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Pics: Family Immigrant Day 2008

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By Ariel Soto

On April 16, members of the thirteen immigrant community organizations that make up the San Francisco Immigrant Legal and Education Network (SFILEN) met at City Hall today in an effort to advocate for more community resources for immigrants. Immigrants represent 40 percent of San Francisco’s population and the event was an opportunity for members of SFILEN to call attention to the need for more legal and educational programs, and to speak with City Supervisors as a continuation of making San Francisco a true sanctuary for all immigrants.

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Members of the Arab Resource and Organizing Center (AROC) on the steps of City Hall, supporting San Francisco’s Immigrant Family Day.

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Supporters gathered at City Hall for Immigrant Family Day, asking City leaders to continue supporting immigrant programs for their communities.

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Members of the community came out to hold signs and show their support to keep San Francisco true sanctuary for immigrant communities.

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Members of Mujeres Unidas at San Francisco’s Immigrant Family Day.

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Ben Younes Ouanane (left), an immigrant from Morocco, spoke about the help he has received from the African Immigrant and Refugee Resource Center (AIRRC), one of the cities many immigrant rights organizations involved in the Immigrant Family Day. Joe Sciarrillo, a paralegal at AIRRC, translated from French to English for Mr. Ouanane.

Violet Blue vs. Violet Blue

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By Justin Juul

I totally got hoodwinked.

Two years ago, I bought expensive tickets to the 2006 Exotic Erotic Expo because the flyer for the event advertised a live appearance by Violet Blue, who is one of my favorite sex writers, and who I’d wanted to meet for a very long time. I never got to meet her though. Turns out there’s a porn star also named Violet Blue, and she was the one appearing. So, instead of schmoozing with a journalist, I spent my time at the expo drinking cheap beer and stalking a porn star. Snore.

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The real Violet Blue

Naturally Violet Blue the writer is pretty pissed about this kind of mix up — she claims the fake Violet Blue is using her name to attract a bigger following — and the name feud has finally made it to the courthouse. (Full disclosure: I’m a witness for the writer’s side – my story was a direct catalyst for the suit.) It seems after our missed encounter, the real Violet Blue decided she’d had enough and started looking into patent laws and ways to challenge the star of Who Violet Blew, Planet of the Gapes 4, and Beauty and the Bitch. The initial court proceedings went down last October, but the case is far from over. The porn star has been quite successful under her moniker – winning multiple AVN awards, getting countless roles, and even hosting her own radio show — and she doesn’t want to give the name up (she “officially” changed it to Violetta Blue, but continues to use the original name whenever she appears at events or stars in videos).

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The other Violet Blue (not posing with the author!)

What’s the big deal, you ask? Both of these women are involved in porn aren’t they?

Well, yes and no. The writer, whose real name actually is Violet Blue, has dedicated her entire life to showing the good side of the sex industry, whereas the other Violet Blue is just a plain ol’ sex worker. In her award winning blog, www.tinynibbles.com, and in her books, the real Violet Blue tries to show that an obsession with sex is totally natural and that “sex people” can be funny, smart, technologically advanced, artistically inclined, and full of unique ideas. She tours the world holding sex seminars on college campuses and even makes appearances on popular television shows to champion her conviction that any sex is good sex as long as it’s safe and consensual. She also believes that, contrary to popular belief, women like to watch pornography as much as men. Good deal.

But the issue isn’t about whether or not Violet Blue the imposter should be doing porn or whether or not she’s a good role model. The issue is that the real Violet Blue is constantly being mistaken for a so-so porn star and it’s fucking with her career. She can’t even win national awards, like Forbes’ Top 25 Web Celebs of 2007 (in which she won 25th place as the best pornstar/blogger) or get invited to conventions without someone thinking she does double anal for extra cash when her book sales are down. Not that that’s bad in itself, but come on. I’d be pretty pissed as well. Especially about Planet of the Gapes 4.

