It looks like the Mission has a new microhood, dubbed “Suburban Mission” by culture blogger Beth Spotswood, who got the name from the fact that everything east of SVN is the suburbs of Mission/Valencia Streets.  Over at Curbed, Beth fills us in on the slice of the Mission that's home to big box retail:

Hidden gems in the your neighborhood: Dirty Thieves, the street food festival (is hardly hidden), my morning walk to Precita Park (which is probably, technically Bernal Heights), men playing soccer on the old basketball courts, the apricot oat scone at Atlas Cafe, my neighbor's garage where I vote, and St. Francis Fountain's “the poor man” which is chicken-vegetable soup served over a biscuit. It's $4.50, and cures hunger, sniffles and broken hearts.

Are your neighbors “Rotten Neighbor” worthy? If so, dish. If not… well, why not? I have two kinds of neighbors: Friendly families that have lived on our block for generations, remember my name and make sure I get in okay when I come home late at night. And people for whom the word gentrification (pronounced with disgust) was invented. One of my neighbors drives a Vespa, wears a fedora, worked for (impressive pause) Gavin Newsom, refers to himself as a “foodie”, goes to Burning Man and snidely asks me about my “gossip column” while leaving angry letters for our postal worker taped to the mailbox. Need I go on?

I'm always appreciative of a hot bread tip, but how does being a “foodie” (apricot oat scone expert HELLO), owning a Vespa and wanting upward political mobility make you a terrible person?  Don't get me wrong, fuck people who hate on our mailmen and make snide remarks about blogging, but since when did loathing tech workers living in the Mission become passé?  Did we find ourselves a new pariah and no one filled me in?  And most importantly, does this mean I can start hanging out at The Summit and still have friends?

(link | photo by Bryan Haggerty)