Happy Pride 2008

There was lots to be proud about this year.

I don't have any particularly saucy tales from Saturday and Sunday— it was just a long weekend of intense fun.

First off, the annual best pride party ever: Pink Saturday with David and Sean.

Shilpa and Sean



David and Wilson

Shilpa and I love these guys, and were so excited about this party we spent Friday afternoon (after the zoo and before debauchery) shopping for a big basket of pink fun to bring our hosts. Prizes included a pink martini glass beach towel, pink tea towels, a flashing pink rubber duck that spent most of the party swimming in my cocktail, a set of HoMo a Go-Go CDs and special edition Pink Saturday Be Pink and Be Proud CD, soda, red wine remover (I recalled an incident from last year), and best of all, pink vodka (pink lemonade flavored) I ordered just for the occasion.

As always, the people and the party were much fun. New friends and old. I'm Just Sayin' regulars included Jim Myers, Jeff Javits, Coco Flores, Brendan Geary and RMJ.

David, Brendan and Jim

RMJ, never one to date domestic, arrived with the lovely Juan Carlos.

Always playful fare, but painful to bid farewell, were Darien and Matthew (you may remember them from such posts as Two out of three ain't bad). They moved to D.C. on Monday. Sigh.

Darien, Shilpa and Wilson



Shilpa and Matty

New friends were fun too. Particularly this guy (on the right):

We've talked several times in bars around town and it was nice to see him in a more intimate social setting. I think his name is Matt, but we were pretty well in the bag by then so I'm not sure. Any advice or biographical information from readers would be welcome. And oh yeah, speaking of intimate settings, Eyes Across a Crowded Room was there, but entirely cordial, if not clinical.

I had known he was coming (saw it on the evite) but did not comment on the blog in case he and/or david were checking on on that front. Hot Tony, who is called Hot Tony for a reason, offered to be my pretend boyfriend and paw all over me. I almost accepted, if not just to be pawed for hours by Hot Tony. But I really know him too well to pull off amorous. Slutty I might be able to do though. Maybe I should have taken him up on that...

And on the right in this one is Richard.

He was exceptionally entertaining, and I hear he had an adventure after the party. If it's fit to blog, I will. With his permission of course. Or perhaps someone (you know who) would like to tell that tale in the comments?

Pink Saturday Flickr set

Pride Sunday

I was missed the parade for sleeping in and recovering from Pink Saturday, but got to Civic Center in time to check my boots before my shift at the Sundance Saloon stage and mill about for a couple of hours visiting with all my faggy friends.

Missing from this revelry was Ian Hall, friend of Shawn Case (who is BF to blog regular Kevin) visiting from Ohio and whom I would have loved to play Pride with. Shouts to Ian, who was lost in the throng.

Again, no particular narrative to impart, just photos of the day:



Me and Jimbo



My Pride Boys



My lovin'



My Cow-Pokes



And thank God, not my tan line.
This was just a fellow reveler taking the N-Judah home. That's gonna hurt.

Pink Sunday indeed.

Pride Flickr set.

lion about Pride Friday

For Pride Friday, well, I didn't see a pride of lions. Probably because of that whole tiger mauling incident. Dunno.

It was staff appreciation day and we went to the zoo.

At least the birds were pink and proud.


As cheesy as the work stuff was, and as cold and foggy a day as it was, the afternoon still held some fun.




But apparently everything at the zoo is a big secret.

Maybe they don't want me telling, but I think I figured out how that tiger escaped.

Among the attractions, work hired some henna artists and a fortune teller. We passed on the henna tattooing as wet henna is problematic when trying on clothes, and we spent Friday evening shopping for new Pink Saturday outfits to wear to David and Sean's. The fortune teller gave Shilpa a tarot reading and read my palm.

Both readings were strikingly accurate. Like, much with the way. I highly recommend the amazing Bex. I hope to hire her for future parties. She was booked though Henna Garden.

Pride Friday night was a lot of fun. Messy, happy hour, Jack Daniel's fun.

Big shout out to the "other" PWD, whom I hope to see again. I need to come up with a good blog code name should he become a recurring character.

I'm thinking Pullman.

it's all theater

like so many things in life.

Pride weekend is starting to fade and as I dive back into the work week it occurs to me I need to throw up some of the bits and photos from the week that was too full of work and fun to sit around and post.

I suppose my Pride week began lat Thursday with ACT's Out with ACT night and special Pride reception.

On my way to meet Kevin at the theater (he was just getting out of his dance class), he sent me the following text: "Come to Union Square... I have something for you to lick."

