I went down to City Hall to pick up the just-released copy of the Environmental Impact Report for the Civic Center land known as the 20-acre Chili Cook-off site and also the Ioki parcel, a 9-acre parcel next to City Hall, which until just recently served as a grazing meadow for three concrete sheep. I expected a document. Instead, they handed me a tome, the kind of thing the receptionist passes to you with both hands.

I took it back to the office, set it down on my desk and stared at it for a while to try and figure out how to get a handle on this thing. So here it is.

First I measured it, and I can report with a reasonable degree of certainty it is 1-1/2 inches thick, which is probably about normal for a first draft on an EIR. EIRs are sort of like Gresham novels. They always want you to feel you got your money’s worth so they take what is essentially a short story and blow it up into 900 pages.

Then I called in my staff to conduct the second part of our analysis; we weighed it. It weighs around 21 ounces. I made a call to find out how much it cost, which was $91,960, or $4,379 per ounce or 15 times the price of an ounce of gold on today’s market, which will give you an idea as to both its cost and probably its value. To make sure the results don’t get skewed, the developer pays for the EIR, but the city gets to pick the contractor to do it.

Understand, the EIR is widely distributed, which means there are dozens and dozens of copies that go to every concerned governmental entity, every interest group, the press and a legion of concerned citizens. Unquestionably, a small forest in Canada was decimated to create the paper that goes into this EIR, which, interestingly enough, is not printed on recycled paper, and, now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember any of them being printed on recycled paper.

Bottom line is, there was nothing surprising, nothing that in the jargon of the environmentalists couldn’t be mitigated — that is, fixed with a little engineering or a lot of money. That conclusion apparently didn’t really surprise anyone nor, I suspect,change anyone’s mind.

So you might well wonder, if there is no wetlands on the Chili Cook-off site or the Ioki site, what was the protest about Saturday with a group of people standing at the corner holding protest signs about “Saving our Wetlands?”

To understand, you have to go back a step. When the question first came up about wetlands, the Army Corps of Engineers came in to do a study, which is standard procedure. There is a federal statute, or several federal statutes, that controls the answer to that question, and there is some real science that goes into the calculation. The corps examined reports and subsurface surveys, looked at old historical aerial photographs, and made a couple of site visits. They came to the conclusion that neither site was a wetland, although they did find approximately 1.24 acres of waters, primarily below the condos west of Stuart Ranch Road. Even that didn’t constitute a wetland. They also said neither the Chili Cook-off site nor the Ioki site were subject to the ebb and flow of tide upon or since the passing of the Rivers and Harbors Act in 1899. However, they did conclude that at some time in the past, Malibu Lagoon was in fact larger and there had been a series of fill activities such as the construction of levies.

What the protesters are apparently talking about is a historical wetland, something that may have existed at some point in the past but is long since gone, which they want to restore. It really isn’t science, it’s really political science, which means politics.

Perhaps that may be why the protest Saturday seemed to draw such a small crowd, probably less than a dozen from Malibu. If there is such a thing as an unsanctioned protest, this apparently was it. None of the usual names appear on the literature being handed out as sponsors — not the Wetlands Action Network, not the Surfrider Foundation, not the Malibu Coastal Land Conservancy, only that of Bob Purvey, a well-know surfer/activist. Whether that means those organizations didn’t agree with the protest or were just holding their fire until after the City Council elections in April, I don’t know, but I suspect it’s going to be quite a while before anything happens in the Civic Center

In response to Paul Major’s accusation that I was appointed to the Task Force based on my friendship with Gale Sumpter:

It is true that I’m friends with Gale. I’ve known her since our karate days in the late ’80s and early ’90s, and I value her friendship dearly.

However, I believe my appointment to the Task Force has nothing to do with my friendship with Gale.

Paul, please get your facts straight.

At the meeting on Jan. 8, Paul Major requested that I apply for membership on the Task Force.

The following week Mike Daniels, whom I’ve known since third grade and consider a close friend, asked me to be on the Task Force.

Finally, when Carolyn Van Horn asked that I offer my time to the Task Force, I figured I could help the community solve our common dilemma concerning grandfathering.

Dusty Peak

This letter was addressed to Phil Cott, principal of Webster School:

I attended the talent show at Webster School last weekend to see my niece and was very disturbed by some of the things I witnessed. It should have been named the Video Music Imitation Dancing Show. The show was mostly dancing to contemporary music, which is wholesome enough. Yet, what disturbed me was the hooting and howling the audience gave these young girls when they gyrated their hips suggestively and awkwardly performed other mildly sexy-style adult dance moves. It appeared they were imitating MTV-type videos — most of which are wholly inappropriate for elementary school-age kids. If, as a society, we are so quick to lock up child molesters, why are we training our young girls to get attention and validation through exhibiting sexually provocative movements at an age where they don’t even really understand what they’re doing? Was I the only person whose skin crawled as this audience full of parents hooted and clapped for little girls as they pretended to be sexy.

