Last week some New Zealand tourists were sent our way by the Barney, and I host a little southern supper of gumbo, cornbread and banana pudding. They came all this was and I thought they should have some southern hospitality. They pointed out they are much more southern than I am. Further south maybe, but not Southern.
Shouts to Gareth, Julie and Mark. We also got a little video Skype lovin' from Barney.
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As soon as those guests left, others arrived. Thursday night I got to welcome good friend from Nashville Jon Glassmeyer, whom I don't think I have seen in SF since Folsom 2005 (I see him plenty in Nashville). While I was at it, I made yet another pot of gumbo and banana pudding for Jon, which is silly because he is as Southern as it gets and it was akin to bringing coal to Newcastle.
I took Jon for a spin around Sundance Saloon on a Thursday, and then we happily ended up at yet another calendar event at the Powerhouse. Jon was happy.
(photoset)
Last Friday saw the second hosting of the renewed Guerrilla Queer Bar, this time in West Portal. Klaus, barely recovering from his bout with step and such, made it out for one last hurrah before he had to fly back to Denmark.
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Love the Klaus. It sucks that he spent his two weeks stateside sick. But RMJ reported how impressed he was with the way the Danish national health care system made sure he was taken care of while he was here. The US could take a lesson!
Shilpa, gay man that she is, was Out and about—
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And she left her mark.
Robert attracted his own sort of attention. As he does.
Uh huh.
And a big shout out to Jim Rudoff, charming new guy to meet. When we exchanged names I used my usual "Wilson, like a tennis ball." Which didn't really clarify it. I try to judge my audience and alternate between "Wilson, like a tennis ball" (other sporting equipment would do, but I grew up playing tennis and so there's that) and "Wilson, as in Woodrow." You would not believe how many people have not heard of Woodrow Wilson. And even Wilson tennis balls. But there it is.
He offered his last name, phonetically, as Rudolph. And I said,"As in Wilma." He looked at me like I was crazy (astute one that Jim) and corrected me with, "like the reindeer." Which of course makes MUCH more sense. How nutty am I that the first Rudolph reference to come to mind was a female Olympian and not the overpopular Christmas character? And I fault Americans for not knowing Woodrow Wilson.
Whatever. Shout to Jim!
We rounded out the weekend with a Nashvillian/Southern social at Tim Davenport's house, which turned into a long night of OMG! small-world revelations. Only made the more bizarre by Sunday night's revelations over at Lance and Greg's with Lindsay Watson and her bachelorettes.
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I am reminded of an Animaniacs line when they encountered the red-skinned Satan in Hades, "Hey, does George Hamilton know your tan is darker than his?"
Final story: Scott, Jon's partner, is out here for a suicide prevention conference. While making small talk with RMJ, he mentioned this. RMJ responded politely and received an over-effusive outpouring of love and support from Scott, who made it clear that we were all very happy that RMJ was here. Only later did we figure out that when Scott said "I work with suicide prevention." Robert had replied "I had a temp job [at a hotline] in college." Rather than what Scott heard, which was "I had an attempt in college."
Not that we weren't in fact all very happy to have RMJ there, it's just the big bear hugging was a little extraneous.
I'm just sayin'.
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