THE BATTLE OF BROS ICING BROS: News from the Frontlines against the Axis of Ice

San Francisco!  A call to arms!  

The Battle against icing is no longer just at our doorsteps; a vile invasion from our shallower neighbors to the South.  No my friends, it is being fought right here in our very streets and sadly we are losing.  From Bay to Breakers to SOMA startups, to the Palo Alto palace of Facebook HQ, the bros of the Axis of Ice are swiftly moving from viral meme to being fully entrenched as a cultural institution.  

Yesterday, the Resistance against icing received intel from Gawker agents that none other than Mein Zückerberg himself was spotted icing one of his employees; the two-first-name-having Firefox founder Blake Ross.  It has also been known for some time that the douche-repository site Office Icing was created and run by San Francisco tech-marketing startup [NAME REDACTED]. 

While there were momentary celebrations of victory when Bros Icing Bros appeared to have retreated from battle, new intel reports that this retreat is temporary and that Bros Icing Bros will soon return as a fully funded startup in what is sure to be a 'Blitzkrieg of Bro'.  Estimates of our potential casualties were not yet available at the time of this broadcast. 

We are not safe San Francisco.  Simply refusing to participate is no longer enough to repel the Axis of Ice.  We must fight back with our own memes.  We at the Resistance have created these icing alternatives to aid you in the good fight. 

Bros Flasking Bros: Jameson preferred. 

 

Bros Ricing Bros: Rice-A-Roni's profits are in the toilet, help a fallen SF icon.

 

Actually that's just fucking retarded, never mind. 

 

Can also be done in conjunction with any alternative above.

 

Bros Tazing Bros.  

REMINDER: We're Getting Shitfaced For Charity TONIGHT @ Shotwell's

I walked into Shotwell's last night shortly after tweeting that someone was willing to give The Bay Citizen $300 if I bartended without my shirt on, which was an obvious attempt to subvert my sex life but whatever, and was immediately told that “Neither you, nor Zach, nor Kristen, nor anyone can do this without their shirt on.”  So, my dreams of making Shotwell's into an unattractive hipster Coyote Ugly for a night is shattered, but we'll still be raising 'mad money' for The Bay Citizen, because if they keep paying their CEO $400,000 a year, they're going to go broke.  We'll also be chanting BEAT LA until the Celtics take home the gold and then my inner Boston will come out.  See you at 8pm!

The Dirty:
Thursday, June 17th, 8pm-11
Shotwell's
3349 20th St. @ Shotwell, 94110

There's also a facebook thingy here but whatever.

Bikes in Bodegas

I really enjoy this sign for a multitude of reasons:

  1. The mere presence of this sign implies that people bringing bikes into this Valencia and Duboce bodega was either frequent, obnoxious or both.
  2. The owner turned letters into arrows.
  3. The owner clearly had to amend the sign with an additional “THIS POINT,” hinting that cyclists didn't understand the sign the first time around.
  4. Blocking the lottery table with bikes is a-okay.
  5. This store seemed to have a surplus of tallcans.  Coincidence?  I think not.

An Open Letter to Unemployment

This is what unemployment looks like.

I initially wrote this and sent it to the McSweeney's folks to be considered for their Open Letters section. I did so a while ago when I first thought I was losing my unemployment, but then they gave me another extension (yay!). Now that I'm slowly making a better and better living as a freelance writer, I believe my time with unemployment will very soon be over. And since this letter is too long—and probably not GOOD ENOUGH—to be posted on McSweeney's website, the Almy gets my leftovers.

Long live freeloading!

————

Dear Unemployment,

You probably wouldn't know it to look at how close we are now, but I was quite frightened of you at first. I had just been wrongfully ejected from one of the highest-paying day jobs I'd ever landed, and despite the praise and recommendations of my fellow 20-somethings, I wasn't convinced you'd be able to adequately replace the fast-paced and exciting world of retail inventory management. You were a foreign and confusing entity of which I knew little about. Even those close to you could not properly explain your mysterious intricacies. Now, at the close of our time together, I feel it necessary to apologize for my gross underestimation of your ability to make my life perfect.

I blame the fact that I was terminated a mere three days before Christmas for our getting off on the wrong foot. It was a hard time for both of us. I was getting ready for an excruciating trip to celebrate the holidays with my parents, a journey in which I'd no doubt have to explain the issue of being recently unemployed numerous times to many equally disappointed individuals, and you were most likely getting ready for the large amount of work you had ahead of you in the New Year. Let's face it; the economy wasn't doing us any favors.

But it was sometime after receiving my first check in the mail that all of that turned. You see, Unemployment, I was so scared that I wouldn't be hearing from you ever again after I had missed my phone interview with one of your co-workers up in Sacramento. The brochures you'd sent me said the interview was of utmost importance, and could make or break my chances of recieving your help. However, once your letter arrived at my apartment in spite of my negligence and ever-present forgetfulness, I knew we were going to have a great time together.

