Every time you buy a there there San Francisco tee, you’re helping the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts put artists to work. The program, called YAAW, encourages young people to draw connections between art and community, and to make projects that address issues that are important to them. More importantly, it treats art like a real, important job — not just another after-school activity. Students are paid for their work, and collaborate with nationally-recognized artists and performers. We talked to their director, Laurel Butler, about what they do, and why it matters.

Can you tell us a little bit about what you do, and how you got here?

I’m the Youth Arts Manager at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. I get to spend my days hanging out with the next generation of emerging artists in the Bay Area — the teens of the YBCA Young Artists at Work (YAAW) program — learning how to critically and creatively (re)interpret the world around us, using practices of arts and activism to move towards constructing new realities and more promising futures. The program is youth-driven, so each YAAW is developing their own individual community-based art project, as well as collaborating with their peers to plan events like the 50 Cent Tabernacle, the YBCA Election Night Party, and the SF 2012 Youth Arts Summit. We tend to throw pretty rad parties.

Of course, as the Program Manager, sometimes I get to make the kids do what I want. I’m a performer, and the project advisor for YAAWs who are working on projects situated in performance, so sometimes I make them wear tights and roll around on the ground and spaz out. I make them sit in circles for awkwardly long periods of time and talk critical aesthetic theory. I make them stay out late on school nights to watch weird, contemporary works like Keith Hennessey’s Turbulence. And I ask them for advice on how to add swag to my wardrobe.

Lots of arts organizations expect high-schoolers to intern or work for free, but you pay your students for particpating as residents. Why did you make that choice, and how do you think it changes the dynamic of the program?

We want to legitimate artmaking as a viable profession by offering the YAAWs a model of sustainable artmaking practice — the residency model. So, we don’t just offer them a stipend, but all of the accoutrements that come with a professional arts residency — studio space, artistic mentorship, resources and materials, aesthetic inspiration, and — most importantly — a community of collaborators to help support the development and realization of creative dreams. By paying our young artists we are investing, in both tangible and symbolic ways, in their work — not just as artists, but as pioneers of creative thought and social changemaking in the Bay Area. And it’s not just a stipend. YAAWs also get tickets to shows, reciprocal admission to galleries all over the country, and a fresh hoodie! It’s kind of a sweet deal…

What do you love about SF that you can’t find anywhere else?

SF is a wonderful size. There are so many diverse out-of-school offerings for teens, and they all work together to create a sort-of ecosystem of youth programming, with each organization offering something distinct. I feel like the YAAW program has a wonderful network of collaborative partners — we plan events with the Contemporary Jewish Museum Teen Art Connects and Children Creativity Museum C.I.T.Y. (Creative Inspiration Through Youth) Teens, we screenprint and dance with Out of Site students, we hang out in the Bay Area Video Coalition Digital Pathways editing labs. It’s a wonderful community, very accessible and mutually supportive.

But the thing I love most about SF that I can’t find anywhere else: that it’s right next to Oakland.

YAAW works with young artists who want to combine arts and activism. What sorts of issues are most important to the youth in your program?

They’re so diverse! I’ll pick a few…

Aaron is interested in class inequity in the Bay, so he’s composing a photo essay juxtaposing portraits of folks experiencing homelessness with dot-com billionaires.

Silvana’s work focuses on heterosexism — she’s writing a play based on interviews she’s conducted with QPOC youth about their coming-out experiences.

Annie is concerned with the giant island of plastic floating around in the ocean, so she’s creating a series of paintings that address that particular environmental phenomenon.

Alejandra’s work is centered around immigration issues, and her photography reflects the changing demographics in the Mission District, with her own family as a particular point-of-focus.

The YAAWs are all highly politicized individuals. For our Election Night Party on November 6th, they created a series of comics that explain different Propositions on the California Ballot! Props 34, 36, and the 30/38 conflict were all of significant interest.

Can you give an example of a success story from the program — say, a particular project that made a big impact?

Sure! When Niyjale began with the YAAW program in 2011, I didn’t know quite what to make of his work — really abstract sculptural stuff, obviously highly conceptual, but kind of beyond me, you know? Over the course of the year, I really got to know Niyjale as a critical thinker — we worked really closely together on his role in Urbanian, the performance we did as part of Bay Area National Dance Week 2012, in which he played a recently released felon — and I began to see themes and undercurrents emerge in his work. Niyjale’s definitely experienced some tough stuff, and invested his work with a lot of meaning from his own lived experience. Over time, his ability to articulate the concept or vision behind a piece becae really strong. In the spring, Niyjale was awarded the Vernon Davis Visual Art Scholarship Fund by the SF Arts Commission! He’s now at the Academy of Art University of San Francisco, studying animation and fine arts.

