PC-GUY
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My Evening With Amber Frey
Nothing you really wanted to know about Scott Peterson's paramour, presented tediously, for just $20
By Harmon Leon
Oh my God! She's coming! She's really coming for an entire evening. An evening with Amber Frey!! Didn't you hear me for Christ's sake? It's AN EVENING WITH AMBER FREY!!! No seriously.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> The Learning Annex (purveyors of "Stop Dreaming & Start Writing") is offering an event called "An Evening With Amber Frey," and no, it's not a one-on-one thing with a happy ending.
When you really think about it, an evening is a hell of a lot of time to fill. Sure, there was that thing of being "the other woman" in the Scott Peterson murder trial, but how the hell is she going to fill an entire evening? I hope it ends with tap dancing. Not just regular tap dancing, but big, full-on, Sammy Davis Jr. windmill tap dancing. Or maybe close-up magic. ("Was your card the three of diamonds?") Or perhaps, as in The Vagina Monologues, she'll sit on a stool dressed in black, telling little vignettes separated by theatrical blackouts.
Here's the twist, though: The evening with Amber Frey is toted as a self-help seminar. Seriously. In this one evening, you can learn "How to Change Stumbling Blocks Into Stepping Stones." Well **** me with the festering stump of a crusty sailor with scurvy -- who knew!
Yes, if you attend, you will learn to:
Transform adversity into opportunity.
Change direction and set new goals.
Have faith and courage in yourself.
All this for $20! And taught by -- Amber Frey!!
One problem: Every time I've seen Amber Frey on television -- on Dateline, say -- she's never really had anything to say. Not to mention that she always looks god-awfully, pee-in-your-pants nervous and uncomfortable. The video editors always blow her up in the frame, creating a tight, grainy shot that's supposed to make it seem as if she's saying something really significant. But she never is.
Don't get me wrong; I'm all for cashing in on a minor flash of fame. After all, Amber Frey is the William Hung of women-who-boned-guys-who-killed-their-wives. And hell, I'd pay top dollar if the Runaway Bride were teaching a course on how to toss a Russian kettleball.
Why?
Our country loves our pop-culture celebrities. We Americans love people who are on the happy TV. We Americans want to touch them and be near them and look at them with our eyes. It's like the emperor's new clothes; we Americans want to stare, hanging on their every word as if they were Buddhist monks teaching revelations on one-handed clapping. And I'm nothing if not American.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> "Two more days until Amber Frey's coming! Two more days until Amber Frey's coming!" I find myself chanting two days before Amber Frey is coming.
Day turns to night, then back to day again. Finally I call to register for "An Evening With Amber Frey."
"Are you the guy who writes the Infiltrator column?" asks the Learning Annex representative after I give my credit card information over the phone.
"Absolutely not!" I reply. **** me; that's two columns in a row where I've been outed. (Mental note to self: Obtain credit card with different name.) I explain that I'm merely a guy who's fascinated by Amber Frey. "NOW LET'S GET ME SIGNED UP!"
I'm walking toward the Pan Pacific hotel in downtown San Francisco, and I'm wearing a tie. The reason? To impress my Amber. Yes, I've decided to pose as a rabid Amber Frey fan. She's got small-town Fresno values. And most of all, as everyone knows, she puts out on the first date!
I have no idea what the crowd will be like. What is Amber Frey's demographic? Will there be 300 people or 3,000?! Going to the hotel's second floor, I ask the older woman checking off registered names, "Has 'An Evening With Amber Frey' started yet?"
"No, but it's just about to," she replies.
"Do you know what she's wearing?" I ask, licking my dry lips.
She doesn't. Instead, she hands me a bullet-pointed sheet -- some sort of an outline, it seems -- and a notecard.
"You can jot down a few questions you have for her."
I make a dreamy look.
"I'd kill to go out with her," I say.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> Inside, what I expected to be a large hall, perhaps with Inside the Actors Studio moderator James Lipton onstage, is instead rows of chairs inside a conference room, all facing toward a single lectern. (Amber's lectern!) Five minutes before the event commences, already more than 12 people have assembled.
At this point, the very white crowd consists of a row of desperate housewives, a middle-aged guy who brought his elderly mom (who has a cane), and a few scattered, lone men who look like they solve crimes in their spare time and post the results on their Web sites.
