straightmangayman

The Annotated Ignition (Remix) for Liang

2010-02-19T17:13:00.001-08:00

Now, usualy i dont do this but uh... gone head and give em a lil preview of the remix

no im not tryin to be rude,

but hey pretty girl im feelin you [Nicole: aw ok R. just make sure she really isn't a girl this time and that she is a woman kthanx] [Seth: You went there]

the way you do the things you do [Seth: Is she doing anything yet? I think that R Kelly might be a little confused about time frames. Or else he's also a modernist Poet. T.S. Eliot you are #OnBlast]

remind me of my Lexus coup [Seth: I do not want to remind anyone of a car]

thats why im all up in yo grill

tryina get you to a hotel [Nicole: Pause. You could interpret rude as being when a guy comes up talking about GIRL, you remind me of a small expensive car, and i'm trying to get you upstairs]

you must be a foot ball coach [Seth: there's a lot of gender confusion going on here]

the way you got me playin the field [Seth: isn't he just trying to play her?] [Nicole: LOL. I think lyrics further along in the song might explain why he makes no sense here] [Seth: Because he's drunk?] [Nicole: Yup! and doesn't give a damn] [Seth: As I note above, he may also be trying to apply the style of Modernist poetry to his lyric, which would also explain the lapses in time, logic, and acceptable behavior]

so baby gimme that toot toot [Seth: toot toot has a pulling motion]

and lemme give you that beep beep [Seth: this has a pushing motion]

runnin her hands through my 'fro [Seth: Does R Kelly have a fro? Is he into role-playing?] [Nicole: He's got a fro when the braids come out] [Seth: I don't want anything coming out of R Kelly]

bouncin on 24's [Seth: Is he in his car getting a bj and listening to himself? Dealbreaker] [Nicole: RIGHT?? Because it's not a third person singing about the remix!]

while they say on the radio... [Nicole: 'they' = 'him'][Seth: Word, unless he has multiple personalities? That would definitely explain the "Out of the Closet" video]

[chorus]

this is the remix to ignition [Seth: No one knows about the original, R] [Nicole: LOL]

hot and fresh out the kitchen

mama rollin that body

got evey man in here wishin [Seth: How many men are in the car?]

sippin on coke and rum [Seth: Open containers of alcohol, nbd]

im like so what im drunk [Nicole: Yeah so what if he has open containers in the car?] [Seth: You might want to consult state law for your own safety]

its the freakin weekend baby

im about to have me some fun [Seth: Word]

Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce

Bounce-bounce-bounce- c'mon [Nicole: Bounce?] [Seth: On 24s]

now its like murder she wrote [Insert original dissertation on this here]

once i get you out them clothes

privacy is on the door

still they can hear you screamin more

girl im feelin what you feelin [Nicole, repeating Seth really: He should not be feeling what the girl is feeling.]

no more hopin and wishin

im bout to take my key and [Seth: This is so much information. Can we insert a picture of his penis here?]

stick it in the ignition

this is the remix to ignition

hot and fresh out the kitchen

mama rollin that body

got evey man in here wishin [Nicole: but really back to Seth's point, where the hell are we right now? Because he hasn't mentioned the lobby yet. And also why did R. create a song about the situation that he has yet to be in? Unless he's psychic, drunk, and has multiple personalities?]

sippin on coke and rum

im like so what im drunk

its the freakin weekend baby

im about to have me some fun

crystall poppin in the stretch navigator [Seth: again open bottles]

we got food every where

as if the party was catered [Seth: They better be rolling in $1 chicken sandwiches. Also is there a buffett table in there?] [Nicole: wants shrimp. But like how much food can you have in the car? Don't care if it's a stretch nav. That's just gross and unnecessary.]

we got fellas to my left [Seth: Word]

hunnies on my right

we bring em both together we got drinkin all night [Seth: I'm concerned there might be some issues with drinking]

then after the show its the (after party) [Seth: When did we go to a show? I need R to get a personal assistant] [Nicole: LOL word R., we pretty much went from the car to the lobby. Hallucinations?]

and after the party its the (hotel lobby) [Seth: Can you get a suite? Poor Hotel Lobby Staff]

and round about 4 you gotta (clear the lobby) [Seth: What hotel are they staying at? Holiday Inn?] [Nicole: Every rapper loves the Holiday Inn, so maybe R.'s rap buddies introduced him.]

then head take it to the room and freak somebody

girl we off in this jeep [Seth: There have been so many cars in this song]

foggin windows up

blastin the radio

in the back of my truck [Seth: Are jeeps trucks? I am so confused] [Nicole: You can have a Jeep truck, but reality is, there are too many cars entering at too many points in the song]

bouncin up and down

stroke it round and round [Seth: WTMI]

to the remix

we just thuggin it out... [Seth: that is not thuggin it out] [Nicole: LOL like not in the least.]

Push Your Ideas

2010-01-24T18:00:00.000-08:00

Great video about the creative process that cleverly uses paper to make its point

Craigslist Missed Connection of the Week: Taking the Words Out of My Heart

2010-01-24T16:20:00.000-08:00

EVERY male employee of St. Francis Diner - m4m - 26 (mission district)

Date: 2010-01-24, 3:29PM PST

I was there again this morning. I was the guy in the 4-top wearing an Argyle sweater and eating a patty melt - you were every male employee on staff. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Each one sexy in your own way. There is clearly some discrimination going on in the hiring process, but everybody wins. You all got jobs and I get unimaginably sweet eye candy. I got all of my words caught in my throat whenever you threw me a glance. I DID want more coffee, I just couldn't move to make that clear at the moment. Shark Tooth Necklace - you might have been the cutest of them all, but Dark Blue Shades of Camouflage, your baby blues melted my butter: I felt a stirring. Gray Shirt I got butterflies, manly ones, fluttering inside of me when you came to Pop's to let us know our table was ready. Even you, Plaid Shirt and Other Guy, were astoundingly suave and polite, erotically so. I just want to take you all to some kitschy looking trailer in the middle of a desert and drink off-brand beers and listen to some music that I'd pretend I'd already heard of. We wouldn't have to take all of our clothes of right away either: we could play some Big Buck Hunter and talk about architecture and tattoos. We could mud wrestle or make a fire, maybe toss rocks at some cans lined up on a fence. If you're looking to have a six-way - or maybe a monogamous long term relationship with each other and me - I'm willing to consider it.
See you soon,
XoXo
Randy Warmloins

Source

Up in the Maguire

2010-01-19T00:06:00.000-08:00

Up in the Air has the potential to be a great film. Its story reaches across demographics. It is as much as film for young upstart college graduates who are frustrated by their jobs as Associates at McKinsey as it is one for the middle-aged, those who have jobs and those who don't.

It is a film about compromise, the way that age forces us to renegotiate our plans, and how our plans must be renegotiated to make sense in the world that we experience. Sometimes, Up in the Air shows this compromise to be one of finally acknowledging our dreams and going after them. Other times, the compromise means letting go of one's dreams in order to one day attain them.

