That should about do it

When I started this blog in 2008, I initially intended to write it for one year.  But the voices didn't stop and so it went on and on and on.  Since then, I got engaged, got married, had a kid, went to some bars, that kind of thing.

It's been a blast but to tell you the truth, my heart's not in it any more.  Maybe I've mellowed out a little and am not periodically seized by the fits of rage that ended up fueling my expletive-soaked rants here?  Who knows.  I just don't feel like posting enough any more to keep this A Thing.

For the record, the most popular posts of all time were "This $10,500 rental in the Mission is absurd" and "It's not a party without American Red Cups," followed closely by "30 Reasons to Hate San Francisco," which people STILL READ and STILL TAKE SERIOUSLY even though it was intended as a lovingly snarky followup to the starry-eyed and embarrassingly heartfelt "50 Reasons to Love San Francisco."  Reading both of those now, it strikes me how much SF has changed since 2010.  Regardless, for the record, I still love San Francisco.  God knows it has problems, but I still don't want to live anywhere else.

Maybe the suburbs when I'm older, I don't know.  Looking for parking gets old after a while.

It's not like I'm vanishing off the Internet anyway.  I will maintain, I'm sure, a vibrant and dumb Twitter presence and may occasionally post longer form pieces somewhere.  Medium?  Ugh, I guess, whatever.  Better than taking a screenshot of a wall of text and posting that on Twitter.

In closing, thanks for reading.  It's been fun.

This Dolores Park fee thing smells like some bullshit, even if it's somehow not

What are we outraged about today?  Why, the Rec and Parks Department renting chunks of Dolores Park, the beloved humanity hive in Mission Park.  Patient Zero for Today's Rage appears to be SFist:

This should end well. A two-month pilot program from the Recreation and Parks Department now allows people to reserve sections of Dolores Park for periods of at least seven hours. And no, not the picnic table areas (which you've always been able to reserve), but just straight up sections of grass near Hipster Hill/Fixie Flats. What's more, on weekends Rec and Parks plans on having staff on site to enforce the reservations — so you better not sit in someone's spot.

Yes, it costs money. And yes, the primary way to book the spots is online. The new practice of course calls to mind the infamous Soccer Field War of 2014 in which longtime, Mission-born players ran up against a new reservation system being used by recent transplants and tech employees, ultimately causing neighborhood kids to get kicked off what they saw as their own fields.

According to the Rec and Parks website, in order to reserve your own little piece of Dolores heaven, now all you have to do is apply and pay the fee of $33 to $260 (depending on group size, and not including the $200 security deposit). "All requests for Mission Dolores must complete an online Picnic Application," the site explains.

The predictable Blinding Rage Kabuki followed: (1) Rage Trigger; (2) Angry Twitter; (3) Wait, this isn't a big deal; (4) My dumb opinion.

Number three took the form of tweets like this:

@cynthia_says @michesf With all due respect, I'm not sure I see the story here. You can reserve areas at EVERY park. Am I missing something?

— Joe Eskenazi (@EskSF) May 24, 2016

Well, sure. Everyone knows you can rent picnic areas (which is basically a picnic table or two and a grill that has been used so much it looks like it was dipped in molten iron and then hastily left to dry, or maybe Forged in the Fires of the Ur-Griller Carbo.  I was at such an event last Saturday in Golden Gate Park, even!  Some people even know you can rent the picnic areas in Dolores Park.

But this seems different.  We're not talking about a clearly delineated area like a picnic table.  No, this is just an imaginary square in the middle of the grass.

See that "NW-A"?  Unfortunately, it's not a set-aside area for performances by the legendary Compton ensemble.  It's picnic area A, and I guess if you rent it you have the right to control who shall enter and stay upon your private grasstangle.  You better get some velvet ropes and a big fucking bouncer, because based on how crowded Dolores Park gets on weekends, keeping the Undesirable and the Uninvited out of your Rented Piece of Paradise is going to be a Grade A Bitch.

So Rec & Parks' position is basically "Nothing new here, it's always been this way, we have always been at war with Eastasia," but I've been going to parks for a long time and I have never seen any square of grass that someone was claiming squatters rights on and telling me not to sit there because they had a fucking permit.

The problem OF COURSE like everything else in Our Garbage City is bigger than just this latest flap.  It's about the Public Good being sold off for Private Use and it's just another chapter in the Dropbox Soccer Bros tale of the newly arrived wealthy and entitled kicking the rest of us off of public facilities that we've been paying for a lot longer than they have.  RESENTMENT SELLS and gets clicks to boot.

So I don't know, maybe Rec and Parks really has been selling imaginary sections of the park off for daily use since Time Immemorial and we've just never noticed because we've never accidentally trod onto someone's private square of park, but the whole thing seems fishy as hell.

(All that being said, I still don't get why people shove themselves into every square inch of Dolores Park whil,e acres of other parks sit empty.  Convenience, I guess.  Still.)

UPDATE!!!!!!: It's over.  They're not doing it.  You can reserve the picnic tables, but the Grasstangles 2016 is dead.  RIP grasstangles.

(POSTSCRIPT: I know my assignment today was Day 2 of Computer Generated Week of Blogging, specifically "14 Common Misconceptions About Booze," so just repeat to yourself "alcohol is universally good or bad" 14 times.)

I'm on hiatus

It's that time of year. Time to engage in some uncomfortable air travel and see the relatives and whatever.  I'll be back.

The One-Offs

Oh, California Department of Public Health Most Popular Baby Names 2009-2013, how I love thee.  Everyone already knows that the most popular California boys' names in 2012 would be Jacob and Ethan and Matthew and, God help us, Jayden.  So go on with your Emilys and Mias and Sofias.  We all see you.  The best part of the CDPHMPBN is that it lists how many babies in a given year got that name.  So, for example, in 2012, exactly 1,007 Zoes arrived in California, followed closely by 1,006 Madisons.  There is a 100% chance there will be a Zoe or Madison in your California life at some point.

But we don't care about them.  We care about the ONE-OFFS.  That's right, those names that were bestowed just one time in the State of California in a given year.  And we've learned that, if nothing else, California parents are fucking CREATIVE AS HELL.

So for example in 2012 precious ZEPLIN and ZESAR and ZIPO zipped out of some forward-thinking Moms.  "Popsicle you have, now to me you must give," young YODA might say.  SOCRATES and PERICLES are giving democracy a spin, while SAW and BLAYDE are just cutting up.  MOBY and TIESTO and ZEDD will be manning the playground decks, while CHAOS seems to be in trouble all the time.  No worries though, BUD's here.  And why settle for just one when you can have ERICS?

The girls are having just as much fun.  In fact, they're a RIOT.  Wait, is SANSA a Game of Thrones character or a beta blocker?  I forget.  TAEDYN seems like the wreckage left after two more popular names collided.  Maybe CASHLYNN can help pick up the pieces.  I hope SNOW WHITE and CINDERELLA are in the same class; the other kids' minds will be fucking blown.  I hope they go to Disneyland with RAPUNZEL one day.

Finally, presented without comment:

There's gotta be a story, right?  I hope there's a story.

If you're Bored at Work, feel free to go mining and do share any good gems you unearth therein.  Have a good weekend, everybody!

Today in Our Garbage City: Civic Design by Chuck E. Cheese

If you think the Country Bear Jamboree at Disney World is cultural caviar, I've got some good news, via Willie Brown's weekly column in the Chronicle:

If things go according to plan, Tony Bennett won’t be leaving his heart in San Francisco much longer.

He will be keeping it here as part of bigger-than-life statue atop Nob Hill, in front of the Fairmont Hotel.

The sculpture is being made by local artist Bruce Wolfe. Tony will be posed as if he were singing, and the statue’s base will be rigged with technology that will play his signature “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” whenever someone walks by.

Fundraising for the project is being lead by Charlotte Shultz and Fairmont general manager Tom Klein. The idea is to honor the song, the singer and the Venetian Room, where the singer and song came together to make so much magic.

It’s going to be one heck of a tourist draw. Can you imagine how many people will be hopping on those little cable cars that climb halfway to the stars for a selfie?

The hope is to have it done by August, when Bennett will celebrate his 90th birthday.

Madre de Dios.  A robotic Tony Bennett, doomed for all eternity to sing one song over and over and over again.

At least until the Robot Revolution happens and the Bennettron 3000 is free to exact a horrifying revenge on Charlotte Schultz and Tom Klein.

Seriously though, Jesus fucking Christ, who thinks this is a good idea?  I also have some technical questions about how this is going to work.  If it sings "whenever someone walks by," does it start over again?  Because a lot of people walk by there and I'm imagining the first 2 notes of the song on an endless hiccuping cycle.  Or will the song just be playing all the way through, 24/7?  HOPE YOU LIKE THAT HOTEL GUESTS.  Some VP of sales from Cincinnati, driven mad by sleep deprivation, is going to yank Tony's robotic voicebox and become a civic hero.

This is the kind of cheeseball garbage that fucking Myrtle Beach would turn down for being too tacky.  There are a million ways to honor Tony Bennett but this is the worst anyone could think of.  Why don't you just loose an army of Roombas with speakers taped to the top, circling the city nonstop, each blaring the song on infinite repeat?  Then everyone can enjoy it!  

Seriously, what the fuck.

I love this story as an allegory of the new new San Francisco

Something's afoot at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium!  We don't know what.  Nobody knows. You're not allowed to find out about it.

I stole this from the Chroncile's web site. The whole story doesn't appear to be on SFGate? They're hiding that from you too.

From our friends at the Chronicle:

Dozens of parking spaces surrounding Bill Graham Civic Auditorium are closed for nearly a month. Lanes of traffic on Grove Street and Hayes Street are shut down in the already congested area. Sidewalks around the building are blocked off.

Police officers and private security guards on Tuesday formed a perimeter around the building, huge air conditioning machines were in place outside, and the city’s Planning Department is considering allowing the temporary removal of the huge glass windows on the facade for signage.

Something big is being planned. But what?

The online tech rumor mill is speculating that the auditorium could be the site of Apple’s annual autumn media reveal, the date for which is likely to be Sept. 9.

A monthlong hassle for Civic Center users for a one-day presentation of the next iPhone? It’s certainly possible, but everybody involved claimed not to know or wouldn’t say.

“I’m even the landlord of the building, and they won’t tell me,” said Rob Reiter, project director for the Civic Center. “I’ve never seen anything like it before, but I’m just a guy in the basement,” he said of his office in the bowels of City Hall.

Hahahaha.  Did you get that?  The fucking self-described LANDLORD OF THE BUILDING doesn't know because the Actual People in Charge of Our Garbage City have patted him on the head and told him he doesn't need to know.

(Also, I assume Rob Reiter is a nice guy and whatever but he really sounds beaten down by life to the point where he describes himself as "just a guy in the basement.")

Furthermore,

The Planning Department is reviewing a permit request from Another Planet to remove four huge windows from the Grove Street facade of the building, secure them with bubble wrap (yes, bubble wrap) and install temporary signage. Drawings on the permit request show big stars would be placed in the window-shaped signs.

The tech industry so thoroughly owns and operates this town now that it can command total secrecy as it reconfigures a PUBLICLY OWNED THEATER and maybe even swaps out the fucking GLASSWORK to its own specs.  We are all truly players on Apple's stage.  I guess that makes us iMovie elements. San Francisco is their set, and we just live here now.  Someone has to populate the background of EXT. STREET SCENE - NIGHT.

(Also, "big stars" in the windows sounds tacky as fuck, but what do I know, I'm not a technology conglomerate with a mayor on retainer, I'm just a doofus with a blog that operates thanks to a different technology conglomerate with the same mayor on retainer.)

Supervisor Jane Kim, whose district includes the auditorium, said she’d heard the Apple rumor but didn’t know for sure. Police officers and guards standing out front said they didn’t know, either.

Even the fucking cops don't know.  "Hey man, what are you guarding inside there that's so valuable?"  "Fuck if I know!"  HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHO TO SHOOT THEN OR IF SOMETHING IS GOING WRONG.

Maybe you'll find out.  Maybe you won't.  Maybe Apple will have its next product launch in your fucking kitchen.  Shut the fuck up and don't eat all the English muffins, there's important people coming through.

Journalism! Oh well. Part 2.

I'm going to assume that Time magazine has gone to some kind of vanity press model where you can publish anything you want on Time.com as long as you pay them enough because that's the only rational explanation I can come up with for this sub-Debra-J-Saunders pile of drivel.  Or maybe it's just a naked, trolling pageview gambit because if any editor at Time thought this piece had any more journalistic worth than Weekly World News filler, journalism really is dead and US Weekly is our new New York Times.

The piece I am referring to, of course, is "Netflix’s New Parental Leave Policy Could Make Things Worse for Women," by one "Suzanne Venker."  It begins thusly:

No doubt people are dancing a jig with Netflix’s announcement Tuesday that the tech company will allow its employees to take unlimited maternity or paternity leave during the first year after their child’s birth or adoption—while earning their normal pay.

I'm dancing a jig!  No, I'm not, because I don't work at Netflix.  Also, who has used the term "dancing a jig" since FDR's fireside chats?  "Twenty-three skidoo, Ethel, I'm dancing a jig over the new warshing mechanism!  What's a Netflix?"

Suzanne Venker darkly sees many problems with Netflix's fantastic and generous policy that is a great benefit to employees and which I desperately wish my wife's company had:

First, offering an unlimited leave policy in the first year to new moms and dads means the remaining employees who don’t fit the bill will be left to pick up the slack. This will likely, in turn, strain relations among co-workers and make the workplace environment less effective.

[citation needed]  It will likely strain relations among co-workers!  This sounds serious!  I'm sure this is a well-documented problem that Suzanne Venker can support with studies and research.  Oh, when it's "likely" you don't need evidence.  This is the equivalent of Ancient Aliens' common use of the term "Isn't it possible that.....," as in "Isn't it possible that the stones used to build the Great Wall were quarried by ruby lasers attached to the foreheads of barely-sentient orgone slaves imported from Io?"  You can get away with anything like that!  Sure, Suzanne, it's likely!

Second, it isn’t fair to babies. By encouraging mothers, who are the still the primary parent at home, to bond with their baby for a long period of time with the expectation they’ll return to work at the end of the year means the baby will become even more attached to his mother, and separation may become intolerable.

Suzanne Venker is on much firmer ground here, because a vast amount of research supports the notion that separation may become intolerable when a mother returns to work after a year.  Oh no, wait, it's exactly the opposite!  I suppose it "may" become intolerable, sure.  If even one baby has trouble adjusting, we shouldn't do it at all!  Good thinking, Suzanne!

Offering new parents full pay for up to one year is akin to putting a band-aid on a gaping wound. The needs of children are huge, and they do not end at one year. On the contrary, they just begin. Taking a year off of work to meet those needs merely scratches the surface.

Get the message, Mom?  NEVER LEAVE YOUR CHILD'S SIGHT, NOT EVEN FOR A SECOND.  Any absence creates a "gaping wound."  Hope your college fund is for 2, because you're going with him/her!

It goes on and on in this vein, trying to shame women into staying at home instead of going to work.  Which, if you can do it and that's your choice, fine, but a lot of women either can't or don't want to and that's fine too and the last thing we need is Suzanne Venker trying to make someone feel bad with completely fabricated arguments supported by zero evidence.

We will later learn, although it is not disclosed anywhere in the article or the author's note, that Suzanne Venker is the kind of person who tweets things like "The war on men is real. And it has only just begun" or "Feminism is evil in disguise" so I'm starting to get the sense that Suzanne Venker isn't a 100% neutral source on this topic.

Fuck's sake, Time magazine.

Anatomy of Date Night gone wrong

When you have a kid, Date Night is a big deal because you get to go out with your Life Partner and someone else is taking care of your deal and so you want everything to go right because it doesn't happen that often.

Last night, everything did not go right.

The first part of the plan was to meet up with some friends at a Restaurant That Shall Not Be Named at around 6:30.  This plan was immediately complicated by the existence of April 20, which used to just be the day in April between the 19th and 21st but somehow in the past few years became 420, a big party in Golden Gate Park near our house where a bunch of stoners stand outside and smoke pot inside of sitting in their living room and smoking pot like normal people.  As a result, thousands of brain-damaged youth get someone to cover their shift at Carl's Jr and drive their cars from Concord or Antioch or whatever into a tiny corner of the city where my house is.  A trip of about 10 blocks leaving my house and heading for the Mission took about 15 minutes.  We were going to be very late.

[Not sure why this GG Park thing started.  It didn't happen a few years ago.  I blame Facebook.]

We got to the RTSNBN a little before 7:00, so actually not that bad!  It was very crowded.  Very, very crowded, which seemed odd for a Monday.  But the waitress appeared relatively soon and we got our drink orders in by say 7:00 p.m.

The FIRST INSTANCE OF CREEPING DREAD came when the waitress disappeared for the next 30 minutes.  No drinks, no taking our orders, nothing.  HERE is where I should reveal the rest of Date Night: we were going to see Porchlight, a monthly storytelling series at Verdi Club.  As it happens, one of our friends would be performing.  To make it more interesting, he was going on first, at 8:00 p.m.!  There's no way we wouldn't be done with dinner by 8 if we arrived at a nearby restaurant at 7, right?

Right?

Drinks appeared around 7:20, brought by Someone Who Was Not Our Waitress and in fact did not seem to know the names of the drinks.  We still have not ordered food.

The SECOND INSTANCE OF CREEPING DREAD came when I managed to flag our waitress down like I was a Semaphore Flag Operator in the Navy in 1942 so we could order food.  Now, at this point, I'm thinking, "OK, 7:30, get the food by 7:45, choke it down violently like a wolf eating a dismembered rabbit, and we can still make it by 8:00."  I asked for the check as we ordered to make this impossible dream feasible.

The THIRD INSTANCE OF CREEPING DREAD came when we passed 7:40 with no sign of food, waitress, drinks, anything.  I pulled out my Flare Gun and shot a flare at the ceiling.  It bounced back onto floor and spun crazily, sparks shooting out in every direction.  The waitress somehow saw us.  "We're trying to make an 8:00 show," I said.  "Is there any chance we'll have our food soon?"  She said she would check.

Having already paid, we finally got up to leave at 7:55 p.m.  We never got any food.  There was a manager type at the door.  He explained he knew what was going on, presumably because the waitress who could have been using her time getting us food or drinks was talking to him.  There was some confusion about whether he could just box it up or whatever but I think we concluded he would just credit our cards back.  TO RTSNBN'S GREAT CREDIT, it looks like they completely refunded the whole meal, drinks and everything.

We made it into the Verdi Club right around 8:00.  Saw our friend perform.  He was great.  At 8:15 I walked/jogged in a dizzy low blood sugar daze to the McDonald's on 16th and Potrero and Jose set me up with a Quarter Pounder with Cheese (for me) and a Filet O Fish (for my Date).  We ate them huddled in the corner of the Verdi Club like animals.  It was delicious.  

Last Night a QPC Saved My Life

By then, all the seats were filled and neither one of us felt like hearing any stories.  We watched a little standing in the back of the room and split.

I want to reiterate that RTSNBN did the right thing, maybe even more than the right thing, by totally refunding us.  The 2 free drinks apiece were nice.  But still, man, you gotta get your shit together if you're serving the public.

There will be other Date Nights, but there will never be another QPC that tastes as sweet.

The Bachelor: Give me your crazy, your drunk, your huddled simpletons yearning to read

Before we can get started on our dates this week there's some garbage time about how Yoga Kimberly who got kicked off last week wants to get back on and OH WHATEVER SHALL WE DO and brows are furrowed and eventually Kimberly is readmitted into the pack and the other chicks look at her like she's Al Sharpton at a Klan rally.  IN ANOTHER BIT OF SHOCKING NEWS we are informed that Farmer Chris's bachleor pad is not on some distant isle but LO, JUST AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY.  Whatever.

Group Date with some of them give me a break it's too early to learn all their names yet.  The Scream of Chicks reports to what appears to be a faceless office building in LA but is actually 1010 Wilshire, "a new lifestyle solution for professionals wanting to live, work, and play" which sounds like it could be anything from a nutritional supplement to an app but is actually rental units with you guessed it a rooftop pool.  Based on what I know from the Bachelor, every building in LA is equipped with a rooftop pool and a set of stemless wineglasses.
Meanwhile, back at the Female Farm, the News Producer who has apparently decided to produce herself out of bikini bottoms forcing ABC to black box her private area and Megan the Simple with her Life Helmet on have decided to burgle Chris's quarters.

We return to the Group Date where the next event, inevitably, is Bikini Tractor Racing, which I think Tara does professionally.

Periodic reminder that I love Tara.  Her tagline is "Sport Fishing Enthusiast" which is code for something dirty or illegal but I haven't figured it out yet.  Anyway, the producers have fixed the tractors so they can only go 3 mph to make a sad commentary on the state of the family farm.

Post tractoring C culls Kids Having Kids McKenzie or MacKenzie or whatever from the herd probably to take her for soft serve or to see Frozen.  Oh wait they're going to some bar called "The Escondite" which bills itself on its website as being in "SKIDROWKYO" in case you had the idea that SF had a monopoly on repellent neighborhood monikers.  Anyway, McK is a little crazy and nobody told her you don't bust out with "Do you believe in aliens" on the first date!

Solo date with Megan the Simple.

In the limo she says, no joke, "I just read the word airport" so GRAPE JOB MEGAN!!!!!  You get a treat.  They private jet to Vegas and then take the whirly stick machine up in the sky!  SECOND ACTUAL MEGAN QUOTE: "The butterflies in my stomach are just colorful and smiling and fluttering all over the place."  Jesus fucking Christ.  Anyway, they chopper to the Grand Canyon where Megan reveals that her Dad just had a heart attack and got brain damage but Mom told her to go on the show anyway!  C feels like "there is something here" but it's clearly not crossword puzzle answers or the ability to read a fast food menu.  Megan may be sweet but she is dumber than a roomful of mutes.

ANOTHER FUCKING GROUP DATE  with like 20 of them.  Apparently Zombie Paintball is a thing?  I don't know.  It's some fake movie set and the chix all wander around shooting people who have the Worst Job in America with paintball guns.

OK, we have to talk about Brooklyn Ashley (who I mistakenly said was kicked off last week) because it's very sad.  Either she ate a ton of fucking mushrooms right before this or had a mental break on camera because she spent most of the segment wandering aimlessly around the set and saying things like "Boom, go find your own way, you know, the truth" and "Are we in Mesa Verde?" Then she sat down to talk to the cat.  Seriously, what the fucking fuck.  Some other shit happened I guess but this conflagration of crazy kind of stole the show.  YOU DO YOU BROOKLYN ASHLEY.

Let's jump to the Cocktail Party.  Hopefully Ashley's cocktail is Risperdal and Thorazine.  Some Other Ashley comes out as a virgin to Teen Mom who opines that "Guys like taking your virginity!" in such a disturbingly perky way that makes me think there might be more than one dude who thinks he deflowered McKenzie. Armed with this insider info Ashley the Virgin approaches C and engages in some kind of bizarre belly ring ceremony that ultimately results in them slapping their faces together like fur seals.  Later, Possibly Black Amber also gets in on the face sucking which drives Drunk Jordan into a drunken drunk furor.

I'm loving all the drunks this season!  Anyway, Drunk Jordan advances on C and starts yelling nonsensically at him like they're in a college sports bar and Guns N Roses is blasting.  She is literally just stringing random words together.  LOVE YA JORD.

Let's hand out some roses.  Britt, duh, the Virgin, Who the Fuck Is Trina, the Widow Kelsey, SaMANtha, Surprise Also a Widow Juealia or however it's spelled, Possibly Black Amber, Tracey or Tracy, Jillian, Jade, Nicki or Mickey or something, Becka, Carly, Baby Voice, and YAY KRAZEE ASHLEY!!!!

As much as I long to see Ashley get dosed again, my heart is heavy, for C has excused Team Highball!  Oh man, no, no, NOT TARA!!!!  You did not just cut Tara.  Fuck you, Chris. We're losing Tara AND Jordan?  Me and Don Julio both weep for our bleak future.

Exercise is getting weird

HOLY SHIT ARE YOU IN THE OFFICE TOO of course you are. Why would you be reading this on your own time? I can't believe we have to be at work.  Fuck.

Anyway, it's a brand new year and that means everyone has decided to exercise for the first time.  You could do normal things like that fake bicycle ride in the gym or running on a treadmill or lifting a heavy piece of furniture up and down but what's the fun in that?  There is no fun in that.

Based on my observations, people exercising outside have collectively decided to just go "FUCK IT I'M DOING WHAT I WANT FUCK YOU WORLD." This very morning, driving through San Francisco's Golden Gate Park on my way to drop off my offspring at daycare, I personally and with me own eyes observed the following:

- One gentleman walking quickly/almost jogging in the bike lane, swinging his right arm back and forth in a wide arc as if to ward off a cloud of invisible flies that were surrounding and troubling him, or maybe pretending his arm was a single windshield wiper and his body was a car driving through a terrific rainstorm

- A lady fast-walking and rhythmically tapping herself on the head with BOTH HANDS, elbows at ear level, as if she was playing a simple drumbeat on the bongo that is her very own skull

- An otherwise normal-appearing jogger with those neon shoes everyone likes now, also running in the bike lane at a very high rate of speed and through an intersection against a red light as a bus bore down on him, making me believe I was about to see what literally "getting hit by a bus" looks like and wondering (not totally unreasonably) if this was going to make me late for work because I would have to give a statement to investigators while they placed pieces of the jogger and his ugly shoes into a bag

Google Image Search result for "weird exercise." YEP YEP YEP.

In fact, the Running in the Street thing (which is actually mostly Running in the Bike Lane) has become so prevalent that I see it on the reg now.  What's up with that?  Isn't there a perfectly good sidewalk for that?  Is it revenge for bicyclists biking on the sidewalk?

One time I was driving AT NIGHT on a street with no bike lane and this girl was jogging in the street alongside all the parked cars WEARING BLACK. Either she had an exercise-related death wish or she was a terrible cat burglar making the world's worst escape from the scene of her latest cat burglary.  Either way, I can't imagine she's still alive.

Rustin Canseco speaks

Ref: here, here, here, and here.

Think about that.

World Series game 7: Damn.

On July 29, the Giants lost to the Pirates 3-1.  It was their sixth straight loss.  Dan Uggla went 0 for 3 and struck out twice.  Dan Uggla, ladies and gentlemen.

Everybody said "THESE GUYS ARE GOING TO WIN THE WORLD SERIES!!! THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME!!!! GET ME SOME OF THAT GIANTS BRANDED CHAMPAGNE AND LET'S POP IT NOW!!!!"

No, nobody said that.  Everybody said this team sucks.

Today, Dan Uggla is sitting in a man cave somewhere looking down at his hand and picturing a World Series ring on it.

It is hard to describe how improbable this whole thing is.  On October 1, me and a friend agreed that it would just be better to lose the wild card play-in against the Pirates than have to endure the grim reality of getting ground up in the playoffs.  The Giants winning the World Series this year is like Matt Damon just hanging around Boston and sticking with his construction job at the end of Good Will Hunting.

So after getting genocided 10-0 on Tuesday night, things did not look good.  The Giants were sending out Tim Hudson, a retiree from Georgia who broke into the big leagues before players used mitts and has a postseason record of 0-132.  Tim Hudson managed to carry the ball to the plate for about an inning and a half.  Thanks, Tim.  You can hit the early bird now.

The Giants cobbled together a couple of runs in the top of the 2nd and then in the bottom of the 2nd Billy Butler, who I'm sure is a nice man with a good family, singled and then Alex Gordon doubled and then Omar Infante sac flied and Gordon scored and it was 2-2.  Jeremy Affledt came in and calmed shit down.  Now the Giants just needed a run.  HAVE NO FEAR, BRUCE BOCHY IS KISSING SOME BATS.

The side-eye is tremendous.

They got it in the 4th, a Morse single that scored Red Sox third baseman Pablo Sandoval.  3-2.  NOW WHO SHOULD PROTECT THAT LEAD.

Everybody knew what was about to happen.  Madison Bumgarner was coming in.  Based on what I understand, Madison Bumgarner grew up in a log cabin HE BUILT WITH HIS OWN HANDS AS AN INFANT and invented cows.  He is as strong as rhinoceros on androstenedione and as calm and placid as a 37th-level yogi.  Despite having already pitched in 2 other games, he came into this one on 2 days rest and threw 5 innings.  Poor Royals.

Afterwards, Chevy Man passed from mortal to legend. And the Giants have won another World Series.  Prior to the start, The Wife said that whoever scored first would win.  She is an oracle, I'm telling you.

Prepare to be hated, fellow Giants fans, for we are now basically Yankees fans.  Oh well.

They've already got the banners up.  That was fast.

CORRECTION: In an earlier version of this story, we reported that Kansas City Designated Hitter Billy Butler "looks like chromosome damage and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome got together and had a party." After further consideration, this was unnecessarily mean and not in the spirit of being a good winner.  40 Going On 28 regrets the error.

Star Spangled Banner (v. 2.0)

Oh say can you see
My badass APC
Get the fuck off the street
We're the militarized police

Whose broad rights and what laws
Will we trample today
Your First Amendment
Is no match for my HK

And the road flares' red glare
Tear gas bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
There were cops everywhere

Oh say did that riot policema-aaa-aaa-aan
Tell you get the fuck inside
Or he'll tear gas you toooooooooooooo

I don't understand these housing protests at all

From ABC 7 News:

SAN FRANCISCO RESIDENTIAL SURTAX FACES OPPOSITION

(ALL CAPS belong to ABC 7, not me.)

If you click on the link you can see the whole boring video, in which they stuck poor Lyanne Melendez up on Twin Peaks for some reason.

Anyway, here's the crux of it:

Anyone buying two or more units without living there would be severely taxed if they sell the property within five years. They would be taxed 24 percent the first year and then less every year after that.

Mar got enough votes from the Board of Supervisors to put the measure on the November ballot.

"It's a small, narrow group of people that are flipping buildings so it's really narrowly tailored to only the handful of people that are making profits off people suffering and throwing our housing costs out of whack," Mar said.

The surtax will not be imposed if the property is sold at a loss.

So it's basically an anti-flipping ordinance.  If you buy a multi-unit building and then turn it into TICs (or sell it as is) without living there, you get hit with a tax.  Given that there's been a lot of Ellis Act evictions going on just to flip buildings into TICs, I can understand why this sounds good.

Now, if you want to protest this, FINE.  Stand up and be proud and say "HEY I'M A FLIPPER AND I WANT TO BUY BUILDINGS AND KICK OUT TENANTS AND SELL THEM AS TICs FOR A FAT PROFIT.  SO YOU SHOULD LET ME DO THIS WITHOUT PAYING EXTRA TAX BECAUSE AMERICA."  That I could at least respect for honesty.

But that's not what these protesters are saying.

The Chinese Real Estate Association of America opposes the measure. "Most of the Chinese or Asian people, we believe in purchasing property, owning a property and passing on the property to the next generation," spokesperson Tina Wong said.

WAIT WHAT.  Hey guess what, Chinese Real Estate Association of America? I HAVE GOT SOME AWESOME  NEWS FOR YOU.  If you purchase and own property and pass it on to the next generation, YOU WILL NOT BE SUBJECT TO THIS TAX.  So you can stand down.  You have nothing to worry about.

(Now, I'm not an idiot.  I know the CREAA actually wants to flip buildings and make money without paying more taxes.  Which, if that's your position, fine. Own it. Just don't pretend to be something you're not.)

In Protest #2, we have the Levins, who didn't read up on rent control before they bought their building.

Dan and Maria Levin bought a small home in the 400 block of Lombard St. It has two units, each with one bedroom. 

The person renting their other unit can't afford to move out. The only way is to pay them off - their attorney said it would cost more than $100,000.

"We want the extra unit for our family and friends because currently we have no room whatsoever in our one bedroom, small apartment and it would be great for when they come and visit," Maria Levin said.

In other words, they bought their building knowing there was a tenant in one of the units and that tenant can't just be kicked out because they need their own personal Airbnb, but despite knowing all that AHEAD OF TIME, they are stunned that the tenant won't just sheepishly pack up and go.

(If they weren't notified about the tenant, or the tenant was hiding in the closet when they did their inspections, that's another story but I doubt it.)

(Also, it will cost whatever you work out with the tenant.  If the tenant will move for $30K, then it'll cost that.  If the tenant will move for $26 and a Wade Boggs rookie card, so much the better.)

Advice for the Levins: if you don't want this problem, don't buy a building with a tenant.

Checking out at Walgreens is now an unending Kafkaesque nightmare

It used to be so easy to buy something at Walgreens!  You exchanged cash for your dry goods and went on your way, back to your telegraph shoppe to have a tincture and a linotype.  NO MORE.

Walgreens now is equipped with devices programmed by Top Researchers designed to create a state of anger and longing that will prompt you to buy more Wal-profen or Wal-diazepene next time you're in Walgreens.  Devious, but effective.  These Torture Boxes look like this:

Photo courtesy of Mike Mozart, who appears to be borderline obsessed with chain stores and consumer products, which I salute and endorse.

Checking out at Walgreens is now a 22-step process that reminds me of getting a home loan but is less fun.  I recently traveled to my Regular Walgreens on Van Ness (hi guys!) and to spend $7 on some chocolate covered raisins and beef jerky.  In order to leave said Walgreens with said items, here's what you have to do:

1. Swipe your Walgreens card YEAH RIGHT like you carry it around with you.  I don't know if I ever had one.  Enter your phone number instead.  You want savings, don't you?

2. This is my fave:  HOW WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR RECEIPT?  With FOUR FUCKING AVAILABLE OPTIONS.  I've never stuck around to read them all but I assume besides "printed receipt" and "email receipt" the other 2 are "BEAM IT TELEPATHICALLY INTO MY ASSISTANT'S BRAIN" and "written in the stars."

3. Would you like to donate to Juvenile Something Something Something?  This is now the third step and we are nowhere near getting chocolate covered raisins into our face hole.

4. Would you like cash back today?

OMG WALGREENS STOP.  This reminds me of an unfunny anecdote.  When paying by debit first appeared back in the early 90's I was new to the concept and gave it a shot at, of all places, the Carl's Jr in Mountain View.  So I slid my card through and all and the lady behind the counter whose first language was not English said "KAZBAK!!!" And I was like "I'm sorry?" And she said "KAZBAK!!!!" And I figured out she was saying "Cash back?" Oh.

No, I don't want kazbak.  I'm at a Walgreens with 20 angry office people behind me.  Let's not start banking together, Walgreens.

5. OK SLIDE YOUR CARD!!!!

Now we're getting somewhere.

6. ENTER PIN!!!

I'm on this.

7. Would you like cash back today?

OH MY FUCKING GOD WALGREENS I THOUGHT WE SETTLED THIS

Hand to God this happened today.  This Walgreens credit card terminal has as its LIFE MISSION to make sure EVERYONE who might want cash has ample opportunity to get it.

I finally got my stuff.  Walgreens, stop it.

It's been a strange few days

Sunday night we had some friends over for dinner and Jessica was holding our dog and noticed that his lymph nodes were swollen.  He'd been acting lethargic too, and it was worrying enough that I took him to the VCA Animal ER on Monday, Memorial Day.

ASIDE: If you ever need emergency care for your pet, go to VCA at 18th and Alabama.  They were absolutely great.

The vet felt around and said it was lymphoma.  I wasn't really processing it and was like, "What's lymphoma?"  Lymphoma turns out to be cancer and it's incurable and basically now my dog is going to die.  We're working on treatment options with our regular vet but it doesn't look great.

I just found out I have cancer. Does this is any way get me more treats?

So that was Monday!  On Tuesday, we found out that my Dad's cancer, which we thought had mostly gone away, had metastasized and is now all over and it's pretty bad and my sister and I are flying to be with him on Friday.

My Dog and My Dad Have Cancer!  It's a country song.  Except it's real.

I'm not putting all this out there in a shameless ploy to get your sympathy, but more by way of explanation about why I probably won't be blogging for a while, or if I do, it's probably going to be pretty depressing.

I'm gonna need some whiskey
Cause I feel pretty blue
My Daddy got the cancer
And now my dog does too

I guess I'll work on the lyrics some more.

Oh, one funny story at least has come out of this so far.  Last week my Dad was doing some testing to check for brain cancer I guess and our half-sister sent my sister a text and she looked at her phone and it said "Dad has passed" and then she clicked on it and the rest of it said "his cognitive testing with flying colors!"  And the moral of the story is BE VERY CAREFUL HOW YOU PHRASE YOUR TEXT MESSAGES.

TK's Recipe of the Week: Chorizo and White Bean Stew

Happy Friday!  The Republican nominee for Senate in Nebraska (which is to say, the eventual Senator from Nebraska), Ben Sasse, has some interesting ideas about government and religion! On his website, he says "Government cannot force citizens to violate their religious beliefs under any circumstances."  That's what Al Qaeda says too, Ben Sasse!  Cool!  Luckily, my religion forbids the payment of taxes to the government, so I'm off the hook, right?  What the fuck.

My religion is actually chorizo.  That's it.  No god, just chorizo.  The Presidente of Sausages has been featured here before, in Chorizo, Red Pepper, and Fingerling Potato Hash (still the best brunch recipe of all time) and I'm pleased to announce its return today.  This stew is super easy to make and also delicious, fulfilling two of the three requirements for a Perfect Meal.  (The third is wine and you have to supply that independently of this recipe.)

It came originally from Bon Appetit.  Thanks, Bon Appetit!

