Modded motorcycles, taiko drummers, lion dances, and, hopefully, spam masubi will all be found at the Nihonmachi Street Fair in Japantown. I’ve never been to this annual Asian/Pacific Islander Festival before, but I sure do love me some Spam. Its the new/old tofu. Or something.
Nihonmachi Street Fair, Saturday and Sunday

4 Star Theater is running its 8th Asian Film festival right now. Movies from Korea, Thailand, Hong Kong, Japan, Taipei, and China are coming through – everything from a restored print of the Shaw Brother’s 1967 One Armed Swordsman to canto-variants of Sex in the City (called Sex and Beauties); Action-y police thrillers like Color of the Truth to tearjerker character explorations like Lost in Time.
I’m not so interested, apologetically, in the non Chinese films. I go to these to silently mouth the Cantonese to practice, and to dial in to Hong Kong culture while I’m not there. Its cheaper than a plane ticket, and more fun than brushing up in language class.
The theater is around 23rd and Clement (I think) and the festival runs from August 12th to the 23rd.
Check out the film listing here (about 25 films, I think) 4 Star Theater

Most writers place “environment” near the top of their essential needs lists. Some require absolute silence in order to work; others a stiff schedule with timers to measure their productivity. Not me. I am a junkie for stimulus, needing the whir of cappuccino makers and lyrical voices of others to lull me into a writing mood. In my quest to find the right balance of comfy chair, openess to long hours of patronage, and availability of laptop plugs, I have explored a great many of San Francisco’s cafes. Here is a list of my favorite laptop-friendly venues:

1. Dolores Park Cafe

Great lattes, excellent sandwiches, and hassle-free staff await you at this Mission cafe. Not only is there ample room to type away for hours, those suffering from writer’s block will be adequately stimulated by the rotating art gallery, the New York Times available for purchase, and views of tan tennis players at the park across the street. (For those with weak computer batteries who aren’t crazy about sitting on bar stools, try hard to get the table next to the ATM: an extention cord is available to plug your baby in.)

2. Samovar Tea Lounge

This yoga lovers paradise is equally suitable for those with a bent for writing. With seemingly unlimited amounts of hot water available to keep your green tea flowing, the words will pour out in this serene cafe located in the Castro. Music is varied and inoffensive (and the waiters are open to suggestions), and there are assortments of small and large snacks to keep your energy up. Best of all, floor sitters will be well accommodated by the large table with floor cushions in the back.

3. Grove Fillmore

With all due respect to the two listed above, you can’t get much better for writing than this Pacific Heights cafe. This funky place has sockets at almost every table, comfy cushions on half the seats, great food, and a constant buzz of enthusiastic gabbers. You may have a wee bit of trouble finding a seat but, once you get one, you are set for the day.
Feel free to jot down your favorites. Am always keen on a new cafe to explore!

Hey Nicole…
Following the MT geek mixer is yet another reason to make the night hyper geeky.
This care of Eric
LobbyCon
The short version of this is, “Yo, let’s hook up for drinks and talk some shop.”
The topic: Audio/Video/Rich Media/Personal Broadcasting & Publishing/People’s Media
This is informal, I couldn’t tell you if three or thirty people are coming. It’s an experiement to be built upon.
The long version of this (sans Wiki, but written in 10 minutes):
When: Thursday 8/12/2004 7:30pm
Where: The Living Room (the lobby/lounge/bar) of the W Hotel, 3rd & Howard, San Francisco
What: Conversations on rich media, audio/video as a personal journalism and entertainment tool, portable & streaming content
How: Show up in the lobby/lobby cafe bar, buy two drinks, hand them to two other people, relax and talk shop
Attire: It’s SF, wear something black. It’s the law.
WiFi: $6.95
Inspired by: The Internet Drink Exchange; Cyborganic Thursday Night Dinners
Why: Because LobbyCons are a good idea.
Parking: Park someplace NOT at the W, unless $14/hr 7/addtl is a good rate
Sounds like a good time, don’t you think?

