Drugs

Cool Kid Travels: Eau de Crooklyn?

— By Jenny Wilson |

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.

This is why you shouldn't park in the Mission

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

Bro was the highlight of my 3 o'clock hour at Carnaval.  Just jumping from car to car.  Smashing in their hoods.  Shaking his ass.  Thought about 'doing the right thing' and stopping him but I hate cockblocking fun.

As you can see in the evidence below, he has the vocal chords of a God.

Exciting Things Happen to Me

— By Brizz |

So I’m walking the two miles home down Mission Street—because Muni fucking sucks more than anyone outside of this city can possibly fucking understand—when I get to the always beautiful southeast corner of 16th & Mission.  There is a shitstorm of crazy going around me, even more than usual, and a short man and a woman post up right next to me as I wait for the light to change so I can cross. They start yelling at each other, the man pushes the woman and she pushes back and the next thing I know some big crazy dude comes from across the street and gets up in it. The short guy pulls out a knife and starts flailing around with it trying to slash these two, right fucking next to me, and he starts backing away wildly and almost into me.

I start running away from the guy and  see a cop car across the street in front of Walgreens sitting with its doors open. I run up to the car as the short guy is continuing to try to stab these people back at the corner. I tell the passenger-side cop what’s happening, and he gets out, gun blazing brandished, and his partner pulls out a shotgun and starts heading up at them too. They run up to the scene and the short, knife-wielding guy runs off, but doesn’t get far, as pictured above.

To top it off, some old drunk guy (epic mustache man?) starts calling me a gringo and a joto (alright, point taken), but then he starts trying to shove me as I’m trying to take a photo of the guy getting arrested. The shitstorm of crazy was still swirling all around me, so I decided it might be time to go, especially since I was also carrying two big old bags filled with school books and my laptop. The lesson I take away from this is: fuck Muni.

Does MIA 'roll balls' at DNC Convention parties?

— By Zach Perkins |

(via MIA’s twitpic & The Alt Report)

During MIA’s recent takeover of Pitchfork Media’s twitter account (which brought us such gems as: “go egosurfing DRINK A SHOT OF TEQUILLA spamouflaged in brandalism”), the fauxpolitik-princess blasted a picture of her MacBook’s desktop.  Seems like she’s doing some “party research” to help get out the youth vote for the 2012 election season.  

Anyone know where I can score some ‘Rod Jetton’s Rockin Ruffies’ brand rohypnol? 

Are Napa Valley-Style Pot Tasting Rooms Headed to Northern California?

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

The New York Times Bay Area Blog had something of interest today: weed tasting rooms could be headed to the Bay and beyond following the November ballot initiative.

The price of Mendocino’s illicit crop has already dropped because of the legalization of medical marijuana in the state. Pebbles Trippet, a small-time grower, said that many cultivators were “worried that their way of life is going to be taken away from them,” according to The Sacramento Bee. Some locals hope that Napa Valley-style tasting rooms for pot tourists will help the local economy.

(link)

I’m not really a pot smoker, but the libertarian in me is arrousted by the idea of being able to sample 10 different kinds of “danke H.C. 420” at a tasting room conveniently located next to an ice cream shop, a McDonalds, a Frito-Lay factory outlet store, and 25 trim kids hitch-hiking their way to Golden Gate Park.

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