tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36505563002096247762011-11-27T16:20:20.497-08:00Excerpts from the diary entries of a San Francisco singleKennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.comBlogger521100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-35674030228937307362009-08-18T00:54:00.000-07:002009-09-03T02:17:12.737-07:00

Ever since I joined Facebook, I've been looking forward to the day I change my relationship status. The trouble is, I've never had a legitimate reason to. So, like a ship that had ran aground, my status remained lodged in the same spot, in perpetual singlehood.I'm not particularly unhappy about being single, mind you. I just happen to like that little candy-colored heart that precedes each

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-71045586870720393662009-06-28T23:39:00.000-07:002009-06-30T21:43:01.791-07:00

At full capacity, San Francisco's AT&T Ballpark by the waterfront can accommodate 41,503 guests. On Friday June 5, although there was no game scheduled, a surging crowd rolled through its gates, filling over half the seats.That was the night Puccini's heroine Tosca and her lover Cavaradossi were supposed to meet their unhappy ends (he in a hail of bullets from a firing squad, she by leaping to

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-24455567951990012412009-06-11T00:33:00.000-07:002009-06-12T00:45:50.945-07:00

At 3:30 PM on Tuesday, I discovered Fate had decided to thwart me off my course.I was flying home from an out-of-town reporting assignment. The first leg of my journey was smooth sailing (so to speak), but the second was in jeopardy. There was a 1.5 hours delay, which would make me miss my connecting flight for the home stretch. In a calm, indifferent demeanor I found highly insulting, the

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-77618255458760816062009-04-04T01:00:00.000-07:002009-04-05T23:02:01.427-07:00

A week ago, FedEx delivered a tube with a roll of paper inside. Once unfurled, the taut, stiff sheet measuring roughly 30 x 48 inch revealed a labyrinth, constructed in ink with crisscrossing patterns and looping motifs. It was a work of extraordinary skill and precision, a secret garden that gave a glimpse of the artist's imagination.It belonged to Sarah H, a stranger I once met on a delayed

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-5984540303844683682009-03-15T20:45:00.000-07:002009-03-17T00:43:01.627-07:00

This is the story about a girl and her special friends.The girl is Hollis Hawthorn, a West Coast dancer with a radiant smile and a burst of golden hair. In February, she was straddling a motorcycle, cruising down the Kollidam Bridge in Chidambaram, a major pilgrimage site for the worshipers of Shiva. According to The Hindu, a local newspaper, when a bus swerved to overtake a lorry, Hollis found

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-15105431729129255062009-03-08T14:05:00.000-07:002009-03-08T21:17:55.830-07:00

My sweetheart is a hippie girl and a high-tech geek. She's an earthquake survivor, a flower child, a dot-com pioneer, and a muse for a generation of beatniks. She bikes to work, buys organic, and organizes rallies to legalize same-sex marriage. She has a wild streak too. If you stumble into one of the local strip clubs, she'll give you an unforgettable lap dance that leaves you breathless (and

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-15002699348163193422009-02-15T10:33:00.000-08:002009-03-04T10:03:55.682-08:00

On Valentine's Day, about 15 minutes into the speed-dating party she'd paid $35 to attend, my friend Nika decided she'd had enough. So she bolted.She took a train across the Bay, rode a subway across town, and walked four blocks uphill to a little bookstore. There, she met me and a group of people who identify themselves as Quirkyalones. By the time she left, she was clutching a tulip someone had

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-53348699224343358602009-01-27T02:30:00.000-08:002009-03-17T00:44:01.719-07:00

I was in a dark ballroom overrun by ghostly figures. The draperies and the walls glowed with a garish yellow, as if illuminated by gas lamps caked with dust. Pale-faced men in derby hats and red-lipped women in tight corsets moved in unison, prompted by the sultry cabaret act before us. Once in a while, a whiff of Absinthe tantalized us. We were lost souls, floating in wine and perfume, swimming

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-77274374708337770232009-01-04T23:34:00.000-08:002009-03-17T00:44:43.442-07:00

(Despite a number of unforeseen obstacles, my meeting with Lara, a local blogger, did take place on the Saturday before Christmas. Afterwards, I invited Lara to write a post about our meeting. She obliged. Here's an account of our afternoon in Lara's words.)Quite some time ago--circa Thanksgiving maybe? My memory is terrible--I got a Facebook message from Kenneth asking if I'd be up for meeting

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-49496569205823633672008-12-20T05:05:00.000-08:002009-03-17T00:45:04.504-07:00

