Mission Mission

Get ‘em while they’re hot!  Just make sure you get a male, I hear the girl ones aren’t as good.

(Scrawled under the seat in front of me on the 22 this evening)

I just hope this is able to reach you in time.

Last night I ran into a hot tip that originated at Sean from ARAWA, and I decided to follow up. The lead was good: The Mission Police Station has a public restroom that is available 24 hours a day.

That’s right. Now you don’t have to stand up against the side of a building and pretend you’re just a low-texter while trying not to splash on your shoes. At least not in the area around 17th and Valencia. You basically just straighten yourself up, waltz into the lobby, motion to one of the two bathrooms with a smile and a raise of the eyebrows and the cops behind the glass will buzz you right in. It’s as simple as that.

Mission Loc@l posted a video (well, audio slideshow, really) behind the scenes at Arinell.

If you’re still on Windows 95, here’s the gist: employee Neil Aviles talks about eating “tons” of pizza (“like 3 slices… in 4 hours”… I’m pretty sure Andrew Sarkarati has broken that record), dudes passing out in the store, failed crank deals, mission gentrification, and yuppies.

Oh no he didn’t just drop the Y-bomb! Careful Neil… I got in trouble for that this week.

If you like listening to a proper English gal sing about anal sex, hot water bottles, and proper cunnilingus technique in a punky cabaret backdrop, you’ll love the Trifles! They are playing tonight at El Rio at around 9pm with the Barbary Coasters, and the Cheshire Rock Opera.

These guys are awesome and I wish they would play more often. Singer Linda Robertson is hella talented. She plays a bunch of instruments, was Miss Accordion San Francisco 2004, and is the author of a high-larious memoir “What Rhymes With Bastard“.

Here’s a video of them playing at the Makeout Room last year:

This high-riding cyclist, spotted outside Four Barrel, was able to generate admiration from members of both the cycling and motorbiking communities, groups who often find themselves at odds with one another (usually over disputes involving the bike lane).  While I tend to support anything that can elicit agreement between such diverse citizenry, and I applaud this guy for apparently commuting to work on such “cool shit,” I’ve got to wonder:

How is he going to get off of this thing?  Does he need someone at his destination to hold the bike while he dismounts?  Does he just pedal up to a parked car and step off onto the hood?  Does he have to trackstand at every intersection since he can’t put his foot down?

These are questions that need to be answered!

<photo courtesy of Bikes and the City>

Though I do enjoy how clean everything looks after a few good rain showers, pleeeeaaaaaase, can it stop raining?  The streets have been scrubbed senseless!

Photo from sirgious.

Doomy drama by fancy meeting you here.

[via guerrilla curatorship]

When Eater SF reported this week that Valencia Street Yucatecan restaurant Mi Lindo Yucatan is officially donezo, one memory came flooding back.

One Cinco de Mayo about five or so years ago, me and a couple friends and a girl I was dating decided to start our night with dinner here. We arrived early, were the first group seated, placed our order.

After a while, we realized we’d been waiting a while, but we were having a good time and kept waiting. After an hour, we started to grow grumpy, particularly after we noticed that the tables around us — groups that had been seated well after us — were getting their entrees, and we were still foodless.

At this point, we inquired as to our food’s whereabouts. Server made a holy-smokes face, ran back to the kitchen, and returned to tell us she’d forgotten to put our order in, but that it was in now and would be out shortly. She was very apologetic, but we talked it over and decided we had places to be and would wait no further.

We got up to leave, and when we were halfway out the door the owner or manager or something runs up on us, pleading, “Please, please, we are all very sorry; please stay and your dinner will be free of charge.”

Perhaps out of pride or something we said thanks but no thanks and exited. One of us even relayed the story to another group now on its way in, convincing them to rethink their dinner plans as well.

Now I feel bad. Had we stayed and paid our tab or at least not made a scene, might MLY still be in business today?

But seriously, in this economy it does seem dumb to have turned down a free meal. Did we do the right thing?

Photo by Squid!

Okay, so this is clearly no BART boner, but I DID happen to see the most intense wedgie I’ve ever witnessed, today on BART.  I tried to get a good angle on it, but the above photo is the best I could do without giving myself away.

You could see every butt dimple on the babe!  She was standing in the exact line of sight for at least 6 passengers, who could do nothing to avert their gaze but stare at their hands like they’d just miscarried.  Me, I wanted so desperately to help a sister out and pick her butt for her, but social convention wouldn’t allow it.

I hope her buttcheeks are at home, breathing easy, as we speak.

Mission swing dance promoter Christopher Lee posted this great video of the local Gypsy Jazz group Gaucho playing at Tartine Bakery last night. Bet you didn’t know they have live music, right? Gaucho has been playing there 1st and 3rd Thursdays from 6-8pm for years. In the evening, the line isn’t so bad when people aren’t fighting over that morning bun.

In this video they are joined by a visiting NYC singer, Tamar Korn. She does that awesome 30s “operatic jazz singer” thing that is so rare these days. The tune is Honeysuckle Rose by Fats Waller. Have you listened to the lyrics to this song? It’s filthy.