Molly Freedenberg

Iron crotches, wonder dogs, and Qi

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By G. Martinez Cabrera

Until last weekend, I didn’t know much about Qi Gong, the foundation of Chinese Medicine. But as I entered the Golden Gateway Holiday Inn last weekend, when more than 600 international practitioners of Qi Gong flooded SF for the four-day-long Eleventh Qi Gong Congress, it was clear I was about to find out.

At first glance, the event seemed like any other hotel convention: conference rooms submerged in a sea of dark carpet, depressing lighting everywhere, vendors looking longingly for potential customers. At an event that was supposedly all about teaching people to create and manipulate energy (Qi), there seemed to be quite a shortage of positive vibes.

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Qi Gong at the Holiday Inn.

Chocolate. It’s what’s for dinner.

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By Meghan McCloskey

I’m not the kind of girl who craves chocolate. I don’t need boxes of candy from my boyfriend to know he’s into me. Hell, I’d rather get a sweater or even a cheesy bouquet of flowers than a fatty gift that’ll up my waistband.

But since last week I’ve changed forever, thanks to Orson, a trendy restaurant in SOMA known for its forward thinking and groundbreaking use of chocolate in its main dishes. That’s right. I said chocolate. For dinner.

Since Orson’s debut in February 2008, executive chef Elizabeth Falkner and her crew have been playing with chocolate in a way that Willy Wonka couldn’t even have imagined. By some miracle, they’ve found a way to include the sweet, classic dessert ingredient in the restaurant’s savory entrées and appetizers—and have consequently created newfound chocolate-consumed barbarians like myself.

Seriously, don’t mess with me.

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Photo by Cheryl Mazak at gogetyourgirlon.com.

Kink dreams

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› molly@sfbg.com

When it comes to BDSM porn peddlers Kink.com, apparently size does matter. At least, that’s how it seems now that the steamy studio has purchased the 200,000-square-foot San Francisco Armory. Suddenly, everyone wants to know: What’s the carnal concern going to do with all that space?

The answers are more diverse and ambitious than one might expect — ranging from creating a racy reality show to starting a perfectly PG-13 public community center. And thanks to the lascivious and lucrative imagination of Kink.com founder Peter Acworth, it might all be possible.

CONCEPTION AND CONTROVERSY


Though Kink.com has been producing independent niche fetish sites like Hogtied.com, WiredPussy.com, and FuckingMachines.com for the Folsom Street Fair crowd for more than 10 years — first from Acworth’s rented Marina District apartment and then from the Porn Palace on Fifth and Mission streets — it wasn’t until Acworth purchased the historical landmark in the Mission District, and was met with opposition, that the provocative porn empire really made it onto the public’s radar screen.

The armory, which was a training ground for the National Guard prior to its decommissioning 30 years ago, has been the center of controversy before. But that was mostly in-fighting between potential developers. Stringent zoning requirements and necessary but cost-prohibitive renovations discouraged buyers, leaving the Moorish behemoth on 14th and Mission streets vacant and outside public scrutiny.

But everything changed when Acworth got involved. His intended commercial use, for shooting scenes for all of Kink’s Web sites, complied with planning codes. And he didn’t need to do expensive renovations before he could start using, and profiting from, the building: what could be more perfect for bondage shoots or movies about women fucking machines than dungeons in disrepair? The only thing more ideal than the structure itself, according to Acworth, was its location in the heart of America’s most fetish-friendly city. "You couldn’t have dreamt up a more perfect place than a castle in the middle of San Francisco," says Acworth, who purchased the armory for $14.5 million in 2007 and started operations in January of this year. "It’s like divine intervention."

Acworth had to contend with a different kind of intervention — from a neighborhood group called the Mission Armory Community Collective, which opposed Kink.com as a potential neighbor. Though careful not to condemn porn per se, the group said it feared that the company’s presence in an already troubled neighborhood would introduce more problems. Even the Mayor’s Office, potentially bending to pressure, issued the following statement: "While not wanting to be prudish, the fact that kink.com will be located in the proximity to a number of schools give [sic] us pause."

But the sale quietly went through, and even as protesters stood outside, Kink was already filming new scenes for its subscription sites. Since then, the protests have largely died down. As the company removed graffiti from the brick facade of the armory, fixed windows, and generally improved the appearance of its stretch of Mission Street, neighbors began stopping by to congratulate Acworth — or to ask for a tour. (Incidentally, the public is invited to tour the armory on second Fridays. E-mail info@kink.com for an appointment.)

On a September afternoon, the building — mostly nondescript from the sidewalk except for the castlelike rooftop — seems quiet and innocuous. Three boys skateboard on the steps outside, stopping to talk to a woman walking her dog. The only people entering the doors, which are always locked and manned by a security guard, look as though they could’ve been going to the grocery store or the gym, wearing shorts, T-shirts, and sandals. In fact, on first glance inside, the place is almost disappointingly tame.

Acworth himself hardly looks like a porn kingpin. He’s sweetly attractive in an unmenacing, mainstream way, with an easy smile and casual style. His office, a room near the entrance to the armory, is large and comfortable, but bears no hint of his livelihood save for one tasteful bondage statue. Next to his desk are water and food bowls for the armory’s two live-in cats: Rudy and Lala. His assistant, a young girl in a minidress, leggings, and hoop earrings, looks like she could be working at American Apparel. Even the desktop pattern on Acworth’s Dell computer screen is vanilla: rolling green hills beneath a blue, blue sky. This sense of normalcy seems to be Kink’s main point.

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Van Darkholme, Peter Acworth, and Princess Donna in the Armory boiler room. Photo by Pat Mazzera

Acworth remembers getting turned on as a child in England by scenes in movies where women were tied up — and wondering if this signaled violent tendencies within himself. It wasn’t until adolescence that he discovered the relief (and release) of bondage porn. At the same time, he was already a burgeoning entrepreneur, a child who grew vegetables behind his house and tried to sell them to his parents. By the time he read a magazine article about a man making millions from Internet porn, as a Wall Street–bound doctoral student in a Columbia University finance program, it seemed almost inevitable that Acworth would find a way to marry his two lifelong interests: bondage and business. When he founded Kink.com in 1997, the idea was not only to jump on the dot-com money train, but also to demystify and promote fetish porn as an acceptable form of sexual stimulation.

Now, each of Kink.com’s Web sites is geared toward a particular fetish, run by a Webmaster who’s not only an expert on that particular kink but also has an interest in it, just as Acworth started Hogtied.com, which features women tied up, and Fuckingmachines.com, which showcases women having sex with machinery, because that’s what turned him on. These Webmasters act as director, producer, human resources manager, and often participant as well as Web developer.

"It’s hard to guess what people want," he explains, pointing out that it’s easier to make what you know.

Which means models aren’t actors. Just as directors are expected to be interested in the fetish they’re promoting, so are participants expected to enjoy the scenes they’re in. This isn’t about fake-breasted women pretending to like a face full of come. In fact, Acworth has had trouble in the past working with models from Los Angeles, trying to get them not to act. Kink’s sites feature actual people enjoying a private play party that just happens to be taped. Videos are intimate, personal, and disarmingly real — models talk to each other before, during, and after their sessions, just the way they would in their own bedrooms. They’re encouraged to smile on camera. Whether it’s shocking a woman with electric instruments or forcing a man to eat from a dog bowl, you get the sense that these people would be playing out these scenarios anyway — Kink just provides a salary, benefits, and a really nice location.

THE KINK CASTLE


As for the building itself, Kink has just begun to scratch the surface of its possibilities. The first floor, perhaps the most institutional-looking of the four, houses offices for Acworth, the marketing team, the production team, and the break room, which features a pool table, a disco ball, an espresso machine, a drum set, and a DJ booth (all for parties as well as employee use). Directly opposite the front doors is the Drill Court, a monstrous space that looks something like an airplane hangar crossed with a European train station. This is the space Acworth hopes will become the Mission Armory Community Center (which would unintentionally bear the same acronym as one of the groups that protested Kink.com’s purchase of the armory), a public venue available for sporting events, educational seminars, film festivals, and someday maybe a Folsom Street Fair party. According to MACC coordinator David Klein, a developer who has no affiliation with Kink.com, that dream is a long way off — with plenty of renovations, public meetings, and applications standing between here and there. In the meantime, the Drill Court serves as an occasional event site (such as for the Mission Bazaar craft fair earlier this year) and an employee parking lot. Currently, the most public location is the Ultimate Surrender room, where small numbers of members are invited to sit in bleachers and watch women wrestle each other to the ground on large mats — the winner, of course, gets to fuck the loser.

The armory’s basement is by far the most interesting area. "It’s a wonderland of sets," says Acworth, and it’s hard to argue with him. Some rooms seem perfect as is, such as a former gymnasium whose floor has long since been removed to reveal gothic-looking structural planks punctuated by intimidating bolts. All it took was adding a platform in the center of the expansive room and a pulley above it to make it a perfect bondage set. Next door is an army-style communal bathroom, another favorite as-is set. Other rooms on this floor are a completely furnished 1970s New York loft; a padded cell with an observation room connected by a one-way mirror; a former hermetically sealed gunpowder room that’s been outfitted with all sorts of rings, hooks, and rope pulleys; an office connected by a cage to the "Gimp Room," where ceiling chains hang like some kind of Donkey Kong homage; a hallway storage room chock-full of expected (whips, chains, clamps) and unexpected (mops, long-handled brushes with hard bristles, small boxes with smaller holes in them) toys; the large prop room, where human-shaped cages, monstrous doghouses, and machines like the back breaker and water-torture wheel are kept; the laundry room, where shelves are lined with douches, enemas, latex gloves, and sanitized sex toys; and the former shooting range, which has a Pirates of the Caribbean feel, complete with a river running through it.

