suddenly, I'm a morning person

Wafflesicle?

Yes please. Oh Dear God, yes please.

Proud Marys keep on rollin'

It was another crazy Pride weekend in SF, and almost out of control this year. I tended to lay low (for me at any rate), and decided to feel "mature" instead of "old" for doing so. Along with most of the homo SF workforce, yesterday I called in gay.

Jeff and Brian were kind enough to invite me up poolside for the afternoon, which was just, ahem, what the doctor ordered.



I tried to bring the poolside into work with me today. I'm working the beach colors and linen, coconut moisturizer scent, and the sun shining out of my auburn shoulders.

Too bad all this work is harshing my mellow. Disgruntle.

Speaking of which, here is a genius site shared by Jeff: 27b/6. Glorious, glorious snark in response to ridiculous client requests.

Lost cat: Yeah, That's not what I'm looking for.
Please design a logo for me. With pie charts. For free.
Nowhere in the Bible does Jesus have a sword fight.

I've been snarkling all day. That's the verb I've coined for laughing at snark: to snarkle.

Thanks Jeff!

Gay Pride this weekend, American Pride the next

And for all of you partaking in the American tradition of the Independence Day repulsion of the alien hordes backyard grill fest, Life Hacker debunks the Seven Myths About Grilling a Steak.

Hosts take note. And I'll be there around 2:00.

down and dirty at the SF debates

Beth Spotswood and Pollo Del Mar were the hosts of the SF Gate's live Internet coverage of the District 6 debates Tuesday night.

Whale of a tale

Shilpa brought in a paper copy of the SF Weekly to work this week and gasped aloud at the self-important “Bouncer” column. As experienced San Franciscan bar-goers, we know our local booze and local bars, and were both so completely offended and enraged by the ignorance in this piece that we were apoplectic.

I don’t know who “Katy St. Clair” is, but she writes like a smug college intern who is new to the City and the mature bar crawl. The immaturity of her stream of consciousness column makes her come off as an early 20-something Marina Chick. If she’s over 30, she needs to just give it up and sit at home and drink with a dozen cats. I can’t imagine her being good company in any bar.

While her writing skills are just plain poor, her opinions are a painful combination of ignorance, arrogance, and stupidity. Ignorance can be remedied by education, but as Ron White is so fond of saying: you can’t fix stupid.

Brevity may be the soul of wit, but there is just too much to say in response to this monstrosity.

Read the original at the SF Weekly site, then come back here for the rant. If you are similarly inclined, I encourage you to add your comments to the Weekly's page.

After the Whale
Bouncer hunts for good tunes at Moby Dick
By Katy St. Clair
Wednesday, Jun 23 2010

I know scientists are working diligently to isolate the so-called "gay gene," but while they are at it, I hope that they can also pinpoint the part of a gay man's brain that likes shitty dance music.

Holy shit. Are you serious? Gay men have always defined dance music. Gay men are the dance DJs in the City. And LA. And NYC. Go to dancemusic.about.com and it’s DJ Ron, gay Master of the Tables in Nashville and weekend DJ at Splash (SBNY) in New York. If you’re into stereotyping, straight white girls are and always have been the antithesis of arbiters of “good dance music.”

And whoever claimed that Moby’s was playing dance music? They play DVDs from Europe of popular synth/electronic/pop. Was it the no dancing or the no dance floor that made you think this was supposed be the gays’ taste in dance music?

It's hard to say which came first, like the chicken or the egg: Do gay men in San Francisco like to drink along with Britney B-sides, or do all the bars in the Castro have some sinister plot to program their video jukeboxes to the aural equivalent of Star Magazine?

Um, Britney is rarely played in the Castro actually. And it was against our collective will that we ultimately liked the Circus album, but it did produce some really good dance tracks. And none of the bars in the Castro have video jukeboxes. There are only two bars with digital jukeboxes, The Mix and Twin Peaks, both of which have impressively diverse and downright awesome esoteric selections.

