Open the door, Get on the floor

Everybody park the dinosaur...

Ahh... you see it all here in San Francisco.  Tonight's blog will be a short one, more a photo montage, but I wanted to share these crazy-assed pictures with you and ask "Umm.....WTF?"

So, today's adventure was a little excursion into the Mission District to meet my mate Karen for brunch followed by a wander round the shops.   I was rudely awoken earlier than I would have liked (it being a  Sunday and all) by a supremely irritatingly chirpy announcer guy very loudly bellowing into his microphone (dude!! its hooked up to an amplifier - you don't have to shout!) to WELCOME EVERYBODY TO THE GIANTS RUN RIGHT HERE OUTSIDE AT&T PARK!!  ARE YOU ALL PUMPED AND EXCITED TO BE HERE AT 7AM ON A SUNDAY MORNING??

Actually, no.  No, i'm not.  But now that I'm awake, thank you for nothing, I might as well stand outside on my patio, in my slippers and dressing gown, with a nice cup of tea and watch just how many thousands and thousands of crazy people had turned up for this thing.  Apparently, about 14,000 of them!!  5,000 alone doing the 5K race which didn't start til 8am!!  You mean, you woke me up at 7am to babble insane nonsense and play Journey more times in one hour than is either legal or advisable and then have the audacity to fart about for a whole freaking hour??  You wouldn't get that in New York, that's for certain.   You'd make the first welcome announcement at 7am and then, if folk hadn't got their arses over the start line by 7.05am, you'd either be instantly disqualified or have to suffer the humiliatingly pitiful glances of your faster, more nimble, more attractive, more successful, more intelligent, more everything race-mates (not that NYC is competitive mind... and, steady on, Chemistry geeks, i'm not talking about equal amounts of left and right-handed enantiomers of a chiral molecule here...)

But... I digress.  After such a rude awakening, I toyed with the idea of going to the gym and doing an aerobics class of some description but eschewed that idea in favor of catching up on my blog.  (hmm...I wonder if missing the gym to write my blog about my weight loss challenge is linked in some way??).  So I spent a pleasant couple of hours recapping the highlights of last night's Cat Bingo Frenzy before i was time to head out to the Mission District.  

So the Mission District is one of the oldest, most historic neighborhoods in the city and has recently been experiencing a renaissance with lots more great bars, restaurants and funky shops opening up, much to the annoyance of some of the local residents.  If you are interested in the history of the Mission District, why it got its name and the provenance of all the murals on the walls of buildings that its famous for, then click here to read more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mission_District,_San_Francisco

Anyway, so I knew the area I was in was old, but prehistoric??  Come on, now.  Really??   As I was trying to find somewhere to park (hellaciously impossible, btw), I noticed a gap had just opened up and quickly zipped into it, but as i was pulling in, noticed the kerb was an odd color.  Getting out to inspect it more closely (they are absolute gits for tickets and tow-aways in this town), here's what I was faced with:

Umm...anyone, anyone?  My Chevy Equinox is about a year old and
 not all that fast, but it aint no stegosaurus...

The Dinosaur Transportation Authority, I presume? (or it could
 equally be a subtly coded PSA - "Dont Take Acid")

Karen and I really did spend about 10 minutes debating whether or not it was valid to park in a designated Dinosaur Parking spot - in the end we said, sod it and left my non-carnivorous car parked there.  I figured - if I do get towed for parking in a Bronto bay, then that's one ticket I wouldn't mind having to go to court to contest.  Just imagine the blog fodder for that one.  

I was also emboldened by this picture I'd see a friend post on Facebook about the Glaswegian response to traffic infractions, so I figured I had my strategy already sorted out, should I be unlucky enough to get clamped or towed.  It may, ultimately, be a pyrrhic victory, but I'm sure as hell it would feel good at the time....

Gotta love the Glaswegians

So, after more excitement than I should probably try to deal with sober, it was time to head for brunch - we ended up (after intense indecisiveness on my part) at this great little place called Radish, just round the corner from Dino Central.  The food was great but it was really quite loud inside (although I'm more used to the noise than Karen is, given I lived in Manhattan for 7 years), which is a sure sign of advancing years.....  After brunch we happily tooled around a few shops (I bought a fantastic Christmas present for Loopy) - until I was stopped dead in my tracks.  In utter shock and bewilderment.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Since when did my Potato Heads start doing freelance work advertising ice-cream AND become rampant political activists?   Firstly, where are my free ice-cream samples and secondly, what on earth is Proposition 37 and why do my neon-colored potato people feel so strongly about it?

http://www.carighttoknow.org/

So THIS is what they get up to when I'm not at home.
They are, indeed, Political Hot Potatoes....

Well, after doing at least 120 seconds of internet research, I discovered that apparently its all about GMO labeling and that our food should carry the appropriate information as to whether it contains any genetically modified components and that "we have the right to know more about our food".  Which is all terribly admirable and enthusiastically Californian but come now.  MY Mr Potato Heads as the poster children for the non-GMO movement?  They may look adorably cute and friendly but there ain't nuthin' natural about those puppies....