Archive for February 2009
An allegedly hopped up woman late this afternoon allegedly drove her car right the fuck off the road, up onto the god damn sidewalk, and right the fuck into the Wells Fargo on the corner of 22nd and Mission. Miraculously, not one son of a bitch was hurt.
Good gravy! Look at the carnage from this angle:
Even hours after the alleged incident onlookers were transfixed:
And finally some dudes got to cleaning things up:
Update: Crowder says, “I walked by this when the car was still halfway through the building and the whole corner was jam packed with gawkers. Best part was a hipster walking by saying ‘ugh, bored people will just look at ANYTHING, won’t they?’. Um, dude, a fucking car drove through a bank.” Link.
Meet the newest addition to the La Lengua business community: Caffeinated Comics. From their homepage:
Caffeinated Comics is a cosmically cool café where coffee connoisseurs can consort and connect with comic book collectors in a cozy internet café with free WI-FI.
I’m a sucker for alliteration, so I’ll be there. Ever since Al’s moved over to Market, the comics scene in the Mission has been hurting, so hopefully this place will give it a kick in the pants.
Looks like there’s some kind of discount available tomorrow. (Thanks to Matthew T. Davis for the tip.)
But then Mission Street Food set me straight. I love brown rice.
I had this revelation a few weeks ago, when their sesame avocado brown rice was topped with eel-banana tempura. And that was great. Successful experiment.
But tonight the sesame avocado brown rice was topped with your choice of pork belly or broccoli rabe — two of the most tried-and-true things in the world. I had both. Both bowled me over, and then some.
The other items were great too. (From now on, no more hot sauce on my chicken wings — Tabasco granita is the way to go.)
Also, a shout out to how small a world it is here in San Francisco. By chance I was seated at a table with Devin from West Gate of Babylon and Heidi from Engineer’s Daughter. We talked reggae and Aliens.
Maybe because you write uninspired shit on fire hydrants on Valencia Street?
The bottle contains an inch of clear liquid. The thing is out of reach of the average pedestrian. At the end of the string is a keyring, with a full complement of keys on it. What the fuck?