THE WEEKNIGHTER "It's all fun and games and whippings until the end when everyone is really drunk. Then it's just a bunch of wasted people rubbing their penises on things. That's when I go inside and lock my door." I was telling this to the bartender and a couple people sitting next to me. We were talking about the Folsom Street Fair.Read more »
THE WEEKNIGHTER I've never been hunting and I've only shot a gun on one occasion. OK, it was multiple guns on the same occasion in a shooting range in San Diego, but still I've only shot at things once in my life. I guess I did a good job of killing the piece of paper I was shooting at since my friend Josh told me I had good aim for a beginner. It was pretty easy considering the target just hung there and took the abuse.Read more »
THE WEEKNIGHTER "Come on Stuart. Titties and fried chicken. How can you, of all people, say no?"
They were cajoling me via Twitter. There's probably some hip slang for that, twijoling maybe, but I don't know what it is. Regardless, Mik, Ed, Dottie, and Cait were really giving it to me. And of course I caved. Willpower isn't one of my powers. Plus, Mik was visiting from New York and I'd been meaning to go for so long anyway.Read more »
THE WEEKNIGHTER Sometimes it happens. PR companies take me out, feed me, and get me boozed up. All with the hope that I will write about the place that's feeding/boozing me. Sometimes I write about the place, sometimes I don't. I make no promises other than I promise to consume the food and booze that's put in front of me. I imagine I've had worse lifetimes, but I wouldn't know.Read more »
THE WEEKNIGHTER How is it already eight years ago that Nick and I were eating pupusas at Balompie Café (3349 18th Mission, SF. 415-648-9199)? It was the beginning of the World Cup in 2006. At least I think it was. It's hard to remember this far out, but there was soccer on and excitement was in the air about a sport that, most of the time, Americans don't give a shit about.Read more »
THE WEEKNIGHTER I was hanging out with Steve Jones. I'm pretty sure it was the first time just the two of us were kicking it, even though I'd known him for years and he'd been my editor at SFBG for at least six months. There was supposed to be some kind of Mixmaster Mike event at a loft in the Dogpatch, and when we arrived, there was nothing. So we did the next best thing. We got some drinks.Read more »
THE WEEKNIGHTER There's a series of photos of me at Mad Dog in the Fog (530 Haight St, SF. 415-626-7279) where I am an absolute monster. I'm dressed in a wretched, beer-stained Santa suit, I have Mickey Mouse ears on, and there's also some kind of sparkly garland thing adorning my head. In most of the pictures I'm flipping off the camera and making ridiculous faces that usually include an Elvis type lip curl. I look unhinged. I look subhuman. Goddamn, I look like I'm having fun. It was SantaCon 2011.Read more »