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San Francisco

A Quinn Martin Production

Should it disturb me that the biggest excitement of my week has been the fact that Channel 20 has brought back reruns of “The Streets of San Francisco” weeknights at 3AM? And that I’m taping them and watching them in bulk this weekend?

Another TV highlight from a TV weekend: “Yours Mine and Ours” this morning on TNT. Brought back memories of this Deadhead I went out with a few times several years ago. He had an odd fascination with this movie. I never could figure out why.

Friday night’s diversion was Jim Hightower at the Plumbers’ Union Hall with Sarah, followed by a few low-impact moments in the corner bar which included an uninspiring bout of oral sex in a back corner.

Today, I’m redesigning the site. You might have noticed.

Ye Olde Pizza Joint

Sign

What a find!

OK…so I pride myself on having a pretty good eye for noteworthy dives, which seem to be cheap and somewhat supsended in time. But this one is the best one I’ve come across in years. I’ve passed it several times while driving down Hesperian Boulevard in Hayward and filed it away for a future visit. I didn’t realize that Ye Olde Pizza Joynt would be the kind of place I’ve been seeking (without success) for such a long time.

The Pizza Joynt opened in 1958, about the same time all the tract houses were going up on the edge of Hayward. In the early 60’s, owner Carsten Heningsen added an unusual touch: the decommissioned organ from San Francisco’s Warfield Theater. After this, all remodelng seems to have stopped, leaving the Pizza Joynt pretty much frozen in about 1964.

It’s dark, with the only illumination coming from some strange hybrid “western-style” lamps overhead. Wood panelling covers the walls. Dark wooden picnic-style tables with benches provide the seating. An order-taking contraption involving tinfoil and numbered chips evokes memories of long-forgotten “high tech”. And at one end of the dining room, there’s this tremendous organ, illuminated by a spotlight and a candelabra of flickering electric candles.

The Pizza Joynt is not really even campy. They’ve avoided the temptation of plastering the walls with cute old signs (aside from the Wurlitzer neon and two signs reminding parents to keep their rugrats in tow). They’ve managed to skip the trend toward pastels and plants and bright flourescent lights (a la Denny’s) or “instant cute” (as in TGI Friday’s). Were the joynt not located in the Fascist Repulblic of California, one could imagine it filled with smoke, especially around the bar. By the way…there’s a bar…

Big surprise: the place still brings in huge crowds on weekends. Maybe not everyone has fallen completely for the sanitized family restaurants of the 90’s. Even in the age of canned adult-contemporary Muzak, some people actually prefer a live guy sitting at the organ, playing standards and even Christmas songs. A train medely (which, through the magic of theater organ technology, made me think the Wabash Cannonball was about to crash through one of the walls) even included the theme to “Petticoat Junction”.

 

Guests
David, Sarah, Brad (roomie not pictured).

And the pizza is incredible. None of this foofy “feta, tofu, and sun-dried tomatoes on a whole wheat crust” bullshit (although pineapples are offered, for some inexplicable reason). Amazing crust, amazing cheese, and truly amazing prices.

Alas, this kind of place could no longer exist in San Francisco. One of two things would have happened. it might have become yet another trendy California pizza cafe, offereing pasta dishes and individual pans of pseudo-healthy crap. Otherwise, some designer fag might have bought the place, expanded its camp value and turned it into a microbrewery.

We love Hayward, with its tendency to thumb its nose at the pretentiousness of the Bay Area in general. And we really love Ye Olde Pizza Joynt!

Ye Olde Pizza Joynt, 19150 Hesperian Boulevard, Hayward.
Open every night; no organ music on Mondays and Tuesdays. Some credit cards accepted.

