#slims san francisco

[greendayauthority]

Slim's | San Francisco, CA | 17 February 1994

[mikeywayarchive]

Slim’s, San Francisco // May 11th 2004 // strawberryxlove on livejournal

[themcrarchive]

5/11/2004: MCR plays at Slims in San Francisco, CA🩸 #Revenge20

📸 via strawberryxlove on LiveJournal

[octuscle]

Exchange Student: Brooklyn (NY)

Chuck was a simple country boy. He had graduated top of his class in agricultural mechanics—of course, he had. Giving your best was just the way things were. That’s what his parents had expected of him. And now, that’s what he expected of himself. He was giving his best. And now he had to give his best at the New York City College of Technology. Because he had a scholarship there.

His hometown had 684 people. More people lived on the block where his dorm was. Shit. He wasn’t built for the big city. Not at all.

His dorm room looked like the room of a guy who had never had to clean up after himself. Back home, his mom did the laundry. His mom cleaned. His mom picked up after him. And when she didn’t, his sister did. It wasn’t about patriarchy or anything (not that Chuck even knew that word)—that’s just how things were. Men didn’t clean, just like men took cold showers without body wash.

Chuck picked up a tank top from the floor and sniffed it. He’d worn it to the gym yesterday. Probably not for the first time. Good enough for today’s lectures.

By Friday, even his gym buddies had started complaining about how bad his clothes smelled. That meant there was no way around it—he had to do laundry. Somewhere between his dorm and Washington Hall Park, where he sometimes played ball with some guys, there was a laundromat on Myrtle Avenue that looked decent enough. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone.

So, he threw on the least smelly basketball jersey he could find, grabbed his gym bag stuffed with dirty laundry, and headed out. He stopped in front of the laundromat, took a deep breath. He was nervous. Rightfully so. The place was packed. Dozens of washers and dryers spinning. He had no idea what to do. And apparently, it showed.

“First time?” A guy asked him. Slim, buzz cut, tattoos, colorful outfit. Chuck knew guys like him. Art school types from across the street. Normally, Chuck would at best spit at their feet. But now? He needed help. And this guy seemed willing to give it.

“Dude, you’re a lifesaver, bro!” Chuck said, giving the guy a fist bump. The guy returned it, amused, and told him his machine would be done soon—Chuck could take it after.

Martin, as he introduced himself, walked Chuck through everything—how to separate his mess of gray-beige towels, bedsheets, socks, jockstraps, tank tops, tees, shorts, and jeans, where to get detergent, how to use the dryer afterward, and so on. Chuck’s head was spinning.

“Relax, big guy, it’s all on the wall,” Martin said, pointing to a board covered in instructions.

Damn. Maybe it would’ve been easier to just drive home and have his mom do it.

Once his machine was running, he thanked Martin, who was neatly folding his own laundry fresh from the dryer. Chuck had to get out of here. He needed to sweat, to prove he was a bro—not some laundry-doing wimp. According to Martin, he had 90 minutes.

When he got back, sweaty from shooting hoops, his washer was already beeping like crazy. He stuffed everything into a big dryer and let out a sigh of relief when the drum started spinning. Drying only took 25 minutes—just enough time to grab something quick to eat at the Chinese spot next door.

Back in his dorm, Chuck realized laundry wasn’t over yet. He had to make his bed, shove his clothes into his locker… Damn, getting the duvet cover on was torture. Definitely women’s work. Even the pillowcase was fighting back. Maybe because Martin’s tie-dye shirt was stuck inside. Not that Chuck noticed.

He didn’t care how the bed looked. He was wiped. He crashed onto the fresh sheets and was out almost instantly. And Martin’s shirt did its thing.

That night, Chuck dreamed in wild colors. If you could paint his dreams, they’d look like some psychedelic trip. He saw places he’d never been—Paris, Berlin, San Francisco—everything spinning in a massive vortex.

He woke up drenched in sweat. Half-asleep, he reached for his sketchbook. He had to capture this. He had to paint it tomorrow—big, bold, powerful. He stumbled into the bathroom, chugged a glass of water, and caught his reflection in the mirror.

Shit. He looked awful. He needed more sleep.

If you wanted to piss him off, you called him “Chuck.” There was nothing Charles hated more than hillbillies butchering the beautiful name Charles. He was Charles—pronounced the French way, please. Yeah, maybe that was a bit ridiculous for a guy born and raised in Chicago, but ever since his semester abroad in Paris, he stuck with it.

According to his professors, Charles was an insanely talented young man. He had proved his artistic skill on his own body—most of his tattoos were his own work. A bunch of his classmates were walking around with his ink, too. That alone had made him a bit of a legend at Pratt Institute. But what really stirred things up was his latest series of large-scale, vibrant paintings—whirlpools of color with subtle critiques of toxic masculinity, as he put it.

Not that Charles had much of that in him. Unless you saw him playing basketball in the little park around the corner. There, he took no prisoners.

[skeletoncrevvs]

slims, san francisco, ca 09.07.2004 | chocolatecupcakes @ flickr

[xhxhxhx]

Eli got his ballot the other day.

I'm still trying to understand it.

I.

The ballot card itself consists of four pages, each 8.5 by 19 inches, each double-sided. It carries the mark of the Secretary of State, tint and watermark. Cal. Elec. Code § 13002.

The United States guarantees to every one of its States a republican form of government. That means that here the people rule, more or less directly. California leans to the "more" side.

There are fourteen offices on the ballot, for the United States, the State of California, the City and County of San Francisco, for the school and college board, and the transit district.

Then there are twenty-five ballot propositions, ten for the State, fourteen for the City and County, one for the school board, and none, I suppose, for the transit district.

The ballot card arrived with something that calls itself a Voter Information Pamphlet and Sample Ballot. The Pamphlet is actually a volume of 294 pages, printed and bound on stock that gives it the texture and dimensions of a slim phone book.

San Francisco is a small town that likes to think it's a big one.

It certainly gave itself a big book.

II.

Looking over the materials, I was troubled by how little I knew and understood about what Eli was asked to do.

To take on part of the government of the State, as the ballot asks you to, is a heavy thing. It takes intelligence and judgment to discriminate between the better and the worse.

It takes some amount of understanding. It takes more when you're asked not only about one candidate, but many, and not only about candidates, but about the laws themselves.

It takes knowledge of the offices and their powers. In a constitutional government, officers have the powers the laws give them, and assemblies the powers the constitution gives them.

And I don't know the constitution or the laws.

III.

The Constitution of the United States is a compact little instrument. It amounts to about 7,500 words across seven articles and twenty-seven amendments.

The compactness is by design. It is short because short instruments, and possibly only them, M‘Culloch v. Maryland, 17 U.S. (4 Wheat.) 316, 407 (1819), may be read and understood.

California's constitution is a beast of a different order.

California doesn't make it easy to read its constitution. But the State Legislature does periodically put out a volume with the federal and state constitutions, along with other instruments.

In its most recent edition, updated to November 8, 2022, the book is 467 pages. The federal constitution, with amendments, takes up 22 of those pages. The state constitution takes up 210.

I still haven't more than skimmed it.

IV.

I'm trying to read up on the constitution and the laws of California. The State doesn't make it easy.

California is sparing in its reproductions of its laws. California permits you to read individual articles whole, but not parts or titles, at least not titles with more than one chapter.

To read the whole of the California Penal Code, for example, as presented by the State, you would need to open something a little short of 680 separate addresses. The four parts and 34,400 sections of California's penal code demand nothing less.

In Canada, where criminal law and procedure are exclusively federal matters by virtue of Constitution Act, 1867, 30 Vict. c. 3, § 91(27), the Crown provides the entirety of the federal Criminal Code, RSC 1985 c C-46, at a single address or a single document.

In California, your 680 separate addresses are not law. They are not even evidence of the law. If you take your copy of the California Penal Code, as presented, before a state magistrate, they may decline to take it.

Because California does not guarantee that what it presents is the law. It does not authenticate those 680 separate addresses, at least. California does not authenticate codes, titles, or chapters it presents to you. It does authenticate, but only something much smaller. Sections.

California will authenticate an individual section of its written law for you. It will give you a PDF with a digital signature. A single, letter page. A single section and a vast, blank space. And a digital signature, courtesy of Adobe.

That's what California gives you. But to get the whole thing? To get the whole 34,400 sections of the California Penal Code, the 9,500 sections of the Civil Code, or the 61,000 sections of the Revenue and Taxation Code? Well.

You'll have to put those together yourself.

V.

That's what I'm doing. I'm trying to put them together myself.

[chronivore]

Poison Ivy (The Cramps) @ Slim’s, San Francisco, CA (1991-10-02) by André Barcinski

[the-jewel-catalogue]

Queen Camilla's past jewels at the Royal Variety Performance

2006: She wore earrings featuring large amethysts in slim diamond clusters, as well as a delicate necklace with amethyst and diamond drops. The necklace has been in Camilla’s jewelry box since the early years of her marriage, and it’s thought to be an antique piece dating to the nineteenth century. A final touch of sparkle was added with a gorgeous diamond bracelet, worn on her left wrist.

2008: This diamond demi-parure, with its pear-shaped stones, has been in Camilla’s collection since at least 2005. That November, she debuted the diamond earrings and necklace at a dinner in San Francisco. Since then, she’s worn the jewels for a whole variety of evening occasions.

2010: Camilla wore green with her diamond and emerald demi-parure, thought to have been a gift from the Saudi royal family, to watch performances by Adele, Kylie Minogue, the Royal Ballet, and the cast of Les Miserables.

2013: This time around, Camilla wore sapphires and diamonds with the blue evening gown. The spotlight piece was a modern diamond floral pendant with an enormous sapphire centerpiece, worn suspended from a diamond necklace. Camilla also wore coordinating sapphire and diamond earrings.

2016: Along with the sparkling embellishments on the gown itself, Camilla added even more glitz by wearing serious diamonds: the necklace and matching earrings from her pear-shaped diamond demi-parure.

~ The Court Jeweller

[justdavina]

Justdavina says.....End Gender- Specific Clothing!!!!!

I hope you enjoy this blog dedicated to liberating all genders (especially men) so that they can wear what they choose. Dresses, skirts, high heels, and all other clothing considered gender-specific should all be personal choices free from peer pressure. I am especially fond of androgynous looks.

Gorgeous Crossdresser Penelope “Penny” Rose from San Francisco, California shares her favorite Outfits - Style to wear. Some words by Penelope: “Hi, I’m Penelope (but you can call me Penny) and I’m here to chat about my five favorite outfits. I find it incredibly hard to only pick five, there’s just too many looks and styles that I love to present myself in. There’s also some outfits that I really love that are a little more out there and that you can find on my various socials. With all that said, let’s have a look at the ones I have chosen.

“Let’s kick things off simply with this adorable black dress. Given its shortness I’d count it as an LBD but the sheer size of the skirt makes it more of a statement than a regular, more figure-hugging LBD.

The skirt is the main appeal of this outfit for me though; it’s very flattering because it hides any extra pounds you may carry on your waist under its abundant poof, it is short enough to show off your slim legs perfectly which creates a great contrast and its shape is just inherently femme while maintaining a level of girly playfulness. Pairing the dress with shiny black nylons and black pumps completes an elegant showstopper of a look.”

“I love how cute this outfit makes me feel. The pencil dress hugs me in all the right places (without being too tight) to show off my curves and the belt further accentuates my waist, making me feel all the more femme. But apart from the flattering shape I also like the striking blue/red color contrast between the dress and the belt/heel combo. I like how this is a bit of retro look without feeling old-fashioned.”

[greendayauthority]

Slim's, San Francisco, 5 July 1994

📷: Gil Warguez

[historia-vitae-magistras]

New England Alfred always pulls at my heartstrings, but consider Detroit-flavoured Alfred. A city born in his brother's foreign tongue, its archives are as full of the 18th century as anything on the Atlantic, but never in English. He looks upon Frank Lloyd Wright and Monet and doesn't flinch at the odd gunshot in the background. The American dream turns towards the all-American waking nightmare with the soundtrack of Delta Blues, Detroit Rock City, and the Real Slim Shady. He's dislocated a shoulder smashing on the riot shields, refusing to give another inch to the ruling class. He walks down a street that was once considered the crown jewel in America's Paris and later used to train teenage soldiers how to hunt in urban combat and shivers. He never does get as much credit for the winters here as Matt does for his.

The summer a grenade rolled under his cot in Vietnam, the rest of the country and much of the world swooned with the summer of love. That summer, San Francisco laid languorous with lust, but he went home to Detroit. Because Detroit burned. It's always burning. The Black Day In July never ended. They don't bother putting out the fires anymore. Urban sprawl drains the city like open veins, blue and red lights flashing, and that eternal American question: Who are you? It can't be answered the way it used to. "An optimist." He'd say, scoured clean by fire hoses set on strikers. But now it's harder to answer. Now, democracy's arsenal lay open on the morgue table. And a city, a country and he are vivisected by one scalpel stroke, and one bone saw blade cracks open one chest to answer. What went wrong in Detroit? What's happening to American democracy? Who are you, Alfred? Who are you?

Detroit's only real Van Gogh stares at him from under a sun hat as intently as the locals do that Bruins jersey he forgot to take off in the airport bathroom. The river that parts him from his brother whispers under the silence of the city desolate and depopulated: O, American Atlas, are your shoulders still as broad as the Spirit of the Detroit?

[themcrarchive]

9/6/2004: MCR plays at Slims in San Francisco, CA🩸 #Revenge20

[hiseverywish]

thought s on this picture?

hi, i'm insane. i have so many, you have no idea. this hit me like crack in the damn 80s. i had to take a minute because i was like oh my god. he's just like me. but much worse, this is just horribly attractive to me on a really visceral level. stuff out of my dreams, haze included. you never really know how much you like assad's armand until a bts pic comes out and all of a sudden you're spinning narratives: armand in paris, way before it all goes wrong, standing with louis in silence and the perpetual paris-typical non-solitude and offering him a cig he'll get the cue to light without his hands before one of them strike up a conversation. it's sticky, catches in louis' and armand's sore spots they've not learned to manoeuvre yet, and while it doesn't go much of anywhere they won't let it, this crop of giant unsaid not-quite stuck things in cracks between cobblestone and secluded park benches is still just theirs to tend to for a while. they really were lovers, for a while. you wouldn't have guessed it'd go to shit this far out.

armand in the 70s during his usual nighttime havoc-wreaking upon the people of san francisco, daniel not remembering him and being compelled to him anyway by no measure of actual armand mind-whammying because he's just pathetic enough on his own to find the hottest person outside a bar and ask them for a light for a cig he doesn't have, are you kidding, and he figures it's just fine; he and alice are on the offbeat anyway, not everything needs some kind of deeper meaning, some guys are just guys to have one with - he's running himself ragged trying to make sense of something that simply doesn't need to be justified. so far, at least. he's got that going for him, thinks it gets him above everything just enough to accept when armand holds one out for him with that silly little smile and makes daniel ask him what's so funny, makes it easy like it always is until it isn't. by the time they chainsmoke through more than half the pack armand has the reservation, however slim, to slide his hands into his pockets and be content with watching, waiting it out and thumbing the flip lid of the carton and letting unlit cigarettes burn a hole into his coat. he'll give daniel all but one to keep later and send him off with the feeling that he did what he had to to score and apparently did right pushing his luck, these will last him the rest of the week if he's smart about it. armand knows he won't be, takes the rest of the night back anyway, and keeps that one menthol. a reminder, a punishment, a promise, wrapped in seven millimetres of tobacco

[nintendometro]

Slim Jim 'San Francisco Rush 2049' Nintendo 64

[lboogie1906]

Mayor Willie Lewis Brown Jr. (March 20, 1934) is a politician of the Democratic Party. He served over 30 years in the California State Assembly, spending 15 years as its speaker. He became mayor of San Francisco and was the first African American to hold that office. The San Francisco Chronicle called him “one of San Francisco’s most notable mayors”, adding that he had “celebrity beyond the city’s boundaries.”

He graduated from San Francisco State University and earned a JD from the Hastings College of Law. He spent several years in private practice before being elected to the California Assembly. He became the Democrats’ whip and became the Speaker. He became one of the country’s most powerful state legislators. His long tenure and powerful position were used as a focal point of the California ballot proposition to limit the terms of state legislators. He maintained control of the Assembly despite a slim GOP majority by gaining the support of several Republicans.

His tenure as mayor was marked by a significant increase in real estate development, public works, city beautification, and other large-scale city projects. He presided over the “dot-com” era at a time when San Francisco’s economy was rapidly expanding. His administration included more Asian Americans, women, Latinos, LGTBQs, and African Americans than the administrations of his predecessors. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[chronivore]

Poison Ivy (The Cramps) @ Slim’s, San Francisco, CA (1991-10-02)