Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival, when Chinese people all over the world gaze at the full moon and devour decadent moon cakes to celebrate the end of the summer harvest (yes, I just looked that up on Wikipedia). My sister, my nephew Jinbao and I went to Chinatown to enjoy music and crafts, courtesy of Sunday Streets, a pilot program modeled after one in Bogotá, Colombia. The goal is to get people outdoors and moving. Vehicle traffic is blocked while hula hoops and yoga instruction are provided. How can I ever leave this place? The absolute highlight of the day was when the San Francisco Chinese Folk Music Band took a break and an elderly couple stood up to fill the silence with...karaoke. A stout grandmother even took the stage to sing a Beijing opera-like bitty, complete with trills and shrieks. (Jinbao was startled. We reassured him that karaoke obsession is a recessive gene.)
After six hours of sitting in front of the screen, I decided that the celebration wasn't over quite yet. I baked some fish and cooked a little black quinoa. I opened a bottle of rosé and a bag of nonpareils and feasted while watching Il Postino. I laughed, I cried. If an achingly beautiful film - shot on an Sicilian island and complete with poetry and a tragic ending - fails to touch you, give up now. Luckily, I'm not a lost cause yet.
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