I have the unfortunate distinction of having known Jason King for many, many years.  I knew him when he was a long haired metal head who wore nothing but Pantera and Cannibal Corpse t-shirts.  I was around for his brief and, dare I say, mediocre foray into motorcycle maintenance.  Hell,

Since today’s feature is a haiku that Monica penned about the delicious yo-yo’s we always get at Bender’s, I figured I’d dig up my old zine and transcribe what I wrote about the bar before it got fire bombed.  Here it is: Bender’s: 800 South Van Ness @ 19th St. Relatively

I’ve been walking by this spot for a few weeks now, waiting to see what it’ll finally look like when it opens.  When they initially started working on it, I asked the kids sitting outside, “Hey, what’s this place  gonna be?”.      One of them replied while smoking a

When you’ve been in the city long enough, one begins to live in routines, sometimes only frequenting the same neighbourhoods, food joints and bars on a day-to-day basis.  Sometimes you need to change things up or entertain someone whose visiting.  It goes without saying that, with few exceptions, places like

I’m sitting here in Paul’s flat in Greenpoint, Brooklyn and I’m cripplingly exhausted.  I took a red eye last night from San Francisco and I almost never sleep on planes.  Last night was no exception.  I spent part of the flight watching Quantum of Solace and the other part observing

Among the Castro bars, the Midnight Sun earns marks for consistency.  Atmospherically, it can best be described as a giant television.  There is never any natural daylight inside, as that there aren’t any windows, and it boasts no less than five television sets with either a constant rotation of gay

For those that made it to the recent Fuck the Recession Party or the release party for my SF book, you’ll remember the inimitable Richie Cunning.  He blows me away every time I see him play, so I’ve kinda taken up stalking him.  It’s nothing too crazy, I’m not like driving by his