Zucchini Fries with Chris Daly

Last night, after the ballet, I finally stopped by the Buck Tavern. Former supervisor Chris Daly just signed a twenty-two-month lease to run it. Daly’s dive is fantastic, you must stop by the next time you’re in San Francisco. Two dollars gets you a massive basket of fries, the private alcove in the back has red vinyl seats, and there’s one pinball machine (Mars Attacks, two bucks for five games).

2000-10 is considered the “Daly Decade” by many in SF for his boisterous voice and sometimes isolated vote on the Board of Supervisors; last month, when the board’s president David Chiu cast his vote for Ed Lee to become interim mayor instead of a more leftwing candidate, Daly told him on the record, “I will haunt you. It’s on like Donkey Kong.” Chiu and Lee are progressive enough, they’re just fine, but that’s the kind of politician Daly was, a windbaggy force his Tenderloin constituents were lucky to have, the kind of city council member that worked hard to make SF different from the Panera-laden, interstate-covered, free-parking BIG SADNESSES that make up the American urban landscape.

So I thought is was cool when I went to order the first round, because he is now the bartender, server of zucchini fries, and régaler of my table. A loud, slurring white guy at the counter ruined my geek-out moment, “You could be making… a hundred bucks an hour as a consultant, man, but you’re serving us beer instead.”

San Francisco has become more moderate. We’re still banning phone books and plastic bags, but the last election resulted in an ordinance that bans sitting on sidewalks and ushered in a couple of pro-business centrists to the Board of Supervisors. And, if I may: The three-story building next to mine installed a car garage, removed street trees, and converted a triplex into a single-family home over the course of eighteen loud months of construction. This new "house" is ten feet away from the frackin' J-train station, for frack's sake, why did they need to install a frackin' garage?

Excursus. I don’t think escapism should carry a negative connotation. People who think they are meaningfully and willingly connecting with the world probably engage in the same kind of narrative invention that escapists rely on in order to survive. Maybe Daly’s dive represents a geographical contraction of that strange and wonderful space which the city, in his mind and for good reason, no longer stands for. Once upon a time you could ditch Chemlawns, entitled drivers, and Baptist proselytizers for a city where landlords must provide compost collection, medical marijuana dispensaries sell vegan pastries, and topless dancers are unionized. You still can, but if all that feels threatened, then open a bar you can always escape to.

In any case I know that S. Sandrigon would love it at the Buck Tavern. Apparently during the State of the Union they hosted a drinking game and political discussion. See you there soon, editor-in-chief!

Beards We Know, Part Two: Beards We Knew

Many of you have never met Mr Pete Zillman! However, I have, I have gone to high school with the man! Altho I have not seen him nor his beard in ten years, his larger-than-life performance of the hair-dryer solo in Danny Holt's composition Relief, will be forever burned into my brain. Mr Zillman lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan, & in his spare time, travels to State Capitols. He has been to many, many of our fifty State Capitols! Today, in our special segment for the Department of Beards, Sub-Department of Beards We Know, where we honor & gaze upon the beards we have met - we sadly mourn the passing of Mr Zillman's Beard! Here are the before & after shot, posted on the facebooks this week.

Beard of The Amazon Past

Beards We Know, Part One: Special February Mustache Month Edition, Focus on Sierra Nevada Mountains

In our new segment in the Department of Beards, Beards We Know, we'd like to highlight a few of the beards we got to know in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. In honor of February Mustache Month, I've tried to include a picture of the beard next to it in its mustache formation. I must note sadly that, like mine, many of these beards have now left us.




Mr Tomas, gambler & world traveler, cofounder of the Mimosas Witnesses, showcasing his Red Revolutionary Beard next to his Turkish Mystic mustache. Very nice.




















Mr Martineau, quite handsome in just a mustache...
















& also in his shaggy mountain look (here pictured with Mr Quill & Herr Liebwiener.)
















Mr Hermann, band promoter & Obama caucus organizer, the kindest soul, native of Naples, Vermont, where even the young girls have beards.















Mr Ficke, the angels still sing of your facial hair. Just yesterday, in the cold gutters of Santiago, you posted this memo on the facebooks:

Beard v. Chile. Chile VICTORIOUS.

Yesterday at 4:35pm

Yes, Mega-Beard #2 has taken leave of my face. I granted its freedom last night after I couldn´t shake the thought... ¨wait, why do I still have this beard?¨ At first I was just gonna trim, but you get few beers in me and I tend to start shaving things. This time, there is no photographic evidence of the process, but ohhh, there´s nothing like it. Using tiny scissors to take chunks out of something that has been lounging on my visage for about 6 months now.. holding the gnarly ball of red, beholding the glorious ¨butt chin¨that has been in seclusion for so long. As Eva Freeman would put it, I´ve reverted to ¨Nakey Bum-Face¨. Once again, it was astonishing to discover how small my face really is, and how much I lstill look like that high school marching band picture my mom has framed upstairs. Freaky.

My main ammo for provoking /shocking passersby in South America is gone. But I still secretly snicker at the disturbing proliferation of mullets. My god, man, I´ve discovered the nexus of the next mullet uprising, and I believe it to be a combined effort of Chile and Argentina. When traveling solo, you quickly realize one steadfast truth--you have TIME. Ever feel like you don´t have enough time in the day? Buy a one way ticket and go somewhere alone. Time will become, depending on your level of creativity and willingness to explore, your friend or your bane, but most likely a poignant combo of both. My point is, you develop little habits, or create games. One of my favorite pasttimes quickly became ¨Mullet Tabulation¨. There aren´t really any rules or points or winning, but beer is definitely recommended.

MULLETS.

So, instead of feeling slightly insecure in Latin America about my monstrous beard, now I´m self-conscious of the void hovering about my grill. It´s cool though, as I think that, maybe, quite possibly, a girl yelled (in Spanish) something that perhaps could be translated as ¨call me!¨

Sometimes its the random comments from passing cars that count the most.