fruit punch

An Alert Reader messaged me with a link to the NPR story "When Fruit Flies Strike Out, They Like To Booze It Up," admitting that, "When I saw this headline, I completely read it wrong." As a boozy, rejection-averse fruit fly herself, the mistake was understandable.

Who hasn't been there before? In fact, I think I am going there tonight.

Guerrilla Queer Picnic

The new Dolores Park playground will have grand opening festivities Saturday, March 31.  After which, there will be two years of significant renovation undertaken in two phases.

What fate Dolores Beach?  Also known as "the Gay Shelf?"  Original host of the Guerrilla Queer Bar crawls, has created a Facebook page called The Fruit Shelf and is pushing the idea for themed picnic days beginning in April.  Sort of Burning Man meets Beach Blanket Bingo.  You know how down we San Franciscans are with costumes, props and themes.  If this gets a critical mass of participation, it could be a sight to see.  I recall guys setting up entire structures and landscaping with paving stones and furniture when we used to camp at Fife's over Memorial Day Weekend at the Russian River.  I'll be staying tuned.

Happy birthday to brother Jay

And in his honor:

oh give me a home

From the Huffington Post today: "According to a report released this week by the National Low Income Housing Coalition, San Francisco is the most expensive place in the country to rent housing."

Well, shit.

San Francisco Rents the Highest in the Nation

3.14::3/14

I'm celebrating Pi Day by being irrational.

look me up

Unshelved

country brunch

Misisipi Mike says this week is gonna be a good'un:

Sunday's "country brunch" show at the Utah will be one for the ages. Three of the best guitar players in the Bay Area are all coming down to do songs. Michael Montalto (aka Guitar Show) of Red Meat and East Bay Grease (and Wanda Jackson even!), Rik Elswit of Gayle Lynn's Hired Hands and Dr. Hook & the Medicine Show, and Hank Maninger, from Hacienda Brothers, the Seducers, etc. etc. (even the Valley Girl soundtrack when he was still just a wee child).

Wilson Grayson

Once the two met, I couldn't put down Will Grayson, will grayson and stayed up far too late finishing it tonight. When the book started, I identified with Will Grayson. It turns out I am will grayson. The other one. Which is sort of disturbing to recognize at 40. Although I cannot imagine being out much less having a boyfriend when I was in high school.  But I think my love for this book may make me a nerdfighter.

Am I too old for that?

 Probably.

 But I am made of awesome.

image source

rage against the womanchine

Marilyn Pittman is angry. Not all the time mind you, but the rage is there. Just below the surface. Constantly waiting for a slight dose of gamma radiation or perhaps just a milligram too much caffeine for the red-haired hulk to come out and verbally attack annoying pedestrians. Sometimes that ends in violence. But at least we can laugh at it.

In her revised (winner Best One-Woman show in United NYC Solo 2011) and newly-named, one-woman show, Marliyn Pittman is All the Rage at the Marsh Theater. Marilyn has some anger issues, and she takes us on an entertaining tour of why those may have come to be. As the show is billed, this may be the funniest show you ever see about murder-suicide.

I sort of think of this act as tour through her familial damage—if her therapy sessions and family albums were captioned by Lewis Black. The show is a mouthful of funny with a bitter Yager chaser, a tale of a controlling father and passive mother—a mother who couldn't leave and a father who, ultimately, couldn't let her go. It's no wonder that Marilyn has some dragons to slay. But irony is her shield and wit her rapier.

This isn't a comedy, per se, and it's certainly not stand up. It is a story you'll care about, and that may be why you'll laugh. The scenes, often including unbelievable journal or therapy transcripts from her parents, are punctuated by brief musical interludes. Marilyn wisely chose excerpts to comment on the drama, without going for the cliché. Or maybe those were just the tracks to which she could get the rights. She chose more wisely than I would have. I would have gone for the obvious gags with songs like Crazy (either Patsy's or Brittney's), Crazy for You, I Used to Love Her (But I had to Kill Her), Don't Leave Me This Way, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Love is a Battlefield and so forth.

Her tale, as all great comedies are, is a tragic one. And the trauma has left her with this rage constantly brimming below the surface, and always needing to be conquered. Sometimes for the sake of herself, but always for the love of her wife. At the end of the show, I imagine her life must at times feel like that of Sisyfus and the stone, but in her case the stone is a dragon, and she is Saint George. Over and over again.

Go see it, but be careful crossing the street.