That’s an example of a big impact on one individual… but the YAAW program also likes to go big and broad. We recently teamed up with Marc Bamuthi Joseph, YBCA Director of Performing Arts, to produce the 50 Cent Tabernacle, an all-day series of dance classes featuring the Bay’s hottest dance instructors, all of whom are curated and hired by the YAAWs. We had hundreds of people of all ages dancing in back-to-back classes — Afro-Hatian, Samba, Cuban Folkloric — for just 50 cents!

Owners Angie Heiney and Aly Wykhuis opened Frock on Alberta Street in 2003, with a commitment to local, independent and handmade fashion. Stop in to Frock and you won’t be able to resist the vintage charm and cute accessories — not to mention picking up one of our Stumptown-themed tees. We talked with the ladies from Frock about some delicious local eateries, the perks of shopping for a living, and their perfect day in Portland.

When you started your business, did you have a particular kind of customer in mind? What sort of needs were you trying to meet?

Our customers are looking for something different and fresh. We want to facilitate radical self expression via fashion and accessories. Our lines are funky, accessible, often local, independent, handmade, and unique. Whether you are 5, 95 or anywhere in between and whether you spend $1, $10, or $100, everyone’s a winner at Frock. It is the most unique boutique experience without the steep boutique prices.

Are there any fun, unusual perks that come with your job?

Shopping for a living is its own reward! Interacting with our customers is also wonderful as they are often very surprised by and happy with our store. To say there are a lot of laughs within our walls is an understatement!

It is very rewarding to be an independent business owner in a successful 9-year partnership. Watching tons of people lose their jobs has made us thankful that no one can fire us! Having a partner to rely on keeps us going and allows us to set our own schedules and travel.

Being able to make a difference in our community is extremely gratifying too. Watching our location, the Alberta Arts District, go from every building boarded up in the early nineties to becoming one of the most thriving neighborhoods in the city has been amazing.

Describe your idea of a perfect day in Portland. What would you buy, do, see, eat and hear?

My perfect day is a summer day in Portland walking up one side of Alberta Street and then down the other. I’d walk my dogs to the Tin Shed were I can get “Fetch,” a delicious scramble served atop their famous potato cakes. Dogs are welcome, and served chicken and rice, plus water in bowls. Then I would go in and out of our boutiques and galleries including pedX shoe store, Amy Dott’s custom made dresses, Guardino Gallery, HiiH lighting gallery, and Hail Mary mosaics.

I’d have to stop by Random Order for a pick-me-up with the best coffee on the street and the best pie in the entire city (or should I say America?!): Tahitian, vanilla-salted caramel apple pie. It has organic apples tumbled in homemade caramel and laid to service under a vanilla sugar salted crust. Crimony!

There’s too many amazing places to eat at on Alberta Street. I could go on and on.

What does Portland offer that other cities don’t and why did you decide to start a business here?

There’s something in the water here! We have a thriving, supportive artist community and it seems like everyone is looking for something different. People want to support local. People want to know where stuff comes from, who made it, etc. We love the flavor of the Alberta Arts District and knew long ago we wanted to be a part of it. We have a monthly street festival on the last Thursday of very month and it’s great exposure for any business.

The Grain Belt Beer company once boasted that its proximity to America’s grain fields — along with that sweet Midwestern water — made it the tastiest brew in all the land. Minnesotans have been drinking the Grain Belt’s bounty since the 1890s, back when mule trains delivered it in wooden kegs.

Once Probihition was over, the company triumphantly erected the sign in Nicollet Island. The letters would light up in sequence, spelling out the name of the beverage to everyone crossing the Hennepin Avenue bridge. Grain Belt beer itself has a long and bumpy history — it’s been offered in every possible incarnation, from premium lager to bottled malt liquor.

While the beer is still available in the Twin Cities, the neon sign has been dark and dilapidated for years, while the original brewery building has been converted into a luxury living fortress. It’s unclear who owns the landmark at this point, and how much it would cost to restore it to its former neon glory (though some estimate it would cost a few hundred thousand bucks).

There there is in the process of locating the current owners/realtors so a portion of the proceeds of Grain Belt Beer tee shirt sales can be donated to relighting the aging landmark. In the meantime, our Grain Belt tee pays homage to the sign, the beverage, and the amber waves of Midwestern grain that make it all possible.

One sunny, sweltering afternoon, Katie Baum decided to bring snowballs to California. Not the kind you fight with — the kind Baltimore natives snack on. She serves them under the name Skylite Snowballs (a hat tip to the classic “Skylite” snowball flavor — an artificial blue-razz concoction that turns tongues blue for hours).