But Up in the Air is ultimately a vaguely existential film, and has no intention of providing an out for our protagonist, played by George Clooney. Once so satisfied by his career-centric existence, he yearns for connection, and is offered it and then it is taken away. He is condemned to the life that he no longer wants, because he has worked at it for so long.

Up in the Air is best viewed as a companion of sorts to Jerry Maguire. In that film, Tom Cruise plays an agent who has a crisis of conscience and decides he wants a new kind of life. With the help of a man who wants to be shown the money and a woman with an adorable son, he is able flow into one.

Why Jason Reitman, director of Up in the Air, refuses to allow his protagonist to make a new life is unknown, but it drains Up in the Air of its immense potential to deliver the type of emotional experience that all great movies afford their viewers.

Related: New York Times Film Critic A.O. Scott revisits Jerry Maguire

Pierony

2010-01-18T12:22:00.001-08:00

You Can't Go Home Again

2010-01-06T08:55:00.001-08:00

The last time I went to Paris, the world was a very different place for me. I had just finished my sophomore year in college which was more or less the worst year of my life. Fall Quarter was made of endless emotional agony which led to a Winter Quarter of excessive work and a Spring Quarter of no work at all. To prevent getting a 0.0 for Spring Quarter, I conducted original research and wrote it into a 20 page paper in two days and then I read 1200 pages of turn of the century Anthropological studies in 36 hours to not fail the final exam. My flight to Los Angeles was three hours after my final, and my flight to Paris was eleven hours after I arrived at LAX. I was a mess.

Paris was a panacea for my woes. It was never-ending daytime filled with buttery palmiers and crispy baguettes. The World Cup was on television and we were rooting for any team that spoke French. It was my first time in a city with an efficient underground transportation system, and my first time being legally allowed to drink alcohol. The mere act of strolling down the windy backroads of Montmartre felt like heaven itself, liberation from the life that I had always known.

It isn’t only Paris’ edifices and landscapes that create such an otherworldly playground. Its also the sense that its inhabitants are somehow more than you’ve previously known—more stylish, more cultured, more swaggerful. There were tweens roaming the streets who were both better dressed and more confident than I was in all of my 19 year old glory.

I’m almost four years older now, and certainly much changed. I have taken Feminist Studies which has much altered my innards, the Sartorialist and I unintentionally wear and buy the same clothes, and I a casual foodie with a retained penchant for McDonald’s and zesty cheese. And still, I boarded Air France Flight 73 with all intentions of coming away from Paris with the same feeling that I had last time: overwhelming and all-consuming adoration.

Paris certainly has its pleasures. Rotisserie chicken with French fries is quite possibly the greatest culinary pairing of all time and being able to order hot chocolate without being a total loser is a sign of a more advanced culture. Their bread is both delicious and affordable, and sliced ham in France is something I can and did eat every day, whereas sliced ham in the United States is something that fills me with omens of food-poisoning and bad Subway sandwiches (speaking of Subway, the French are obsessed with them). French cafes and brasseries are something that San Francisco desperately needs and their belief in outdoor seating even in the winter—and the attendant heaters that make this possible—is a platonic ideal of living that we should all try to replicate.

I left Paris not with an all-consuming adoration, but nagging questions about why I didn’t feel that way. Paris, though lovely, didn’t offer the types of transportive pleasures that it had once provided. I wasn’t moved by the taste of the croissants or the perfectly constructed crepe from the street vendor near the Pompidou. The Metro still represents a wonderful form of transportation, but one that now seemed part of the grind rather than apart from it. Montmartre seemed on the side of the world and with nothing so great to recommend visiting it. And there weren’t any clothes (or stores for that matter) that I couldn’t find in San Francisco.

Perhaps San Francisco has spoiled me rotten with its endless produce, great food at casual prices, belief in to-go cups of coffee, great bakeries (Tartine, Patisserie Phillipe, Thoroughbread), thrift stores, its east meets west high-end department stores, parks, bars, and walkable streets.

That’s certainly part of it. San Francisco has probably ruined me for most other cities. But the underlying issue is that I love San Francisco the way that I do, I’ve been able to understand what it has to offer, because I’ve had time and the type of experience that only living in a place that can provide. How can I replicate the type of love that you develop in a year to a city where you’ve spent a total of one month over the span of four years? I wonder, if you fall in love with a place on vacation, can you fall in love with it again without actually moving there? When a home is built in 11 days, maybe you can’t go home again.

Small Penis Syndrome

2010-01-05T22:32:00.000-08:00

That's me on the right, obvi.

Seth's 10 Best Films of the 00s

2010-01-05T12:57:00.000-08:00

This is the first time I’ve ever made a Top 10 List of anything. I’m not one for rules, and trying to have a set number of things has always been very difficult. Reading through the Top 10 lists for the Aughts, however, reminded me of how many great films from the Aughts were beloved by me and just not represented well so it was time for me to take a stand. My list is in chronological order—there can’t be one best film of the Aughts, just as there can’t be one best day in June—and you may notice that some years are more heavily represented than others. Film always has its bumper years, when by sheer coincidence, a crop of unforgettable films find themselves screening at your local theater. Here, those bumper years are 2000, 2002, and 2007. The other two years represented, 2005 and 2006, have only one film each. This is in Sethland an accurate reflection of the landscape: the last years of the Aughts had great technical and formal precision, but no heart, and the early Aughts had lots of ideas but no direction.

Dancer in the Dark (2000) dir. Lars von Trier

"A film of so much daring, a film that takes so many chances, it's impossible not to be impressed." Chris Kattenbach, Baltimore Sun

Perhaps best known for the dress that Bjork wore to perform one of the film’s Oscar nominated songs, Dancer in the Dark is a long, obvious, painful journey of a film. The film starts with a four minute overture, both an allusion to the grand musicals of the 50s and 60s and a huge bore. But von Trier and especially Bjork make this story of a Czech immigrant who is going blind and loves musicals whose son will go blind if he doesn’t get a surgery by his 13^th birthday and who runs afoul of the law an unforgettable and unshakable film. Even though you can see the entire film coming from 20 miles away, it will shatter you when it finally passes you by.

Recommended viewing: Breaking the Waves, Singing in the Rain, Joan of Arc (the one from 1927)

In the Mood for Love (2000) dir. Wong Kar Wai

"Probably the most breathtakingly gorgeous film of the year, dizzy with a nose-against-the-glass romantic spirit that has been missing from the cinema forever." Elvis Mitchell, New York Times

The most beautiful film on this list, its influence on cinematographers cannot be understated and made Christopher Doyle among the most sought after cinematographers of the decade. But the film’s visuals are just a means of accessing its deep and tangible sensuality. The tale of two neighbors whose spouses are having an affair, it is one of those films, so frequently seen in the independent cinema, in which nothing happens. But here, that nothing means everything because everything is so charged that the flick of a dress or a trip to a noodle stand can change the tide. This description sounds very high falutin’ and pretentious, and it is, but there’s no other way to describe it. Seeing this movie, potentially with someone you love, may be the best decision you’ll make in the new decade.