And that’s just the start of it. Just when you think every nook and cranny has been used — including an oddly shaped corner off the production gallery that looks like a 19th-century psychiatric ward — you’ll discover a hallway that’s virtually untouched. Hardly any construction has been done on the third or fourth floors, including the officers’ quarters, which occupy one turret. Even the roof, with its castle-y details and flags, seems like a perfect potential shooting location.

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Kink’s porn palace, the San Francisco Armory. Photo by Pat Mazzera

Kink already has plans for several new sets: the military clean room, a stark ’50s-era space, slated for FuckingMachines; an abandoned electrical equipment room for WiredPussy, where dead vintage electrical equipment will line the walls; an Alcatraz-esque prison gallery for BoundGods.com; and an expanded DeviceBondage.com room, which will be clad with cultured stone to look like the basement of an old castle.

Reps won’t say just how much it costs to maintain the armory or to shoot a scene, but Acworth told 7×7 magazine last year that profits were upward of $16 million. And spokesperson Thomas Roche says that the cost of a shoot, including sets, makeup, wardrobe, video and still photo staff, and editing, would be prohibitive if Kink weren’t doing lots of them. Luckily, the armory allows for a volume of shoots that makes it feasible — sometimes four or five in a single day. And it’s good variety for viewers too, who get used to seeing the same sets over and over in various porn films — even ones by different companies.

FLIRTING WITH THE FUTURE


Perhaps the most advantageous thing about moving into the armory, though, has been the increased possibilities for Kink’s growth. With so much space, an almost infinite number of sets can be created without tearing any old ones down. Since multiple shoots can go on at once, multiple sites can be developed and maintained. And buying the building has started attracting directors, models, and Web developers on a scale Acworth hasn’t seen before.

"It was initially difficult to find people," says Acworth, who conjectures that it’s not just the publicity from the building but also the exciting prospect of working there that’s turned the tide. "Now they’ve started to approach us."

One of those who approached Acworth was Van Darkholme, a Shibari rope bondage expert, a porn performer, and the proprietor of fetish film studio Muscle Bound Productions, who was living in LA. Darkholme saw an article about Acworth and the armory in a magazine and contacted him immediately, hoping to get involved. The Vietnam-born Darkholme, who seems almost starstruck by Acworth’s genius, was shocked not only to hear back from Acworth himself, but to be offered a job at the helm of Kink’s new gay bondage site: BoundGods.com.

"What Peter does is so avant-garde and so fresh, I just wanted to come in and mop the floor," says Darkholme, who moved to San Francisco in April and launched his new site Aug. 1.

Darkholme’s BoundGods takes Kink’s principles of intimate, conversational, playful, and mutually enjoyable interactions and applies them to his particular brand of gay sexuality: lean, muscled studs. In one video, a man is tied up in the army-style bathroom at the armory while another fucks him with a large black dildo. In a similar scene, anal beads are gradually pulled from the bound, naked man — much to both participants’ obvious pleasure (though interestingly, neither are hard). Darkholme makes appearances in many of the videos, often as the dominant character — a striking contrast to the camo-shorts-and-T-shirt-wearing, somewhat shy individual I interview at the armory.

He’s clearly proud of the product, not only because it’s well produced but also because there’s almost no competition in the gay market.

"I hate to generalize, but most of what I see out there falls into this trap of gay men putting on leather and grunting and groaning," says Darkholme. "It’s visual, but doesn’t have as much dialogue. What we do is very real and very intimate, with a realness in what they’re saying."

The site marks Kink’s first serious foray into the gay market — a step the company couldn’t quite take while limited by space and resources at the Porn Palace. But set builders are already hard at work constructing an Alcatraz-esque prison gallery for new Boundgods shoots. And the creation of a sub-brand, KinkMen.com, promises more gay-focused fetish sites to come. (Incidentally, Kink tried a gay site several years ago with Butt Machine Boys, which is still online at www.buttmachineboys.com but not listed on the main Web site. Acworth said the site never took off, partly because of lack of budget and partly because, unlike Darkholme, the director wasn’t speaking to his personal interests.)

For now, though, Darkholme has his hands full with BoundGods. His immediate goal is to find and train 12 new dommes for the Web site — a tougher feat than might be expected. "Femme dommes can dish it out and can really take it," he says. "There’s a small percentage of men that can do that." In fact, during some of his first shoots, filmed in Budapest, his bevy of gay models and porn stars were shocked when Darkholme finally opened up his bag of toys.

"They looked at me like the circus had come to town, or like I was going to make one of the Saw movies. Their hands were shaking," he says.

So when Kink sets up its demonstration booth at Folsom Street Fair (Sept. 28, www.folsomstreetfair.com), Darkholme will have two purposes: recruiting talent (both people he can train and experts who have something to teach him) and publicizing his new brand.

"I want to say, ‘We’re here, we’re queer, we want to be part of your community!’" he laughs.

