Rice Twice

The café I was at today on Polk street has a sign at thigh height behind the counter that reads: “Friends don’t let Friends go to Starbucks.” This café is situated across from a Starbucks and attracts some interesting characters. I was sitting next to one as I downed a double latte.

I glanced towards the table adjacent to mine and the man over there was shaking out little krispies from his box of Rice Twice. It was a large box, not one of those single-serving ones, and it advertised itself as being Fat-Free and Gluten-Free.

He shook the contents aiming for his hand, but more often than not, the krispies ended up on the floor. He then shook his hand, aiming for his mouth, but more often than not, the krispies ended up on the floor. There was no milk, there was no bowl, there was just a box and a man with a bad plan.

The only thing distinguishing him from other fifty-something-year-olds and the only thing that attracted my attention to him was his Rice Twice.

In this Fat-Free, Gluten-Free, Starbucks-filled world we live in, even indulging oneself by eating cereal becomes an idiosyncrasy and can change one’s status from man at café to intriguing man at café.

No Thank You Very Much

I would not like to give thanks today to the following:

- The dog who keeps shitting on the sidewalk in front of my flat. Yeah, I love dogs but since I haven’t seen you yet I’ll pretend you’re a really fat, one-eyed, ugly mutt with no regard for people’s shoes whatsoever. I’m tired of playing kick the shit. You leave behind your little gifts one more time and I’m going to set out a dog trap damnit and turn you into dog soup. I’ve been needing to get in touch with my Korean culinary heritage.

- The little decrepit man behind the counter at the used bookstore. When I come up to the register and buy three books you’re not supposed to say, “This is a great one.” You’re only fueling my bad habit of book buying and you know it. When I slide my credit card across the counter you should throw it back in my face. You want my autograph because you can sense that I'm going to be famous one day but there are less sly ways to get it from me. You’re supposed to tell me to save my money and go check them out at the library. You’re supposed to tell me these are really crappy old versions and not worth what I’m paying for them at all. In fact, you should give them to me for free since I just spent forty minutes browsing every single title and ended up choosing “a great one.”

- The dust bunnies that invade my apartment. Where the hell do you little fuckers come from? I see you breezing on by as I’m walking down the hall, looking all innocent and fuzzy. I see you sneaking into sneakers and I even see you when you’re all tucked away into tight corners ready for nighty night. You better watch out, one day I’m going to Swiffer your asses and then you bunnies will be sorry you ever floated your way into my realm.

- After Thanksgiving day shoppers. Two years ago when I got up at the ass crack of dawn post-Thanksgiving, you guys still beat me to Best Buy. I thought I was going to get a computer for $599 but they gave away all the tickets by then. The store opened at six and I got there at six but there were already six hundred of you in line. You early morning morons need to get into a catastrophic car accident on the way over, that’s what you all need to do. One big collision involving anyone driving on the highway before five am. It’s only fair.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Hottie Alert - Edition #1

Women of San Francisco, with my inaugural edition of Hottie Alert I would like to showcase two of the city’s sweetest pieces of eye candy. Scanning SF for gorgeous, hopefully not gay guys is a chore, but I will take on the responsibility if I must. Future alerts will be available as soon as more sightings occur. I could easily harbor this precious information but I’m not greedy like that.

Hottie A
Who: A dark-haired, fair-skinned, dewy-eyed, European barista
Where: Café Trieste in North Beach
When: Sighted approximately three months ago, on a chilly Wednesday afternoon

How: The door adjacent to the café was ajar. He was sitting on the steps with his little apron on. We see each other. I walk into the café, he walks into the café. He readies himself behind the counter. I stand in line and the fat barista next to him takes my order for a latte.

Why he’s a Hottie: He says to the women behind me, “I’m sorry ma’am, we don’t accept credit cards.” Mundane words to most, but when he said it, with a sexy Euro accent, it was the hottest phrase I’ve ever heard. I have not been back there since (yes, the café is a five-minute walk from me so I can revisit him anytime, but isn‘t anticipation more alluring?).

Comparable to: The tiramisu at Panta Rei. The first time I had it was about a year ago and ever since then I had been dreaming and raving about it. I finally had my second taste last week (yes, the restaurant is a five-minute walk from me so I could have had it much earlier) and it was just as great, if not better, than the first time around.


Hottie B
Who: A tall, skinny (but not too skinny), floppy-haired (but not too floppy), stagehand indie boy
Where: The Great American Music Hall
When: Sighted last night, on stage, before the Shout Out Louds’ concert

How: The Rosebuds from North Carolina depart to make way for the main act and out comes a green-shirted god. With steady and strong hands he fine tunes the guitars, gracefully unwinds and walks over wires and essentially turns chaos into calm.