I'll keep my gushing short, Unemployment, since I know you have many people to attend to, but I have much to thank you for. Foremost, I wouldn't have been privy to the endless amount of free time which helped uncover my love for writing, nor my ability to earn money doing so, were it not for you.

It was because of you that I was able to live my ideal life of staying home all day in sweatpants and slippers—leaving only for sustenance and to send you those letters reminding you that, yes, I was still in need of your aid—for over a year and a half. You also helped me catch up on a lot of great television series (that month we spent with the first five seasons of LOST was particularly enriching), and learn of the true healing powers of marijuana. But, as flowers blossom amidst compost and manure, the opportunity to retreat into the inner recesses of my mind—brought on by a lack of any work readily available on Craigslist or within a four-block radius of my apartment—revealed to me the power of the written word and my desire to harness it.

Unemployment, you were like a supportive college professor or, better yet, some sort of anonymous, Dickensian benefactor who saw potential in me though we had never met. And now, your impending withdraw from my life weighs on me. I feel like a baby bird destined to plummet to the earth upon being nudged from the nest of your consistent checks and multiple benefit extensions. Yet despite all of my fears of inadequacy and failure, I'm happy to leave your embrace. I will always miss you, Unemployment (pasta dinners, embarrassing moments with new acquaintances, confusing paperwork, and all), and you should know that I could not have found my life's true path without you.

Thankfully Employed,
Patric Fallon

Uptown Almanac Guest Bartending at Shotwell's to Fundraise For The Bay Citizen!

The Bay Citizen is the Bay's latest non-profit journalistic enterprise and we wanted to welcome them to the neighborhood and try to make amends. Therefore, we'll be guest bartending and raising funds for The Bay Citizen THIS THURSDAY (the 17th) at Shotwell's from 8-11pm. That's right, all the tip money you give us as you get sloppy off Shotwell's selection of delicious beer will go straight to helping The Bay Citizen stay in business. For every $200 we raise, we cover the CEO's salary for an entire hour OR pay one of their bloggers to write 8 posts!

Alternatively, if you would rather just drink with us at Shotwell's but not give The Bay Citizen any money, you can just give Shotwell's staff all your tip money after 11pm. Aren't you a nice person!

See you there!

The Dirty:
Thursday, June 17th, 8pm-11
Shotwell's
3349 20th St. @ Shotwell, 94110

There's also a facebook thingy here but whatever.

Cool Kid Travels: Eau de Crooklyn?

Last week I was in Brooklyn and stumbled across Bond No. 9's latest scent “Brooklyn.'” The Brooklyn perfume consists of a combination of grapefruit, cardamom, cypress-wood, geranium leaves, juniper berrie, cesarwood, leather and guaiacwood, (wtf is that?)  and for a mere $220 you can actually “smell like” Brooklyn. Don't really know where they came up with this weird ass combo to encapsulate the scent of the “edgy metropolis.” To me Crooklyn smells like wasted youth and decaying bodies but, I guess that really isn't marketable.

If San Francisco's neighborhoods were bottled up into different perfumes, what would these neighborhoods smell like? And what is the price you'd have to pay to smell like them?

Mission: Taco trucks, piss, cheap beer, expensive coffee, trustafarians. Price: One call to your parents to please, please, please let you use daddy's Amex one more time.

Haight: Drum circles, midwestern runaways that didn't get the memo that punk is dead (see: dirt, b.o., and dreadlocks), bong loads, DMT. Price: Panhandle for 48 hrs straight and pray some unwitting tourists feel bad for your 3 dogs.

Marina: The scent of entitlement, hair product, fake tanner, axe body spray, shame, chest bumps! Price: The cost of running for mayor.

Tenderloin: Crack, garbage, meth, cheap blow jobs (see: rotting teeth), poor life decisions. Price: Eagerness to give cheap blow jobs.

Noe Valley: Upwardly mobile snobbery, babies, french bulldogs (read: shit), the new car smell. Price:  Raising 2 kids, paying for private school, a vasectomy

Sunset: Isolation, depression, pseudo suburbia. Price: Moving anywhere else in the city

Castro: Rainbows, unicorns, leather daddy's leather, lube. Price: An evening at Boy Bar.

Chinatown: fish, lost tourists, the dirty 30, dumpsters. Price: Shitting yourself.

North Beach: Pizza! bros, day old strippers. Price: One lap dance.

If you have anymore ideas go ahead and throw them into the comments, and if you want to add anymore neighbs that I didn't cover, i.e. Pac Heights (I'm not sure what rich smells like) go ahead and do it.