Mission Mission

My new favorite cookie is the Toffee Chip Cookie at Anthony’s Cookies. I forgot to take a picture because I was busy shoving it into my mouth.

Update: Johnny0 has pictures.

I forgot to get audio, sorry.

Previously:

Stop

At Dalva. Photography by meganallison. Click to visit photo pages.

Previously:

Some Art Student Spent Long Time Drawing Cartoon Woman in Dalva Bathroom

Photo by itsolivia.

From Rants & Raves:

What’s up, PussyJuice? (mission district)

Let’s get something straight: I’m not writing to complain that you routinely tag my building. I’m writing to let you know how intensely lame you are. Hell, I appreciate graf-art; I have a copy of Chris Brennan’s brilliant new photo-book, and I live with two professional DJ’s, but your graf-tag is the WORST TAG EVER! Seriously, you go by the name “PussyJuice”? -And it’s totally legible? Hell, I’m gonna talk to Eric down at the Delirium and get them to step up their recognition of fake ID’s. –There’s no way PussyJuice is 21 or over.

This might be news to you, but after a full night of pounding 40’s and sniffing glue, your judgment gets impaired. Case in Point: PussyJuice = Bad Idea. I’d rather you get behind the wheel and drive your parents’ car all the way back home with the parking brake on than have you continue to write lame shit on my building. Let me ask: are you rolling alone? -Because if not, then let me tell you: those “friends” of yours are laughing AT you, PussyJuice, not with you. -Either that or they’re just as lame as you are.

Okay, maybe I’m being too hard on PussyJuice. After all, I like to support the mentally disabled. Fuck it, PussyJuice, I hope you become famous for your tags! I hope in the cannon of street-art it goes: Ron English, Shepard Fairey, and then PussyJuice! That way, I can tell people I was into PussyJuice before ANYONE. In fact, we should talk. -I have a bunch of connections and you obviously need a manager. Seriously, you’re like the Pussy that laid the golden Juice egg. –We both need to take advantage of that.

Whaddya say, PussyJuice? We got a deal? I know you don’t read Craigslist, but maybe your mom will come across this and will drive you over in the Mini-van. If the deal’s a go, just write “PussyJuice” on my door again. –That’s a written contract obligation in the graf-world, so think about it before you get shit-faced blind next weekend. I’ll iron out all the figures with your drunk lawyer later. What’s most important (now that I own the PussyJuice name), is that we nationally promote the PussyJuice franchise: t-shirts, tattoos, college-ruled notebooks, car seats for babies, Clamato endorsements, etc.

You feel me, dawg? I eagerly await your answer.

PussyJuice’s boy,
-The Colonel

PS – It’s cool if I pay you in shitty beer, right?

Link.

Photo by jc1eary.

Look! My fortune made it into a big colorful mural at the Porous Walker show.

In this week’s I Heart Street Art, we talk to street artist Caleb Neelon, who’s in town for a gallery opening on Saturday. He shares some thoughts that are somewhere between zen and totally incendiary. Link.

I’m totally going to start sending the the full-size version of this photo by potential past to people when they’re doing something I don’t like. Like telling me to turn it down. Example:

Hater: Could you turn that down please?

Me: http://www.flickr.com/photos/68625749@N00/3419804166/sizes/l/

Related(?):

Eastbound Broadway Tunnel Closed After PTD Crash at SFist.

You’re at an 8 at @daisysf.

A couple weeks ago I sat down with Broke-Ass Stuart and Monica the Intern (his intern) at Homestead. Mostly we ate a ton of peanuts and pondered the travails of the working girl across the street from the bar.

At some point, I was able to wrangle an interview out of the situation, and today you can read it on Decider. In it, we learn why a guy still employed as a busboy (or waiter or whatever) needs an intern. Also, bodily functions. Link.