Roberta Seawhore

Rock on with you

In loving remembrance of Michael

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arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC Oh, Michael. So much has happened in these two years since you've been gone. I left my man and got my heart broken by another, chipped my front tooth, had to pay all my taxes up front, and manually upgraded my ass into the kind of shape that gives a woman like me a certain pride. Things have been rough; things have been good. And 90 percent of the good shit, including the fruits of all that ass-pumping, I achieved together with you. Keep on with the force, don't stop. No, I'll never stop getting enough of you.Read more »

Facebook or die?

After I quit the social networking site, I woke up with a pep in my step, as if I'd just retired after 70 years of service at a meat-packing plant, with a huge marijuana, cat, and vibrator pension in the Bahamas

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arts@sfbg.com

CULTURE There's a party going on and I'm not there. But everyone else is, and I can see it from here — it's that warm, golden light at the end of this tunnel. The door is half open, spilling a glittery radiance into the chill darkness, as if to say: Hey, baby. Why don't you come back inside? No need to be lonely out there in the cold. My body tenses — will I move through the blackness? Will I meet the light?Read more »

Smoked dry

DRUGS ISSUE: Why I couldn't handle being legal

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DRUGS Personally, I'll smoke any dried-up old horseshit you hand me. I don't care. Brown buds, flat buds, wet seedy buds, leaves, stems, branches, even stuff that's already been smoked. You got it, let's roll it.

But I'm also not stupid: pricey gorgeous buds are the best. The tight-purple supernugs have the best smell and the best taste; they are the ultimate gateway to the total marijuana experience. On the other hand, top-shelf Prada buds will fuck you up, financially and otherwise. A dab will definitely do you.Read more »