Hey, kids! Can you feel the heat? Ready to cool down with a nice tart treat? Then wrap your lips around a big frozen pickle.

Yep, that's right -- you'll be cool as a cucumber with this doozy: The Pickle Sickle, which despite it's name is NOT a preserved fruit bearing grim death. It's a Popsicle made of picle juice, which the makers tout as a healthy alternative to sugar-laden frozen treats. It's "made from the whole pickle!" (Not just the gizzard and feet.) Plus, you'll look really cool:

Seriously! Holy frozen pickles, there's even a theme song

By Erik Morse

After its belated 2007 release in a highly anticipated DVD box set, Alejandro Jodorowsky’s 1970 midnight masterpiece El Topo – which translates to "The Mole" – will revisit the big screen on March 6 and 8 as a part of SFMOMA’s “Non-Western Westerns” film series.

El Topo has been touted as nothing less than the Philosopher’s Stone of film by certain cineastes, as well as by ars gratia artis anarchists and alchemy students. Much of El Topo's religious potency has been connected to the shared, orphic experience found in cheap art-houses and midnight festivals, where the elicit jouissance of its viewing came as a secret cinematic samizdat. Upon the film’s New York debut at Ben Barenholtz’s Elgin Theatre, its philosophical and cultural prescience – between the subterranean art of Jonas Mekas and Andy Warhol and the apocalyptic violence of Altamont and the Manson murders – secured it a place within the cleaving of two seminal but divergent decades. Although Jodorowsky seemed more entwined with the elder studies of Antonin Artaud and spectral mysticism, his work spoke to the ever-expanding archive of bestiality and immolation that was part of a new postmodern and post-war language.

Tom Lenk, who played one of my favorite characters in the later seasons of Buffy (Andrew, the geek villain), takes on Chris Crocker and Diablo Cody in what is perhaps my favorite YouTube parody to date. I swear to blog.

By Candice Chan

Wicked flipping awesome! The new Iron Man trailer came out last week and is so good I could watch it backwards while doing a headstand and I'd still want more. Let's hope the movie can live up to the hype that the trailer has sparked. Regardless, though, Tony Stark is the most badass alcoholic ever. Seriously, there is nothing quite as sexy as a dude who can hold his liquor, build impenetrable armor, and blow up a tank all by himself ... AT THE SAME TIME. Drool.

Yep, it's that time again -- time for the Mama's Royal Cafe Annual Napkin Art Contest!

2006 winner!

The fave-rave Oakland cafe is presenting it's 26th one of these suckers -- and your noodle-doodle entry could snag you $400, or any one of 32 other fabulous prizes (including free breakfast.

2007 First runner up!

All those years of crayoning your placemat could finally pay off ... but get to scribblin' kids, the deadline is March 31. We eagerly await seeing your entry displayed in Mama's incomparable online napkin art gallery.

Use only what you need!

Thank you, David Simon. Newspaper journalism couldn't have asked for a clearer voice. But it would have been nice to see Frank Pembleton one last time.

By Ailene Sankur

The best brunch in the city isn’t at J’s Pots of Soul or Boogaloos, my friends. It’s at the Legion of Honor, that elegant neoclassical building perched high atop foggy Land’s End (so Hitchcockian), during the press preview for the Legion’s Annie Leibovitz exhibit. (There is a Sunday brunch for the masses, but I doubt you get your own nametag – or a chat with Ms. Leibovitz -- at that one.) A pyramid of martini glasses held fresh fruit salad garnished with sprigs of mint. The coffee was delectable. And the bagels – half the size of normal ones -- were adorable! Teeny tiny!

The photographer

Brother Philip and Father

By Ailene Sankur

What would make me want to spend a year of my life living in Concord?

Love.

Cheap rent. ($350/month to live with said person I loved, and another roommate.)

Bomb-ass Mexican food.

I am about to say a very controversial thing: I have yet to eat a truly good burrito in the city. I have been up and down Mission, up and down Valencia, and to El Beach Burrito by my house in the Sunset, and found nothing but decent -- bordering on good -- burritos. I am not impressed. (But am open to, and would really welcome suggestions…)

I don’t miss Concord, besides its tons of parking and wonderfully hot, 90-plus summers, but I do miss that Mexican food. Concord’s Mexican joints make any place in the Mission taste about as authentic as Baja Fresh.

By Justin Juul

What? You haven't seen "Girls Rock! The Movie" yet? It's a documentary about a rock n’ roll camp in Portland Oregon that teaches young girls how to overcome oppression, fight off attackers, and most importantly how to rock! I recently attended the film’s East Bay premier at The Shattuck Cinema in Berkeley with my girlfriend, Heather Duthie, who has been working with the film’s co-directors Arnie Johnson (a frequent Guardian contributor) and Shane King for the past six months. So there's your full disclosure of my interest in the movie. But really: I never knew girls could be so awesome!

