Work just got a whole lot better thanks to this poster.
Oh, Castro Theatre: between this and the Lalo Schifrin-scored retrospective, I’ll be your new best friend.
Community Thrift makes me feel tired, too.
I would like to point out that as of today, the Market Street Cinema’s marquee is still blank, as it has been since the removal of the above message sometime around Thursday.
At least they understand that we require a palate-cleansing silence. In the meantime, I’ve no idea how they’re going to top this.
Easter baskets?
Last night walked by the still closed yet ever-mysterious site of the Superb Art Museum of America. The wind had picked up, and I heard chimes. Of course they were coming from the harp-chime-playing angel atop the Museum.
This is a really nice touch, I doubt Gensler does anything like this.
I would be pleased as punch if this whole thing was somehow linked to Youngwood Court, but I believe it’s more akin to a weird Supreme Master-level of cultishness that nonetheless excites the imagination.
This place throws a wrench in the works—used to be that I most wanted to walk through the interior of the Hibernia Bank building. I just don’t know anymore.
This reminds me that I should see more jazz shows.
"At its best, distillation is a technique of taking a sensory snap shot of a beautiful ingredient that possesses a short life span and combining it with alcohol to capture the essence of the raw ingredient."
Be sure to read the comments in the above link. I look forward to combining the only two drugs I can’t quit.
I say this with empirical knowledge of the NOPA Blue Bottle Martini, which goes against everything I believe in. It’s the usual problem: the use of -tini exclusive of the traditional trinity. Also, I often find BB disappointing outside of the Linden Street kiosk. Maybe I like alley-flavored coffee?
I’m waiting for a conservative pundit to make a joke about government jobs. Y’know, the one where it takes this many guys to watch the one guy with the shovel. Yeah.
Also, new cheaper PG&E!
Turns out
I was in a Haight Street cafe this week, sitting near a girl who was issuing all the usual complaints to the friends visiting her from Ohio.
"San Francisco and Los Angeles hate each other. But you can tell why, LA is a place with bad air, the people are all into themselves, and everyone drives everywhere. Of course, I’ve never been there."
If I were the crazy boundary-breaking self in my head, I would explain how it really is. But I would probably also be wrong.
Nobody actually likes San Francisco. It is never more than a pricey stand-in for some other place preferred.
I woke up some minutes ago and found myself feverishly rethinking this. It feels like a cruel and unfair thing to say, now, albeit not an untrue one. There is something almost aristocratic about the particular unhappiness that pervades here. All this splendor and what do you do? You sigh.
One year into living here I realized that only a person from Ohio could think it’s cool to live here. Still into living here but only in the same way that I am into finishing an overly large meal at a steakhouse that all my friends say I can’t finish.
Complete and utter bollocks.
“Look, the city is not for everyone. There are a lot of downsides. But I am so fucking tired of hearing yuppies whine about how they just can’t make it here any more. Go. Please. Quit whining and just go. God, stop talking about it and move. Jesus. You are boring the fuck out of me.”
Source: sexpigeon
R.I.P., Chuck-D.
You were a frustrating father to one of my best friends, but you were also an amazing individual. “Not a drummer, percussionist.”
Saw this as I was coming into work yesterday, and only now looked up the unholy union between farming and Triscuits.
My main problem with this corporate tie-in is that it simply does not make sense. However, if they had a cow out there and were teaching cheesemaking…
Word on the street
is that it’s Frank Chu’s birthday. Celebrate like Frank: with a free beer and a sign.
We are complex and require a deep reading.
Pretend the inhabitants of the city not unlike your first housemates in San Francisco, the ones who used to eat all your food because the stuff was just going to go bad, and hey, that risotto you made last night didn’t have your name on it.
This is probably a good idea, as this comes on the heels of a note that read “if you took our windows, the paint was still drying. And we’d like them back.”
I’m just guessing from the mold that this must’ve been the least fun bath toy ever.
Oh good, it’s not just me.
Wow normally I’m pretty up on politics, but…when did PATRICK BATEMAN become Mayor of San Fran???