There are many things I love about SF. Not the least of which is the sponsored "just because it's fun" stuff that pops up all over. Crossing Union Square to meet Kevin, I passed a free jazz/swing concert with dance lessons and groovy people. It's easy to forget during June there are non-Pride events too.

If I hadn't been in a hurry, I would have joined in.

Turning around, I got a clue as to what Kevin spied for my licking pleasure.

Which, of course, I obliged.

ACT's Pride month performance was Tis Pity She's a Whore. I was hoping for a more modern piece as ACT is so laboriously period-heavy. But no--yet another antique with language so dense it's difficult to follow what the hell is actually going on. And I can't imagine the difficulty the actors have in learning these lines. (And as I mentioned earlier, the best line wasn't even on stage.)

Aside from the Old English vocabulary and style, the play had some stellar points, not the least of which were the superb performances of the leads. And the cellist on stage was as dramatic a character as could be hoped for and really made the work work. On the downside, the play featured two of ACT's stock performers who no matter what play or role they are cast in, they always play the same character. The first two or three times you see them in something, it's forgivable. Now it is almost a nightmare whenever they come on stage. It's distracting and painful to watch.

One is such an over-actor he makes Jim Carrey look subtle. In Ace Ventura, Pet Detective. He has one trick: over-size the role and play it loud and as a caricature of a homosexual fop. In his first scene on stage, Kevin and I groaned. Kevin then whispered to me, "Well, at least he hasn't done this bit yet (indicating big sprawled arms with limp wrists)." I replied, "Give it time."

It took less than five seconds.

The actor we refer to only as Big Daddy was back too, and was equally distracting in his one-trick role. Which I imagine isn't so much "acting" as "being himself"-- same old slow southern drawl and tone of impatient disdain.

I hate to write negative reviews, especially of those who are trying in earnest, but I just don't see how these two keep getting roles? Kevin was turned down for a role for being a few years too old. One of these guys must be pushing 50 and was cast as the romantically awkward teenager. WTF?

A pleasant turn on the boards was the return of Rene Augesen and Sharon Lockwood. Particularly welcome were the performances of the male leads Michael Hayden and Michael Earle Fajardo. Hayden (nice legs!) totally sells the crazy in the final scene. Fajardo's performance was strong, and only distracted by his handsomeness. Both actors play those bedsheet scenes with a heavy dose of looking hot.

As is customary at Out with ACT nights much of the cast joined the reception afterwards. As the Pride night too, the upper levels featured more food and drinks but Kevin and I never made it past our usual court. Charming on stage and off, Kevin and I enjoyed some quality time with Michael Fajardo (Kevin I'm sure wanted much more 'quality' than 'time' with Michael) and Susan Gibney. Love to Susan.



Susan Gibney, Wilson Hardcastle and Kevin Koberle



Susan Gibney, Wilson Hardcastle and Michael Earle Fajardo



Pretty Pretty Kissy Face and Darren
A very special surprise was running into Rob Forni. Rob and I have been running into each other at parties and bars for about a decade. He's one of those characters that pops into my life from time to time and always brings merriment. Shouts to Rob.


And a final thank you to the always engaging Randy Taradash, and the delightful caterer who sponsored the event Christian Hardy.


You gotta love a guy whose card reads: "Chef, Patissier, Cardiologist." I wonder if he ever confuses his chef's jacket for his lab coat. It might be awkward for the patients. Or perhaps, just tasty.

Thursday was yet another Pride function, this one sponsored by the Kimpton group at the Hotel Monoco. There were some new friends as well as some of the usual faces, including my favorite ugly duckling who needs to swim on down my lake (no photos of Duckie. He hasn't figured out he's a swan yet).


Afterwards, Shilpa, Pee Dee and I hit the new Indian place in the Castro. Wow with the tasty. And it got the very very good rating from our local expert in all cuisine Indian. Yelpers Shilpa and Pee Dee are giving it rave reviews. I'll just give a shout out to the owners here.

Go visit the new Kasa. It's awesome. These guys know what they are doing. They decided to serve just a few items, and then do them very, very well.


And thank God all plates come with raita. I'm a delicate flower when it comes to Indian spices. The chicken tiki is just right for me. The tikka masala got highest ratings around the table, but it made me break out into a sweat.

I just want to leave y'all with one last image: Anita Cocktail getting a foot massage.


What can be said?

self-possessed

Coco and I have been trading accounts of physical woes this morning, ending in this exchange:

>I think I'm actually sick. My cough is worse and I'm totally light headed. Oh well, probably just cancer.

>Maybe it's some sort of demonic possession. But like, you know, one of those lame demons who's just in it for the free booze.

H8

On the heels of Pride, an announcement that the proposed anti-gay constitutional amendment gets a ballot measure number.

