Mission Mission

Passed this on 25th Street, across from Mission Pie, pressed right up against a telephone pole as you can see. What’s inside? Be careful if you’re in the area.

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Gravatar has made some new options available to WordPress.com users. Matt Mullenweg hypes one of them on the WordPress.com Blog:

I would highly recommend trying out Identicons, which are a cool math-based image idea created by Don Park that’s unique to the commenter, so even if someone doesn’t have an avatar yet they have a consistent (and handsome) image next to their name when they comment.

We tried them, and they look good. Do you like yours? (Via Gravatar Blog)

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Went to Medjool again last night. My third visit and my second visit on a Saturday, “International Night.” I made a movie about this experience, during which I was not drunk or high at all, obviously. In the included movie, you can see that we walked for-EV-uh to get there and got distracted tobogan acuatico hinchable along the way quite a bit. In fact, most of the story consists of the Walking to Medjool Adventure. Finally we arrived to find, as suspected, douchebags galore. The movie includes a psychologist’s analyzation of douchebags, security douchebags specifically.

The Trenchcoat Patrol security guards at Doucheb Medjool are on a collective power trip. I felt at any given moment, no matter what I was doing, that it was wrong. That I shouldn’t be standing/sitting/dancing where I was or talking to who I was or recording what I was. I was approached by security guards no less than five times over the course of two hours and told that whatever I was doing at that moment was not allowed. At one point, they actually broke up a hug.

There was pretty good music this time due to DJ Cairo spinning but the crowd was as douchey as it was last Saturday night. My findings are that Medjool is clean, well decorated, and high-end, which means that douchebags are attracted to it.

Previously on Mission Mission: Medjool: Light on the Douchebag, Please

The secret, according to TK, is:

Go to brunch at 2:30.

Link.

Previously on Mission Mission: Mission “Hipsters”

(Photo by eternalgratitude)

This music video glorifies violence. It follows a gang of thugs decked out in foncy Justice-logoed jackets as they stalk through a low-income neighborhood beating the shit out of people and property. There are no consequences. I watched it just now and all I could think about was a night I had in the Mission District recently. First I watched a bunch of art types get drunk and turn violent on a cute cardboard art project. And on the way home, I walked past both a fatal shooting and a brutal assault. I felt sad that night, and I feel sad now.

Romantico, the 2005 film that follows mariachis Carmelo and Arturo around the Mission as they sing for tips, was unbearably depressing. The highlights include: a tour of their apartment, which they share with 8 other people and where Carmelo sleeps in a tent made out of a sheet and a shelf. A phone call in which Carmelo calls back home to speak to his wife Carmela (yes, seriously) and finds out that his mother has lost her other leg to diabetes and is now fully legless, blind, and almost inflables completely deaf. Later Arturo enters “daycare” to cope with his alcoholism.

Basically, the message of the film, if there was one, was that these guys have to choose between living a lonely and poor life in the Mission to send money back to their families or living a lonely and poor life in Mexico where they don’t make any money at all.

The film was 83 minutes long. And I felt every single one of them.

After it ended, I looked to Pauline and said, “Oh GOD I need a hug.”

That’s right, EME for this weekend:

The last moments of the Bay Area National Dance Week! Free classes and events scattered thickly over the Mission District.

The Cinco de Mayo celebration at Dolores Park! We all know that Saturday isn’t Cinco de Mayo. It’s the Kentucky Derby. We’ll be celebrating Cinco de Mayo anyway, because this is the Mission of San Francisco, and maybe we’ll bring along a Mint Julep in honor of my horse-country past.

Dear Recycling Bin Nazi,

Let me just say, I am sorry about the other night. During the week when I carefully checked the bottom of every plastic tub searching for those three little arrows, and painstakingly cleaned out my empty peanut butter jar (which as you may know is quite difficult) before tossing the containers into the recycling, I had no idea I would be causing such controversy.

Try to put yourself into my position (much like Anne Shirley asks Diana’s Aunt Josephine to consider her position in regards to the sparest of spare bedrooms) and pretend, just for a moment, that you are me. Imagine my dismay parque hinchable when I walked out to my recycling bin and found it, lo and behold, completely full. Chocked to the brim with pop cans, cereal boxes, and office paper. What was I to do with my humble recyclables?

It was, as you can see, a difficult situation. And your recycling bin was right there. It was almost full, but there was just enough space for my paltry items. And then you appeared. Where did you come from? You simply began to scream obscenities at me- why? Why did you immediately assume I was out to get you? Why did you call me a thief when I was in fact gifting you items?

I would have understood if you had more recyclables to place in your bin- that would have been fine. I would have understood if you are simply overprotective of your bin (and given that it was under constant surveillance I assume you must be). I would have even understood if you had asked nicely. But you didn’t, instead you spouted crazy.

You yelled I was costing you money as that vein throbbed on your forehead. I didn’t appreciate you snapping, “It doesn’t matter!” when I calmly asked if the city charged by the quarter bin. You knew you were being irrational. And you obviously hadn’t checked with the city, because all recycling and composting is free. But my household called the city. We chatted today about recycling practices, and the city told my household we didn’t do anything wrong.

Shouldn’t we all work together to promote recycling? Shouldn’t we be neighborly? I would gladly lend you a cup of sugar should you need it to sweeten your sour disposition. Did you not want me to recycle because you don’t care about the environment?

I bet you loved watching me pick each of my items out of your bin as down the street a homeless man picked items out of my recycle bin. As I marched back down to my house head held high, the homeless man gave me the nod of a comrade. He had taken enough out of my bin that I could now fit everything in. I know the city says to report recycling theft, but sir, I salute you!

And as for you my contemptible neighbor, you are so trashy you don’t even deserve to recycle.

That Anne Girl,
Lael

The other day I mentioned how Mission Mission is getting a lot of traffic these days, and someone responded that half of it probably comes from people at Ritual Roasters. I don’t drink coffee, so the fuss surrounding Ritual is kind of lost on me. Consequently, this remark didn’t really register.

Then last night Brittney Gilbert at Eye on Blogs published this photo (credited to hotlead) of the shop’s somewhat funny “Please, No Blogging in line” sign, which got me thinking again. Link.

So, readers, do tell. Are half of you at Ritual?

Previous Mission Mission Ritual mention here.

She was really tearing it up, making rock-god faces and stuff, out in front of Weird Fish.

More junkies on Mission Mission.