Now that the Weird Fish seitan receipe is open source, some of us got together to give it a spin. In spite of the fact it took me an entire Handsome Boy Modeling School disc to clean up the imminent grease fire from my stove, this shit is totally worth it.
Anyways, we have $47 worth of this shit in sitting my fridge and it is causing me to treat my otherwise cold beer like Palestinian refugees. Any vegans kids hosting a Super Bowl party?
(Spotted by Mark Lukach at 35th and Vicente in The Sunset)
Every generation has a story. Our grandparents remember where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Then our parents remember when Kennedy got capped. Now we all remember where we were when we first heard MSTRKRFT (I was at some sketch party in West Oakland having an OKAY time when Easy Love came on and I hit the dining room floor with a PBR in one hand and good times in the other and danced like I had just quit my job).
But generational stories are bullshit. For one, they are always surrounded by some trauma that leads to a generally uninteresting story and 'bad vibes.' Secondly, Kennedy only allegedly popped off in Marilyn Monroe, which means he could be an infinitely less interesting human being (Happy birthday Mr. could-not-fucking-execute).
Neighborhood stories are truly where it is at. The first time I went to Dolores Park? I was some broke-ass motherfucker that was sleeping under a dining room table of some people I didn't know on Hampshire and some generally mild-mannered vegan kid suggested that we blow nine-bucks on Papalote and ride our bikes and newly-purchased burritos to the park with a $2 "out-the-door" High Life four-tay in our packs. Magic + the banality of life all rolled into one.
The Make-Out Room is no different. With a name like "The Make-Out Room," chaos is begged to crash the party before you even step in the door. While I generally disapprove of selling sex or using the allusion of such activities to lure otherwise virginal hipster lamebags through your front door, I've always felt this bar has come through in a pinch. My first time involves awkwardly moving my body to surfer-rock and drinking too much whiskey, but you don't want to hear about that.
It's 3:30am and I just finished drinking a Miller Lite (fuck off, it's Super Bowl weekend, my sex life is such that blogging on a Friday night seems like a 'fun idea,' and gotta watch those calories [LADIES?!]) but I felt obligated to propagate this critical news.
From Paul: "Taken maybe a mile from 16th st BART stop"
Eye on the Bay now has some kind of bullshit ass flea market friday where people sign up to be on tv selling their retarded crap like barbie dolls, chicken coops, lamas, toy plane sling shots and all other kinds of worthless garbage. I don't know how long this has been going on but fuck this blows. Not that I look to CBS 5 to enlighten me with cool shit but fuck this, tell me where to get a sandwich in a town I will never go to instead of how to get salsa lessons from some white girl who can't dance. This kind of television should be on sunday mornings at 6 am with that dude who tells you where to buy ugly sofas for the cheap.
I should call them and sell them my dumbass torchlamp that belongs in the bedroom of a 12 year old from 1992.
while I'm at it, am I the only one who wants to drop kick Malou for that bullshit ass infomercial of sucks that is Malou Review?
Matt spotted this at 18th and Dolores. I suspect this is the tag of the Recreation and Parks department (zing!).