Find out on Capp & 23rd.
(this dinner will cheer you up)
Do you like drinking? Do you like getting buck? Do you even know what getting buck entails? Whatever though, the point is that for years San Francisco liquor stores have been satisfying the needs of neighborhoods by combining rap music sensibilities and liquor. As far as I know it all starts with the Cutty Bang, the classic of all these corner store hook ups. What is a cutty bang? Well if you find yourself on 3rd and Newcomb you might realize that there isn't exactly a vast array of night life choices. You've got to find a way to entertain yourself and having a liquor store that sells tiny bottles of alcohol can only lead to brilliance. Well someone took some bottles of Seagrams, Bicardi, Taquaray, an 8oz can of Dole Pineapple juice, and dumped that shit into a cup. No one seems to know the name of this legendary pioneer in “mixology” but the drink was immortalized by Tay Da Tay and later KNT.
There are a grip of these drinks; the names and ingredients seem to change according to where you cop. The most consistent drink by far is the Cutty Bang. There are other drinks though like the What It Do, The Big Unk, The Killa Hoe, Getting Hyphy, the Money Maker, Walk It Out, Do You Like It Raw, Tupac, The Obama, Kobe, Casper, Trible B's, Wipe Me Down, and so on. For the most part the formula is simple, take 3 or 4 different kinds of alcohol, throw in some kind of chaser then just give it some kind of rap related name and boom you're fucking done. But as far the drinks go the cutty bang is my drink of choice, that shit might look maney but it's fucking good.
Around 2005 I discovered that Charlie's Pharmacy had these hook ups also, and even a motherfucking menu! The old menu is no more but it had some gems like The Thizz and The French Quarter which was a bottle of wine and a bottle of vodka, instant get wrecked. The new menu though has more drinks. They also got some real fucking monsters like the WTF which is just a bottle of Captain Morgan's and a bunch of shitty gin and bacardi, but it will get you straight for 15 bucks.
This past Sunday my wife decided to try out the Getting Sloppy which can be seen below. It's basically like drinking a plastic jolly rancher that taste like liquor made from Puff Daddy's ball sweat.
I got the Quit Hating because it's called the Quit Hating, it's a shitty margarita tho. I should have said fuck it and stuck with the cutty bang.
Some spots in the mission will put together a cutty bang if you ask, they seem to know the deal on 24th and Folsom but don't be surprised if you ask and have to tell dude what ingredients you want. If you want to get more legit though hit up the 3rd St Liquor Store (3rd & Newcomb) or Charlie's Pharmacy (Golden Gate & Fillmore). Charlie's has a funky set up where you have to hit the back counter for drinks, some are on the counter but the menu faces the counter so you have to turn around to see it. They use to give out ice with the cups but got some heat for it so now you got to supply yourself.
Oh yeah forgot to mention the Wipe Me Down! I don't fuck with caffeine but holy shit this one had me tripping. That Mac Dre Hunid Racks ain't no joke, it's rarely in stock but when it is it's fun to fuck with if you like getting amped up and breaking shit.
As someone who used to work in “the kitchen” of a grubby-ass New York-style pizza place back east, I like to consider myself a pizza snob (we’re being honest here). To date, I think the slice shops in the city straight up suck and have generally lost hope, but that’s because I generally am skeptical of any place that calls itself a “New York-Style Pizzeria” that doesn’t have cooks chain-smoking in the kitchen, a whale of a Italian mother screaming in the backroom, and a proprietor with the last name “Danelli.” In 9th grade when I worked as a dishwasher in a second pizza place, I learned that men named Luigi are far more juvenile and perverted than any high-schooler could ever dream of. I place the blame for my excessive use of the words “fuck,” “cocksucker,” and “elephant fucker” on the Greek people.
Anyways, the point is that pizza places in SF sell small, weak-ass slices of pizza and you never feel like you’re going to get a complimentary knife wound with your mushroom + black olive. Pizza Di Mano, while doesn’t look like a place to get murdered in, does look sufficiently cheap and creative. It can’t possibly be as good as real New York-pizza because the slices are not as big as a newborn child and the pictures indicate that they premake all their slices (a disgusting practice. Would you eat a premade burrito from Farolito? Of course not), but could help fill the void in the Mission. Importantly, if I ate meat, I’d be fucking pumped to try this slice: “ ‘Viva la Mexico’ pizza with chorizo, jalapeno, and chipolte sauce.”
Man, you thought the Jesus-freaks hated San Francisco before, wait’ll they get wind of this thing. They started putting up Zhang Huan’s multi-headed beast of a Buddha across from City Hall today. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s fire-breathing after all, but they should definitely consider an upgrade. Here’s some reporting on it from the Examiner, which I believe is some sort of print newspaper. I’m just glad I don’t have to go hang out with a bunch of dread-locked, drugged-up, dirt twirlers in the desert to see crazy, giant statues like this. So, good job to whoever is responsible for this.
I did not notice a Banksy stencil on any of it, so this will probably not be of much interest to most of you, but it is throwing up heavy metal horns:
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.
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.