Recommended Viewing: Happy Together, Lust Caution

Spirited Away (2001) dir. Hayao Miyazaki

"It is plainly, though not simply, a masterpiece from an acknowledged master of contemporary animation, and a wonderfully welcoming work of art that's as funny and entertaining as it is brilliant, beautiful and deep." Joe Morgenstern, Wall Street Journal

Spirited Away is a little bit like The Never Ending Story except that is animated, Japanese, and it is a lot better. It is not only the best film by celebrated Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki, like Almodovar’s Talk to Her, it is also the one that best distills and expands on his trademark narrative and visual style. Miyazaki loves the place where the world of Japanese folklore meets the contemporary Japanese landscape, which usually happens when precocious young girls are around. As with all auteurs who have made great films, the critical reception for many of his films is overwrought, but it is spot-on with Spirited Away. It is a fantastic, epic journey that is funny and touching, and almost earns every minute of its more than two hour running time.

Recommended viewing: My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Metropolis

The Closet (2001) dir. Francis Veber

"More sweet than savage, this amiable farce creates laughs with old-pro efficiency." David Ansen, Newsweek

Americans cannot make a good comedy of errors anymore, so the French have to do it all by themselves. In recent years, films like The Valet and The Dinner Guest have made it over to American theaters and been hailed as the new best French comedy since…The Closet. The Closet, starring French heavyweights Daniel Auteuil (their Tom Hanks) and Gerard Depardieu (their Jack Nicholson), is about a man who is about to lose his job. Or a man who would have lost his job if he hadn’t just come out of, you guessed it, le placard. A snowball rolling downhill ever faster, the errors just pile on during its brisk 90 minutes. It is the funniest hour and a half you’ll spend watching a movie all decade.

Recommended viewing: My Best Friend, The Dinner Guest, The Valet

Talk to Her (2002) dir. Pedro Almodovar

"Like all great doomed affairs, "Talk to Her" is full of lovely, sweet suffering. And when it's over, the realization of how much the movie means to you really sinks in; you can't get it out of your heart." Elvis Mitchell, New York Times

Talk to Her, the second film in the golden age of Almodovar that began with All About My Mother, may well be his masterpiece. The story of four intersecting lives, it focuses on the relationships that two men have with two women who are in comas. It is about love and circumstance and the wheel of fortune. It is also breathtakingly beautiful, heartbreaking, and achingly funny and suitably strange. It lacks many of Almodovar’s usual cast of characters, and the plots are less cleverly constructed than he usually likes. These differences may have freed his storytelling to create a sublime confection that should be seen by anyone who loves women.

Recommended viewing: Live Flesh, The Flower of My Secret, Volver

Lilo & Stitch (2002) dir. Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders

"This screwball comedy about a scrappy Hawaiian kid and the rabidly destructive little alien she mistakes for a dog is powered by ferocious joy. And, remarkably, it manages to incorporate traditional Disney values, such as the sanctity of the family, in a visually bold, subversively witty package that's as far from corporate as mainstream movies get." Joe Morgenstern, Wall Street Journal

Lilo & Stitch is a film that has been underappreciated even since its first appearance in theaters. When it came out, some decried its washy, watercolor aesthetic (appropriate for a film set in Hawaii), but mainly, critics (and let’s be honest, as much as people hate critics, they curate cultural memory), have been distracted by the pleasures of 3-D animation too much since Pixar established itself as a powerhouse to effectively champion traditional animation.

Lilo & Stitch is something truly radical in traditional animation: it is a film about two sisters looking after each other after the death of both their parents, being watched like a hawk by a Social Worker, and in quiet ways dealing with the effects of tourism on a native culture. It is also a buddy film, as all Pixar films are, but the buddy here is a demonic space alien named Stitch who was created through genetic experiments. It’s also about a little girl who loves Elvis and dolls that seem to have been concocted by Tim Burton. It also features women who have curves and dark skin, and surfing montages. It’s a dazzling little film that will make you laugh, and cry, and does it with greater levity than any Pixar film that isn’t directed by Brad Bird.

Recommended viewing: Mulan, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Raising Victor Vargas

Murderball (2005) dir. Henry Rubin and Dana Shapiro

"You don't have to try to love this movie. It'll knock you down on its own. And speaking of topples -- something you see a lot of here -- there isn't a sentimental stumble in the whole film." Desson Thomson, Washington Post

Murderball is a name for quadriplegic rugby, and this film has a lot of scenes of people in wheelchairs playing rugby. Like at least two other films on this list, it’s also about how people cope with loss—in this case mobility—and maintain a sense of masculinity when you sit four feet tall in your wheelchair. It uses a mix of narrative styles (the competition arc, personal growth narrative, educational exposition, surreal animation) to present a documentary not only about murderball and the people who play it, but also one about the feeling of loss and of perseverance. Whenever I watch it, it requires great perseverance to make it to the end as I start crying an hour in.

Recommended viewing: To Be and to Have, Whale Rider, Rivers and Tides

Children of Men (2006) dir. Alfonso Cuaron

"Cuarón has created a dire warning of the world that could be, but he's also made a film about faith, love, sacrifice, and all the other hard-won virtues that keep the world alive. It's a heartbreaking, bullet-strewn valentine to what keeps us human." Keith Phipps, Onion A.V. Club

You’re either going to think that this movie is the first sign of the messiah, or that it’s unintentionally funny. People who fall into the latter camp tend to be nihilists, and people who fall into the former camp tend to be correct. Based on a P.D. James novel, Children of Men is about what happens when humanity can no longer reproduce. It’s an apocalyptic landscape, one similar to what Blade Runner or Cormac McCarthy’s The Road traffics in, but it’s almost impossibly real. As lensed by Emmanuel Lubezki (who unfairly lost the Academy Award for Best Cinematography to the fine but uninspired work done for Pan’s Labyrinth), it is filled with light and dirt and sometimes blood right on the lens. It has some brilliant set pieces—most famously a five minute, single shot escape sequence—but it even more effectively stacks the decks to make its almost impossible story have real weight and pathos.

Anyone with a need for context and an inability to suspend disbelief (people with CS degrees, take note) are not going to be happy campers. Cuaron, like most great filmmakers, is a sensualist: he believes in touch, texture, and faith. For him, seeing is believing, and all that you need to know and experience, you will be given.

Recommended viewing: Y Tu Mama Tambien, No Country for Old Men, The Corporation

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007) dir. Julian Schnabel

"“The Diving Bell” surges toward redemption—a man fully realizing his humanity only when mobility and sexuality have been taken away. Imperially free and generous as Schnabel’s work is, the imagery—medical, erotic, religious—hangs together with enormous power. The birth of Bauby’s soul feels like nothing less than the rebirth of the cinema." David Denby, New Yorker

Julian Schnabel is a noted, but awful, painter, a sometime real estate developer, and an auteur of the highest order. His three films to date, Basquiat, Before Night Falls, and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly are cinematically and narratively challenging, but you would never know it because of the keen eye and voice that Schnabel brings to his projects. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is the greatest challenge of the three, as it is the story of a man who has been trapped inside himself after a stroke and is based on a memoir made of memories and perceptions and reflections. Translating the human interior is the Everst of cinema, one that has become more and more important as films are increasingly based on books written in modernist prose. Schnabel, with the help of Steven Spielberg’s usual cinematographer, not only creates a potent and involving narrative, he makes it a story about beginnings, rather than endings using clever but not cloying visuals. Many compare this film to The Sea Inside, a Spanish film starring Javier Bardem as a quadriplegic who wants to end his life. The film won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 2004, but that film was about the trapped man as political martyr (and capital), whereas this is about how a man who is trapped finds a way into himself in spite of his condition.

Recommended Viewing: Before Night Falls, The Elephant Man, The Sea Inside

Ratatouille (2007) dir. Brad Bird

"A nearly flawless piece of popular art, as well as one of the most persuasive portraits of an artist ever committed to film. It provides the kind of deep, transporting pleasure, at once simple and sophisticated, that movies at their best have always promised." A.O. Scott, New York Times

Never has a film been so filled with the effervescence of creating something as Ratatouille, Brad Bird’s follow-up to The Incredibles. It is the story of a rat who is a pariah in the rat world because of his love of food, but is similarly outcast among the foodies of Paris because he is a rodent. When our protagonist Remy (voiced wonderfully by Patton Oswalt) and Linguini, a plongeur in a 3-non Michelin star restaurant (assumedly the equivalent of 1 Michelin Star),discover that they can communicate with each other, an entirely new world opens and so too does the film’s creative and narrative possibility. The central tension that arises in the film is not whether or not a rat can be a great cook—we already know within the first 20 minutes that this is so—but whether or not we have the capacity to accept that great things can come from less than gleaming surfaces. Incidentally, this is something that many critics argue is at odds with an animated film: disputations on the perception of art. But this film is merely animated with the effervescence of creation itself, and what a wonderful work it is.

Recommended Viewing: Synecdoche New York, Mostly Martha, Pollock

I Have Arrived, or, The Bitch is Back

2009-12-27T02:54:00.000-08:00

Bonjour monde!

After a twelve hour flight next to the most insane American ever created (I will blog about this in greater detail later. I have pages and pages written about it in my notebook), I arrived in Paris at midday yesterday and then spent a very long time waiting for my bag to arrive at the baggage claim (if there's one thing that American airports are slightly good at sometimes, it's getting all the bags there in one go, rather than sending out a steady drip of luggage) and then waiting for my Laotian cab driver to believe that I wasn't Italian (Es tu italien? No, suis americain! No! Ouais!)

I met my parents at the apartment and we wandered around the Eiffel Tower and the Champ de Mars. There is a Christmas Village (Village de Noel) up at the foot of the Champ de Mars right now. I have taken many photos of all of this, but I forgot to bring my Compact Flash reader so there will be no photos until I am back in the United States.

My brother and his fiance arrived at 10 last night, and so we got a late start today. I was the first person awake today, at 10:30, so I made us a pot of coffee and put out our Parisian breakfast spread: bread, cheese, jam and ham. I was not allowed to buy fig jam at the marche yesterday ("Gross!" my father said), but this morning Nathan and Emily wished that there were fig jam. Stuck between a rock and a hard place I am.

We are going to take a stroll through the 7e visiting Les Invalides and go through the Pletzl to end up in the Latin Quarter. If we have time we will take my mom to Ile St Louis where there are a lot of little craft stores.

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

2009-12-25T10:44:00.000-08:00

While those of the Christian faith celebrate the birth of my homie Jesus, I am figuring out what to put in my carry-on for Air France Flight Number 83, San Francisco International to Charles De Gaulle, leaving later today. As those readers who have the pleasure of spending any amount of time with me know, the family has decided to forgo the usual Christmas voyage nearer to the equator (most recently Hawaii and Costa Rica) to brave a slightly northern lattitude and the decidedly non-coastal pleasures of Paris.

The last time I went to Paris, I arrived dazed and confused in the morning, looking something like this:

That is, in fact, exactly what I looked like. I took that photo on the RER from CDG to Gare du Nord on my way to meet my friend Rebecca at our hotel near the Bastille. As you can see, I was quite tired and wearing a blue hoodie, which was once a staple of the Seth wardrobe, but now unrecognizable to most. I also had a lot more hair going on back then as was the fashion at the time. But that was in July, when Paris is muggy and prone to thunderstorms. We were there during a then-record heat wave, and it felt more like a California summer than anything else.

Also, in July, we learned, Paris is mobbed with visitors from the south. We frequently ran into large groups of octogenarian Spaniards near Notre Dame, which we lovingly referred to as the Spanish Inquisition (being Jewish, we are all too familiar with the implications of the term).

Rebecca had already been in France for the previous her week (her parents, cardiologists, had been attending a conference in Marseilles), and while she was more adjusted to the time change, I was being assaulted by it. We missed dinner for the majority of our trip because I had fallen asleep while we watched Le Coup de Monde in our hotel while the sun was still up (Fun Fact: we never stayed out past when the sun went down while in Paris. This was a combination of our relentless days of sightseeing and the fact that sun didn't go down until almost 11:00PM).

When we were there, Sofia Coppola's film Marie Antoinette was playing at a theater off of the Bastille. We went to see it before going to Versailles in English with French subtitles. It paved the way for Rebecca's imminent, rapturous visit to Versailles, where she fell in love with the under-renovation Hall of Mirrors. Rebecca's love of Versailles was one of those distance makes the heart grow fonder things. After we had returned to the states was when she first realized how much she loved it.

Rebecca loved Volver a little less, which we also saw in Paris after our fatiguing day-trip to EuroDisney, where we payed a lot of money for not so delicious food and waited in very long lines for rides that constantly underwhelmed. There was, however, a small satisfaction in seeing It's a Small World's Moulin Rouge display in the home of Moulin Rouge, so it kind of compensated us for the 58 Euro that we had given up to the Mickey Mouse Corporation for entrance.

Traveling with one another person can be taxing, especially when you share a room and an itinerary. But for all its challenges, it has its own set of rewards. Proximity to Rebecca, who loves to buy food, but has a small appetite, meant that I was able to frequently savor her discards, which included the most delicious palmier in Montmartre and practically everything else. It also meant that we could share the displeasure of having the runs after eating delicious cherries on the Champ de Mars before scaling the Eiffel Tower.

We had to plan our day carefully, around the needs of our bowels, thanks to these delicious, but unwashed cherries, for which we paid 6 euro at a very fancy grocer on the path from Les Invalides to the Champ de Mars.

This whole remembrance of things past is just my way of saying that this is the Paris that I've experienced: warm, summery, busy, and shared with a best friend. What I am about to embark on is a very different Paris: cold, cloudy, rainy, and shared with the Shamban clan in an apartment on the left bank.

When I land tomorrow morning in Paris, I will have been on a plane for 12 hours without any stops. I will have taken the RER to the 6 to Dupliex, walked up Grenelle until I hit my street. My parents will probably be napping in the apartment, and my brother and his fiance will be somewhere over the Atlantic on their way to Munich, where they will be changing to a Paris bound flight.

I will be updating the blog, probably sans pictures, while in Paris, so be sure to stay tuned. It promises to be an exciting time, and I look forward to sharing it with you.

How/Why I Flirted With A Gay Man

2009-12-14T00:53:00.000-08:00

A week or so ago, I flirted with a gay man.

Details of my foray onto the "other team":

I had rushed to the Banana Republic from work on a Wednesday night because I had been given an awesome coupon: 40% off any one item on that day only.

I got to the store around 7:00 and went through my customary BR routine: Walk around the store and grab anything that remotely interests me, then get into a dressing room where I immediately become overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I've accumulated. The next 30 minutes were spent sequestered in the dressing room, working my way through the pile of cardigans and khaki.

I finally emerged from the dressing room--with a problem. I couldn't decide between two items: a navy and red plaid shirt or a grey half zip sweater. For the life of me, I couldn't decide which of the two I liked more.

I ended this dilemma by deciding to buy both items (which is exactly why BR created this coupon. Who goes into BR and buys just one item? No one, that's who.)

So I get to the checkout counter and here's where the magic happened.

Before I go into detail into my interaction (flirtation?) with the BR associate, a quick fact that one must know about me that comes into play in this story: I'm a friendly, midwestern guy who has the ability to strike up a meaningful conversation with just about anyone. This gift enables me to meet interesting people in most environments. This weekend I even befriended a regular at Molotov's--while dressed as Santa. For anyone not familiar with Molotov's, this is the equivalent of a duck hunter being invited into a PETA convention.

I strike up a banter with the BR associate, hoping that I can eventually steer the conversation onto how we can stretch my 40% discount over both my items.

I started the conversation with a healthy dose of commiseration, thinking that taking his side ("You must be ready to get out of here. It was probably a real busy day, with this coupon and all.") was the best strategy. I was right on the money, with conversation immediately flowing freely between associate and coupon-conscious customer.

A couple minutes into this exchange, I began to realize that the associate was taking a lot of care in making sure that I had found everything I was looking for and that my "shopping experience had been enjoyable." It was somewhere between him asking me which salesperson had helped me and gingerly placing my expertly folded clothes into a BR bag that I realized what was actually going on: Oh shit, I'm flirting with this guy.

The realization should have hit me much earlier: the intelligent banter, kind smiles being exchanged, etc. To a casual observer (maybe a casual observer more adept/experienced in interactions between gay men) it probably would have been obvious that I was flirting with the guy.

It was at this point that I consciously decided to keep doing what I was doing. I figured that I had the best chance at success if the sparks were still glowing when I pulled out my credit card.

Sure enough, almost on cue, upon handing over my coupon my (lovestruck?) associate lowers his voice and whispers that "he's not supposed to, but he can apply the 40% discount to both items." Clearly, a coupon/flirtation win (receipt below).

Funny the things that happen when you live in SF for over a year.

Evolution Of The Hipster 2000-2009

2009-12-12T23:50:00.000-08:00

It looks like Paste Magazine was inspired to chronicle the San Francisco hipster as well. Maybe we have readers who are also Paste Magazine staffers?

Evolution Of The Hipster 2000-2009: "This spread in the November issue of Paste Magazine shows the evolution of the Bay Area hipster through the noughties from Emo to the Meta-Nerd."

Rainy Day Day Dreaming

2009-12-12T12:18:00.000-08:00

It's raining cats and dogs in San Francisco, so I am camping out in my pajamas and staging a bed-in against the weather. This inevitably reminds me of my childhood, on those days when we would make pancakes and play Super Mario Brothers and never leave the house until late in the afternoon. The artist Vasco Mourao also reminds me of my childhood, of late nights spent poring of David Macauly books about castles and cathedrals. The endless line drawings of complex architectural patterns is burned into my visual memory, and Mourao is taking it to previously unforeseen dimensions and complexity.

AWKWARD MOMENTS ON CHAT

2009-12-10T00:44:00.000-08:00

I’m a person prone to awkwardness, especially when it comes to communicating with others. Even though I constantly strive to avoid clumsiness in my interactions with others, I oftentimes fail miserably—across all mediums of communication.

The most recent place that I’ve noticed an intrusion of awkward moments is while on Gmail chat, a place in which I spend a significant portion of my day.

Awkward Gmail Chat Moment #1: Dual Conversations

Conversation is cruising along steadily on one topic, with both participants actively discussing the topic at hand. Suddenly, while Person A is typing (and thanks to the infinite innovation that is Gmail chat, you can actually see that this person is typing), presumably about to continue on the current topic of conversation, Person B suddenly asks an off-topic question or comments on something completely out of left field. Person A then hits enter, thereby continuing the conversation around the original topic.

Both people are now the proud owners of an awkward dual conversation: a concurrent, two topic chat.

If the chatters are experienced, the topic of lesser importance will eventually die off (usually after a couple of lines). But sometimes, the dual conversation can linger, with both people trying to comment on both topics at once. Personally, I find maintaining dialogue on two topics at once confusing and unnatural.

This dual conversation, once extinguished, can also be ignited later in the conversation, should one of the participants remember something relevant that they’d like to share. It’s like never-ending birthday candles, persistent to the point of annoyance.

Awkward Gmail Chat Moment #2: Long Pauses

Any time there’s a long pause, it can get awkward. Just think of the last first date you were on, remember when the conversation slowed?

The same goes for Gmail chat. In fact, it’s even a more obvious when there’s a long pause because of the time stamp. If you’re the last person who’s typed something, the time stamp gives you a physical reminder of how long you’ve been ignored.

Pauses are sometimes necessary. When I’m being ignored, I often look to the person’s status. If I see that they’ve gone idle, I know that a bathroom break or mtg has taken them from their computer. If they’re red, I realize that something’s come up that they have to focus on.

I start to feel neglected when the person has stayed green, but hasn’t changed their status or typed anything to me for a while. Because if they’re still green without changing a thing, that means they’re chatting with others and ignoring me.

Only thing worse is when I’m at the office and can see that person sitting at their desk, hammering away with Gmail open and my most recent ping flashing at the bottom right of their screen.

Awkward Gmail Chat Moment #3: The Grinding Wind Down

Often preceded by the Long Pause, the Grinding Wind Down is the point at which both participants have nothing left to—literally—chat about.

You can feel it: your conversation has been forced by both parties for the last couple minutes, each of you quickly running out of things to say. That's when the Grinding Wind Down hits, usually taking the form of one word responses that don’t spur additional conversation.

What can you respond to someone who just typed “haha”? Answer: nothing.

Unless, of course, there’s another topic you can chat about.

It's Fitness Time, Homies

2009-12-02T23:41:00.000-08:00

We all ate too much at Thanksgiving. For some it was mashed potatoes, for others it was Chinese food. But the important thing is that we did not work out. And now we are entering the most important time of the year to have a firm butt: Corporate Holiday Party.

Nothing says opportunity like spending a night with gainfully employed singles in a venue surrounded by colleagues and superiors. Which is why you must make every accidental touch count.

"Oh, was that a table or your ass?" you might hear if you get to work and lunge, and squat, and run toward firming those muscles and sucking in that gut.

If you need inspiration, well, there's a man above who's willing to give you some.

Image from http://www.towleroad.com/2009/11/get-your-hot-squats-and-thrusts-here.html

Time Lapse Mushrooms: The Art of Phallic Imagery

2009-12-02T23:26:00.000-08:00

This is just awesome. Mushrooms growing from mere babes to towering giants, with a delicate, muzak soundtrack.

via http://whatweretheskieslike.blogspot.com/

You know you've left San Francisco when...

2009-12-02T21:19:00.000-08:00

Taxi drivers have no desire to talk to you.

In San Francisco, it is hardly uncommon to discover that your cab driver holds a Phd. I remember one ride where the driver effortlessly flipped a discussion of Marina bars into a lecture on Malbec wines. He followed with a postmodern analysis of Nietzsche's Will to power that went miles over my head. But thanks to BlueTooth headsets and New Yorkers' congenital disinterest in stopping and smelling the roses (hey, they get shit done), New York is different. As I sat in the taxi from JFK at 1AM, I was not welcome in the immutable conversation that was taking place on the other side of the plastic divider. Though I couldn't understand the language, I was intrigued: "Who on EARTH is this guy talking to!? His mother? Ever since she learned how to text, my mother has texted me three times a day saying how much she loves me... And even she would have hung up on me hours ago."

They call it Silicon Alley.

   Everyone j-walks.   

It has always astounded me that no one ever pays bus fare in San Francisco, but walking across the street on red is almost as bad as being caught throwing a recyclable bottle into a trash can. Not the case at Astor Place.

You're more likely to incite a brawl with a Boston fan at a Knicks/Celtics game if you're wearing a Lakers jersey.

You're ordering burgers and your friend wonders, "Animal style??? Like a sex position? Oh... you mean like we saw those people doing in that park when I visited San Francisco!"

A couple Jews from Berkeley make the best burrito in town
Seriously, congrats Oliver! Check out Dos Toros

Bar None doesn't suck

I lied. Never went because my friends said it sucks. I guess some things never change!

Guest Reporter David Says: Find the Right Handshake For You!

2009-11-17T14:55:00.000-08:00

Remember all of those times you were told that a good, strong handshake was the key to success in life? You were probably like, “Yea, whatever. Firm grip. I get it.” After years of embarrassing mishaps (inopportune timing, the hug-handshake misunderstanding, the sweaty palm) and successful but boring attempts, it has become clear that the handshake is an antiquated medium of physical introduction. You either do it well or you mess up. It is a matter of compliance. It is lame.

Life affords us – and sometimes rewards us for – opportunities to demonstrate our unique backgrounds, experiences, hopes and dreams. This is why all of society should embrace the high five. Whether you want to lay a solid foundation at an interview, impress that special lady, or make a new friend on 6^th and Market, the high five is the one of many kinds.

Here are a few ways that early adopters incorporate the high five into their daily routines. Why confine something so wonderful to the soccer field?

The Elbow

What it says: “Straight chillin. I know what I’m doing”

Whose sayin it: "I think I'm cool but I'm probably just be awkward and/or germaphobic"

The Cool cat

What it Says: “I’ve got more important places to be”

Whose Sayin it: Anyone who likes to revive mid-century language. But mostly hipsters.

The Hendrix Fingers

What it Says: “Waasssssup broskie!”

Whose Sayin it: Anyone who can quote Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure

The Pound: Girls can do it too!

What it Says: “Whaddup gangsta?”

Whose Sayin it: Brosefs and brosistas

Also watch out for: The Explosion

Mullet Commentary

2009-11-13T10:59:00.000-08:00

Piggy backing off my mullet-adorned accusatory finger pic, I wanted to pass this video along. I couldn't agree more with everything Jared Allen says.

I was alerted to its existence by Tommy Nowak, a oft-mulleted man of astounding esteem.

My Go-To Pose: The Accusatory Finger

2009-11-13T00:42:00.001-08:00

You're at a party, someone pulls out their camera, and immediately you assume the pose -- your default picture pose.

Don't kid yourself, everyone has a go-to pose. I mean, you have to right? Nobody wants to be that awkward dude in the picture who doesn't know what to do with his hands, standing just a little too far away from everybody else, with a strained smile that says "Shit I don't want to be in this picture."

If you pull out a camera and yell "Hey Ben, smile!", I will not smile. What I will do is immediately assume my default pose.

With narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, I invariably raise my index finger and point it directly at the camera, as if to accuse the photographer of a horrible, unspeakable crime.

Don't know exactly why my go-to pose involves an angry/serious face and an accusatory finger. If I had to guess I'd say it's my way of asserting my dominance. Nothing says "I'm a man" like a stern face and a strong forward pointing finger (right?).

Keep in mind, I'm also usually a couple drinks in when this pose is assumed, so maybe that has something to do with it.

What's your go-to pose? If you don't think you have one, take a gander over your Facebook pics and you'll start noticing your pose. When you find it, let me know!

People Who Serve Me Things Also Arouse Me

2009-11-12T21:52:00.000-08:00

When I say that people who serve me things also arouse me, I wish I weren’t being so literal. Last night at an undisclosed bar (this place will be very evident to anyone who follows me on Twitter), the bar tender was a manifestation of my lusts. From head to toe, it was as if God had created a man just for me.

He had a baseball cap embroidered with horses, a deer pendant necklace, a beard, bedroom eyes, and the most soothing voice I’ve ever head (devotees of my own sweet caramel voice would approve). When he leaned into to go over his drink recommendations for me, it took all of my fortitude from melting into my stool.

Now, this is not the first time this has happened to me (though this time was stronger than most). I find myself most attracted to people that are supposed to be serving me in some way.

My first service worker crush has the bluest eyes, but not in a Toni Morrison kind of way. His preferred activity is bringing me poached eggs, refilling my coffee, looking bemused. But bringing me food, while appreciated (and paid for), isn't enough for me to become infatuated with you. Otherwise, I'd be the easiest to seduce man in San Francisco, which is not the case (am I right, sisters?)

You still have to make me silent (hard to do). There was that time that he was on a bike outside of my apartment, staring agape at me while I was on a Zombie-like quest for Fruit Punch Gatorade, the Hangover Quencher. By the time I realized it was him and returned his eye contact, he hopped onto his bike and rolled down into the Mission.

All I want is one night with a bartender, waiter, or aloof Barneys salesperson. Dreams, kids. Dreams.

All I Want for Christmas

2009-11-10T01:45:00.000-08:00

Editor's Note: This post was originally written on the inside of an Urban Outfitters Bag. The contents of the bag have been transcribed to protect the vision of the innocent.

I have an upset stomach, and thus I am trying to distract myself until the sense of pending danger goes away. It seems fitting that I am writing this on what looks to be both a stomach and an advertisement for Pepto-Bismol gone awry, but what is really an Urban Outfitters bag that once held cargo shorts and leopard print tights. To whom it may concern, this is going to be a rambling note.

This evening I made lasagna, or, as we came to call it, Lovesagna. Lovesagna is what happens when you take a recipe for lasagna from the internet before realizing that the recipe was likely created by the British in 1960. Never has a lasagna been so wanting for tomatoes and basil, or most anything that isn't white or clear, since the beginning of lasagna.

But perseverance can turn any pot until the ingredients coalesce into something edible. We hovered over the stove for two hours. We tasted and sometimes burned tongues. Luckily, when tongues were burned, there was always someone to blow the tongue off.

When the going got tough, the tough played Mariah Carey. Belting out "Dreamlover" over a middling attempt at lasagna no doubt urged the molecules therein to stop being so awful and start being more delicious. And so it was writ: Lovesagna was a success.

After leaving the land of Lovesagna, I had two choices: ascend a mountain only to come down, or take the J Church over the mountain and through the woods of Dolores Park. The third option was a cab, but there were none and I was feeling frugal.

I decided that I'd rather go to bed than ascend to the summit, but I only had one $1 bill. As all good San Franciscans know, it requires two $1 bills, or eight quarters, to take the Muni. So I was in search of ways to make an extra dollar bill appear in my pocket.

In desperation, I briefly considered asking one of the numerous women walking their dogs for a dollar. I decided, however, that the act of me asking for a dollar would not go over terribly well at 11:00PM on a Monday.

Back to the drawing board I went. Until I decided that buying a Snickers bar from the liquor store and breaking my five dollar bill would solve my problems. A Snickers bar, I learned, costs 95 cents so my money problems were solved as I was handed four $1 bills and a nickel.

While waiting for the J Church, the Snickers bar seemed a good way to pass the time, so I ate it. That solved my problem of being bored and not having had dessert, so I was satisfied. Unfortunately, that Snickers bar doesn't get along with the piece of Lovesagna in my stomach, so I am back at square one, discussing the state of my bodily affairs.

Often, when I am up late and should be sleeping, I feel like I'm alone on a bicycle for two and get misty eyed about you (sleep). (It's cause I'm a still waters run deep kind of guy, emotionally speaking at least). Tonight is no exception.

Thankfully, in times like these, I have vibrantly colored shopping bags on my floor to keep me entertained. I briefly considered starting to figure out what to get people for Hannukah/Christmas/Winterfest, but then I realized I am not ready to even begin that drudgery (It's drudgery because I make a spreadsheet, and spreadsheets stress me out).

If the Mariah Carey song "All I want for Christmas is You" is correct, I'm not sure what I want for Christmas. Usually, the "You" here would be a good romantic comedy, but I already purchased The Proposal. In the past, there were many holiday seasons where the "You" was a digital camera, but I got one for myself for my college graduation.

Now that I'm an adult, "You" might actually refer to a non-material item. More than ever, as all my friends move away from me geographically, all I want is to be able to hold on to the ones that I love, just a little bit closer. Nina Simone felt that being close to one another could've prevented MLK's assassination (debatable, Nina), so I feel like I'm on solid moral ground.

So if I love you you, come close, bring me Pepto-Bismol, and don't mention Lasagna and Snickers in the same sentence.

This Weekend's Vice: Shopping

2009-11-08T15:06:00.000-08:00

Some weekends are spent drinking, others are spent eating, others are spent finding sexual partners or pining for lost ones. I attempted to do almost all of these things this weekend, but was only really able to partake in my favorite vice: clothes. I have created a visual digest for your viewing pleasure, approval, and judgment.

Annals of Interpersonal Interaction: Eye Contact

2009-11-05T19:42:00.000-08:00

Everyone makes eye contact. Take the nouns men and women, add the adjectives gay and straight, and then imagine all the combinations that are possible. Eye contact can be accidental, incidental, and fortuitous.

What matters isn’t whose eyes you happen to have affixed on your horizon, but what you do once it seems like there’s no one else around.

Last night, I went out to find a YooHoo retailer near my house, which is a surprisingly difficult task. I decided to start by walking north on Guerrero toward market, stopping in at all of the convenience stores at the corner along the way. At 18^th, I switched to Church, and at 16^th and Church I made contact.

I hope this doesn’t sound like a Craigslist Missed Connection, but I’m telling a story about connections that were missed. A lithe, bearded, hipster gay was strolling down the sidewalk, talking on his iPhone, attempting to make eye contact with me from twenty-yards out. As we got closer, the gaze didn’t aver, but we were on separate journeys: he had a phone call, I had a date with destiny.

As we passed by, he hooked his way nearer to me, talking more on his phone, curling into my orbit. As he passed we were close enough for cheeks to graze one another, and by of our heads turned to hold onto the contact as long as possible. That was a game well played, lithe hipster-gay.

Much better played than the Australian who made eye contact, averted his gaze, and then as he passed by said “Looking good, mate.” And certainly better than the awkward straight girl stares, an experience defined by a girl looking me up and down, smiling, making eye contact, and then expecting something in return. I will befriend anything that moves, as most people know, but not if I’m moving.

The worst is eye contact with straight men, which always feels aggressive, as though the gaze is meant to remove me from existence. This is not because straight men are homophobic, but because the eye contact was probably accidental or incidental, and then all parties put up their defenses to prevent either party from getting the wrong idea. It’s exhausting.

I could have another run in with lithe hipster gay, though. Who doesn’t want to pass cheek to cheek.

The Awkward Straight-Man-Can-I-Have-Your-Number Dance

2009-11-05T13:15:00.000-08:00

"Hey man, I've had a great time today. We should go out sometime and grab a couple beers. Can I...ah...get your number?"

These are words I never thought capable of escaping my Midwestern mouth. And yet, they have--many times.

It really is an awkward moment: You went to an alumni bar on a Saturday to watch the [insert your college here] game and have a healthy amount of beers. In the process, you met a bunch of like-minded, friendly [again, insert your college here] fans, many of which are guys similar to yourself: recently moved to SF, work hard during the week in either the city or the South Bay and like/need to cut loose on the weekends.

The hazards for a straight, male SF transplant strike again. Let the awkward straight-man-can-I-have-your-number dance begin.

It's a clumsy, two left feet kind of dance. The game's over, people have already started sucking down what's left of their $2 gameday Miller Lites and are heading for the door. You've been talking with -- let's call him Jeff -- for most of the game, ever since he beat you to insulting your coach's decision to punt the ball at the end of the first quarter. The rest of the game you and Jeff went round for round (because who only buys one beer?).