Sports: Tim Lincecum, super freak

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By A.J. Hayes

With his shaggy blue-black hair, boyish good looks and slight frame, the Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum looks as if he stepped out of an audition for American Idol. He could also pass as a record store clerk, a college student or a wine steward.

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The point is, Lincecum (he’s listed at 5-foot-11, 170 pounds, but appears to be smaller) looks as if he could do anything for a living except play major league baseball.

But not only does the Bellevue, Washington native draw a nice check every two weeks from the Giants, the 23-year-old has quickly become the ace of San Francisco’s staff and arguably most exciting hurler to matriculate through the orange & black’s farm system since John “The Count” Monetfusco back in 1975.

Some in the media have nicknamed Lincecum, “The Franchise.” We prefer (with apologies to Rick James) “Super Freak.”

How else would you describe an average-sized dude expelling hardballs as if there’s a howitzer attached to his right side? Whether it’s from the torque generated from his “windmill” delivery or just unexplainable natural ability, Lincecum (lin-suh-COME) brings his pitches with markedly abnormal velocity.

That power pitching led to 150 strikeouts in 2007 over just 90 innings – tops among all rookies. Two seasons after he was selected as the 10th overall selection in the 2006 amateur draft, Lincecum has already lapped every player selected ahead of him, including No. 1 pick Luke Hochevar of Kansas City, who was bombed last weekend in Oakland, a day after Lincecum tossed seven shutout frames in a 3-0 Giants win at St. Louis.

With the victory, Lincecum solidified his position as the Giants “stopper,” i.e. the pitcher you turn when you absolutely need a win or to halt a losing streak.

Lincecum has become even more of a complete pitcher this season. In 2007, the righty authored a 7-5 record and 4.00 ERA with basically a dazzling fastball and an overhand curve. This season he’s introduced a darting slider and criminal change-up to his repertoire.

All that makes the recent news that the Giants brain-trust is seriously contemplating a move to an unheard of six-man starting rotation all that more disheartening.

Queer Prom, darlings

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Who needs “Carrie” when you’ve got Mary? Those fabulously scandalous Sisters of Perpetual indulgence are at it again, hosting a Queer Prom this Sat/19 to raise funds to combat the proposed LBAM aerial spraying. Theme: Leather and Lace. Location: San Francisco’s wackiest techno leather “ball” room (get it?), the Powerhouse. Chaperones: Porn stars. Dress code: No one will remain clothed for long, sweetie, it’s a Queer Prom duh.

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Hell yes the punch will be spiked

Queer Prom: Leather and Lace
Sat/19, 9pm-Midnite, $5-15 sliding scale
The Powerhouse
1347 Folsom
www.powerhouse-sf.com

Sock that grape away, in style

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By Ailene Sankur

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Between the two of them, Brian McGonigle and Paolo Mancini have more than 30 years of experience in the wine industry. They’ve seen their share of ways to taste, pair, collect, catalog and, of course, imbibe. They’ve seen the division between the rarefied world of the “serious” wine collector and the intimidating nature of crossing that schism as a new wine collector.

And they wanted to close that schism, shift the paradigm of polarized wine culture: you either collect hundred-dollar bottles of wine or only buy what’s on sale at Trader Joe’s. Hence their joint project: the San Francisco Wine Center (SFWC), a wine storage facility with two rooms to be used for wine events and classes, as well as for members to just hang out and crack open a bottle.

Wine storage facilities are, typically, for the more serious collector, the ones that Brian McGonigle, co-owner of the SFWC, says “collect only expensive cult Napa Cab, first growth Bordeaux and Grand Cru Burgundy.” Facilities are devoted to the idea of wine as investment—a temperature and humidity controlled place to drop off wines to ensure that they’ll develop correctly. The clinical sterility is reminiscent of a laboratory, while the emphasis on wine as horded possession is evocative of a bank, a place to drop off an asset and watch it grow, untouched.

