The corporatization of Pride is a strange thing. On one hand, the money that big corporations like Chipotle, Facebook and Apple pay each year helps fund the day of festivities that so joyously heartens our city. And it’s also really important that these corporations are showing their love for their LGBTQ employees. The visibility of having Fortune 500 companies support their queer workers is integral in the movement toward equity and equality.

In the past seven years, San Francisco has been staggering under the weight of an ugly and brutal struggle: whether to run from its past or hide from its future. You know this. We’ve all had too many friends forced to move, seen too many neighbors evicted and watched helplessly as rents reach “Ground Control to Major Tom” heights

I need your help to keep BrokeAssStuart.com going. In 2024, we wrote over 800 articles and published over 4,000 social media posts serving the San Francisco Bay Area. We’ve covered striking workers, fine artists, corrupt politicians, fantastic drag performers, colorful weirdos, cherished small businesses, and the vital news that the

This originally appeared in my Broke-Ass City column for the SF Examiner  (The short version: You can circumvent all the algorithms for my stuff right here.) Facebook announced earlier this year that it’s completely changing its algorithm — a move that will reduce the amount of actual news provided in

San Francisco is a thieving-ass city. It steals hearts. It takes away breath. It captures people’s imaginations after just a single visit. But it’s also larcenous in more concrete ways. Shattered car windows cover sidewalks all over town, sparkling like ill-begotten street diamonds.

This originally appeared in my Broke-Ass City column in the San Francisco Examiner. A decade ago, I moved to Brooklyn. I was there for a year researching my second book, Broke-Ass Stuart’s Guide to Living Cheaply in New York City, and while doing so was working as a waiter four

In all seriousness, working from home makes you cuckoo. Since you don’t talk to anybody all day, you start talking out loud to yourself or inanimate objects. I find myself singing songs to the fridge about the very food I have inside the fridge, like, “Oooooh yeah baby, baby, I know you got some bacon for meeee!”

I’m pretty vanilla. I mean, not for the mainstream, but by San Francisco standards, I’m not very kinky. I don’t need you to dress up in an Inuit outfit and throw hot coffee on me while calling me “Gargamel.”

This originally appeared in my Broke-Ass City column for the SF Examiner.  I first moved to San Francisco when I was 21 for an internship in the booking department at Bill Graham Presents. It was the summer of 2002, a simply magical time in my life, and the genesis of