Borderlands Cafe on Valencia Street closed up for good Tuesday. The owner’s reason for shutting down is not bankruptcy or loss of lease – neither of those things happened in this case. The reason is not based on difficulty retaining staff in San Francisco on cafe pay or declining sales
ndian melodies form the soundtrack of a Haight Ashbury color explosion. David Scott, Davey for everyone he meets, wearing a brightly colored cape and matching dyed hair is playing sitar in front of the Evolutionary Rainbow mural on the corner of Haight and Cole.
Icons like Janis Joplin and Allen Ginsberg are fondly recalled in Lavender Tinted Glasses: A Groovy Gay Look At the Summer of Love, now on display through September 27 at the GLBT History Museum on 18th Street in the Castro. Love-ins at Golden Gate Park and tie-died T shirts worn by beautiful
In The City That Was, Bohemian Archivist P Segal tells a weekly story of what you all missed: the days when artists, writers, musicians, and unemployed visionaries were playing hard in the city’s streets and paying the rent working part time. Every so often, to avoid sinking into annoying nostalgia, it’s great to
Parada 22 is a brick and mortar in the Upper Haight that neighbors its cousin, Cha Cha Cha. And cousins they are, literally, for Cha Cha Cha (and Boogaloos) is owned by restaurateur Philip Belber who is a cousin of Parada 22 owner, Gloria Pinette. For the last six months,
I mentioned them at the end of my last column, but let me officially introduce Donny and Dave. I met these two fellows up in the mountains a few weeks ago. Donny walked up first, and by his shuffling stroll, disheveled garb, and red-rimmed eyes, I presumed him to be
All this talk of gutter punks has been forcing me to question what exactly a gutter punk is. Upon reflection, I started to feel like an asshole for generalizing and stereotyping this certain sect of homeless. Upon investigating, I started to realize I didn’t even know how to identify a
Around this town, especially in the Haight, where I live, “gutter punk” has become synonymous for something along the lines of distasteful street varmint. Mentioning those two words together usually incites a reaction from people… a groan or some version of “fucking terrible.” When I first moved here, back in