You two are standing there at the corner of the bar, about to head your separate ways:

Jeff, reaching out his hand: "Great to meet you, man. Too bad it couldn't have been under better circumstances." [Your team lost]

You, grasping Jeff's hand in a firm, 'I'm a bit shitfaced' handshake: "It was great to meet you too. We'll probably be seeing each other here again."

Jeff, releasing the handshake: "Yeah, man, looking forward to it."

[Now you're both lingering here a bit because neither of you wants to be the one to bring it up, but....]

You have to say it, because Jeff just spoke: "Well, maybe we should just go out and grab a couple beers sometime soon."

Jeff: "Yeah, I'd really like that."

You, taking out the phone you've been palming in your pocket during this whole interaction, bite the bullet: "You think I could...ah...get your number?"

Jeff, a wave of relief sweeping across his face (because he wasn't the one who asked): "Of course."

[Dance Completed]

Surprises me how essential, yet still awkward this situation is. I mean, you're new to the city and don't have a ton of non-work friends, so when you met a guy you get along with you have to grab his number. It's common sense, but still feels so unnatural.

In fact, in my case, I usually never call, because the only thing more weird than asking a guy you don't know for his number is actually calling him.

Los Angeles Hipsters Make Video: StraightManGayMan Reports

2009-11-03T12:34:00.000-08:00

If you've seen Where the Wild Things Are, then you've seen one very particular form of hipster reinterpretation of Maurice Sendak's classic children's book. If you haven't seen Where the Dirty Hipsters Are you are missing out on a great addition to the parody genre from our friendly hipsters from Los Angeles.

San Francisco Hipsters: A Report

2009-11-02T21:20:00.000-08:00

As part of our to create a more tolerant and unified vision of the San Francisco experience, Ben and I set out to document the vertiable menagerie of hipsterdom on display from its intellectual highs in Bernal Heights to its investment banker nadir on Chestnut. Enclosed, you will find our complete report on San Francisco Hipsters.

Corporate Hipster

Thinks that the Urban Outfitters Catalog is the Cutting Edge
Differentiate themselves from their colleagues by discussing their hipsterness with their managers

"Yeah I went to this warehouse party this past weekend. I met these artists. I think we can use them to build a corporate brand strategy targeted at the zeitgeist"

Buys art online at work
"Begrudgingly" Works for the Man

Perpetually applying to Business School
Dallies in the LSAT

Life Dream: Run Google.Org with an Iron Fist

Granola Hipster

Retreats from the City at every opportunity
Does not stay in hotels

Camps, always with friends or a significant other

Drives a Subaru or other small SUV (perferably a hybrid)
Spends too much time/money at REI/Patagonia/NorthFace
Goes out of their way to buy local/organic
Rock Climbs
Has a lot of friends in Portland or Seattle

Has most likely lived there

Leaves stable job as structural engineer to be a snowboarding instructor in Colorado during the winter

Talks about leaving work for good (and moving to Colorado/Ecuador/Nepal)

Never does

Always in a loving, long term relationship(Much to the disappointment of most women) or a Womanizer

Significant other wants to clean Manatees while riding the waves

Life Dream: Teach Indigenous Peoples to Ski

Music Hipster (many of which live in/around SOMA)

Has People over for Listening Parties
Listens to HypeMachine
Goes to Amnesia to Scope Out Up and Coming San Francisco bands
Style Inspired by Run DMC, Supplied by RVCA

Owns shoes with bright flourescent colors

DJs on the weekend
Goes to other neighborhoods to grab coffee/hang out/drink

Not the case if there are dance clubs involved

Loves to Rage (in a mild, controlled way)

Clubs and Music Festivals especially

Life Dream: Be Cool Forever in an Authentic Way

Research Assistant Hipster

Studied the Economic Implications of Social Change in Peru while he was in college.

Won Award for His Thesis, Thinking about Applying to Grad School Heavily

Tell-tale signs

Already Looks like a Professor
"No Grandfather Cardigan Left Behind"
Friends from College are all English PhD Candidates

Rarely goes to Bars

Most usually found having 70s style soul searching adventures with small, heavily curated group of thin, attractive friends

Always Bi-Curious
Thinks the Spirit of the 60s is still Alive
Life Dream: Have a Cult of Personality at a Prestigious University

Transient Hipster

Hangs out at Molotov's
Lots of Leather with Metal Studs
Full Sleeve Tattoos

Live Paycheck-to-paycheck (if there is a paycheck)

Paycheck is written on a found object

Older

"I've been drinking Pabst since you were watching Pretty in Pink"

Somewhat abrasive right off the bat

The looks of distain they give new/unfamiliar people is very intense
They can never be gentrified by the Marina Crowd

Would never go to Cow Hollow/Marina

Criminal Backstory: Once tried to burn down Cow Hollow

If they have the money, they'll own a motorcycle

Paint scheme is always black

Does not receive credit card offers in the mail
Life Dream: Keep On Sticking it to the Man

Valencia Hipster

Has Trust Fund
Fixie (with riding cap)

Takes part in Critical Mass

Holds his/her U-lock in their back pocket while in transit

Has been beaten up with said U-lock

Knows how to pour an artisanal latte

Has used this ability to pick up other Valencia Hipsters

Pick-Up Line: "My foam comes in patterns"

Learned how to loiter charismatically at Swarthmore or Brown

Would only reluctantly tell you where they went to school

Lives in a large apartment

Which is in turn filled with too many other hipsters, in effect making the large apartment a small one
Apartment is also filled with too many Craigslist finds

They always intend to fix up/restore said finds, but never get around to it

Found on the weekend waiting to be seated at Boogaloos
Sunny Day = NE corner of Delores Park
Plays Tennis with Exercise Balls and 40 Closest Hipster Friends in Ironic Mating Ritual
Fashion

Flannel Year-round: Thin and Thick depending on the weather/activities
uncomfortably tight pants

Uncomfortably thin legs

heavy, dark-rimmed glasses
If they're wearing a hooded sweatshirt, they have the hood over their head

If hood is not on head, you will notiice that sleeves are have been [forcibly] removed

Spurns Nordstroms in favor of Goodwill/Salvation Army
Stubble Trouble
Latin America Social Club is their Mecca
Life Dream: Lives in the Present

Artist Hipster

Begrudgingly has a day job to make ends meet

Day job is usually somewhat applicable to their art
Example: Work at a framing store

Exception: Service Industries, Being a Park Ranger

Claimed their name as a domain the day after they graduated from college
Makes out with People on the BART on the way back from Oakland

Where they attended a gallery show in W. Oakland

"The art was okay. I can tell that Alex is trying really hard. He's asking for $900 for his major piece. If he's asking that much, I wonder how much I can ask for."

Gay Hipster

Spans all aforementioned Hipster varieties
All fashion trends are taken to the extreme
Thinks that Naked Yoga is an appropriate way to meet new people
Has a Love/Hate Relationship with the Castro
Thinks that Blackbird is "a delight"
Rarely has sex with non-hipster gays
Thinks that Having Sex with Shoes on is Hot