But Darkholme won’t be alone at his booth. Among other popular Kink stars like Isis Love, new director Lochai, expert rigger Lew Rubens, and porn stars LaCherry Spice and Natassia Dream will be WiredPussy.com creator Princess Donna, who’s launching her new pet product, PublicDisgrace.com, next month. The site will feature blatant public bondage, punishment, erotic humiliation, and explicit sex between models and, potentially, passersby.

The veteran domme is filming most scenes in Europe, where attitudes (and therefore laws) about sex are more lax. In fact, while shooting a scene on a public street in Berlin, the crew was stopped by a couple of motorcycle cops who said only, "If you cause an accident, you’ll be liable," before going on their way. In the shoot, a half-naked girl is tied to a park bench, made to carry a dog bowl while on a leash, fondled by her female master, and fucked by a man.

"It’s the adrenaline rush of potentially getting caught," says Acworth, explaining the site’s appeal and recipe for success. The site will also feature a slew of new faces. Plus, it’s the perfect time of year to launch a new fetish site. "Sales pick up when the kids go back to school," Acworth says.

There also plenty of developments in the works that don’t follow the start-a-new-fetish-site model. For starters, Kink is moving to a Flash format, where the delay is only 2 seconds instead of 20. The new technology means that users can actively participate in scenes via chat rooms, where they can give instructions to dommes and watch their demands be carried out. Members of Kink.com can already do this on DeviceBondage.com, but Acworth hopes to switch to a per-minute billing system so even more viewers can participate. At the moment, the site is structured so you must be a member of a particular site in order to watch videos; Acworth would like to move to a single-sign-on system where you can join Kink.com and have access to any of its member sites.

Perhaps the most ambitious technological plan for Kink’s future, though, is the development of an online Web community that will be called Kinky.com. Following the Web 2.0 trend of user-based content, Kinky.com will allow members and models to maintain user profiles, interact with one another on message boards, blog, and even date. Yes, it’s a way to stay up-to-date with Internet trends and to provide an experience that pirated video sites can’t, but Acworth says it’s also a natural outgrowth of the kind of porn he creates.

"In contrast with straight porn, which people want to consume in private, this is a community people want to be a part of," he says.

Which leads us to the project closest to Acworth’s heart: the reality show.

THE REAL WORLD: KINK.COM


In the spirit of community and BDSM as a lifestyle, Acworth wants to transform the armory’s top floor into a series of Victorian/Georgian-inspired rooms where couples will live and fuck on camera 24-7. Participants will be given hierarchical positions — from maid to master of the house — and live according to the rules of domination and submission. Acworth’s already started designing the grand dining room, inspired by the sets in Remains of the Day, including candelabras, elaborate draperies, and, of course, a long, long table. "I consider it the pinnacle of where everything comes together," he says.

The dream is still at least a year off: he’ll have to figure out payment and subscription details, renovate the nearly untouched top floor, and recruit couples who want to live their kinks on camera. But he’s hoping he’ll soon have more time to devote to the project. With more than 100 employees and a huge building to maintain, Acworth’s role has shifted from almost entirely creative to almost entirely administrative. He misses the early days, when he found models on Craigslist, tied them up in his rented Marina apartment, interacted with them himself, and then posted the shoots. (You can still see these early shoots online.) Soon he’ll promote an employee to chief operating officer, which will allow him to back off the business side and devote himself to the reality show.

So did he ever imagine his little project would get so big? Absolutely not, Acworth says. If he’d had any inkling, he adds, "I would’ve been terrified." But it only seems natural that the little English boy who used to try to sell his parents’ own vegetables back to them would eventually have an eye for business — and that his interest in fetish porn would lead his business instincts here.

As for how his parents feel about his chosen profession, Acworth says they’re not exactly vocally supportive, but they don’t condemn him either. His mom, a sculptor, has started creating pieces that feature couples in coital or bondage positions, and may start to sell them on the site. His dad, a former Jesuit preacher, says only, "As long as no one’s getting hurt and there are no animals, I guess it’s all right."

A walk in the PARK

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Think metered parking spaces can only be used for cars? Think again. The forward-thinking, public space-obsessed art collective REBAR has been exploiting a legal loophole that allows just about any use of those car-sized spots – as long as the meter’s being fed – since 2005.

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Back then, the small Bay Area-based collective started by building miniature public parks in places where private SUVs usually live. The result was so surprising and delightful that the idea’s caught on worldwide – and now, on Friday, September 19, in 600 cities globally, metered spaces will be used for everything from extended sidewalk seating outside a café to, in one Bay Area case, a marriage locale. (Watch the two men wed on Friday at 137 Scott, from 3 to 5pm.)

Even if you don’t have time to build your own park, take a walking tour and join in the fun as businesses, individuals, and arts groups all over the city transform gutters into gardens. For more info on PARK(ing) Day, visit www.parkingday.org. Or, for maps of the day’s haps, check out the Trust for Public Land’s national info at their website.

For more information on REBAR, including other projects such as a commission for the City of Amsterdam and a presentation at the world-renowned Venice Architecture Biennale, check out their website at www.rebargroup.org.

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Sure beats a carpool. Flickr photo by Plaid Iguana.

Big ups for “Big Top”

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Finally, a publication is recognizing the recent(ish) explosion of independent circus art as a movement in its own right (rather than a bastardization of “real” circus or an extension of Burning Man culture). Yup, that’s right. I’m talking about Best of the Bay winner Big Top, the online mag dedicated to highlighting, promoting, and supporting indie circus culture. (For the record, we did talk about the trend in early 2007 – we just haven’t devoted a whole damn magazine to it.)

So why am I talking about Big Top so soon after we featured ‘em in last week’s issue – and hung with ‘em at our badass Best of the Bay party on Thursday? Because they’re awesome. And because they hosted their own incidiary event the next night at Fat City.

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Fat City headliners Fou Fou Ha! Photo from Big Top Magazine.

If the glass fits

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By Marianne Moore

Delirium Tremens is the name of a Belgian beer. It’s also a condition that results from severe alcohol withdrawal—its symptoms are convulsions and hallucinations, and untreated, it’s quite deadly*. At nine percent alcohol by volume, the Belgian pale ale could be said to be both the cause and the cure of the syndrome it’s named for (Oh no! He’s got delirium tremens; quick! Give him some Delirium Tremens). Like most beers with a high alcohol concentration, DT on draft is served in an itty bitty little glass—about six to eight ounces. In reference, no doubt, to the visions brought on by the rum fits, the glass has tiny pink elephants all over it.

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After a couple of those at Luka’s taproom in Oakland last week, plus one or two of their signature Green Hornets (think margarita, only strangely gritty and awesome), my friend and I were getting ready to pack it in. As we were giggling and scraping bacon-sprinkled mac & cheese into a cardboard box, I casually mentioned to my friend that it’d be pretty cool if she could manage to swipe her pink elephant DT glass. Without a word, she snapped the box closed and grabbed the glass.

Instinctively, I headed for the door. Once outside, thinking she was right behind me, I gave a victory whoop and practically ran past the 300 pound bouncer. I got about 50 feet from the door before I realized I was alone—my friend still had to untie her bike, which happened to be locked up right next to the security walrus. If I’d been a little more casual about it, we might have been able to slip past without him noticing, but as it was we got a lecture and I was forced to shuffle back into the bar and replace the glass. As we headed towards 19th Street BART, my friend turned around and yelled, “You know you get those for free, right?”

Ah, my drunk, delirious hero.

*Python straight man Graham Chapman was suffering from delirium tremens while shooting Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Imagine if you had to stare at Terry Gilliam for hours on end while tripping balls…

Drive-by clowning

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By Sam Devine

“I sit and watch as tears go by …” –Mick Jagger

It was a lovely day on Columbus Avenue in the heart of North Beach. No one suspected they were about to be clowned.

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There was hardly a cloud in the sky and the heat wave had brought a lunch-hour rush of tourists and locals alike to the street-side tables of North Beach. At Café Grecco, patrons sipped coffee on the shaded side of their tables – the first inkling of shade that the awnings would provide for the day. A family chatted while an old man next to them hunched over a newspaper.

The noises of road construction drifted up the hill from Broadway and foot traffic pressed through itself on the sidewalk. A motorcyclist had just pulled his ‘70s model Beamer away from the curb when the distinct, sound of Smokey Robinson’s “Tears of a Clown” came marching through the gentle breeze.

A white, boxy Scion cruised by, calliope and drums blasting from its open windows. Behind the wheel was a man in a plain T-shirt, probably in his early 40’s, wearing a clown nose and white and black frowning make-up around his mouth.

“Wow!” said a child.

“How ‘bout that?” said his mother.

“You can’t make something like that up,” said a young man nearby.

The old man looked up from his paper, saw nothing, furrowed his brow and then hunkered back into his pages of print.

Killing the keffiyeh: Another trend slowly fizzles

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By Marianne Moore

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Rack of keffiyehs at Sharks on Telegraph

It’s a tired cliché by now: the hipster in skinny jeans and vintage T-shirt wearing a checkered, vaguely Arab-looking scarf folded into a triangle and wrapped around the neck, the point draped across the chest. The scarves, loosely based on Arab keffiyehs, are thought to give the wearer an air of edginess and rebellion totally unaffected by his or her ignorance of the political significance of the accessory, which differs from pattern to pattern. The black and white checkered keffiyeh is associated with Fatah, the largest faction of the Palestinian Liberation Organization; the slightly less common (among hipsters) red checked Kefi, was worn by Jordanian soldiers in the ’60s and now associated with Hamas, the ruling party in Palestine.