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound fresh Mexican chorizo
1 large onion, thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 sprig thyme
2 15-ounce cans cannellini (white kidney) beans, rinsed
2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
5 ounces baby spinach (about 10 cups)
Smoked paprika (optional)

Let me stop right here and say DO NOT USE that cheap-ass chorizo that's all soft and comes in a plastic tube.  I'm looking at you, Reynaldo's. Either get fresh loose chorizo from the butcher OR in a pinch you can use the fully cooked chorizo they sell at Whole Foods.  I can't remember what the brand is but it's pretty good considering.

OK let's get started.  Now would be a good time to have a glass of grenache.

Heat a tablespoon of oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add sausage and cook, turning occasionally, until browned and cooked through, 15-20 minutes. Transfer sausage to a plate.

(If you're using the precooked stuff, slice it up before you saute it, and also you won't need anywhere near 15-20 minutes.  Just enough to get a nice crisp to the outside.)

Reduce heat to medium. Heat the other tablespoon of oil in same skillet. Add onion, garlic, and thyme sprig. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is softened, 5-8 minutes. Add beans and broth and cook, crushing a few beans with the back of a spoon to thicken sauce, until slightly thickened, 8-10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Add spinach by handfuls and cook just until wilted, about 2 minutes.

Slice chorizo (if you were using the raw chorizo, AS DISCUSSED ABOVE) and fold into stew; add water to thin, if desired. Divide stew among bowls; pour everyone more wine; talk about how great your life is now that you have a bowl of chorizo and white bean stew in front of you.

Have a great weekend!

The Slow-Down Pull-Away: A disturbing new trend in Muni fuckery

First off, if you're here expecting a recap of the Bachelor sit-down interview show, SORRY.  I can't.  In fact, I will use the opportunity to announce that, after next week's inevitably Most Shocking Finale Ever, I will be forever resigning from recapping the Bachelor.  I really can't do it any more.  I feel like it's more sad and fake than funny now, and it feels like a slog to do it.  Plus, every yahoo with a keyboard is recapping the Bachelor now.  If you need to read someone's take on the Fantasy Suites, you'll be able to find a jackass whose sensibilities match your own without much trouble.

That said, I will venture into the fray one final time to do the finale of this season.  Then that's it.  We can still be friends.

NOW on to today's topic: the Muni Slow-Down Pull-Away.  By this I mean when a bus approaches a stop, slows briefly to make you think it's going to stop, and then ACCELERATES AWAY FROM THE STOP without stopping.  The fuck?  This has now happened to me twice in two days, and maybe 3-4 times over the past month.  WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON MUNI.

Monday I'm waiting for the 5L around 8:30 a.m.  Here it comes.  It's about half-full, and there are no other busses at the stop.  It slows down and starts to pull over, then SPEEDS UP AND MERGES BACK INTO TRAFFIC.  I yelled a curse word.

GIS result for "Fuck you Muni." Originally from Muni Diaries.

There are only a few possible explanations.

(1) The driver did not look to see if there was anyone standing at a normally crowded stop at 8:30 on a Monday morning, assumed nobody would be trying to get anywhere at that particular time, slowed down just for the fuck of it, and went on his way.

(2) The driver consciously decided to fuck with everyone at the stop by faking them out, making it look like he was stopping, and then pulling back into traffic.

(3) Someone on the bus was having a heart attack.  The person having a heart attack said "Driver, I see my cardiologist there at that stop!"  The driver started to pull over. The person then said, "No, that's not him.  My mistake.  Please, on to the hospital!"

(4) The driver started to make the stop, saw his ex-wife standing there, muttered "Fuck that bitch" under his breath, and pulled back into traffic.

Happened again this morning with the 31.  Almost exact same circumstances.  WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

Final thought: Maybe it's me.

The Bachelor: Nothingness

Second night in a row.  Ugh, I just can't anymore with this show.  Even the episodes that are carefully designed to be Full of Drama are boring. It's so bad. The falcon cannot hear the falconer. Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold.

There is some kind of water-based date with Clare or Carla or whatever the fuck her name is.  The she bursts into flames.  Only her name will live on.  She belongs to the angels now.

We see a scene of a rat clawing desperately at the corner of a cardboard box.  Then a commercial for yogurt. The yogurt is us.

That chick and the guy go to an impoverished village.  The white people give the black people the gift of food and drink.  No medicine is available.  Somewhere we hear the plaintive cry of a loon.

On another occasion, people ride horses.  This is an extended metaphor, but it is about nothing.  Is that a bird tattoo, or a cry for help?

The girl from before complains that a man didn't ask her any questions.  She wants him to know her political views but he is not interested in that, or her religion.  He has peered into the blank void of her soul and contented himself that there is nothing there of value.  Her eyes spin in crazy circles but he cannot see.

I am become Juan Pablo, destroyer of worlds.  

Apropos of nothing, a peek into my disturbing thought process. Also, Downton Abbey.

This is totally irrelevant and I don't even know why I'm posting this but you know in the opening credits for Downton Abbey when there's a shot of a skinny feather duster of some kind gently dusting a chandelier or whatever?

For the first two seasons or so, I thought that was a CAT'S PAW.  I know.  Take a minute.  I wasn't really thinking about "Why would a cat be lovingly caressing the light fixtures in this English mansion?" or "How would a cat be able to reach a chandelier?" or "Why are you so fucking weird?"  I didn't really think about it until I realized not that long ago that it was a duster of some kind and not a cat's paw.

Anyway, that's about it for now.  Not every blog post can be about overpriced real estate and get 15,000 views!  This one should be good for about 43.  If you're one of the 43, THANKS.

Have a nice weekend.