Yesterday was Bay to Breakers, the huge 7-mile footrace/parade of debauchery that snakes across San Francisco every May. Click here to see what a penis looks like after it's been flopping back and forth in the fresh air for seven miles.

God, I'm going to miss San Francisco.

Everyone who's been in San Francisco for five minutes has seen Frank Chiu, the sloppily/professionally dressed Asian guy with the sign with all kinds of cool made-up words on it. Wood's uncle was a psychiatrist at S.F. General back in the day when Frank Chiu emerged onto the frisco lunatic scene, and heard his story before it was corrupted by Judd folklore. He believes he is a filmmaker from another planet or one of the moons of jupiter whose films are being prevented from being seen on earth by a cadre of semi-obscure politicians and authority figures. Frank's real mission in life seems to be to get on the news as much as possible, so wherever there is a news truck or a camera in downtown frisco you can trust Frank will sniff it out. He also likes crowds and you see him at war protests with his sign among all the freegans and anti-zionist zealots and their signs. They all agree that Tom Ridge is a major asshole. There is a bar south of 14th street that is named after one of the most common phrases on his placard ("12 galaxies"). I've never been there because I refuse to go south of 14th street. A few months before Juniper was born I decided to start designing onesies with pictures of things other than ducks and fuzzy bunnies and cuddly bears on them, and I decided to make her a Frank Chiu onesie with this image on it: Three months after Juniper was born, Wood ran bay-to-breakers (can you believe that? most women three months after giving birth are scarfing down paxil-flavored haagen-dazs and my wife runs seven miles?) Juniper and I went into golden gate park to see her race and lo and behold there was Frank Chiu among all the naked old men with goiters the size of small melons on their testicals and "urban tribes" all wearing the same costumes. I wore a costume, too. I was yuppie dad, motherfucker!!! Bay-to-breakers really depresses me. Not because it smells like beer and sweaty balls, but because you see all of these earnest Judds and Juddettes in costumes they clearly (1) spent a lot of time on; and (2) thought were really "witty" or "creative"; and then ten minutes later you see another group of equally-earnest Judds and Juddettes wearing the exact same conceptual costumes. It really makes me sad for humanity to see such banality on open, drunken display. But among the dozens and dozens of Frank Chiu imitators I spied the real thing, called up Wood to run back a mile and a half after she was done with the race so she could take a picture of Juniper with Frank Chiu.

San Francisco, the city where once or twice a year you can feel comfortable wearing your red bra and panties over a black leotard (pirate hat optional) to the park on a balmy Sunday.

So Wood ran that extra mile and a half back up through the park for these pictures, which we both agreed while walking the miles back to our apartment were totally worth it.