Marilyn Pittman's All the Rage is playing through April 15 at the Marsh Theater on Valencia at 22nd.

excellence saunters into the Hotel Utah Saloon

I have been loving the third-Sunday Bluegrass Brunch with the Afternoon Delight Social Band at the Hotel Utah Saloon for some time now, even though the menu and service have at times been problematic. Well, based on January's and February's experiences, there is a new sheriff in town. And he's kicking some culinary ass.

The band, as always, is also kicking ass. Although Hardly Strictly Bluegrass could be considered Purely Bluegrass compared to the "bluegrass" played by the Afternoon Delight Social Band. So much so, they care considering changing the name from Bluegrass Brunch to something else. It's pretty much "Whatever the hodgepodge of local talent feel like playing today and it's mostly urban country, folk, and whatever the room shouts out as long as it's in the neighborhood of country or folk" Brunch. While there's not a whole lot of bluegrass, there is a LOT of talent and a lot of fun. January found its way into a Fleetwood Mac/CCR sort of mood which suited the generation in attendance quite well. And they rocked it.

But the big hits were coming out of the kitchen. Chef Jack is the new chef at the Hotel Utah and he's kept what was good and has added what is better. Remaining on the standard menu are the excellent burgers (and I don't saw that lightly) and other bar food, but the brunch menu has been upgraded not only in selection, but quality. Jack makes everything from scratch (home fries, yes; french fries, no), including the seasonings for the fresh fried chicken breast fillets for the chicken and waffle dish. OMFG. I have a hankering for those good songs coming out of Misisipi Mike's kitchen, and the freshly plucked feeling I get from bassist Mike Anderson, but I will now push either one of them down to get to Jack's friend chicken and waffle. With skilled Jack running the kitchen and other help joining the staff, the adorable Irish Ginger Bear Bartender Robert has finally got some support in the bar, and can crank out quick cocktails as well as carefully craft some signature bloody marys—even though we tend to opt for the bottomless mimosas. We may be cheap but we are not free.

Items from their standard menu are available for order, and here's a snap of the current brunch menu:


Not featured are the occasional specials. I could not resist the chicken and waffle, but Angela ordered the blackened fish special. And after it arrived, it smelled so enticing I expected to see a cartoon hand of smoke wafting from the plate and beckoning me with its fingers. If you're not getting the chicken, get the fish.


Served in proper southern style with greens and black-eyed peas. Yum.

The Bluegrass-Adjacent Brunch is hosted every third Sunday at the Hotel Utah Saloon with the Afternoon Delight Social Band.  Come with a hungry tummy and thirsty ears.

Update: This just in from Misisipi Mike: Sunday's "country brunch" show at the Utah will be one for the ages. Three of the best guitar players in the Bay Area are all coming down to do songs. Michael Montalto (aka Guitar Show) of Red Meat and East Bay Grease (and Wanda Jackson even!), Rik Elswit of Gayle Lynn's Hired Hands and Dr. Hook & the Medicine Show, and Hank Maninger, from Hacienda Brothers, the Seducers, etc. etc. (even the Valley Girl soundtrack when he was still just a wee child). How can you miss this?? Sunday, noon to 3 pm, free, kids welcome, food served, and the Midnight Gamblers are the house band!

NCAA app

For my March Madness fans, including Mom, you can watch all games in all their glory in an NCAA app for the iPad and iPhone. There's also one for android.

The Cult of Mac has the review.

Go Davidson!!

no fleas on me

Longing for some quality time and a little adventure, I took a friend to the flea market on Alemany the other Sunday.  The Flea Market on Alemany is not to be confused with the Alemeda Flea Market.  The former is reportedly super awesome and hipster and Antiques roadshow fun time.  The latter requires so much irony to be enjoyed that I think it would kill most hipsters with the irony equivalent of lead poisoning.  The latter also has the benefit of being This Side of the Bay.  However, it takes some epic ironics to enjoy the Flea Market on Alemany.

Which is to say we had a pretty good time.

Most of the items at the flea market on Alemany are just leftover crap anyone else would have thrown away. Things like: mismatched remote controls, and tubs and tubs of broken power tools.


And for some reason, endless supplies of VHS tapes, usually with hand-printed labels of stuff recorded off of television. For reals. Do people pay for these stalls or is it just first-come, first-served squatting? I can't imagine they make money, or even break even. We did have a scavenger hunt of sorts for "the creepiest item" at the market. We spontaneously remarked, "And here it is" when we laid eyes on the 49ers Hobo.


Other items of note were the heavily meta "guide to flea market crap" reference book from the Time-Life series, and the heating pad whose name I totally misread.