The truck sports the motto “It’s a Baltimore thing,” but has a decidedly Bay Area spin. Katie and her partners make their own syrups out of all-natural ingredients, cooked down the old-fashioned way. Then they roll around town, serving snacks to some folks who have never even seen snow. She talked to us about syrup recipes, Utz Chips, and the intricacies of the Snowy 3000.

Most people in California have never seen a regular snowball, let alone the sweet kind. How did you get the idea of bringing a snowball truck out West?

I went to the Eat Real Festival two years ago, and it was just a sweltering summer day. And I was like “Why are there no snowballs here?” When I was growing up, they were the perfect thing to eat on a hot summer night. If I were in Baltimore, I’d do a shack like the ones they have there — I love those! But the simplicity of a snowball is also perfect for a truck.

Katie rocks a 410 shirt next to her refreshing ride.

You’ve got a pretty sweet ride. How did you find the truck, and how did you make it snowball-ready?

It’s a 1975 ice cream truck, and it used to be bright yellow. We got the truck outfitted at a place near LA called Rancho Cucamonga &dmash; we just found them on Craigslist. We had them paint it and build the window for the syrup bottles, so the light would come through. We also have a big insulated freezer bin for the ice — we shave everything right before serving it.

We use a machine called a Snowie 3000. It makes something in between crushed and shaved ice — so it really feels like snow.

What other Baltimore treats you do love and miss?

Well, of course, steamed crabs with pitchers of beer. Crab cakes. I very much miss Utz sour cream and onion chips, in the green bag. I really miss those hot summer nights outside.

Now that we have the truck, I feel like I’ve never met so many people from Baltimore. Of course, they always ask for the egg custard flavor. But we can’t figure out a natural way to make it.

Are there any flavors that you just can’t get to come out right, no matter how hard you try?

We’ve had trouble with blueberry, and lots of tropical fruits. Some of them have too much pectin, so they’re really thick when you cook them down. It’s hard to get the syrups thin enough, even when you strain them.

You’ve got a rotating case of syrups based on the seaons. What flavors have been a hit so far?

Four Barrell coffee — people love that with the chocolate and marshmallow topping. Coconut is also super popular. Plus, of course, the fruit flavors like raspberry. It basically takes an insane amount of fruit to make the syrup. We go to the farmer’s market and load up. Then we’ve got a kitchen space that we rent in Emeryville. We just take the fruit or tea, then a bunch of sugar, and cook it all down.

For a rundown of the latest Snowball flavors, or to follow the truck around town, visit Skylite on Facebook and twitter.

After a few false starts, the Clermont Lounge was reborn as a strip club in 1965, and from the looks of it, some of the same strippers have been around since opening day. The club is located in the basement of the former Clermont Hotel, which was finally shut down in 2009 for violating just about every health code on the books (think bed bugs, moldy walls, and faucets that spewed black water).

The strip club is renowned for its dancers, who don’t exactly conform to modern beauty standards. Blondie, one of the old-timers, has been working the club for over 34 years. She spices up her routines by reciting poetry and crushing beer cans between her breasts. Porscha, another fixture, is in her mid-sixties and has been rocking her Little Bo Peep getup for decades. But even if the dancers’ charms are debatable, a night at the Clermont is widely recognized as an Atlanta right of passage.

If you’re ready to be initited, be sure to come with cash and an empty bladder (the bathrooms are epic in a bad way). And don’t you dare touch the jukebox — the tunes are always chosen by the dancers.

The Lounge is the longest running strip club in Atlanta history, and its cultural significance is unparalleled. So whether you come to see DJ, the long-time Clermont bouncer or the Clermont’s legendary, or Blondie’s bosom, you should walk in with this shirt on (first person to wear this in a photo outside the iconic sign gets a prize!).

Forget cabs and public transit. In San Francisco, the speediest route across town is a zig-zag bike path.

Known as the Wiggle, the path starts out on Market Street and winds its way West towards the ocean. Its real selling point, though, is the altitude — the route cleverly winds its way between the bases of the city’s notorious hills, and never climbs more than a couple of feet. The result is a super-fast, ultra-flat ride. From Duboce Triangle to Ocean Beach in 20 minutes? Take that, Muni!

Just head West on Market, then take a right, a left, a right, a left, another right, and one last left, and then speed your way to the beach. There’s no real need to memorize the route, though — just follow the crowd, and you’ll see the Pacific in no time. It’s so popular that the city even made a special, block-long left turn lane just for cyclists — a first in the state of California.

