One day when I was walking around in the hills behind my house, I happened upon this bizarre street. It was as though someone had taken postmodernism and tried to make it into a block of houses. Each one has its own internally complete theme, involving strange colors and sculptural elements attached to the outside walls (gold eggs, wisps of wrought iron). This led me on subsequent walks to name them: the Corbusier House, the Barn, the Preschool Blocks house, the House of Wicca… and so on.

This one’s easy to miss because it’s dwarfed by one of the many loud discount stores on Mission selling Day-Glo flowers and phone chargers. When you find it, the inside is tiny; there’s just enough room for you, an espresso machine, and a guy or two playing great music every time. And they have egg creams!

Small, 70yr old burial ground with DIY grave markers home to the likes of Smoochy, Schmelly, Saucy Wilbur, and hundreds of others.

Terrible service. OK brunch. Nice venue.

I feel like a little fish, swimming under a twinkley ceiling of silver streamers and shiny things in this most fantastic bar. I am completely mesmerized by the gaudy décor and it is the best place for me to shake my booty to some Latin 45’s on the dance floor. Wish I were there right now.