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In September I wrote a column about how my friend Corrie desperately wanted to buy a sweatshirt at San Francisco State University’s bookstore but she couldn’t find one that satisfied her sense of fashion. Well, I’m happy to report that after a long search she has finally found the gray, zippered hoodie she was looking for.  

Despite the $45 price tag and the big black letters, I kind of understood Corrie’s need and affection for the hoodie, but it came as a surprise to me when a favorite teacher at State decided to buy the same sweatshirt.  

Brian Thorstenson was on his way to the bookstore in a retail therapy kind of mood when I ran into him on campus several weeks ago. “I’m cold,” he said. “Plus I don’t really like what I’m wearing today. I need something spiffier, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t know,” I said. In jeans and a plaid shirt, Brian looked exactly as he always does, skinny and casual. “What are you thinking about getting?” I asked. 

“A zippered, hooded, green sweatshirt that says San Francisco State on the front. They’re adorable.” 

“Get out of town,” I said. “My friend Corrie just bought one in gray.” 

“Does she look marvelous?” 

“Yes, I believe she does.” 

“Well then, I guess I better hurry and get one before they sell out.” 

I followed Brian into the store.  

Last semester I took a class from Brian in which we read several plays, went to see them performed, discussed the written and live versions, and then attempted to mimic the style of the playwrights by creating scenes using their work as our guides. It was a wonderful experience, not just because of the material, but because Brian is warm, generous and funny. 

In a room full of fifty or so undergraduate and graduate students, ranging in age from 18 to 52, Brian was able to create an atmosphere full of analytical thought and enthusiastic dialogue—not an easy thing to do, considering that most of the students came to class after work tired and hungry. The class ran from 7 p.m. until 10. Many of us didn’t get home until after 11, and at least one young kid drove straight from campus to the UPS center in Petaluma where he loaded and unloaded boxes from midnight to 8 a.m. Yet, despite the late hour and the hard seats, we attended week after week, interested in hearing what Brian had to say, anxious to share our opinions with one another.  

So there I was in the bookstore, looking through racks and racks of sweatshirts, wondering if I should buy one just so that I could be more like Brian. 

“Here it is!” he shouted, pressing a green sweatshirt against his chest and looking into a mirror. “What do you think? Is it groovy, or what? 

“Totally,” I said. “If I buy one for myself and promise to wear it every day, will you let me into your theater class next semester?” 

“Honey, it doesn’t work like that,” said Brian. “But I’ll tell you what. Buy yourself a ticket to Rococo Risqué. It’s a must see and I swear you’ll have a fabulous experience.”  

I did just that and I was not disappointed. Rococo Risqué OSU, the Hope Show, is an ensemble-driven cabaret-style performance blending vaudeville, burlesque, oleos and comedia dell’arte in a contemporary setting. Andrew Sisters-style singing, almost-nude dancers, a live band, and a Statue of Liberty-clad actress entertain with exuberant energy and spirited political satire.  

The extravaganza took place at the Danzhaus, an interesting venue located where the sidewalk ends in San Francisco’s Bayview warehouse district, right next to a junkyard housing a vicious-sounding guard dog behind a chain link, barbwire-topped fence. Wear a hoodie-style sweatshirt and you’ll fit right in with the crowd, the performers, and the neighborhood. You can get one at the SFSU bookstore, or anywhere on Telegraph Avenue.  

The Red Gate Performance Collective plans to put on Rococo Risqué again sometime this spring. Look for an announcement on their website at: www.rococrisque.com. 

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