There is nothing more American than baseball: groups of friends and fans getting ready early for an afternoon or evening game, sharing greasy backyard burgers and barbeque, arguing about hitting statistics and pitcher ERA, moaning about this ball club or that ball club that hasn’t been to the World Series

It started as all things do in my life: an impulse. Having genetic predispositions to heavy alcohol consumption, a paradigm of “no risk, no reward,” and good old bad friends who know I’ll do almost anything if it comes to a dare (we won’t get into psycho-analyzing that today), the

As 2024 winds down, we’re reflecting on another incredible year of sharing the stories, art, culture, and nightlife that make the Bay Area so unique. BrokeAssStuart.com wouldn’t be what it is without you—our community of readers, supporters, and believers in independent media. This year, instead of asking you to join Patreon

There’s little to be prideful of when considering the warped shape of things in the United States. I mean goddamn…just look around: Covid is on the rise and Monkeypox was recently declared a national emergency. Pelosi is flying around the world potentially starting WW3. And FED Chairman Jerome Powell, that

I may still be hungover from the year plus lockdown in San Francisco, but I love taking the MUNI downtown. I’m a bit romantic when it comes to walking down my block, unconcerned if I’m going to catch it or miss it. Granted, I’m not doing it every day, and

My girlfriend didn’t want me to write this article about the plague of thieves and criminals stealing catalytic converters from unsuspecting drivers around the Bay Area, which have boomed from an average of 108 per month in 2018 to 2,347 December 2020, according to the National Insurance Crime Bureau. Always

I was walking down Divisadero, back to work at Josey Baker where I shuttle bread to and fro. It’s a good job for someone who wants to keep their head down and to themselves. You see, I’ve been pretty overwhelmed with the existential weight of all the God-awful crap around

When I was young, my father and I drove north to Lake Mendocino from the Bay Area two or three times a year. My sister would tag along sometimes with piles of homework on her lap while I studied some nerdy Final Fantasy videogame guide. Being kids, when Dad told

We were somewhere outside Manteca, California when I realized I didn’t have to worry anymore. My girlfriend and I had stopped for gas in one of those strip malls along the highway where every fast-food chain you could think of was ready to take your order. Hundreds of people in