancy,” she later recalled in 1969’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Angelou won the job as San Francisco’s first African American (and female) cable car conductor by heckling reluctant company managers until they caved and she was hired to ring the cars’ bells and swing “on the back of the rackety trolley, smiling sweetly and persuading [her] charges to ‘step forward in the car, please.’”

Smokin’ tracks

Ever noticed a certain funk riding in a cable car? It wasn’t the guy next to you. It’s caused by two materials that play a critical role in starting and stopping the car: the pine resin that greases the cable and the wooden brake shoes, made from Douglas fir, that press against the tracks to stop the car. Friction causes the wooden brakes to smoke, meaning they must be replaced every three days with new ones milled locally at a shop on 22nd Street and Indiana. Friction from the pliers-like grip grabbing the cable likewise melts and then vaporizes the pine tar. This results in a smooth, lubricated start-up, but is also responsible for the burning and odor. (And if that sounds a bit too familiar, perhaps you should call your doctor…) Like the wooden brakes, the grip that grabs the cable must be replaced every three days for wear.

The cable car: the Imelda Marcos of public transportation. (Stack of brake shoes at the Cable Car Museum). Photo by Emily Appelbaum

Move over, men

Working as a grip operator requires incredible dexterity and also the nuanced ability to feel the cable, picking it up slowly to ease the car to full speed. Though well over half of trainees drop from the teaching program each year, the required combination of subtlety and strength make gripping the perfect job for powerful women like Fannie Mae Barnes, who became the city’s first female grip in 1997. 

“A lot of guys will try to muscle the grip, but it’s really more a finesse thing – you have to leverage it with your body weight,” Barnes told the Guardian in an interview last fall. Barnes retired in 2007, but when San Francisco’s second female grip, Willa Johnson, took the post last April, Barnes presented her with a pair of custom-made pink leather grip gloves, emblazoned with her name.

Beyond the bells

The Slot Blades, named for the cars’ emergency braking system, is a band composed entirely of SF Muni workers who conduct and grip the city’s cable cars. Their moniker is a tongue of metal that, when deployed, wedges itself so tightly against the tracks it must be removed with a torch. The cable-proud band gets together for practices and jam sessions in addition to playing at Muni and cable car-related events like the annual Cable Car Bell Ringing Contest – now in its 49th year.

Falling cars and free love

Forget stranded cables and smashed cars: San Francisco’s most infamous cable car victim may be Gloria Sykes, who claimed that a 1964 accident left her with a black eye, bruises, and an unquenchable sex drive.

When a mechanical failure caused the car she was riding to slide backwards down a hill, Sykes – later dubbed the “cable car nymphomaniac” by the daily newspapers — sued the City of San Francisco for a half million dollars. Her lawyers argued that the sexual abuse she suffered as a child combined with the stress of the accident caused her to seek the company of up to 50 sexual partners a week. After listening to 44 taped transcripts of an electrically hypnotized Sykes, the jury awarded the insatiable (ha) plaintiff $50,000 in damages. Sykes’ case is cited as one of the earliest court-recognized examples of post-traumatic stress disorder.

 

San Francisco Cable Car Wheelhouse from Emily Appelbaum on Vimeo.

Check out the inner wheelings and dealings of the SF Cable Car Museum. Here, the whirling electric motors that power the cars. Video by Emily Appelbaum

 

Aerial revolution

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Consider the rise of the extreme athlete: generations of youngsters (and increasingly, brave older folks) competing to see who could pull the sweetest stunts and survive. Ever wonder how is it that a person can make the transition from earthbound and bipedal to gravity-be-damned dare-devilry? When exactly is the moment that a skater, skier, or snowboarder just lets go and trusts their body to take them up, over, around, and (hopefully) gracefully down to the ground?

Last Tuesday, I attended a press event at House of Air – the newest member of Crissy Field’s collection of renovated airplane hangars in San Francisco’s historic Presidio – where I was treated to a glimpse of how such a transformation might become reality. Not to mention a new way that a public sports facility can play with its community.

Given the Presidio’s military history, you may have been tempted to think the newly opened space at 926 Mason is home to helicopters and jets. But the pilots in House of Air aren’t crew-cutted cadets, and the only high-tech equipment in the corrugated steel hangar is an impressive array of custom-made trampolines. Every day in this house-of-bounce, tomorrow’s extreme sportsters are earning their wings – and there isn’t a major commander in sight.