Shootin’ your mouth off at the Arms

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By Phil Eil

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The Jackson Arms Shooting Range in South San Francisco has plenty of promotions. Mondays are Ladies Night (half-priced lane for ladies), Tuesdays are N.R.A. Night (half-priced lane for cardholders), Wednesdays are Law Enforcement Night (second shooter is free with a law enforcement I.D.), and Thursdays are Group Night (third shooter is free, free handgun rental). But while the perks for cops, ladies, groups, and gunsters are nice, the real reason to go to Jackson Arms isn’t their marketing scheme. It’s the noise. It’s loud in there — terrifyingly, front-row-at-a-Van-Halen-concert loud. It’s so loud that when you step up to shoot, there’s no way anyone can hear what you’re saying.

Why does this matter?

Click-click, bag-bag: Procrastinate with style

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By Dona Bridges

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Everyday fashion via sfstyle.blogspot.com

Rejoice, voyeurs and procrastinators! I have found a new timesuck for you. My longtime perusal of Jezebel, Fashionista.com, and Facehunter led me to the truly amazing wastes of time that are personal and street fashion/style blogs. I gobble them up like candy, and during some of my over-consumption sessions I’ve managed to find a few that deal with Bay Area fashion specifically:

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Rumi mugs on fashiontoast.com

Coquetteis a general fashion and style blog by SF writer Natalie Zee Drieu, with some coverage of local designers and stores.

SF Indie Fashion concentrates on local independent designers, stores and events.

SFBayStyle is a local fashion e-zine/blog with multiple contributors, many of whom are based in the Peninsula; it has a slightly more mainstream focus.

Fashiontoast is the personal style page of SF girl Rumi, with lots of pretty pictures of her in Kate Moss-ish getups, along with links and reviews relating to fashion.

SFStyle does street fashion ala Facehunter, except with tons of hilarious analysis and commentary.

Streetfancy is another street fashion blog, very heavy on nightlife coverage and very recognizable locals like Merkley. Sadly, it hasn’t been updated in almost six months.

You didn’t expect to actually get any work done today, did you? You’re welcome.

Dolores Park mini guitar hero

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By Phil Eil

For those of you who declined invitations to Dolores Park on Saturday: Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. It was the usual scene: young people drinking Tecate, dogs chasing Frisbees, an eight-year-old guitar prodigy playing Creedence covers.

What’s that? There isn’t usually a third-grader playing to throngs of fans? I see. OK, then. Maybe you did miss something. Here’s what happened:

At around 6 p.m., I was lounging on the grass near the center walkway, talking with a friend, when I heard the unmistakable guitar intro to “Suzie Q.” But then, instead of a grown-up Fogerty-wannabe belting out the lyrics, I heard a tiny, determined voice wailing, “Oh, Suzie Q, baby I love you…” Curious to see who was singing, I shuffled toward the source of the music. By the tennis courts, I found a raucous crowd of hipsters whistling and hooting around a kid with an electric guitar and a microphone. Behind him, sitting on an amp, there was an older guy playing back-up guitar. I sat down and stayed mesmerized for the next 45 minutes.

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My PS3 abilities no longer seem so impressive …

Bootie turns five!

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Holy crap. Has it really been five years since DJs Adrian and Mysterious D started their Bootie mashup parties right here in SF? Since then, the bi-weekly parties at DNA Lounge have become one of the city’s favorite dance nights — and Bootie parties have become an international phenomenon.

Whether you like mash-ups or not (and I wholeheartedly do), it’s hard not to appreciate the work and dedication this DJ team have put into making Bootie ground zero for mashup culture.

Celebrate with them at their biggest party yet, this Saturday. The night features special performances by A&D, a retrospective of mashup history by stellar live mashup band Smashup Derby, an upstairs lounge dedicated to cover songs, and several performances by artists like Felicia Fellatio, Trixxie Carr, and members of SF Boylesque.

BOOTIE 5-Year Anniversary Party
Saturday, August 9
9pm, $10-$15
DNA Lounge
375 11th St., SF
www.bootiesf.com

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Montreal Fringe Festival: on y va le Fringe!

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By Nicole Gluckstern

It’s official, I’ve gone bi. Bi-coastally Fringe that is. The 18th annual Montreal Fringe Festival has begun, and I’m here to play my role. Like the San Francisco Fringe, of which I’m also a part, the Montreal Fringe offers an eclectic array of unjuried theatrical performances, from dance to drama, acrobatics to absurdities, spoken word to shadow puppetry. Unlike the SF Fringe however, Montreal is a major player in the Canadian Fringe Festival circuit, attracting a large variety of international performers, many of whom will spend the entire summer fringing on the road. It’s also one hell of a party. I’m not cheating on San Francisco, I reason. I’m broadening my horizons. If last year’s Montreal Fringe, my first, was but a dalliance, this year’s for real. While normally it’s fringe performers who do the touring, I figure that as a fringe technician, I shouldn’t have to get left out of the fun.

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Fringe folk. Photo by Cindy Lopez.