McGonigle and Mancini want the SFWC to be more wine community than wine depository. McGonigle says, “We want members to think of it as a private wine club that they can enjoy regularly, attending events or just stopping in to see what new wines we have open at the end of the day. When we looked at the existing providers of storage services we realized that no one was offering these types of associated services and amenities and it just seemed natural to us.”

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The Reserve Room

Mama said eat yo’ brunch

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Intern Ailene Sankur refs the Brunch Battle of the Bay: Mama vs. Mama.

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This culinary clash takes place between two cross-bay heavyweights—brunch staples with a maternal instinct to make sure you get your most important meal of the day: the one at noon that takes away the shakes. Oakland’s Mama’s Royal Café is a hipster enclave in the Temescal District while San Francisco’s Mama’s is a bougie North Beach eatery. Both are cash-only neighborhood favorites (I’ve said it before–the less a restaurant wants to convenience you, the better it probably is.) Let the fight begin!

Round 1—The Line

Both Mama’s Royal Café and Mama’s are, apparently, worth waiting for. The wait at Mama’s is known to take over an hour, while I’ve never waited over thirty minutes at Mama’s Royal. Both restaurants operate on the “turn and burn” philosophy: moving people in and out quickly to turn over the tables. At Mama’s Royal, sign up on the clipboard, grab a mug from the pile and pour yourself coffee. Then lounge in the front–with the ironically acid-washed-skinny-jean clad hipsters–smoke a cigarette and wait for someone to yell your name. At Mama’s, you wait in a line sans coffee–unless someone holds your place in line so you can run to Caffe Roma two blocks away–sandwiched between an ex-Cal frat boy/junior assistant something or other talking on his cell about how wasted he was last night and two impossibly thin and good-looking parents with impossibly “precocious” children. Either way, bring the paper!

Winner: Mama’s Royal Café. Come on, Mom would never make anyone wait outside without offering them a hot beverage.

Pics: Torch protest and rally

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Guardian photographer and writer Charles Russo sent over these pics of this afternoon’s Olympic torch protests and rallies:

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Tibetan-born Lobsang Lama (center left) traveled from his home in Portland, Oregon to protest China’s human rights violations in Tibet and its hosting of the 2008 Olympics.

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Tibetan Tagudh Youndoung engages in debate with a pro-Chinese supporter along the Embarcadero while waiting for the Olympic Torch procession.

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After the huge crowds outside the Ferry Building and Justin Herman Plaza realized the Olympic Torch route had changed, the previously cordoned-off Embarcadero became a logjam of confrontations between Tibetan and Chinese supporters.

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A pro-China demonstrator seeks to keep a torn Chinese flag aloft after it had been ripped by Tibetan activists.

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Jack Kornfield (right with sign) and Ashin Nanikabhivamsa led a huge peace walk of Burmese monks and activists across the Golden Gate Bridge in solidarity with Tibetan protestors.

Tibet vigil: Audio and pics

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Video photojournalist Ariel Soto reports from Tuesday’s Tibet vigil with Archbishop Desmond Tutu (he’s busy!) and Sup. Chris Daly:

Cooking for cancer

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By Alex Felsinger

Hours after heart surgery, while still in her bed on the cardiac floor of the hospital, doctors gave Kristen Doyle’s mother a hamburger for her first meal. Doyle knew this was common practice. But as a registered and practicing nurse with an interest in nutrition and preventative medicine, she’d always been disgusted that doctors allowed patients to eat fatty, processed foods instead of directing them towards a healthier lifestyle.

In 2004, after a 12-year nursing career, Doyle could no longer stomach the hypocrisy. In search of a way to help people beyond diagnostics and treatment, she enrolled in Bauman College of Holistic Nutrition and Culinary Arts. The incident with her mother later that year confirmed what she’d suspected: she’d never use her nursing degree for traditional practices again. Now she’s a personal chef for cancer patients, diabetics, and other people with special nutritional needs.

