Coney Island is undeniably emblematic of Americana, a quaint, rickety fixture on the Brooklyn horizon, and it still provides, at least in principle, a beach to lie out on just a few miles from the heart of the financial district of the world. This weekend, Coney Island Amusement Park opens

So it was spring and now it’s cold again and gross and what the fuck is up with the hail/sleet bullshit this morning?  Even so it’s Friday! Glorious, buttery, golden and delicious Friday which even the wicked death rattle of  Old Man Winter’s icy bones won’t keep us from enjoying.

Hi Tif! (Can I call you Tif? Did Brian Austin Green call you Tif? Does it have two F’s?) Anyway, how’ve you been?! I feel like I haven’t seen you in awhile. What’s that? You were in a pilot in 2008? Hm, nope, sorry not remembering anything like that… pretty

The catch-22 of living in San Francisco is that there are these amazing local artists and designers around the city, but because they are also real people who are trying to pay rent on time AND have enough money left over to eat something other than Chex Mix for dinner,

Baseball is America’s pastime, duh. But not all of us actually care about what’s going on down there on the grass. Some of us just go for beer and peanuts and sunshine. I am certainly one of those people, but now that I don’t work in a fancy office where

I thought today I’d give a writer who deserves a serious following a little bit of room on this here blog. The Honest Tease is writer who isnowhere near as prolific as he should be and I think he needs the verbal encouragement that only strangers on the interwebs can

Five people were in the bar when Paul and I walked in around midnight. One of them was a bartender in her late 50s/early 60s who was missing a few teeth, while the other four were shitfaced, chubby, middle aged and dancing to disco music emanating from the jukebox. Neither

Oh the otter.  What mass appeal you possess, whether you be ‘œblue raspberry’ flavoured, an oblivious critter prying open an abalone while floating in front of cooing tourists, or a skinny hairy dude.  Of the latter, San Francisco is practically overflowing, but if you simply can’t have enough, then the