In less than 12 hours from now, I'm supposed to meet a local blogger in person.At about one o'clock this afternoon, I'll be at Coupa Cafe, a few blocks away from Stanford University campus, sipping a frothy cup of Latte. I might be too distracted to fully appreciate the handpicked, sun-dried Arabica beans from Venezuela the cafe is known for. I'll be anxiously scanning the horizon for a familiar

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-77656975248444006882008-11-27T11:50:00.000-08:002008-11-30T23:58:21.921-08:00

On Tuesday, my friend Nika knocked on my Yahoo IM window, so we opened a chat session."I'm going on a blind date tomorrow," she said, "but I'm having second thoughts about the guy. Would you make me a rescue call?""Sure," I said. "What time?""About 4:15 PM," she said.Despite having gone on more than my fair share of blind dates, I've never had to resort to a rescue call, but I'm thoroughly

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-62636091316535243802008-11-19T03:21:00.000-08:002008-11-30T23:59:06.375-08:00

My friend Sasha, the author of To-Do List (Fireside, November 2007), routinely solicits and publishes curious lists from strangers on her blog. Last week, she decided to feature the words of wisdom from a group of college juniors who put together a brief guide called "How to be sexy: for men." It ran:Accessorize ... once in a while, wear hats, watches, etc.Ask girls out!Be a gentleman. Open doors

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-90949943504861801842008-10-12T23:53:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:00:02.642-08:00

Less than 24 hours ago, I was 2,100 miles away from home, dangling on an apple tree (not by accident but by choice) in an orchard outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My friend Bunny (a nickname selected with her blessings) and I arrived in style. We came by rail, sitting on straw bales, in what the East Troy Electric Railroad Museum volunteers good-humoredly referred to as "the hobo car" (at $12 a head

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-45701117757901170732008-08-28T21:43:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:01:02.991-08:00

The quiz master, a young Irish man, had a cavalier air that made him the envy of many men in the room. We were fighting off our predate jitter, hoping we wouldn't come across as a bunch of ill-informed idiots to the attractive women we were trying to impress."OK, folks listen up," said the quiz master. "The first round is going to be general knowledge, then followed by the Olympics, Madonna ..."

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-65584482657703444872008-07-13T10:50:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:01:45.642-08:00

"Have you done this before?" asked Lara, the tall, dimpled hostess running the DateSwitch party."I've gone to a few events, but not the ones organized by this company," I replied."Well, they all kinda work the same way anyway," she said.She seemed relieved that I wasn't a virgin (a speed dating virgin, that is), perhaps because she wouldn't have to explain the protocols to me.I was glad to find

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-42012732478050192582008-06-01T18:42:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:02:17.347-08:00

Late one night last week, while perusing the list of scrabble challenges available on Facebook, I came across one issued by Claudine. She was a fresh face university student with a sprightly smile, crowned with velvety brown hair. So I quickly snatched her game up before anyone else did.I opened the game with zone (26 points). She countered it with coquet (30 points), a flirtatious verb. My next

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-86354077263556784932008-05-19T20:48:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:02:47.928-08:00

(Image of the Irrawaddy River from Manas Dichow's S. E. Asia photo set on Flickr.)On May 2, while you and I were sound asleep in our warm beds, a monster ripped through the land I once called home.Like a mythical serpent awakened from its long slumber, it whipped itself into a frenzy. Along the Tamil Nadu and the Andhra Pradesh coastline, the Indian ocean writhed and spewed frothy waves. Then,

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-35693581189982445422008-04-07T00:10:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:03:34.693-08:00

(Image: "Candy Ass" by Robert Deyber from the artist's Web site.)The rules of my pseudo-date with Sassy are as follows: (1) we're going to dress up; (2) we're both enjoying our blossoming friendship, so we're not going to force unwarranted romance upon it; (3) but if she starts quoting Shakespeare, especially Romeo and Juliet, I can't be held accountable for my subsequent behavior; and (4) if I

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-9457067553070162582008-03-23T11:01:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:04:01.376-08:00

On Thursday, as I sat in my bed, 7,400 miles away, on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, hundreds of tanks and thousands of soldiers were pouring into Tibet's capital Lhasa, with orders from the Chinese Government to quell the protests using lethal force. Merely three miles from my apartment, somewhere inside City Hall, the Mayor and his aids were plotting out the parade route for the Beijing

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-60568541089692406162008-02-17T02:21:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:04:37.221-08:00

A few weeks ago, Beth, a London blogger, issued me a challenge. From beyond the River Thames, she tossed a meme scuttling across the Atlantic. "Post seven things you approve of," she directed.When a tall English girl with a dimpled smile commands, I'm inclined to comply. The trouble is, I don't fully understand the mission. So I decided to follow the meme back to its origin.Backpedaling along the

