Living the dream

Last weekend a few blocks from my house, right in front of the sad remnants of the worlds longest construction project for the City’s smallest park, I once again learned what it is like to experience child-like wonder and excitement. Just to be clear it wasn’t my child-like wonder. I was once again confronted with the Seussian reality that you slip into whenever you take more than a few steps in any direction in the Mission these days. 

I had stumbled onto Hot Bike


Described as…. well it doesn’t really matter, because the key to this, ahem, enterprise, is that it involves a word salad of au courant terms. The Kickstarter (natch) campaign doesn’t even capture the spirit of whimsy involved in this endeavor. The on-site signage includes that Candyland as art directed by Lynda Barry sign, but informed passersbys as to exactly what kind of vegan (again, natch) tacos would be available from this bike powered taco truck. I didn’t eat the food, because, as i said, vegan, but I can report that the salsa’s were an unholy combinations of fruits, and chiles that I suppose adhered to the spirit of salsa if not the letter. 

(In ess eff, anything can be made into salsa, and anything can be called a taco, but not everything can be called a burrito.)

The woman who’s ‘dream’ this is, was extremely nice and friendly, and everyone eating seemed to be enjoying the food. But what I really wanted to know was why, exactly, in the shadow of Gracia Madres, spitting distance from Tacolicious, and I guess, the other 4 million places to get a taco in the Mission, she decided to do ask the community to fund another way to deliver tacos to said community. I wanted to ask her all of this. But I couldn’t because she was busy. The line was like 5 deep with patrons scattered around shoving her ‘tacos’ into their mouths, who in between bites, were imploring me- open mouthed with amazement- to eat one.  

I guess this is part of a rear guard America First! effort by white people to take their jobs back?  Seriously though, I really do appreciate the fact people keep waking up and deciding to put kitchens all over the city. Personally I’m waiting for the etoufee cart which at the current exponential growth rate of food carts will be sometime early next week. Because the time is coming very soon, that I won’t be able eat at any of the restaurants located on The Stroll.

(I can’t stress to you how nice this woman was, and I bear her no animus, but I love how in the video she uses the word ‘community’ like a euphemistic sledgehammer.)

Kew Gardens West


This is the photo that accompanies the article. An article about a man stabbed to death. I just don’t even.* 

This article is heart breaking. The level of detail that people can provide the reporter about the man’s condition as he bled out on the sidewalk is another indictment on the alienation that is peculiar to cities. And whether or not the actual event that prompted this phenomenon to be named really happened, it is clear that the bystander effect is real. 

The article however, also raises more questions than it even attempts to answer. For instance, isn’t it weird that people wouldn’t call the police, but they have no problem telling a reporter, that they didn’t call the police??? 

“He was laying there and people were walking right by him,” he said. He added that he also did not call the police because ”I see people passed out all the time.” “I feel bad. He must have been there a while.”


From what witnesses said, it was a slow, agonizing death.

“He was yelling ‘Help,’ ‘Help,’ ‘I can’t breathe’….he ran out of air,” said a neighbor who heard him scream early Sunday morning.  He also said, “please, call the police.”

Oh Mission Local. I love you, but you’re killing me*. They were able to get on the scene, and record first hand accounts, but they never asked why neighbors could know that the man was “robbed then stabbed”, but they couldn’t place a call to the cops? 

Maybe the witnesses’ legal status was uncertain? Maybe they come from a country where the police were worse than the criminals? Who knows? Not ML’s readers, because they couldn’t be arsed to ask.

But, there is something they really want their readers to know. Something so important that it gets its own paragraph. 

Neighbors in the area said it is common to see people doing drugs on this block

I’ve seen junkies, seen people fixing, people in various stages of drug induced euphoria, depression, anxiety, and I’ve never confused it for being beaten and stabbed. But then again I’m extremely urbane. 
(I mean, come on with this shit. That is the most non sequitorial non sequitor that ever sequitored. This is the Mission. And like most urban areas, the only thing that separates drug users is their respective access to indoor spaces.) 

Anyway. So this piece of mis en scene gets dropped in the readers lap…… And then we’re back down the rabbit hole because the last line was clearly written first. Despite its feeling of finality, the way it crescendos nicely after the semicolon, it actually concludes that maybe our reporter needs to get his ass back out there and ask a follow-up question or two. 

On Monday afternoon residents in the area were upset about the incident; upset that no one had called for the police or an ambulance.

**Notice that you still can’t even find a parking spot on that street? 

**I razz them, a lot, but they’re doing the lord’s work out there. I’m happy that there is a news source that does more than just applaud each new step on the road to the ethnic cleansing of my neighborhood, but still… they gotta do better than this.