If somehow the streets of San Francisco could be in the throes of euphoric riot over its baseball team the night before an imminent Republican takeover of Congress, I would be proud. Behold Mission and 20th at approximately 8:45pm on Monday night:
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What a great American city.
It used to be that I was witness to a new kind of sport just about each time I was out at Ocean Beach. By “new sport” I think I mean things in their garage people found to connect to kites. You know: long boards, short boards, card board.
Anyway I still hit up the city beaches on a regular basis, but a long time’s passed since I last discovered a new way that Californians fuck themselves up at the Ocean. This stirred up wistfulness in my soul that wouldn’t go away.
Until last week:
Yes, that is a chariot and, yes, that horse did freak out and threaten to rear the shit out of me, Spartacus and anyone else in its way when an off-leash dog crossed its path a few seconds after these pictures were taken.
So everything is back to normal here and I love it.
Not only that, but last weekend the surf was crazy enough to kill you if the cavalry didn’t. Enough, at least, for them to call to session the 2010 Mavericks competition .
I didn’t go to watch those surfers at Half Moon Bay, but EB and I checked out the scene at Baker Beach, where the waves were not as big as I remember, I guess.
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My favorite part of today’s SF Chronicle:
Is it funny that this is the illustration that Trojan includes with instructions for heterosexual sex? Look at those little balls!
It is my goal to post every day this week.
Critical Mass, how I love you. Look at all those bikes.
The upside down bear can only mean one thing. *sigh* Summer is over.
This is really funny, right?
This is where I spent the weekend. Thank god for Mile Rock Beach.
And thank god for this sandwich.
If you live in San Francisco and agree that a good sandwich is notoriously hard to find, then I strongly recommend making a trip to the nondescript corner store at 17th and South Van Ness for the purposes of ordering “The Triple Decker,” pictured here. Since the beginning of the year, this place has been under the watch of a kindly man who has recently retired from a storied career in high profile catering. Vegas. The movies. That kind of thing. Needless to say, given some time to kill, a man like this will do the job right and for the right reasons. In addition to this beast, which, amazingly costs a mere six dollars, one can order “The Kitchen Sink,” which costs over five hundred dollars and requires some advance notice. For an additional fee that elevates the cost to well over one thousand, this sandwich will include a kitchen sink. Not really sure if that is a joke, but I kind of think it isn’t.
One pothole to rule them all.
A few notes on the somewhat amazing 2008 Christmas tree burn at Ocean Beach.
From what I understand this was supposed to be a big event, but the rain ended up keeping people away. It wasn’t coming down too hard in the Mission, so I put on my ridiculous rain gear and biked down to the dark diner on Sloat Boulevard where everyone was meeting and everything was a lot wetter. It ended up being about forty-five people, maybe twenty trees. After sharing a joint with an old hippie, a different old hippie began thumping bongos. This seemed to initiate a single file march to the beach.
This dunes on this section of Ocean Beach are decidedly cliff-like and, flanked on the opposite side by the high tide, we were left with very little actual beach on which to start a bonfire. As a result, the combined forces of the surf and the rain set up a death battle of elements. At first there seemed to be no way to stop fire–the pile of evergreen went up in approximately half a second. Every once in a while a wave caught everyone unawares, but this didn’t seem like a group to be stopped by some soggy feet. Neither was fire.
At one point, two firemen peeked at the scene from the street above and seemed unimpressed. I guess they knew what we would find out soon. Fire packs an impressive punch, but there is not much in this world that can withstand the fury of pissed-off, rainy water.
As fire was dying down, a wave much bigger than anything that came before closed in on us. This time there was no escape. And this time the result was more than just soaked feet; I could feel the sensation of what would be coldness on my knees if my knees had not been numb from the rain. Or the fire. Or something. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that the wave carried the still-burning wood into the Pacific. For real: the dying bonfire fire floated into the dark ocean and it was one of the more outstanding things I’ve seen.
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The storm was a lot messier than it seemed. It didn’t even rain that hard, but a Saturday drive to the Dumpling King with Jill revealed a city absolutely covered in downed branches and trees. It was all somewhat unexplainable. We took the long route through the park, where the devastation was particularly impressive. I couldn’t believe the size of the debris and the roads were barely drivable. A bad situation on JFK Drive, for example, has only become worse (if they are never going to pave that road, they could at least replace the bulbs on street lights). However, the quality of the city’s chive and pork dumplings was quite unaffected.
The view from Jill’s telephone:
