Visual Rapists, Thieves, and Prada

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So I’m riding the 6, heading outbound, up Haight Street when i hear this woman having a conversation. She’s young, well-dressed and wearing a pair of dark dark sunglasses. And at first she’s just talking to herself, quietly, saying things like, “I know who you are, I know who you are.” She’s repeating it over and over, rocking from side to side while doing so.

I notice peeps are starting to look around, trying to figure out who she’s talking to, maybe it’s them, maybe it’s herself, it’s tough to say because of those dark glasses. It’s then that the bus makes a stop at Divisadero and a few passengers get on. This guy in a blue button up and navy pants sits in the open seat next to the woman. I see everybody kind of look around at each other, knowing this guy just stepped on a land mine.

The bus driver closes the door and with one big jerk the bus chugs up the hill.

“I know who you are, I know who you are. ” The woman starts rocking again, but this time she turns the guy in the blue shirt and says, “Quit looking at me.” The guy looks puzzled. “What,” he says. “Quit looking at me, you think you know me? I know who you are, I know who you are,” she says.

Then the woman shifts in her seat and starts screaming at the top of her lungs, “Visual Rapist! Visual Rapist! Stop looking at me Visual Rapists!”

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Dear John

As with a number of interpersonal issues, writing a letter (with the optional step of posting it on the internet) can be a productive outlet to air one’s grievances. So …

Dearest Singing Guy on the 49 (Bus 7020),

You’re an asshat. But unlike a long line of asshats before you, you at least seem to know it.

I got on around 8 p.m. at Van Ness/Otis, that janky excuse for a block with Power Exchange on it. I only rode until 20th Street, but you actually managed to sing the whole time. But I guess god explicitly forbade you from singing something good, or even bad in a fun way. Whatever it was sounded like something my nephew would find on Barney. While you seem to be at or around the same developmental level as him (my nephew, not Barney. Well, actually…) you still looked closer to 30 than to 3. Unacceptable.

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Muni Mani-Pedi (Say It Three Times!)

mani-pediOur very own Suzanne was trolling Flickr getting our Muni photo pool together and found this other captivating Flickr Group Pool: Muni Mani-Pedi. It is, very much so, what it sounds like — photos of people snip-snapping away, and probably subsequently depositing their clippings for the rest of us to relish.

If you’ve captured photos or (even barfier) videos of this strange but much-too-frequent phenomenon, send them to us and the Flickr group.

Only in San Francisco

Until the store in Pier 39 of the same name (Only in San Francisco) starts selling Eau de Urine parfum and employs a yelling, angry schizophrenic mascot, I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit on their choice moniker.

Favorite thing overheard on the 49 last night:

“I’m just doing this until I get into in clown school in January.”

If you’re wondering, “this” is living in a work-here-and-get-free-room-and-board hotels off Van Ness. (I thought those were whorehouses?)

Anyway,  many in SF (and in many major city) seem to be in a state of flux. I’m only doing this until I get into grad school. I’m working as a barista because I got laid off.  I had a high-stress job, now I’m working on my writing and taking it easy. But I wonder how many other people around the world hear “clown school” in relation to a career on their ride home.

Maybe that Only in San Francisco store can start selling clown attire for the budding painted-person-entertainment industry.

-Tara

A Muni Diaries First: A Song for the 38-Geary

San Francisco musician Shane Papatolicas shares a song about a ride on Muni, specifically along the famed 38-Geary line.

Sometimes on the 38

We haven’t had the good fortune to see him perform yet, but here’s an excerpt of a review of Papatolicas at San Fran Voice:

Shane simplifies his feelings: “Sometimes I read the paper and I get depressed. Sometimes I stand and stare at the ground”. Either way, whether waxing poetic or putting it plainly, Shane’s lyrics grasp the truth of what he’s trying to say.

If you have Muni-related audio, video, photographs, or art you’d like to share with the world, please let us know by emailing Muni diaries.

(F)otos

The F-Market/Wharves line is actually really fun during the day. There is still your requisite group of tourists frantically wondering whether they missed the stop for Alcatraz or Pier 39, but it’s much less hurried or crowded around 11 a.m.

That’s not to say it doesn’t come with its share of odd visuals.

First up, we have the back hair that waved at me throughout the entire (thankfully short) journey from Pier 39 to the Ferry Building. I found it pretty remarkable how contained, yet not, this not-so-fashionable statement was. That reminds me, I don’t think I cleaned the lint trap out after my last dryer load (extreme close-up after the jump) …

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