House of Air is the brainchild of Dave Schaeffer and Paul McGeehan, two extreme sports aficionados who trained together on the Lake Tahoe snowboarding circuit. Their concept was helped off the ground (so to speak) by former Olympic skier Jonny Moseley. All three use trampolines to perfect their aerial artistry, and could commiserate over the difficulty of finding a facility where they could train with their respective equipment. According to Moseley, who raised eyebrows as a youth by flipping over his skis in a gymnastics studio, trampolines were few and far-between and most were used for coaching gymnasts and tumblers.

Large-scale trampolines provide the air time necessary for an athlete to teach his body to do tricks like corkscrews and 360s, serving as crucial incubators before a pro takes to the water, pavement, or snow with a new trick. But until House of Air, the idea of a dedicated facility for extreme athletes was unheard of. Now, the studio fills the void with over 2,000 square feet of trampoline space where serious athletes can perfect their skills in a safe (and soft) environment – and where, I was thrilled to find, even the not-so-extreme can have a blast.

House of Air provides lessons to beginners and more serious students of all ages. Instructors with backgrounds in everything from professional snowboarding to circus acrobatics use a specially designed high-performance trampoline deck to teach techniques to budding athletes. The center’s growing team also supervises two segmented jumping arenas, each about the size of a regulation basketball court, complete with angled trampoline enclosures that extend the bounce factor right up the walls. The facility also includes a kiddy bounce house for the younger set, special event rooms, lockers, and showers.

An average person arriving on the scene would begin their foray into the art of flight by checking out a pair of special House of Air shoes – modified wrestling shoes that provide ankle support. They would then have the option of renting some basic bounce time, participating in an organized game (think P.E. classics gone crazy: dodgeball or volleyball are both served up with a side of spring), or taking a class on the foundations of flying, which is where I wound up bouncing on my visit.

I was a bit apprehensive (read: terrified) as Moseley ushered me up to the trampoline deck and demonstrated a few tricks. He flopped through some sick twists, turns, and flips without missing a beat in our conversation. Then it was my turn.

 

Our intrepid reporter takes to the air at SF’s bounce palace. Photo courtesy of Jonny Moseley

I started with the aptly named “butt-drop”: a move in which the trampolinist replaces a single bounce with a fall on their bum and then – this is the crucial part – returns to her feet without missing a beat. After that, I moved onto “swivel-hips,” wherein the butt-drop is supplemented by a 180 degree revolution on the up-swing. For my final trick, I tried my hand at the sequence that leads up to a front flip: a jump, a fall to all fours, and then a forward rotation that landed me flat on my back. All in all, I wasn’t quite ready for the X Games, but it was killer on the knees and had my quads burning. I had new respect for the little groms busting board-grabs and aerials — and for the brave adults who come to House of Air for the “air conditioning” classes and company team-building sessions. Trampoline dodgeball: a fantastic way to build office camaraderie, or at the very least a good excuse to pummel that passive-aggressive co-worker with a deluge of flying foam rubber.  

Final impressions from the House of Air? Besides the sore thighs, of course? The center seems to be re-thinking the role of the public sports facility, from its boardrooms for the business set to its specially-manufactured props that emulate sports equipment for practicing athletes, like lightweight foam snowboards and a tow rope akin to what a wakeboarder would utilize on the waves. Even the layout of the building itself, which makes use of those large hangar doors to provide jumpers with such an excellent view of the bay one gets the feeling that with one wild leap one might land in the waves, helps to make House of Air a unique resource for the SF community.  

Given the chance to train in a facility like this one as a child, Moseley says he would have been thrilled – and possibly less banged-up in the bargain. “This is the way kids learn to be professionals — without getting hurt.”

 

House of Air, 926 Mason, SF. (415) 345-9675, www.houseofairsf.com

 

 

Not your guru’s asana

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Why put 12 year-old aged balsamic vinegar from Modena, Italy into a chocolate truffle?  Well, because it tastes surprisingly great, for one thing. But also, according to Dave Romanelli, one of the presenters at last weekend’s flexibly diverse San Francisco Yoga Journal Conference, because it can heighten your yoga practice. Enlightenment through chocolate? We’ll take it.

New York-based Romanelli taught a class called “Yoga  and Chocolate,” and like many of the conference’s fifty presenters, he brought a yogic flavor to the conference influenced as much by his personal path to the mat as ancient teachings. In other words, fundamentalist ayurveda this was not.

Referred to as “Yeah Dave” by his friends (as in, “yeah, Dave, whatever…”), Romanelli has penchant for stoner-esque musings that eventually left him with the radical idea that to flourish in today’s fast-paced society, yoga should be made accessible to a broad audience. 

In the ’90s, Romanelli and a partner started At One, a chain of trendy yoga studios in Phoenix that Romanelli says in an interview with SFBG were meant to “bust through the stereotypes” that yoga is pretentious and unconnected to daily life. In 2009 he published a book called Yeah Dave’s Guide to Livin’ in the Moment, an irreverent manual to enjoying life in the here and now. These days, he travels the country leading workshops that seek to initiate people into a yogic lifestyle through careful attention to the senses – which he engages with the help of wine and exotically-flavored chocolate provided by Yoga and Chocolate co-founder and master chocolatier Katrina Markoff.  

“Yoga and Chocolate” was one of over a hundred classes, guest lectures, all-day intensive workshops, and special events that filled the San Francisco Hyatt over the MLK Day weekend, ranging from fiery asana practices to contemplative journeys through yogic philosophy.  The scads of famous yogis in attendance included teachers like Ana Forrest, creator of the healing-based Forrest Yoga approach, Seane Corn, an internationally celebrated yoga teacher, activist and humanitarian, and San Francisco’s own Baron Baptiste, whose parents opened the city’s first yoga center in 1955 and who has shared his empowering vinyasa yoga with classes around the world.

With so many presenters — and with nearly half of conference attendees yoga teachers in their own right — the expo left the downtown hotel rife with pairs of groovy tie-dyed pants and hundreds of bare feet riding up and down the Hyatt’s escalators. In a city like San Francisco, it’s not surprising that the traditional Indian practice could draw such a huge audience – but the sight of so many modernized classes begged the question: Patanjali compiled the yoga sutras no later than 150 BC, and we’ve been mulling them over ever since. How much is really left to learn?

The answer is “a lot” if this year’s offerings were to be believed. Joining “Yoga and Chocolate” was MC Yogi’s “Ganesh is Fresh,” a hip-hop inspired retelling of the story of the elephant-headed deity Ganesh, remover of obstacles. (Fyi, if you’re a harmonious hip-hop head, it’s also the name of a track on MC Yogi’s 2008 album “Elephant Power.”) Another high-energy choice was “Bollywood Vinyasa,” a cardio-heavy yogic workout set to bright rhythms of bhangra and Bollywood music. 

“I never intended to be a yoga teacher,” said Hemalayaa, the class’ teacher and the Canadian-born daughter of Indian parents. “I started practicing as a way to guide myself, be a leader for myself,” she announced to the students before her. The seed of “Bollywood Vinyasa” was planted during darker days in Hemalayaa’s 20s, when she would come home and blast Bollywood music as a way of shaking out her troubles. After having grown to the lively beats, she was able to incorporate them into her study of yoga. “Now I teach as a way to continue my study. Being a leader to others helps me stay true to myself.”

Romanelli agrees on the importance of applying traditional yogic teachings in a way that’s applicable to our own life stories. He has no problem using his own life experiences – like having man-boobs and wearing too much cologne on prom night in pursuit of after-party action – to draw laughs and convince his students that self-reflection can be fun.  

His style is a definite departure from traditional yogic teaching (ashtanga yogis advocate pratyahara, withdrawal of the senses from external objects, as a means of attending to the inner self). But, in Yeah Dave’s opinion, sensual experience can be the first step toward getting people to pay attention and eventually journey inward.  

“In today’s society, how realistic is closing off the senses?” he asks. “People are afraid to be alone with themselves on a three by six mat.” He admits that people often need help to make the first step. “And if it has to be chocolate, then so be it,” he grins.

For information on next year’s Yoga Journal Conference stretch out to www.yjevents.com/sf