It’s no secret that I’ve been critical of the Golden State. But most of my critiques are based on my own lived experience and observations. My gripe with California isn’t based upon the premise that it’s a so-called “Communist shithole,” but because it’s one of the most deeply unequal and

The boats churning in and out of the San Francisco Bay look all the more enormous from a patio in the shrouded Presidio Park and, with this vista in full view, I remember a sheet of paper on my desk at home. It’s an excerpt from British philosopher Mark Fisher

A Big Change to This Year’s Voter Guide We’ve been doing voter guides for a really long time. I’m pretty sure we put our first one out in like 2010 or something. And I know that thousands of you rely on our voter guides to help you make decision. But

Sitting at the English pub the Pig & Whistle on Geary Boulevard, beanie-clad and iron-jawed Chad Baron described the inner workings of conservationist economics to a table of college students. He did it because no one in the group really knew what he meant when he said “degrowth,” a semi-complicated

The average San Franciscan, throttled by both an impossible cost of living and a tremendous lack of resources, needs a glimmer of hope in the fog. Look no further than the Mission District’s newest bookstore Medicine for Nightmares, a must-visit for longtime residents and visitors to the city alike. In

Last week, I left you with skepticism.  After years of resistance, I picked up Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing. I was admittedly prepared for a predictable read.  I was ready to meet another advocate for mindfulness in these pages, repackaging the message of Eckhart Tolle and Alan Watts for

How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Oakland-based writer Jenny Odell had taunted me from bookstore shelves for years.  I was drawn to the title because I was drawn to the premise: To do nothing.  It was attractive, but almost cruel in its simplicity.  Nothing? How could I

For those who don’t participate, SantaCon is an annual spectacle, mildly disorienting and mostly foul. If you’ve ever seen a cluster of self-saboteurs in Santa costumes collectively heaving over a gutter or stumbling about in a daze, you’ve likely been privy to the awe-inspiring merriment of SantaCon.  As a writer