Two different bands played to a sold-out theater full of prepubescent girls and their super hip mothers or fathers. The girls entered the theater timid and meek, but after hearing The Kitties play a punk version of "These Boots Are Made for Walkin’" and watching Girls Rock! star, Palace, scream obscenities and punch people in the face, they were able to bang their heads and throw up the horns without a touch of bashfulness. Let’s hope and pray they stay the course. The last thing we need is another Britney, however punk rock she has become.

Here's where to see it.

And here's some pics from the event

Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival's extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun's take on SXSW's tunes, click here.

Yes, I’m a music fanatic, but I’m no music geek – and certainly no expert. I love the music I love in the simplest, purest way, as a child who grew up on the Stones and the Beatles and associates rock’n’roll with love and breakfast and spontaneous living room dance parties. I’m not the girl who’s up on the all the coolest new bands, nor the one who scours record stores for rare 7 inch bootlegs from all the coolest old ones. My haircut is symmetrical, my T-shirts aren’t ironic, and the closest thing I have to “skinny jeans” are pants I’ve outgrown. In short? I’m no spokesperson for indie rock.

So while it’s true that I’m here at South by Southwest (locals call it South By, by the way) to hear music until my ears bleed and my feet blister, I’m not going to pretend to assess the bands down here. I’ll leave that to Kim, who’s far more qualified on that subject.

No, just as I am at home, I’m going to be the eyes of the Guardian’s culture section while I’m here. Food, fashion, nightlife, drinking, lifestyle – and everything else that makes Austin the San Francisco of Texas. I can’t promise my posts will all be cohesive – or even coherent (there sure are a lot of bars in Austin, and a lot of parties being thrown at them during SXSW), but what else would anyone expect?

Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival's extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun's take on SXSW's tunes, click here.

Often, when I embark on a trip, I assume everyone else around me is going where I’m going. Usually I’m wrong. But sometimes – as with Burning Man and, apparently, South by Southwest – I’m right.

It was harder to tell who was headed to Austin on the first leg of my flight, but it was obvious on the last leg from Denver to Austin. The girl in the beat-up T-shirt, suspenders, and A-line skirt with matching A-line hair? SXSW. The Baby Boomer with surprisingly stylish shoes who was assigned to A-line girl’s seat on the plane (and won the battle)? Not so much. I know Austin’s pretty hip, not just by Texas standards but by anyone’s, but it felt safe to guess that the long-haired, pasty-faced guy with a stylie pattern embroidered on his blazer was headed my way. Same for his companion, with her choppy bob and screen-printed messenger bag.

Perhaps I should've bought myself an ironic trucker hat instead.

by Paula Connelly

A Guitar Hero break in between panel discussions

I'm not convinced that the web is breaking down boundaries. At the SXSW Interactive Media conference there was a sea of iPhone engaged people who represent the first generation to really harness the experience of growing up with the web and bring it to the business realm. Those who have been the most successful have achieved web fame status. On the web, success is measured by attention based on site user volume, and although that directly translates to advertising dollars it is not the most important component of internet fame. I know that I should be happy about this glorification of knowledge. I should feel optimistic that web celebrity is the result of talent stemming from mathematical and scientific ability. The truth of the matter is, we are in the middle of a revolution whether we like it or not. And as I take refuge in an Austin cafe, far, far away from the fray, I realize that something about it all makes me feel really uncomfortable.

By Paula Connelly

Panel titled: How Piracy will save the music industry

Jason Schwartz, founder of a digital music label called Robber Baron Music, and Randy Saaf, the founding CEO of an internet piracy prevention technology company called MediaDefender, Inc, discussed the conflicting viewpoints of the record labels and millions of music consumers. Schwartz’ music label acts as an internet marketing outlet that offers free music downloads in conjunction with artist donation options. This is beneficial to the artist because it gets people listening to an artists’ music while cataloging the downloader’s demographics for tour negotiation leverage. This is the future of the music industry. The labels are cut out. They know it. They’re angry.

By Jamilah King

The definition of blackness is so highly debated that even black folks have a difficult time defining it. Oakland-raised rapper Ise Lyfe looks at blackness and some of these questions associated with the concept in his one-man play, Who's Krazy? Told through spoken word and monologue and accompanied a '70s soul and hip-hop sounds, Who's Krazy? revolves around Victor, a 31-year-old African American man who runs from anything he considers "black." Victor's journey takes a staggering detour after he has a mental breakdown and locks himself in his basement. I spoke to Lyfe recently about his work.

