The Sunset is the most David Lynchian area of the city. First, to get there you drive up the Lost Highway that is Market to Portola to Sloat. Midway through, you arrive in the fog of Twin Peaks. Then you've got the zoo (elephants, man), the fancy houses that wind westward (Mulholland Drive), and finally the surreal arrival of the improbable: a vast, empty oceanfront with nary a Sunglass Hut. There is, however, an ice cream place where you can buy a "doggie-cone" for your Alsatian. Spooky. more...

Bluegrass Buddies
Burning Embers bring honky-tonk to our local land's end
By Justin F. Farrar 
Published: June 28, 2006

Seated at the Riptide, way the fuck out by Ocean Beach — just one block from the end of America — banjo picker and vocalist Eric Embry and I shoot the shit going pint for pint around a lacquered tree trunk tabletop. Across the room, a couple of jovial drunkards are crooning along to a jukebox spitting out one of George Jones' classic ballads. Embry's relaying a fantastic story about his encounter with Ralph Stanley, who, as a member of the Stanley Brothers, was a pivotal force in the development of bluegrass in the late '40s and '50s. more...