Lucy Schiller - Destitute Dispatcher
This time last week, I went to Frankenart Mart for the first time and (just as importantly) my first free hot dog in our fair city. Sausages abound in San Francisco, if you know where to look, but the good old-fashioned flaccid, terracotta-hued wieners? A little harder to come across.
I woke up this morning hungering for the sun and a hike, leaped out of bed, and went on my way. Now that I’m remembering and writing this, I very well may have left the cat in my room and the window wide open. I also didn’t pack too well
Chances are, if you’ve made it to Ocean Beach, you’ve made it to the peculiarly hip two-block stretch of Judah Street, home to this writer’s tattoo parlor, Outerlands’ gloriously bread-heavy meals, Trouble Coffee’s fog-defying americanos, a raw food spot, and, of course, a 7-Eleven (no beach should be without one).
Bread has long been a Broke-Ass’s friend. Yeast, flour, a lil sugar and oil and water, and you’ve got a loaf to last you around seven meals, depending on your appetite, perseverance, and depth of broke-assitude. Tempting, I know. Luckily for those of us who love a leavened loaf but
With a poster like the one above – the purple blinged out mouth, that is – this event could be a Bay Area Octogenarian Garden Club meeting and still be kick-ass. I mean, I’d love that event, and I don’t think I’d be the only one. Nonetheless. B.L.ING, or the
The Richmond gets a bad rap. Actually, it gets no rap, really. Despite the fact that the RD is home to tasties (Shanghai Dumpling King? Eh?), the biggest festivals (Hardly Strictly? Eh?), Robin Williams (kind of – he lives in Seacliff), extra strong coffee to combat all the fog, and
Life realizations are coming fast and furious these days. Turns out your mid-twenties is a period not only of astoundingly poor productivity, but also of consecutive, exponentially foolish decisions about the nebulous future. Landscape architecture and goat tending in New Zealand vie for the plan next month. What’ll actually happen,