Episode Nine: Civil Unions vs Marriage: Separate but Equal?

As it reads now, California Family Code Section 300 defines marriage as being “a personal relation arising out of a civil contract between a man and a woman, to which the consent of the parties capable of making that contract is necessary.” 

With Proposition 8’s passage, there has been much discussion as to where do we go from here?  But what I ask is, maybe it is time to “create a separate but equal” institution?  Render the term “marriage” as religious term, and establish civil unions as the federally recognized contract, in keeping with the separation of church and state doctrine of our Constitution.     

Let's make it simple: to obtain benefits provided to couples by the State (taxes, health insurance, among other things), you apply for a civil union, regardless of your gender.   If you want a religious or spiritual blessing, you seek that from your place of worship, whether you're gay or straight. When we follow the Constitution's mandate of the separation of Church and State, we can delineate what each body's business is in the process of uniting people in couplehood.  In this way, we are giving everyone equal rights under the law, without damaging the “meaning” of marriage. 

In an ideal world, this should work.  Alas, that’s not the world we live in, at least right now.  In addition to California, Arizona, Florida, and Arkansas passed anti-gay ballot measures.  Florida and Arizona voters approved a constitutional amendment to limit marriage to opposite sex couples, and in Arkansas, which already has the constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, has passed a measure to limit adoption and foster care of children to people who are legally married.  

However, there’s hope.  In 2000, Prop 22, which prevented California from recognizing same-sex marriage, passed with a 61.4% approval (38.6% opposed, which were about 2.9 million no on Prop 22 votes); eight years later, support for gay marriage has increased to 47% of the votes casted, to over 5.2 million .  That’s a remarkable turnaround of voter approval.  Exit polls showed that six in 10 voters under 30 objected to Proposition 8, while the same proportion of persons over 65 supported the measure, giving hope that I’ll be able to see acceptance of gay marriage in California during my lifetime.    

In addition, the May 2007 California Supreme Court decision that in essence struck down Prop. 22, has left the door open for a possible repeal of Proposition 8, in the same vein as what happened with Prop. 22.  I have spoken informally with Stuart Gaffney, one of the plaintiffs in this landmark May 2007 case, about the prospects of the recent lawsuits challenging the recent passage of Proposition 8 on grounds that Proposition 8 constituted as a “revision” in the Constitution, which requires a 2/3 vote from both branches of the California State Legislature before being put up for a vote.  He’s cautiously optimistic about the case, in which he bestows his full support and trust on the lead attorneys in this case.

It is also encouraging to see elected officials filing “friend of the court” in opposition of Proposition 8.  And as a country, we’ve elected a president that would usher in change; it also helps that he has backed the repeal of the Defense of Marriage Act. 

Above all, if we as a state voted to give farm animals more rights, surely, we can give our fellow human beings the opportunity to express their love, right?  I hope so.  But ultimately, what we all can do to further the cause for equality for all is more education.  Forty years ago, we still had laws prohibiting interracial marriage in sixteen states, until Loving v Virginia deemed these miscegenation laws unconstitutional.  And now, generations later, as a society, we have come to terms of acceptance and tolerance with regards to interracial marriages, and I hope for the same with same-sex marriage.  Tolerance is a dish served best with education, and not cold.

P.S. I higly recommend watching MSNBC's Keith Olbermann's Special Comment on Gay Marriage. At times, I think he could be a bit over the top, but I think this time, he was spot-on, and he eloquently expressed what I would wish to say.  

The Halloween Scene, according to Christian Siriano

Halloween is the time of the year when it’s socially acceptable to unleash our inner fantasies and act out on our fetishes; it's the time of the year when giving your best impersonation of Paris Hilton on donut powder is not only permissible, but socially acceptable as the norm. 

For the longest time, I didn’t know what to be for Halloween.  I almost didn’t want to dress up and go out because rain was in the forecast for Halloween; I don’t like going out in the rain.  And another thing: I’d like to spend as little money as possible on my costumes.  So, I either borrow clothes/costumes from other people or the more likely scenario, I choose costumes that I can still wear after Halloween. Last year, I was a French Man, wearing all black, topped off with a burette (that cost $9); when I was a junior in college, I dressed up on a Navy uniform that I borrowed from my sister. 

