Sad hour under the Golden Gate Bridge

image

When traveling to exotic locales (like Orange County), it’s always amusing to see what passes for adequate representation of your home. Thus it was with cautious enthusiasm that we ambled in to the Alcatraz Brewing Company to sample the fare.

Sadly, our misgivings turned out to be correct, as the menu featured the same basic sandwiches, salads, and sides that can be found at any surburban eatery, although I must admit that the sweet potato fries were quite on point (especially with the accompanying melted marshmallow cinnamon dip). But I’m not going to sit here and sneer like an entitled local; they did the best they could for how much they care.

What I can bitch about, however, is their very un-SF happy hour policy. We arrived just after 6 in the midst of a 4-7 happy hour but were told by the hostess that the happy hour section was full but that we could sit in the regular section. The only catch was that this was the “sad hour” area, as all of our drinks would be regular price.

“So lemme get this straight,” I said, “those folks in the table FIVE FEET away from us get their beers for $3 while ours cost $6?”  The hostess animatedly replied, “Of course, that’s how happy hour works everywhere! That’s how it works at El Torito!”

El Torito. That’s how it works at El Torito. Well then!

It’s good to be back.

Extreme fare evasion

One-time Mission resident/college buddy/comedian/stuntman/clown Jeff Seal went on some kind of mysterious hobo adventure and jumped on a bunch of trains around the Eastern coast. Here’s a video he put together featuring the soothing sounds of Dan Deacon:

Maybe it’s just the COPS style shaky cam, but train hopping looks scary as fuck. Mission Mission does not endorse this awesome behavior and is not responsible for resulting loss of limb.

‘Balls of orange-painted steel’

Holy shit. I guess this is kinda old, but back in February these crazy MFs scaled the Golden Gate Bridge, hung out for a while, took EPIC pictures, and left without getting caught (or sleeping with the fishes). Here’s a snip of their riveting tale:

I had a sure grip on the cable but could not pull my self up. My mind raced. I was about to lose my holy grail because I had let myself get out of shape. My partner in crime dropped from the rail in exhaustion and warned of approaching vehicles. Adrenaline kicked in and I willed myself onto the orange cable.  “Just go!” she yelled.

Read on at No Promise of Safety.