Yesterday was an orange day in San Francisco, a day worth putting responsibilities aside in order to get down there and be a part of it. Amongst fans who had cheered the Giants to their World Series victory in Monday night, fans who cheered the Giants through the post season, fans who had rallied the 2010 "misfits" team when they were playing to win, fans who chanted their names when they were playing like an "unbelievable" machine, fans who cheered our homeboys -- including a rookie named, of all names, Buster -- when they played like fools and lifelong fans who have been waiting for as long as they can remember to savor the sweetness of a 56-years-in-the-making world championship, I reveled in yesterday's parade and subsequent celebration knowing that the memory of it will bring smiles to faces in the city for a long time to come.

Donning a shirt I bought during the 2002 season (a #5 Tsuyoshi Shinjo shirt, the center fielder who hit the first Major League homer I ever witnessed in person at the then still new Giants ballpark and a player who went from "one to watch" to "hard to watch" in the span of just a few months) and hadn't worn or washed since game seven of that wretched "Rally Monkey" series, I headed out for the beginning of the parade route (four blocks from my Chinatown roost) to cheer everyone on our home team through the streets of the Financial District, only to make the journey across town to meet up with the frenzied masses again at parade's end in front of City Hall. Despite the fact that it was an unusually hot day in San Francisco, with hardly a breeze to speak of, my old Giants tee never felt so fresh or so clean (clean).

Everybody knows that old cats can open doors, but did you know that only ghost cats can close them?

Well, to quote the great Levar Burton, don't take my word for it, find out for yourself! Here's to the joy of lessons learned from Nobuhiko Obayashi's 1977 cinematic freak-out Hausu (or House if you speak American), a film that'll give you a trick-or-treating of horror-infused psychedelia like you've never ever experienced, not even in your wildest, most delightfully random-ass frightmares. While it's difficult to know where to begin in reviewing this amazing monkeyshine, it should not go without saying that supposedly the story was dictated to the director by his 11-year-old daughter, which pretty much makes the movie itself just as crazy as, well, a story told by a demented little girl with cat fancy, Auntie issues, and campy ideas about "indecent" piano behavior. Add to that the fact that Hausu seems to be a visual exercise in testing the limits on how many times a movie can one-up itself, utilizing a lightning round of every stylistic technique known to film-making all the way, as if daring viewers to exclaim "this shit is bananas!" to which the movie quite literally delivers a shit-ton of bananas, no kidding.

First of all, fabulous show! I think I can speak for everyone when I say I only wished it had been longer (it was a short set, but people were fist-pumping!). Are there plans in place for a proper Chateau Crone tour?

The new Sun Araw, Off Duty, is out this week on Woodsist and, man, is it as heavy as he's ever been...

...and the good news is that if you spaced on picking up Boat Trip on vinyl, the good folks at Woodsist have included it on the CD release of Off Duty. For those of you who've long been riding on the so-called "chill wave" (I prefer to call it "berm highs," but what's a girl to do) this release is as essential as Sun Araw's previous nuggets of music made by people taking drugs to make music to take drugs to, or music to not take drugs to because the music is so "druggy" you don't have to. Seriously, I don't see ever coming back from the next-next level trips that come of digging into Sun Araw with a juggernaut of a buzz on, just sayin. Anyhoo, if you like space, beaches, Spacemen 3, Lee "Scratch" Perry's 'Black Arc' period and never fake the funk, then consider this your next stop on the midnight train to oblivion....

"Last Chants"