2 oz blended whiskey
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 tsp powdered sugar
1/2 slice lemon
Shake blended whiskey, juice of lemon, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a whiskey sour glass. Decorate with the half-slice of lemon, top with the cherry, and serve.
I'm not sure where this would happen in san francisco. maybe they mean the bay area?The Eden Project, the conservation centre in Cornwall that has hosted gigs by the likes of The Verve and Pulp in the past and will host Oasis on July 14, is set to go global.
Tim Smit, chief executive of the attraction, told the Guardian that plans were in place to open more Eden Projects worldwide, with discussions about opening centres in Japan, San Francisco, Singapore and the Gulf states having already taken place.
Smit said that each centre would differ from the Cornish one, reflecting the country and climate it was in.
"They wouldn't necessarily be botanical," he said. "It might not have a lid, it's about an attitude rather than architecture."
He added that he hoped that work on at least one of the centres would begin before 2009 ends, and that he had turned down previous approaches to simply replicate the centre in the past.
Coachella '06, '07, '09
So I might be heading out there to attend AAU in the fall.
I'm going to be in San Fran from London, from 8th Feb til 15th when I go back to Edmonton Canada.
Anyone wanna buy me a beer or recommend me a footy match (Quakes?) hit me up PM or email. Cheers
Added for "flava":
In July 2003 I spent a couple of weeks in San Francisco, staying with my friend Simon, and his wife Makie, and their cat Moonna, in an apartment downtown. It was a nice apartment, but I didn't really care for the area and the room I was staying in faced right out onto Post Street. If you know San Francisco you'll know that Post Street is one of the main streets right in the centre of the city, just at the west end of the shopping district. It has a Disney Store and a Macy's and a Gap and all that crap along it, and my room faced right out onto the middle of it, with only a single pane of glass and some flimsy blinds to keep out all the sounds and lights of the city.
And just outside the window was a bus stop. All day and all night buses would stop right outside the window, big old buses with their bright lights on, revving and whirring and honking and screeching. And the people waiting for the buses or getting off the buses would make a lot of noise too; tourists and workers and residents all going noisily about their lives - talking and coughing and sneezing and shouting and laughing - oblivious to the fact that I could hear them in my room, just a couple of metres away. And as if all of that wasn't bad enough, all of the buses in San Francisco talk, too. Every time the bus reaches a stop, it emits a large BEEP and then an electronic voice says "This is..." and then the name of the stop. In my case I would hear the bus pull up and then the BEEP, followed by the voice saying "This is POST and JONES", and then the doors would creak open and a flurry of voices would hurry onto or off of the bus.
This happened every ten minutes or so, all day and all night. During the day it wasn't so bad; the sound of the buses would blend in with the noise of the city and I'd barely notice it, and I was never home anyway. But at night that damn BEEP and electronic voice would sound like a siren, disturbing my sleep and waking me every ten minutes or so. After a few days I got used to the BEEP and the talking buses, but my first few nights in San Francisco were pretty sleepless, and my jetlag just made things worse.
Anyhow, on my third day in San Francisco, after another fitful night's sleep of BEEPs and POSTs and JONESes, I decided to go and look for the City Lights bookstore. I was spending my days alone waiting for Rachel to arrive, and I had spent the previous day at the pier, so on that day I decided to find this legendary bookstore which I had heard so much about; where Kerouac and the Beats used to gather to write their poetry.
I was woken at around 7am, by the sounds of Simon and Makie leaving for work, and I couldn't get back to sleep because of the damn buses, so I decided to get going as early as possible. I left the house at about 8am with a map of the city, my camera, and some money, and started walking to City Lights.
Walking in San Francisco in July is a pretty stupid idea. The sun beats down on you, baking your head and your back as you try to navigate up and down block after block of those stupid hills. It's enough to make you crazy. Hills so steep you have to walk up them in a zigzag and down them sideways. After a while your legs start to ache and your knees start to hurt and even your ass feels sore. You start to feel like you're climbing a mountain, or on some crazy sort of rollercoaster. And all the time the sun is beating down on you.
So by the time I made it to City Lights - still jetlagged, and tired, and hot - I was in a pretty bad mood, and desperate to pee. I had a quick look around and was a little disappointed because it was just a bookstore (what had I expected?), and then asked an assistant if I could use the bathroom.
"No", he said, "We don't have a public bathroom."
Some of the greatest liberal writers of our time had gathered here to write poetry and get drunk and do drugs, and now they wouldn't even let me use their bathroom!
"Well, do you know where I can find one?" I asked.
"Vesuvio. It's the bar next door."
So I went to Vesuvio.
It was only 10:30am but the doors were open; Vesuvio is the kind of bar that probably never closes. I sat down at the bar and a woman walked over and smiled.
"What can I get you?"
She was in her forties, but beautiful. She looked like she hadn't slept in a couple of days, though, and like she'd had a rough time, and seen a few too many fights. I ordered a lemonade and she brought it over. It was a good lemonade and I drank it all down, cursing the sun and those stupid hills.
"Do you have a bathroom?" I said.
"Sure, downstairs", she smiled.
I went downstairs to the bathroom. It was a dark, tiny room, with a couple of urinals and one cubicle. The cubicle was up on a stand, with just a little waist-high door across it to hide your dignity. You had to walk up a step to get to it and it reminded me of those things you see people sitting on whilst they have their shoes shined. It was a little weird.
I peed and went back upstairs, sat back down at the bar and ordered another lemonade. There was a television mounted on the wall in the corner and a sports show came on, showing baseball highlights. An old man sat further down the bar from me started to talk about baseball. He seemed to just be talking to himself, but occasionally a couple of other old men sat around the bar would nod in agreement or chime in with a comment. A few of them started talking about the San Francisco Giants, and their star player, Barry Bonds. I sat and listened.
