Recycling poachers make the news

Finally, KTVU has turned its all-seeing eye to the MOST IMPORTANT ISSUE OF OUR TIME: Recycling Thieves.


As longtime readers know, I have a borderline unhealthy obsession with Recycling Poachers. Look, I have enough problems already without trying to figure out why, but I think it's (1) the continuous noise of bottles clinking together the night before recycling pickup and (2) the fact that they leave the bins open and then trash blows up and down my street, making it less aesthetically pleasing and thus further away from the Platonic Ideal of a Street that I want and (3) it activates some particular Cell of Krazy in my brain that I don't even understand and that Science hasn't begun to explain, what with all the trips to Mars and cancer and other priorities.

ANYWAY, in my old hood I finally figured out I could deal with this by bringing the bins out in the morning but in my new hood the trucks comes by at like 6 am and that's no longer an option. So I'm basically locked in a mano-a-mano standoff with the guy who steals all the recycling every week on my street. Surprisingly, he appears to live in the neighborhood, because I sometimes see him on the 5 Fulton on non-trash days, suggesting that he's a local whop apparently commutes downtown to do something and just has a Recycling Poaching sideline business.

He pretty much dominates the poaching in my neighborhood. He's out there with his cart starting around 6 and systematically cleans out every bin in like a 4-block radius every Monday night. I would almost admire his industriousness if he wasn't driving me fucking insane.

So in conclusion I'd like to say that I'm crazy.

Story ideas for Bold Italic

OK, Bold Italic, I've been reading for a while and I'm ready to suggest some ideas for a FOUND LOCAL or BOLD LOCAL or whatever the person is who writes this stuff. Here's a couple of concepts just off the top of my head that I think will fit right in. GET AT ME.

Animals of San Francisco Neighborhoods

I know, you're starting to run out of ways to publish the same tired stereotypes of SF neighborhoods over and over, but we can still do it! In this piece, a 24-year-old white person who's lived in SF for 2 years will anthropomorphize an animal for each SF neighborhood. Like, the Tenderloin Rat can have a crack pipe! Oh, fuck, that is funny. And the Marina Minx will be leaning against a BMW! Fuck, this shit writes itself. And the Bayview Badger....uh, never mind.

Illustration: Cartoon of The Chinatown Chipmunk, with slanted eyes and a pink bag and a coolie hat! HAHAHAHA SO CUTE.

Bring Out Your Dead

A chick with a bird tattoo will interview SF funeral directors, who will be confused by questions about artisanal embalming and whether they serve single-batch bourbons at wakes.

Illustration: Cartoon of two dead hipsters with X's for eyes.

Night Crawlers

A chick with a chest piece will interview a confused Lithuanian cabdriver about what it's like to drive a cab on the overnight shift in SF. "I pick up fare, I drop off fare," he says to the clearly disappointed just-out-of-J-school interviewer.

Illustration: Cartoon of a cab catching air going over a hill with a full moon in the background.

Now What Is That You Do Again? Accountant? What Does That Mean?

A dude with a lot of tattoos who works as a barista and is in a folk-metal band and is also a "writer" interviews six San Franciscans with regular jobs who get up in the morning and go to work and then come home and take care of their families and have never heard of underground dining clubs or Hard French.

Illustration: Cartoon of the writer staring incredulously at one of the interviewees after he says he's never been to the Hideout at Dalva.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

A chick with severe bangs will enter the shadowy world of DIY heart surgery and talk to "Boris" and "Natasha," two locals who have rejected Big Medicine in favor of operating at home.

Illustration: Cartoon of the the old "Operation" game with a map of SF where all the organs are

The long, long, long weekend

Hi everyone! It's been a while, I know. That's because I took a few days off work and God knows I can't be bothered to blog if I'm not at work. At the risk of boring the fuck out of you, here's what happened:

On Thursday we went to the 12:45 pm Giants game. It was terrible. Once Barry Zito gave up four runs in the first inning, it was pretty much all over. BUT it was actually really sunny and nice and it's always pleasant to sit in the sun and drink some beers while other people exercise in front of you. One dubious decision we made, though, was to walk to the game from our house in the Inner Richmond. Now, it's about 5 miles away and we're both in pretty good shape but The Wife was wearing Chucks which don't exactly offer a lot of foot support and by the time we reached Townsend and 9th (which is like 90% of the way there), she had become (as she will freely admit) somewhat grumpy and I probably wasn't helping but the upshot of the whole thing was that we made it in time and whatever.