The Earth Moved

Before anyone asks, it was a complete and total non-event. A magnitude of 5.4 according to the fine folks at Richter (a subsidiary of Microsoft). If not for the accompanying media frenzy, half the Bay Area might well not even have noticed. Of course, native Californians being such a jaded bunch, they generally don’t admit to feeling anything less than a 7.0 anyhow…

From the coverage on local TV, though, you’d think this was the first time California had ever had an earthquake. Jeez…talk about overkill… It brought to mind the panic that hits in places like North Carolina, when the TV stations spend hours going over emergency procedures in preparation for the two-inch layer of snow which MIGHT be on the ground in the morning…

I wouldn’t have noticed either, except for the fact that the damned thing woke me up at 7:15 in the morning (almost two hours earlier than I needed to be awake) and I never quite got back to sleep. This was not amusing at all, since I was already up half the night thanks to the hunger of the El Nino-generated mosquitoes.

This was probably the fourth or fifth noticeable but minor quake in my six years here. The first coincided, as these things do, with my mom’s first visit to SF. It came just after I’d dropped her off at her hotel. I called to say good night. Suddenly my roomie (who was watching the news) yelled “earthquake” from the next room. I asked where. I got my answer pretty quickly.

Mom seemed a little nervous. My aunt, who was also visiting, sounded terrified. I, working on my “Californian” credential, was mildly amused…

The second came a few months later, as I was lying in bed having…ummm…some quality time by myself. Suffice to say, when the earth moved that night, it REALLY moved…

By the way, no one believes that last story, but it’s really true…

Ultimately, I’ve been in storms back east which sacred me lots more than this earthquake. Keep in mind that SF has had two (maybe three) quakes of any particular significance in the past 100 years. I know a few trailer parks in North Carolina which get that many tornadoes in a decade…

Best of the Bay

What I didn’t expect was a phone call from my friend Avery congratulating me for being a Best of the Bay winner in this week’s Guardian. This came out of nowhere! To be voted one of a handfull of the best web sites in the Bay Area by the editors of the best newspaper in the Bay Area is pretty fuckin’ cool! Yer humble host is even more humble thatn usual (though not too humble to mention the award, you’ll note…)

For those of you from outside the area, the Guardian is SF’s equivalent of the Village Voice or the Chicago Reader. There is no publication in the city from which I’d be happier to receive an award. I’ve been reading the annual Best of the Bay issue since before I moved here in 1992. Never figured I’d actually be IN it.

So now I get to be in the winners’ photo shoot in the morning at Kezar Stadium. I get the cool certificate like they have at Naked Eye and Pancho Villa and even Kinko’s (which was voted “Best Insomniac Playground” a few years back). I get the strange satisfaction of seeing my name in newsprint.

This is cool!

San Francisco, Herb Caen, and Me

I guess I will forever love — and forever be annoyed by — the city currently known as San Francisco. No better way to reflect on both extremes than by re-reading old Herb Caen columns. I used to fantasize about taking over for him, as a sort of “Mr. San Francisco” for the 90’s, although I know deep down that I’d never qualify.

There are minor similarities between us, I guess. Like Herb (if I may be so informal), I’m fiercely possessive of a city I wasn’t born in. Like the late Mr. Caen, I feel a tremendous sense of nostalgia for a San Francisco which is long gone. A big difference, however, is that Herb lived this past. I never did. Herb romanticized through reflection. I romanticize through Herb (and assorted others).

Thousands, even millions of words have been written about this city, past and present. The past, no doubt, could never have lived up to its reputation. And my God, what a reputation! From the crazy (or opportunistic) Emperor Norton to the “opium dens” of old Chinatown to the earthquake to the backrooms of Folsom Street…my God…

Thirty years ago, Herb wrote about how the corporate mentality was making San Francisco increasingly bland and generic. Today, I worry about the same thing. Herb was interested in the small places and unique individuals, and the historical context which added life to the present-day landscape. So am I. In many ways, the 60’s and 70’s were not kind to the city, bringing us such hideous bastardizations of urban space as Embarcadero Center and the “new” Japantown. Perhaps the prosperity of the 80’s and 90’s will prove even more destructive, as we build a theme park city so “cute” it is in danger of choking on its own espresso-flavored bile.