"She is gorgeous," exclaims one of two large women; she has just been handed, by her friend, a set of glamour photographs of a small dog, and is commenting as if the dog were a child. (I'm pretty sure the dog is wearing a sweater.)
"She got so excited about going downstairs yesterday," the other large woman elaborates. Then, in a major subject-change, she asks, "What's the other big discount store besides Ross?"
"Marshalls!" her friend answers.
Two elderly women from Alameda, who definitely emit the smell of old people, take seats right beside me.
"I just wanted to see her!" says the one closest to me -- let's call her Ethel -- mentioning that she's seen Amber Frey on TV. Ergo, now, she must see her in person.
"I heard she's single," I reply, with a guttural moan.
Ethel picks up the "How to Change Stumbling Blocks Into Stepping Stones"bullet-pointed sheet. She gives a long, confused look, and then makes a sour face.
"This isn't about her life. It's about emotions and how to handle things," she complains.
With another long, confused look she reads from this evening's agenda. "Choose your battles?! I thought she was going to be talking about her life!" Ethel says, shaking her head with perplexity.
"She's going to give us a course." [Pause] "Stepping stones?! She's not doing too good with that."
<hr size="1" width="50%"> A Learning Annex representative appears in front of the crowd, which now tops 20 people ($400 in Amber Frey's pocket). In a large theatrical voice, she pimps us like a sideshow barker. "In just a few moments we'll bring out Amber Frey. She's just having a few words with the press."
There's a buzz of anticipation. "My Amber!" I mutter under my breath.
Ethel's still bewildered. "I thought she was going to tell about her life. I didn't think she would give a course," she says, still upset about the bullet-pointed agenda. "Have a positive attitude?!"
After a few minutes, the woman with the theatrical voice reappears and announces, "Good evening, I'd like to welcome you to 'An Evening With Amber Frey'!" (Girlish shrieking on my part.) It is explained that Amber Frey is a virtual Everyman. (You know, she is just like you and me.) "Think of her as someone you could have known; someone who could have been your next-door neighbor." (My neighbor is a transvestite stripper.) "But Amber had some bad relationships, just like you and I have been through. She was looking for romance, just like you and I have been through."
I turn to the elderly woman who smells like old people and say solemnly, "It's true, she could be me." [Pause] "Or she could be YOU!"
There's a smattering of applause, and in comes the woman of the evening -- Amber Frey. She's casually dressed and looks, well, like Amber Frey.
"Oh my God! It's her, it's really her," I exclaim, poking the old woman next to me in the ribs.
"She's taller than I thought," Ethel remarks.
"I like 'em tall!" I say, remoistening my dry lips.
An opening is always the most important part of the show; it breaks the ice. How will Amber Frey open "An Evening With Amber Frey"? Will there be a show tune with sequined gowns, and Amber Frey being lifted over the heads of two shirtless, hunky bodybuilders?
No, she opens with an awkward, "I see a lot more guys in the audience than in San Diego."
(Dead silence followed by the clumsy shuffling of notes.)
I flash Amber -- my Amber -- a smile, then straighten my tie. With more nervous shuffling, the evening's mission statement is woodenly laid out: "Life is a series of stepping stones followed with a series of stumbling blocks ...."
I've already learned one thing: Public speaking is not Amber Frey's forte.
"When the media came forward, I wondered why there was so much negativity about me ...."
To use a cliché, my Amber looks as scared as a deer in the headlights (or any other animal that happens to be in headlights, for that matter). Perhaps she herself needs to attend a Learning Annex seminar: "How to Be a Toastmaster." But her helplessness makes me want to hold her in my arms even more than before, lightly stroking her hair, telling my Amber, "There, there. It will all be OK."
But I'm knocked out of fantasyland with this clumsy transition: "OK, so you got a bunch of bullet points in front of you ...." With mild confusion, the roughly 20 of us look at sheets of paper that read, first, "Maintain a Positive Attitude Through Any Crisis. "
"There's things during the trial that were out of my control," my Amber says. "At times there's things in our lives that are out of control."
Her advice in regard to this? Remain positive!
Go figure.
