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  • Artist Hollis Callas, Part 2 (S8E9)

    Artist Hollis Callas, Part 2 (S8E9)
    2026/01/08
    In Part 2, we pick up where we left off in Part 1. The "bootcamp" post-college and early career experience Hollis had at Creative Circus was interesting—she found herself seemingly taking it more seriously than many who'd come right out of a four-year program. She also balanced getting engaged and married in this time. Every year, Hollis's grad school organized portfolio reviews with advertising agencies in either New York or San Francisco. Luckily for all of us, the year it was her turn, Creative Circus took students to The City. Once here, they met folks from big firms, including one that offered her an internship. It was Hollis's first visit to San Francisco. And on that first time, I have to give her credit here—she went to North Beach, had drinks at Gino and Carlo's and pizza next door at Golden Boy. I may or may not have spent New Year's Day in a similar way last week. Just sayin'. Hollis's takeaway from that first impression? "This is a really beautiful town." We go on another sidebar at this point about the very San Francisco phenomenon of the sun blinding us (I call it "lasers"), probably because of the hills here, right? It was 2016. Her husband was working back in Georgia, but she called him up and told about the internship offer, which would last three months. He was in a meeting back East where he learned that his company's West Coast salesperson was about to quit, and he was tapped to take over. The Universe, again, spoke. The newlywed couple packed up their four-runner and headed west with their stuff and their dog. Ahead of the drive, which would end in her husband's first visit to SF, Greg's grandma told him he had an aunt in The Bay, in Walnut Creek. Aunt Suzy's house was their landing spot, from which they'd take BART into The City to look for a place of their own. Hollis had a friend from college who keyed her in on the Inner Richmond as a potential place to live. We go on yet another sidebar, this one about how Hollis grows actual vegetables at her Inner Richmond home. They found a studio on Seventh Avenue and Lake Street and moved in with their dog, Mamut. A couple years later, they moved on up to a one bedroom, where they live to this day. Hollis's internship got extended six months, which was fortunate. Her husband's job paid a Georgia salary. IYKYK. That internship became a job, and so they were able to stay, something the couple wanted to do. Her husband got a job based here, and it all worked out. I try my hardest to forget what chronology is and jump ahead, but Hollis brings us back to pre-pandemic times. Her design job was corporate-y, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She got an animation put up in Times Square in this era. Still, owing to the buttoned-up, corporate nature of the job, she was burning out. The Creative Circus invited her back to talk to students. But yet again, Hollis ended up one-on-one with a recruiter from REI. She respected the company and gave in. A trip to Seattle, to REI HQ, later, the company offered Hollis a job on their brand team. She wasn't thrilled to be leaving her adopted home in San Francisco, but it was a good opportunity. It was January 2020. Fast-forward to March that year, and the movers were ready. Jobs were quit. Hollis and Greg had just returned to SF from a backpacking trip when REI told them that the movers were not coming, and that her job would start remotely a couple weeks out. Do y'all remember March 2020? How the lockdown was supposed to last "only" until April 1 (dude)? Yeah, so REI told Hollis that her job would be a little different than what they hired her to do. And then they told her, "Psych! JK. No job for you." (I'm paraphrasing.) Hollis did what any sane San Franciscan would do. She drove to Baker Beach, screamed at the Pacific Ocean, and came home and made a plan. She'd had a going-away party already, for fuck's sake. It was brutal. The world was upside-down. And it all turned out to be the kick in the pants she needed. Hollis started her own company. We then go into the story of the open call for art to adorn San Francisco's "I voted" stickers. The contest had come across her radar, and she filed it away for later. Then a relative sent it to her along with the suggestion that she give it a try. It turns out there were more than 600 applicants (in her estimation). The SF Department of Elections had a panel that narrowed that down to 10. And then it went to The People to decide. I remember all of this vividly. Needless to say, Hollis's design won. Hollis is also integral to the Clement Street Art Walk, which she runs with Fleetwood's Nico. The next one will be on March 19. Fall this year will see the next Clement Street Art Fair. As of our recording, she didn't have any art shows, but please browse Hollis's website of beautiful work and buy some (and sign up for her newsletter). Follow Hollis on Instagram. Or just walk down Clement Street on any given day and chances are high you'll see her. (I learned as we shot ...
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    30 分
  • Artist Hollis Callas, Part 1 (S8E9)

    Artist Hollis Callas, Part 1 (S8E9)
    2026/01/06
    We're baaaaaaack! Happy New Year, y'all! In this first episode of 2026, meet and get to know San Francisco artist Hollis Callas. Hollis first came across my radar a few years ago when she won a contest to design our city's new "I voted" stickers. I soon learned that she's something of an artistic fixture in one of my adopted neighborhoods—The Inner Richmond. So I sat down with her one afternoon in November to learn more about her life. In Part 1, Hollis, an artist, illustrator, and designer, begins sharing her life story, which started in Atlanta. She grew up in the same Georgia house where her dad was also raised. Her grandpa lived there when Hollis was young, and her parents still live in the house today. Both of Hollis's parents are creatives. Her mom studied fabric design and textiles and weaves quilts these days. Her dad is a carpenter and "builds everything." Along with her crafty dad, Hollis often found herself making big changes in her house when she was little. Her parents met when they were both at the University of Georgia, in Athens. When the two moved in together, Hollis's mom was friends with members of the B-52s. That now well-known band played one of its early shows at her parents house, in fact. Hollis met the band when she was a kid, but doesn't really remember it. After they each graduated college, Hollis's parents moved back to Atlanta to that ancestral home we talked about earlier to take care of her dad's dad, who had fallen ill. First, her older sister was born. And then, in 1987, along came baby Hollis. Life in Atlanta in the Nineties for Hollis meant lots of time outdoors. There's an acre of land with the house she grew up in, space for lots of trees and a bird sanctuary. It was still a time of latch-key kids, and she was definitely one. Hollis roamed her parents' land, wading in creeks and running through the forest. Her parents eventually got a second home up in the Blue Ridge Mountains where she also spent a lot of time. Hollis went to public school the whole way. Her mom went back to school to become an elementary school librarian, and her dad taught at her high school what we used to call woodshop and coached the boys cross-country team (Hollis was part of the girls team). Kids at her high school loved Coach Griffith, she says. Art didn't necessarily "enter" Hollis' life. It was always just there. She answered that dreaded question some adults ask kids of "what do you wanna be when you grow up?" with "an artist or a vet." But then she stared getting good grades in art and didn't do so well in math. The Universe spoke, and Hollis listened. Sports remained a big part of Hollis's life up to and through college, where she played intramural soccer. There was an art school in a small North Carolina town she'd had her eye on, but she ended up getting a scholarship to stay in-state, and landed at UGA in Athens, where she studied art. UGA is one of those intense Greek life schools (I relate, having gone to UT Austin), and Hollis found out quickly that it wasn't for her. She found her art school homies right away. At this point in the recording, Hollis and I go on a sidebar about recurring end-of-semester nightmares. Hollis graduated from UGA with two degrees—ceramics and art education. She student taught one year and got out in five total. After that, she and her boyfriend (now husband) applied for teaching jobs in Spain. They heard back almost a year later, and found themselves living in Zamora and staying for two years. We chat about her time in Spain. They had such a good time the first year and got really embedded, making friends, working, learning Spanish, and joining a bicycling group that they decided to double-up and stay one more year. At the end of that run, though, pressures started to mount for them to return to the US. They came back to Atlanta and Hollis got a job teaching ceramics at a high school. Not even 30 yet herself, she found it difficult to lead a group of kids who weren't that much younger than she was. And they were going through their own hard times. After one year teaching, when colleges came to recruit the teenagers, The Creative Circus ended up picking Hollis. It was a two-year "bootcamp" type of learning environment, geared toward careers in advertising. But before her two years were up, Hollis got a job in San Francisco. Check back Thursday for Part 2 with artist Hollis Callas. We recorded this podcast at Hollis's studio inside of Chloe Jackman Photography in The Inner Richmond in November 2025. Photography by Jeff Hunt
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    29 分
  • A Year-End Chat with Friend-of-the-Show Vandor Hill of Whack Donuts (S8 bonus)

    A Year-End Chat with Friend-of-the-Show Vandor Hill of Whack Donuts (S8 bonus)
    2025/12/22

    Listen in as my friend Vandor Hill and I wrap up his second year of Whack Donuts' brick-and-mortar location. This is Vandor's third appearance on Storied: SF. Here are the other two episode's we've done with him:

    • Vandor Hill of Whack Donuts

    • Whack Donuts' First Anniversary

    We recorded this podcast at Whack Donuts in Embarcadero 4 in December 2025.

    Photo by Jeff Hunt
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    28 分
  • Lex Sloan, Henry S. Rosenthal, and The Roxie, Part 2 (S8E8)

    Lex Sloan, Henry S. Rosenthal, and The Roxie, Part 2 (S8E8)
    2025/12/18
    In Part 2, we pick up right where we left off in Part 1. Continuing her history of 3117 16th Street, Lex notes that "The Roxie has lived many lifetimes." She describes the Eighties and Nineties as busy times for the theater. They ran a series of Werner Hertzog films in that era. Akira Kurisawa visited for some of his movies. Many local films and film festivals took place at The Roxie. Frameline was set there. San Francisco and the greater Bay Area were becoming something of a cinema mecca. The aforementioned Roxie Releasing ended up helping the business in times when ticket sales weren't so hot. Even then, the theater went through some really rough patches financially. That persisted into the early 2000s. And then, The New College came along. The Roxie became the school's film center, in fact. Hope emerged … until The New College lost its accreditation and had to shutter. In 2009, with a still-uncertain future ahead of it, The Roxie officially became a nonprofit, one of the first of its kind. It was a huge turning point for the theater—but it didn't solve all their problems. There were numerous "Save The Roxie" campaigns, and about 10 years ago or so, the Board contemplated closing down for good. Obviously, that didn't happen. But in 2020, like every person and business on the planet, The Roxie fell victim to the pandemic. Lex walks us through how COVID and the ensuing shutdown impacted the theater. In the years leading up to 2020, the theater was finally thriving again. But they were the first movie theater in San Francisco to shut down, which they did so voluntarily before the mandate. The Roxie stayed shuttered for 434 consecutive days during COVID. In that time, employees sent postcards to Roxie members; they did pop-up drive-in cinemas; they did "Virtual Roxie," in which the theater curated movies folks could watch from home; and they held online panel discussions with filmmakers. Once they felt it was safe and they reopened The Roxie, it all felt worth the sacrifices. Instantly, the theater was full of people and life and joy. Despite all that, though, financial struggles resumed once again. Eventually, as many businesses were able to do, they got back to full capacity movie screenings. The conversation shifts to The Roxie's ongoing efforts to buy the building it's situated in. Henry describes the process, which began with a feasibility study. The study came back in the affirmative—they had a real shot at raising the money needed for such a huge endeavor. He describes the current board members as a cohesive bunch. No factions exist and they all are aligned with laser-sharp focus. The next step was convincing the landlords to sell to them, to prove that the non-profit was capable of raising the kind of money it would take to get the deal done. That took about a year of back-and-forth. But after that process of negotiating with the building's previous owner, they had an asking price. They could then raise money. The first donations came from Roxie Board members. In fact, within two weeks of launching the capital campaign, every member of the Board had donated. Then many of those Board members began pitching … and pitching … and pitching. This April, the efforts went public, and to great success. The lovefest began. The goal from the outset was to raise $7 million in three years. As The Roxie approaches the end of the second year of its fundraising (meaning nowadays), it's within striking distance. Because the total amount that they're raising includes money for way overdue maintenance and upgrades, they already have enough for the basic purchase. In fact, the building is already under the ownership of The Roxie Theater nonprofit organization. Now that the goal is in sight, they're aiming to close 2025 with a final push to make it to $7 million in two years instead of three. And that's where you and I come in. If you or anyone you know would like to help a San Francisco landmark further cement its legacy in our city by buying its building, find more info and make a donation, please visit the Forever Roxie page. For donations of $30 and above, you will receive a Forever Roxie enamel pin. Donations of $60 and above receive the pin and a specially-designed pair of Roxie socks. For a donation of $120 and above, you receive all of the above along with a long-sleeve Roxie tee shirt. Also, from now through December 31, the Walter and Elise Haas fund will match every gift to the campaign. We end this episode with Lex reminding folks about The Roxie's weekly newsletter, which goes out every Wednesday and is always a delight. Go to roxie.com and click the "newsletter" button at the top-right to sign up.
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    24 分
  • Lex Sloan, Henry S. Rosenthal, and The Roxie, Part 1 (S8E8)