But while the new job she started in 2005 pays the bills, Doyle wasn’t satisfied she was helping enough people. “I’m only reaching a couple of families each week,” Doyle said. “If you’re paying for a personal chef, you’re probably upper or middle class, but this information should be available to everyone.”

Doyle’s answer? A healthy, cancer-preventing diet through free weekly cooking and nutrition classes held at the Institute on Aging, UCSF, and most recently, the SOMA Whole Foods.

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Photo by Glenn McElhose

Yo shred dawgs: Go home!

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By Justin Juul

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So I went to go check out the new skatepark at Potrero Del Sol last week and here’s what happened.

The security guard/construction worker did not like me.

“It’s fucking retarded dude, cause I’m a fuckin’ skater too,” he said. “But I let a couple of you little bastards through the fence last weekend and I lost half my ass for it. So go home. You can’t fucking skate here.” It was a hard thing to hear at 8:30 in the morning on a bright and sunny Tuesday, especially since I’d been dreaming about skating the new park since they started building the damn thing a year ago and I’d just gotten word that it was done. I had gathered up my board and set out my half-cabs the night before in anticipation of a solo morning session and now this asshole construction worker was harshing my mellow. But I wasn’t trying to hear it.

“What’s the big deal man?” I said. “The shit’s finished. I can see it. Can’t you just, like, look the other way and let me fuck around for a minute.” The construction worker’s eyes filled with rage as he stepped closer and grabbed hold of the chain link fence that was separating us, lifting his arm to expose some fresh ink: a prison-issue sketch of a sawed-off shotgun. I was angry about the fence at first, but now I was glad it was there. I did not want to fuck with this dude. “Listen, man.” He said. “I fucking live here [wtf] and nobody’s gonna skate this shit until July fourth. Tell all your punk-ass little friends it’s a fucking no go! I know it’s fucking retarded, but I ain’t losing my job just so you fuckers can skate.”

So there you have it. I know it’s tempting, especially for older skaters like me who don’t want to get arrested in the streets anymore, but unless you want to go toe to toe with the burliest tattooed skater/construction dude on the planet, I suggest you hold off for a while. The park’s finished and it looks pretty sick, but the grand opening isn’t until the fourth of July And. That’s. Fucking. That.

SPORTS: Bring back Barry

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BY A.J. Hayes

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Less blah.

Enough already, we get it. Go ahead, put the cap back on the Sharpie, and step away from the bus.

That’s right, you, the graffitist/frustrated Giants fan who’s been going around town doctoring the Giants advertisements on the back of Muni coaches- making the ad copy that initially read: “All Out. All Season,” say instead: “All Outs. All Season.”

Very funny. Ha, ha. ha. Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of rum. Actually we’ll need a bottle of rum to numb the pain if the Giants get pinned with one more ugly 7-0 shutout.

It’s been only a week, but we’ve seen enough. The Giants lineup is not working. What makes it scarier is that the 1985 Giants, the club that posted the worst record in San Francisco history – 62-100 – had a lineup (featuring Chili Davis, Jeffery Leonard, Bob Brenly) that was considerably better than the current team.

This year, Giants ads have promised a grittier club that hangs together win or lose.

And while, yes, the Giants have two potential pitching aces in Matt Cain and Tim Lincecum and a couple of exciting position players, including the daring and eminently watchable Eugenio Velez, will that be enough to keep an easily distracted fan base from hanging in there?

It won’t do the Giants any good to work out any mid-season trades – who would they deal?

But it might not be a bad idea for the Giants to plant a scout in Hollywood.

That’s where they might catch a glimpse of the banished Barry Bonds eating breakfast with Larry King or taking in a Tyler Perry movie premiere. Despite batting .276, with 28 homers and 66 RBI last season, no team wanted Bonds this spring.

Bonds is ready, willing and certainly able to play another season – and it should be with San Francisco. What better way for the club to celebrate its 50th Anniversary in San Francisco than by having one of the club’s all-time greatest players knocking balls into the bay?

