Market SF

I was really excited last night to be able to stop working at 9:00 pm. What I'm trying to say is that I've been busy and I should have told you about this sooner but if you're in the mission on Saturday and in the mood to shop and possible drink at the same time, get thee to Market SF and do just that. I'll be there with my dish towels  (oh, and I have a sale happening right now: 10% off if you use the code HOLIDAY2010 at checkout) and Jenny will be there with all her this humble abode awesomeness.

Not El Rio, El Rincon

I'm having this stupid anxiety that because I've been playing at El Rio so much that people will get confused and go there this Friday when really I'm playing at El Rincon. El Rincon was recently shut down for a few nights when a cop got shot in the foot out front (after the club had closed, it is worth noting). So that probably means cheap drink specials? It's on 16th at Harrison. You'll recognize the sign from when you go to that weird little shopping center near Potrero. See?

Anyway, I'm opening (9:00 pm and you know I don't do tardy) and The Better Maker is playing too along with some Portlanders. Those Portlanders know a thing or two about what makes music lovely so get your ass out for what promises to be a somewhat terrifying evening. I'm kidding. No one will get shot. Someone might get shots. Probably not me.

Wednesday April 21st, My Party People

What are you doing next Wednesday? You know you don't have plans. I know you don't have plans. Come to my show. The Matinees and The Better Maker will be playing. The Better Maker even made this flyer just for the show?

Why don't you come? Oh, you have work the next day? Psh, I'm on at 9:00. You'll be in bed at a decent hour. Oh, you don't have five dollars? Can't help you there, loser. Ok, ok, I'm sorry. That was mean. I'll buy you a beer. No, just one beer. Fine, two beers and a hooker. Come to my show!

Unit

This project has been in the back of my mind for a while. There's so much vertical space but a free-standing shelving unit would be too wobbly. This back room has been a mess for weeks. It's on its way to becoming a workshop for my wood working. Furniture class (and javascript class) will be starting back up again soon and I want to be able to do some work at home, especially since this is the last time I can take the class. Anyway, I get a little shiver every time I see how everything is clean and lined up all neatly.



What's that? Does it dispense gasoline?: I went to the Mission to flyer tonight. I live on a far edge of the Mission. People still poop on the street but there's less gun-play. Anyway, the Mission District of San Francisco is notorious for having the highest concentration of the city's hipsters, which is true. On my way home from getting those flyers up in various bookstores, cafes and record stores... oh, and the lesbian bar (ladies), I stopped on the sidewalk to shove tape and flyers back in my bag and caught the tail end of a conversation between a hipster, who was locking up his bicycle (of course he was) and a gentleman who I thought was asking for directions. The reason I thought that was because I heard the hipster say, "Sorry, I don't know. I've never driven a car in this city." Of course he hasn't.

I almost just kept going but instead I turned around and said, "Did you need directions?" but the first gentleman was too far away and didn't hear me. The hipster did though and said, "oh, he wanted to know if he still has to pay the parking meter."

Ok, I understand not having driven in the city, but certainly the hipster is familiar with the concept of parking meters. The first gentleman appeared to be visiting from another country and has an actual excuse to not know that the hours of operation of a parking meter are posted on the meter. I took the gentleman over and showed him that as it was after 6:00 pm, he did not need to put money in the meter. Jackass hipster.

Sometimes I hate the city I love

This morning, my walk to work was miserable. Buckets of rain were coming down. I had rolled my pants up before I left the house (I'm bringing pegged pants back, people) but had underestimated how bad it was and by the time I was rounding the corner in front of my workplace the front of my pants were soaked. On the sidewalk in front was a large pile of syringes along with a few crack pipes and used plastic lighters. Drug addicts suck.

My building has a security guard so I let him know on my way in. I told him that if he called the police they could give him the number for the Needlestick Hotline. Yes, such a thing exists. A hotline solely dedicated to syringes. Drug addicts suck. They suck so much.

The reason that I know about the hotline is because months earlier, over the summer, there had been a similar situation outside my apartment building. Except instead of just syringes dumped on the sidewalk, they were in an open shoebox. It wasn't really a shoe box, it was a box for a cell phone but it looked to be about the same size as a shoe box. Just overflowing with syringes.

I saw it on my way out of the apartment with my wife. I called the police as we walked to the store. They were the ones who told me about the Needlestick Hotline. The Needlestick Hotline was not in service over the weekend but their message gave me a city department to call. I called the city department. I was promptly put on hold and forgotten about. I called back and had a tense moment with the woman on the other line who instantly softened once the situation with the box had been made clear. She let me know that someone would be by in the next couple of hours to pick it up.

It was just sitting there and dogs could have run up and sniffed it or a kid could have run up and tried to touch the orange plastic caps. I resolved to get it off the street as soon as we got back from the store. As we came down from the top of the street on the return trip, there were two people hunched over the box. They were taking pictures with a very nice camera as their nice, new station wagon sat running at the curb. I had a strong urge to walk up and punch them in the mouth. They could hear the party that my upstairs neighbor was having for their six year old son. They could see that this horrible, filthy box was sitting on the sidewalk for anyone to stick themselves with and they decided that the best thing to do about it, the most sensible plan of action, was to fucking taking pictures! You assholes. People suck. They suck and they suck and sometimes I hate living in San Francisco.

I have seem homeless people stop beggging to answer their cell phones. I once saw a homeless man pushing a shopping cart full of God-knows-what (boxes full of syringes, apparently) with a Bluetooth headset on. I have seen people smoke crack, swing at each other with baseball bats, fight on the train. Of course, urine pools abound and the other day someone shit in one of those tunnels construction crews build when the sidewalk is closed. It hadn't been there in the morning but then, on my way home, human feces in the tunnel, which is even worse because it means someone felt free enough to do that IN BROAD DAYLIGHT! There is nothing worse than coming across someone using the street as a toilet. And to the homeless man who sleeps in front of Flax, I SHOULD NOT KNOW WHAT YOUR PENIS LOOKS LIKE!