The weather has been indecisive since the day I arrived and today is no different. Heavy oversaturated thunderheads lean on the craggy edges of El Mordor: Mexico City. I’m not sure if it’s lightning I see in the corner of my eye, or my espantos arriving uncharacteristically early. Still, no

Nite Owl My head is pounding. I’d gone straight from work, to the gym, to yet another hijacked political meeting and finally a rather awkward, albeit surrealistically humorous event entitled San Francisco Political Squares. It was cute, well constructed and everyone was trying their damndest to channel Paul Lynde (or

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We’ve had a lot of these nights as of late, where warm days unfold into breezy, not-quite cold nights, the familiar summertime fog scattering to the burning plains in the east. My button-down is wet down my back and under my arms with the usual accompanying fragrance as I hustle

Photo by BAS contributor FBFE. Another bar food-cocktail parlour recently opened up in the Castro a few weeks ago to a less than warm reception.  Before its opening, Bandidos Consulting Chef Jamie Lauren mused, “I hate to call it white people Mexican food but it is.  And I think the Castro

It was a late Friday on the eve of the Folsom Street Fair, and I was sitting at the Hole In the Wall sandwiched between the well and two guys aggressively licking each other’s armpits.  My roommate had flaked on me per usual, so I decided to throw in the