Why he’s a Hottie: He may not have been the lead singer, or even part of the band, but Hottie B sure knows how to fill in the gap between performances by providing the ladies with a mighty fine piece of as* (that’s so classy of me to not spell ass out). The Shout Out who’s? I would have been quite pleased to watch him unravel wires all night long.

Comparable to: A great song that you wish would never end. As soon as the last notes start to evaporate you push the repeat button so there is a sense of continuity, however forced it may be.

Broken Social Scene Concert

I was going to write an article about the BSS concert I saw last week but all I had to say was: WOW!

Doesn’t make for a very interesting entry and so I’ve decided to direct my dear readers to my friend Ian’s more in-depth article and his fabulous blog, Mesh Magazine’s San Francisco Music Calendar.

Here is an excerpt from said article:

“Varying musicians also made special appearances, including…the lovely Lisa from whatever band she is in. She's just really pretty and provided as a good fill-in for another lovely lady, Emily Haines, in "Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl." There's just something about her hair, Lisa that is, that makes me get all excited.” - Ian

I think many a man was moved that night by the double beehive ensemble that jutted out from the lovely Lisa’s temples. I should wear my hair like that, maybe then I’ll get a man.

What We Do at 5 a.m.

It’s always good to know people who have been beaten up.

What we do at 11 p.m. : It’s Thursday night and my roommate Minhlan and I don’t have to wait in a line that’s wrapped around the block to get into a club where a live band is playing. Our friend of a friend was accidentally beat up by the bouncers of the club a while ago and had his nose broken. They worked out a deal where he and anyone with him can skip to the front of the line and get in for free, for life.

What we do at 12 a.m. : Share a Sprite and pretend to enjoy the band.

What we do at 1 a.m. : Attempt to make sense of the gibberish that’s coming out of the mouths of drunk guys who try to get us to dance with their friends. We dance with beaten-up boy and his posse instead.

What we do at 2 a.m. : We don’t succumb to the offerings of Osha Thai restaurant that have often satiated our late-night cravings. Osha’s a place where the waiter has a crush on your friend, where they bring out the food seconds after you’ve ordered it, where there’s the occasional dead fruit fly atop the pineapple fried rice and where they spill chili flakes all over the table at the end of the meal. It’s top notch.

Instead of Osha we go grocery shopping at the 24-hour Safeway with the intention of picking up cuties and some vegetables. Minhlan’s feet hurt from all the dancing in her new shoes so I tell her to hop in the cart but she refuses and stands on the end of the cart instead. I try my best not to ram all 95 pounds of her into a display of Cheez-Its.

We skip the vegetables and head straight for the ice cream aisle where 2-for-1 Dreyers is an offer we can’t pass up. We also buy chocolate covered biscuits and then some juice so we can rationalize to ourselves that we are, in fact, getting something healthy.

We’re laughing at anything and everything as I push her from one aisle to the next. Who knew a loaf of bread could be so amusing? I’m sure the shelf stockers think we are high. The only other people shopping are a couple and a woman who earnestly tells the cashier that she came to the store not wanting to spend over $10 and that she had spent exactly $10. She is very proud of herself.

What we do at 3 a.m. : We come home and make really strong espresso with lots of cream and sugar because it’s the best night cap. We attempt to watch two different movies and fail miserably. With eyelids drooping down to our knees we eventually surrender to sleep.

What we do at 4 a.m. : Open our eyes for a moment and immediately close them again.

What we do at 5 a.m. : We tell each other to go to bed already. I sleepwalk to my room, trying not to wake my roommate Lissette up and Minhlan slumbers on the sofa.

At least we still have the weekend.

de Young

I finally made it over to the new de Young museum in Golden Gate Park. These are my favorite works from the collection: (I was going to provide a link to each, but the images online are horrible so it’s better to get off your lazy ass and view them at the museum.)

Edwin Walter Dickinson: “The Cello Player”
Everett Shinn: “Outdoor Stage, France”
Richard Avedon: “Lew Alcindor, Basketball Player, New York”
Alexander Liberman: “Marcel Duchamp’s Hands Playing Chess”
Thomas Wilmer Dewing: “Elizabeth Platt”
Jefferson David Chalfant: “Bou guereau’s Atelier at the Academie Juilian, Paris”
Bansky: “Have a Nice Day”

“Have a Nice Day” is the image you see above. Those are smiley faces in case you can't tell. It is probably overlooked by most museum attendees because it’s practically hidden and not much bigger than a birthday card. I believe it may have been scotch taped to the wall. Hint: While overlooking the courtyard below, turn your back to the images outside.

Edward Steichen: “Noel Coward”

Quotes by Coward (a 20th Century British renaissance man):
-I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.
-It is discouraging how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.
-I'm not a heavy drinker, I can sometimes go for hours without touching a drop.
-I've sometimes thought of marrying - and then I've thought again.

