By Anna Pulley
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Erin Sherbert
By Rachel Swan
By Joe Eskenazi
By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
May Your Wheat Grass Stay Green
We are somewhat out of spirits this week, and there is no use pretending otherwise. Aside from the redesign, which has us on edge -- it seems awfully bright in here, and before anyone e-mails, no, we didn't actually pose for the icon accompanying this column -- our colleague and friend David Pasztor has now left the paper for a position with New Times. This means there is no one left to listen to our complaints about the local lunch menus, our prognostications of personal doom, and our paranoid ramblings about PG&E. Actually, wait a sec. We may have confused ourselves with the Guardian, which this week ran three -- three! -- stories about the evil public utility, only one of which was positive. Kidding! OK, none of them was.Anyway, thank you to reader David Golia, who sensed we needed cheering up and sent us his CD Big Lou's Polka Casserole along with a note wondering about the "people that alternate each week in the PSN.net ad. You know, the hunky business-type guy and the kind of shy blonde girl in jeans. I kind of feel I know them after all these months. Maybe they could get together even though he might be a little too square for her."
And thank you to everyone who wrote in directing us to the Chronicle's front-page story Friday, "Entire Bay Area Catches San Francisco's Summer Cold." We are indeed pleased to find our assertions about the miserable weather validated by statistics -- paragraph after paragraph after paragraph of statistics -- and, had we not been busy with a taxing schedule of sneaking out of the office to go shopping for leather pants, would almost certainly have called up the National Weather Service ourselves for some sort of quote.
Instead we will turn to lay weather authority Loren Basham, who has lived in San Francisco since 1964 and writes, "I agree completely that this year has been especially cold and damp. In the average year I get out to my favorite Baker Beach at least once a week. This year has been four-five times for the year.
"The news people who announce a "typical summer pattern' are just wrong. The typical pattern is fog in the morning clearing to west of the beaches by noon -- and generally high 60's to low 70's."
Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ahem. Anyway, Dog Bites is less interested in being proven right on this particular point -- though we are right -- than we are in examining the larger questions raised by the angry True San Franciscans' auto-defense of everything to do with the city. Sociologically speaking, we believe these people's obsession with determining who is and is not worthy of living here is a unique phenomenon, one worthy of study. Can't we get some grad students on this, or something?
Oh well. In the meantime, and in the absence of academically or otherwise qualified commentators, we will toss our own frail body into the volcanic chasm of public opinion as a sort of sacrifice to appease the forces of darkness threatening to engulf Middle Earth, and venture to say that when one little columnist can't even whine about the weather without being repeatedly invited to leave by numbers of people who seem actually to think that if everyone who has reservations about certain aspects of life here were to move away, they would be able to afford to live in a major American urban center on the money their girlfriends make as part-time clerical workers -- well, then, how is democracy -- democracy! -- to survive? Why, public discourse will be silenced! It will always be drizzly in July! Proposition M will be embossed on a goat skin and displayed in its own mausoleum in Civic Center Plaza, where the citizenry will file past it night and day!
Or not. Anyway, we eagerly await notification of our next offense of failing to respect the hallowed canon of Things That Everyone Must Appreciate About San Francisco. Till then, we abandon our True San Franciscans to what peace they may find, chuntering away in angry semi-irrelevance and occasionally firing off letters complaining about the fact that Dog Bites has publicly confessed to owning a car! May your wheat grass be forever green, and your scarf fringes flutter freely.
Dog Bites' Cooking Corner
Sadly, the creator/creatrix of the chocolate-covered peanut butter Rice Krispy squares at last Saturday's Chronicle picnic has not come forward to offer us the recipe. We're not holding our breath; word is that Chron management has forbidden newspaper employees to communicate with Dog Bites. Of course, that very fact makes it difficult for us to confirm this rumor, but we do notice that when we call people over at the paper of record they tend to hang up on us almost as soon as we give our name. Which, we feel, is a little, well, harsh -- but we can respect their boundaries (sniff!), and, um, wish the paper the best in its search to find another columnist who cares enough (sob!) to go to its stupid picnic!Losers.