Maybe the romantic San Francisco of the past never really existed in the first place, or at least not for a large portion of the population. Maybe it’s always been “just a place” to many of its residents. Who knows?

It’s obviously “just a place” to a large number of its affluent new residents who obviously couldn’t give two shits about the history and customs of the place they’re helping to destroy with their “lifestyle lofts”, their Starbucks and Pasta Pomodoros, and their aggressively incompetent driving. Too many of these people are here simply because of the job market , and not due to any particular affection for the place. They have no context and can’t be bothered to try.

But San Francisco wasn’t “just a place” to Herb. It’s not “just a place” to me. I love it here, although sometimes I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I love what remains of the leftist, offbeat sensibility. I love not fearing violence when I kiss a guy goodnight on a street corner. I love knowing that San Francisco existed prior to my arrival in 1992 and I love knowing how this past affects the future. Unfortunately, the future looks a little frightening right now. But maybe it always has…

Storms and the Sunset

I’m really amused at how excited I am about the current round of storms here. By the east coast standards of someone who has seen hurricanes, this El Nino crap is pretty tame. But in my five and a half years in San Francisco, this is the first storm I’ve seen which has been even moderately worth paying attention to.

To start with, there was thunder and real lightning, sporadic though it may have been. There was even actual real (almost) hard rain, but of course, this didn’t really compare to the east coast soakers which force even the most arrogant drivers to the side of the road.

All the same, it was pretty, unless you had to experience it as your house was sliding down a hill or rushing down a river. The roomie and I were inspired to make a quick beach trip during a lull on Saturday afternoon, in search of carnage, choppy seas, or at least the woman we’d been watching all weekend on the Weather Channel. We found the choppy seas, but settled on lunch at the Doggie Diner in lieu of the rest.

Aaah, the Doggie Diner on Sloat Blvd…it’s the last relatively-intact remnant of a mid-century Bay Area chain. One still stands in Alameda, but minus the defining doggie. The SF location, across from the zoo and now known as the Carousel, serves up great burgers and chili dogs, and makes you forget completely that you’re in the most pretentious city on the west coast.

People know each other here. People are friendly here. The guys are very cute in that semi-suburban way which says they haven’t yet bought into the wholesale fashion culture mandated east of Twin Peaks. Everybody in the place knew the guy shown above; they talked about how he was going to Chico State now. I had really intense cravings to follow him there, not just becuase he was fuck-gorgeous (which he was) but also because he looked like he was capable of having a really good time on the spur of the moment without getting too complicated or worrying about what he was wearing or how developed his pecs were.

It’s like this all over the Sunset, actually. I worked in the area for a couple of years and was amazed at how different the west side of town is. And while I’m not itching to pull up stakes and move here, I’m also not convinced that this difference is necessarily as bad as we on the “cool side of town” seem to believe.

But I digress. Back to the storm. After the Doggie Diner, we took the unbelievable maze of subdivision roads into Pacifica, where some real weather was starting to kick in. The pier was closed, the roads were getting wetter, and just for a minute it almost looked like an eastern coastal town (except, of course, for the mountain backdrop).

Pacifica is such a creepy place, but I’m fascinated by it. The overall tone is suburban, but I’m not sure if it’s a suburb of San Francisco, Daly City, or just the ocean. It doesn’t really act like a beach town either. Maybe the perpetual fog just attracts those who would rather not be bothered by anyone else and who want an eerily quite space in which to commune with the sea, each other, or whatever.

Darkness set in, and we headed back to the City, still being amused at how exciting this relatively low-level storm seemed given the general blandness of Northern California weather. I watched the Weather Channel some more. This may be the closest experience to a “blizzard watch” I get for a while. That’s probably not a bad thing.