Then afterward we couldn't find a cab and we didn't really want to deal with Muni so we saw a town car cruising around and paid him $40 flat to take us home. (I don't know if this is just a San Francisco thing or not, but here you see black town cars that sometimes just aimlessly drive around and then pick people up, like cabs, except they're not cabs and they don't have meters and you negotiate your fare with the driver and I think the whole thing is unlicensed and shady but it still is the best option sometimes.)

On Friday we went to Costco. We just became members. It was my first time in a Costco. Wow, I had no idea. All the jokes about the gallon-sized mayonnaises and 64-roll packs of paper towels are true. We kind of aimlessly wandered around because we don't really NEED anything and we ended up buying a case of Pellegrino and a few bottles of wine and champagne and 1000 Ziploc bags and 2 watermelons and some other stuff. Mostly because once you get in there you feel like buying shit all of the sudden.

On Saturday we went to eat at Broken Record. BR is this dive bar with a kitchen in the back that everyone raves about. In what is either the best thing or the worst thing that can happy to you, Guy Fieri dropped by and put it on his show.



Anyway, we had been hearing about how great this place was and finally decided to go check it out. It was OK. The Wife had the crawfish grits, which also came with house-made sausage and was probably the best thing any of us had. Tom had the lobster mac and cheese which was good? I guess? And I had the pork tenderloin sandwich which also came with a thick slice of heirloom tomato and the tomato overpowered the taste of the pork, oddly. It was still good though.

One moment of panic that also explains a little about the crowd here: We're hanging out at a table by the front door when The Wife suddenly gets up in a panic and says "There's a guy with a huge snake by the door" and bolts for the back room. I should explain that The Wife has a serious snake phobia. So I look out the window and there's a guy in a wife beater with a shaved head and what looks like a full complement of prison tattoos and curled around his shoulders and torso is a large dark green snake. It appears that the door person at the bar has told him he can't come in with his python or boa constrictor or whatever which seems like a sensible policy, given that I've seen at least two chihuahua mixes wandering around since we've been there and those are probably Good Eats for a snake like that. Anyway, the guy seemed to take it in stride and didn't stab anyone or unleash his snake on the crowd.

On Sunday we had brunch at our house because it was The Wife's birthday. If you know anything about how we do brunch, you know how this ended up: 5 full bags of recycling and a lot of conversations I don't remember.

Yesterday we laid on the couch and watched Food Network and HGTV for about 6 hours.

StubHub, I love you, but you're making me crazy

I'm not in a season ticket group for Giants tickets any more, and The Wife quit her job at the place where they used to hand out tickets to employees on a regular basis, so we mostly rely on StubHub now to get tickets. Don't get me wrong; it's a great service and Giants tickets on StubHub are almost always cheaper than buying them directly from the Giants.

FOR EXAMPLE, I just looked on the Giants own site for tickets to tonight's game. A pair in Lower Box 127 (Row 15, seats 5 and 6) will set you back a cool $172 after the $30 in "convenience fees" are added on. On StubHub, we've got 2 in Lower Box 127 (Row 14, seats 1 and 2 - closer, and on the aisle!) for a total of $132, including all fees. That's $40 cheaper for better seats. Why the fuck would anyone ever buy tickets from the Giants?

Anyway, The Wife and I are going to the day game on Thursday (I have the day off, so shoot me) and I've been perusing StubHub for a few days to find some seats. StubHub has this "Price Alert" thing where you can designate a seating area and a price and they'll send you an email when it drops below that price.

PROBLEM ONE: THEY ACTUALLY DON'T DO THAT AT ALL.

We like sitting in Club Level cause we fancy like that. So I set up a Price Alert to email me when Club Level Outfield tickets fall below $40 apiece. As of right now, STILL NO EMAILS. Good thing I didn't trust it and kept checking, because I nailed a couple in Club Level outfield this morning at $30 per. WERE YOU JUST GOING TO KEEP THAT A SECRET, STUBHUB? Y U NO EMAIL?

PROBLEM TWO: The iPhone app is basically worthless. You put in the game you want to see and it spits out a list of all 4,000 or whatever available tickets. Sure, you can sort alphabetically or by price, but come fucking on. You should be able to drill down to a specific seating area (i.e., section 221) and see just that section, instead of "Club Level Infield" generally.

PROBLEM THREE: This is apparently StubHub's corporate brand ambassador, "Ticket Oak":


WHAT THE FUCK. How is a vaguely Tolkienesque anthropomorphic talking tree supposed to make me want to buy tickets for Wrestlemania? Oh, fuck, it's got a Facebook page where it says things like "After seeing what these actors go through – hair, makeup, crazy outfits – I’m very thankful I’m a tree and don’t need any of that!" Stop it.

So fix the email alert thing, tighten up that iPhone app, lose the tree, and you'll be golden, StubHub. In the meantime, thanks for all the tickets.

Two quick restaurant etiquette questions

Sometimes it's fun to shake things up and do something different for brunch, which in our case means go somewhere where the server isn't covered in tattoos and looks like a heroin addict and where everyone appears to have engaged in some basic hygiene in the past few days and the music playing isn't Black Moth Super Rainbow or Screamin' Jay Hawkins. So we walked about a mile from our house through a portal into a different dimension, namely the Presidio Golf Course Cafe (or maybe just Presidio Cafe; it gets called both on the various interlocking websites involved).

It was fine. I mean, the food was good and not overly expensive by SF standards and the bartender had a heavy pour on my greyhound, which was nice. There were a couple of guys wearing sweater vests, duh, and it was pretty much what you would think any golf club cafe would be like anywhere. Whilst there, however, two restaurant etiquette questions arose.

NUMBER ONE: This Marina-looking youngish couple went in right before us with the ubiquitous Starbucks to-go cups and had them on their table through their meal. So Restaurant People (and anyone in general), I'm curious: Is it OK to bring outside coffee into a restaurant? Does it depend on the kind of restaurant?

NUMBER TWO: We were originally seated in a kind of side room and nearby there was a table with a couple of families and maybe 2-3 EXTREMELY LOUD little Taylors or Jaydens or whatever. So after a few minutes of the piercing screams of the Young and Entitled, I went up to the hostess and asked to be moved and she said "Yeah, it's a little loud" and we got a table in the other room. The Wife said that if the situation was reversed and she was the one with the kids, she would feel bad and so she vicariously felt bad for them. I said I really didn't give a fuck, I can't sit in the same room with that Human Car Alarm going off every 10-12 seconds. Should we have felt bad for asking for another table and moving when it was obvious why we were moving?

ANYWAY, if your grandparents are in town and you want to go out to brunch at a place where they won't be scared and where the menu is written in Old and doesn't have items like "Pile O Spuds" or "Arugula and free range pancetta frittata with caramelized heirloom cipollini onions," then I can heartily recommend this place.

I am on some next level Mad Men shit

YOU GUYS! I've been thinking about changing careers. And you know what sounds good to me? RISK MANAGEMENT. No, I'm totally fucking with you. Are you ready to hear it now?

A D V E R T I S I N G.

That's right. I want to sit in a conference room with some other creatives and a whiteboard and some half-eaten sandwiches and we'll toss ideas around the room and try to figure out how to make people want to eat Tater Tots or drive a Volvo. In fact, I want to be the first person in the history of advertising to develop a car commercial that doesn't feature shots of the car speeding through the Bonneville Salt Flats or down Highway 1.

ANYWAY, I thought I'd get a few ideas together first to show off my mad skillz. FIRST UP, that "Pork, the other white meat" campaign is SO TIRED. So I was thinking, let's jazz that shit right up!


Not bad, huh? I think it will appeal to the demo we want. Pork is an edgy, sexy meat, not boring like your Dad's stupid old beef. The Pork Me campaign will get tastemakers talking about pork again!

NEXT! Virgin America is an awesome airline, but they're in the shitter, money-wise. Let's stop playing around here. Virgin America is an airline for people who use and enjoy drugs. I mean, everyone knows it. Why try and hide it? Like the trance music playing at the gates wasn't enough? The purple and pink color scheme? Come on. Let's stop lying to ourselves.


I don't even know what their current slogan is or even if they have one but this will crush it. Also, LET'S LISTEN TO THAT SONG AGAIN FOR ABOUT A HUNDRED TIMES ON REPEAT.

How about San Francisco tourism? I'm picturing a major print campaign. Travel & Leisure, Conde Nast, all that shit.


I know, right? KILLING IT. I got a lot more ideas, too! Call me and we'll have lunch and talk about it.

The Bachelorette: Finally.

Contrary to Chris Harrison, this was not "the most dramatic television event of the summer," it was the Most Boring Episode of the Most Boring Season of the franchise ever. I'm serious, if next season doesn't improve, I may have to bag the whole thing and start reviewing something more interesting like episodes of "How It's Made" or paint drying. Anyway.

Emily's family has arrived in Curacao for the ritual Blessing of the Suitors. Here comes Jef and some flowers. Mom gets to interview him first. Jef likes marionettes, so he should love Mom, because she looks startlingly like Madame.




After Mom clears him, it's on to Family Dinner. OH SHIT, BROTHER ERNIE IS EATING SOME SLIDERS. Maybe he didn't get the memo about no eating this season! Dad then sits down with Jef for a postprandial interview. He gives his blessing to their Faux TV Marriage. Worked out so good last time let's try it again, eh Dad?

On to Arie's interview with the fam. Bit of a frosty reaction to Arie, who responds by babbling nonsensically. He presents the family with a box containing the dried husks of all the roses he's been given on the show! That's, uh, nice, but Jef brought flowers that were still alive. I don't want to get bossy or anything, Arie, but maybe a bottle of wine next time instead of a box of dead flowers. He does his round of solo interviews. Man, Brother Ernie has quite the brow ridge and there's something wrong with his teeth. Dad gives his blessing to Arie too! Christ, Dad, here comes the pool boy, is he cleared to marry your daughter as well? Maybe it'll be easier to make a list of people who CAN'T marry her, huh?

Final date with Jef. Let's sit on this blanket on the beach and bore the fucking shit out of each other and America in general. "This is pretty." "What have you been thinking about?" "A lot." Boy, that Jef sure is edgy. Anyway, on and on about meeting Rickie or however you spell it and what a colossal huge deal it is and Em is all "I wasn't planning on introducing her to anybody" and that's gonna make the rest of her life difficult and what are you going to do, keep her in a box? OK, finally time to meet The Baggage. They go over to Em's house and the kid's in the pool and she does some tricks like a golden retriever. I hate to say this, but Rickie's a little unfortunate looking. Oh, crap, sorry, that was mean. Anyway, Jef does his best to butter her up and there's some more puppet talk and the puppet fixation is frankly getting a little creepy at this point.

For the night portion, there's no fake dinner, just some champagne and more terminally boring conversation. Wait, aren't Mormons not supposed to drink? What's the deal with that? Jef gives her a present. Oh, crap, you're not going to believe this, it's one of those Tourist Guides you find in the desk drawer of your hotel except Jef has stolen his and vandalized it by drawing stick figures in all the pictures and Emily coos over it like Jef made an art or something.

Cut to next day. Chris Harrison comes to visit Em and they talking about Rickie or something, I don't know, I'm a little zoned out at this point. Oh wait, she's done! Mormon Jef is the winner! So we have to dump Arie now. Sadly, Chris doesn't say just to text him, which would be totally fine, they've spent a total of like 12 hours together and have never fucked, but no, gotta do it in person.

The dumping will occur in something called "Dina's Botanic Garden" where the eponymous Dina is teaching Arie how to make a love potion OH THE IRONY that looks like an arugula salad with red wine vinaigrette. Here comes Em and she immediately starts bawling and Arie gets the picture pretty quick and takes off. He actually handles it pretty well, which is not surprising because there is MAD TAIL waiting for him back in Scottsdale. Meanwhile, Em handles this event by gazing meaningfully into a pond of brackish water. CLEANUP ON AISLE POND, DINA.


Let's do some proposin'! Em is wearing some kind of Bollywood getup and Jef is all decked out in his Fisher Price My First Rat Pack Suit. So there's the usual speechifying and she basically tells him he won and she didn't even go out with Arie and Jef said it's God that did it so there's your final proof that there is no God. He pops out the ring and she says yes and the studio audience back in LA claps and there's a montage set to Chicago and then my DVR ran out. That's it.