As much as it would have been really terrible to be an 18th century political prisoner – what with the iron shackles and festering musket wounds and your dungeon’s unforgiving stone floors – that bread and water deal couldn’t have been too bad. Maybe it’s just me, but a thick

Berlin-style ping-pong is blowing up. Not only has it been the subject of a great essay by the Bold Italic, it’s been explained, over and over again, by Youtube videos  and holds a devout group of paddling proponents throughout the city. If you didn’t read the essay or just watch

I’ve got some awesome news! We received a grant from the Civic Joy Fund to put out a literary magazine celebrating SF and acting to counter the stupid “Doom Loop” narrative. It’s a gift to the people of San Francisco. And after months of working on this project it’s now available

Farley’s, a staple of the Potrero morning scene, makes me realize that for better or worse I feel most comfortable around middle-aged people. They’re not the only ones in the cafe. But compared to San Francisco’s hip and swinging spots for a good cuppa, the numbers of comfy slacks in

One of the things that’s great about Bike Party is that you can ride as a seven-year old fresh off training wheels, a seasoned cyclist, or as a mid-twenties layabout spilling Jameson all over your messenger bag while flailing at a Dolores Park party stop. It’s pretty inclusive, and while

At the end of that bustling Irving Street strip sits Sakura, a tiny little Japanese discount store run by a husband-wife duo. San Francisco has made a snob of me, I realized while initially walking past the store. I’m so over ramen (now I just make a whole can of

Paul Madonna could be called San Francisco’s sketchiest man, but it would only apply in the utmost literal of senses. Known for his pen and ink depictions of SF streetscapes and architectural details, the artist was Mad Magazine’s first-ever art intern before snagging a weekly comic strip in the Chronicle.

Sometimes it just takes one off-kilter encounter to make you realize the need for a little break from city living. A week ago, I had my very own — major players included a truck blocking traffic, my bike, and an unexpected pig carcass being hauled across the street. It’s those

Science fairs used to be the shit, or at least a pretty momentous occasion in our pre-alcohol, pre-groping, pre-Ke$ha worlds. Remember? There’d always be the kid with the volcano, always. There’d be some future neuroscientist doing crazy shit on her actual pet. And then there were the rest of us,