And so it’s started. It’s humid and the air is redolent with cooking grease from nearby fry haven (heaven!), Patati Patata, as the Fringe kicks off in the Parc des Amèriques with a performance from local lo-fi band, The Unsettlers. My new favorite band! Whisky-soaked is such a cliche by now, so I’ll just say the lead vocals rasp purposfully somewhere between Tom Waits, Mark Lanegan, and the Pogues, while the band keeps the shipwrecked melodies trembling and swinging with a variety of duct-tape repaired instruments such as the accordian, the bowed bass, harmonium, trombone, clarinet, a kickdrum made of an industrial plastic garbage can, and a two-foot tall baby grand piano.

I’m a highway star

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By Dona Bridges

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From Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof, the last great car movie

June is here at last, and the door to summer is swinging on its green hinges—we may even get one of those fabled, rare warm nights tonight. Last night I saw some girls optimistically wearing shorts and flip-flops after the sun went down and the temperature plunged, but I figured they were from England, like the guy who mythologized those almost non-existent “Warm San Franciscan Nights.” Or maybe they’re hot blooded, check it and see. Who knows?

Usually, I’m happy to stay in my fair city during the month of June even if I can sometimes still see my breath at night. We have summer sunshine all day long; we have gorgeous parks in which to sip (or chug) rose and High Life; and we have Pride, which I’m sure is going to be even more off the hook than usual due to righteous gay marriage hoopla.

This June, however, I’m going to make like a tree and get out of here.

Althousing odyssey

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Marianne Moore takes you on a guided tour through the often confusing, always thrilling world of Bay Area alternative housing

We all know San Francisco housing is murder, with median rent for a one-bedroom apartment going for nearly $2200. So when I came home from college for my sweet but unpaid SF Bay Guardian internship, I knew I would have to be resourceful. I was prepared to live anywhere and do (almost) anything, as long as it was cheap. If you’re a local reading this via free wireless in your rent-controlled apartment (enjoy it while it lasts!), you may find this information irrelevant and stressful; or maybe you’ve been through it all. But if, like me, you can visit the beautiful Bay only for too-short summers, or you’re passing through or in transition, read on.

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Home sweet hostel? Not if you’re local.

The USA hostel on Post, like most hostels, will sometimes let you work a certain number of hours per week in exchange for a free bed. You have to work at least 24 hours and the nightly rate is $25 for paying guests, so it comes out to about $7.50 an hour, well below minimum wage in San Francisco. When I tried to arrange things over the phone from New York, I was told by the bored-sounding receptionist that I would just have to show up for a couple nights so they could “see if they liked me.” That made me a little nervous, but since I’m not totally unlikable I still thought it was worth a try. When I checked in and presented my California driver’s license, I was told that I wouldn’t be allowed to stay unless I could show an out-of-state ID. Apparently the company has a policy against boarding California residents, a policy specifically designed (it seems to me) to keep out homeless people. This isn’t typical for hostels; places I’ve stayed in New York City are regularly used as stopgaps by people between apartments. I couldn’t help but think that the hostel shuts out native Californians to protect their guests (mostly drunk-ass Eurotrash on holiday) from the realities of life in SF, presenting a tourist experience in line with trips to Ghiradelli Square and Pier 39.That, plus the popularity contest application process, had me heading straight for the nearest internet café and the dizzying wilderness of options that is Craig’s List .

Scottish SF

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By Phil Eil

San Francisco may be a long way from Scotland, but the fingerprints of our kilt-wearing friends are all over the Bay Area. Between John Muir (of Muir Woods), and “Uncle John” Mclaren, the Golden Gate Park superintendent who vowed, “There will be no ‘Keep Off the Grass’ signs,” Scotsmen have San Francisco-area parks covered. And then there are the seven San Francisco public libraries—including my local branch in the Mission — financed by the Scottish-born steel baron Andrew Carnegie. If that’s not enough, consider each Scottish Terrier in Bernal Heights Park, all the Scotch Whisky in town, and every stitch of plaid clothing … ever. Now you’re on your way to giving the craggy country “North of the border” its proper due. Yes, Guy-Who’s-Seen-Trainspotting-Twenty-Four-Times, I’m talking to you.

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Yelp is on the way

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By Dona Bridges

Sometimes I want to give you my heart, Yelp.com. I want to praise you in typo-ridden prose and give you that highest of all honors, the five star rating. You are a star, a soapbox, a great leveler of the playing field, where the voices of the people at last ring loud and clear, audible above advertisers and bullshit merchants.

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Sure, some of my friends talk shit about you. They say that you’re too influential, and we now have to live and die by the sharply worded textual swords wielded by Laura B. or other (less hilarious) Yelp members. My restaurant co-workers click through your reviews and say, “What if I came to your workplace, then wrote about it on a highly trafficked website? While not bothering to fact check?” I might agree sometimes, especially when there’s a new review of my workplace that uses words like “slow,” “annoying,” or – how ’bout this —”bitch.”* I might roll my eyes, get all red in the face, and join the hating party: “Yeah! You come in here and do my job! Then I’ll yelp you until you cry!”