Every city I’ve ever lived in has a distinctive similarity to a relationship I’ve been in. For instance, Athens, OH, was similar to a sweet and brilliant musician I dated while I lived there. We used to stand on his balcony and look at the moon through his telescope, talking about life, the universe and everything while getting drunk and high. Ultimately, however, I decided I needed adventure and drama, not stability and simplicity, so I said goodbye to both Athens and the musician.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Los Angeles was something like the curly-haired one night stand I picked up at a goth club. At night the city seemed fast paced and glittering, with tones of passion and just a dash of hedonism. But similar to the shock of waking up next to someone who’s make up has worn off onto the bedsheets, who is now clearly visible as desperate, unhappy and searching for meaning by doing faceplants into a stranger’s lap, I quickly found L.A. to be less substance than surface. Although I left that girl as quickly as I could hitch a ride from her biker roommate, I stayed in L.A. far too long, to the point where any change was better than staying in that stifling hot and polluted city.

Luckily, fate helped me find my way to the Bay. Actually, I found my way here by staying on couches and scamming my job into transferring me before quitting three weeks after I moved. But still, fate helped. And now I am constantly and pleasantly surprised, even after an entire year living in the East Bay. Sure, it’s not quite the city, but I can see it from my bedroom window. I’m just close enough to get all the benefits of San Francisco, without the hassle of never having a parking spot.

In short, I am in love. It’s a tenuous kind of love, one that I could see being forever, but I’m a 21st century type and I know that kind of commitment is usually about as realistic as expecting to land a job at Pixar by scanning craigslist. But here’s what I do know: much like experiencing constant and gleeful surprises, because the person you’ve been with for 4 years wrote I love you in the steam on the bathroom mirror while you were taking a shower, the Bay rewards my faith by never letting my get bored, never letting my get complacent, and never letting me believe I know it too well.

In the same way that my current partner constantly reveals hitherto unknown pieces of his life, making me feel as though I am happily on an eternal third date, living in the Bay means that every time I miss my exit, or take a detour to avoid traffic, or go visit a friend in their new home, I learn something new about this city. I find myself catching my breath when I sight tiny deer bounding through my
neighborhood, or discover a ridiculously small cafe restaurant, nestled between an apartment complex and a car dealer, that serves Thai food to melt your heart.

Case in point: I recently had a house guest. The fact that it was my mother and her husband has little or no relevence, since I am one of the few twenty-somethings I know who actually enjoys spending time with parents. This is actually probably because they live 2800 miles away, but the whole thing is best left under-analyzed.

At any rate, the advent of the arrival or my parents, who will henceforth be referred to as Joe and Sheryl, was not only a chance for me to introduce them to my beloved city, but a chance for me to act like a tourist without shame. To continue the metaphor, I believe this is why people enjoy going to functions with their significant others; large social events give us all a chance to put on our best clothes, flirt
and drink and dance, and have witnesses to whom we can show off how much we love and adore our partner. In short, everything seems better with an audience.

Such is the case with houseguests. Though we avoided Fisherman’s Wharf, Joe and Sheryl insisted that we tour Telegraph Avenue and take pictures in front of Sproul Hall, where the demonstrators played their Bongos way back when student protests mattered. We missed viewing the sake musuem, located at one of only six sake wineries in the nation, which had a sign saying they were closed, despite the fact that they proclaimed ‘Free tastings from 12-6, every day’, but we did tour the Scharffen Berger factory. For those of you who have never tasted this chocolate (apparently favored by the likes of Matha Stewart), you are missing out on a true local treasure. They proudly detailed their brief but sweet (ha ha) history in the Bay in a short lecture held in a room with low wooden pews that bear profound resemblence to a small church. The hour long tour of this dairy free (and vegan safe!) facility conveniently ends in their gift shop, but not before they handed out a couple ounces worth of free samples of the different kinds of chocolate they make. It’s kind of like giving school kids a free sample of crack, and then bussing them to a drug house. But I digress.

The point is, the factory, located a short ways off I-80, is pretty much on my way home from work. I must have passed it countless times in my weekly forrays into Berkeley, and I never knew it was there.

Two years ago, I was shocked to find out that my partner took over eight years of piano lessons when he was young, a fact I’d never learned in the 4 years I’d known him. His skill with classical piano was not a secret he held, just not something that had ever come up in conversation. It’s like that with this city, too. This is not an elitist place, where the best parties are held behind doors that require
passwords to enter, and where even the valets size you up before they take your keys. I’m not idealistic enough to pretend those places don’t exist here, that there aren’t the occasional hot-spots that requires a background check in ‘hip’ before they let you through the door.
Overwhelmingly, though, the thing I love about this city, is that, much like all good relationships, the best things are the little surprises
you discover, when you take the time to explore.