Old-school gay men also like shitty music,

Most old-school gay men are dead. We honor the survivors and they can like and play whatever they damn well please. They, and we, have lived through Hell. Do you really think that you have any authority as a prissy little straight girl to judge their musical tastes? Call me after everyone you know has died slowly, painfully, alone, and stripped of all dignity and I’ll be sure to tell you to turn off the torch songs.

like Barbra Streisand,

Hey, I am not a big fan of Babs either, but face it: she’s got a set of pipes. She has won two Academy Awards, nine Grammy Awards, four Emmy Awards, a Special Tony Award, an American Film Institute Award, and a Peabody Award—hardly the record of an artist who produces “shitty music.” Nine Grammys. Nine.

Erasure,

Oh shut the fuck up. Sure, Erasure is the go-to cliché for popular gay music, as is Pet Shop Boys, but they still rock and still manage to fill the back room of the Cat Club on a Thursday with dancers and club kids who bring it. Erasure has sold over 25 million albums. Again, not so shitty.

show tunes,

Showtunes have their time and place. If you don’t get it, then get out. Not that there are any bars in SF that play showtunes, other than open mic bars where the patrons--usually straight girls--come to sing them.

And what’s the freaking number-one show in America? That’s right: Glee. While personally I believe that showtunes should be relegated to theme parties/nights, they are the original “dance music” and are due their respect. Hardly “shitty” and hardly the preference of just the gays.

and Liza Minnelli.

Oh no. Honestly? This is the gay-icon cliché you reach for? You’ve already invoked Streisand. Too young for a Judy reference? Oh please. When was the last time anyone played anything by Liza outside of a drag show? Aside from that, Liza is only one of 12 people to ever achieve an EGOT, earning Emmys, Grammys, Oscars, and Tonys. She’s considered an example of “shitty music?” My GOD you suck.

Of course, I know a few gay men who like different music, so before you fire up that e-mail, let me say that I get it, and I know I am generalizing, big time.

Too late you fucktard. What? Your keyboard doesn’t have a delete key? “Now before all you darkies get all upset that I said you’re better equipped to be picking cotton in the fields, let me say that I know I am generalizing, so don’t complain.” If you know you’re full of shit, shut your mouth. Does the SF Weakly not have editors?

But mama always told me that there is truth behind stereotyping.

Don’t get me started on yo’ mama.

So, all together now: S.F. gay men's music taste sucks.

Says the little white straight girl. One of the best lines from Glee this season: “I’m gay; Mercedes is black. We make culture.” And what are you basing this on? One trip to a gay bar? I follow the local urban Americana scene. My friends are into country, pop, rock and indie. I had a date last week with the front man of a local hard-core punk band. Any track from their collective catalogs could kick your I-think-I’m-cool-because-I’ve-shopped-at-Amoeba’s ass.

I cemented this theory last week when I went to Moby Dick for the first time.

Holy crap. You reached a definitive conclusion based on an uninformed single data point? How the hell do you have your own column?

It's a quaint little tavern on 18th Street.

That’s your takeaway?

From the outside it has an air of distinction, with gilded lettering and stately blue paint.

It’s blue with some faux marbling. Hardly Wayne Manor.

Of course, it is named after one of the greatest works of American fiction — one man's quest for a large, white beast that haunts him. He lives only in the hope that he may some day overtake it and penetrate it with his giant harpoon. What this has to do with gayness is beyond me.

Perhaps it would be clearer if the bar were named “Dixie Normous” or “Homosexuals Like Puns About Really Big Penises.” Really? A Moby Dick joke? If you are going to use the aquatic reference, at least mention the enormous salt water fish tank above the bar.

Is this column a bar review or a tirade on dance music. Where the hell are you supposed to be going with this? You’ve trashed all gay men’s taste in music. Are you now going to bag on a neighborhood gay pub?

I walked in expecting to see older gay men tapping their toes to some jazzy background music,

Why? Were you walking in during 1927?

but was disappointed to see that I could just as easily have been walking into Badlands.

For FUCK’S sake those bars are NOTHING alike. Moby’s is a neighborhood pub with 40-year-olds up front and a pool table in back. Badlands is a disco video dance bar full of twinks. And the music could not be more different. I have never seen a video or heard a song at Moby’s that would be played at Sadlands.

