Due to our low budget and negative earnings last quarter we have recently taken up the affordable hobby of postcard collecting. The rules are simple and rarely to be broken: found on eBay, less than $3, and older than we are.
Above is the first installment of the aforementioned collection. Included in this selection are general no-brainers and each is Chamber of Commerce approved.
Last year around this time, we went on a photowalk in The Southern City’s up-and-coming Mission Bay sector. Last week, we revisited the campus and surrounding blocks taking note of: development progress, new construction, and surprisingly easy access to the grounds.
What does the future hold for zip code 94158?? From the UCSF site:
As UCSF continues to lay plans for the creation of a 43-acre research campus at Mission Bay it is good to remember that the history of Mission Bay mirrors that of San Francisco itself. Dreams and schemes have been a traditional part of this landscape ever since the 1850s when speculators sold waterlots in Mission Bay in anticipation of the city’s growth. The long, slow filling in of this once important waterway cannot now be undone.
The 57.5-acre biomedical research campus is located east of The Central Bayshore, UCSF Mission Bay welcomed its first scientists and scholars in 2003. Completion of the campus is forecast for 2020, at which point the full-time campus population will number approximately 9,000.
Stay tuned for more photographic updates…
Yesterday, I bumped into a friend who drives for City Wide who picks up this bus boy from Pat-Pong every night who knows this girl who hates her day job at Triple 5 Cal who also works with and “kicks it” with this bartender at The 3-Dot Bar at The Mark who one night after last call told me that one of his regulars saw a post on SFist about buying a small 2-bedroom flat in Bernal Heights from a property owner that used to rent an Excelsior apartment to Supervisor Chris Daly and lives next to a rookie on The SFPD who is cousins with the #1 officer of Fajitia-Gate and who went to Washington High School with Dre Dog and both just happen to be a regular’s at Harput’s, which is right next to a deli where I met this dude that has a roommate in The Swamp who knows this store just north of The Stockton Tunnel where you can buy designer knock-offs…and the point of all this is that you should support your local merchants, ok??
Seen at Pee-Wee Justin Herman Plaza…
Will someone pls take this girl to Suppenkuche 3x/week for a month…and didn’t anyone tell her that plastic bags are illegal now??
I’m not sure what to think of this: an interpretation of our friend Frank Chu’s legendary signage. By knowing folks on both sides of this issue — I figure the only solution is to pick up a shirt and gift it to Frank.
Medium probably, right??
Leftovers from yesterdays adventure on the high seas…
As children, we marveled at the “walking beams,” steel arms pumping, gangplanks lowering with a crash, pilings creaking, seagulls screaming for food and doing what seagulls do…
…and if you were hit with a dropping via a gull from above, you were given a white lapel pin to wear and solemnly inducted into “The Seagull Club.”
Flickr set here.
Seen yesterday from the roof-top of our favorite EMB vista…
Yesterday afternoon, The Bay was unusually busy for a weekday — filled with a dozen plus Tall Ships of yesteryear. The air was a hazy mixture of canon smoke and sailors cursing, well, like sailors. “Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum,” and all that.
The reason? It’s a week long nautical celebration, the Festival of Sail!!
More coverage: Telstar Logistics/Laughing Squid
Flickr set here.
An update on the rehab of Cupid’s Span…
Sometime last week while we were on the lamb out of town, Cupid’s Span disrobed it’s forest green cover-up and re-exposed itself to the San Francisco waterfront and passers by.
You see, days before Mayor Newsom pulled the old switch-a-roo on The City and it’s chase of The Olympic Torch, word on the EMB was that the cape was there to protect the eyesore public art installation from 1000’s of crazed protesters.
Much less interesting than that is that the information in the above paragraph is truly false: it simply needed a paint job, likely due to corrosion from the salty fog.
Seen above is the necessary “before and after” shot to illustrate this pointless fact. Seen below is the bow and arrow blocking Our view of The Bridge.
EDITOR’S NOTE: We never did figure out why only the north section of the span was repainted…or why it took 3.5 months to repaint — any ideas??
Flickr set here.
A few weeks ago, writer Armistead Maupin headlined at The Make-Out Room’s “Writer’s With Drinks” night. His passage was from recently published (and very X-Rated) “Michael Tolliver Lives,” number seven in his “Tales of The City” series of books.
The series is an on-point observation of The City and Its People during the explosive decades of the late 70s and early 80s; with the latest book alluding to a mid-2000s update. The volume’s framework spans social classes, sexual orientations, and genders — all in third person prose. This framework centers around the lives and careers of a small group of people who meet while renting individual apartments at the fictitious 28 Barbary Lane in the Russian Hill sector.
The first entries in the original book were initially published as a daily column, which was eventually picked up by The Chron in 1976 and later produced as a multi-season mini-series on PBS.
Mr. Maupin currently lives in Noe Valley with husband Christopher Turner.
Slimer, Stay-Puft, Mogwai Stripe and Gizmo — plastic casts bobbing their heads — on our balcony overlooking The City.
Seen on 12th near Folsom in the SOMA sector: The San Francisco Chocolate Factory.
Free admission for Oompa Loompa’s and holders of Golden Tickets.
Seen at Trader SOMA’s yesterday. Seen in my refrigerator right now. Seen going down my throat this weekend.
Quoth the signage:
“The Mission Street Blonde pours a clear copper straw color with a tiny foam head, less than a finger and no lacing.
The aroma is sugary sweet caramel smell but other than that not much there. The taste is all malt and is very soft in the mouth not very crisp or balanced.
I felt this was a pretty one dimensional beer with very few nuances. My wife liked it. It would be a summer time beer when I have folks over who don’t know much about beer.”
Served best in a bottle, back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back.
Heartburn and/or ulcers: chili, mustard, ketchup, relish, onion, pickle, tomato, shredded cheddar cheese and celery salt.
The above disillusion is currently being served at America’s Dog in Chicagoland. Ive never heard of this concoction before. And frankly, I prefer Rosamunde any and every day of the week.
90 minutes in the wacky world of rapid transit begins as we race home from OAK to our overpriced Potrero Hill oasis in the fog…
At just under 10,000 feet, power on Blackberry and note time: 10:15a. Both hands placed over both ears as pilot broadcasts dreaded words “Welcome to Oakland.” Status update via Twitterberry to 19 followers noting arrival. Hot-box two cigs while crossing two fingers, waiting for luggage checked in late.
Dodge taxis and airport shuttles as your editor is not a wealthy fellow. Insert $3 in BART Shuttle fare box. Arrive at Coliseum Station, ticket in hand. De-magnatized ticket does not hinder passage into BART terminal.
Board SFO inbound train, station agent in chase. No time for explanations. Avoid station agent as doors slam shut. Take deep breath and begin light nap. Barrel through Transbay Tube. Arrive at EMB, via screeching halt.
Exit BART, locate November Fast Pass(!!), enter MUNI T-Third outbound. Familiar scene of urine/graffito causes calm to overwhelm senses. Take another deep breath.
Train stops seven times prior to arrival at Mariposa. Again, urine and graffito litter the landscape. Walk three city blocks briskly and arrive at front door. Turn keys twice and enter apartment. Blackberry now reads 11:45a.
Well deserved final deep breath ready to be taken…now.
Spotted this wandering Long-Necker from The Hybrid whilst traveling south on I-94 this past weekend through The Dirty Mitten.
Seen a 4-legged Camel Leopard on the loose, be it rural or urban? Drop the cross-streets off in the comments section or hit us up on the Girafa Hunting tipline!
Shooting gallery here.
Leeching off the neighbor’s Wi-Fi, in order to push content to our Loyal Readers live from The Second City…
Flickr set here.
Leeching off the neighbor’s Wi-Fi, in order to push content to our Loyal Readers live from The Second City…
Dateline: Somewhere in Chicagoland. Here he is, your insipid editor on the loose in The Windy City. He has given up the comforts of his small, overpriced Potrero Hill apartment and thirty-five hour workweek to become a tourist. It is hard work and long hours and pay, pay, pay. But for now, he is happy in his Second City.
It is a hot and humid day in Chicago as he picks his way down Lower Lake Street, beneath The L, trying to avoid getting lost and looking like a tourist. Well, he knows all about tourists. “Anyone one here from San Francisco?,” he calls out idiotically. They stare up at him, hot and sweaty like he is some kind of nut. They are right.