Where is the wholesome, adorable, imaginative kid stuff that used to make up a talent show? What kind of generation of women are we raising who identify themselves as seducers at such a young age? Where is the education on the seasons of life and what’s appropriate when? I had to delve deep into this subject with my own 6-year-old after the show, explaining to her that sexuality itself is beautiful and natural in its proper context, for consenting adults, etc. I am not normally a moralist or a sexual prude by any stretch. I simply must call to your attention the glaring lack of judgment in allowing a show of kids pretending to be sexy to be hooted and applauded. Is there any place in your program for teaching appropriateness to these precious little ones? How can we expect them to abstain from sex and avoid teen-age pregnancy and sexual abuse when we encourage this seductive play? Are you aware that one out of three young girls is sexually molested in some form during her youth? Do you think your program helped or hindered the healing of this major social problem of viewing little girls as sexual objects? Please respond.

Kara Soufer

A few moments after “Martin Guerre” has begun, the soldiers on stage point a cannon toward the audience and fire it. Nothing will seem as loud after this, one thinks hopefully. One is wrong. Loudness is the staple, firepower the seasoning in this sadly non-nutritious French dish.

“Martin Guerre” takes place in 1564 France, when Protestants and Catholics battled to the death, and when calls for religious purity made hypocrites out of the most sincerely spiritual. So, there should be something one could relate to in the year 2000.

In this production at the Ahmanson Theatre, Martin (Hugh Panaro) marries at age 14, far too immature for such obligations. He leaves his lovely wife, Bertrande (Erin Dilly), behind and becomes a soldier. On the battlefield, he meets Arnaud (Stephen R. Buntrock), who is ready for marriage. Martin gives his life to save Arnaud, and Arnaud returns to Martin’s village to inform Bertrande. Bertrande falls in love with Arnaud. In this version, she knows immediately she is living “in sin.”

The talented, hardworking cast members master the score and their acting abilities overcome the more laughable lines.

The book by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schnberg, music by Schnberg, and lyrics by Boublil and Stephen Clark are bland at best. The story leaves no ambiguity as to Bertrande’s knowledge, which was the crux of the original story. Instead, the musical somehow makes religion look ridiculous rather than taking a stand against religious hatred.

Choreographic highlights include the dances of the village idiot, Benoit (Michael Arnold), who uses his beloved scarecrow as a gymnastic apparatus, and a digging dance by the farmers. Lowlights include clumping harvest and wedding dances. During the stage fights, one can hear the hollowness of the plastic swords.

John Napier’s design includes the best and worst of his work. Despite lighting design by Howard Harrison that helps sculpt the scenes, Napier’s background of dark brown paneling boxes in the stage and keeps all action on one plane, except when a portion of the floor rises up to form a bed or other platform. The cross of light and the courtroom scene provide thematic hints and visual interest.

Toward the evening’s end, the rioting townspeople set fire to the set. The backdrop burns in mesmerizing ribbons. One might be tempted to watch the flames, wondering whether the fire curtain is at the ready, wondering how the flames will be extinguished. One might even be watching the flames climb the backdrop while one of the characters kills Martin. In fact, one who normally pays attention to the story and its details completely missed this crime, turning “Martin Guerre” into an unsolved murder mystery. In this case, one does not feel one missed much.

“Martin Guerre” runs through April 8 at the Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., Los Angeles, Tuesdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m., Saturdays and Sundays at 2 p.m. and Sundays at 7:30 p.m. Additional Sunday evening and Thursday matinee performances available. Tickets $15-$70. Tel. 213.628.2772.

When We Dead Awaken:

Is the artist’s struggle for fame worth it? What sacrifices are essential? Do they ruin the soul? Does this, in turn, destroy artistic sensibilities? Are there parallels to love?

“When We Dead Awaken,” Ibsen’s last play, with its parallels to Ibsen’s life and an espousal of his last views on making art, is being aired out on its 100th anniversary, thoughtfully adapted and directed by George Neilson in a magnificent production by Pepperdine’s Fine Arts Division.

Still, the play poses those questions, calmly and coolly as winter on a Norwegian fjord.

After a brief prologue (Patric Rayburn and Michael Newman), we see the sculptor Rubek (Kristopher Scott) working on his opus magnum, a monumental work that includes five life-size human figures (Nikki Almanza, Christopher Emerson, Monalisa Galang, Jeff Lee and Sujei Sierra) being carved out of huge rocks. In the foreground is a woman whom he brings to life — if only for a short while.

“The neglect of love is the cardinal sin.” Rubek seems sinner and sinned against. His wife, Maja (Brianna Fidele), alternates between indolent and ignored. Their marriage, a mere 4 years old, is over, leaving unfulfilled promises by each.

