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For example, there's this poster at a bus shelter at the corner of 25th and Lincoln:

Now, I have pretty much no desire to see this movie, for a number of reasons. And I don't know what it is, but when my calves are throbbing and my lungs feel like they're filled with flames, that dude with the sword respectfully staring me down while the majestic Jesus-Lion lends him moral support gives me the extra push I need. I can practically hear Liam Neeson exhorting me on in a righteous thinly-veiled Christ-like manner.

There are also posters all over town using this image:

for a production of, you guessed it, A Chorus Line that's playing at the Golden Gate Theatre. Why lie, I find these asses deeply inspirational (I Am Not An Enlightened San Franciscan III?). I have a particular favorite, and a particular second favorite. Guess! (Note: This is also a good way to pass the time at Muni stations)

--Well, it's officially fog season out here in The Sunset. That is, it's foggier than usual. I think we get a bad rap from the rest of the city--it's really not all that dank out here generally (we get enough that I've learned to hate that fog horn though). This time of year though, it envelopes everything, seemingly always. We've usually got a pretty good view of the Pacific, which slopes gently down just over a mile away...I haven't seen it in about a week. This is Ginnie's least favorite time of the year, but I love it.

Anyway, since I had extra time on my hands this morning, I extended my normal run and headed up Lincoln, along the park, over and in to and through the Botanical Gardens and then up Strawberry Hill. Strawberry Hill usually has a great view: not as good as Twin Peaks or Buena Vista Park, or even Grand View Park, really, but pretty nice all the same. Today, though: nada. Usually you can see the Golden Gate Bridge and Marin Headlands but I couldn't see past the edge of the Park or even much past the waterfall up top there today. (Thus ends the wikipedia travelogue portion of this post)

Great run regardless. I celebrated by popping over to Happy Donut and getting a chocolate old-fashioned. Good idea, jackass.

--There's this guy on my street, about six or seven doors down from our building. Hearty-looking guy, late 40s/early 50s, beard, presumably Russian (I'm guessing based on his features and our neighborhood demographics but also because he reminds me of Topol. Tradition!). He's out on the sidewalk in front of his building smoking every morning when i run up the hill past him, every single morning. What's strange is I start running at different times every day but he's always there. I also see him around the neighborhood all the time, usually drinking coffee at one of the small tables in front of my corner store, Lucca's. He's always by himself. I figure he has to see me, and recognize me, but the dude never looks me in the eye, or even at me (he's got a bit of a thousand yard stare), and it's become a thing for me. It intrigues me and kinda creeps me out and vaguely frustrates me. I don't want to be best buds with the guy or anything, I just wanna give him a neighborly hello, but his omnipresence and stoic demeanor have morphed this guy into my own personal Man of Mystery. I will keep you apprised, assuming he doesn't pull a shank on me one of these days.

Go Brew Crew, Happy Birthday America (for all that was and still is good, and despite all that's bad and we need to work on). I hope all's well were you all are. I'm off to have a few and grill some wursts.