The Thermawhore, with it's deep, penetrating moist heat, really deserves some photoshopping.

I also found an awesome engagement gift for Helena Handbasket, but that merits its own post when I can scan some sections.

The prize section was the vinyl, and I could have spent an hour rummaging if I had any inclination to squat that long.  Great covers included a super rare cast album featuring a very young Carol Burnett,


and a copy of Paul Anka Swings for Young Lovers—because who knew that Paul Anka was such a swinger. And that pose basically translates to "Suck me off, bitches." And his eyes make it clear that the bitches' gender is unimportant.


Very Auto Focus without the need to bathe in Purell afterwards. Just a hot towel. Steaming.

I only bought one to take home as a gift for someone. But I may frame it for myself as there is just so much awesome on the cover.


Lawd I love this copy. And you should see the track list. I'm hoping I can matte this between glass so you both sides can be read when taken off the hook.


Burlesque being off this hook as it is. On second thought, you should buy me dinner first. Or a drink. Or just come over and take your shirt off. I've got a USB turntable.

tales from folkbore

Concept: The Bible as really old fan fiction.

Inspired by this one paragraph in Cracked's excellent take dawn of the puritanism and hypocrisy of hate groups like the American Family Association and Million Moms in the digital age: How Archie's Gay Friend Proved the Internet Can Do Good

The second method is bringing in a new invisible character from a different book [contextual note: Jesus in the Bible] to object, but that's not preaching morality, that's writing fan fiction. But when your favorite author has only released four books in the last two millenniums, you're going to get a lot of people writing their own fan fiction about how the characters would react to modern things that didn't exist when the canon was laid down.

See also:

When Archie is too progressive for you, that's how science identifies you as an earlier species. All those people asking questions about your protest aren't reporters, they're anthropologists trying to work out why you didn't die off before we became Homo sapiens. And if they said so, you'd be more upset about the "homo" part. Instead of evolving from monkeys like the rest of us, your only improvement is flinging shit metaphorically instead of physically. And since several species of monkey enjoy homosexuality and don't say anything, they're two steps ahead of the American Family Association.

feel like a natural woman

A couple of my Female American friends are approaching that time that, in my words, makes them "feel like a natural woman."  The discussion of which led to several euphemisms over lunch.  The reference to the Crimson Tide led to one about their Red October (carefully avoiding a pun on Hunt).  My favorite though, which may become the new standard, was The Red Vadge of Courage.

Hanging ten on the crimson tide....
Playing quarterback for the Crimson Tide...
Red Alert...
See Spot Run...

PMS: the gift that keeps on giving.

Foxes 'n' the henhouse

Carrington Nelson Fox—lifelong friend, mother of three, and one day author of the Ballad of Aretha then Chicken—reports from Nashville that the City of Nashville/ Metropolitan Davidson County has passed a law allowing for the already popular practice of "urban" chickening. Yes, I'm calling this hobby "chickening." (For the Highlander fans, in this case there can be more than one.) Carrington and her boys are chickeners.

Chicken dance: Backyard birds become legal

And frankly, you've got to love a news story that gets the tags, "Nashville," "Chickens," and "City." In that order. By the way, the neighborhoods in question are pretty swank. Chickening is the new yoga.

I know a surprising number of young mothers/families who have chickens in Nashville. And the day my dad passed away, Young Oscar Fox suffered the tragic loss of his favorite hen, Aretha, to an unknown but suspected opossum predator. My loss, however, trumped his and I made of point of telling that to his mother. Eyes back to me. Still, good story though. Poor Aretha.

Honestly, I'm thinking if I had a house in Nashville, I would have chickens. Maybe I'll give Leland a couple. Him being a good egg and all of that.

My favorite bits from Carrington's reporting:

Grassroots group Urban Chicken Advocates of Nashville (UCAN) worked with the bill’s sponsor, Councilmember Karen Bennett, to draft legislation that would minimize complaints from neighbors. After an earlier attempt at legalizing urban hens failed two years ago, the new chicken ordinance allows a maximum of six hens in predator-proof coops and covered runs positioned in the backyard, at least 10 feet from each property line and 25 feet from a neighbor’s residential structure. The law will be reevaluated in two years, after which it will either expire or be renewed.

Perhaps most importantly, roosters are prohibited, a fact that raised plenty of eyebrows among city slickers observing the urban chicken campaign. “But how do you get eggs if you don’t have a rooster?” they asked, almost comically underscoring the fact that we urban dwellers have become so distanced from the sources of our food that we have lost touch with basic biology. (Pssst, here’s a hint: Women ovulate regularly too, and that doesn’t mean we have babies every month.)