Legend has it that people have been using this shortcut since before the invention of the wheel. Before the path was paved, a creek wound through these coastal hills, creating a nice flat walkway to the beach, and Native Americans used it as a shortcut to avoid hiking over the seaside hills. Later on, soldiers living in the Mission made the Wiggle part of their horseback commute to the fort in the Presidio. The path is such a perfect cross-section of SF history that there are even tours devoted to its progress.

And according to some, it’s also the key to the future. San Francisco’s hills are a deterrent for most casual bikers, but any commuter can hop on the Wiggle and arrive at work without breaking a sweat.

Back in the 1940s, Portlander Dick Fagan was getting sick of the view from his office window. Fagan was a columnist for the Oregon Journal, and his window looked down on a hole in the Naito Parkway’s median, where the city had forgotten to install a street lamp. After watching weeds take over the hole, Fagan took matters into his own hands and planted it with flowers.

He then started reporting on the spot, claiming that he’d found a leprechaun digging in it one morning. Fagan caught him and wished for his own city park, but made a rookie mistake and forgot to specify the park’s size. That’s how he ended up with a two-foot circle sourrounded by concrete.

Over the years, Fagan used his column to detail the happenings in his two-foot domain. He named it Mill Ends Park, after the leftover scraps of wood at lumber milss. He also designated it the only official leprechaun colony west of Ireland, and detailed the exploits of its resident, Partick O-Toole. Over the years, the park has featured dozens of pint-sized attractions, including a swimming pool for butterflies and a miniature Ferris wheel lowered down by a full-sized crane. Tiny bilboards advertisted within its borders, and it was once the site of an annual snail race.

A few years ago, the park was temporarily moved for construction, then reinstated with full St. Patrick’s day fanfare. It’s still a lovely place to stop in the middle of a jaywalk — and a nice reminder to make specific wishes.

It began as a "concrete crater in a corn field." Back in the 1960s, a Pennsylvanian named Bob Rodale toured the world as a champion skeet shooter. Then fate intervented: Bob got his first view of track cycling at the Olympics, instantly fell for the sport, and started plotting ways to bring it to America.

Rodale was so excited about cycling that he believed it could thrive anywhere — even in his Pennsylvania backyard. In the 1960s, he and his wife started constructing a world-class velodrome on their plot of land near Trexlertown. The Velodrome's first events took place without the comforts of lockers, bathrooms, or even seats. But the sport was infectious, and soon the velodrome was hosting Olympic trials and championship races. Rodale also starting hosting a bi-annual bike swap that still draws cyclists from all over the Eastern Seaboard, including legends like Greg LeMond and Bobby Julich.

Trexlertown is still one of the best places to take a spin on two wheels — or just to hold a beer and watch the jerseys whiz by. Our Velodrome design commemorates the classiest 333-meter path to ever cut through a cornfield.

Forget the fiery wallop of Texas chili. The Cincinnati-style stuff is subtler and more exotic — each brand has a secret family blend, but most include cinnamon, nutmeg and chocolate.

The seasoning might be complex, but the chili itself is simple: just meat and seasoning. Want onions, beans, hot sauce or crackers? You’ll have to order those separately.

Back in the 1920s, two Madedonian immigrants started making chili with middle eastern spices, then ladling it over spaghetti and topping it with cheese. That’s right — these guys were about 80 years ahead of the whole “ethnic fusion” food craze. The meat, spice and cheese combo was an instant hit, and soon the city was full of “chili parlors” serving two-ways, five-ways, and everything in between.

And no chili meal is complete unless it’s topped with half its weight in finely-shredded orange cheddar cheese. The ideal plate of chili should form a perfect dome on the plate. Our three-way tee honors the condiments and crackers that take a three-way to new heights of caloric glory.

Mission Dolores isn’t just one park. It’s four independent states, stitched together with some palm trees: gays, hipsters, families, and sports players. Cross the sidewalk to the bathrooms, and you’re in a completely different city. Nobody seems to mind the divisions much, though. After all, everyone’s in a good mood, and there’s plenty of grass to go around.

Before it became a hotspot for hungover locals, Dolores was also a refuge for dead souls (as a Jewish cemetary) and a tent city for earthquake refugees (after the 1906 quake). Since the 1960s, though, Dolores has drawn crowds as one of the few reliably sunny spots in town, perfect for eating a picnic or dissecting the previous night’s misadventures.

The park is so well-loved that it’s becoming decrepit — the bathrooms and playgrounds are in shambles, and the soccer field turns into a marsh for half the year. Starting in 2012, the park will get an overhaul, with new dog parks, bathrooms, and a less treacherous playground.

The sections of the park will be closed in phases, which means that the hipsters and bears might have to battle it out for spots on the grass. According to one city official, fixing the park is “like renovating the Balkans. Everyone’s got their different constituencies.”