I saw The Host in the city on Thursday.
I underestimated the appeal of niche cinema to San Franciscans and waited anxiously in the rush line until a kind stranger sold me one of his extra tickets. Never again.
Of course, had I pre-ordered a ticket, I wouldn't have been able to flirt with the San Francisco Film Society's outdoor liaison.
My head knows that "Money Maker" isn't a very good song, but my heart doesn't care.
Proof-of-payment fare systems for public transportation baffle me. Under them, hitching free rides is way too easy.
I wonder, for example, how Vancouver's SkyTrain stays in the black. At least Caltrain and Muni check tickets occasionally.
Before I forget:
The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno