— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
A new restaurant by the dude that owns Maverick is going in at 19th and San Carlos. Eater first reported about this place 6 months ago, so they are certainly taking their sweet time. No details about the menu and the Irish guy installing the menu window certain didn't look like he wanted to talk to me. Anyways, I know I'm going on a fucking limb here, but I suspect they are going to serve pig and bourbon.
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
HOW SHOULD YOU CELEBRATE? Choose your own adventure:
Selling shit:
Generate mad revenue for the city:
Demonstrate your elite DIY skillset:
Be a hippie:
BURRITOS:
(the last photo is by aGreatNotion)
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
I really enjoy this sign for a multitude of reasons:
— 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.
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
Considering the lack of easy access to my roof and my relative fear of heights, I don't often get to enjoy the view from the top. Luckily Clark has a ladder going up the back and I have a new camera to play with.
— By Zach Perkins |
After getting booted in the Mission this weekend, I 'donated' nearly a $$$GRAND$$$ to the City of San Francisco this morning. You're fucking welcome.
On a related note, I'll be joining the ranks of the car-less masses. Can't wait to wake up an hour earlier to commute to the East Bay every morning. Anyone want to buy 1989 Accord coupe? Ugly as shit but it runs. Holler.
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
I've been seeing a lot of these tags going up around the Mission and Bayview. Ignoring the fact I've been digging the tags purely as an urban blightform, this is kind of weak. I mean, yeah, gentrification really sucks. Pretty sure a genocide of everyone wearing flannel and business casual will solve your problems.
In a possibly related note, there has also been an uptick of MS-13 tags around the hood. In this example, it is apparent that they have been having a cute laugh lately:
I personally don't have much experience with the MS-13 in the Mission, but I know if East Boston they won't think twice about chasing someone through a gentrified cafe with a machete. Or lighting a cat on fire and throwing it through a window (via Molotov Cattails). Pretty sure that would make Union SF residents think twice about going to Haus.
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
When you start drinking at 7am to enjoy the magic of the World Cup, might I recommend the cerveza preparadas (tomato juice, Corona, half a lime, salt and some Tapatio) at Chavitas #2. Honestly, I didn't really know what was being ordered at the time, but pointing at fishbowls of red liquid at a neighboring table and saying “cuatro por favor” generally leads to a good time.
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
24th is the best place for Soccer.
If you want to start a race war, rooting for South Africa tomorrow at 7am in the Mission is probably the most effective way to make that happen. But if you just want to get drunk, watch an event as rare as a leap year and join in some global brotherhood, fill that flask full of tequila and/or strawberry smoothies (Cape Town has the most wonderful strawberry smoothies) and slosh around the Mission. Chavitas #2 on 24th is probably a solid bet for continuing your thursday night bender/starting your bar crawl. It's the best unpretentious breakfast place in the Mission, has plenty of beer to compliment your free chips and salsa and has a nice tube of a television. Considering this place is always dead when I go there, I have no idea if it will actually be packed or not, but whatever. The food is awesome and there is beer.
From there, you should ditch your weapons on the curb and head to El Trebol on 22nd and Capp. The security guard will feel you up, which may tickle but deal with it, and you can order a bucket of Corona for PBR prices while getting hustled at pool. Best of all is that you can urinate/puke/shit on my stoop afterwards. It's a win-win for everybody.
Or you can just read Mission Loc@l and find out where you can rail lines while “watching” soccer. I kid. Delirium sounds like a great soccer venue.
— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |
I watched the trailer about the life of Sailor Jerry and was pretty underwhelmed but, alas, I'm a sucker for free movie screenings at the Roxie. Let me just say this: don't judge a movie by its trailer. Unless it is for Hot Tub Time Machine. This movie is full of batshit insane old-timers cursing their way into their 90s and provides an interesting take on a WWII subculture (booze, legal prostitution and, of course, tattoos) that it is hard not to love it. Sounds a lot like Capp Street circa 2009.
Anyways, one interesting thing I learned that Ed Hardy lives and actively works in San Francisco. That's right. The Ed Hardy; the boy that sold his work to fist-pumpers everywhere. Local hero!
The movie is playing again tonight at The Roxie. You can RSVP (required) here for free.