We say bring back San Francisco’s favorite surly slugger.

The blind feeding the blind

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During my three decades of life, I’ve had the chance to do quite a few things wearing a blindfold — play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, whack a piñata, wait for a lover to find my clitoris – but eating has never been one of them. Until now.

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“Waiter, I don’t know what’s in my soup.” AP photo.

I’m sure you’ve heard of this phenomenon: fancy restaurants blindfolding their patrons so they can fully focus on the subtle, complex, upper-middle-class flavors of haute cuisine. Or perhaps you’ve heard of it from dieting gurus, who profess you’ll enjoy your food more, and eat less of it, if you aren’t distracted by stimuli like television, books, or, you know, sight.

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Chef Craig Patzer prepares our meals – and probably tries not to laugh at our blindfolded shenanigans.AP Photo.

What I experienced was a version of this phenomenon crossed with the PR machine: a joint event between Jardiniere and Tazo teas where media types were blindfolded to taste entrees and alcohol pairings made with, or inspired by, Tazo blends. And it was rad.

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“The rest of you are blindfolded too, right? This isn’t some kind of April Fool’s joke?”

SPORTS: Fantasy baseball’s dark side

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By A.J. Hayes

My name is Tony H. and I’m a fantasy baseball player.

There I said it.

Actually I haven’t been an active participant in fantasy ball in more than a decade, but sometimes the urge to seek out “post-hype sleepers” and under-the-radar bargains in fantasy publications is so strong that I have to leave Barnes & Nobles immediately

Apparently, I will be a fantasy baseball player for life.

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Evil?

It all started innocently enough back in 1993, when a co-worker introduced me to his in-house league. Figuring it was another way to put my absorption of all things baseball to use and earn some pocket cash at the same time, I showed up at the “draft” – held in a clandestine conference room on the Saturday morning before the start of the baseball season – with a rough idea of what I wanted my team to look like and three crisp twenties from the ATM.

I felt like a real big-league general manager at the draft, and the blueberry bagels weren’t so bad either.

Being a Giants fan, my goal was to select as many San Francisco players as reasonably possible and then flesh out the rest of the squad with pre-inter-league play American Leaguers. That way, there would be no conflict of interest with my team and my team.

That first season I managed to land Barry Bonds to play the outfield and selected fellow -Giants Robby Thompson and Royce Clayton as my keystone combo. The rest of the squad was filled out with the likes of Joe Carter, Mo Vaughn, Lance Johnson and Paul O’Neill. I made one or two exceptions to my rule, selecting National League players such as catcher Joe Oliver, outfielder Bernard Gilkey and a couple of senior circuit pitchers including a youngish Curt Schilling and Steve Avery of the Braves.

When the season began I became ensconced in baseball like never before – raising in the early – pre-internet — hours to scour the morning boxes and tabulate “my guys” total bases, their RBI output and stolen bases.

It made going to work a bit more fun, especially when I would pass one of my fellow fantasy players in the hall after Chuck Finley threw one of his league leading 13 complete games that season – that’s a lot of extra points – or Tom Henke racked up another save.

But by mid-season, the fun turned into serious business. I blew a gasket when Felix Jose failed to live up to the hype with another 0-for-5 game and when Ben McDonald hit the skids after I inserted him back into my starting lineup.

The real life Giants meanwhile were having an amazing campaign in ’93.

Guardian Eye: Mission melee

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We’ve invited fab local photog Darwin Bell to share some of his photos with us throughout the next month, and tell us what the heck he was thinking when he took them.

Fighting With Each Other

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Darwin Bell: “This was taken in The Mission and it is really just a picture of blockage sawhorse with a warning light on it in front of a dumpster. But the colors were so contrasting that it caught my eye — all I had to do was compose it to make it look more graphic.”

The land that hardcore left behind

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“You look more like a hardcore kid than a hipster.”

In San Francisco? Doubt it. This is the land of science-teacher flats, floppy bangs and terrifyingly large sunglasses. The residue escaped to the East Bay years ago.


The infamous Boston Beatdown


Tragedy in Austin


XLimp WristX “I love hardcore boys”

Guardian Eye: Downtown squiggle

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We’ve invited fab local photog Darwin Bell to share some of his photos with us throughout the next month, and tell us what the heck he was thinking when he took them.

Study in Curves

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Darwin Bell: “This is probably my favorite building in San Francisco, located at First and Market. The curves and lines are just amazing and so fascinating to photograph. “

SPORTS: Real March Madne$$

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Everyone’s getting rich off the NCAAs — except the players

By A.J. Hayes

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Played, not paid

Last week, Boston Red Sox players staged what had to be the most ludicrous wildcat strike in the history of labor relations. The entire Bosox team(sters) threatened not to board a plane bound for Japan for a series of games vs. the Oakland A’s, unless club management, or major league baseball, or anyone else but the players themselves, forked over some serious cash.

Painting themselves as championing of the little guy, the Boston players said the trip was off unless each of the team’s coaches, trainers and clubhouse personnel received the same $40,000 bonus that each of the players was to pocket for enduring the hardship of an all-expenses paid, first-class jaunt to Japan.

And they say politicians are out of touch with the average American wage earner.

To drive home their point, the players refused to take their positions for an exhibition game against the Toronto Blue Jays until the matter was settled, making paying fans sit on their hands for 90 minutes at Ft. Myers, Florida.

The world champs finally decided to play ball when MLB and the club agreed to split the cost of paying the support staff. Considering that the bloated Red Sox staff contained nearly 30 coaches, trainers and others last season, that figure came in somewhere in excess of $1 million.

Meanwhile, most sports fans across the nation – even those who know the clubs are traveling to Japan – could hardly give a damn about a few early season baseball games in Tokyo. When Boston and Oakland are done, they’ll still have 160 more games to go.

Most sports fans across the nation are glued to their televisions watching athletes pour out their hearts and sweat in another sport – and receive not a penny. In fact, the players will be lucky to come away with a free t-shirt. It’ll probably be a 50/50 blend too.

In case you don’t own a television or haven’t picked up a newspaper in the past couple of weeks, we’re were in the midst of the NCAA basketball tournament, aka March Madness, aka the Big Cash Cow in Tube socks.

Every one remotely tied to the NCAAs, from the universities to CBS to the sports bars and the zillions of amateur bettors toting their cherished “brackets” will be racking in the dough this month.

Everyone is getting rich except for the one making it all possible – the players.

Oh, to be in three places at once

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Simply Unique really is.

I’ve had a fantastic 24 hours: mani-pedis with my best friend from L.A. at Simply Unique on 14th Street (fab!) followed by a delicious Senagalese dinner at Bissap Baobab and a giggly slumber party – all to celebrate her engagement and my upcoming 30th birthday (I know.) The only thing that would’ve been better is if we’d somehow also been able to make it to the Buffy Reunion in L.A. and the National Conference for the Popular Culture and American Culture Association here in the Bay. Joss Whedon for dessert, lectures on Eating Disorders in US Weekly and the history of the coolness of motorcycles for breakfast, with my BF sandwiched between? Even more awesomeness.

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Buffy is the new blog.

Mmm … bacon lollipops

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By Justin Juul

You never know what kind of crazy shit your brain’s going to tell you to do when Saturn comes back into the picture and starts demanding attention. Some of us start thinking about babies and tract homes while others spin off in the opposite direction and become workaholics or barflys.

My friend, Jason Lewis of Lollyphile, did something even stranger. On the dawn of his 29th year, he suddenly decided to become a confectioner. He spent hours and days mixing flavors in his basement and self-promoting on the Internet until finally, success! His first run of Absinthe flavored lollipops was met with critical acclaim, eventually reaching full-blown awesomeness when the people over at Penthouse Magazine decided to run a review. A less ambitious man may have stopped there, but my friend is “very special” so he immediately started planning a slow takeover of the gourmet candy industry. He’s gonna be the next Willy Wonka. I can feel it.

