What’s with San Francisco’s Taxidermy Obsession?

Some bars to check out if you’re trying to get a head

Cockscomb in SOMA. Photo courtesy of Stan L.

After spending time in SOMA, I often ponder one of life’s greatest mysteries: why do so many bars in San Francisco have the same stuffed heads? The only logical answer is that hipsters love taxidermy. To wit: remember the anthropomorphic mouse craze? Remember the first time you stepped into Paxton Gate in the Mission?

I like macabre décor, and I’m from a small town in Oregon where huntin’, fishin’ and muddin’ are major pastimes. Because I enjoy a good dive bar with real taxidermy, I’ve captured a range of San Francisco’s many mounts. Behold the myriad local dives where you can gawk at large mammal heads.

Read the whole story at The Bold Italic.


What’s with San Francisco’s Taxidermy Obsession?

My Landlady Set Up My OkCupid Profile and Other Interesting Things I Heard Last Night At Spats

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WeWorkers second home, or should be

I was at Spats last night after Yoga to the People and even though my friend Natasha turned 29, none of us spun the wheel. A Borneo Fog Cutter, which according to the original menus is a “delicious blend of rare liqueurs, exotic extracts and magic mutterings” that “worked its wonders on the grimly shroud missionaries,” was consumed, however. On you’re birthday, it’s fun to consume large tropical drinks with dry ice smoke bellowing from a coconut.

I used to walk past Spats when it was closed and see the dusty taxidermy and wish it were open. I’m pretty much a fan of all saloons. Saloons have wood, whiskey, sometimes cowboys, and the aforementioned taxidermy. Spats was around in the 70’s and is rumored to have hosted Robin Williams’ card games and the Grateful Dead’s drinking of Becks. It reopened in October last year and quickly became full of fun diverse people.

We were a small group. Diana, Liz, Liz’s friend Raj, Katie Rose, Natasha and myself. I’m trying to get Diana to write a guest post about why she’s voting for Bernie Sanders so I accused her of just trying to get boys to like her (thank you Gloria Steinem). Liz told a great story about how living in New Mexico is just like Breaking Bad (another guest blog post) involving felons on Facebook. That brings me to Raj.

Raj had two interesting stories to share (reluctantly). I asked him if he was doing online dating and he said no, but then admitted that his 51 year old landlady had set up a profile for him on OkCupid. She hadn’t asked for his permission and took his picture from Facebook. He doesn’t know what the profile says and the responses, if any go to her and not him. She is supposedly filtering them on his behalf but she’s never shown him any. Landlady? Mother? Catfish?

Raj also recently took a redeye to New York to hang out with his brother who was visiting for 24 hours. When he got there his brother was nowhere to be found but there was an arranged by his parents date girl waiting for him. I asked him if his parents had at least paid for the trip and dating activities and he laughed heartily. Nope. I also asked him if he’d gotten laid. Apparently this is frowned upon in arranged dating situations. Nope.

Take a ways: Pretty sweaty girls hang out at Spats because Spats is great. My friends and their friends are amusing as hella. My dating life and my Jewish mother are not as bad as I thought.

Alerts: If you’re on OkCupid messaging a sexy muscly Indian dude named Raj. He could be a 51 year-old lady.

My friend’s mom’s article about Spats

My Landlady Set Up My OkCupid Profile and Other Interesting Things I Heard Last Night At Spats