One day when I was walking around in the hills behind my house, I happened upon this bizarre street. It was as though someone had taken postmodernism and tried to make it into a block of houses. Each one has its own internally complete theme, involving strange colors and sculptural elements attached to the outside walls (gold eggs, wisps of wrought iron). This led me on subsequent walks to name them: the Corbusier House, the Barn, the Preschool Blocks house, the House of Wicca… and so on.

Some areas of San Francisco are so steep that the sidewalk literally is a stairway; other times it’s just more interesting to have a stairway between streets… or a slide. I once saw a grown man with a briefcase matter-of-factly go down this slide and continue on his way down the hill. Why not?

Stout would go around the world and bring back rare books and that's how the store was born.

Worker-owned, hole in the wall bakery worth waiting in line for.

I feel like a little fish, swimming under a twinkley ceiling of silver streamers and shiny things in this most fantastic bar. I am completely mesmerized by the gaudy décor and it is the best place for me to shake my booty to some Latin 45’s on the dance floor. Wish I were there right now.