I don't think before I type's Comments

Hey I don't know if you've heard but there are fucking burritos in San Francisco and everyone who moves here wants to be an expert on where to get a sloppy tube of diarrhea roulette. Like they are the first to ever have a fucking burrito. 7x7's latest shitty idea is to combine a burrito gang bang posse with Chipotle connoisseurs and a burrito clown car to form some kind of idiot council of the elders to finally solve the question that has been plaguing amateur Mexican food eaters everywhere. This shit has been done to fucking death. I know people are attached to the burrito, but it has fucking jumped the shark and drowned in a super pool of shitty crema picante bean juice runoff.

Yes, it's easy to hate on 7x7 but if there is one question that annoys the goddamn piss out of me it's "where do I get the best burrito?" You know what? fuck you with that bullshit. Still getting by on your foil wrapped training wheels because your dumbass just upgraded from fucking nachos. It's 2010 we don't need a goddamn panel to tell us where to get a fucking burrito. I don't give a fuck about Mission Local's shit poll guide for the blind.  Eating burritos doesn't make you an expert on shit. It's a fucking burrito and it's fucking boring. Hell I haven't even had one in over a year because I got tired of them. Sure it might be fun when you first get to sf and discover taquerias all over your new stomping grounds but they aren't shit, you are not the first. Fucking Taco's still shit on your tube of rice and beans. Oh but you want something big you can unwrap and fill you up. GET A GODDAMN TORTA BECAUSE SANDWICHES ARE STILL IN THE MOTHERFUCKING GAME.  The game doesn't start and end with the burrito.

See that's probably the most aggravating part about the where do I get the best burrito question. It just screams amateur status. You are a tourist when it comes to the game. I don't give a fuck about your stories about bliss found in the depths of a super carne asada burrito. The reality is that you are at the discovery level of carne asada fries garbage plate consumers. You're not special doggy, your opinion aint shit.  You want to be a boss in this game? Find some perfectly fried buche, enchiladas that never touch a stove, legit tamales that you didn't buy at 2 am from a bucket, tell me where some awesome cochinita pibil is, tell me when you can actually tell when you got real refried beans that didn't come out of a can just to be heated in a fucking microwave, or find some real ass barbacoa, or who makes flan with goat milk. Shit tell me anything. No one cares that you are the 1 zillionth customer to discover an above average burrito, that's like telling me where you like to get your daily cup of hot dirty water aka coffee. It's just not that goddamn impressive.

BURRITO EXPERT = CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS OF THE MEXICAN FOOD GAME

Previously on Uptown Almanac

• Mission Loc@l Attempts to Name "The Best Burrito"

I guess the city believes I should dump another $500 in their coffers.  Way back on July 15th (we're really current with the news here), the California Music and Culture Association basted out an email to their members warning of a new tax on booze:

SAY NO TO THE ALCOHOL FEE!
The San Francisco Board of Supervisors in considering an alcohol fee that would tack $0.076 on to every ounce of alcohol in a beverage. After hearing a presentation and public comment on the item, the Small Business Commission successfully requested that ordinance sponsor Supervisor John Avalos hold the legislation until an economic impact study is conducted.

CMAC opposes the proposed fee. Restaurants, hotels and bars and their employees have been among the hardest hit by the economic crisis and simply cannot afford to absorb the costs brought on by new fees. Click here for more information on the fee and email us at government@cmacsf.org to learn about how to get involved.

Save the date: The Small Business Commission will likely hear the legislation again on Monday, August 9. Depending on their decision, the legislation is anticipated to be heard at the Board's Budget and Finance Committee in early September after the Board's August recess. 

Before you go raid a Foot Locker screaming "I'm not paying 91 cents extra a PBR!!," remember it is only 7.6 cents on every cent of alcohol.  Considering how low the alcohol percentage in a PBR is, it only amounts to 5 to 10 cents per drink.  Of course, it's already being labeled as a job killer:

So why does the Board of Supervisors want to destroy America?  KTVU reports:

A San Francisco Supervisors committee is considering a proposal to charge a new fee on alcoholic beverages to help cover the costs of alcohol related health care.

Seems reasonable enough to me, especially because I've argued in favor of this sort of tax in the past.  However, CMCA says many smaller venues already run on a low profit margin and because the tax is going to be levied on distributors, they actually expect the price to venue to be higher than 5-10 cents a drink.  The effect of such a tax? Those smaller venues won't be able to eat the cost of the tax, they'll go out of business and we're going to drink in Oakland to save money.  From the KTVU article:

"The customer is going to choose to drink in Oakland or Sonoma or Napa or wherever, but why here?" asks Ron Silberstein, owner of the Thirsty Bear Brewery. "How special is San Francisco at the end of the day when we're all scrimping and saving?"

Why would we drink here in the face of such a tax?  Because, at the end of the day, no one is going to go to Oakland every time he/she/it wants to get wasted.

(photo by natalie)

Eric, I know I can be a little liberal with my use of superlatives, but this apartment ad is quite possibly the best ad I've ever read:

Hello, and congratulations. You're lucky to be here. Why? Because you have the unique opportunity to live in one of the finest neighborhoods in San Francisco, and, quite possibly, the entire Western Hemisphere. With more culture than Compton, more swanky eateries than Watts, and infinitely less plaid than the Mission... this... is... the Marina.

