I spent Halloween in Europe, again this year. It’s a difficult line to walk, managing my obsessive fixation of having the cleverest/most artistic/most original costume, and wearing it on a continent where frankly, few people care about the holiday. What’s more, the holiday is different here.  In France it became

  The She’s are San Francisco’s favorite all female garage rippers. Mixing reverb-drenched jangly guitars with sun-soaked harmonies reminiscent of 60’s pop and surf bands, along with a plethora of influences from more fuzzed-out contemporary artists, The She’s have crafted a sound replete with emotion and sound: sometimes happy-go-lucky, sometimes

OFF MENU IS SPONSORED BY BENDER’S BECAUSE THEY ARE BADASS. DROP BY AND MAKE SOME BAD DECISIONS WITH SOME GOOD PEOPLE! This originally appeared in my The Weeknighter column in 7×7 on March 27, 2013. “People laughed at us and thought we were crazy when we told them we were going to open

The Do No Harm Coalition, is a group of 300+ doctors, nurses, students, faculty, and staff at UCSF who are committed to ending racism and state-sanctioned violence. They made headlines recently when they came out in support of Colin Kaepernick. Right now they are raising $100k to help create a free

Mr. Barry Jenkins, One day, several years ago, I found myself on Twitter following a discussion about Indy Black film and the title that popped up a couple times and mentioned by the more hip of the Twitter tastemakers, Medicine for Melancholy. I love that title. I was interested and

Never before has there been a single flavor that is so completely associated with a very specific group of people: basic white girls…in Uggs…and yoga pants. Pumpkin Spice seems to so perfectly embody what it apparently means to be a basic white girl. Then again I have no real bearing on the situation because I feel like half of the people who throw the term around would qualify as basic white girls themselves.

“EXCUSE ME!”

I tense up as the tall gray-haired man wearing grandpa glasses yells to grab our attention and then stands a little too close for comfort. I was with 3 other women outside a Starbucks in Reno wearing Hillary Clinton t-shirts as we got ready to knocks on doors and talk to voters. Outside of my Bay Area bubble, I realize I’m assuming random people (well, white men at least) are Trump supporters until they prove otherwise.