I tried to get Lewis on the phone to discuss his outlook on candy, life, and world affairs, but he was too busy boiling lard or something. I did manage to squeeze this little e-interview out of him though. Enjoy.

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SFBG: What’s your stance on candy from Japan? How can you ever hope to compete with brands like Pocky, Black Black, and Cubyrop?
My bacon lollipops are actually considered to be “sent from god” by a number of people. This wasn’t my fault; a FedEx plane accidentally dropped a few cases on a small Pacific Island, and the natives of that island, upon experiencing their first meat-based sugar-high, started sacrificing various animals (note to PETA: I totally didn’t sanction this) in an attempt to get their gods to ship more lollipops. Sadly, international shipping rates can’t be paid for with any amount of boar’s blood (believe me I’ve tried).

So, while Japan’s candies have awesome names, brand recognition, and the loyalty of several billion people, I’ve got deity cred.

SFBG: What do you do when you’re not turning meat and controlled substances into candy?
Lewis: I reverse the process. Candy into meat and liquor. I transubstantiate stuff all the time.

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“Bacon lollipops? Why not!”

Brides of March attack!

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Photojournalists Lisa Pickoff-White and Rhyen Coombs put together this nifty little vid for us of last weekend’s 10th annual wild Brides of March downtown invasion:

SPORTS: A new Giant’s phenom

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By A.J. Hayes

PHOENIX — Norman Rockwell would hardly recognize today’s big league newbie.

The stereotypical hayseed wearing an ill-fitted suit and aw-shucks grin that Rockwell depicted in his “The Rookie” (1957), is much a thing of the past. If he really ever existed.

Today’s spring phenoms, more often than not have wallets larded with million dollar signing bonuses. They tool around in snazzy sports cars and idle away the hours plugged into their I-Pod thingies.

The kids today!

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On first glance you might think Giants rookie infielder Travis Denker is just another pampered pup – especially when you hear that he inked his first shoe deal at an age when most kids are still trying to coordinate their Granimals.

But don’t jump to conclusions.

Yes, its true Denker did land his first professional sponsorship as a mere four year old – more on that later – but he’s also a bubble gum-snapping, run-out-every-ground-ball 22-year-old whirlwind that makes even the most jaded fans feel gooey inside.

“You can tell just by the way he stands at his position that Denker looks like a ball player. He could be Al Dark or Eddie Stanky,” gushed my 72-year-old friend Joel who’s seen every Giants club dating back to the mid-1940s. “He exudes a certain grittiness. He looks like he’s been in the majors for 15 seasons, not 15 minutes.”

The truth is the 5-foot-9, 193 pound Denker has never played a game in the big leagues yet, and in fact hasn’t played above Single-A ball. There’s no guarantee he will blossom into a big leaguer.

But the way Denker performed late last season for the San Jose Giants – helping the minor league club to the California League Championship – and the way he’s looked in major league camp this month, the scrappy Denker has optimistic San Francisco fans recalling the likes of Robby Thompson, Chris Speier and Dirty Al Gallagher.

“The pitchers are smarter and the game is much faster at the major league level,” said Denker. “But I feel I belong.”

Travis Denker

The Giants are in a rebuilding mode and are loading up on young talent. Other untested players who have looked good in camp include outfielders Clay Timpner and John Bowker and infielders Emmanuel Burriss and Brian Bocock.

Of all of them, the hard-nosed Denker appears closest to the majors.

Making the second baseman’s rise so much more enjoyable is the fact that the Giants have the arch-enemy Los Angles Dodgers to thank for him.

After going more than 20 years between trades, the century old rivals swapped players last August. The Giants sent veteran pinch-hitter Mark Sweeney to Los Angels in exchange for Denker.

