Dearest acquaintances: I am writing to inform you of our great happiness by consequence of an event of which, perchance, you may have heard. This past Sunday afternoon, with some pomp and great cacophony, our Metropolitan Transit Authority replaced the cars of one modern and convenient “V” subway train with those of its precedents.

It completely rocked. The best part was being able to walk between cars again: wildly-jostling floors, screeching wheels, howling winds, and all. One woman, about my age, was just standing in the doorway and riding between cars with a huge dumb grin on her face. She had the right idea. I didn’t realize it when I was 12, but I sure miss that visceral* experience now that using those doors is impossible/illegal. Back then, if you didn’t stand between cars on the way home from school calmly discussing whether Snake Eyes could beat Storm Shadow in a nunchucks-only fight, you were clearly a word that meant cigarette.

* “Visceral” means “relating to, situated in, or affecting the viscera.” The ‘viscera’ refers to the intestines. YUM. Riding the subways used to be an intestinal experience, and now it is not, at least not for the right reasons, and I am sad.

Classic subway cars! (at the Flickr.)

It’s the fortieth anniversary of the “Earthrise” photograph.  The moon still looks like cheese.

Post-election links having (almost) nothing to do with politics:

• This Fucking Election captures all the catchphrases of these last two brutal years.
• Tim Schafer’s bizarro life presents him with a semi piled high with cement caskets, and he has the good sense to blog it.
• We Bleed Design: Very clever interplay between foreground and background imagery; scroll down for the win.
• Writer’s strike? No problem; Annie Hall with all dialogue stripped out is still a super-hilarious picture.  And while the study of any one Woody Allen credit roll would suffice, The Art of the Title Sequence appreciates a broader style.  Several are better than their films deserve.
• There’s an ultra delicious burger waiting for me at Hodad’s in Ocean Beach, CA. I must possess it…
• Chilling on-the-ground images of the town near Chernobyl, which still has a couple hundred residents. Slogging through page after page of empty-shell communist apartment buildings makes the last page of the gallery all the more poignant, as you see snapshots of the town before the disaster–full of happy children.  It’s like a Jerry Bruckheimer opening sequence in reverse!
• Japan continues to amaze as they deliver Kewpie Mayonnaise, which comes in a plastic bottle (okay) in a plastic bag (WTF?!?)  Frivolous packaging FTL.  And it has MSG.  BTW.  Also, please enjoy hilarious and inventive bento at Wackyfun Food Art Time.

There was one dude up at Fisherman’s Wharf whose whole schtick was jumping out at tourists from behind a bush. Along with the “RAAAARRRRGHHH!!”, obviously foreign groups got a bonus: “Welcome to America! What a way to make a living…”

Of note: the Hawaiian-style cafe in Neu Chinatown, the Hawaiian-style cafe in Old Chinatown, and the 70-year-old automatic minstrel show.

Plus the usual Golden Gate and Alcatraz crap.

View the full set of San Francisco photos on Flickr, at a very non-San-Francisco price.

While on our honeymoon we went to this 24-hour diner called MAC 24-7. Our friend JD passed on a recommendation from two of his trusted friends, also at UH Manoa, that the pancakes here were must-have. …AND RATHER GENEROUS. Nothing could have prepared us. As we ordered, the waiter asked us if we were aware that the pancakes were going to be pretty big. We were hungry, and happily agreed to be served what we figured were “big” pancakes. He went away to get them started.

The plates that arrived some minutes later could have held the largest pancake either of us had ever seen. But instead of that, the plates held THREE of the largest pancakes either of us had ever seen. EACH.

Even though the pancakes were very good, by the time we gave up, each final bite felt a bit like a punch to the face.