Dino had his first opening in ess-eff tonight, as part of a show called Monster at Madrone Lounge. Now, this is a storied space: at the corner of Fell and Divisadero, a decaying Victorian with an old pharmacy space on the ground floor. When I moved to the Lower Haight in 1997, a deli called Mr Falafel occupied the space. It closed shortly after I moved, and the developer famous for opening a Burger King in the Inner Sunset bought an interest in the space. Sure enough, he was planning another 900-square foot fast-food joint in this neighbourhood. Local civic leaders and business people raised a ruckus, and the fight went to City Hall and back. And forth. And back and forth for three or four years, during which the space was covered with graffiti, taken down to the joists, and had all its windows broken. With the space still unoccupied, the building became an emblem of the neighbourhood's lack of development focus (cf. the next corner, which has been vacant for 2+ years). After another year, another developer (also from the Sunset, if word on the street is to be believed) secured a liquor licence and proposed to open art bar. Tempers on Divisadero flared: why can't we have a full liquor licence, wondered the other bar owners who have meagre beer-and-wine licences. Eventually (2 October 2004), Madrone opened. I'd stuck my head in once, but never had a drink there before tonight. They stock second-rate gin for their $8 Martini.
On the heels of Charlie LeDuff's story on the re-naming of baseball's Angels, the New York Times ran a pointed editorial:
January 6, 2005
EDITORIAL
City of Angels
ometimes an idea comes along that is so stupid, all you can do is stand back, give it some room, and stare:
THE LOS ANGELES ANGELS OF ANAHEIM
That is the new official name of a major league baseball team in Southern California that (1) does not play in Los Angeles, (2) is not moving to Los Angeles and (3) has no plans to put "Los Angeles" on its uniforms.
So what, exactly, is the team doing? It's trying to make more money. It wants to convince advertisers that its market extends far beyond Anaheim, a city in Orange County about 35 miles from Los Angeles, so it can charge them more. The team would just as soon drop "Anaheim" from its name altogether, but it can't. Its landlord is the City of Anaheim, which spent $20 million on stadium renovations as part of a deal in 1996 with the Walt Disney Company, which used to own the team. The contract includes this clause:
"Tenant will change the name of the Team to include the name 'Anaheim' therein."
Therein lies the problem.
But the Angels are not letting it stop them. If it requires a bit of geographic Dadaism - changing their name but not moving, and adding not one but two bilingual redundancies - then so be it. They are sticking to their marketing strategy.
Anaheim city officials are hurt. They say they will go to court to stop what they call a breach of good faith and fair dealing. The Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles are upset, too. So are many Orange County residents of Southern California. We're not sure what the New York Jets of East Rutherford or the Detroit Pistons of Auburn Hills think.
We have to ask, though, what team name in Southern California isn't nuts? The names "Lakers" and "Dodgers" once made sense in Minnesota, land of lakes, and in Brooklyn, land of trolleys, but not in the land of Mickey and Goofy. Don't get us started on the Mighty Ducks.