We're used to people trashing the neighborhood on the internet.
We're a little less used to people making up Haight Ashbury drinking games. Gird your loins, folks.
We stumbled on this post on New Zealand's Stuff.co.nz, a yahoo-like site for Kiwis. James Robinson, a former New Zealander who recently moved to San Francisco, runs a blog on the site called Voyages in America, in which he chronicles his adjustment to all things USA.
Last week, it turns out, he visited our humble street to see if it was as awesome as he remembered from his previous visits to the city. Turns out, eh, not so much:
It holds nothing but the rotting, unattractive carcass of the memory of the very counterculture that draws people in. There's about as much culture in the Haight as there is caffeine in the rinse water of a previously emptied pot of coffee.
It's Venice Beach, without the beach.
We were ready to write the post off as just more ill-informed kvetching from folks don't get to experience the awesome community here, but then we found the drinking game he proposed at the end:
* ...encounter with a smoke-shop employee who moves with the certainty and conviction of a human koala bear.
* ...brooding, pretentious photographer taking a photo of something pointless.
* ...older rocker wearing a porkpie hat and a tatty band T-shirt, looking as hough he is currently/is about to/has been drinking.
* ...configuration of tourists wearing confused looks, as if to say, "Is this it? Is this all there is?"
* ...brazen pot smoker.
* ...tie-dyed or Hendrix-adorned T-shirt.
* ...homeless guy with a small dog.
Take a sip
Every time... you find yourself a little mortified that people are still gathered at the gravesite of the 1960s to commodify the essence of a cultural corpse.
Okay, we'll admit it. This does seem like it would make for a pretty memorable (unmemorable?) visit to the 'hood.
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