Ten minutes into the presentation, and I'm already bored out of my mind. Where are the details of her sex romps with a coldblooded murderer? When will Amber (my Amber) describe what I would need to do to consummate our love on our first date? (I'm pretty sure it would involve strawberries, champagne, and perhaps a nice dinner at a budget restaurant located in a mall. But who could be certain?)
"OK, I'm going to move to the second bullet point ...."
We read, "Choose Your Battles and Change Adversity Into Opportunity."
"I've had to choose my battles ...," Amber says as the hearing aid of the woman sitting across from me starts momentarily buzzing. "Facing these battles head-on, I had to turn adversity into opportunity!" (I hope my Amber explains how to turn personal adversity into a book and movie deal, as well as a motivational speaking tour on the Learning Annex circuit.)
Now comes a personal confession: "I'd have to say, never in my life I thought I'd be speaking to a group of people. If I can impact one person's life in here today, then it's worth it.
"The opportunity to impact people's lives is due to the situation I've been in."
We learn of all the places Amber (my Amber) has spoken, which include Holland, a business expo for women in Ottawa, and some other places.
"I think the ability to be resilient will turn anything negative into something positive."
I nod my head. A woman with a large yellow legal pad feverishly takes notes.
"Let go of that negativity and be positive and move forward!" she says, and then adds the inevitable, "I choose to draw my strength from God. Always have faith and courage in yourself."
I pick at my arm, my impure thoughts turning to the Runaway Bride as Amber strongly recommends that if we're not satisfied with our diets or our jobs, then we should simply change them.
"Fifteen- and 18-year-old women e-mail me and say what an influence and impact I've had in their life," Amber states.
"I've dated a sociopath and liar, so I can relate," offers a desperate housewife in a green jacket.
Amber -- my Amber -- concludes woodenly with, "In the end, it all comes to choices to turn stumbling blocks into stepping stones."
There's light clapping, and I realize that I was wrong. Amber Frey isn't a horrible public speaker. Amber Frey is the Harriet Tubman of bland, predictable advice.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> The notecard questions are read by the Learning Annex representative, who has a large theatrical voice but is, otherwise, a far cry from Inside the Actors Studio'sJames Lipton.
I'd hoped to ask Amber, "Is Scott Peterson hung like a Ringling Bros. circus elephant?" But I feel bad for everyone involved with this event. I feel bad for the folks who shelled out $20. I feel bad for the desperate housewives whose notion of a pillar of strength is Amber Frey. I feel bad for Amber Frey herself, displayed for the masses by some shady booking agent as if she were Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy. (I don't feel bad for the Learning Annex.)
At first the questions are predictable, and the answers reveal almost no personal insights.
Q: "Amber, were you in love with Scott Peterson?"
A: "I question what my emotions were at the time."
Q: "Amber, do you still think about him?"
A: "Yes and no, I guess."
"Hi Amber, no question. I just wanted to say how much I respect your strength."
Then the questions get weird ...
Q: "Amber, have you ever had an encounter with an angel?"
A: "I feel angels are messengers."
We get to my question now.
Q: "What would be a red flag for dating guys? How do you know if you've found Mr. Wrong?"
When it's read, I give Amber a firm thumbs-up.
A: "Listen to your intuition."
<hr size="1" width="50%"> There is no tap dancing to close "An Evening With Amber Frey." Not even a card trick. ("Was your card the three of diamonds?") We're simply told she'll be signing copies of her book. It feels like the last minutes of a childhood Christmas when all you got for presents was socks.
"It sure ended early," remarks Ethel who smells like old people. "It was supposed to go until 9:30." She's a bit grumpy because her question didn't get read. "I was going to ask her," Ethel says, "'Why when all this was going on did you have a baby with another man?'"
A line forms for people to buy autographed copies of Witness ($28). A guy who works at the hotel asks if he can get a picture with Amber. I'm about to profess my undying love and to ask if she'll dine with me at Applebee's when I'm stopped by the Learning Annex guy.
"You're the guy who writes the Infiltrator?"
"No, I'm not. You must have me mistaken for somebody else."
"Are you sure?" the guy says with a Mr. Smarty-Pants smirk. "I did a Google image search on your name, and it looks just like you."
Balls! If this guy blows my cover in front of my Amber, I'll have no choice but to dump his body in the Berkeley Marina on my next Christmas Eve fishing trip.
At least someone learned something from this workshop.
sfweekly.com
Nothing you really wanted to know about Scott Peterson's paramour, presented tediously, for just $20
By Harmon Leon
Oh my God! She's coming! She's really coming for an entire evening. An evening with Amber Frey!! Didn't you hear me for Christ's sake? It's AN EVENING WITH AMBER FREY!!! No seriously.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> The Learning Annex (purveyors of "Stop Dreaming & Start Writing") is offering an event called "An Evening With Amber Frey," and no, it's not a one-on-one thing with a happy ending.
When you really think about it, an evening is a hell of a lot of time to fill. Sure, there was that thing of being "the other woman" in the Scott Peterson murder trial, but how the hell is she going to fill an entire evening? I hope it ends with tap dancing. Not just regular tap dancing, but big, full-on, Sammy Davis Jr. windmill tap dancing. Or maybe close-up magic. ("Was your card the three of diamonds?") Or perhaps, as in The Vagina Monologues, she'll sit on a stool dressed in black, telling little vignettes separated by theatrical blackouts.
Here's the twist, though: The evening with Amber Frey is toted as a self-help seminar. Seriously. In this one evening, you can learn "How to Change Stumbling Blocks Into Stepping Stones." Well **** me with the festering stump of a crusty sailor with scurvy -- who knew!
Yes, if you attend, you will learn to:
Transform adversity into opportunity.
Change direction and set new goals.
Have faith and courage in yourself.
All this for $20! And taught by -- Amber Frey!!
One problem: Every time I've seen Amber Frey on television -- on Dateline, say -- she's never really had anything to say. Not to mention that she always looks god-awfully, pee-in-your-pants nervous and uncomfortable. The video editors always blow her up in the frame, creating a tight, grainy shot that's supposed to make it seem as if she's saying something really significant. But she never is.
Don't get me wrong; I'm all for cashing in on a minor flash of fame. After all, Amber Frey is the William Hung of women-who-boned-guys-who-killed-their-wives. And hell, I'd pay top dollar if the Runaway Bride were teaching a course on how to toss a Russian kettleball.
Why?
Our country loves our pop-culture celebrities. We Americans love people who are on the happy TV. We Americans want to touch them and be near them and look at them with our eyes. It's like the emperor's new clothes; we Americans want to stare, hanging on their every word as if they were Buddhist monks teaching revelations on one-handed clapping. And I'm nothing if not American.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> "Two more days until Amber Frey's coming! Two more days until Amber Frey's coming!" I find myself chanting two days before Amber Frey is coming.
Day turns to night, then back to day again. Finally I call to register for "An Evening With Amber Frey."
"Are you the guy who writes the Infiltrator column?" asks the Learning Annex representative after I give my credit card information over the phone.
"Absolutely not!" I reply. **** me; that's two columns in a row where I've been outed. (Mental note to self: Obtain credit card with different name.) I explain that I'm merely a guy who's fascinated by Amber Frey. "NOW LET'S GET ME SIGNED UP!"
I'm walking toward the Pan Pacific hotel in downtown San Francisco, and I'm wearing a tie. The reason? To impress my Amber. Yes, I've decided to pose as a rabid Amber Frey fan. She's got small-town Fresno values. And most of all, as everyone knows, she puts out on the first date!
I have no idea what the crowd will be like. What is Amber Frey's demographic? Will there be 300 people or 3,000?! Going to the hotel's second floor, I ask the older woman checking off registered names, "Has 'An Evening With Amber Frey' started yet?"
"No, but it's just about to," she replies.
"Do you know what she's wearing?" I ask, licking my dry lips.
She doesn't. Instead, she hands me a bullet-pointed sheet -- some sort of an outline, it seems -- and a notecard.
"You can jot down a few questions you have for her."
I make a dreamy look.
"I'd kill to go out with her," I say.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> Inside, what I expected to be a large hall, perhaps with Inside the Actors Studio moderator James Lipton onstage, is instead rows of chairs inside a conference room, all facing toward a single lectern. (Amber's lectern!) Five minutes before the event commences, already more than 12 people have assembled.
At this point, the very white crowd consists of a row of desperate housewives, a middle-aged guy who brought his elderly mom (who has a cane), and a few scattered, lone men who look like they solve crimes in their spare time and post the results on their Web sites.