More importantly, I hate waiting in lines; I much rather attend house parties on Halloween because of this reason.  No thanks to my busy school schedule, lately, I’ve climbed into such social isolation that this year’s Halloween crept up on me, so I decided to take the easy way out and just attend the KY/DSD party at Suite 181. 

All that was left to do was to figure out what I wanted to be for Halloween, which was harder than I thought.  On my way home from work, my friend and I were throwing around ideas, and given my limitations, there weren’t that many; we finally came to an agreement that I should be Christian Siriano from Project Runway.    I’m not as fierce and fabulous as that diminutive diva, but I figured I could give it a whirl.

Finding the necessary things turned out to be easier than I thought.  After school on Friday, I went out to Crossroads on Irving, and within 5 minutes, found what I needed to channel the classic Christian/Ferosh look:  black-rimmed glasses and a black vest; with my skinny jeans and white tee at home, I was set, and all for under $16.  The hardest part was trying to make my hair look like his, which required blow drying, flat-ironing, dry waxing, and hair spraying the crap out of my hair.  It may seem so hard to believe, but I’m very low-maintenance when it comes to my hair.          

Even with all the damage that my hair sustained, by the time that I got in line for the club, my hair lost its grandiose style.  Luckily, I was able to cut in line with a few of my friends and didn’t have to wait that long to get in. 

As I meandered around the it’s-so-hot-it-feels-like-a-sauna- rooms, I got to check out what crazy costume ideas people came up with.  You had your staples (policewomen, flight attendants, Greek goddesses).  It being an election season, I was disappointed that I didn’t see any Sarah-Palin-look-alikes or her derivatives (moose, Joe Six Packs, Mr. Palin).  There were some good costumes, like a breathalyzer machine (with a properly placed mouth piece), the “Love Robot”, and my friend’s “when pigs fly” costume.  But by far, my favorite costume of the night was the shower curtain; the guy who was “wearing” the costume had his girlfriend (or girlfriend for the night) with him inside.  Creative, naughty, and not nasty, a good combination.  I couldn’t help myself but to close the curtain a few times. 

The thing with Halloween, or for any “big” parties for that matter, is that for the most part, it will not live up to its expectations and hype.  In a sense, sometimes the “chase” is better than the “kill”, that the events and preparation leading up to it can sometimes be more fun the event itself. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time with my friends, but sometimes, I just don’t get the big deal out of it.  Maybe it’s just our society’s ways of dealing with its hypocritical “moral values”, granting a momentary reprieve to its subjects?  Perhaps as overworked Americans, we have created specific times when we can let loose, so that we can live through the monotonous nature of the “real world” and have something to look forward to?

Maybe next year I should dress up like Paris Hilton? No, I’m too fierce for that female dog.  

Episode Seven: Paddling at Stow Lake

San Francisco weather has its ways of altering my plans.  At least this time, it was a welcomed change, one that didn’t require muttering to myself, “Just because it’s sunny in Mission Bay, doesn’t mean that the sun is out in the Sunset.” As a part of this series, I planned on going to see a movie alone this past weekend, but seeing that the weather was so beautiful (and so un-San Francisco-y), I decided to skip out on that and see what sorts of trouble I can get myself into at Golden Gate Park.

After asking around for some ideas for this series, someone suggested that I paddle rowboats at Stow Lake, and I thought it was brilliant at the time.  After forking over my $20, I ventured over to the docks to board the last remaining rowboat for the day.   (Seriously, $20 an hour to paddle around the green murky waters of Stow Lake?  On the bright side, I probably increased my likelihood of contracting something that will land me at Moffitt; I call that a steal!). 

At first, I decided that I wanted to paddle the rowboat by myself, as a part of that whole “doing things by myself” routine.  After all, how hard could it be, right?  For about five minutes, I was barely moving; I kept going the opposite way that I intended to go.  It was one of the most petrifying five minutes of my life.  This is probably what it feels like to be Sarah Palin without her debate note cards (with the words “maverick” and “Joe six-pack” written on it).  After what it felt like forever, I wasn’t really going anywhere, so I enlisted the “help” of my CouchSurfing friend from Australia, who was laughing hysterically at the docks as I made a complete fool of myself.  

After a short lesson, I got the hang of this rowboat thing; one oar for turning the boat in a certain direction, two oars in the same direction to propel the rowboat forward.  Who knew that I was nautically-inclined?