Just to give y’all a heads up… The folks over at Movable Type are holding a sneak peek mixer of MT 3.1 at the Varnish Art Gallery in downtown San Francisco. I know some of you use MT as your weblog publishing tool, so this might be something you would be interested in. The mixer wil be on this Thursday, from 5:30 to 8:00 p.m. If you want to attend the mixer, you should RSVP via this web form as soon as possible. For more info on the mixer, click here.
I’m not working for them or anything; I just thought since I was going there anyway, it might be cool to meet a few of you metroblog authors/readers at the event.

Hee — “Cootie free”!


Looking at Twin Peaks from Alamo Square Park

I know it’s getting close to the San Francisco Summer, but my midwestern thoughts are already turning to autumn. And when they turn to autumn, they invariably turn to snow.
After my deep drift depression last winter, my husband promised we’d check out Lake Tahoe this year. That way I can roll in the flakes, make angels, and generally get my snowy ya-yas out.
Here’s the problem: having just moved here, we don’t know anything about where to stay. What’s cheap and pretty?
And by cheap, I mean less than $100 a night. And by pretty I mean, well, pretty.
Snow and cold, that’s all I ask.

Another reason why living in the Bay Area – rocks….

I love Middle Eastern Food. I suppose, if anything good comes out of US action in Iraq (stop and think before you hit that comment button, there’s no need to get into US policy here, we all have other blogs for that), perhaps it will be an influx of Middle Eastern immigrants who will open restaurants through which to share culture and fabulous dinners.
Two nights ago, I met up with a group of good friends for dinner at Kan Zaman in the (upper)Haight. It’s small, brightly and intricately decorated, vibrant, and full of the smell of warm pita, mint, and hookah smoke.
Tables are low, and you’ll sit on cushions surrounding intimate tables made for easy conversation and passing plates amongst your party. It’d make a great date restaurant, but ladies (or I suppose, gentlemen, in this city) take note: I was fresh from work and happened to be wearing a dress, not the best clothing for curling up under a table in a public place. Wear pants, a long, roomy skirt, bring a lap blanket or risk offering other diners an alternative show to the belly dancing.
One website I found says the owner is from Cairo, making the cuisine primarily Egyptian – but there I’m guessing the dishes are more regional than country-specific. Morocco and most of greater Persia are represented (and you can semi-place the spheres of influential food by the historic maps painted on the walls). Even if you’re new to the world of Middle Eastern food, you may also recognize Mediterranean elements – a spinach filled pastry creation, the name of which now escapes me, is like spanikopita’s better brother (an evaluation which prompted a 15 minute discussion over which culture influenced which).
We ordered from a group menu that allowed us to create our own dinner with 3 cold dishes, 3 hot dishes, dessert, and included their “Arabic Tea,” a soothing finish to a large meal. The meat pies, above-mentioned spinach dish, and chicken kabobs were excellent – as was the cucumber yogurt salad dish that mixed nicely with all the other flavors.
I didn’t get the reviews of my fellow diners, but if mood was any indication, we had lively conversation followed by much groaning about having consumed so much. And we left just before the belly dancer, which was too bad.
Then there’s the Hookah – the large, ornate water pipe (think the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, if you’re unfamiliar) made for sharing and offering different flavored tobaccos: honey, strawberry, apple, etc. Even non-smokers may want to try – the Hookah is very light and though the restaurant was undeniably smokey, it’s no Vegas casino. I left the restaurant wanting to read up on in-door smoking laws, however, since I couldn’t figure out how patrons were allowed to smoke during dinner hours (or at all, frankly). We inquired about getting a hookah for the table (a bit pricey, however, at $9-$11 per bowl), but were told they were disallowed until after 10pm. People at the bar, however, a mere 18 inches from our table happily puffed away. Hey man, whatever.
Prices were good, service was good (if a bit rushed – there’s only so many plates of food that can fit on a table), and the food was great. Go try it. And if anyone has a favorite Middle Eastern restaurant to suggest – please share. I’m always looking for good Persian food since I moved away from my SoCal spot . . . .
Kan Zaman
ADDRESS: 1793 Haight St. (near Shrader), San Francisco
PHONE: (415) 751-9656
HOURS: Open noon to 11 p.m. Sunday-Thursday, until midnight Friday and Saturday (bar stays open until 2 a.m.).
Reservations accepted and recommended.