"She is gorgeous," exclaims one of two large women; she has just been handed, by her friend, a set of glamour photographs of a small dog, and is commenting as if the dog were a child. (I'm pretty sure the dog is wearing a sweater.)
"She got so excited about going downstairs yesterday," the other large woman elaborates. Then, in a major subject-change, she asks, "What's the other big discount store besides Ross?"
"Marshalls!" her friend answers.
Two elderly women from Alameda, who definitely emit the smell of old people, take seats right beside me.
"I just wanted to see her!" says the one closest to me -- let's call her Ethel -- mentioning that she's seen Amber Frey on TV. Ergo, now, she must see her in person.
"I heard she's single," I reply, with a guttural moan.
Ethel picks up the "How to Change Stumbling Blocks Into Stepping Stones"bullet-pointed sheet. She gives a long, confused look, and then makes a sour face.
"This isn't about her life. It's about emotions and how to handle things," she complains.
With another long, confused look she reads from this evening's agenda. "Choose your battles?! I thought she was going to be talking about her life!" Ethel says, shaking her head with perplexity.
"She's going to give us a course." [Pause] "Stepping stones?! She's not doing too good with that."
<hr size="1" width="50%"> A Learning Annex representative appears in front of the crowd, which now tops 20 people ($400 in Amber Frey's pocket). In a large theatrical voice, she pimps us like a sideshow barker. "In just a few moments we'll bring out Amber Frey. She's just having a few words with the press."
There's a buzz of anticipation. "My Amber!" I mutter under my breath.
Ethel's still bewildered. "I thought she was going to tell about her life. I didn't think she would give a course," she says, still upset about the bullet-pointed agenda. "Have a positive attitude?!"
After a few minutes, the woman with the theatrical voice reappears and announces, "Good evening, I'd like to welcome you to 'An Evening With Amber Frey'!" (Girlish shrieking on my part.) It is explained that Amber Frey is a virtual Everyman. (You know, she is just like you and me.) "Think of her as someone you could have known; someone who could have been your next-door neighbor." (My neighbor is a transvestite stripper.) "But Amber had some bad relationships, just like you and I have been through. She was looking for romance, just like you and I have been through."
I turn to the elderly woman who smells like old people and say solemnly, "It's true, she could be me." [Pause] "Or she could be YOU!"
There's a smattering of applause, and in comes the woman of the evening -- Amber Frey. She's casually dressed and looks, well, like Amber Frey.
"Oh my God! It's her, it's really her," I exclaim, poking the old woman next to me in the ribs.
"She's taller than I thought," Ethel remarks.
"I like 'em tall!" I say, remoistening my dry lips.
An opening is always the most important part of the show; it breaks the ice. How will Amber Frey open "An Evening With Amber Frey"? Will there be a show tune with sequined gowns, and Amber Frey being lifted over the heads of two shirtless, hunky bodybuilders?
No, she opens with an awkward, "I see a lot more guys in the audience than in San Diego."
(Dead silence followed by the clumsy shuffling of notes.)
I flash Amber -- my Amber -- a smile, then straighten my tie. With more nervous shuffling, the evening's mission statement is woodenly laid out: "Life is a series of stepping stones followed with a series of stumbling blocks ...."
I've already learned one thing: Public speaking is not Amber Frey's forte.
"When the media came forward, I wondered why there was so much negativity about me ...."
To use a cliché, my Amber looks as scared as a deer in the headlights (or any other animal that happens to be in headlights, for that matter). Perhaps she herself needs to attend a Learning Annex seminar: "How to Be a Toastmaster." But her helplessness makes me want to hold her in my arms even more than before, lightly stroking her hair, telling my Amber, "There, there. It will all be OK."
But I'm knocked out of fantasyland with this clumsy transition: "OK, so you got a bunch of bullet points in front of you ...." With mild confusion, the roughly 20 of us look at sheets of paper that read, first, "Maintain a Positive Attitude Through Any Crisis. "
"There's things during the trial that were out of my control," my Amber says. "At times there's things in our lives that are out of control."
Her advice in regard to this? Remain positive!
Go figure.
Ten minutes into the presentation, and I'm already bored out of my mind. Where are the details of her sex romps with a coldblooded murderer? When will Amber (my Amber) describe what I would need to do to consummate our love on our first date? (I'm pretty sure it would involve strawberries, champagne, and perhaps a nice dinner at a budget restaurant located in a mall. But who could be certain?)
