Mission Mission

It was the size of a small yacht, and clean as a whistle.

Laura Bess spent the morning at one of the import shops on Mission Street and snapped pics of some gems. The first two are good for laughs, but the third bowls me over. Like something out of a very special lo-res issue of National Geographic.

Click each to see photographer’s commentary.

By G.:

I am certainly happy to live in one of the culturally shared geographies of the Mission.  Having moved from Valencia to a house just off Garfield Square, the gentrification and de facto boundaries that surround Valencia are all the more apparent.  Garfield Square is heavily used by Latino soccer players, white soccer players, and most importantly it is a staging ground for the dozens of homeless people that recycle the neighborhood’s bottles and cans.  They cook here, sleep here, and sort their recyclables here.  Underpriviliged youth attend after school programs in the Rec Center and as most people know, it is the final destination of the Dia de Los Muertos Parade.  MOST importantly, which I bet very few people know, is that the funds to build the park were donated by none other than the Fisher Family, the owners of The GAP (gasp!).  For those that think corporate America is the bane to the Mission’s existence, open your eyes.

Link.

What’re they up to?

Photo by kate at yr own risk.

Ok, I take back every bad thing I ever said about Medjool. Friday night, I had maybe the most fun I ever had at a club. That might be because I don’t really like clubs, but whatever.

The girls were smokin hot, the music was sufficiently kitchy, and there was a nice, bloody fight to finish the evening off. There was a mash-up of The Ting Tings That’s Not My Name and Toni Basil’s Mickey. There was M.I.A.’s Paper Planes, Steve Miller’s The Joker, Sublime’s Santeria, and Beck. Old Beck. Like Loser. And of course, Bon Jovi’s Livin On a Prayer, during which the DJ cut out the music at intervals, concert-style, so the drooling and mesmerized audience could yell out the lyrics. My F.O.B. boyfriend could not understand the crowd’s rabid reaction when Aretha’s Respect came on.

In fact, any watcher from the mezzanine above could visually separate the Americans from the foreigners just by paying attention to who was yelling the words and who wasn’t.

When we finally left, we were standing outside chatting when an angry Arab bum rushed a drunk white guy, and then had to be pulled off, kicking and clawing, by three bouncers. Drunk White Guy’s nose was bleeding so bad, the bouncers had to run inside and grab a handful of towels to catch it all. Angry Arab hung around the nabe for no less than an hour more, possibly waiting for an opportunity to finish the fight. I know because I saw him twice more, before and after my 1am taqueria run.

Cleavage, oldies, and a bloody nose. What else could I ask of the Mission?

While Jameth was checking out at Foods Co (above), Sexpigeon was checking out at Rainbow Grocery (below). Luckily for all of us, both were moved to snap pictures of the parties ahead of them in line. Now please pick the winner, or debate the merits of the two markets. (And you may click either picture to link to its post of origin.)

Burrito Justice sawrit too. Can’t wait to see what goes up. I hope it’s three or four American Apparel ads.

Beth Spotswood shares an anecdote that proves the Mission’s worth once and for all:

I know I bitch about the Mission, but my neighborhood offers opportunities you’d never find in the Marina. For example, my sweet roommate just went down to the coffee shop and got our morning fix of caffeine, returning and announcing, “Beth, you won’t believe what I found outside!”

“A crackpipe?”

“No, that’d be normal.” He responded. “Check this out.”

Check it out here.

I’m at Bender’s last night, sitting with my back to the window. Suddenly, the person across from me stops speaking mid-sentence, eyes transfixed on something behind me. I surreptitiously took a picture over my shoulder.

This post over at everybody’s new favorite blog Sexpigeon reminded us that we never put up this survey of Christmas lights in the neighborhood. Took all these on one night, on the way home from that Bart Davenport show at Bottom of the Hill.

Update: Here’s a shot courtesy of reader zinzin. Fits in nicely: