By Kelly O’Grady Amongst his platform for his 2020 reelection is President Trump’s plan to have all the Irish of American ancestry or otherwise rounded up and sent back to “Their tiny sad island, where I’m told they have golf courses that are of course not as nice as my

Arctic Monkeys’ frontman Alex Turner ditched his rockstar hairdo and delivered SF with a heavy dose of their newest albums’ mid-tempo tunes.

Step into a world of adventure with the San Francisco Beer Passport. There’s no better way to explore San Francisco than to literally drink it in. This passport is amazing! Each one contains 27 coupons to buy one beer, get a second beer FREE at 27 of the finest locally

I am an artist, a writer mostly, and the writing work I do is sporadic, piecemeal, and varies widely in payscale from client to client. In the beginning, I did a lot of writing unpaid, you know, for “exposure” and while it did pad my resume, it did not feed me

Guest post by Chad McDingleberry: Chief Visionary of mySight San Francisco, you’re far too beautiful for the depressing and uncomfortable blight of homelessness. Tents blocking the path of my scooter? Rude. Human feces on the street? Blech. Death and addiction at our doorsteps? Gross. People keep throwing ideas and solutions around that

By Rachel Fogletto My friends are always asking me how I’m able to exercise and drink most days of the week. Motivation to work out is a struggle, even more so when you’re broke, hungover, depressed or even exhausted. I used to make a lot of justifications for not working

By Max Silver Here are some general guidelines for folks living in the city of SF who wish to get employed in the dog-walking industry. The author of this article walked dogs for a living in San Francisco, as well as in Chicago, for (ruff)ly two and a half years.

we placed a shotgun beer drinking guy named “Brett” onto the Supreme Court to serve as an impartial judiciary advisor for The United States of America until presumably, around the year 2050.

I miss being a barista. There are times when I’m standing in line at my local coffee shop and I feel that dull pang of jealousy while I watch the busy bees behind the espresso bar slam pitchers and gallons of milk around with purpose and gusto, trading jokes and stiletto-sharp snark that only they can hear over the whoosh and screech of the steam wands