Several years ago when I was what could only charitably be termed as a “baby” queer, I had gone to meet some friends for a drink at the carpeted mineshaft that was the former incarnation of the Midnight Sun on Pride Friday. The Castro was already pulsating with hundreds of
January 28, 2012 — The night protesters clashed with police in downtown Oakland, the college kids on my train home from San Francisco were counting on their fingers how many of their friends had been arrested. At the time it went over my head. Then Monday morning I turned up
Every week we feature a different person from the community shedding a little light on their life of brokeitude. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something about the human spirit — probably not.
I was recently dragged to a ritzy bar by a couple of my friends. I obliged, but only because it was someone’s birthday, and you CAN’T say no on birthdays. Anyway, even with pre-partying, I ended up spending waaaay too much on liquor because apparently SOME bars don’t sell vodka
A few weeks ago, SF Weekly sponsored this awesome happy hour event at The Irish Bank where for only $10, you could pound all the Widmer Hefeweizen and Drifter you and your buddies could handle for two hours. Understandably, not all of you were able to make it out for this.
Friends, I’m not gonna lie. I’m not really into club-y, lounge-y type places. I much prefer the dive bars that are so dark and filthy that none of the other patrons can see — literally — that I haven’t showered in days and wouldn’t give two shits if they could.
Did you know that the SF Weekly, Sunset Promotions, and a bunch of other sponsors I’m too lazy to type out are doing a huge show in North Beach on Sunday? Me neither. Seems like someone needs to be doing a lot more promoting in the next four days. Yadadamean? Regardless, All