unrepeatable's san francisco review

5.27.2006

SF thru the bottom of a bottle

I am normally a very sober person.

Meaning that I am usually sober.

Friday, however, I was not.

It all started innocently enough at Zeitgeist, a biker bar on Valencia. It was a half day at work, and a beautiful half day at that-- perfect for celebrating a coworker's goodbye. We sat under the shady trees in the backyard patio, with a pink lemonade in one hand and a delicious freshly grilled cheeseburger in the other. We talked about work, we talked about rabbits, we talked about how fantastic these pink lemonades were. Who knew a vat of vodka could taste so good?

As we enjoyed our drinks, the weaker members of the group weeded themselves out. Back to the suburbs, or on to places that were more "their scene." The backyard began filling up with others and though our drinks had numbed our bums, the wood benches were getting kinda old. Those of us remaining decided that a change in venue would be a good idea... in fact, karaoke would be an excellent idea... So we hiked up our skirts and headed down Duboce to Market and a bar called
The Mint.

It was early enough that we weren't going to hit the happy hour crowd, we didn't really want to deal with anything too terribly serious, and The Mint has a bit of a rep about it's seriousness. The Mint also has a rep for weak drinks, so upon tasting the vodka cran, heavy on the cran, we ordered our vodka straight. This may or may not have been the best idea in the history of ideas as this is when my memory starts to get a little sketchy. There was singing, as required by the karaoke aspect of the karaoke bar, there was much laughter, there was merriment. Things were fabulous. Everyone was having a good time. Everyone was all smiles. At one point we went outside and suddenly, as if by magic, the streets filled with cyclists. The world was a wonderful and crazy place filled with vodka and bicycles.

At some point we decided to move our party. I'm not sure why. It may or may not have been due to embarrassing antics on the karaoke stage. It may or may not have been due to someone falling on the ground. It may or may not have been due to the slow but steady fill up of other much less silly and fun patrons. It may have been due to the stories of a very attractive bartender down the street. I do not believe we were kicked out, I am fairly certain this was choice we made.

We floated in on giggles-- we materialized at Lucky 13. I do not remember the walk down Market St, I only remember stopping for laughter breaks. I am pretty sure that had there been a police presence, we would have been arrested. This is not my MO. This is not how I roll. But I was intoxicated, a.k.a. d-r-u-n-k-drunk drunk. Lucky 13 is a blur in my memory. I'm not sure if I can show my face there again. As far as I know I can. It seemed like a cool place, except that I had to hold the bathroom stall shut. There might have been a lock, but I couldn't find it.

We were there for a while before we realized we are hungry again. We headed out for pizza around the corner. Pizza is a magical food. It comforts you. It fills you up when you are empty. And this pizza was The Best Pizza I Have Ever Had. I am probably just saying that because I was drunk and anything would have been the Best Anything I Ever Had, but this pizza was seriously the best pizza ever.

Things were still kicking though, so we decided that we needed to do yet more karaoke. On to Encore in Nob Hill. We had to flag down a cab- which was not difficult. But a bevy of whores did steal our first one. I'm fairly certain they rigged the MUNI elevator to magically appear behind us, which was quite distracting as we were not expecting an elevator to suddenly appear behind us. They then hopped in our cab and drove off into the sunset.

But I'm not holding a grudge. Saying goodbye to someone you enjoy spending your days with is hard. Luckily we had alcohol to soothe our pain. And we were in The City, where you can just let go because you don't have to drive home, you can walk around the corner for pizza and more karaoke, and you can hail a cab on the street (as can whores).

I just wish I knew what happened to my watch.

5.22.2006

nothing but flowers

Spring is shaping up to be a wonderful season in San Francisco. Leave work a little on the late side, climb up the hill in the cool sunshine to an empty vietnamese restaurant overlooking Portsmouth Square. Watch the kids play and eat tasty bun with lemon grass chicken. Talk about plans or lack thereof. Walk home in the gloaming with the Talking Heads easing the climb up up up to the tippy top of the hill. Breathe in the air and relax on the way down down down into the comfort of my comfy chair in the big picture window and a good book. Today, I love the Spring.

5.20.2006

smack

I grew up in the suburbs. Strip malls and shopping centers. Parking lots. Planned developments. Your basic nightmare. After I left the suburbs I moved to LA. Which, if you think about it, is really just the suburbs. Overgrown and sprawling. I wanted to get away from this, away from needing a car, away from driving from store to store. Away from strip malls and shopping centers and parking lots.

So I moved to San Francisco. Gave up the car and got a bus pass. Started wandering the streets and avoiding anything that called itself a megaplex. But sometimes, sometimes, I miss the suburbs. I miss the strip malls and shopping centers and parking lots. So I reserve a zipcar and head out of the city, to the asphalt wonderland of chainstores. I need a fix. A hit. Just a little one, to take the edge off. Maybe a new kitchen utensil- something in a moka. Is it over priced and unnecessary? Sold! And I need baskets. No, I don't know why. And I don't think I need to justify myself to you. I just need baskets. And this book. Just the moka, the baskets, and this book. That's all. I think.