He makes his way to The Miracle Mile, with shoppers to the right of him, shoppers to the left, shoppers in front, shoppers on top of him. The CTA’s and taxis come up to the curb to nip at his ankles. He takes to walking backwards. If he is killed in Chicago, he wants to know what killed him.
He steps into a Walgreens to by the ritual pack of smokes at the mile-high price of $8.25 per pack. “Ouch!!,” screams his wallet. When he walks out into the fresh air with his fresh pack of cigs, it occurs to him that $8.25 is just too much, but he is already accustomed to these “light” disappointments. He tells himself, like so many times before, if they cost any bit more - he will quit altogether. But not likely.
The heat, or humidity, or whatever they call it, is terrible this day. In San Francisco, there is no humidity, on the theory that if it isn’t sun or fog, it doesn’t exist.
The traffic is the worst he has seen anywhere. If a city’s progress can be measured in cars, Chicago must be the most progressive city in the world. Again, not likely.
That said, downtown Chicago is a clean city. Clean enough for the bums to eat off the ground, if there were any bums to be seen. Trash and graffitio do not decorate the streets as in his beloved San Francisco. As he strolled around The Village of Ditka, he marvels at the foaming river that rushes through its heart, and the uncanny neatness of its buildings.
In the heart of this city is its oldest building, and it stands next to many other identical buildings, some marked 1911, 1955, 1982, and so on - each looking every bit sturdy and fresh.
A train roars in the background, approximately 1 each 3 minutes. Here and there, three-man crews were sweeping the streets and gutters. As he made his way through his $8.25 pack of cigs, it suddenly occurred to him that this could never happen in San Francisco - they were cleaning up the clean.
Inspired by the Late, Great Herb Caen
Flickr set here.
Leeching off the neighbor’s Wi-Fi, in order to push content to our Loyal Readers live from The Second City…
In your (I dont have one) backyard:
Leeching off the neighbor’s Wi-Fi, in order to push content to our Loyal Readers live from The Second City…
This year’s 4th of July was spent with family old and new in The Dirty Mitten. 1000s of folks showed up and staked their claims along the edge of The Grand River.
Afterwards, Plug2 and I went down to the beach and polished off 750 milliliters of St. Julian’s “Simply Red”, and lit off some fireworks of our own.
Flickr set here.
Leeching off the neighbor’s Wi-Fi, in order to push content to our Loyal Readers live from The Second City…
On our drive from Chicagoland to Michigan, we were alerted via non-stop road side signage that just across the Indiana border: It was legal to purchase illegal fireworks!!
We had two $20’s on us and decided to get down with the get down…
Flickr set here.
Duty has called on us to return to The Motherland for illegal fireworks, cheap beer, and food with high cholesterol content.
We will be Out of Office until Tuesday, July 15th.
In the meantime, pls take this time to meet decade long friends Travis Jensen and Benny Gold. Like us, they have each launched new site designs in the past month and we like what we see — so check em out!!
Held on the last Friday of each month, The Critcal Mass is an annoying, obnoxious, irritating, frustrating, and, most importantly: a wonderfully good time.
I had no idea to what extent until I saddled up and joined the party.
This past Friday in particular, 1000’s of road ragers wound thru the Fi-Di, Western Add, Pac Heights, Chinatown, The Dirty 30, and the Lower Haight. All told, a 12-mile ride.
The ride itself was originally formed to draw attention to how unfriendly the city was to bicyclists, and for good reason. This drunken mass anarchy has been trying to prove their point since 1992. Th verdict is still out on the success of said attempt.
The name “Critical Mass” derives from the term used by City Planners for the moment when the traffic backlog “mass reaches a critical point at an intersection.”
The free-for-all quickly picked up momentum. By the time of the original tenth ride, ridership had reached over 1000 participants. The name “Critical Mass” was soon adopted by drunken drivers participants in other independently riding cities that began to call themselves the same.
Here’s a fun fact: This roving 2-wheeled traffic terrorism was formerly known as “The Commuter Clot.”
Inside The Broadway Tunnel
Flickr set here.