Christmas in the City

Signs of Christmas in the City:

  • Embarcadero Center looks like four hugely disproportionate Christmas presents and the Transamerica Pyramid looks like an oversized tree.
  • Driving down Fifth Street near Market is something only the bravest among us will risk.
  • The absence of crowds due to Christmas parties and people leaving the city actually made the Hole in the Wall Saloon bearable last night.
  • Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley was closed off today so that all the people who scorn materialism and commercialism could make a quick buck selling T-shirts, crystals, and a plethora of strange-smelling items.
  • The ratio of Christmas songs to other types on Muzak and KABL has finally hit 99-1.

Note du jour: a recent look at a cheap Spanish-English dictionary finds “Hanukkah” defined as “Christmas for the Jews”. I’ll let this one stand on its own…umm…merits and close with it.

Cold

It is absolutely freezing cold here, or so it seems. Mind you, it never really gets all THAT cold in San Francisco; I doubt the temperature has fallen below 40F (4C). But in colder climates people have a miraculous thing which is lacking here: HEAT.

You’d be amazed just how hard it is to find heat here. The place I work doesn’t have any at all, the logic being that the machines generate a sufficient amount. My apartment has one under-powered gas blower which keeps the ceiling of the hallway toasty warm and wouldn’t dare intrude on any of the rooms.

This lack of warmth is everywhere, from restaurants to stores to bars to buses. I’ve spent nights in drafty old Victorians which made me long for the warmth of a snow-covered house back east. I’ve bought clothes in department stores without trying them on just because I couldn’t face being naked in the dressing room.

This could be why San Franciscans seem to get one cold which starts in November and lasts until March, never really getting very serious, but always lurking under the surface. Colds here are just like the weather: chronic, never acute.

But in a few short months, we’ll be warm again. The temperatures will climb, and — of course — no one here has air conditioning either…

I Just Don’t Understand

I just don’t understand:

  • Why does anyone watch MTV these days? Is it just that I’ve aged out of the target audience or are endless reruns of “Road Rules” and “The Real World” just plain BORING?
  • How is it that in one of the wealthiest cities in one of the wealthiest nations in the world, there are homeless people who will spend the holidays barricaded outside Golden Gate Park?
  • Why is it that I always expect people in Volvos to be really incompetent and indecisive drivers? And why am I correct in this assumption about 80% of the time?
  • Why is it that I always expect people in BMWs to be really arrogant and inconsiderate drivers? And why am I correct in this assumption about 95% of the time?
  • Why do people who live in outlying suburbs, pay no city taxes, and contribute virtually nothing to the urban economy feel they have ANY right to complain about the city?
  • What is the point of the SF Sidewalk web site? And why would anyone go there when they could hit the Guardian site instead?
  • Who the hell buys all those millions of copies of “Reader’s Digest” which are sold every month?
  • Why does it cost 50 cents more to sell a gallon of gas in San Francisco than in Atlanta? I somehow thought there was more oil in California than in Georgia.
  • When did people start believing that being rude and unreasonable would get better “results” than being civil and polite?
  • How can anyone spend an hour talking on the phone with someone who lives less than a mile away?

Nicotine Fits

As many of you may already know, smoking is officially banned in all San Francisco bars as of 1 January 1998. I’ve been waiting to write about this, trying to find some version of logic which works for me on this subject, and so far I’ve been unable to.

Don’t get me wrong here. I don’t really have a problem with regulations covering smoking in restaurants, most offices, and stores. But bars? Give me a break. With all due respect, bars ain’t health clubs. People don’t go to bars for that warm fuzzy feeling that comes after a good workout or a really tasty smoothie. Frankly, bars are inherently unhealthy places, and frankly smoking is an important part of this ritual unhealthiness.

I’ve been really hard-pressed to find anyone who really supports this move, among smokers or non-smokers (although I’m certain I’ll hear a few comments to the contrary now). From a number of eavesdropping sessions, I’ve been able to learn that the police couldn’t even give a fuck on this issue, and that enforcement will probably be pretty lax.

So has the drive to create a prettier, healthier, sanitized, family-friendly San Francisco gone too far? Maybe I’m being completely irrational, but I think it has. I also think this law will have about as much weight as the prohibition against jay-walking.