And now that I've had my fix I can go back to avoiding megaplexes and chainstores and trying to seem hipper than I am. I should probably start by not using the word "hipper."

5.15.2006

chasing the sunshine

After spending my day chained to a desk, I was eager to get outside and into the sunshine. I took the long way to the BART, soaking in every possible ray of sunshine before disappearing underground for my short trip home. I was looking forward to my walk on the otherside-- fresh air and sunshine. But I live in San Francisco, and on the other side of my BART ride was a gray sky and swirling fog. Had I missed the sun? Blown my chance? I started up the hill and out of the fog's languid grip. The sun was shining just at the top, a glorious reward, so I pushed forward out of the fog and into the sunshine. I reached the top and looked down into my little valley drenched in sunlight. The fog swirled and danced at the edges, creeping over the hills and sneaking into the corners of the sunlit lowland. And like a giddy girl in the first sweet stages of romance, I fell in love all over again with my beautiful city.

5.13.2006

lincoln park

Why would they go an spoil a such a lovely park by putting a giant golf course smack dab in the middle of it?


(and yes, that is the ocean behind the trees)

the legion of honor

Today I went to The Legion of Honor. It is a lovely, if slightly boring, museum. It houses The Thinker and one of Monet's Waterlillies and the greatest picture of all time:



I soooo want that for my bathroom.

5.12.2006

Gai Lan or Kai-lan, as the case may be

I love chinese broccoli.

It is delicious and nutritious.

More people should eat it.

To encourage this, I would like to let several of the local thai restaurants to know that chinese broccoli


and broccoli,



while similar, are not the same thing.


At all.

Damn it.

5.11.2006

rush hour

You know those horror movies where the hero, feeling safe, peaks out of his window into the night only to see the ghostly silhouettes of thousands of undead licking the glass? Yeah, that was my BART ride this morning.

Stuck. Delays. 10 minutes.

Ok, 15 minutes.

Ok, they can't move the train. They are going to push it. 15 more minutes.

Ok, we are going to the platform. We are going to hold at the platform. 15 minutes.

So we slowly pull in, push past the hordes, the throngs of featureless faces. We stop, and they gather to the doors. We pull forward and they shuffle alongside, a horrible lifeless mass twitching toward the doors.

Maybe the doors won't open. There is a pause, a long, hopefilled pause broken by the hiss of air as the door opens and suddenly every available cubic centimeter is filled with flesh.


The announcer comes on: We are not moving. We are delayed. We will move later. And no one gets off the train. Everyone just squeezes in tighter and tighter.

I couldn't take it-- I had to fight my way off the train and up to the surface were a drunk man tried to hand me a flyer and then yelled at me for not taking it. Then walk up a big hill in my work clothes. Then get on the J-Church, which was also packed with terrestrial zombies, but at least it moved.

5.08.2006

scary effing monkey



What is with the absurd number of cast iron statuary stores in Union Square? Who buys this crap? Seriously?

5.07.2006

the saddest thing i ever heard

you know that global warming, man? those polar bears up in the north south poles?

yeah, they don't exist anymore.

they don't exist because it is too hot to find a polar mate.

in search of... Buffalo

In seeking the ever elusive American Bison, aka The Buffalo, I decided to avoid the obvious places one goes to find buffalo. I wanted to find a more natural and relaxed buffalo, one that didn't feel he had to put on a show. So I started my search where I start almost every search, a local coffee house. Today's selection was Luv-a-Java on Dolores and 26th. Where my latte was decidedly free of buffalo.


Which was, in retrospect, probably a good thing. Sure, it would have fulfilled my buffalo sighting requirement, but it also would have been rather messy and unsanitary. Not to mention it would have severely interfered with my latte enjoyment.

Latte enjoyed, I decided to wander up Church St to see if there were any buffalo up there.




There weren't. I thought about trying Dolores Park. On passing I noticed no Buffalo, but lots of standard poodles. This was not a surprise, as buffalo and standard poodles are natural enemies. I needed to find a place with fewer poodles. So I hopped on the MUNI.



Which was also decidely free of buffalo (probably due to the MUNI police asking for passes and transfers) and headed to the inner sunset.



Also buffalo free. So I decided to try Golden Gate Park.



There was a Polish festival going on, perhaps this would attract the Buffalo. The flyer was certainly inviting...



Well, Maybe not. I think buffalo in general want to avoid sausage. Mmmmmm, buffalo sausage. Ok, maybe up by the museum?



Not Buffalo. But SO cute!! But not enough cute to fend off my growing frustration. Then I came across a lovely waterfall and stream.