With paddling the rowboat requiring less mind power, I was able to focus more on observing other people as I paddled along the lake (my friend served as my coxswain, for the most part).  Along the way, we encountered a few couples in their rowboats, enjoying the serene and romantic atmosphere of the lake.  There were moms and babysitters taking their little tykes for a walk and enjoying their trek along the lake.  There was a solitary runner who appeared to have been busy ruminating about his place in the world and the true meaning of life.  There was also an old couple, enjoying a picnic by the lake, somewhat amused at my lack of coordination and at my propensity to induce giant splashes while rowing. 

My Aussie friend suggested that paddling a rowboat alone is futile.  He reasoned that rowing is such an engaging activity that is meant to be enjoyed with the company of others; for a more obvious reason, he pointed out that I probably would’ve run into the mangrove trees or to another boat if I rowed by myself.  Touché. 

While he might be right with the clumsiness aspect, I think rowing could still be done as a solitary activity.  It would be a great way to decompress and de-stress, combining a strenuous physical activity with serenity and plenty of fresh air.  Even with his “guidance”, we still had a few close calls with mangrove trees or other rowboats, so maybe next time I should just get a better coxswain. 

This is part three of the series in which I go alone to events normally associated with couples.  Next week, I will try going solo to a movie, forreals this time.  

Episode Six: Alone with Mark Anthony... at a Restaurant

I’m going to make a confession:  I have never eaten at a sit-down restaurant by myself before.  I mean, I’ve eaten by myself before at the Nurseteria while studying, but I would normally run into someone that I know and end up eating with that person.   I’ve always wanted to do it, but never had the nerve to try it. 

So, the other day, I went to Andalu, a Tapas-style restaurant in the Mission, to try to get over myself and just go ahead and get on with it.  I resisted the temptation to bring a book to read or listen to my mp3 player as I ate dinner because that would defeat the whole purpose of eating alone.  Sure, it would be a little unnerving at first, with the occasional awkward stares from people, but what doesn’t kill don’t hurt me, right?

So, when I got to the restaurant, I was a little nervous that I almost talked myself out of it.  What is it about eating alone that is scary, I asked myself.  Is it the idea that people would look at me funny? (Not that people already don’t do that, but even more so)  Or perhaps the fear of being alone and the perceived stigma that is associated with being alone?  With my busy school and extra-curricular schedule, I have always reasoned that there’s always someone that I haven’t seen in awhile that I could be spending some quality time with, so when I do find myself without dinner plans, I resort to calling around and end up finding someone to eat with.  As my friend pointed out to me, I may be going to dinner by myself, but I should think of it as me going out on a date with San Francisco.  I felt much better after that.

As I entered the restaurant, the hostess asked me how many people in my party (one) and whether I’d like to sit at the bar; I elected to sit at a table to get the “full” experience.  The place was not as busy as it could be, seeing that it was Monday night, so I got waited on pretty quickly, and I placed my order.

As the server brought out my Cambazola Cheese Fondue with Fuji Apples and Asian Pears, the irony of it all didn’t escape me.  She asked me whether I was expecting someone else (a valid question, in her defense), and after saying no, awkwardness ensued; she politely excused herself out to attend to her other tables. 

There’s something to be said about dining alone; it takes a little bit of bravery and self-assuredness.  There’s something liberating about being able to eat alone; it’s that feeling of empowerment and self-reliance that is appealing, but at the same time, nerve-wracking.  More than anything else, it made me more aware and relaxed; I’ve finally found the time to spend some “me” time.  In our busy lives, we never really have the chance to stop and do just that, and we should take advantage of this whenever we can.

Even if you do feel less brave or less self-assured, it shouldn’t stop you from doing it in the first place.   We learn a lot when we’re faced in difficult situations, when we’re not in our comfort zone.  Personal growth comes from weathering difficult situations and learning from them.  We should always strive to improve ourselves whenever we can; a seemingly insignificant act such as eating alone accomplishes this.

So all of those fears, the weird stares, they did happen, but I’m still standing and have lived to tell the tale.  

Episode Five: Alone with Mark Anthony... at a Wedding

When I received my invitation to my best friend’s sister’s wedding, I almost passed it up.  Looming midterms notwithstanding, the prospect of going to a wedding knowing NO ONE was a little scary; well not NO ONE, but seeing that the only two people that I know that were going to be in this wedding were the bride and the maid of honor, I say that’s pretty close. 

