#2 in a series.
#1 in a series.
Fritz Maytag sells Anchor Brewing Company.
It’s going to be fine, really. He wouldn’t just hand it to any schmoes. The new owners are the Skky vodka dudes, and they’re local, so they know how fearful San Franciscans are of change.
Y’know, just don’t mess with this stuff or the beer (an acquired taste, according to some) and we’re square.
Stranger in a strange land, as seen at Page and Masonic.
Way to tie up those loose ends, 70s-era book!
found one.
Although that was a nice catch by Torres.
I like what the Art Speak kids are doing at my museum, especially these Bay Area Insider’s Guides. These shorties are on either side of 16 or so, which serves to make me feel a little less pessimistic about the future (I’m especially enamored of Sachie Weber’s elegantly simple The theory of relativity and the climate of San Francisco).
It goes without saying that when school districts drop the ball, cultural institutions have to step it up. This week saw me talking to teachers from the Bay and abroad, and it seems that at least one school district is going with the elective choice of art class/language/life skill. No bueno—I had to do all three, and I know I’m a better person for having been made to type in Spanish about Goya. As end-is-nigh as I get, I’m grateful for school programs and more than just a little envious of the youngins.
Biting the concept from Smoke & a Coke, where I’d rather be instead of working right now.
TCB.
He shook my hand firmly
and looked into my eyes and told me, no, declared: “If I get to heaven or wherever and I meet God, Buddha, Allah, or Him or Her: whatever! I will give my sincere thanks for the opportunity to have lived in San Francisco in the 1960s and early 70s. It was like no other place on earth and I am truly grateful for the experience.
Of course, I lived here until ‘81, when it became a shithole, and I couldn’t take the weather any longer. But man! Those days.”
I’m trying not to reblog too much, but that’s not going to happen, as I’m tired as all get-out from staving off a cold and staring down a week of meetings and research, and taking more pictures for work than for fun (probably a good exercise, but still).
I appreciate that there are those who can see the Tenderloin for what it is: a non-stop party that only occasionally goes awry.
That said, get well soon, camera of The Tens!
I fucking love the god damned Tenderloin.
Your wedding gown, as seen off of San Jose.
This is one of the most important documents in my wallet, and if mugged I’d probably ask to keep just this. After years getting battered between driver’s license and credit cards, it finally received the lamination treatment.
Sometimes I think that I shouldn’t carry it with me, but it’s like carrying pictures of my family, memory.