Before you all unsubscribe from this blog, I think it is safe to say that this wraps up our coverage of Banksyfever2010.
Not sure if this is Banksy or Blek le Rat but it was found on 24th and Valencia. Reader Devan Brill tells us the rat is no more:
Did you guys catch this Banksy at 24th and Valencia? Sadly, it got whitewashed sometime this weekend. It looked like this photo last Thursday.
I wouldn't have even remembered the pic was on my phone except I saw the Zipcar sign without the rat underneath it when I was leaving for work this morning and then passed by Zipcar doing some type of weird marketing thing in front of my building this morning on Market.
A quick flickr search indicates that Devan might have been the only one to snap a pic of this rat, so it clearly wasn't up for long.
Previously on Uptown Almanac
The peace treaty is OVER. Following the great bee sting incident of 1993, wherein I sat on a bee, got stung on my leg and had to wait four hours to find a pharmacy open in Patra on a Sunday so I could buy antihistamine, bees and I had an agreement. While initially upon encountering bees the most appropriate reaction seemed to be running around, flailing my arms and screaming like a banshee, I later learned that the easiest way to indicate my harmlessness was to stop, drop and play dead. I accommodated them. And the bees knew this meant not to sting me.
You might recall that the Mission is suddenly rampant with bees. Well, on Sunday it came to my attention that, not only are they overrunning our neighborhood, they have a newfound aggression toward Dolores Park chilling enthusiasts. I was leaving DP after spending a few hours drinking Korbel and eating chocolate (unoffensive). I was enjoying nature and not bothering anyone. This, apparently, was really irritating to one particular bee that decided, FOR NO GOOD REASON, to land on my leg and deposit a stinger so gigantic that I didn't even need tweezers to pull it out. What the shit did I do to deserve that?! Nothing. I would love to think the insect committed suicide on my leg and cannot harm another park goer but it's not true. It is still out there and it told all its bee friends about you and it WILL come after you, whether you have it coming or not.
To be clear, there is no actual reward for catching the culprit, but our deal is off the table and it's now open season on bees. I highly encourage you to find it and/or its buddies. Sting or be stung.
So I'm risking a bit with my first post for this blog being both about the the totally-not-cool, touristy subject of Alcatraz and the thoroughly covered, over-analyzed subject of Banksy in SF, but fuck it. It's just the Internet.
Today, my lady friend and I went to Alcatraz on a lark. It ruled, especially the part where you're in "The Hole," and the dude is talking about tossing a button around to save his sanity. I love that shit. Anyway, we got to the part where we could go chill in the rec yard. We traipsed about, and climbed the huge bench-stairs, and at the top we found this:
OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!! Why the fuck WOULDN'T Banksy hit up one of the most well-known historical monuments our city can offer? Really, I'm not into graffiti, at all, but this rules. And don't try to tell me a stencil of a rat trying to dig its way out of Alcatraz ISN'T the work of Banksy. Here's a close up for the skeptics:
Hopefully, the powers that be won't see this and remove it. I'm kinda stoked now. This is like when you were a kid, and you would check every Tootsie Pop wrapper for the Indian shooting the star. But this time there's no rumor of free candy, and no kids lying about that one time the guy at the store totally gave them a free sucker. Maybe now we should go check under the Golden Gate Bridge and in Janis Joplin's house's bathroom, or something. Anyway, hopefully I can keep posting after this.
Previously on Uptown Almanac
Found outside of Amnesia, a venue that is LIVING ON THE FUCKING EDGE.
... right here in the Mission! Grandmother
Willow Whatever Kind of Tree That Is can be found in Garfield Square. Maybe if you ask, she can give you some super wise advice, like not to marry Kocuom, that those "strange clouds" are in fact from the rubble of those boxy condos being built along Bryant, or just that ironic wolf shirts are in fact 100% played out.
I just wish that the chalk instead read "this tree is HELLA wise."
Apparently, today is Free Comic Book Day. Basically, from what I've figured out, you just show up and they give you a free comic. It'll probably be a pretty shitty one, but hey, it's free, and you can just lie to your friends and say it's "obscure" and "underrated", unless of course they went and got the same shitty comic. Maybe you can bond over your shared secret and live in constant fear that the others will out you as an owner of crappy comics. whatevs, ITS FREE.
According to the website, Mission Comics and Art, Neon Monster, Isotope, and Comix Experience are all participating.
Caffeinated Comics apparently doesn't believe in free comics, and probably tells kids Santa isnt real either so screw those assholes (edit: looks like they believe in free comics). Considering I just woke up from a night of bartending and boozing and only pretend to read comics so nerdy boys will sleep with me, I don't think I'm gonna make it, but hopefully just writing about it will give me that nerd boost that being obsessed with zombies just cant bring, and some guy in fake glasses and an argyle sweater vest will find me attractive. SWOON.
San Francisco, is this a thing? Last night marked my first trip to AT&T Park* and it was the first time I've seen so many high schoolers congregate in one place since I went to the Warped Tour when Blink 182 headlined (save your jokes). Sitting in our ticketed seats and getting altitude sickness, a platoon of 12 kids from Fremont or some shit came rolling up, sat immediately behind us and spent the next 15 minutes yelling into their cellphones trying to find out where "my bitchaz" were. I'm pretty convinced that entire group of people had nothing in common beyond finding out where their friends were. I recognize my friends and I have nothing in common beyond getting 'hella faded' and pissing on houses neighboring Dolores Park, but that's beside the point. Look, I know your "Ridin' Dirty" ringtone is "fucking tight," but baseball games are as close to visible patriotism and church as I get, so just put away your goddamn phones and just focus on drinking that vodka you smuggled into the stadium.
Anyways, we eventually moved after resupplying with $9 beers and petzels to another row of seats. About 20 minutes after we got there, another roving pack of post-puberty dogs descended upon us. Tired, defeated and broken, we just sat there dealt with it (by way of snarky comments and more beer).
HIGHSCHOOL PROTIP: back in the day (8 years ago), we didn't bother people at baseball games or in places people actually wanted to be. No, we'd save the text messaging and blowjobs for the back row of Rob Schneider movies; far, far away from society.
HIGHSCHOOL PROTIP #2: If some guy turns around and says "If I just buy you some fucking beer, will you leave?" take the fucking offer. 1) Offers like that just don't fall into your lap everyday. 2) He's not trying to "creep on you," he just thinks your that fucking annoying. Plus, if I wanted to creep on children, I'd join the Catholic Church (ZING!)
* It's not that I hate baseball, it's that I'm from Boston and the first time you step into a stadium that isn't Fenway when the Red Sox are not playing, you get your Charlie Card permanently revoked.