SF Weekly, 9.20.08

Yesterday was brother-in-law’s birthday, and he felt like steak. After running through “possibles” like Juban, New Kapadokia and Santorini, hubby asked self to go on the web and browse. So self typed in “steak + redwood city,” but that yielded up only a couple of bar/restaurants on Broadway. Then, self typed in “steak + menlo park” and came up with an Italian restaurant on Santa Cruz. When self typed in “san carlos + steak” she got the name of a restaurant on Laurel St. that had been closed for quite a while. We ended up at a place called “Van’s on the Hill” in Belmont.

A first sighting did not inspire confidence: it’s a rather seedy-looking converted house on a medium-grade hill, just off El Camino. Carpet was tatty. Inside was a bar with patrons (and it was only 4:30 p.m. — for some reason, hubby and brother-in-law returned from an excursion to San Jose ravenously hungry). There was a fly agains the picture window, inches from self’s face. But the steaks were huge! Self means HUGE! Brother-in-law had a porterhouse, hubby had a rib eye, and self had a prime rib au jus, english cut. And they were dripping blood. And they were so delicious. Hubby took pictures, and self realized (not for the first time), that in the past year she’s grown fat. F-A-T. Time for a desperation diet. Anyhoo, food was very good. Afterwards, self fell fast asleep (so, add another food item to the list of things that make self sleepy: EXCELLENT). And she slept for seven hours straight. And now it is 4 a.m. And self is perusing a month-old San Francisco Weekly that she saved on one of her previous forays to the city. And it is indeed a very interesting magazine, for it has ads for such things as:

1944 Ocean
Alternative Relief Co-Op
OG Kush & Edibles Now Available
Wheelchair Accessible
K-Line Stop: Fairfield/ Victoria

While the ad doesn’t mention any words beginning with “m” or “w”, there is a very helpful pictorial accompaniment that leaves reader in no doubt. And self suddenly imagines Tom Cruise in “Fourth of July” taking a hit.

In another section of the magazine, this one helpfully tagged “art/steamrolling,” there’s an announcement of an event that self is very sorry she missed: “Roadworks.” Here’s a quote from the article:

If you’ve ever wanted to watch some people throw a bunch of art in the middle of the street and run that shit over with a steamroller, “Roadworks” is for you. At the annual event sponsored by the San Francisco Center for the Book, six local artists have created enormous images to be pressed like Judge Doom in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, but without all the Dip and high-pitched screaming.  The process takes at least four people:  one to apply ink to the massive linoleum block carvings, two to lay enormous sheets of paper on top of them, one to drive the steamroller across, and then an additional two paper mavens to carefully peel back the freshly pressed piece of art.  It’s the perfect marriage of mayhem and meticulousness.  Among the contributors are Patricia Curtan, known for her delicate representations of edible plants; Emory Douglas, who crafted iconic imagery for the Black Panther Party; and printmaking students from San Quentin State Prison.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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