Mission Mission

According to local bartender Rachel, the author of Mission Drinking Rules, a recent feature from Night Fog Reader, one should never eat in bars:

Why are you bringing your burrito/BBQ/whatever stinky food you got and think its OK to scarf that down in a bar? I’ve seen this for years and it will never stop. You stink up the bar, you smell like what you just ate, and you are thatperson. I would never ever ever ever eat at a bar, and I work at one! I would rather go eat outside than sit at a bar and look like a dumpy eating a burrito by myself.

I mean, I wouldn’t try to eat a burrito at Beauty Bar on a Saturday night, but, “never ever ever ever” seems like a bit much. For instance, sometimes you need a nice cool veggie sandwich to compete with the intense heat of, say, a chilaquile bloody mary (which is my plan for about 20 minutes from now), and sometimes it’s fun getting a pizza delivered at 1:45 so you have something in your belly to soak up all that whiskey and pickle juice you ordered at last call. And I love eating outside too, but sometimes the weather in San Francisco is not so good for something like that. Right? Maybe not.

[Photo by Tara Hunt]

Hot local comedian Moshe Kasher hips us to the hot new local hookup:

[via Janebook]

Penelope Popsicle photographed this. See three more iterations of this barfing horse here.

That’s right — it’s green, baby. Tomatillos, chiles, jalapenos, garlic and a touch of habanero. I think there’s a splash of Torpedo Ale in there. Marinated radish garnish. And hot. Real hot.

Monday afternoons only, some time after 1:00. Blind Cat (formerly Dirty Thieves AKA Treat Street). Free barbecue too. Might want to call ahead for a more exact time if you’re on a tight lunch schedule.

Miss Jones says:

My neighbor has this hanging just below my staircase. People always ask me about the significance of the scissors, I’m not really sure.

Love it. Read on.

Tell ‘em, NIMBY!

[via Male Awareness Day]

An email from reader Cat:

Someone (ostensibly a neighbor, since only they would have access) hopped my fence in the Mission/Potrero area, busted into our garage, and stole a bike from our Canadian friends who had ridden down here from Vancouver, as well as 2 guitars. I spoke to a cop who recommended the Laney Flea Market, by Laney College in the East Bay. Apparently, there are tons of stolen bikes there, and mostly if you show the guys a picture and tell them it’s your [stolen] bike, they’ll give it back to you to avoid trouble. The cop I spoke to was actually really committed to recovering stolen bikes, though he said that they only have about a 10% success rate. Still, better than nothing, right?

Also, the officer told me he recently recovered a Bianchi and a Fuji, so if anyone got one of those stolen recently, send me the details and I can let you know if it matches the description. Attached is a photo of the bike that was stolen. If anyone sees it, there is a reward, as it’s something a friend custom built.

So if you see Cat’s, get in touch, and if Cat’s talking about yours, get in touch!

This photo reminds me of a post posted and then quickly deleted by Sexpigeon a few weeks back. Luckily, somebody reblogged it before it came down:

The book pictured here is about the incomplete and possibly Quixotic attempt to standardize wayfinding signage in the New York subway. To the systematizer, the picture above is a woeful thing. To an inexperienced patron of the trains it is a stew of new-city delirium. Its opposite is the airport: consistent, coherent, bearing no particular mark of no particular maker. Airports are pretty cool, but airports most certainly are not rad, not anymore. Rad is a matrix of cuocoo passion projects and half-baked repairs to those projects. Rad ages weirdly: first poorly, then heroically.

Rad! Read on if you like. It’s long but worth it.

[via Lily]

[via Audrey again, who ''saw a girl texting and walking nearly get clotheslined by it'']