"OK, I'm going to move to the second bullet point ...."
We read, "Choose Your Battles and Change Adversity Into Opportunity."
"I've had to choose my battles ...," Amber says as the hearing aid of the woman sitting across from me starts momentarily buzzing. "Facing these battles head-on, I had to turn adversity into opportunity!" (I hope my Amber explains how to turn personal adversity into a book and movie deal, as well as a motivational speaking tour on the Learning Annex circuit.)
Now comes a personal confession: "I'd have to say, never in my life I thought I'd be speaking to a group of people. If I can impact one person's life in here today, then it's worth it.
"The opportunity to impact people's lives is due to the situation I've been in."
We learn of all the places Amber (my Amber) has spoken, which include Holland, a business expo for women in Ottawa, and some other places.
"I think the ability to be resilient will turn anything negative into something positive."
I nod my head. A woman with a large yellow legal pad feverishly takes notes.
"Let go of that negativity and be positive and move forward!" she says, and then adds the inevitable, "I choose to draw my strength from God. Always have faith and courage in yourself."
I pick at my arm, my impure thoughts turning to the Runaway Bride as Amber strongly recommends that if we're not satisfied with our diets or our jobs, then we should simply change them.
"Fifteen- and 18-year-old women e-mail me and say what an influence and impact I've had in their life," Amber states.
"I've dated a sociopath and liar, so I can relate," offers a desperate housewife in a green jacket.
Amber -- my Amber -- concludes woodenly with, "In the end, it all comes to choices to turn stumbling blocks into stepping stones."
There's light clapping, and I realize that I was wrong. Amber Frey isn't a horrible public speaker. Amber Frey is the Harriet Tubman of bland, predictable advice.
<hr size="1" width="50%"> The notecard questions are read by the Learning Annex representative, who has a large theatrical voice but is, otherwise, a far cry from Inside the Actors Studio'sJames Lipton.
I'd hoped to ask Amber, "Is Scott Peterson hung like a Ringling Bros. circus elephant?" But I feel bad for everyone involved with this event. I feel bad for the folks who shelled out $20. I feel bad for the desperate housewives whose notion of a pillar of strength is Amber Frey. I feel bad for Amber Frey herself, displayed for the masses by some shady booking agent as if she were Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy. (I don't feel bad for the Learning Annex.)
At first the questions are predictable, and the answers reveal almost no personal insights.
Q: "Amber, were you in love with Scott Peterson?"
A: "I question what my emotions were at the time."
Q: "Amber, do you still think about him?"
A: "Yes and no, I guess."
"Hi Amber, no question. I just wanted to say how much I respect your strength."
Then the questions get weird ...
Q: "Amber, have you ever had an encounter with an angel?"
A: "I feel angels are messengers."
We get to my question now.
Q: "What would be a red flag for dating guys? How do you know if you've found Mr. Wrong?"
When it's read, I give Amber a firm thumbs-up.
A: "Listen to your intuition."
<hr size="1" width="50%"> There is no tap dancing to close "An Evening With Amber Frey." Not even a card trick. ("Was your card the three of diamonds?") We're simply told she'll be signing copies of her book. It feels like the last minutes of a childhood Christmas when all you got for presents was socks.
"It sure ended early," remarks Ethel who smells like old people. "It was supposed to go until 9:30." She's a bit grumpy because her question didn't get read. "I was going to ask her," Ethel says, "'Why when all this was going on did you have a baby with another man?'"
A line forms for people to buy autographed copies of Witness ($28). A guy who works at the hotel asks if he can get a picture with Amber. I'm about to profess my undying love and to ask if she'll dine with me at Applebee's when I'm stopped by the Learning Annex guy.
"You're the guy who writes the Infiltrator?"
"No, I'm not. You must have me mistaken for somebody else."
"Are you sure?" the guy says with a Mr. Smarty-Pants smirk. "I did a Google image search on your name, and it looks just like you."
Balls! If this guy blows my cover in front of my Amber, I'll have no choice but to dump his body in the Berkeley Marina on my next Christmas Eve fishing trip.
At least someone learned something from this workshop.
sfweekly.com
