Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown.

While the previous visit had taken me through a less touristy region, this time I decided to go for the tacky touristy version that had so impressed me as a kid.

I took the cable car from the turnaround at Fisherman's Wharf to Bush & Powell, near the Chinatown gate. From there, I walked up Grant to Broadway, stopping in souvenir shops and taking pictures of whatever amused me.

My Jebus sense was tingling. I saw this display from across the street.




This guy was sitting in front of a bank playing that horn thing. I was loud as hell, and I could hear it from a block away. I took this photo from across the street, but I saw a couple people get all up in his face and snap pictures.

If I recall correctly, I think I saw a few of these shops. I'm still not sure if Blest is supposed to be Blessed or Best.

At the top of Grant, on Broadway, I paused in front of a bakery long enough to notice the ice cream displayed. In the larger image above, you can just make out some of the flavours, like banana, strawberry, green tea, and dragonfruit.


This photo shows just a few of the other flavours for sale. Taro. They had taro ice cream. Naturally I had to go inside.

This place was clearly not a tourist spot, as the menus were completely in Chinese, and the women working the counter spoke heavily-accented English to a white couple in line before addressing me in Chinese. I wish I had found this place earlier, because I would've walked up there every day and gotten a different flavour. The taro was delicious and creamy, and if I hadn't been pigging out on bao and red bean flavoured pastry, I would've gotten a scoop of lychee to go with it.

In its own way, ultra-touristy Chinatown was every bit as enjoyable as slightly-less-touristy Chinatown.

Home-Made Prozac: Personal Grooming Edition

Some six years ago, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy taught me the pure, unabashed joy of watching a man have patches of hair ripped off of his body. It's not that I didn't think it would be funny, I just hadn't seen it until then. Now, Marvo at The Impulsive Buy has posted a video of his first ever chest waxing:

That clip, while funny as hell, lacks the Jackass-ness to make it truly great. So, I present these guys. When you watch, ask yourself "Which is more gay?":


I'm gonna get behind you.


Oooh, I'm gonna do my nipple too.

That's the first time I've been grateful for Coit Tower

If you decide to visit Coit Tower while in San Francisco--and you really should--for the love of gawd, walk there. You can drive, take a cab, or catch the bus to a nearby place, but if you value your sanity you will put on some sensible shoes and walk your ass up that hill. If my fat ass can manage it, you can too. If anything, you should do it for the sense of accomplishment you'll get.

In the full-sized version of this picture you can see a totally steep street leading up to Coit Tower. A street that I walked up.

My trek up to Coit Tower was something of a fluke. It was the last full day I was spending in San Francisco, and I had run out of stuff I absolutely had to do before I left. I suppose I could've gone to the Golden Gate Bridge or hung out in Haight-Ashbury for a while, but I'm lazy and Coit Tower was fairly nearby. Plus, it had been in my periphery for the entire trip like some sort of subliminal beacon.

We lucked out, and had an absolutely gorgeous sunny day that was perfect for gazing out at the city from its highest point.

Seriously. Pictures don't lie. That's the Bay Bridge from a vantage point near the tower.

From this spot, there was a twisty little nature path--unpaved, trees and plants and shit everywhere--that you follow to the tower itself. At one point we hit a fork in the path and could've walked up some stairs straight to the tower's doors or continued on towards the sound of rabid vermin. At my mother's urging to stop being such a wimpy little bitch (not her exact words), we went forward.

Kids, listen to your mothers, because sometimes they're right and you get to see cool as hell stuff like this:

Parrots. A huge flock of wild parrots.

This may not be news to some people, particularly those who've read or seen The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, but I never expected to turn a corner and see a huge flock of wild parrots. Especially not in the middle of San Francisco, in the middle of winter. It was honestly one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

After goggling them for a while, we headed inside, bought tickets, and took the totally old human-operated elevator up to the top. The observation area is basically an open room with big plexiglass windows that give you a 360-degree view of the city.

It didn't occur to me to try and get a picture of Lombard street until I was on my flight home, but should you find yourself at Coit Tower, you would totally be able to get a kick-ass shot.

Note the coins on that window ledge.

While I didn't observe anyone making a deposit, it appears that people from all over the world leave behind souvenirs. I guess it's like the penny-squishing machines, but different.

I didn't donate to the fund that no one will ever collect and might just fall and kill somebody, because I had plans to buy myself to what might be the real San Francisco treat:

It appears to be a chipwich covered in chocolate and nuts. Sadly, I totally forgot about this when we got back downstairs. Still, who needs ice cream when there are parrots and breathtaking views and fights in the parking lot.

Yeah. Actually, not so much a fight as an argument, but it seemed like it could've erupted into an actual fight.

So, Coit Tower has what just might be the worst parking in the entire city. There's a circular lot that holds, maybe twelve cars; and, there's a single (bi-directional) road leading to and from the tower. There really isn't any room to turn around until you get to the top, so anyone driving up there might get stuck sitting in traffic while cars at the front wait for a spot.

While waiting for the bus that stops at Coit, I watched a woman and her sons stand in the handicapped parking spot to save it for someone in a car at the bottom of the hill. When a car with a handicapped tag showed up, this went over about as well as could be expected. They screamed at each other: she had someone coming, he didn't give a fuck. In the time that this went down, two or three additional spots opened and were filled by cars in the que.

The moral to this story? Unless you want to a source of entertainment for someone who will proceed to talk shit about you (and I totally did), walk up to Coit Tower. It's a fairly easy hike, and you won't be the subject of a story that starts "I saw whitest, trashiest people at Coit Tower today".

I'm so in to you: 2/18/08

I just saw an abbreviated version of this commercial on TV. When I saw the eyes and the barking cat, I was convinced that it was made by David Lynch. It's not. Congratulations, Noam Murro, you've out-Lynched David Lynch.


Do you recognize this man? If so, you're clearly a person of discerning taste. If not, please acquaint yourself with Onion columnist, Smoove B. He's a love man who will freak you all night long. Be sure to check out the Smoove Boudoir. Sadly, the links to the Keith Sweat and K-Ci & JoJo websites don't actually work.



Grey nail polish. Grey is the new black, which is the old blue.
Yes, that's my pasty white claw. That nail polish? I made it. It's 5 parts black to 1 part white. If you're not the DIY type, Kiss has a grey out now and China Glaze is coming out with one called Recycle next month.

Lancome Pixel Pink lipstick. Unlike P.S. Kiss (which I like, but don't love), this is a great throw on and go colour. I ordered it online, so I got it a few weeks early, I wrangled a kick-ass GWP, and I didn't have to deal with the less-than-helpful Lancome boutique staff. If you want your own, call Bergdorf Goodman, Neiman Marcus, or a Lancome Boutique (but, seriously, don't) and see if you can still get one.


King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. A documentary about guys playing "classic" video games. Normally, I mock this type of thing, but the documentary was oddly compelling. Yes, it was way too easy to root for Steve and hate Billy, but it doesn't actually matter. Even if you don't give a fuck about who has the world record, the peripheral kooks make it worth your time. There's a guy named Steve Sanders. Like, on 90210.

The Happy Smile Super Challenge Family Wish Show

So, I went to watch that Japanese guys dressed as lemons video and saw that it had gotten pulled from YouTube. Damn assholes. While nothing could possible replace the pure, unadulterated insanity of that clip, these ones might be a start.

According to the helpful YouTube commentators, the product is called Yaki Choko, or Fried Chocolate.


Yes, the animals suddenly sprout gigantic breasts. And, yes that raccoon has giant balls.


I don't really believe this one is actually Japanese. It has the look of something made to resemble foreigners' perceptions of Japanese TV. Of course, it might be 100% accurate and I'm just an idiot.

I tallied almost 300 bananas on this entertainment product

I will post the rest of my San Francisco pictures eventually. Seriously.

Until then, I'm wasting time pondering the insanely asinine "tax credit" that I refuse to believe wasn't inspired by the Futurama episode, "Three Hundred Big Boys".

On the one hand: Woo! free money!

On the other: Are you fucking kidding me? Hasn't "trickle-down" economics been debunked like the Loch Ness Monster or the Pop Rocks + CocaCola = explosion thing? Goddamnfuckingsonofabitch. Who actually thinks that this shit is going to stimulate the economy?

Of course, it's a moot point for me, because I owe money. I don't know how the hell this happens, but I made less money than last year and somehow have to pay almost $500 that I don't have. I'm tempted to mail in my return this year so I can include a check that says "Go fuck yourselves".

Come on feel the lemonheads

The only thing I actually understood was "music-u start-o!" I seriously have no idea what the hell is going on in this thing.

Thanks to the comments on YouTube and TV in Japan, where I originally saw this, I have learned that the muscular one is Kinnikun Nakayama.

I've watched this clip seven times, and I still have no clue what's going on. Are Kinnikun and the short one supposed to be extreme sour flavour? What's with the powder and the screaming? And, is that food on the table soba noodles or cake or cake made of soba noodles? This shit is going to keep me up at night.

This feels scab-y

I have watched one episode each of the mid-strike Daily Show, Colbert Report, and Late Night. While quality clearly suffered from lack of writers, they were all amusing in their own way. I understand the reasons for three writer guy hosts to go back to work during the strike, but as I watched there was a part of me that was all, "Oooh, what's next? You gonna buy some Nikes? Wanna vote republican?"

I think that was my conscience, and it was annoying as fuck.

So, I haven't watched any of those shows in weeks. I was going to totally forget about them until the strike was over.

And then, while reading blogs at work today, I learned about the "feud". The fight is funny, if a tad homoerotic, but the real gem is the archival footage of Conan on Jon Stewart's short-lived talk show.

At least I didn't use the clip from NBC's website.

Dude...

I'm a little late to the party, but I just read about Isabella Rossellini's series of short films about creepy-crawlies having sex. That's right: bugs, insects, and other animals (like frickin' snails) gettin' down.

I'm equal parts disturbed and intrigued.

If the promo stills are any indication of what the final product will actually be like, then "intrigued" will win out. Really, how can I resist this:


It's Isabella Rossellini dressed as a fucking bee. I defy you to look at that picture and not want to watch whatever it's from.

Ahh, Isabella Rossellini, you beautiful, crazy-ass bitch. With so many reasons to love you--your age-defying skin, the appearance on The Simpsons, your uncanny resemblance to a young Dave Foley--you don't need to make goofy bug porn to amuse me.

Especially not when I have this clip from 30 Rock to watch:

Total. Fucking. Bullshit.

Ahh, David Lynch, you're the fantasy version of my dad.



I will be following your quiona cooking instructions as soon as I can watch that video all the way through. Seriously, it freaks me the fuck out.