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-20294129243693808182008-01-24T14:27:00.000-08:002009-03-17T00:46:17.436-07:00

She said I initiated the poke fest. As I recall, she reached out to me first. Strangely, neither of us remember poking the other one first. So we decided to blame Facebook.I proposed the ludicrous theory that, somewhere in Facebook's source code, there's a rogue application that's been randomly matchmaking people. It might have begun as a computer glitch, an algorithmic anomaly. But left

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-76321855588796737162008-01-11T00:34:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:05:41.577-08:00

Ten days into the new year and I had yet to come up with my list of resolutions. The sensible thing to do would have been to sit myself down in a quiet cafe, consider my own aptitudes and talents, and dash off ten or twelve items I was reasonable certain I could do, like lose ten pounds or learn to speak French.But I had other plans. I was going to ask a roomful of strangers to come up with a

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-83240965755022795452008-01-02T01:53:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:06:21.769-08:00

What was arguably my most regrettable moment in 2007 took place 30 minutes before the midnight countdown at a neighbor's karaoke party.Somewhere in the background, ABC's live coverage of the Time Square ball drop was on TV. Propped up on high seats overlooking the blinking Broadway marquees, Ryan Seacrest and Carrie Underwood provided running commentary. Wearing a frozen grin, Dick Clark

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-26347635534610384262007-12-28T02:15:00.001-08:002008-12-01T00:06:54.820-08:00

Her name is Natalie. She's a Manhattan songbird, a regular fixture at the 42nd Street subway and the cafes in the Village. She serenades the Big Apple with her soulful ballads. This December, she took a poll on MySpace.She asked, "Do you want me to come to San Francisco?"Apparently, she got enough votes to convince her to make the trip. So she packed her bag, slung her guitar over her shoulder,

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-10251477650710318832007-12-16T10:37:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:07:57.808-08:00

"I can see this isn't going to work," she said.She was talking to her dog, a little white terrier with patches of brown, tied to an umbrella pole outside Starbucks."Sit still, Louisa," she instructed the puzzled creature. "I'm gonna be in there for just a minute."Louisa pretended to obey, but the moment her owner walked through the door, she dashed after her, sprinting past the newspaper rack in

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-54100541893744174072007-11-21T12:06:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:08:21.682-08:00

At 8.04 PM Pacific Time on Tuesday October 30th, somewhere in San Jose, about five miles below the earth, a magnitude 5.6 quake erupted along the Calaveras Fault line (as recorded by the USGS). Nearly 55 miles away, sitting at my desk in my third-floor studio in San Francisco, I felt the tremor.As it turned out, it wasn't the much anticipated Big One, just another California jitter, enough to

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-80728465821915268942007-11-10T11:30:00.000-08:002008-12-01T00:08:44.259-08:00

On my bookshelf, at the end of the Homeric epics and the Dickensian novels, you'll come across a tittle that doesn't seem to belong. It's The Bad Girl's Guide to Getting What You Want by Cameron Tuttle (Chronicle Books, 2000). Opening this slim volume to page 20, you'll find:There's a bad girl inside every girl. You may not feel it. You may not believe it. But she's there ... Look at pictures of

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-79719297954584909722007-10-30T00:05:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:09:19.535-08:00

"What's speed dating?" an acquaintance once asked me."It's essentially a bunch of singles playing musical chair," I answered.Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that. I should know. I'd done it twice.I distinctly recalled that, during my first 8MinuteDating event, I arrived one full minute late to my first assigned table. Under normal circumstances, such tardiness wouldn't mean much, but

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-43754505288907774282007-10-21T23:58:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:09:42.157-08:00

She stood 15 feet away from me, behind a piece of bullet-proof glass. Over the years, there had been numerous high-profile assaults on her. She'd been splashed with acid, pelted with a rock, and stolen and held in captivity for nearly two months before she was restored to her rightful place. Eventually, her skittish guardians decided enough was enough. So they installed a security plate.Born in

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-57368152121013132182007-10-07T23:38:00.001-07:002008-12-01T00:10:00.395-08:00

In Paris, on the left bank of the Seine, a short distance from Saint-Sulpice's Baroque facade and Saint-Germain's Gothic tower, where Boulevard Raspali intersects with Rue de Sevres, you'll find a little storefront marked La Maison du Chocolat. To get there, you can cross the river from Pont du Carrousel, the bridge named after the carousel at the end of the Louvre, then walk straight down Rue de

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-64510629658930546492007-09-27T15:47:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:10:20.229-08:00