Furthermore, chickens will still not be allowed in neighborhoods where homeowners’ associations prohibit backyard poultry.

I included that last sentence just for the term "backyard poultry." That's just waiting for a band name or a tumblr account.

man down at Burger Up

Favorite person and excellent writer Kay West shared a link to some terribly tragic news this morning. The co-founder of Burger Up in Nashville, in a bout of depression, vandalized his own shop and took his life inside this morning.

I never knew the owners—Michael Pontes and his now ex-wife and source of his depression—but I have loved Burger Up and the quality it brought to the neighborhood since it opened so many years ago. I almost moved in down the street from the corner back in 1993, but while the neighborhood had potential, and was alternative-cool-adjacent, it was still far too sketchy and dangerous for our tastes. It's a vibrant community now, with long time residents and entrepreneurs enjoying the fruits of their community-building. (Is a backlash of trendy far behind?)


Burger Up is a neighborhood eatery as well as a destination. I go there with my closest of friends at least once every trip home to Nashville. It feels like home to me.


And the food is almost as full of love as my company. This is sad news indeed. I recommend reading the whole piece but an excerpt is presented below.

From the respectful piece in the Nashville Scene:

Sometime around 3:17 on Saturday morning, Michael Pontes hit "send."

It was an angry email, intended to hurt. It was a 1,000-plus-word grievance, full of the stress and heartbreak and bile that divorce brings.

And it told the 100 or so people copied that he was going to end his life.

He drove his truck down to Burger Up, the 12 South restaurant he built with his business partner and estranged wife Miranda Whitcomb Pontes. He pulled out a can of pink spray paint, the kind you can see from blocks away, and scrawled an insult across the windows.

It would serve as his very public last word. By the time the police arrived a little before 4 a.m. — alerted by his attorney, who had been awake and gotten the email — Michael Pontes had entered Burger Up with a handgun and killed himself.

News of Pontes' suicide, driven home by the vandalized exterior, jarred a neighborhood that rarely sees any major disturbance. That wasn't always the case. In the old days, Sevier Park was an open-air drug market, not the family-friendly place it is now. Nor was 12South always the prime destination it has become. Businesses along this stretch of 12th Avenue were more ragtag than trendy. But the neighborhood's fortunes rose dramatically over the past 20 years, turned around by some planning muscle and an ounce or two of foresight. It has evolved into one of the hottest communities in the city.

stu, stu, studio

Message from a friend this morning, "I woke up this morning in an east Nashville studio surrounded by a case of Bud Light and baby banjo ukuleles."

I'm not sure why, but I love that. Independent of the "always on the ear out for sentences I've never heard before" thing.

happy Holi day!

Poof!


Via Flickr, OnTheGoTours

Holi on Wikipedia.

I can't wait for the new AppleTV

But it looks like I'll have to. After the long-awaited announcement, I went home to use my Apple gift card to pre-order an AppleTV online with free shipping and guaranteed March 16 arrival to my doorstep. Except that even though the new AppleTV was just announced late morning, by the end of the day the shipping out time went from immediate to "1-2 weeks."

I'll wait and get mine at the store. If it's anything like the iPhone 4S launch, that will be quicker than pre-ordering (when people had to wait more than a month if they ordered online, but could walk into a store and just pick one up).

Regardless, the new AppleTV looks great. And although I'll miss the local drive ease of the original, my first gen is starting to crap out.

(Image from Cult of Mac)

Nightlife is the heartbeat of SF. And a new report shows it to be the lifeblood too.

Typical California NIMBYism  rears it's head on Polk Street.  It took ten years, and hard work over the past five, for new businesses and some brave new bar and restaurant owners to turn a drug0addled and crime ridden area into a successful destination neighborhood.  Now some neighbors are complaining that people go there (and talk on the sidewalk at night).  The area has gone from Danger Zone 24/7 to good shops, restaurants and light entertainment.  These people need to seriously STFU.

On the other hand, a City-commissioned study just released gives San Francisco nightlife and entertainment the higher ground against the nannies and conservatives in the ABC, SFPD, and Board of Supervisors—the nightlife/entertainment industry generated over $4.2 BILLION to the City economy in 2010.  And that's not even considering the support/related industries such as taxis, hotels, public transit or major events.  Wow.  I think the City leaders, and the SFPD PTB, better change their tune to protect this industry, and fast.