I was just nearing the end of my second lemonade, thinking about heading back out to the sunshine and those stupid hills, when a guy around my age walked in, and sat down at the bar, just a couple of seats down from mine. He was wearing a large black hat - sort of like a trilby - and wearing a backpack. And he looked excited, like he had a story to tell and he couldn't wait to tell it. I decided to stick around.
The woman behind the bar spotted him and went over.
"Oh hi, how did it go?" she asked. They had clearly spoken before.
"It was great!" the man said. "I met him! I actually met him!" He was beaming from ear to ear.
"Thanks! I can't believe it! I'm still in shock! I'll have a beer."
The woman went to get him a beer.
I couldn't resist asking.
"Who did you meet?"
The man looked at me. He seemed happy that someone was taking interest in his story.
"Ferlinghetti!" he answered, "I met Ferlinghetti!" He was grinning from ear to ear.
"Lawrence Ferlighetti? The writer?"
"Yes! I came all the way here from Oregon, just to meet him! I was ready to give up and I was just going to post him a letter, but on my way to the post office I met him! He was just out there, on the street!"
The woman brought his beer over and he started to drink it.
"Wow that's great!" I said. "I've read some of his stuff. I studied the Beats. I didn't know he was still alive, though."
"Yeah, he's alive. He's old, and he's got a big beard now, but I recognised him. And I spoke to him! And he signed my book! Oh man..."
He took a big swig of beer, still smiling.
"And you came all the way from Oregon, just to meet him?" I asked.
"Yeah, I hitchhiked. He's one of my favourite writers!"
"Wow... how long did that take?"
"Just over two days."
"Oh... well that's not so bad. How was it?"
"It was great. The first night I slept beneath the stars, by the shore of a lake, in Oregon. I woke up in the morning and there were some sort of huge animal tracks in the earth next to me, and my backpack had been moved around. Maybe it was a bear! Haha!"
"After that a lady picked me up and she drove me all the rest of the way here. She even let me stay in her motel room last night."
"Yeah, it was good."
"Where are you going to stay tonight?"
"I don't know... on a rooftop somewhere, I think."
"I think I'm going to start heading back to Oregon tomorrow. I need to get back to my girl. She's mad that I came out here in the first place."
"Oh, well I bet she'll be happy you met Ferlinghetti!"
"Yeah, I hope so!"
We both laughed and drank our drinks. Then he started fishing around inside his pockets. He pulled out his wallet, and then a photograph. He handed it to me.
"There she is. That's my girl."
"She's pretty," I said.
"Yeah", he smiled.
I handed the photo back.
"Where in Oregon do you guys live?"
"Oh nice. I've been there a few times. I lived in Salem for 6 months. I used to study there."
"That's great! You should come and visit us! My girl would love to meet you!"
I liked the way he only ever called her his girl, as though she didn't have a name.
"Well, I live in England. I'm English. I'm just here on holiday."
"Yeah, have you been there?"
"Me? No, no." He paused and gave a wry smile. "This is only my second time out of Oregon!"
I felt a little sad. Some people have no lust for life, and never want to travel, but I could tell that this guy was overflowing with energy and would love to see the world if he could.
"...But I was published in a magazine there once." he continued.
"Ah, you're a writer?"
"Yeah. Here, let me give you some of my stuff!"
He looked around in his backpack and then pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to me. It was a booklet of poems and it said MICHAEL MOLOTOV on the front, at the bottom.
"Is that you?" I asked.
"Yeah," he smiled. "I'm Michael."
"Well, nice to meet you," I said, "I'm Stefan."
"Good to meet you!"
We shook hands and carried on talking. After about 45 minutes I decided I should probably go. Michael wrote down his address on a piece of paper for me, and made me promise to visit him any time I was ever in Portland, so that I could meet his girl. He also gave me his email address, and I gave him mine. Then we said our goodbyes and I left.
When I got back to London I sent Michael a postcard. He sent me an email, telling me that the postcard was the best thing to happen to him all week.
About a year later, I emailed him back, asking him if he remembered me, and to let him know I would be heading back to the States soon, maybe to Oregon. This was his reply:
of course i remember. the best drinking buddy a
traveller could have! i will be here and looking
forward to seeing you. you will be in town just after
the birth of my daughter, which i am also very excited
about. my girl wants to meet you! hope to see you soon.
my number is (503)866-xxxx, so call when you get here.
take care brother,
I never did get the chance to meet up with Michael, but this morning I was reading Bukowski on the tube, and he mentioned Ferlinghetti, and that's what triggered this.
"The first time I heard the new single off the Bravery album, I actually cried, and I do not even remember the name of that damn song. It reminded me of this girl I am in love with." - kroqken
I CAN'T WAIT TO GO TO FRISCO!
A friend of mine used to bring them back for me when she would go to England several times a year...I haven't had one in ages and got all giddy last weekend when I came accross the same damn cookies at the market here...hence I don't need you to bring me a roll of hobnobs...
Last edited by SFChrissy; 01-28-2009 at 07:55 AM.
i can bring chocolate hobnobs, they're best imo
i'll be in frisco 8th feb
Where you will be promptly beaten to death.
i left the city yesterday about a half hour before that tanker ran its fat ass into the golden gate. i really wish i could've seen that
looking to purchase:big brother skateboarding magazine back issues. travis bean tb1000s electric guitars.
San Francisco is a magical place Luna. There are even parts of the city were people give out free candy... you just have to ask. The Tenderloin is a great place to start.
there are a few other sf threads that have great recommendations in them...
lunchtime. i'm going to go get a sandwich from Freddy's in the weird Coit Tower/North Beach area. you'd be jealous, if you've been there.
*based upon tedious fact checking.