It's a new venture by [notable local restaurateur], the owner of [famous upscale bar], [spin-off of famous upscale bar], and [spin-off of the spin-off] -- so you know it's going to be good. The bar will feature inventive cocktails with a local twist, including hand-made [ingredient] from [local boutique food business]. There will also be a limited food menu of "small bites", including such delights as [unexpected meat] sliders and Sriracha [something].
The building's previous tenant is gone but not forgotten -- there are plenty of cheeky references to [charming relic business] in the decor and cocktail names. They have a drink called The [the street it's on], and another one named after [famous person in local lore]. They also reportedly serve a [neighborhood name], which is like a Manhattan, but with [unnecessary twist] instead of [what it should be]. Intriguing.
The Archive, and their Siamese twin The Long Now Foundation, are putatively about long-term thinking, but there is little in the modern world more short-sighted than the Ponzi scheme of climate disaster that is the world of cryptocurrency.
Internet Archive, please knock that shit off. It's really not a good look on you.
They started accepting donations in these magic beans a while back, perhaps before the true toxicity of cryptocurrencies was widely understood. Back when it just seemed like a neat trick, like running wifi off of a potato battery.
Then someone donated $2M in bitcoin to them, and they've been fucking that potato ever since. Because at $2M, you call it Mister Potato, I guess. But here's the thing: how likely do you think it is that someone would say, "Well I was gonna give you a million bucks, but since you don't take Buttcorn, I guess I won't."
Right. They would convert their Earth-killing kilobux to "legacy" "fiat" currency and donate anyway -- unless the actual goal was to enlist you as a prop in a con being run against someone else entirely. HMMMMMM.
But keep fucking that potato. If you build a good enough tail section out of palm fronds, perhaps the sky gods with return with more cargo!
He did not want me to visit his glitter factory. The jovial Mr. Shetty told me over the phone that people have no idea of the scientific knowledge required to produce glitter, that Glitterex's glitter-making technology is some of the most advanced in the world, that people don't believe how complicated it is, that he would not allow me to see glitter being made, that he would not allow me to hear glitter being made, that I could not even be in the same wing of the building as the room in which glitter was being made under any circumstance, that even Glitterex's clients are not permitted to see their glitter being made, that he would not reveal the identities of Glitterex's clients, and that, fine, I was welcome to come down to Glitterex headquarters to learn more about what I could not learn about in person. [...]
That is, until one entered the bottling warehouse itself, which looked like an industrial manufacturing plant colonized by pixies. The concrete floor was finely coated with what appeared to be crushed moonbeams. The forklift winked with shiny crimson flecks. The metal coils of the conveyor belt shone with a rainbow crust. And yet, the space gave the impression of being tidy and well-swept, not unlike a Dust Bowl kitchen if the prairie topsoil had been Technicolor.