January 2008. My first visit to a Planet Hollywood, at Fisherman’s
Wharf in San Francisco, and startling for how exactly it met my
expectations: wall-to-wall memorabilia, deafening guitar solos,
Coors on tap. Though no doubt meant to reassure, all the famil-
iar songs, fatty foods, and prewashed jersey-knit prove oddly dis-
orienting, as if the entirety of the environment had been branded
into my consciousness beforehand by a latter-day Philip K. Dick.