Mission Mission

Although no one actually died last night at the Literary Death Match, I died a little on the inside when my least favorite competitor actually won the final prize, a cardboard crown. The night featured a whole host of characters – and the other three d. matchers (Tom Perrotta Tom Barbash, Rhea De Ross-Wiess, and Damion Searls), all of whom had written some extraordinary pieces provided a laugh a minute. Maybe next time the winner should be chosen based on merit rather than who can find an audience member with a belly scar. Just a thought?

I often forget how rewarding hearing authors read their own works can be. Promoted heavily at this event was Litquake when a Deathmatch that will rate even higher on the Richter scale will occur on October 6 and whose last hurrah, the Litcrawl, takes place in the Mission on October 11 and is FREE!

One day last summer, Katie and I and our friend Malcolm were walking home after some dancing at the Knockout. This big drunken dude came marching up to us, mumbling in Spanish. He was jolly and seemed harmless enough, so we started making small talk and taking pictures.

The guy was mumbling and mumbling and cracking himself up. It was pretty funny.

Malcolm had just come back from a trip to a Spanish-speaking country, so he was able to communicate a tiny bit at least. The guy was very impressed, took an instant liking to Malcolm.

At some point he got a little rough, but still all in good fun.

Soon, we tried to say our goodbyes and get a move on. Especially Malcolm.

But before we could leave, guy reached down and took a big handful of Malcolm’s genital area, then whirled around and strolled away, giggling to himself. Ouch!

Anyway, Malcolm moved to another continent today, so we thought we’d share this story in his honor. We’ll miss you, buddy!

Also, sorry about the resless photography. Hopefully it gets the job done.

As part of some road construction, they just dumped half a beach worth of sand into a cut-up stretch of Mission Street just north of Chavez. The smell hit me long before I even saw what was going on. It made me think of beach — made me wish it were still summer

I live on Albion, near 16th and Mission, and so I find it odd, cute, and ridiculous when people act as if they live in some comfy suburb, expecting their neighbors to behave accordingly. Even when those “neighbors” are homeless crackheads who use our street as a shooting gallery and then bathroom.

Those same people tend to get especially touchy when it comes to dogs. These are the people who find dogs unleashed to be a menace to public safety. Who, when sitting at Dolores Park, feel that their personal space has been violated when a dog wanders onto their blanket. And then there is the cardinal sin of dog ownership: leaving the poop. It could be that you forgot to bring a baggie. It could be that your dog has the runs and his excrement is impossible to pick up. It could also be that you’re a selfish asshole, and this seems to be what most people assume first when it comes to dog owners. Hell, let’s be honest. That seems to be what most people assume first, period.

I’ve stopped trying to predict what kind of doggie behavior will offend Missionites, but there is one steadfast rule that I’ve found always applies: on every street, there is one guy who rabidly defends the bush in front of his house from being peed on.

He lies in wait for you. When he sees you pass by with your dog, he either runs out of his house or leans out of his window to reprimand you for allowing your dog to urinate on a living thing. His living thing. Invariably, his junkyard dog approach to communication makes you feel defensive. It puts you on edge. You respond, rightfully if unhelpfully, that his bush or whatever is on a public sidewalk.

It could go lots of ways from there, but most likely the interaction will slide into the realm of threats. He’ll call the police, he’ll kick your ass. In one such situation, a guy even threatened to poison my dog if I didn’t leave his bush alone. No doubt he felt that was fair. An eye for an eye. After all, my dog’s urine was poisoning his bush, or so he thought.

Until now, I have been highly disinclined to yield to such ruffians, such cads. Anyone who would treat another person so hatefully, especially without even trying to ask nicely in the first place, did not deserve to get what they wanted.

But now I’m tired. I just want to walk down the street in the morning without worrying if this dude is going to jump out from behind his gate and hassle me. So I dealt with the most recent incarnation of this situation differently, especially since I now have two dogs to shepherd. I muttered my usual, “It’s a public sidewalk,” retort, then went home and drafted a letter in true passive-aggressive style and stuck it on his gate.

Since then, I have walked down the street in peace. Some might say it’s because my letter was so carefully worded. Others might say it’s because I’ve elected to walk down the opposite side of the street from now on.

Who really knows?

And, for your pleasure, dear readers, I give you The Letter:

Dudes,
I’m the girl who walks her dogs past your house in the morning. You have come out yelling at me twice but have not tried the kinder approach so far. If you had come out and asked me nicely, and kindly, to just bypass your bush, I would have agreed. Not because I agree with you but because I believe in neighborliness.

Secondly, please take a moment to imagine how it would feel if you were a young woman walking alone in a dodgy neighborhood and all of a sudden there are two confrontational guys yelling at you and following you across the street. Do you think this would make you feel amenable to a neighborly compromise? Or would it make you feel physically threatened?

Next time you want to talk to me, how about you try the nicer way? And please be more considerate of my position. I promise it will get better results.

P.S. Imagine how you would want someone to talk to your sister or daughter.

And one last thing. Let it be known that the dogs inspiring such venomous reproach were these:

Neighbors Project is an organization dedicated to improving urban neighborhoods by teaching people how to be better neighbors. They throw block parties, publish how-to guides, and sponsor special social experiments like the Food & Liquor Project, which encourages people to shop exclusively more often at corner stores (known as “food and liquors” in Chicago, apparently). They say shopping hyperlocally like this means you aren’t driving your car to the suburbs, you’re supporting neighborhood businesses instead of chains, and you’re more likely to run into your neighbors or befriend new ones.

To promote this agenda, the group has just produced the Bodega Party in a Box, a helpful kit containing much of what one needs to throw a first-class party using only items found at corner stores (known as “bodegas” in New York, apparently). Inside is a cookbook, party invitations, decorations, and custom-printed reusable shopping bags. Proceeds from the sale of the bags go toward furthering this and other initiatives.

In any case, the basic principles at play here seem solid. Do things in the neighborhood, get to know your neighbors.

Previously on Mission Mission:

Cellphone Ban in Mission Corner Stores?

Chillaxin’ at the Nice Lady Store

Earlier tonight, we were walking westbound on 20th Street somewhere between Atlas Cafe and Modern Times Bookstore, and all of a sudden we heard opera. A pedestrian behind us was singing, with gusto. I think she was a soprano, and she sang us all the way over to Mission Street, where she began to blend into some Lil Wayne bumping out a third-floor bay window. I love living in the city. Thanks, opera singer!

Reader Lauren asks:

Can you post up some info about the 18th street block party on September 6th? I’ve seen posters around but can’t seem to find info anywhere online with the juicy details.

We performed some perfunctory investigations, but turned up nada. What up with the 18th Street Block Party?

Everybody’s favorite internet cafe/place to get Mexican Coke, Redtap, has posted special recession hours. Haha. (Thanks, Alexandra!)

Remember that guy that got his ass kicked after binge drinking at Zeitgeist — and drinking beer before liquor? We kind of had a laugh at his expense, but today he defended himself in the comments section, and totally won us over:

But yes, the old adage, “beer before liquor.” I have to admit, that was my one juvenile mistake. My only excuse is that I’m new to SF and I was so awestruck to be living in this city that my judgment was temporarily skewed, which led me to continuously imbibe until I ended up a jack ass. Go ahead, you can haze me like a freshman now.

Anyway, the whole point of my missed connection was to hopefully make right a possible squabble, or just have peace of mind knowing that I fell down the stairs to the BART and only hurt myself, no one else. Please rest assured that my behavior was the result of basic human error and I’m not wandering your streets waiting to menace you. I’m just a guy with a black eye trying to smile about it.

Well, welcome to SF, and yeah we know it can be really awestriking and judgment-skewing, so be careful out there.

A clerk in a neighborhood corner store told Beth Spotswood she wasn’t allowed to use her cellphone in the store. Beth was understandably vexed (“How can they have a cell phone policy? They don’t even have brie.”) and wrote about the experience here.

Previously on Mission Mission:

Chillaxin’ at the Nice Lady Store