Exploring San Francisco through the lens of city blocks, Blocker is a regular series by Charles Hodgkins. Look for it on SFist every other Wednesday, around the lunching hour.

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Blocker, No. 33: 24th St. in Noe Valley

Our visit to 24th St. between Noe and Castro invites comparisons between this block and other particularly precious, retail-heavy blocks we’ve chronicled. We’re thinking about the 3400 block of Sacramento in Presidio Heights; we’re also thinking about the 1800 block of Union in Cow Hollow. The inevitable similarities between the three stretches are impossible to ignore, but where we found virtually nothing purposely funny on Sacramento and very little to laugh with on Union, there’s a certain humor here on 24th St. that’s a welcome change from the suffocating self-awareness that often weighs down the atmosphere of most boutique-rich areas.

24th St.’s sidewalks would make a fine host for the Stroller Pushing Slalom, should San Francisco ever win that elusive Olympic bid. Where 24th meets Noe, we look on as a mother struggles to navigate her double-wide stroller through a tricky obstacle course of pedestrians, sidewalk tables encroaching from Pomodoro, and a rather inconveniently placed hydrant. The glacial pace of her trundling is almost excruciating to watch, and when she finally breaks through, we almost want to give her a standing ovation.

Up the block, the humble stoop at 4020 catches our attention. A printed sheet of copier paper on the window of its front door instructs sidewalk lingerers like us, Please no smoking in our doorway. The smoke comes into the building and bums us out. Thank you. We’re impressed with the down-to-earth tone of this advance reprimand, and we don’t even smoke. Equally worth noting is the mounted set of five mailboxes just to the left of the door, with red lettering that reads from right to left: 1, 2, 3, 4, followed by the possible remnants of BITCH. Alright.

Continuing up the sidewalk, we make a mental note to avoid Bliss Bar on Mondays and Saturdays, at the very least. Why? Monday is “industry night,” and we instantly imagine surly blue-collar men and women swilling infused vodkas and listening to KMFDM before coming to terms with the fact that “industry night” at Bliss involves neither industrial workers nor industrial music. As for Saturdays and its siren call of “creamy beats for the masses,” well, hmm.

The juxtaposition of signage at certain points on the block is striking. Heading into Cotton Basics’ doorway, customers step over vintage tilework announcing bygone tenant Seymour’s, while the backlit, blue-lettering-on-white-background sign over Elisa’s Health Spa looks utilitarian next to Simply Chic’s gentle red awning. It makes us wonder what a Noe Valley old-timer would think about the boutique-ification of the area.

Turns out we don’t have to wonder long, as just a short way up 24th St.’s sidewalk—past avowed non-boutique Noe Valley Auto Works Inc., as well as a ramshackle bicycle-drawn carriage parked outside popular jeweler Qoio—we’re drawn to the display windows of Twin Peaks Properties at 4072. Given the jingoistic message behind all the faded political bric-a-brac on proud display, it’s abundantly clear that the business’ longtime proprietor, Harry J. Aleo, gets a kick out of poking his finger into the chests of left-leaning locals.

In addition to Republican Party souvenirs and Reagan portraits aplenty, signs that read English Spoken Here! and It Will Always Be Army Street get the point across with all the subtlety of the handwritten-on-cardboard screed that greets anyone stopping for a quick glance at all the red-white-and-blue hullabaloo. It reads: Welcome to Looney Valley, the heart of Kook City. The home of the cell phone lap top left wing liberals. This is an island of traditional conservative values in a sea of latte sipping loonies. It’s a switch from the window displays we see at upmarket clothiers Rabat and Riki on the same block, and with more shock value than what a person gets by merely window-shopping for pants and shoes.

Another memorable layover on the block comes across the street at Chocolate Covered. It’s rare when Blocker takes its readers off the sidewalk, but Jack Epstein’s shop calls for an exception. The affable Epstein and his young staff emblazon photos of San Francisco street signs on small tins—imagine Blocker’s lead sign photo, only on a tiny box of chocolates. Epstein’s prolific output is evinced with one look at the walls of his long, narrow shop. They’re covered with the loony things.

Back outside in our element, chewing endlessly on a couple caramels Epstein directed us toward two minutes before, a final look around the heart of Noe/Looney Valley reveals an impatient dog leashed to a parking meter outside Radio Shack (which along with Supercuts and Wells Fargo lends an Anywhere U.S.A.-style air we weren’t expecting here), a pair of wise guys having a look and a laugh over at Twin Peaks Properties, several parents sitting with strollers in the waiting area at the unfortunately named Hot Headz Salon, more dogs on leash, more pushed strollers. A bunch of kooks, basically. Crazy nuts.

(Photos by the author.)