Tag Archives: 826 valencia

Supporting Kids Who Write

20th May 2010

Is making a movie or being in a movie on your life list? Interesting. Because 826 Valencia, the writing center for kids, is raffling off a chance to make a movie with James Franco. Remember him? He’s the uncomfortably attractive, unexpectedly funny guy who apparently spends his free time fundraising for kids. I bought a ticket, and you should buy one too:

Think of the children.

Weird Dream

11th June 2002

Jim Carrey was wearing a tweed suit and covering himself in chocolate-chip-cookie dough. He danced around on court at a basketball game, and then he scraped the cookie dough from his body, baked the cookies, and sold them for five bucks a pop. Proceeds went to the homeless.


If you live in San Francisco, you should go to the 826 Valencia fundraiser tonight. It’s from 6:30 p.m. to 10 p.m., $10 at the door, and the proceeds go to Dave Egger’s writing workshops for kids. Mr. Eggers himself will be there, and they’ll also be celebrating the release of McSweeney’s Issue #8. All the cool kids are going. Also, there will be chips.


17th April 2002

I like Dave Eggers. As I’ve mentioned before, I subscribed to Might and McSweeny, I was among the hordes of subway riders who carried A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius on the commute, and I even attended a reading or two. When I heard he was starting 826 Valencia–a non-profit writing center for kids–I decided that Dave Eggers was certifiably swell. I also signed up to be a tutor. They called me in for an interview a few days ago, and I finally met Mr. Eggers.

For some reason, I was unprepared. I knew it was his project, but didn’t consider that I might see him there. He talked to me and two other tutors for about an hour, giving his take on the student-teacher bond and going through some sample writing. He had fantastic genius-hair, and seemed shy until he’d been talking for a few minutes. I listened and tried to seem more at ease than I was. On the way home, I thought about how weird it was to sit two feet from a guy whose work I’d been reading since I was 19. Then I realized my fly was open.