About the place: Your room has four walls and a ceiling, unlike that shanty you live in now. Did I mention the closet? It's not a walk-in per se, but you can certainly take a few strides in there, rip off a few jumping jacks. It's big. Your room is the other half of the equation in this two-bedroom place, with wall-to-wall carpet, a view of the Golden Gate, electrical outlets strategically placed throughout, and friendly birds constantly chirping in the neighboring foliage. You have your very own bathroom, all to yourself, and are of course free to mill about in the living room, prepare delicious meals in a state-of-the-art kitchen (if this were 1952). Only six units in the building and, what do you know, the neighbors are friendly, so that means you should be too. 

That's because I'm a friendly, a 28-year-old sales rep that believes the phrase "work hard, play hard" is a tired cliché. Instead, I prefer to "Marina," an active verb, as in, "I hit every bar on Chestnut tonight but I'm successful because I don't smoke pot every morning or wear skinny jeans so clean up after yourself and stop eating so much hummus. Why? Because I 'Marina.'"

More about the place: Two bedrooms, two bath. One each for the both of us. Big living room. If you tilt your head just so, bridge views. Laundry in the building. Dishwasher, cable, wireless, the usual. We have all the furniture but by all means, we are willing to upgrade. On Beach and Fillmore, so street parking is a breeze, you're a block from the Green if you enjoy exercise and flag football and ultimate Frisbee.

Ha, just testing you. No one plays Ultimate in the Marina. If you just fist-pumped a paragraph ago when you saw Ultimate Frisbee on the Green, you should probably stay in Dolores Park. It's probably closer to the 24-hour check-cashing joint you patronize when the unemployment comes in. If you're still with me, that means you're pretty funny and it may behoove me to respond to your impending email.

And I don't care what Craigslist discrimination rules are. If you have poor grammar, you're out! Take your dangling modifiers to the Mission -- I'm sure you'll get a room there in heartbeat. Instead, reach back to your second-grade Reading class and put together a charming and witty email that tells me about yourself. Not too witty. I'm clearly the funny guy in this relationship. But if I snort out a little cereal milk on my keyboard, you're on the right track. And if you try and sue me because I discriminated against your comma splices, best of luck. With your JuCo education you can barely find the post office, let alone file a brief 

One last thing. Just because I am funny and adore the Marina doesn't make me a douche. I'm not. In fact, if you're some B&T kid with Affliction shirts and hair-shaping paste cream balm, or if you wear makeup like a Vegas showgirl and fill the hole in your soul with excessive penis, you should go somewhere else. Be smart, funny, successful, driven, clean, employed, and, just for shits and giggles, incredibly good looking.

Move-in date between July 1 - August 1. My awesome roommate is moving out for a new gig elsewhere so try to either be just like him or just like him but the female version. 

There's so much to cover, I don't even know where to start.  I mean, I never knew that one could 'rip off a few jumping jacks' in a semi walk-in closet until now.  Or that "Marina" is a verb.  Or that bros cared 'bout grammer.  Or that bros use the word "behoove."  Now I'm left wondering if Dateway is more culturally important than N.W.A. 

'sort of want to be your roommate.  Escape the oppressive land of ultimate frisbee and unemployment and enjoy the charmed life of nightly Marinaing and crushing brews with my boys after a hard day filing legal briefs.  'looking down on people who want to continue their education but cannot afford Berkeley.  Being the less funny dude in the brolationship.  'snorting milk and coke residue onto the keyboard.  Cooking natty light marinated meat on the grill before a night of beer pong.  Riding in a 'mother-fucking boat'.  Serenading 'nasty bitchez' in the Bar None bathroom.

Bridge views.

Crappy kitchen.

Hella electrical outlets.

Won't you be my bromate?

See you later, Mission.

Previously on Uptown Almanac

• Profiling Marina Residents
• Going on a Date With a Vegan Girl From the Marina [VIDEO]

So the other day my friend Kahla showed me this highly comprehensive list of types of bitches that a third grade teacher in Washington, D.C. found on the floor in a hallway of school … and I am LOVING IT. My personal favorites are "got all that mouth but can't step bitches," "bitches that be ignoring you when you know they can hear you" and "uncreative bitches." You can find the whole list here.

This morning Kahla & I were inspired to compile a Types of Bitches list more suited to our immediate social environment. We're calling it Types of Bitches: Mission Edition. With only 25 entries it's just the beginning of the full compilation, so feel free to suggest any bitches we may have missed in the comments.

So far, we have identified:

1) Chrome bag but no bike bitches
2) Resident DJ bitches
3) Selling doilies and owl necklaces on Etsy bitches
4) White bitches who think they're "down" 'cause they listen to Too Short
5) Throwing up in Delirium bitches
6) Toms-wearing smelly feet bitches
7) "Are those skulls?" bitches
8) You just locked the wrong wheel of your bike up bitches
9) Head-to-toe American Apparel bitches
10) Unemployed bitches who think they're artists
11) Flask of Ancient Age in the bar bitches
12) Morrissey tattoo having bitches
13) Moustache party throwing bitches
14) Crush on a bike messenger bitches
15) Trust fund having but pretending to be poor bitches
16) Leather-wearing vegan bitches
17) Thinking they're all that modeling vintage for their friend's eBay store bitches
18) Peacock feather earring bitches
19) Walk of Shame down 24th St. bitches
20) Bitches you can tell were scene kids back in high school
21) Won't stop talking about how much they love Portland bitches
22) Stripping to pay for that postgraduate philosophy degree bitches
23) Bitches fucking that guy you used to fuck
24) Been "26" for the past five years bitches
25) Butchering Salt-n-Pepa songs at 500 Club on Sunday night bitches

What type of bitch are you? Right now I'll admit to being #11 and slightly #14. I was #6 for about two weeks back in the summer of 2007. It wasn't a good look.