DIY
Volunteer Night: Recycle-A-Bicycle
It’s Wednesday and you need something to do. You could go drink dollar beers at Turtle Bay and possibly get an STD… OR you could do something good like help out with Recycle-A-Bicycle. Recycle-A-Bicycle is a community based bike shop that benefits NYC youth. On average RAB salvages 1,200 bikes
Broke-Ass Kitchen: White Chocolate Peppermint Cookie Bark
Ahh the holidays. A special time of year for having internal melt-downs about how you’ll afford all of the presents you have to buy and wonder why the hell your parents had to give you so many damn siblings. Thankfully the struggling economy of recent years has made appreciating homemade
FREE Stenciling and Drinks for Stencil 201 Book Launch Tonight!
If you engaged in any of these Black Friday alternatives, then you know that there are better ways to check off names on your holiday gift-giving list than fighting over the last sweater with a 20% markdown. Coming up with gifts for others, or a nice treat for yourself, can
DIY: Matchbook Crafts
Out of all the bars, pubs, dives, lounges, saloons and watering holes in San Francisco, my long-time favorite has always been the Zeitgeist. I just dig the vibe of the place from the bloody marys, to the sarcastic tshirts, right down to the nudie girl matches. I actually carry a
Broke-Ass Kitchen,Thanksgiving Edition
Break out the sweatpants and the boxed wine, it’s Thanksgiving time, ya’ll! (OK, I also feel it’s appropriate to do this on any given evening during winter.) As much as I wish this holiday meant laying around with my family and shoving my West Virginian grandma’s bacon fat-laden food down
DIY: Marquee Letters
SFGate just had a second article featuring photos of local theatres from years past, mostly closed and abandoned – and that’s not the first feature I’ve seen covering the subject recently. There’s certainly something to be said for old school Hollywood glamour, and if you’ve ever wanted to put your
Exercise Tips for the Unathletic Broke-Ass
I haven’t broken into a run since 2002. That was sophomore year of high school, when I used to get in trouble in P.E. class for leisurely bicep-curling five pound weights and gossiping with hoodrat girls who called me “Tasty Vanilla,” when I should have been pumping iron. But, alas,