There was the video screen playing some stupid dance song, with women soaping up cars at a carwash while a man stared at their tits from behind the windshield. To be sure, there were older men there, which made me all the more puzzled at the music.

Because older gay men influence modern pop music so much so that production companies have stopped showing women in skimpy clothes in music videos. Or that the old gays have any control over the DVD player behind the bar.

Moby Dick consists of one main room with a bar with stools, and ledges along the walls for more seating. This is how every other bar in the Castro is designed. There is a pool table in the back. There was also a very large fish tank over the bar; the little guys swimming in it looked quite content.

What I didn't expect to see, but did, was a middle-aged blond woman with her breasts hoisted up in a low-cut, form-fitting top who was buying drinks for just about everyone. "What'll you have?" she slurred. I am always put off by people who offer to buy me drinks, because I feel I will owe them something, like conversation, and I don't always want to do that.

Poor baby. Meeting a woman who loves drinking in a bar, and is happy to share the wealth. Your popularity must be such a burden.

I politely demurred.

How “writerly” of you.

She ordered herself a mai tai and asked for extra rum, and I wondered whether the bartender was going to cut her off, but she didn't. The server, Mary, was very nice and took my order quickly. The video changed to a song by Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas, and I went and sat on a ledge.

There is something to be said about dance music being played while you are slowly getting drunk. As your buzz increases, the music sounds better and better, the guy you are talking to looks better and better, and the idea of smoking crystal and banging all night moves to the forefront of your brain. How else to describe the Castro in the late '70s, when disco ruled?

WTF? (1) While I am happy to hook up with someone at Moby’s, it is neither a cruisy or meth-centric bar, (2) Is this a continuation of your musical tastes assault? (3) There was no crystal in the ‘70s; and (4) Most urban gay club communities were all about liberation, sexual freedom, disco/dancing and some serious party drugs in the late ‘70s, but it hardly describes the Castro then (which did not have any large discos) or now, much less Moby’s, and much less the entire gay community and or their taste in music.

I seriously think that whatever beats we like are hardwired into our DNA. Dave Chappelle did a skit about how Latinos respond to certain rhythms, black people respond to different beats, and white people hear a guitar solo and suddenly feel the urge to shotgun a beer.

Nice use of someone else’s bit. At least you gave it credit. Is there a point? Is “shitty” gay music homos’ right as it is hard wired next to the man-sex gene? Should I forgive your poor taste as it is hard coded to the stupid-straight-white-girl gene?

The blond lady moved up to the pool table and seemed to be enjoying herself, although she was having difficulty chalking her cue.

Reports are to the contrary. Friends who were there have commented to me that she won that round, and then followed her new friends to the Lookout for drag trivia night. But how nice for a self-professed bar-hopper like you to mock a bar gal for drinking and playing pool in a bar.

I looked around at the art on the walls. That's another characteristic of bars in this area: There is always some penis-centered art. Sometimes it is quite good, but often it is hella stoop.

“Hella stoop.” Seriously? You get paid for this?

Case in point: the drawing of an erect phallus with a bite taken out of the tip, complete with chomp marks, as though it were a chocolate Easter bunny.

Yes, penis-centric art is asinine, but hardly pervasive. It’s part of the repressed-gay-tourist kitsch. Some poor guy is trying to sell his art on the wall of a dark bar with a mirror over the urinal trough. It’s not the Louvre. Dick art is oddly in keeping with the scene. We glance at it, roll our eyes, and continue to drink. BFD.

The men around me were having a great time. It was happy hour, and Moby Dick has a long one with great prices.

Actually, Moby’s has the shortest happy hour in the Castro, and arguably the least favorable discounts (bargains only on well and certain drafts). Only the Lookout is similar. Twin Peaks has no happy hour to speak of at all. Everywhere else: bring on the drunk with two-for-one top shelf cocktails and cheap shots.

Maybe I am just jealous of the gay men in this town — they are obviously enjoying themselves more than I am.

Then leave us be and shut up with the bringing us down.

They don't show up to my Neil Young tribute drinkathon and shit all over it, so why should I disparage their entertainment choices?

I don’t know, but you dedicated an entire column to doing so.

