Small Consolation

Sign in front of 21st Amendment yesterday: MINER MISTRESSES DRINK FREE.

Probably not worth the price of the flight from Santiago, I'm thinking.

You can't spell "Mutiny" without MUNI

I got off at Powell this morning to get some coffee at Blue Bottle. This is because I'm a yuppie, not a hipster.

Returning to the station, I was entertained by buskers performing on, no kidding, alpenhorns.

Then, because I'm an idiot, instead of walking, I tried to ride MUNI one stop, from Powell to Montgomery. It went something like this:

• lurch forward one traincar length.
• lurch to a sudden stop.
• sit there for five minutes.
• lather, rinse, repeat. (OK, not the lather and rinse part.)

This went on until we all died of old age. Then aliens assumed our forms, and also died of old age. Then brain-sucking zombies shambled down the tunnel, broke into the train, ate their corpses, crapped in the aisles, and moved on. All the zombie poops gained sentience, climbed back into the empty clothing, brushed ourselves off, shrugged, and grabbed handrails just in time to lurch into Montgomery station.

None of this would've been so bad, except it was really crowded, and the guy next to me was wearing way too much cologne.

As we escaped the train, the soothing recorded voice thanked us for our patience. Which puzzled me -- what were they expecting us to do, riot? Attempt to hijack the L-Taraval to Cuba? Make all the ship's officers walk the plank? Annex the Sudetenland?

Yes, I know: "So shut up and ride your bike, fucknuts." Tomorrow.

San Francisco, I Love You

Last night, I went to City Arts & Lectures at the Herbst Theatre to hear Maira Kalman and Daniel Handler (Lemony Snicket) talk about their latest book.

I learned that Maira Kalman's living room is full of ladders. Because she loves them.

The girl sitting next to me was wearing lamb ears, and occasionally amusing herself by looking backwards through binoculars at her own hands.

At Q&A time, she asked Daniel Handler whether he thought there was an age at which is was no longer appropriate to go trick-or-treating.

He responded, "This is not from personal experience. I would say that if someone asks you if you're the parent of one of the other children, and you aren't, then you're too old. However, I can't overstate the enjoyment of telling everyone else to go out and have fun, while you stay at home alone with a bowl of candy."

Lautrec in the Lower Haight

Duboce Triangle, 8:30 a.m.

Two young men sprawled on a stone entrance stairway: cruddy black jeans, wallet chains, black waffle stompers. One's in a gray hoodie, the other in a wifebeater and a neon-green furry pimp hat.

They're engaged in a conversation so animated that all four of their hands are deployed, reminding me more than a little of this guy.

Now where the hell was La Goulue?

B&D Wedding

2nd near Harrison. A burly, bearded guy, who resembles Kevin Smith, talking into a cell phone.

"... and after the marriage vows, I want her to SPIT in my FACE."

(to be followed, presumably, by a cake fight.)

Market St. 8 am

Seen on the sidewalk at Market and 2nd.

My guess is that three used-car salesman tried to look in the trunk of J. Frank Parnell's Chevy Malibu.