If there’s one mama bear to all not-really-a-dollar-stores, it’s gotta be Giant Value on 22nd and Mission. I always find myself staring at it while waiting for the 49 bus and I snapped this sweet pic of it’s glorious façade over the weekend.
I honestly don’t understand how these businesses are sustainable. First of all, you got ten more shops on the same two block radius selling the same stuff. Secondly, that’s got to be one of the biggest buildings in the mission and rent can’t be cheap. With prices hovering somewhere near a dollar the profit margins can’t be that high.
It’s got to be a front for something. Maybe they are smuggling carne asada to the east coast.
“…here you can find home pregnancy tests that actually work for $1.49!!! Because sometimes you need more than one test.”
“Granted there’s something a little off about their brands of breakfast cereals (does Tony The Tiger have pinkeye?)”
“…shop there before the hipsters infiltrate and buy all the jesus belt buckles and cans of pabst lite!”
“…it’s fun to buy something completely written in another language and just hope it does what you think it does.”
BTW, still no takers on that mission theater. Can’t one of you dot-com cash-outs buy it and open a theater full of couches that serves the People’s Beer and plays awesome movies like Back to the Future and Ghostbusters?
I was just sitting here thinking ’bout how I should head to Dalva sometime soon to see their newly revamped back room. Immediately following this thought came the realization that I could likely satisfy my curiosity with some minimal Googling.
True! Take it away, wordsmiths at UrbanDaddy!
There lurks a sultry crimson-stained den with leather banquettes. And at the bar’s helm is expert cocktail slinger Todd Smith (Beretta, Bourbon & Branch), hand pouring everything from Pappy Van Winkle 15 to Mexican Coke to the bourbon-infused Creole Cocktail—basically, a more artisanal selection than you’ll find at the bar out front. And if you bring enough friends, you can spill over into the intimate lair just upstairs.
Such lush language! Makes me feel like cuddling.
They describe Dalva’s Hideout as a “bar within a bar,” which is also what M.C. Escher doodles when he gets drunk. I’m curious to see how two bars can be crammed into such a small space without becoming an unbearable shit show. Guess I’ll have to make a visit after all and slam back some artisanals.
Tamale Day went down when I was -OTS, sadly. Looked like a KILLER TIME.
Tamale day is a strong believer in segregation and prejudice. But rather than using this as hate, we use them as tools. You see white people have fucked up tamale day more than enough times. As a result we’ve had to enact some rules. Now I understand some people think this is “wrong” but to those people I say fuck you, white people ruin all our shit anyways and Tamale Day is about BROWN PRIDE! We don’t fuck with that vegan train of sucks, rolled tacos, white ass rice, or mango chutneys or whatever weak ass bullshit these cornball motherfuckers want to introduce.
The number one crime whites have commited at Tamale Day was touching the fucking steamer. One year a bunch of my hungry friends kept on checking the steamer. The problem with this is that the steam then escapes and condensates on the lid. The water drips on the tamales below which have dropped in temperature so that it takes longer to cook soggy tamales. After that year the coalition of the brown enacted a no white people allowed to touch the steamer initiative.
Mission Mission favorite Kati Jackson took a trip to the great city of Portland and stumbled across this burrito guide. Dunno. I always unwrap my burrito or else I end up eating tinfoil because I didn’t get enough oxygen when I was born. It’s never been a problem. The burrito, that is.
Also, for those of you who don’t have the time to read the Shakespearean string of comments that I’m sure this post will envoke, let me sum it up for you: