Mission Mission

I for one am most likely doomed for taking this photo.  Save yourself while you can!

Sure, I can get my karaoke kicks elsewhere. And KJ Paul will find a new home for his KJ-ing. But there was something truly special about Wednesday nights at El Rio with KJ Paul. He brought every type of person into one room mid-week to belt their hearts out. There were no barriers, no stage – just a space and a microphone and everyone crowded around you.

I didn’t do karaoke before I found KJ Paul. I thought it was stupid. I thought it was scary. Then one night in 2011 I found myself in El Rio with a bunch of new friends, and I found a new confidence along with a home where we would all come together every week and not give a shit. There were also always the fixtures, who I think of as KJ Paul All-Stars. These people are pictured below and are just a few of the characters that made this night so special, whether it was with their impressive chops, their erratic dance moves, or just their natural charisma. El Rio on Wednesdays was a community of friends and strangers who all found their happy place singing along with KJ Paul, and it will be missed by many.

It’s kind of like when God gave me the finger.

[via Gray]

I mean, if you want.

Just remember, there’s more to San Francisco than just Pop’s Bar and St. Francis Fountain and Dolores Park.

(Just another friendly reminder, like that post Those times when you realize you still love this place.)

And I’m seeing the new Oh Sees tonight!

In our lengthy, pictorial profile from back when they first opened (more than 3 years ago, wow!) we reported that Cervecería de MateVeza, the little corner brewery at 18th and Church, had a big fridge full of all kinds of interesting to-go beers. 

Not no more.

Instead — we’re happy to report — they’ll can any of their house drafts, on the spot, just for you. One customer, one can. 

It’s high-quality beer, and 32 ounces of it, so it’s pricier than a can of Foster’s. But Foster’s tastes like shit.

(Also, the 32-ounce thing comes in handy when you’re sitting up on the hill and it tips over and spills — you may lose several ounces of beer, but you’ve still got like 27 ounces of beer.)

I’m sitting on the hill in the park just now when a guy comes barreling down the walkway behind me yelling about how mad he is and how nobody better turn around and look at him or else he’ll get violent. 

A couple of high schoolers get in his face and call his bluff and they both end up socking him. (And then they grab their shit and disperse quickly.)

The guy continues down the hill toward the intersection of 18th and Church, and he somehow ends up with a picket sign. (It was not Frank Chu.)

He’s letting out these shrieks of pain or dread, and once in the intersection, he hurls the picket sign at an oncoming car, and then continues on to the sidewalk where he shrieks again, throws a female pedestrian to the ground, and then runs off up Church Street.

Update: The picket sign was one of these…

Trenches and rubble — it’s like a warzone.

Should be done any day now.

Meanwhile:

It’s like 90 degrees out here, where is everybody?

[via Colin Winnette]

and here is the menu: 
(Thanks, Jess!)