PS: Parks & Recreation Season 6 starts September 26th. Treat yo self and catch up, or die a discontented soul.
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Could This BE Anymore San Franciscan?
Actually, this is just so West Coast, it’s practically growing a full beard.
My wonderful friend sent this to me from SFO before heading off to NYC for a few weeks. The picture was accompanied by, “Only in SFO.”
But, c’mon, what says “yoga” more than an airport?
Let’s make a list of requirements for attending the Yoga Room in the Terminal 2 Recompose Area at the San Francisco International Airport:
- At least a third of your body must be covered in plaid.
- Warby Parker frames, or GTFO.
- If you bring a friend with dreadlocks, you’re class is 50% off.
- Lululemon, or GTFO.
- Must have at least 5 different types of fresh Farmer’s Market produce in your cloth bag.
- Only accepts people flying to Portland, Seattle, Los Angeles, New York City, Indonesia, South Africa, or Amsterdam.
- All participants are required to try to bring their bike on the plane. Lifetime airport yoga membership if successful.
- No blondes.
- Discounts for anyone who is wearing a shirt with the same pattern as the sign.
If you go to yoga over grabbing a strong drink before flying, we can’t be friends.
Leslie Knope Would Be So Proud.
San Franciscans can be so clever.
They also must be really small.
This tiny little sand park cropped up in the Balboa neighborhood of good ‘ol SF. I’m not sure what it does or how it came to be, but none of that matters because it has a hula-hoop and I will hula-hoop everyone’s face off.
Regardless of whether this little park will hold its ground for much longer, one thing can be for certain: somewhere, Leslie Knope is damn proud. It may not have turned out the way that only Leslie Knope could turn a tiny piece of nothing into something –
but that’s not the point.
Enjoy the little things, and watch Parks & Recreation.
I’m pretty sure those were the only two lessons to be had here.
Observations From My Morning Commute
I take a public transit system to work in the morning, so I’m fortunate enough to drive, ride, and walk every week day – the perfect combination for advanced people watching.
This fine black gentleman is not me.
Let’s go over some of my observations I recollected from this morning:
- Merging sucks. There’s few things more annoying in the world than when you need to change lanes, but as soon as you turn on your blinker, the car just behind you in the lane you’re trying to get in decides to speed up like a muthafucking asshole. Because there is NO KINDNESS AT 7:15AM.
- I’m second in line at the light, but the car in front of me has 50 feet between them and the crosswalk. STOP. READING. YOUR. PHONE. ASSHAT.
- Adele just came on the radio, everything is so much better.
- I need to get past one more light – ONE MORE LIGHT – until I can scooch over into the majestically long right hand turn lane and past these fuckers up. But there’s traffic and I might not make the light. I am really stressed and anxious about this situation.
- Stop signs are the worst in the morning.
- Very tempted to hit pedestrians. Not hard, just enough to tap ’em and make them start running so I can move.
- Walking into the BART station and spot a woman in massive, open-toed hooker heels. She’s also wearing very nice black business pants. Ladies, when you wear hooker heels with business pants, you’re still a hooker.
- Waiting in line for my train doors and a woman gets in the next line that started in front of mine. I soon realize that women with wide hips should never, ever wear tights pants with geometric patterns. Holy shit.
- Hey peeps, stop stopping as soon as you board the train to look both ways for the best available seat. Choose your path. Morpheus commands it.
- People who don’t offer their seats to elderly or pregnant women piss me off, especially if they’re only listening to music or texting. At least read a book. EFFYOUGUYZ.
- People hacking and coughing on trains should die a slow death, if they’re not already doing so.
- San Francisco seriously smells like piss.
Can We Get Some Red & Gold Love Up In Here, San Francisco?
Shit, guys. The panic is starting.
I’m a lifelong San Francisco 49er fan, straight out of the womb, and for 18 years we haven’t been in a Superbowl game.
EIGHTEEN FUCKING YEARS. Our dry spell is of legal age and can vote now.
Granted, there are plenty of Cleveland Browns, Detroit Lions, and Buffalo Bills fans that would tell me to go fuck myself right now, but when your team’s history is filled with the likes of Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, Ken Norton, Dwight Clark, Deion Sanders, Merton Hanks, Brent Jones, Ronnie Lott, Steve Young, Bill Walsh, and five Superbowl titles (5-0 in the Big Game), you don’t want that history to stay in the past. You want it to repeat itself, again and again, with new players and amazing victories.
The past two seasons have been incredible, with this current roster being the best we’ve had in – oh, say, EIGHTEEN YEARS. And all I’m asking is for the great city of San Francisco to show a little bit of pride for these guys.
To my knowledge, this is the only real public display of 49er spirit in SF.
The pink you’re seeing is actually red, so there’s a wonderful red and gold display at City Hall. Thank you, City Hall! I’m literally petting you right now on my computer screen. You’re beautiful.
But then that’s about it. No lamp post banners, no bus signs. Where’s the 49er Faithful? Where are the signs reading, “Who’s got it better than us? Nobody.” I work in the Financial District in downtown San Francisco, and I was hoping the city would switch into 49er mode after the SF Giants kicked some MLB ass and won the World Series this year. There were street banners, bus signs, and Giants flare all over downtown. But everyday I walk out from Bart and see nothing red and gold. It’s as if the city doesn’t even know that it’s a big fucking deal right now.
Sure, it’s easier for SF to show love for the Giants since they’re literally right there in South of Market. AT&T Park is close, but we’re also the city with the San Francisco 49ers. And it’s been 18 years.
EIGHTEEN YEARS.
C’mon, San Francisco. Help this 49er fan live out this amazing experience of being an adult and seeing her Niners in the Superbowl. They might lose (I’M SO SCARED) but I want to relish in the fact that we’re all rooting for them to win (GOD I HOPE SO). If they become the Superbowl Champs, you’re gonna have to act fast and throw up a bunch of signs for when they parade down Market Street.
God help San Francisco if it’s a bandwagon city for its own 49ers.
How would you feel about that, Jim?
Exactly.
‘Burbs And The City: 10 Distinct Differences Between The Burbs & The City
Carrie Bradshaw was specifically a NYC gal and loathed the idea of suburbia. She’s certainly not alone in this way of life – some people love the bustling of people on the street side while others love the bustling of trees on the median in the road. It’s just a simple matter of taste – you either love city living, or the thought of living in a city of millions irritates the shit out of you.
But no one talks much about the people who live in the ‘burbs and work in the city. These people, myself included, are experiencing a bit of both, and I think there are pros and cons to living in either environment. But that being said, when you work with a bunch of people who live in the city and you’re from the ‘burbs, you suddenly starting feeling like you’re not speaking their language.
From my experience of living in the East Bay and working in San Francisco, there are a few instances that have left me feeling curious, confused, and crotchety (alliteration!). And what better way to express myself than with the facial expressions of Parks & Recreation‘s Ben Wyatt? Thus, here are 10 reasons why I’m looking at you city folk mid-conversation like:
1. Street names – I DON’T KNOW THEM. When I politely ask you where you live in the city and you tell me your cross streets, I’m just like –
2. I know SF is split into neighborhoods, but when you say Richmond, I’m thinking murder.
3. I get it – YOU LOVE GOING OUT TO EAT. No, I probably won’t ever get around to eating there, because I’ll be too busy munching on my Sara Lee, self-made, very plain turkey sandwich.
4. I ride BART everyday. No, I don’t need your sympathies because I have a BART buddy – it’s name is Game of Thrones.
5. I can play volleyball (poorly) in my backyard – YOU MAD, BRO?
6. I’m sure you’re going to that bluegrass, underground-now-mainstream concert event thing this weekend in Golden Gate Park, right? Thought so. I’ll be at home, doing my thang.
7. What’s it like to get drunk and be able to call a taxi for a ride home? Pretty sure us ‘burb buddies draw straws for a DD. That 20 minute drive home on the freeway can get pretty nasty.
8. You own a scooter, right? Awesome! No, I definitely can’t drive any kind of scooter around unless I wanted to face certain death on the freeways full of diesel fueled SUVs.
9. If you really want a true summer that’s balls out hot as hell, come on over to my neck of the woods and see how your light cardigan fares as we take turns sticking our faces in the freezer.
10. There are no naked men in the East Bay, therefore there are no laws being written about whether public penises should be pantsed.
BONUS!
11. You might have dozens of movies set in your city, but us Concordians have Tom Hanks. TOM FUCKIN HANKS.
