If you make it to Dolores park today, try heading down under the bridge. There is a performance art exhibition going on all weekend. The theme: angry Latin poetry. This guy’s an artist. Look for him under the fart graffiti.
As some of you may have noticed, the St. Francis Fountain have changed their straws. Gone are the halcyon days of the neighborhood favorite paper barbershop straws. Instead we get plastic ones in soulless blue and clear.
So maybe you can actually get through a milkshake in under 3 straws (5 if you’re wet-of-lip), but who cares? What really matters in an establishment of this type is the old timey feel. When I go to The Fountain, I want an experience. I want to feel like I’m stepping into the 1950s, a whole world of nostalgia I never lived through. This whole a plastic straw thing, that just ruins the illusion. I think I’m not alone on this one.
What do you think, The Mish?
Apparently we’ve got a bunch of do-gooders at 26th and South Van Ness. I bet they got the syringes from the guys at Vic’s Grocery across the street.
Looking for a place to watch the Final Four while maintaining your sense of ironic detachment? Try The Phone Booth.April 1, 2011
That festival of beerdranking, debauchery and gambling is upon us.
No, not Punks V. Hipster Fight Club night. It’s the FINAL FOUR. Real sports fans head out to places like Kilowatt and The Phoenix to catch the end of the tourney, but what if you’re the kind of person who thinks that Butler is the school that Jeffrey from the Fresh Prince went to, or want to watch some roundball with a tall can of Tecate while wearing a shiny 70s Hoosiers jersey and a rainbow headband. What about you? Where can you go?
The place for you is The Phone Booth. Since the 2010 Giants World Series run and historic victory for beards, The Peebs has transitioned from a place where you can ironically listen to “La Roux” and smoke cigarettes indoors to a place where you can ironically watch “The Super Bowl” or “Glee” and smoke cigarettes indoors (but not at the bar).
So no matter which type of animals you like (Huskies, Rams, Tar Heels or Wildcats) the Phone Booth is a great place to enjoy the end of March Madness and maybe wake up in a ditch afterwards.
One little homie particularly caught our eye, due to his killer ‘stache and straight up “I don’t give a fuck” attitude.
Well look what Bling-Stache is up to NOW:
This arrogant little poser thought he could ditch his Mission St. digs for THE PIRATE STORE? Upgrade to Valencia unnoticed? Swap out his cream cruising-suit for a crisp necktie and still have an ounce of street cred?
Enjoy your bougey new setup, Bling-Stache. We’re onto you.
So we went to Silver Crest last Saturday. It’s one of our fave authentic breakfast spots in the city (not exactly in the Mish, but only a short walk outside of it), and what did we find? Dozens of bandwagon-jumping trendspotters. The Crest still has the makings of an incredible breakfast place but it seems to have lost some of its rad since Joe Fixie found it.
There was a time when the authentic touches like a lack of paper menus, jukeboxes at every table, a row of busted pinball machines, and an adjunct mimosa bar were all ours to enjoy with a few other in-the-knowers. Not anymore.
What a shame, it was almost like we were at Bouge-a-loo’s. Back to Punjab, I guess.
2 bros + 1 bro-ette walking in stride to Anthony’s Cookie Shop for 3 matching snax.
Hi everyone. It’s been a year or so since we started this blog. We were feeling a little blasé about it. For the first time in a while I saw something vaguely blog-worthy, so we decided to kickstart the blog back into motion. It should have been a tumblr from the beginning, but whatever, here it goes.
I was walking along 24th all hum-dee-dum this morn waiting for something interesting to happen and ran into the following:
PBR on a wire. Probably connected to some sort of Rube Goldberg machine inside the building above causing a chain of events leading to a robot giving a dude in the bathroom of the attic a tattoo of Miley Cyrus in bondage gear. Kind of weak if you ask me. What kind of self-respecting missionite is going to jump up in the air for a PBR unless the streets are empty and someone’s snapping black and white photos from an angle that makes them look like they’re skybound? And plus, everybody knows that it’s Old Milwaukee cans now. Psshaw.
These buddies were just chilling in the DP with the regular gang when calamity occurred.
I hope this didn’t ruin their friendship.