I am certainly guilty of liking The Golden Girls, so at least we have that in common.

And BAM! Another out-of-date cliché! Nevermind editors, does the SF Weakly have any gay people over there?

Here's another thing that makes me jealous of gay men: They make it look so easy. Meeting another man, flirting, and getting it on seems to be a cinch. There has to be a bar in S.F. for single straight people where it is just as easy, but I haven't found it yet.

They are everywhere. It’s just you. Trust me.

Straight men have to deal with straight women, and we are a difficult lot. We tend to put ourselves in two categories: sluts and nonsluts, and a fella has no way of knowing which one we are until it may very well be too late.

Most straight women I know do not in fact classify themselves as sluts and nonsluts. But when it comes to a straight man’s ability to spot a girl that’s good to go, Honey, they can tell. That’s why you’re not getting any. It’s not the slut-versus-tease perception you have to worry about. It's the cool-versus-tool contest you're losing.

I made it through about eight songs, and then I had had enough. This was not my world, and although I love to go to the Midnight Sun to watch Project Runway, I can't abide hanging out with men who like men, just because there is a killer drink special.

Then DON’T. If this is how you are, we don’t want you at the Midnight Sun, or anywhere else around us. Your coming to the Midnight Sun to watch Bravo’s Gay Programming for Straight White America is not doing us any favors. We are not here to amuse you, and we don’t need your validation. You’re not only crashing the party, you are being a shitty guest.

Call me old-fashioned. Or, better yet, call me Ishmael. What the heck.

I’m calling you a cab.


Go be smugly superior with the other hipsters annoying locals in the Mission.

Happy 2010 Pride!

It's be a rainbow of June events and SF Pride weekend is fast approaching. There is a lot to celebrate and many ways to do it.

And while I'm on the topic of Pride celebrations, I'd like to celebrate the redesign of two local websites the Out and About shouldn't be without, both by the absolutely amazing Suzan Revah:

The Original Fag Hag and Love My Gays.

And we love you too!

And in the Pride Prayer of JoeMyGod:
They wish we were invisible. We're not. Let's dance.

Brain Farts with a side of Totally

Supper Happy Fun Time Ian was in town from Ohio this weekend and managed to make some time for little ol' me and my merry band of Awesome People Who Bring It.

That is to say, Ian joined me and Shilpa for Pollo Del Mar's Brain Farts at the Lookout, and raucous/debauchous 80s dancing afterward down the block at Testarossa Monday at Trigger.

This week's theme was questions Pollo pulled out of her ass "potpourri," and Team Legalize Pot Pourri (us) "carried" it through the first round, scored in the lightning round (me), and nailed it in round two for the win. It was Ian's first time at the Lookout not to mention his virgin visit to drag trivia, and he was total game.

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Also joining us were Brain Fart regulars Skot Land and Terrance, as well as adjunct Pee Dee, newcomer Sprout, and Ian's hosts Kevin and Shawn.

Now 80s nights, even the long standing 1984 at the Cat Club, can be hit or miss, but Testarossa Mondays at Trigger has proven a quality good time again and again (nevermind that the venue is perhaps my most hated in the City). Get on BeBe's list for VIP entry and a free drink, and pay attention to the news feeds if you want the free-drink code phrase for the night. But also beware that the free drink with code phrase is one of their frozen concoctions, whose sugar levels can render you an instant diabetic. The fruity ones taste like instant jello mix, but sweeter, and more artificial. Like the crowd. Svedka drinks are on special for $2 and served in big plastic Solo cups (yes, the crowd gets that messy). And avoid the DJ booth area—he LOVES to pump out the smoke, and it gets rather toxic rather quickly.

Like all 80s nights, the patrons fall into two distinct camps: those over 30 years old for whom this is nostalgia, and those under 30, for whom this is "retro." Bah! to the baby gays and their gaggles of tag along girls. I'm not against straight girls in gay bars, just useless ones who can't hold their liquor or a conversation. Or that far too common girl-in-a-gay-bar stereotype that feels entitled to special treatment either because she is (1) a girl [we don't care, we have no interest in paying any sort of attention to you] or (2) straight [it is not "cool" that you're going clubbing to gay bars, please do not act like we should appreciate your validation]. And girls in straight bars should learn to order drinks with a maximum of two ingredients. You're clogging the bar with all that prep.

So aside from the B&T/T&A element, the crowd is there for the fun of it and embraces the 80s music schlock-jock love.

Feel it:

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Oh yeah, the bar staff is also in 80s costume. Often very well done. Here Rob and PD order drinks from a Super Mario "Brother."


Part of 80s music love is embracing a cliché. Either literally, like PeeDee here,

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or figuratively, such as when the DJ plays "Vogue," you do.

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There's nothing to it.

Nice job, Bozo!

On my walk to work yesterday morning, I passed this on the sidewalk:


A large pastel chalk sign crying "Congratulations Clowns!!! 2010!!!" might seem odd to see, but I live down the street from the Circus Center. This year's 27 graduates all went for pizza in a Mini Cooper.


Another reason to love SF.

(Flickr)

Lesbi friends

A friend who I would never consider a lesbian has just revealed a love and lover relationship with another woman. I still don't consider her a "lesbian" yet, and she is not quite ready to self-identify as such either.

I think I just don't care for the word "lesbian" (unless the person is actually from the island).

I suggested that for the time being, we just call her a "girlie girl."

Or as she is Latina, more appropriately, she's a "girl y girl."

Madre di Dios I hope that catches on. And that I get credit.

Goodwill hunting

I had to walk over to my local post office during lunchtime yesterday. I ran into Manu from the neighborhood who was on his now weekly run (daily?) to the Goodwill store on Haight Street. He has been scoring some awesome couture lately and he is now regimented in his Goodwill treasure hunting (he's a small and muscled Frenchman stylin' for the ladies). He was very excited.

As he should be. He found these jeans last week and they even fit. How could he not buy them?


Full-on styled and embroidered Fat Albert jeans. Love it.

tiny mario bros.

Seen in the Castro: someone got a little whimsy with the pipe and plumbing caps outside of the vacant laundromat.


I love SF.

June bugs

As Pride gets closer, so do the mo's. It's gay tourist season in SF! Rob Sikorski from Nashville scored a brief business trip out here last week and we stepped out.

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Hey to Rob.

people watching

Pee Dee, Skot Land and I managed to camp out in the prize corner window/table at Harvey's last Sunday afternoon. It was late afternoon and most everyone was wiped out from the sunny day, but there was still some freak show people watching to be had. I tried to get a shot of these two, unrelated, with my phone,

Oh my. Where is Grampa Sam coming from and where is he headed. And does he know the cuff of his pants are a good six inches too short?


Now strutting up behind him is a person that passed us several times. We couldn't figure this one out. Black outfit, wrist cuff, black shirt over gray tank top, piercings, and prominent but scruffy beard/goatee. And full rack of boobs.

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It wasn't a manly woman. It wasn't a feminine man. And it wasn't any form of transexual or transgered person in our combined experience (which is considerable). Just a slightly leather cruising dude with a full set of man boobs. WTF.

Then there was this tube top wardrobe choice:


Sartorial splendor.

Good rule of thumb: no clothes that make you look like the Michelin Man.

Tuesday afternoon dose of awesome

Feel it? Remember? Check out his engaged grin.


My nephew on a Big Wheel generously shared by another child at the playground. The grandparents still have their kids' original Big Wheel. Nothing like the original.

over the rainbow

and in a very magical land. Last Friday (well, Friday before this just past one) Skot and I took some of our happy hour quality time on the top of Tank Hill above my neighborhood. Strong, warm thermals were blowing in from the ocean and the skies were clear. The sun set around 8:35, making for a long and lovely evening.

June is Pride month in SF to be sure. And SF shows her love. We live in a beautiful place.

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I love these shots, and I'm surprised how well they came out as they were taken with an older iPhone (3G).

education, not ignorance

Please, please support book learning, with truthful history and science, not ideology.

Prop 8 Closing arguments

It was fun to read the live blogging. And it's a travesty video recording wasn't allowed, if not for historical purposes.

It was a total smackdown. The H8rs are screwed. Forced to defend the indefensible, they stammered their case as "I don't know." and "I don't have to prove anything." And their poster woman to "protest marriage'? She had to be told by the bailiff to take her feet down. And put shoes on in the courtroom. These are the people trampling my civil rights? Actually barefooted rednecks?

AOL News: Defense says no defense needed.

Firedog Lake: Ted Olson brings us home

Kate Kendall's video response after leaving the courtroom. (National Center for Lesbian Rights)

Pam's House Blend: Prop 8 trial: defendant witness David Blankenhorn withers under Boies' questioning


The H8r's lawyer Charles Cooper kept saying he did not have to defend marriage as always and forever one man-one woman (never mind that it was, in the scheme of thing,s until only recently one-man-and-many-women), nor did he have to provide any evidence to support his case (to which the judge cocked an eyebrow-- really? you don't think evidence is necessary in a trial?). His repeated argument: "I don't have to provide any evidence...You only need to go back to your chambers and pull down any dictionary or book that defines marriage. You won't find it had anything to do with homosexuality."

I kept thinking, "Really? Any book?"

I swear, the conservatives only study revisionist history. And damn all that liberal book learnin'.

"I don't have to provide any evidence...You only need to go back to your chambers and pull down any dictionary or book that defines marriage. You won't find it had anything to do with homosexuality." It isn't defined by any sexuality actually. Marriage is not so much about sex. Or so I've heard...

blood suckers

Why does conservative insanity and ignorance continue to surprise me? Going against all science and evidence presented, the Advisory Committee upheld the ban prohibiting gay men from donating blood. Drug users, prostitutes, and other high-risk populations are okay, but if a man has had any sexual relations with another man since 1977, their blood is TAINTED!

Witch! Witch! Wiiiiiiiitch!

Seriously. What. the. fuck?

The suffering and dying of people in need of blood is less important than keeping the stigma on "the gay." It's like the "citizens" on the Texas School Board also get to write health policy. Why do these panels always seem to be made up of people who stick crayons up their nose?

rrazzie

I love cabaret acts, and The Rrazz Room at the Hotel Nikko took over as the unofficial Official SF Cabaret Space when The Plush Room closed. I have tried to be supportive, but the Rrazz is just too expensive for a Cabaret show. The tickets are often reasonably priced, it's the mandatory food and drink prices that will kill you. Two drink minimum, and their bar prices are outlandish. Last time the "two drink minimum" for me and my date added over $100 to the price of our $30 (each) tickets. That sort of feels like a "fuck you" from the theater. And it's not like you're getting a "gay pour" (i.e. heavy) either.

Nevermind the service and cost, the Rrazz Room isn't all that great of a space in the first place, with no backstage and questionable acoustics (and one night the fire alarm went off for over an hour during the performance, including 45 minutes of "there is no alarm" alarms).

Regardless, there's not really any other space for singers, cabaret and show people to perform. Their lineup is generally really good.

Until my newsletter today, which may harbinger poorer times and mediocre acts for the Rrazz Room. Headlining this summer: Jennifer Holliday, Connie Francis, and, I am not making this up, The Thunder from Down Under. Yes, "Australia's Hottest Export" of mullet muscle queens. From the Rrazz Room promo "Recommended for adult audiences. No full frontal nudity. Gentlemen are welcome." Ha.

You want to see hot, muscled, nearly naked man flesh? Just go dancing at Ruby Skye/Fresh on Sunday nights.

Or Dolores Park on any sunny day.

this piece has nuts

Shilpa set out the new departmental mental break/socializing puzzle today.

"Here's the new puzzle." She handed me an over-sized box with the banner title: "Chocolate from Heaven."

"Oooh." I say looking over at the table. "Can we eat the puzzle?"

My interest in puzzling is markedly increased. Although it would make completing the puzzle considerably more difficult.

iPhone 4 pre-oders start today

so naturally, Apple's and AT&T's servers have crashed. There are actually lines in front of stores to pre-order and wait in line again next week. This bodes well for the popularity of the product, and the potential market-wide adoption of Apple's open Face Time video calling standards, but does nothing to push Apple/AT&T to improve the actual service or pricing plans. It looks like we'll all buy the iPhone even though the data/voice services are expensive AND unreliable.