Arcade Fire/Bowie/Katrina

So I’m actually using the links on my sidebar and you should be too (I'll add more later, be patient people). I clicked on Pitch Fork Media and the first story is about an upcoming version of Arcade Fire’s song “Wake Up” with special guest David Bowie. Two of my favorite performers together on one kick-ass song. The rendition will be available for only one week on iTunes, starting November 14th. Don’t miss it because I’m not going to let you burn a copy from me and besides, the profits will supposedly go towards Hurricane Katrina relief.

Speaking of Hurricane Katrina, I would like to give a shout out to my family in Florida (if you're lucky I‘ll give you a shout out in a future blog entry): To my mom who evacuated in an RV with one of her patients and did not return my phone calls for days. When my sister Ashley called her and said the hurricane hit her place, she told her, "It's not attractive to be stressing out."

To Ashley who now has electricity once again and no longer has a tree in her living room. She is currently buying more goodies at Home Depot for her new condo at this very moment, enabling her to cross off objects from her “I Want” list, comprised of neccessities such as a marble floor and 24K gold-plated drawer handles.

To my sister Amber who does what she always does in an emergency situation - she drives up to her boyfriend’s house, begins her TV-a-thon and watches everything but the news, including Laguna Beach, CSI and Pimp My Ride.

I am extremely happy you are all alive, just please stop trying to make me move back home.

Not a Food Blog

You might think that since my first two entries have been about food that this is going to be a food blog. Well you thought wrong. Just because I’ve started it this way and will mention food throughout my blog does not mean that this is a food blog. On the contrary; this is a highbrow hodgepodge blog of utter importance aimed at intelligent minds. I will eventually write about things that actually matter, like the effects of globalization on goldfish.

How to get the most out of an all-you-can-eat buffet

The all-you-can-eat buffet is an American institution that has gratified gluttonous truck drivers, penny pinchers and over-eaters since its inception. The issue of quality vs. quantity is simply not an issue as the latter has far more clout than the former. Many eaters believe they are getting the most out of their meal but I am here to tell you that sadly, that’s just not the case, unless you are following all of the guidelines below:

Sit as close to the buffet as possible - Proximity is of extreme importance. If the drumsticks are within arms length, you are saving precious seconds that could be spent eating by not having to push your chair back, walking to the buffet and potentially maneuvering around other patrons. Every professional all-you-can-eater knows this is a key step to a successful scarfing experience.

Breathe - In, out, in, out. This always helps. As unimportant as it may seem at the moment, maintaining air flow allows the body to properly respond to the massive amount of food intake. Inhaling sweet potato curry does not count. Your next inhalation needs to be air only.

Unbutton your pants - You already have a belly button and you sure as hell don’t want a second one so undo that pesky button and free your flab. Or better yet, wear stretchy elastic pants.

Bring plastic Ziploc bags - Just think of how good the mu shu pork will be in five hours. The Ziploc Zipper bags are the most spill-proof and have time and again proven to be the best at keeping the scent of rotten food that is shamefully left in cars contained. An added bonus is the attractiveness of the purple Zipper.

Don’t let time limit you - I was at an all-you-can-eat in Amsterdam’s red-light district recently where it was all-you-can-eat Chinese within an hour. That’s simply NOT enough time. You must arrive 15 minutes prior to the opening of the buffet to ensure your proximal seat and you must stay until the end or you will have to relinquish the title of professional all-you-can-eater.

Don’t leave a tip - It’s like an automatic 15% discount. Your waiter may have been charming and helpful but it is a buffet after all. Fetching water is not a service, it’s a distraction.

Drink water only at the end of the meal - Add a digestive aid to get the most out of your liquid intake. Alka-Seltzer was so last decade. Smooth Move is an herbal remedy for stomach maladies, a laxative that comes in the form of a tea bag, available at your nearest Walgreen’s.

Ode to the Fruit Man of Miami

I reminisce about those summer days when you rode around in a truck you surely stole from the Ice Cream Man, enticing little old ladies and housewives galore to your crappy ass four-wheeled store. I, too, couldn’t resist the ring of your bells and the clear plastic bags filled with mangos, papayas, prickly pineapples and plantains. A dollar a bag was a bargain for sure as the fruits ripe with juice proved to be a tantalizing lure. Burdened with my bundle I would return to my kitchen, grateful that you existed. For you, Fruit Man, were a blessing no doubt, delightful enough while distributing the treats of tropic angels.

But now you have a further calling, for I do not live there anymore. I beckon you to come to the city of hills, across rivers and mountains and more. We will trade in your shitty stolen truck for a trolley no less, bigger bells, bigger whistles, because bigger is best. You will take the city by storm and stop at my doorstep because I have chased you long enough. We will rest together for a moment and in that moment, revel in the success of our quixotic quest.

Disclaimer

If you know me, have known me or will know me, please be aware that you may possibly become fodder for my antics. My intent is not to harm, but rather, to provide entertainment for internet surfers at large. Please don't bitch slap me. I have your best interests at heart.