Jack Boulware

       Another early day, down to the radio station by 8:30, to be a guest on the morning show. Frantic running around the apartment, grabbing things at random to talk about … the new jazz CD by Jack Kevorkian, some book chapters, the city’s recent eco-friendly Sustainability Plan (which suggests such daffy utopian ideas as cologne-free zones, etc.). I’m borrowing a friend’s car this week, so compared to the city transit, it seems like a very stylish commute, cruising through town puffing on a cigar, enjoying the sunroof and stereo.
       Staff members are asking host Johnny Steele what exactly he said on the air yesterday about the new TV show Roar, because they got some calls from L.A. Poor guy, it’s his second day on the job and management is already monitoring him like a lab rat. Just for fun, we play Kevorkian’s creepy flute music underneath our interview. Very strange, trying to boil an entire feature story down into a couple of witty asides. It seems to go okay, but the radio pace is freakish and unnaturally sped up, and leaves you way too wired. I drop by the SF Weekly to pick up mail. A few staffers heard the interview, and although they seemed kind of excited about it, it’s a little embarrassing, as if radio lacks the intellectual depth of a free weekly paper supported by personals and phone-sex ads.
       Lunch is arranged with the producer of Co-Ed Prison Sluts, a popular musical theater show that may be getting forced out of its performing space. There might be a column item to help them out. Michael and I meet at Powell’s Place, a soul food chicken joint favored by Mayor Willie Brown, and sit at Willie’s usual window table. Michael plays a meek 12-year-old boy in the cast, but in reality is the brains behind the production. Sluts is not what you’d call Nichols and May satire, but it has been running continuously in Chicago for nine years. (Its local competition includes a traveling production of The Capitol Steps, which is approximately as funny as several Mark Russells together.) As Michael explains the intricate theater biz politics, I take many notes, and halfway through realize it won’t be more than a few hundred words. Michael later leaves a voice mail, saying the theater just called. They still have the space. Everything we talked about is now moot.
       The day can still be salvaged … more phone calls, e-mail off a few incidental pieces of book text. A producer friend calls to report that her upcoming lefty Bread and Roses benefit, hosted by famous hippie Mimi Farina, will not be featuring Linda Ronstadt because she’s got thyroid problems. I could have told you that.