In the end, since I was already heading down to SoCal anyway, for the CSHP conference in Anaheim, I said, what the hell, there was no way I’m missing this shindig.  Two words that clinched it for me: open bar; who cares if I have two midterms on Wednesday?   I figured getting liquored up with the rest of the guests will facilitate the conversation and make for an interesting night. 

I would say from its surroundings, Turnip Rose in Costa Mesa didn’t seem wedding-y and it was easy to miss, since it was surrounded by a medical office and a surgical center, and across from a strip mall.   But nonetheless, it was a gorgeous place to have an outdoor wedding.  The facility had elements of Spanish Colonial Revival architecture, from the stucco walls, Roman arcades and terra cotta tiles to gorgeous fountains in the courtyard.  The weather cooperated (as is usually is the case in Southern California), and basked the newlyweds and their guests with the warmth only San Francisco (and the city supplants like myself) can only dream about.      

Being the fashionably late person that I am, I rolled up into the wedding 15 minutes into it.  I must’ve missed the dramatic portion of the ceremony because when I got there, everyone had a teary eye.  The vows that the bride and groom exchanged were heartfelt without being overly sappy.  My friend’s dad (the father of the bride) provided comedic effects with his “list”.  Even the minister chimed in with his jokes.   It was kind of weird to see a priest/minister crack jokes, because at least at the weddings that I’ve been to (and they’re all Filipino weddings), the priest is always serious, so that was a little refreshing.

As the ceremony ended, they allowed for an hour or so of socializing, with tantalizing hors d’oeuvres like goat cheese wonton, chicken skewers and sliders.  I quickly made my way to the bar area, and made friends with the bartender, “Nick” who apparently has been working for Turnip Rose since 1994, as his name tag suggested.  Three drinks later, he told me that his name is really not Nick, but Kevin, and he would’ve been 12 and working illegally if he did start work in ’94. 

After my third Long Beach in a half-hour, I decided to leave Nick to see what else is out there.  As I was ordering Mai Tais, (I switched since I planned on being sober enough to drive home), I met Presita, Katie’s Paris study abroad friend from Bahrain.  When I saw her drinking her Rum and Ginger Ale with no ice, I know that we would get along and we immediately bonded over the sliders.  She became my source for insider gossip and my fellow people-watcher. 

Oh, for sure, this wedding had all the clichés.  Presita told me that Person X has slept with the best man the other night and Person X slept with Person Y the following night; you could cut the sexual tension with a cake knife!  There was definitely the drunken aunt, the embarrassing moment for the father of the bride, the overly imposing emcee, and the cool kids in the back drinking at the bar.  Thank goodness there was no Macarena, but there was definitely the Conga line and line dancing.  Oh, joy!

And then I met Laura.  In one word I would say: Wow.  I didn’t know that someone that beautiful could be so down-to-earth.  To boot, she’s a smart, sassy, and an interesting human being.  We had a great time in the dance floor and eating the kahlua-infused white chocolate-covered strawberries. 

So I guess going alone in a wedding wasn’t so bad.  We’ll see what happens next.

This is part one of the series in which I go alone to events normally associated with couples.  Next week, I will try my chops at eating alone in a restaurant.  

Episode Four: The Social Constructs of a Vice-Presidential debate

There are things that you just don’t talk about during dinner: politics and religion.  I’ve put this age-old adage to the test last Thursday, when the new student reception for LGBT students coincided with the Vice-Presidential debate. 

It was interesting to observe the dynamics of my fellow students at dinner.   We decided to watch the debates after dinner, so as to facilitate a more “social” environment.  And for the most part, before the debates, the conversations skirted away from the impending train-wreck, and focused on the getting-to-know-each-other topics.  But occasionally, someone will breach the subject of politics, and normally, I would think it would be a little uncomfortable to be discussing politics with strangers, but somehow, that wasn’t the case.  Granted, the dinner party was a bit skewed; it’s almost oxymoronic to be a gay Republican, but it is possible.