Though he was battling some nagging muscle strains at the time, Denker batted a blistering .400 (10-for-25) over the Little Giants final regular season seven games. In seven post-season contests he batted .480, with 3 home runs and 7 RBI.

Denker could have easily mailed it in once joining the Giants organization or sat out for medical reasons, but he quickly assimilated to his new team and practically insisted on playing down the stretch.

“I wanted to be part of a championship club,” he said last week. “I knew I may never get another shot at something like that. I really wanted in.”

After leading all Dodgers minor leaguers in batting (.310), home runs (21) and RBI (68) in 2005, Denker struggled in 2006. But he was batting .294, with 10 homers and 57 RBI for Los Angeles’ Inland Empire club last summer when he was acquired by the Giants.

Despite growing up an hour from Dodger Stadium in Brea, Denker was not heart-broken by the deal to San Francisco.

“As a kid I was more an Angels fan, than a Dodgers fan,” he said. “And I’ve always loved the Giants colors.”

San Francisco orange and black does favor Denker. But it was another bruising color scheme – black and blue – that is most associated with the sport that led to Denker being sponsored by the Vans shoe company as a tyke.

“I was your typical California kid scooting all over on my skateboard, and next thing I knew I was in Florida on a skateboarding tour sponsored by Vans and Bactine – the bug bite stuff.”

Denker stuck with street surfing until scouts started showing up at his high school baseball games. Denker inked a deal with the Dodgers after batting a hearty .425 (34-for-80), with 11 home runs and 22 RBI as a senior at Brea High.

“I might jump on a board to go down to the corner store, but the competitive stuff is over,” Denker said. “It’s all about baseball now.”

Dolores Park drunkard makes fools of us all

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By Justin Juul

Remember when the sun finally came out after a long harsh winter and you met up with all your friends in the park? Oh it was awesome! Sure you drank a little too much, but that only made your boisterous and entertaining side shine through. You were the life of the party, dude! Everyone loved you. Even those poor young girls you flashed and that group of five-year olds you made cry. They thought you were hilarious.

Thanks random drunk kid. You make bloggin’ easy!

Ed note: Er, I’d chalk this one up to another OD of GHB, ol’ chap.

Guardian Eye: Dreaming in orange

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We’ve invited fab local photog Darwin Bell to share some of his photos with us throughout the next month, and tell us what the heck he was thinking when he took them. And hey, it’s “wear orange for prisoner awareness” day, so the following pic is perfect.

Dreamcicle

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Darwin Bell : “This is the first photograph I took that could be considered abstract and is really the first picture I took that made me really interested in photography. It’s a shot of part of a white and orange cubic sculpture on 3rd Street (the cross street escapes me) in downtown SF. I think it’s actually the corporate logo of the building it stands in front of.”

Well Musseled

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By Colleen McCaffrey

plouf.jpg

The Financial District’s Belden Alley is what it is: a perfect spot for tourists, out-of-town guests, and lovers of mussels al fresco, the house specialty at Plouf. On a recent visit, my companions and I were served a heaping bowl of the dark-lipped Prince Edward Island offerings, steaming in a magna caude of shallots, bacon, white wine, parsley and cream. We opted for the steamed combo, which mixed little necks in with the mussels Poulette. We realized this was a decadent decision as we fished for the last crustaceans in a sauce so rich it reminded us of a hearty New England Clam chowder, sans potatoes. The lactose-intolerant may want to opt for one of the six other house specialty broth options for their steamers, as the cream in the Poulette was more of a primary candidate than a runningmate. Outdoor seating not at the mercy of car exhaust is rare in this city, so we enjoyed the Parisian dining experience in the lovely alley of Belden Lane, which can get quite busy at the noon hour but is always an afternoon delight. The recommended pomme frites could have been crispier, but after a few glasses of Sancerre, they made for a delectable accompaniment to the heavy Poulette.

Plouf
40 Belden Pl., SF
(415) 986-6491
http://www.belden-place.com/plouf/