That's a big NO on 8. Prop 8 is all about hate.

And I imagine that at least one pro-equality movement will use "H8" in its campaign.

(Can I trademark that now?)

the obviously gay

will now be referred to as the "obvohomos."

I'm just sayin'.

the best line at the theater last night

wasn't on the stage.

Desperate to pee I stepped out during the first act. Passing the bartenders having box dinners with their friends, I overheard this:

"That's why you don't wear flip flops to the zoo."

If I weren't in such dire straights I would have lingered to figure out WTF.

OUT with ACT wrap up to follow.

speedo racer

And I thought RMJ was the only one going crazy for Speedo.

From the SF Gate:

Speedo Freaked
U.S. swimmers are crazed to get ahold of the super hot suits.

Nashville Cher-tastic

o. m. F! g.

From an Alert Reader in Nashville, a link to a NewsChannel 5 story:

Man Grabs Cher At Nashville Bar; Arrested

The subtitle in the forwarded link e-mail:
Officers charged Calvin Houghland with disorderly conduct and public intoxication Wednesday after he repeatedly harassed Cher who was visiting a club in downtown Nashville

Okay, several things.

1) Hey! Don't fuck up Nashville for Cher! I want her to love Nashville and come back, not be harassed by some douche bag.

2) I went to high school with Calvin Houghland.

3) Looking at his mug shot (see story), Calvin has not aged well. He was in my graduating class, but is more than a year younger than I am. He doesn't look it. But I do have to note that public drunkenness and institutional police lighting can't be flattering or photogenic.

4) How is it that a fan got so adamant about getting to Cher that he gets arrested and it's not a gay guy?

So not only is this a big deal for Nashville—poor Cher having to deal with a drunken sot repeatedly accosting her and having to demure to the police not to press charges because I'm sure she'd just rather get back to enjoying her night at the legendary Tootisie's—but the Houghlands are a bit of a big deal on the business/social/socialite scene and this is going to have some fallout.

Update: There's also a blurb in The Tennessean. But no new information.
Further update: Now the same bit (i.e. no new information) has been picked up and embellished by E! Online.

report from the field

I sent James a text message saying "nice snatch" just moments before Will sent James a text message to check the blog. Which he is doing from his iPhone while in the car with his parents driving through rural New Jersey. He sent me a text back (I am trying to get out of the habit of using text as a verb, e.g. "texted me back") telling me about it, and his first thought was that now someone can Google James' snatch on the Internet, and isn't it a sign of the times that that was the first place the mind went.

I think it's a sign of the times that I'm doing this in SF, Wil in CT, and James is he's doing this all from a moving car in NJ.

Loves me some Internets.

James Hass has a nice snatch.

I'm just sayin'.


James working snatch form from Will Malz on Vimeo.

Will also manages to toss, in his words, "the equivalent of a reasonably-sized man overhead."

He's invited me out to CT for the BBQ, which sounds like a blast. And now he's suggesting something called "hooverball," which sounds so very (1) sexual and (2) gay, I'm all over it.

Oh. Now he explains. That would kill me.

I prefer the gay version.

breaking and entering, busting and moving

From Alert Reader Liz Coffey comes this from the OC Register, with the note that if she didn't know I lived in NorCal, she thought this might be me.

Fake frat boy busts unauthorized moves
Police are looking for man who sneaks into unlocked apartments to dance for residents.
By Jon Cassidy

NEWPORT BEACH – Police are looking for an overweight, unshaven man in his 30s who snuck into two unlocked homes recently to dance for their residents, claiming that it was a requirement of his fraternity's scavenger hunt.

Around 10 a.m. Sunday, a woman living in the 1700 block of Marguerite Avenue went into her living room and found a man there who said he had to dance for her, said Newport Beach police Sgt. Evan Sailor.

The woman was alarmed and not sure how she should handle the situation.

After finishing his dance, the man hugged the woman and put his hand on her butt before leaving, Sailor said.

On April 12, a similar incident occurred in the 700 block of Begonia Avenue in Corona del Mar, where a man with a matching description told the resident that he was in a fraternity and had to dance for her, police said. He touched her hand before leaving.

Police believe the man is either a residential burglar or sexual deviant, Sailor said.

Police ask that anyone with information about similar incidents contact Crime Prevention Specialist Andi Querry at 949-644-3699.

The man is described as a 5-foot-10, 200-pound, white man with a heavyset build and unshaven face, seen wearing a blue or white T-shirt, shorts, white socks and white tennis shoes.

Maybe he just wants to dance with somebody.

I hope this becomes a thing.