And on to the main event: Thursday’s much-anticipated debate between Alaska Governor Sarah Palin and Delaware Senator Joseph Biden was pretty much what I have expected: political discourse filled with half-truths and not-so-subtle attacks, and pandering language with little substance.  In today’s political world, it’s not necessarily what you say but how you present it that matters the most; that’s the most that I can come up with as to how and why we have courageously elected (and re-elected) Dubya.  While we were all relieved and disappointed that Palin didn’t completely fall flat on her face (and I mean, really, with that Katie Couric interview, she couldn’t have done any worse), it definitely deflated the chance of the comedy-of-horrors show that I wanted to have seen.  The idea was thrown around that we should’ve done a drinking game, taking a shot whenever Biden repeated or over-emphasized a word or when Palin threw around the word “maverick” like it’s going out of style; I probably would’ve required a liver transplant afterwards. 

However, the hour and a half debate definitely rewarded us with a few laughs.  First off, Gwen Ifill must have felt the pressure from her critics, pointing out a possible bias with her upcoming book: “Breakthrough: Politics and Race in the Age of Obama”, with an appropriately release date of January 2009, the day after the inauguration.  As a moderator, she failed to reign in the candidates when they go on tangents. Biden’s feeble attempt to shake off his elitist background to appeal to Main Street America by mentioning his humble beginnings in Scranton, Pennsylvania, while in the same breath, talking about his nice house in Delaware, was both endearing and laughable at the same time.  It was also amazing that Biden was able to keep a straight face the entire night and straying away from inflicting low blows to Palin when she’s handing it to him in a silver platter. 

But the star of the night was Sarah Palin.  We got a chuckle once Palin started ranting about women’s right.  Or her inability to answer the questions she was being asked, and instead, offering up memorized incantations about taxes and the economy, even if it is not remotely related to what she was being asked. 

It is a pity that there’s only one Vice-Presidential debate; factcheck.org would have less things to do now.  

Episode Three: CouchSurfing: Changing the World One Couch at a Time

Episode Three: CouchSurfing:  Changing the world one couch at a time.

This past summer, I had the opportunity to experience what France, Germany, Israel, Belarus, Lithuania, and Detroit had to offer.  And I didn’t even have to leave the Bay Area; CouchSurfing made it all possible. 

CouchSurfing’s mission is to “participate in creating a better world, one couch at a time” and to “internationally network people and places, create educational exchanges, raise collective consciousness, spread tolerance and facilitate cultural understanding.”  On the surface, CouchSurfing is a way for travelers to connect with people from all over the world, allowing for people to meet up for coffee or lunch, and in most cases, offering to host travelers in their house for a few days for free. 

But it’s much more than that.  The thing that I love most about traveling, aside from seeing the tourist-y attractions, is the interactions that I have with the locals because it helps me expand my perspectives and allows me to become a better global citizen; being a part of CouchSurfing facilitates this process.   For example, I hosted Tzahi, an Israeli who’s traveling in the United States for 3 months. He’s shared with me stories about his service time in the Israeli army, and gave me his perspective about the Israel-Palestine conflict.  It’s that first-person narrative that humanizes the headlines for me.  Asya, the first person that I couch-surfed with, shared with me her struggles growing up here in the US after leaving Belarus when she was 7; it’s something that we had in common. I left the Philippines when I was 13, and it’s been a struggle trying to maintain an identity that harmonizes both cultures.  

Geddis, my Lithuanian CouchSurfer, shared with me his experience growing up in Lithuania post-USSR, and got me to watch "Californification".  Steve from Rouen, my first CouchSurfer, was on the tail-end of his three-year journey around the world that took him around Africa, Central and North America.  Aside from the French lessons, he’s inspired me to be more brave and pursue things that interests me.  Carsten and Esther, my CouchSurfers from Dusseldorf, has affirmed that true love can still be had; they’ve been going strong for 7 years.  Heather and William, my first stateside CouchSurfers from Detroit, has taught me all about Sans Serif and Georgia O’Keefe and their experience at Creative Studies College. 

Now, I know what you’re gonna say, and no, I’m not crazy... well, maybe a little bit.  How can I let a complete stranger stay at my apartment?  Aren’t I scared that they’ll turn up to be some crazy sociopath that will kill me in my sleep?  And I think that’s the beauty with this whole social experiment.  No, not the crazy sociopath part, but the whole “pay it forward” idealism of it.  And in this ever treacherous and untrusting world that we live in, we can all use a little bit more trust and goodwill.  As Gandhi once said, “Be the change that you want to see in the world.” This idealism is what resonates with me and CouchSurfing. 