A water source! Surely this would lead me to the buffalo!



But it only led me to some ducks. Which, if you are keeping track, are not buffalo.



And from there to the SF Model Yacht Club. Great, any buffalo here were certainly not going to be full size. I was about to give up. I was getting tired-- my latte was wearing off and I was getting some sort of blister. This was all crap. But then, in the distance...



Was it? Could it be?

Buffalo!

Buffalo in a pen. In a big pen. Fenced in pen of buffalo. Well. OK. Maybe a bit anticlimactic. Next time I go looking for buffalo in the wild, I will certainly check my map first as apparently they are all just penned in. Stupid buffalo.

5.06.2006

literate

I keep calling Divisadero Diversadero. Which is not what it is at all.

NOPA? are you kidding me?

I actually ran to catch a bus last night. Ran. Into traffic and everything. Well, not really into traffic (wasn't that drunk) but I certainly jay-ran, and I swore I'd never run to catch a bus. But these are the things one does in NOPA.

I met a friend for coffee and we ended up meeting another one of his friends for dinner. We started in the embarcadero, wandered up through the financial district to catch the 1, then transferred at Divisadero to the 24, and ended up somewhere. I was totally lost, but I was enjoying the ride. We had dinner at the blue jay cafe, which is a San Franciscan stab at southern cooking. It was certainly a good effort, and they even had very tasty okra, but it wasn't exactly what I'd call great southern food. At dinner the friend of a friend informed me we were in NOPA. Which is the Western Addition, but not the Western Addition because the Western Addition is where you get shot, so it is NOPA. Not really quite the Panhandle, not really USF, not really anything, so they call it NOPA. Some think the name is lame, others hilarious, and still others deny its existence and call it the Western Addition, but it is or is not NOPA. A sort of void in geographical assignment.

From the restaurant we walked down Divisadero to some bar, whose name I don't remember and whose cross street I don't remember. I wasn't paying attention, and I should pay attention probably when going places, but I often don't. I knew I was still on Divisadero and I knew I could catch the 24 home, any more detail than that and I'd be worrying about things, and I refuse to worry about things when I am out with the guys. The bar was pretty cool. There was a cover, not cool, but the inside was not unaccommodating. Not really enough seats (I'm sure bars do this for a reason, but I'm not a bar person, I'm more of a pub person, so I do not understand the stand there with your drink thing, maybe it was so you looked at the art, maybe it was so you had to rub up against everyone on your way to the WC) but we were early enough to snag a couple of chairs and I settled in for some vodka and boy talk (you know, video games) and watched the evening unfold around me.

The people in the bar were an interesting mix. Not marina yuppie types and not mission hipster types, but a sort of middle ground. Like the fully formed adult children of an illicit marina/mission love affair. Yeah, there were lots of the well groomed (and by well groomed I do not mean unscruffy, I just mean put-together) and then there were a few skanks (though not many, only 2 by my count, and I think I might have been one of their birthday's or maybe just cinco de mayo, but really they needed to wear a tank under that shrug) there but enough of them weren't so well groomed that it made me feel like I needed to change my clothes or leave through the bathroom window. It was an ok scene. A bit too bar for me, but I was with good people so it wasn't overwhelming.

The drinks were fine, but I was way more interested in the neighborhood. Walking down Divisadero, we passed a lot of seemingly cool restaurants and cafes and whatnot, and the mix of types was fantastic-- from a mom and pop bbq place to a chi-chi hookah bar to schmancy sushi. It was eclectic without being pretentious. The neighborhood had a very interesting vibe- old and settled combined with young and in transit. Not the same kinda young you find in the mission (which is young and in anguish for their art), but a sort of post-college (but not too close to right at post college) kinda vibe. That mix of people who are all young and struggling and haven't segregated themselves into their little enclaves yet, where everything and everyone still mixes while they try to figure out what they are doing and where they are going. Before they have that fight and never talk again, or that kid and are never seen from again. Of course, that might be the vodka talking, but I liked NOPA. It was sort of a comfortable place.

5.05.2006

shiny shoes

Last night I went to target. I needed some lotion and some deodorant and apparently a pair of shiny silver shoes.

These shoes are fantastic and look soooooo good with my jeans. I'm in love with the way the silver toe peeps out from under the dark denim cuff. Like a geode. Or perhaps fancy shoes with jeans. If it was legal to marry my own feet, today I would. Granted, it would be a rather loveless marriage as I am not that flexible and my toes don't really seem to like me, but I would get through it with the help of my gorgeous silver shiny shoes.

5.04.2006

the miser

I'm pretty darn excited. turns out the Berkeley Repertory Theatre has discount tickets for those of us still clutching onto (with both hands) our under 30 status. sure, I should pay full price and give back and whatnot, but if I can get half off, I'm gonna take.

plus, I hear rita moreno is amazing in the glass menagerie and who doesn't love half price amazing?