And I want to know (1) what music selections is he dancing to, and (2) what the hell Liz, of Ohio, is doing reading the Orange County Register.

classy

Yeah, I realize that within the same week I am able to post about white-tie socialites and use the phrase "dick wad," not to mention coin "vadge wad."

I'm a class act you know. All sorts of range.

tool chest

Shilpa has been trying to find or devise a female form of the pejorative "tool." As in, "I hate that guy; he's such a tool." She did a slang search and found a reference to the Australian slang "wad."

When the lovely Jason was here, he clarified that "wad" is indeed used, but only in conjunction with the genital slag, as in "c*nt wad" or "dick wad," but never just the stand alone "wad."

We've been working on the new term, and tonight have come up with our favorite new female pejorative: vag' wad (pronounced "vadge wad").

Have at it.

Fly, my little vadge wad.

Be free.

I look forward to overhearing it soon.

good and good for you

For Alert Reader Paul Day:

The bacon chocolate chip cookie.

where the deer and the antelope pay

Be careful when roaming with the iPhone 3G—in Europe it could cost you the farm.

TimesOnline: Why you'll be paying a lot for iPhone 3G roaming (The Unofficial Apple Weblog)

so more mister nice guy

Shilpa: "I love that guy. He's so affable."
Me: "Yeah. I'd totally aff him."

it takes a licking

kind of like it takes a village.

Sure, President Bush's Council on Bioethics has ruled that licking an ice cream cone is immoral (I am NOT making this up, and it explains a lot about his stance on things like, oh I don't know, abstinence-only edumacation and stem cell research), but some things just call for a good licking.

Or, perhaps, all things.

It started many years ago. Kevin began a photo collection of me "licking things." Trees, national monuments, passers-by. And over time, the "Wilson licks X" theme took on a life of its own.

Here are just a few samples from my own flickr photostream that came up because I bothered to add a "lick" tag. Lord knows how many others are out there.















Just for you Kevin, via BoingBoing, the longest tongued people. Stephen Taylor of the UK gets to the center of his Tootsie Pop with 9.5 centimeters of savory muscle.

personal swan song (Swan Ball 2008.05)

To put the Swan Ball weekend to rest, I wanted to put down my personal notes on the event and not just the Nfocus stuff. First off, the design was beautiful. It was just right (as opposed to too much, as is so easy to do with a budget like theirs) and cleverly crafted. I missed Jim Mees, but this year's designer did an amazing job. And it kills me that he's my age. Or younger. I've blocked it out. As much as I think this is what I always wanted to do, at the same time I think I might not like the mania, the insecurity, constant travel, and related stresses. Eh.

I also think it's cool that the designer is the son of Sandy's college roommate. (Sandy is Carrington's mom and one of my best friends. I came out to her long before I did to my own parents.)

Sinclair Kelly was a joy to be around, as always, and many thanks to her and Ellen for contriving a way to get me to come home this weekend.


And to Heather too, who rounded out my trio of Nfocus Angels.


The entertainment at the Swan Ball this year was DIANA ROSS. And how fracking cool was that? I left annoying voice mails on several friends' phones saying I was only 20 feet away. And of course she looked fabulous. And three wardrobe changes in an hour set. Impressive. I heard about all the riders in her contract and thought they were insanely ridiculous, but the woman basically invented the modern diva and so I think she can be excused. (I got the following pic from someone else who shared their photos of the evening.)


Miss Ross was the perfect entertainer for this generation. The younger folks rushed the stage. My mother and her friend stood and danced on chairs to see.


I freaking LOVE my mother.

Papa John, who has a hard time standing and walking, enjoyed it too.


The only thing casting a pall over the weekend, unfortunately literally, was the death of Mary Ann Harwell, step-mother to my best friend Jonathan. And on his birthday no less. My love goes out to all the Harwells, and my esteem of the younger Johnny, who has held everyone together throughout, only grows.

Final overheard:

Mom and Dad were looking at my Swan Ball photos on Sunday morning. They particularly liked this one...


...and asked who it was. I had no idea. Mom thought they (Nfocus) should run the photo and ask people to identify the man.

Then another another photo grabbed their attention, this one was just of a woman's chest (not exposed of course, and not posted online to be kind). Mom (or was it Dad) asked, "Whose breasts are those?" I didn't say.

Having a brilliant idea, Mom exclaimed, "That's what they should do! They should run both of these photos and have a contest to identify them."

I explained, "Well, I don't think they'll run the photo of the passed-out guy as you don't want to make fun of anyone as an individual. That would move it from being funny to being cruel. And I don't think the Editor of Nfocus will run the other photo and ask the public to identify these breasts... because they are hers."

"Oh." my mother said.