And I have met some really interesting people from CouchSurfing; not just the travelers that I have crossed paths with, but also the wonderful hosts here in San Francisco.  We have a really active chapter here in the city and the greater Bay Area as a whole, with multiple events and gatherings that caters to different tastes; from the weekly social gathering, CS Underground, at Coffee Bar in Potrero, the 3^rd Sunday Potlucks, the A-Z restaurant series, language tables, museum days, and many others.  These events have allowed me to get to know the amazing people that make up CouchSurfing.  There’s Zach, the creator of the “Free Hugs” campaign, Dan, the party man and the brains behind the infamous “Apron Party”;  Nithin, the political activist and a Karaoke extraordinaire, Walker, the Wonder Man;  Gabe, the consummate party host, and one of the most adorable human being alive, Maggie, the French enthusiast and a fellow foodie; Lulu, the lovable nurse who has even more energy than I do; Cynthia, my hiking enthusiast buddy and the one and only Amy.  I can go on and on, but I think you get the point. 

It’s a little harder to host someone now, just because of my school schedule, but that doesn’t rule it out completely.  “A stranger is a friend that you haven’t met yet”, and thanks to CouchSurfing, there are less and less strangers to me. 

Website:  www.couchsurfing.com

Episode Two: The Lounge Scene

What’s a single guy to do on a Saturday night? Take a date out for a romantic dinner, followed by a cruise on a private yacht around Lake Como, perhaps? Oh wait, I’m NOT George Clooney. For now, club hopping would have to suffice.

Last Saturday night, my friend and I checked out the new lounge in Nob Hill/Pacific Heights, Heights Ultra Lounge. We got there around 10:30pm, and the line was surprisingly short; I’m guessing since the place is fairly new, they’re still working on getting the word out.

We quickly moved through the formalities of getting checked off the guest list and getting stamped and made our way into the bar. The standard to which I judge a bartender’s prowess is in how s/he makes a Long Beach; a Long Beach is a Long Island with grenadine or cranberry juice instead of cola. Some places make it too sweet that all I taste is the grenadine or the cranberry juice, while others, god bless their souls for making my $12 go a long way, go a little crazy with the white liquors and generously pour out the bar’s full stock of vodka, gin, triple sec and rum.

So, while I sip on my serviceable Long Beach, my friend and I were waiting for the place to start popping. We were told by my friend’s boyfriend’s friend, who happens to work for the club, that the place doesn’t start picking up until close to midnight… so I guess that explains the relatively short line to get in when we came in.

This gave me time to scope out the scene and see what’s out there. What I really liked about this place is that it wasn’t pretentious, which I found a bit odd, thinking that bougie-ness is embedded in a place that calls itself an “Ultra Lounge.” The people that worked at Heights were surprisingly accommodating, from the bartenders, to the bouncers and the guy manning the VIP section, and even the club manager, who managed to come up to us and asked us how we were doing; you’d never see that happening at Fluid. At the same time, they’ve employed decorations that were pleasing to the eye. There was a Renoir-inspired painting hanging over the sectioned-off tables. The lamps that served mainly as decorations added a quaint touch. I also really liked the placement of the DJ booth in relation to everything else. The fully-stocked bar was double sided, so it made ordering drinks easier, or so in theory. However, it doesn’t preclude them from making any missteps in the design; a glaring example would be the ill-conceived decision employing iron railings that looked mismatched to the rest of the lounge. The bathrooms could’ve been spiffied up a bit; it looked like a high school gym’s restroom. And the little elevated “stages” on the dance floor? Where are we, Tijuana? But I digress.

We eventually made it out to the dance floor once the rest of our crew rolled up. We were beckoned to the dance floor by the esoteric music set by DJ Jatrix. At first, it was 80’s music on heavy rotation, and eventually, as more and more people flooded the tiny dance floor, he started playing more mainstream hip-pop/top-40 music. Just as he’s getting into a musical groove, he’d interrupt himself with birthday shout-outs that pleased no one and annoyed everyone. To his credit though, he was pretty good with people’s song requests; it’s been awhile since I’ve heard Ida Corr vs Feddy Le Grand’s “Let me think about it” so that’s a bonus for him.