SFBG: What have you been up to since the release of your last album?

Ise Lyfe: Mainly I've been traveling and performing, teaching a bit. I started an educational company that basically explores the roots causes of violence in our community. It got to a point where I realized that the material being taught in our schools didn't relate to the realities that a lot of people face at home or in real life. So we created a program that teaches young folks about the history of violence against women, our internal impulses toward violence and the systemic causes of violence in our communities that we may not think about in our daily lives.

I've also been working on an album. The project is called Prince Cometh, and it's probably one of my proudest accomplishments to date. I'm releasing it independently and it should be out in May or June.

SFBG: Now let's talk about your latest project, Who's Krazy? Where did the idea come from?

IL: Since I've been traveling a lot, I always encounter interesting people. A while back I was speaking on a panel at Smith College, and the guy sitting next to me was this brotha who was a total tight ass and seemed hella removed from his blackness. It was a trip.

OK, true confessions: I attended Punahou school in Honolulu, Hawaii - and I hated it. But seriously, Barack Obama is doing more than blowing my mind with his performance as a candidate - I'm also having to rethink my dreaded junior high and high school years at this elite prep institution that essentially catered to the islands' missionary/colonist spawn and the wealthy. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Obama - and even I - also went there, and our families certainly weren't soaking in it. (And boy, was I reminded of that all the time by my parents.) Still, can that miserable time actually be considered remotely...cool? Truly, this Neighborhoodies' ringer T-shirt - oozing nostalgia for a Punahou I'm still ambivalent about - is weirdest fashion item I've ever lusted after.

By Matt Sussman

In honor of the inauguration of the new screening series The Revival House, I recently sang the lavender praises of Kinji Fukasaku’s Black Lizard (1968). But when space is limited, you sometimes can’t cram in every tidbit of trivial erratum. That’s what blogs are for, right?

Fukasaku so enjoyed working with Akihiro Miwa that the two teamed up a year later to adapt another Mishima play, Black Rose Mansion (Kuro Bara no Yakata) for the silver screen. Miwa’s talents as a singer -- click here to see a clip of her singing in the movie -- are more fully utilized in her role as Ryuko, the sultry house chanteuse of the titular posh men’s club.

Miwa in Black Rose Mansion

Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival's extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun's take on SXSW's tunes, click here.

I’m finally back from South by Southwest. And by “back” I don’t only mean “in San Francisco.” The latter happened early Sunday morning. But I only recovered, brushed my teeth, got out of bed, and unpacked last night. Yes, it was that much fun, and that exhausting. (Yes, I also have a habit of squeezing every bit of fun out of every moment I can, which often leads to days of bed rest, but that’s another story…)

Now that I have some time to reflect, I can say deciding to go was one of the best ideas I ever had. (Way better than paying $180 to see Buffy the Musical.) First off, Austin’s rad. Now I completely understand why everyone I know is moving there. Rent is cheap. People are interesting. It’s got the politics, art, music, and culture of Portland and San Francisco but without the rain and gloom of either; and it’s got the weather of Los Angeles, but without the smog, the sprawl, or the especially high ratio of douche-bags to cool people our sister to the South has got.

The unofficial SXSW (female) uniform: summer dresses and cowboy boots.

And second, the festival itself. How do I explain this? It isn’t simply that there’s music everywhere. It’s that everyone is there because they love being there. This is summer camp for music geeks. Or Sturgis. Or (don’t kill me for saying this) Burning Man. Southby isn’t just a big, spread-out Coachella or Bonnaroo – both of which are contained, commercial festivals in the traditional sense. This is more of a temporary culture – where every venue is dedicated to playing music from morning to night, and where every person there is so dedicated to music they want to spend several days immersed in it.

In fact, I found the experience of being at Southby much the same as being at Burning Man: intending to go one place and ending up at another, running into people I never expected to see, leaving the house at 11 a.m. with the intention of coming home for dinner and not seeing my bed until 4 a.m. Drinking early, forgetting to eat, thinking I’d found the most inspiring thing I’d ever seen and then, two blocks later, finding something even more inspiring. Sure, at Burning Man it’s guerrilla art or random performance or the joy of seeing Barbie Death Camp for the first time – at Southby, it’s rock bands that sound like Led Zeppelin (Parlour Mob) or discovering the punk band I’m listening to actually sings one my favorite song on an old, unlabelled mix tape (Meat Men) or finding my way into the Perez Hilton party (not as exciting as it sounds) with a writer friend from L.A. But the fundamental feeling is the same: riding the wave of the unexpected. I bet you could even draw parallels between relationships at Burning Man – how some are formed and how some are ruined – and those at Southby.