How much is that dead guy in the window?

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By Phil Eil

Some guys collected baseball cards when they were little. Martin Economou collected skulls. Nowadays, he doesn’t just collect skulls, he sells them three days a week at his store, Martin’s 16th Street Emporium. “It’s a skull shop,” Martin told me, pointing out raccoon skulls, electric light-up skulls, skulls with human hair, and skull rings as we toured his shop. “Skulls are big,” he explained, passing a glowing blue plasma skull, “They weren’t five years ago. The kids are wearing them—they’re everywhere.”

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“Don’t mind me, I’m just admiring the shape of your skull…”

3 Good reasons to hate Meghan McCain’s blog (besides the obvious)

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By Marianne Moore

Meghan McCain, the senator’s young, hot, keffiyeh-wearing daughter, has taken to blogging from the campaign trail, and the media is lapping it up: depending on who you read she’s alternately “hilarious,” “refreshing,” or even “adorable.” Lest you be seduced by the blog’s seemingly innocent, light-hearted descriptions of bad campaign food or the Governator’s neckwear, find below the tools you need to remain ruthlessly scowling at Meggers and her Daddy.

1. Revolting Fake Hipness

In addition to sharing her observations and insights from the road, Meghan also graces us with her iTunes playlists, a sure way to show us that she’s down. The playlists are a truly bizarre mix of predictable indie bands (Architecture in Helsinki, Neutral Milk Hotel, Broken Social Scene: seriously, it’s like she hired a consultant) older artists (David Bowie, Stevie Wonder), shite (Rod Stewart), and music a Republican just has no business listening to (Joni Mitchell, Iggy Pop). Really, she can listen to whatever she wants; I guess what I object to is Meggers turning some of my favorite artists into hollow McCain shills, just like I generally object to the pollution and degradation of things I hold sacred.

According to a hysterically enthusiastic article in Britain’s The Observer, Meghan has single-handedly “reinvented the campaign blog” and “injected [McCain’s] political persona with some much-needed street cred.” Right. Because nothing says street cred like private jets, ditzy gushing over mass murderer Henry Kissinger’s loafers, and “self-deprecating” admissions of Starbucks addiction.

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Shannon Bae shows us What Asian People Like: Soda! John McCain!

Cheap beer and rubber band balls

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By Justin Juul

San Francisco has the best liquor stores in the country. Oh sure, you could make the argument that New York City, with all it’s bodegas, and bullet-proof-glass-lined 24-hour sandwich shops is the real leader in this race, but come on. They don’t even sell beer at those places, and well, most of them just don’t have the personality of the shops you find here.

SF liquor stores got class, yo. There’s The S&W Market in the Lower Haight where the Pakistani couple spends all day bitching about the neighbors and stink-eyeing anyone who walks in the door. There’s The Transfer Market on Divisadero where you can barely hear yourself think over the Bhangra tunes blasting from the clerk’s surround sound speakers. There’s Mama’s in Noe Valley with the cool sign, Papa’s in The Castro that always smells like rotten meat, and a whole slew of other mom ‘n pop joints throughout the city where you can enjoy cheap beer, cool people, hot sauce, and some straight up weird shit. But none of these places is as awesome as Pride Superette on the corner of 22nd and Guerrero.

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Photo from the SF Chronicle

Is it me or the Marina?

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Today, while walking down Union Street in the Marina in my green She-Bible mini dress, I got hit on twice in one block. And not just a whistle or a “damn, girl, you look good,” or even a “that’s a great dress,” (which I got earlier at the SFMTA office on Van Ness), but honest-to-god pick-ups. A tall guy in a baseball hat sitting outside a bank told me I was beautiful and asked where I was headed. “Working,” I said, and smiled as I walked quickly away.

Half a block later, a man on a motorcycle with an orange Mohawk helmet stopped his bike and asked where he was taking me to dinner.

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I blame it on She-Bible, the local design team who made my badass green version of this dress.

CupcakeCamp: Pastry Potlucking 2.0

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By Susie Cagle

Nearly ten years after boutique New York bakeries and Carrie Bradshaw brought the lil’ cupper into the spotlight, it’s probably safe to say cupcakes have jumped the shark. Now you can find a cupcake novelty T-shirt in every clothing store, but you’re lucky to spot a nice simple brownie in the bakery case at the local coffee shop. If anyone would be sensitive to this overexposure, I’d think it would be trend-obsessed tech taste-makers, which is why CupcakeCamp — last Sunday’s bake-off for the 2.0 crowd — came as something of a surprise. This isn’t exactly the crowd I’d think of when I think of “cupcake people.”

So when I decided to go, I had an inkling of what I was getting into. But I truly wanted to believe that CupcakeCamp was just the sort of thing an earnest cupcaking socialist like me would like.

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