As a lounge, the Height fails in encapsulating what a lounge should be: chairs and seats that encourage “lounging” and socializing; for crying out loud, there were maybe 3 stools TOTAL in the bar area. As a club, on the other hand, it fares adequately. Drinks were a little on the high side ($12 for well drinks, $7 for shots), but in line with what other “ultra-lounges” charge. The dance floor was small, but yet it didn’t feel claustrophobic. Ultimately, what makes or breaks a new spot are the people that frequent it. My friend astutely observed that it seemed like Saturday night was Ninja night; apparently, I didn’t get that memo. Maybe as more people discover this place that it would have a more diverse crowd? Only time will tell.

Would I be coming back to this place? Well, see, my friends, I am SO over paying to get into clubs, and with a $20 cover, I wouldn’t come back to this place unless I’m on the guest list, but that could be said for any club. At least their guest list doesn’t close until 11pm, so that’s a plus. It’s MUNI-accessible through Bus 47 and 49, and there were ample parking nearby, so that’s another plus. However, I felt like I was going grocery shopping instead of going on a night out in the town. The final verdict? It would be a good place to start out the night, but given that there’s nothing really anything going on around there and the place doesn’t pick up until close to midnight, I guess I won’t be scaling up the Heights Lounge anytime soon.

Single in the city: episode 1

“The coldest winter that I’ve ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”, to which my friend wryly adds, “when you’re single, it’s a LOT colder.” I pondered on that thought for awhile, and I almost had to agree. I mean, San Francisco is not exactly Daytona Beach in the summer, the recent “heat wave” notwithstanding (And the heat wave that I am referring to was in the couple of days when San Francisco’s weather was around the scorching mid-80’s.)

From there, we got into a discussion of whether San Francisco is a single-friendly city. At least we don’t have Disneyland, the land of little kids and disgustingly cuddly couples, so we have that going for ourselves. And with the abundance of varied activities in San Francisco, I’m sure that there are things to do for us single people. Right?

Why yes, there are. What I aim to accomplish with this column is to point out the places, events, and things that are worth troubling yourself with, in the midst of your crazy, studying-filled time here at UCSF. As a recent transplant myself, I can’t wait to further explore the city, and will happily pass along nuggets of information that I’ll stumble upon. Or, it’s a great excuse to go around town and get reimbursed for things and get paid to blab about my weekend. Just kidding.

To that end, a couple of weeks ago, a few of my single friends and I checked out a concert at Speedway Meadows in Golden Gate Park. Last time I was here, it was for another concert in the park, hosted by Alice 97.3, headlined by Lifehouse. Now, I know what you’re gonna say, and yes, I was surrounded by prepubescent Christian girls singing their hearts out while waving their hands in the air, but I didn’t care; Jason Wade can serenade me anytime, anyplace.

But in all seriousness, one of the things that San Francisco does best during the summer is the concerts at Golden Gate Park, and this one that we went to was no different. “Power to the Peaceful” is a “not-for-profit, non-partisan organization dedicated to the promotion of cultural co-existence, non-violence and environmental sustainability through the arts and music”, according to their website. Through music and art and activism, the organizers aim to highlight the similarities and celebrate the diversity of all of the world’s inhabitants.

The music lineup was quite impressive, enlisting the likes of Michael Franti and Spearhead, Ziggy Marley, and Warren Haynes, among others. There was also a DJ booth, spinning house and electronic music, as well as a Kids Zone, Morning Yoga, and“Taste of the World” food booths, with their eco-friendly ways of cooking.

While chowing down on some corn on the cobs sold by an organization promoting awareness of African violence, I realized how much I love outdoor festivals. The vibrant energy, the hustle and bustle contrasted with the peace and serenity, and the variety of people that it attracts always makes it an interesting afternoon. For example, there was a grandma selling marijuana brownies at a discount next to a young Vote-for-Obama fanatic and an anti-establishment middle-aged guy warning bystanders the peril s of trusting the government. My other favorites were the yoga people with their acrobatic balancing skills and this 6-year-old kid battling a twentysomething at break dancing, and let me tell you, little Ray Boyd (the little kid from Jerry McGuire) look-a-like showed up that poor guy. Will definitely be looking forward to next year’s show, though I guess what I’ll end up doing next year differently is to arrive earlier and to NOT drive. I got to the park around 1:50ish and I was not able to find parking until 3pm; I almost missed Ziggy’s set.

Maybe Mark Twain had it right with the weather, but I guess to his credit, he was probably way too busy self-deprecating to notice much of anything else.

Comments, ideas, suggestions, hate mail? Send them to: single.in.the.city(at)live.com