And just like Burning Man, Southby isn’t for everyone. The pace is breakneck. The beer is unlimited. And if you don’t like crowds, walking, or loud noise, it could be your biggest nightmare. But for people like me, it’s an absolute fantasy.

Which is to say, yes, of course, I’m going to go again. But I’ll do a few things differently. Here’s my advice for other Southby virgins, based on what I learned this year:

Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival's extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun's take on SXSW's tunes, click here.

Some of my favorite non-musical moments at SXSW:

The “Yard Sale”

Ironic and slightly racist Texas T-shirt? Priceless.

My first day in town, my host (a friend of the family) and I came across what can only be called a Yard Sale in the most literal definition of the word. What this really was? Entrepreunerial brilliance. Rather than curse the thousands of indie rockers who descend upon his city every year, one Austin resident decided to capitalize on it. Before SXSW, he scoured thrift stores for hipster-friendly items like brightly-colored cowboy boots, ironic T-shirts, snap-front Western shirts, and leather jackets. Then he set up his wares in his front yard for three days during Southby – and priced everything three or four times higher than he paid. It was one-stop Southby-chic shopping. If only those green calf-length boots came in my size …

If only I wore a 9B.

Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival's extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun's take on SXSW's tunes, click here.

I made it onto my new friend Rachel's blog at KCRW! Check out "Best Non-Musical Moment." I can assure you, the feeling's mutual.

Me and my new SXSW BFF Rachel Reynolds, closing out the weekend with Chromeo.

By Jason Shamai

In conjunction with my review of his new graphic novel and Repo Man sequel Waldo's Hawaiian Holiday (Gestalt Publishing, 164 pages, $19.95) in this week's Guardian, I set down a few questions for writer/director Alex Cox to answer via email.

Clearly he doesn't find me as clever, or as informed, as I do.

Alex Cox, not looking surly. Photo by Sam Jones, from www.alexcox.com .

SFBG: What was your initial reaction to Chris Bones's proposal to turn the screenplay into a graphic novel?
ALEX COX: I thought it was a great idea.

By Vanessa Carr

"Egg"

If you've ever seen the strange monsters and fantasies of the bizarre 16th Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch and thought, "Man! I wish that guy could have given me a tattoo" — well, you might still have your chance with San Francisco tattoo artist and painter Mike Davis.

In addition to owning San Francisco's Everlasting Tattoo, Davis is a self-taught painter whose oil painting seem plucked from another time. The inhabitants of the fantastical world he's created are insects, crustaceans, snakes, birds, scorpions, eggs, fruit-bearing trees, trumpets, birdhouses on fire, the classic dripping ear, and draped figures.

"We show Mike not only because he is a phenomenal painter, but because no one else is doing what he is doing," says White Walls Gallery owner Justin Giarla.

Davis' first solo show, "Solo Flight," opened this past weekend runs through April 12 at the White Walls Gallery, featuring 24 paintings and drawings from his upcoming book, Blind Man's Journey.

White Walls Gallery, 835 Larkin, SF. 415-931-1500, www.whitewallssf.com

By Ailene Sankur

Just in time for Easter…

I used to hate Pooh, Tigger, Roo, Eeyore and the rest of the Hundred Acre wood crew. Well, I don’t necessarily hate those characters. It’s more like those bumper stickers that say, “God, Save Me From Your Followers.” I hate the people who love Pooh: basically, people with severe arrested development issues, the kind of people who also like stuff from Disney. Not ironically. (My ex-boyfriend loves Tigger stuff -- keychain, a full PJ set -- and those things just reminded me of the indulgent females in his life who gave him the Tigger shit and who tended to encourage his Tigger-like behavior, i.e. Teenage guy hyperactive irresponsibility. I also had a high school friend who loved Eeyore, talking in baby voices, and sleeping with your boyfriend. Neither did much to change my original perspective on Pooh-lovers.)

So I didn’t have much room in my life for cartoon animals of the Pooh variety until a precocious eight-year-old (something else I normally hate…I’m growing soft in my advanced age) introduced me to the Peek-a-Pooh, a rubber keychain-like toy in which a hard plastic Pooh hides within various rubber costumes.

Under Da Sea: Peek-a-Pooh Aquatic Collection

Now this is a mission after my own heart...

Members of the New York-based performance group Improv Everywhere planned a "spontaneous" musical-style song-and-dance number to be held in a food court in a Los Angeles mall. (These are the same folks responsible for Frozen Grand Central and the annual No Pants event.)