Nearly two decades ago, when I came to the U.S., I left behind a world, a mythical place inhabited by a noble race. In that fabled land, women carried parasols, men wore sarongs, and shrimpy old ladies with sunken cheeks puffed homemade cigars wrapped in loose corn husks. Now and then, if I tiptoed into the attic of my psyche, I found myself under a mango-colored sky, sheltering rows of colonial

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-85731841778170277022007-09-19T00:29:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:10:45.318-08:00

Last Thursday, Beetle and I were sitting outside a restaurant in Oakland's Rockridge neighborhood, watching the work day winding down. Weary men and women impatiently tapped their feet at the crosswalk, waiting for the traffic light to change, eager to get home to their loved ones. A young mother pushed her plump baby in a plastic stroller towards the direction of an old-fashioned ice cream shop,

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-85550856044003505042007-09-12T13:40:00.000-07:002009-03-17T00:47:12.841-07:00

The first thing I noticed when I turned the corner was the oversize dumpster. It lounged in the middle of the dead-end street like a forgotten hippopotamus. The alley was completely deserted, save a single soul: a gaunt character on a ladder, scribbling a bunch of sausage-like graffiti with a spray-paint can on an arched brick wall. The narrow lane was flanked by what looked like unoccupied

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-86129441848009003392007-09-05T17:32:00.000-07:002009-03-17T00:48:02.711-07:00

As she raised her blade to her chin to salute me, I mimicked her gesture. Through the caged mask, I could see her standing before me with her feet apart. There was a certain swagger to her pose, an effortless confidence. The same attitude would have come across as arrogance in a man, but in her it just looked sexy. She was a tempting target."On guard!" she shouted. "Now, fence!"Earlier, she told

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-33338756302802873032007-08-29T11:15:00.001-07:002008-12-01T00:12:31.693-08:00

Have you ever taken a bite of the full moon that floats over a lake? Beetle and I did last night. It tasted like one of those peppermint pellets from Starbucks.Last week, Beetle gave me something to mull over in addition our dinner choices. By mutual decision, we quickly picked Vietnamese over Indian. But I choked on her remaining question: Could we proceed Platonically? I thought the affection

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-86258130259107483922007-08-25T01:48:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:13:12.980-08:00

"What do you give a woman who can stand on her head?" I asked my friend Bridget.Natalie, one of the bachelorettes from the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's fundraiser date auction, happens to possess this unusual talent, according to her profile. I was fortunate enough to win a date with her. But pinning down an evening agreeable to both our Outlook calendars hadn't been easy. Finally, amid our

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-83057492420775416642007-08-18T03:22:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:13:46.410-08:00

As I type these lines on Saturday night, I'm looking at the indelible impression my date has left me. It's a little cartoon face with a mischievous grin, topped with a bramble of pointy hair. She drew it on my arm. It has a name too. Next to the drawing, she's inscribed the word "Spikee" (with two e's, she was careful to point out).On Friday, just as the sun was setting, I sat next to her on the

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-85342289433154457382007-08-15T02:13:00.001-07:002008-12-01T00:14:07.349-08:00

Love lives on the second floor of my apartment building. Her name appears in the laminated list of residents posted beneath the call box at the main gate. It also graces one of the gray mailboxes stacked up against the wall. Most of us have met her at one time or another.An octogenarian with a fondness for flamboyant silk blouses, Celia Love holds court in the lobby, sitting on a wooden bench

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-77959029751057421602007-08-12T10:04:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:14:32.217-08:00

It all began with a mysterious email invitation. I didn't recognize the name of the sender, nor did I know why I'd been included in his (or her) distribution. The subject line read, "Those Secret Dinner Parties.""Summer is peaking and the farmers' markets are bursting with ripe flavors and colors," the author observed. "Come join us for a celebration of delectable locally-grown heirloom

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-27939347634957899932007-08-05T03:54:00.001-07:002008-12-01T00:14:59.505-08:00

A relationship, I think, is like a shark ... It has to constantly move forward or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark.--Alvy Singer (Annie Hall, 1977)In the heart of North Beach, upstairs at Citizen Thai, a few feet away from the gigantic Buddha that watches over the diners with a serene expression, three rainbow-bellied goldfishes flutter about in an aquarium next to a

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-23042171324630492102007-07-29T22:56:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:15:22.544-08:00

At least one bachelorette shared my poor navigation skills. Despite the hostess's unambiguous instructions on where to find the restroom ("Go behind this long table, then take a left turn"), we both mistakenly wandered into what looked like a rehearsal room. The fact that we had walked through a curtain should have warned us we were walking into the wrong place.Eventually we located the facility.

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-38625154288637807182007-07-26T00:44:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:15:44.460-08:00

Yesterday, around 2 PM, just as I was changing into my workout clothes, I suddenly had the urge to have an Orgasm. The last time I had it, it was with my friend Nika. In fact, I'd never had it with anybody else. It had always been with her. So I dialed her number. When she didn't answer, I left her a message, then spend the next 30 minutes at the gym, doing sit-ups to distract myself from what

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-36223193984683477872007-07-23T23:54:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:16:06.035-08:00

On Monday, in the lackadaisical hours between dinner and bedtime, boredom got the better of me. I put up a good fight. First, I sought the company of Jane Eyre. But the disconsolate heroine turned out to be in need of cheer herself, so I promptly bid her adieu. Next, I dropped anchor at Little Shamrock, an Irish pub six blocks away, and tried to sip a cup of Bailey's and coffee as slowly as I

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-66767323757646294112007-07-22T14:01:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:16:49.671-08:00

On Saturday night, Molly Ringwald's 16th birthday in Delores Park was up in the air, quite literally. Bloated with wild wind, the giant movie screen on the slope swelled up. In a series of unruly leaps and bounces, the inflated panel threatened to break free from the restraining ropes. When the escape attempts failed, it keeled over, collapsing onto the grassy ground like a wrecked zeppelin. The

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-32476875824893520722007-07-18T01:50:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:17:12.542-08:00

We were seated in the patio section, a few steps away from a jazz duo playing "Anything Goes" on a guitar and a saxophone. The crackling heat lamp overhead added a soft hum to the sound of the instruments. The waiter had just put up the awning. The paper napkins had stopped flying. For one brief moment, the world seemed exactly as it ought to be.It was Sunday afternoon, the most mournful part of

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-41383028776388935242007-07-16T17:06:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:17:33.623-08:00

On Saturday night, seated outside Ti Couz on 16th Street, I watched the waiter ritualistically pour a cup of Grand Marnier over my crepe suzette. As he lit the plate, blue flames danced over the pool of caramelized orange sauce (photo from Yelp, uploaded by user Angus S., a self-professed food pic junkie). I'm a light weight; I get drunk easily. The bartenders at my neighborhood Irish pub will

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-53749377080382657972007-07-13T03:38:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:17:55.320-08:00

With the exception of her feathered cap and her cloak, she seemed like an ordinary girl. Beneath her wide-brimmed Robin Hood hat, her dusky blond locks spilled out in bouncy coils. Plump and perky, she looked like an adorable imitation of Little John, plucked out of Sherwood Forest and transplanted in the lobby of Loews Metreon theater by a spell. She met every curious stare with a twinkle in her

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-27428061043424522312007-07-11T01:33:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:18:12.684-08:00

As dusk fell on Tuesday, I sat on a secluded bench planted high above San Francisco (666 feet above sea level, in the testimony of the San Francisco Chronicle article "Peak Experience," published November 7, 2004). The city stretched below my feet, blanketed in tiny rooftops from one end of the horizon to the other. Golden Gate Park was a sprawling canopy of foliages, draped over the entire

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-29815634120967244272007-07-08T23:54:00.000-07:002007-07-20T17:34:37.625-07:00

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.--E. M. Forster (Howards End)On Friday, when my calls to the frequently dialed numbers went unanswered, I

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-60156559901766386522007-07-06T00:44:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:18:38.196-08:00

Upstairs from Cafe Du Nord, in the faint golden glow of the Swedish American Hall, I sat, waiting for the show to begin. Porchlight, the monthly storytelling event, seemed to be running behind schedule. The delay didn't bother me. The truth is, I was there primarily for the company of my friend Sienna, a six-foot-tall Indian goddess with a disarming bright smile. I couldn't care less about the

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-68303653754817085112007-07-03T22:54:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:19:05.257-08:00

This morning, while doing research online for one of my monthly columns, I stumbled on a video clip from ABC. On Monday July 2nd, 20/20 aired "Is Love Blind?" an episode that followed the unorthodox courtship between Laura O'Connor and T.R. Bell. The two had signed up for a social experiment, courtesy of WTMX's Eric and Kathy Show. The purpose was to see if two people could fall in love and then

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3650556300209624776.post-8330301103964506582007-07-01T22:38:00.000-07:002008-12-01T00:19:26.546-08:00

Long after the sun had set on Friday, I still clung to the hope that perhaps my neighbor Maisey would get in touch with me to say, "Yes, we're still on for Saturday." I kept vigil next to my mute cellphone and my Outlook inbox, refusing to acknowledge the pale blue moon that had risen. At a quarter past midnight, I reluctantly embraced my pillow and turned off the night light. Outside, a chilly

KennethSFhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07963630600109933279noreply@blogger.com1