    Lex Sloan, Henry S. Rosenthal, and The Roxie, Part 1 (S8E8)
    2025/12/16
    When you tell friends you're going to see a movie at The Roxie, there's an almost palpable envy that sets in for them. In this episode, meet Lex Sloan and Henry S. Rosenthal. Lex is The Roxie's executive director and Henry is on its Board of Directors and the chair of the theater's capital campaign, which we'll get to. In the meantime, if you'd like to help keep a bona fide San Francisco landmark in its rightful home until the end of time (they'd sure love you to, and so would I), donate to the Forever Roxie fund here. We start with Henry, who lets us know that the "S" in his name stands for Sigmund. Henry was born in Cincinnati and had what he describes as an "idyllic childhood" there. He started going to music shows when he was 13, seeing bands like Iggy and the Stooges and MC5. After graduating from high school, he moved to San Francisco in 1973 to attend school at The New College of California. He was an early subscriber to Rolling Stone magazine, where he had seen a New College ad. That ad captivated young Henry's imagination. He visited the campus, which was in Sausalito at the time, after a road trip from Ohio to the West Coast. The school tried to get him to enroll right then, but Henry decided to go back home and finish high school first. Henry produced cable TV shows while in college. In a sense, it's what he's been doing ever since. When Henry moved to San Francisco, there were still operating movie palaces on Market. Before really making friends here, he'd spend a lot of time inside those theaters. It was the era of movies like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Enter the Dragon. He says it's difficult to put into words (it is), but San Francisco just grabbed him and never let go. Then we turn to Lex Sloan. Lex went to college in Bellingham, Washington, at the type of school that allows you to design your own degree, which she did. Lex got a bachelor's in "social change media," which is so on the nose, it tickles. Post-graduation, she went to what she calls "the middle of nowhere, Arizona," but that lasted all of seven or eight months. Looking for where to land next and being a spreadsheet nerd (like me), Lex made a list. And lo and behold, San Francisco checked the most boxes. She got a job in Redwood City, not knowing that that Peninsula town wasn't exactly The City. No matter—she landed. The job involved teaching video production at a community center. At first, she stayed in a hostel on Mission Street before finding a place all her own on Craigslist. That was 2005, and Lex hasn't looked back. We go back to Henry to hear the story of how The Roxie drew him in. Perhaps jokingly, he says he laments not visiting when The Roxie was a porn theater. Henry doesn't recall his actual first visit, but says he's been a regular since first learning about the place. He knew Bill Banning, who created Roxie Releases, the organization's distribution operation. (Rivers and Tides, the documentary about artist Andy Goldsworthy, is among their releases.) Banning and he were friends for a while. Their kids went to school together. Their lives kept intertwining, including at film festivals. When The Roxie transitioned to a nonprofit and created a board, folks like Bill invited Henry to join it. He politely refused … until the theater was on firmer ground financially. And once it was, he was in. Henry's goal in joining The Roxie board was singular, he says: To help the organization buy the building where the theater sits. Lex does remember her first time at The Roxie. After she landed in The City, she sought work on local film crews. She found a crew and their film (Getting Off) premiered at The Roxie during Frameline. Because she was "only" a production assistant, she wasn't comped a ticket. Lex remembers showing up and seeing a rather long and daunting line to get in. But! That line was filled with her people. She calls that screening "magical" and "electrifying." Over the years, she came back time and again, for one-off movies as well as for film festivals. When Lex worked for Frameline, one of her jobs was carrying film prints into the projection booth at The Roxie and other theaters. Fast-forward to 10 years or so ago, when Lex became operations director at The Roxie. We then turn to the history of The Roxie, with Lex as our tour guide. The space where the theater sits today was built to be just that—a movie theater. It wasn't converted at any point from something else to become a place where folks watch movies. The folks who run the theater today have discovered and held onto the original blueprints from 1913. Its first name was The Poppy Theater. Then it was The 16th Street. Then The New 16th Street, The Gaiety, The Rex, and finally, in the early 1930s, The Roxie. That oh-so-recognizable marquee came to The Mission from an auto dealership in Oakland aboard a barge that traveled across The Bay. A lot of the history of The Roxie before the Seventies is not well-known. But, after becoming The Roxie, it ...
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    24 分
  • Neighborhood Basic Bitch: The Mission District, w/H.P. Mendoza and Bitch Talk (S8 bonus)

    Neighborhood Basic Bitch: The Mission District, w/H.P. Mendoza and Bitch Talk (S8 bonus)
    2025/12/05

    Listen in as I join Erin and Ange of Bitch Talk to chat with H.P. Mendoza about all things Mission District. We wax poetic about H.P.'s home hood, spinning yarns about the infamous neighborhoo'd's past, present, and future.

    We recorded this podcast at Zeitgeist in (duh) The Mission in November 2025.

    Photo by Wally Gobetz
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    1 時間 3 分
  • Randall Ann Homan and Al Barna of SF Neon, Part 2 (S8E7)

    Randall Ann Homan and Al Barna of SF Neon, Part 2 (S8E7)
    2025/12/04
    In Part 2, we pick up more or less where we left off in Part 1, hearing the story of how Randall and Al came to love all things neon. Their enthusiasm kicked into high gear when they started noticing neon signs coming down, and they decided to try to do something about it. That something started with documenting the signs. And with that came a bit of a learning curve, especially around photographing artificial lights at night. Over the next five years, they captured and captured and captured, getting as many extant signs as they could find. Randall had some book design experience under her belt, especially aspects like packaging and getting it to a printer. She also knew how to put a book proposal together, and so they did. But friends and people in the publishing industry warned them that it would difficult to find a publisher. Randall suggested to her partner that they publish the 200-page book themselves, and that's exactly what they did. They had the photos and the design down. All they needed was money. Kickstarter was still pretty new, and they chose that platform. Within two weeks, they had met and exceeded their goal. It was on. Donations came in from all over The City, the country, and the world. In addition to money to fund publication, Randall and Al were gifted a community of fellow neon enthusiasts. These days, many folks in that community attend symposiums that Al and Randall put on. I ask the couple to name other towns, besides San Francisco, that have what I'm calling "good neon." They rattle off a few—Denver; Portland, OR; Livingston, MT; Reno; Los Angeles. Randall plugged a site by Debra Jane Seltzer called RoadsideArchitecture.com that documents neon and other signage in all US states except Hawaii and Alaska. To help design the cover of their book, Randall and Al asked their Instagram followers. A photo of the Verdi Club and its neon won, easily. That venue quickly emerged as the obvious choice for where to host the book's launch party. Around 300 guests showed up that night in 2014. After launch, they realized they needed ideas to keep the book and The City's neon signage in people's minds. Tours were among the first of those ideas. But that started as a one-off in Chinatown. A few of the guests on that first tour were tube benders—folks who, among other things, bend the glass that goes into making a neon sign. In the end, the students taught the teachers that day. Those tube benders introduced Randall and Al to a guy in Oakland named Jim Rizzo who does neon restoration work at Neon Works. They've been working with Jim ever since. When I ask if that Chinatown tour in support of their book was what got them started doing tours in general, Randall turns back to The Society for Experiential Graphic Design (SEGD). The group was holding its convention in San Francisco and asked Randall and Al to take visitors on a tour of The City. They learned a lot from that, including how long to hold your tour before folks get tired or hungry. Fast-forward to after their book was published, when folks who bought the book reached out asking if Randall and Al could show them around San Francisco's various noteworthy neon signs. They didn't think they had it in them to do that on a regular basis. But then other San Francisco tour guides signed up wanting to be shown our city's neon. Little by little, those guides taught Randall and Al tools of the trade. In the beginning, they second-guessed themselves. "We're a photographer and a graphic designer. What are we doing giving tours?" But they soon learned the real value of neon walking tours—the chance to walk around San Francisco at twilight with people from all walks of life. The side hustle was its own reward (something very familiar to me, in my role hosting this podcast). If you'd like to take one (or all) of Randall and Al's tours, sign up on their website—SFneon.org. You'll also find other books about neon that they've published. One of those books is all about saving neon. They got in touch with folks they were meeting from all over the country who were doing that work in their own cities. The book is a good resource for anyone who, like Randall and Al in the Mission all those years ago, wants to preserve signs in their area. So, they published the book, started doing tours, launched an annual conference … but still, they wanted to do more. They talked with folks at SF Heritage, picking their brains for things like how to get grant money for neon sign preservation. They told them to talk with people at The Tenderloin Museum (TLM), and mentioned Katie Conry specifically. When Randall and Al talked with her, Katie just got it, immediately. TLM has been SF Neon's fiscal sponsor ever since. (Ed. note: This podcast was arranged with help with Katie at Tenderloin Museum. Thanks, Katie!) As you learned on this show back in April of this year, TLM is expanding. Part of that expansion will free up the museum's current space. Once they move all of...
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    27 分
  • Randall Ann Homan and Al Barna of SF Neon, Part 1 (S8E7)

    Randall Ann Homan and Al Barna of SF Neon, Part 1 (S8E7)
    2025/12/02
    The story of how Randall Ann Homan got her name is a unique one. In this episode, meet and get to know Randall and her partner, in life and in neon, Al Barna. Today, the couple are all about all things San Francisco neon. But we'll get to that. When Randall's dad was a teenager, he saved a young girl named Randall from drowning. After saving the little girl, he taught her to swim. Years later, when he had his own daughter, he carried the name forward. Randall Homan grew up in Goodyear, Arizona, just outside of Phoenix. The town was named for the tire company, and it was where, back in the day, the eponymous blimp lived when not in use. Randall has a fun story about being brushed by the Goodyear blimp's ropes when she was a kid. She considered her hometown "Nowheresville" and left as soon as she could—at 17, after graduating from high school early. Randall came straight to San Francisco to attend Lone Mountain College (the University of San Francisco today). "It was wild," she says about her time in the Seventies in The City. Art school is what brought both Randall and Al to San Francisco. At her school, there was a dorm where all the art students, including Randall, lived. Views out the window of that dorm were always completely foggy except for one thing—the neon sign at the Bridge Theater on Geary pierced that blanket of gray. It left a strong impression on them both. Rewinding a bit, Randall says that there was a little neon in her hometown of Goodyear, and she was fascinated by it. She was interested in how it worked, but also was drawn to the beauty of the colored light. When I ask Randall whether she ever left San Francisco after her initial move here, she rewinds a little bit to talk about how young they both were when she and Al met. "Cupid hit us both square in the heart," she says. But they wanted to see the rest of the country. They both wanted to visit where the other is from (Al came here from Pennsylvania), but they compromised on New Orleans. They were drawn to NOLA by the music, and they sure did see a lot of that. But getting jobs was a different story. That didn't come easy in "the Big Easy," and so they came back. They've been in their San Francisco apartment for 30-plus years, and they're not going anywhere. As mentioned, Al comes from Pennsylvania, specifically the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre northeast area of the state. It was coal country, but young Al wanted to pursue art. And so he came to The City to go to the San Francisco Art Institute (RIP). It was 1976, and even though he was in college, Al never intended to stay longer than a year or two. The Beats influenced Al, and though San Francisco figures largely in their history, so does travel. But he and Randall were here during the so-called Season of the Witch—1978. Randall is quick to point out how much easier it was to move within The City back then, something they did every six months or so for a stretch. I ask them to rattle off the different neighborhoods, and they oblige me: Lower Nob Hill, North Beach, and The Mission figure prominently, among others. Al goes into a little more detail about how the two met. It was at a going-away party for a mutual friend. For him, that first meeting settled it. Randall was about to go to school in Los Angeles, and Al decided to join her down south. After a couple years at SFAI, Al left school to work for a film company, where he did a lot more learning. He was taking lots of photos, and it wasn't until Randall pointed out the abundance of neon signs in the backgrounds of his pictures that Al picked up on it. In addition to LA, they also spent some time in Flagstaff, Arizona, where they both got jobs at a silk screen company. Randall also got a job working for a sign painter whose hands were too shaky for his craft. The work she did painting signs left a big impression on Randall, and you can see it in her love of old neon signs today. Between the Eighties and early 2000s, they each worked in their respective crafts—photography for Al, and graphic design for Randall. Al worked for several decades for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco (the parent org for the de Young and Legion of Honor museums). He shares a story of helping prevent a bomb from exploding at the old de Young museum building, just before it was scheduled to be demolished anyway. Randall's graphic design work had her, among other jobs, designing album covers for bands. She did show posters, logos, and branding—work she still engages in to this day. In the Nineties, she designed the cover page for one of the Bay Guardian Best of The Bay issues. Eventually, the two decided to create a book all about neon. Putting together that first book—San Francisco Neon: Survivors and Lost Icons—took five years. We'll talk in more depth about that and their other, more recent projects in Part 2. We end Part 1 with the story of how neon became the central focus of both Al's and Randall's lives. It involved a sign in the Mission...
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    28 分