Ulfheim (Joseph Rista) is a bear hunter — and a wife hunter, it seems — who awakens life in Maja. He will take her up a mountain, cosmic compensation for Rubek’s broken promise to do so. This leaves Rubek free to try reawakening his spirit with Irene (Lindsay Scott), his former model. She claims her spirit had died because as his model she could awaken no passion in him.

Thusly paired off, and after poetically revealing episodes of their wasted lives in metaphors of death and reawakening, they struggle out into the cold, and ultimately into death.

Although the actors are “present” and every line meaty, the effect is trancelike. Neilson honors an old-fashioned and refreshingly peaceful pacing and restful volume. The cast also includes Cory Whitfield, Scott Neilson and Megan Christman.

Part of the university’s ArtsFest 2000, the production also brings together the talents of its faculty.

The startling, memorable and workable set, designed by Rick Aglietti, consists of a raked, multilevel stage that represents both art — the large, rocky sculpture — and nature — the top of the mountain the characters seek to reach.

Costumes designed by Carol Ann Hack offer clues to the characters, particularly the women: Maja wears earthy browns and rusts, Irene wears a pure white, embroidered chiffon dress and a white, fur-trimmed cloak.

Exquisite lighting design by Elias El-Hage offers “natural” scenes, including dappled sunlight on water, and the sculpting scenes, in which Rubek works in rocks subtly colored with cobalt, copper, turquoise and amethyst.

Sound design by Andrew Linhart includes a sprightly brook and chilling mountaintop winds.

Original music composed by N. Lincoln Hanks is wonderfully subtle and stands up to additional music by Edvard Grieg.

In the average production, when an actor says, “Look at the children playing in the stream,” he points offstage. Here, Neilson provides a video of those children. Produced and edited by Susan Salas, the videos also show dogs playing, scenes of water running (when Irene tosses blossoms in the stream, they soon run by on the video), and Norwegian landscapes.

Sculpted wire animal heads by Bob Privitt show the eye what Rubek has struggled with. The now-famous artist sculpts busts for high society, but under their surface lurk animal heads — the brutish side of mankind.

With expressive choreography by Diane Linder, Rubek brings his sculptures to life, in percussive, jagged, trapped, yearning movements; still, they never escape their rocky imprisonment. In Ibsen’s world, no one ever does.

“When We Dead Awaken” plays 7:30 p.m. March 1-4 at Smothers Theatre, Pepperdine University. Tel. 310.456.4522.

(A letter to Barbra Streisand.) You seem to have what’s coming to you. Being staunchly conservative I have long known that when you give so many little people the power to legislate minutia they will, and then they will use it against you. Rather than worry about traffic flow and safety, schools, and infrastructure they mess with your dream of building your family a home. I am on your side for once. Why won’t they let you build a home according to reasonable standards, then take our share of the tax revenues and build a park for our kids. The City Council is an abomination of greed and paranoia who have created such insurmountable barriers to reasonable development that most ordinary men cringe at the thought of begging them for permission to build. Undoubtedly they all have their homes and castles, why can’t we?

My neighbor has paid more than $12,000 in fees and surveys for a swimming pool he hasn’t even started digging, while the local Indian tribesmen wander his property in search of artifacts. Meanwhile the streets in front of our properties are full of potholes and inadequate traffic controls, and the human effluence flows into holes in the ground. My wife who is from Mexican descent shrugs her shoulders and says this is why my family left Mexico in the first place.

Barbra, I suggest you rethink your politics and realize that we were all given rights by God that were reaffirmed by our founding fathers that are and were based upon personal responsibility. We are slowly giving up these rights and responsibilities and you have just gotten a taste of your political legacy.

Steven Bard

We knew that the Malibu Stage Company “got their act together” because suddenly two more huge bright lights were visible on the horizon. These lights have been joined in the past few months by a parade of new home lighting marching across the hill directly opposite Malibu Park along Kanan. The three or four new mansion builders on Busch seem to be competing to see who can install the most lights and illuminate every single tree that they plant (one has at least 20 tree lights!). Combine this with the recent news that the big chunk of land by Point Dume Center will also be developed into ball fields and community centers with undoubtedly the brightest lights a developer can install, and we have a prescription for unhappiness. Since moving here just over two years ago, we have seen our beautiful dark starry night dwindle gradually into a light polluted expanse. It seems that the more wealthy and ostentatious the neighbor, the bigger the light display.

Can we suggest that the Malibu Stage Company start a “good neighbor” trend by turning off these unnecessary bright lights, or at the very least hooding them? We then ask our neighbors throughout Malibu to think about how your house lights are turned all akimbo shining into our bedrooms and living rooms (yes Bonsall neighbors — we mean you). Please hood the lights or turn them off. Better yet install motion detector lights so that they only turn on when disturbed. There is no crime in Malibu. The animals need the dark of night to survive. And many people in Malibu Park will be grateful for any respite we can get from your light pollution.

Susan M. Tellem