As commenter Adam noted yesterday, it appears our dreams of having a fleet of Mexican fast food first responders saving us from hangovers and malnourishment have been crushed: the Taco-mergency taco truck is in fact a movie prop (note the 555 phone number).  I maintain this is the best idea to come to mobile food vending since the advent of the ice cream truck.  What this town needs isn't another boring food truck, but a fire engine hosing you down with beans and cheese and a swat team shooting you in the face with guacamole.

Someone, please make this happen.

(Thanks Steve!)

Well, what did you expect it to say? 

Special thanks to Justin for putting this together after a week of listening to me complain about it not existing.

The Global Film Initiative, a small Ninth Street-based non-profit whose mission it is to “[promote] cross-cultural understanding through the medium of cinema,” was CLEANED THE FUCK OUT on Sunday night.  Santosh fills us in:

[The thief] entered the building around 12:00 am, went into our office, packed up all the computers, and left with a first load.  And then, came back a few hours later to finish the job.  The second time he came back, he returned with a different outfit and another set of tools—and tried to dismantle the elevator control panel, so he could gain access to the second floor of the building.  Total duration of the burglary was about 5 hours. 

The guy knew what he was doing.  He didn't have a key, but used a homemade tool to open the door in a manner that would not reflect a forced entry, and not draw attention.  We did cut that part out [of the video], because many of the buildings in SOMA have similar doors, and we didn't want to give anyone tips on how to break into other buildings.  Our loss was close to $15K, and with the damage to the elevator, the overall loss from the burglary is about $20K. 

Give the video a quick scan and be sure to check out the end for a key shot of crackhead roll up to the door and not rob the place.  Also, I highly recommend bumping some hot ragtime jams while watching.

Emilie Ridley is South African by way of Cape Cod. He attended Evergreen college in the late 70s, where he experimented with acid in a polygamist tribe before moving to San Francisco to open a biodegradable dog kennel business. He has been here ever since. This is his story…

I've entered a wretched period of my life in which I am a drooling narcoleptic, and it is not the consequence of my senesence. It's the Klonopin I've been prescribed so that I may stroll past this grotesque neighbourhood mural:

My physchiatrist doctor (she later found these digital images here) dubbed it “The Sum of All Fear,” ignoring my suffering as I recounted its details to her— if I were a Commonwealth solider narrating the Battle of Okinawa, would she have been kinder?

Regardless, I was forced to dictate my daily run-ins with McGangBangers in my rotting neighbourhood, the monstrous food creatures haunting my mind's eye in flashbacks from psychonautic days past, and the humiliation and guilt from catsup packet wielding hooligans who splattered my Mercedes windshield with murderous tomato artillery, causing me to strike and break the leg of Brontë, my poor, over-excited Pomeranian.

Brontë in better days

My panic attacks have been quelled, but until canine Klonopin is availble, I dare not bring Brontë on jaunts past this monstrosity. The Hamburglar has robbed me of something far greater than ham. This ham man has beaten my sanity to a pulp, and stolen my peace of mind.