San Francisco Chronicle Arts & Entertainment - Spoken Edition

It’s been a while since I was in sixth grade and wrote an essay on “What I Did on My Vacation.” So I figured it’s about time I wrote another one, even though no one cared then, and probably no one cares now. I just got back from two weeks in Peru. It’s a lovely country, with wonderful people and spectacular scenery. And if I never see another ruin or another cathedral in my entire life, that will be just fine with me.

How to bake, and how to paddle and how to learn English I’d never been to the Wah Ying Chinese Social Club on Clay Street, so entering the narrow doorway and climbing a steep staircase was like ascending to a little-known plane. There were banners on the wall, images of dragons and Golden Eagles (the English translation of the club name). But for this particular evening, those furnishings didn’t define the site. This was a celebration of baking.

The future of the Roxie movie house looked uncertain. Then, a few years ago, the board of directors took a deep breath, hitched up its trousers, rolled up its sleeves and went into turn-around battle. With gumption and grit, they roused the movie-loving troops, cleaned up the theater, seasoned the art movies with dashes of blockbusters, and turned the place around. Now, they’re turning to the 47-seat Little Roxie, not quite next door on 16th Street.

A friend who took online “Workplace Harassment Prevention Training,” required for all management-level employees at her place of employment, worked her way through the tests, tips and dramatizations of scenes that one might confront. One such scenario involved two people (let’s call them A and B) engaged in a loud verbal disagreement, which was overheard by C, who was walking past.

The fifth-graders in Ms. Baker’s class at Grant Elementary, deep in the heart of Richmond, were listening intently to Mr. T, who was teaching them about mindfulness. I was there to observe, thanks to the invitation from JG Larochette, the founder and executive director of Mindful Life Project, a nonprofit organization that teaches children in underserved schools the skills and tools that lead to improved self-awareness, impulse control, confidence and resilience.

Wednesday night, Aidan had 95 pages to read of “The Odyssey” before he could play on the iPad. He had had a week to get there. When I picked him up in the Kipcap, he said, “I finished the whole book, Daddy.” And he dove into Minecraft. “Wait. Prove it. Tell me the plot,” I said as I turned the engine on. “This guy goes to Troy and comes back.” While technically correct, this wouldn’t pass Mr. Brettschneider’s quiz.

Hit the decks, it’s October, and not only is Halloween coming, but so is sensitivity to costumes. We at The Chronicle have received word from a labor and employment attorney “available to discuss what’s appropriate and what’s not when planning Halloween customs” — I think “costumes” was what was meant — “at work.

There were crowds inside and out, but the heart of the Sunday, Sept. 30, celebration of the 70th anniversary of Vesuvio was out in Jack Kerouac Alley, where Barrio Manouche was playing. Long rows of chairs had been lined up along one side of the alley, opposite the band. Alongside the band, dancing her own solo dance, a woman in a red dress was a free spirit in one of San Francisco’s most free-spirited neighborhoods.

Recently, I discovered how many times I could get lost in one hour: three. I was headed deep into New Jersey, where I’d give readings and meet with students at a boarding school. Exiting the hotel on the southern tip of Manhattan, I pushed through the air, sloppy and wet as a kitchen sponge, and walked the route I’d practiced the day before.

The wound of Sydney Goldstein’s sudden death is first and most deeply suffered, of course, by her family. But the circle of mourners is wide, including not only the civic leaders with whom she worked to build City Arts & Lectures and the authors to whom she provided a platform, but also the vast community of people who attended events she produced, listened to radio broadcasts, shared her passion for words written and spoken.

Don’t usually talk much about the day job. But two weeks ago, I walked to a meeting in the South of Market neighborhood, in uniform, and therefore recognizable as a peace officer. 12:06: As I crossed a street, a man waved at me. I saw a silver sedan with a crater for a window. Far to my left lay a crumpled bicycle. Directly in front were two men kneeling over a man in shorts. The good thing about first responder training is my mind discards the macabre and focuses on what needs to be done.

I have a good friend who is turning 70 this year. He is a prime physical specimen, looking and acting far younger than his years, so I would like to officially nominate him for induction into the Aging Hall of Fame. I’m sure there are some who haven’t heard of this esteemed organization. That’s because I recently made it up. However, AHOF has made great strides in its infancy, as witnessed by the large number of inquiries already received. Let me share some of them with you.

The opening of the new Salesforce Park atop the Transbay Transit Center means that San Franciscans don’t have to leave downtown area to get the Crissy Field lift: Images of urban misery that are part of the daily panorama are erased. The scenery is beautiful, and everyone seems in a good mood. Walking there one recent weekend, we were surrounded by urban adventurers relishing the site — and each other’s company — with the same delight that we were.

A buzzy energy emanated from the front door of the Ivy Room, a small bar and music venue in Albany, on the evening of Aug. 3, 2017. By 8 p.m., a horde of people, most of them in black hoodies and jeans, were standing around outside on San Pablo. Old friends greeted each other, shared cigarettes, caught up on marriages and divorces and kids.

Dear Mick LaSalle: I didn’t know you were polling. I HATE Tom Cruise! All that Scientology BS. After I saw the series about how awful Scientology is, I would never, EVER give my money to Tom in ticket revenue. He is dead to me. Ellen Gonella, Los Altos Dear Ellen Gonella: You’ve just given me a good reason why you’re not going to become a Scientologist, but no reason not to see “Mission: Impossible — Fallout.