I hate myself a little for so wanting one, and will be pre-ordering mine as soon as the coast is clear.

Actually, word is that Radio Shack may be the best place to get one next week: no anticipated lines AND they'll pay for your trade-in. Nice.

(image from Gizmodo)

She's with Coco

TMZ has "exclusive" coverage of Conan O'Brien's welcome to TBS in Atlanta: "Conan O'Brien at TBS -- Coco Signs of Success."

If you click "Launch Photos" and click to the second photo, you'll see Alert Reader Margaret McAllister right there with Coco!

all aboard the booze bus!

I hope my retirement is as fun as theirs—

A group of rural retirees in Britain got bored with trivia night at their local pub so they are taking advantage of the fact that seniors ride free on public transport and devised their own game of pub roulette. They all hop on whichever bus shows up next, and use a game based on coins to come up with a number of stops. When they arrive at that stop, they all pile out of the bus, and into the nearest pub. They then drink and party there until they catch a bus back just before 11:00 PM, when the free fares for seniors expires.

From the article: "It's better than real roulette. You can never lose playing bus roulette because you always fall into a pub,’ said Peter Biggs, 65, from Oxford."

Now I have something to look forward to in retirement! Clearly, I'll be retiring with Kevin, Shilpa and Coco.

bright idea

I've heard of the push for white LED street lights, and the cost/benefit analysis of switching an entire city's (such as SF) street lights from incandescent to LED. It would be expensive for sure, but energy savings would pay for it within ten years, and the energy/environmental/maintenance savings after that would be considerable.

I had not considered the impact of solar-powered LED light bulbs on the developing world. From the green design blog Inhabitat:

1.6 billion people in the world still use kerosene lamps for light. Not only are they non-renewable and expensive — they can consume up to 5% of a family’s income — they also give off noxious cancer-causing fumes that amount to the emissions of 30 million cars. Nokero plans to improve air quality and reduce global warming emissions by replacing the unhealthy use of kerosene with their durable, rainproof, solar powered LED light bulb.

Very bright idea indeed! And great for urban use as well.

I love how they designed the casing to look like a lightbulb, including the threads, even though it will never have to screw into anything.

more bad Apples

Apple was ridiculously prudish with approving apps for the iPhone, if you recall going so far as to ban the dictionary, because it had words like cock (rooster) and ass (donkey) in it.

Now Apple is banning books and graphic novels from the iPad if they don't "approve" of them. Unsurprisingly, as with most censorship, it is not being enforced on an egalitarian level. Graphic violence and sex scenes from some comics are okay, but graphic novels of Ulysses and The Importance of Being Ernest are denied or blacklined—even after the user certifies they are over 18. Seriously.

Every day Apple makes it easier to spit out the Kool Ade.

I'm waiting for the Amazon Kindle ads: "The Kindle: The digital book reader that doesn't tell you what you're allowed to read."

take a hike

"My God you're work."
"And you're a walk in the park."
"I am."
"You're a walk in the park?"
"I didn't say which park and what time of day."

can't we all just be friends?

Shilpa has, repeatedly, rebuked the term "fag hag." We are past that. She says, "I don't have 'gay friends,' I just have friends. Some of whom are gay. And gay guys can have friends who are women without them being 'fag hags.'"

Although we still prefer the terms "fruit fly" or "mo ho."

Scientific American is reporting on a study testing "the common assumption that women befriend gay men because they have poor body esteem and feel unattractive to straight men. If this were true, the authors reason, then there should be a meaningful statistical association between a woman’s number of gay male friends and her body esteem and relationship success."

The study found no such correlation, rather that women with higher self esteem have more gay friends. The question remains if it is more that the better self image leads to more gay friends, or is it that gay friends boost a woman's self esteem?

Queerty answers it best: "Either way, our work is done. We made you feel better about yourself, and now we're going to leave you sitting in the corner with your iPhone while we cruise the bar."

Shilpa and Coco call that 1:00 AM pre-last call but better get working on someone fast time "Dick O'Clock." And they are okay with that. It turns out that Yes, Rodney, we all can get along.

hairy potter

PeeDee just got a haircut from a famous (think Bravo) stylist friend of his.


She gave him a lightning bolt of blond down the back.


We in the office were tried not to laugh. Okay, they tried not to laugh. I made no such effort. PeeDee says he's okay with it, and as it grows out it he thinks it will look kinda cool.

"Whatever, Lightning Lad."

Shilpa said that "It doesn't look bad...it's just sort of shocking."

No pun intended.

It's sort of like Volemort tried to kill him from behind.

from Heights to high, both an amazing trip

Local theater Man Randy Taradash organized a group to go see the new Tony-winning show In the Heights last night, currently playing at the Curran Theater in San Francisco.

DAMN that is an amazing show! And judging by the video clips online, the touring company may be out-performing the original cast. This is an exceptionally excellent production—score, book, acting, set and direction. You'll laugh, you'll cry, and you'll dance in your seat. At least I did. Others may wet themselves, but that has more to do with the would-be-comic-if-it-weren't-tragic state of toilet facilities at the Curran. Seriously? Knock out a wall and put in some plumbing already. The place is more fitting for a open-ended run of Urine Town.

Better-versed theater critics are all over In The Heights so go read their reviews. I'll just add my voice to the chorus of Bravos!

But I will contribute something new to the theater review—review and recommendation of the after show. After dodging the black-hoodied swarms of WWDC attendees both to and from the performance, we stopped into Johnny Foley's Irish House for a nightcap.

GOD I love San Francisco. We waked into the sound of someone belting out a Journey song with minimal backing and thought they must have started a karaoke night (it was only a Tuesday after all). But no, it was booked entertainment, in the form of a one-tranny band with lights, drums, guitar, harmonica and the works. And by "the works," I mean a bag of slightly green chocolate chip cookies (if you get my drift). She was hilarious, and not a drag-queen funny tranny, but a full on transgendered person sans makeup or, apparently, any gay friends to help her pick out clothes or to instruct her as to the form and use of a hairbrush. This was not drag—neither catty nor camp—rather absolutely absurd, and sublimely San Franciscan.

And she was funny, and immensely entertaining. Not to say that her singing was good mind you, just remarkably entertaining. During one break she spoke lovingly of California and San Francisco (this being an audience of mostly obvious tourists) for its passage of Prop Whatever legalizing medicinal marijuana and the various legal and medical supports for the transgendered community.

She also paused at one point to say, "I want to tell y'all this, before you hear it from anybody else..." (I was expecting the "I'm transgender" announcement here, but that came later) "...I'm really, really high right now."

I believed her.

And then she ate another cookie.

I forget how much I enjoy a good raucous professional tourist crowd too. Maybe it was just the level of geeks/new meat. One rather nothing-to-notice, mid-western guy in a blue blazer was accompanied by an everything-to-notice statuesque six-foot-plus blond bombshell in a corset. The incongruity of the couple was remarkable, in that almost everyone in earshot was remarking. Later, the mid-western guy would compliment me on my boots and engage me in deep conversation about them. This was at the urinal.

The manflesh on display was decidedly not local, and many appeared to be traveling in unnatural packs. These were most groups of guys from the same workshops, conventions /WWDC groups, or business trip. I wondered how many of these men might have a little man-on-man interest while in town (it is astoundingly common based on anecdotal reports and CL ads) but were unable to break free from their pack to explore it. On a side note, there were not that many women out at all so I am not sure what these guys were seeking, other than an beer close to their hotel.

I did think that a good half of these guys (especially the clearly gym-obsessed ones) could get laid in a heartbeat if they stopped by the Castro.

Or you know, my place.

better know a gay

a recent CBS report found that more and more Americans know someone gay.


What they don't report is that that someone is me.

Consideration for marriage quality

"If you disagree with the homosexual lifestyle, support overturning Prop 8 and make them get married. Like the rest of us."

in case you needed yet another reason to hate AT&T

Well, we know neither of those Ts refer to Trees. The CA assembly has been trying to make it harder for phone companies to dump millions of unwanted phone books on our doorsteps. The most recent measure, brought by SF State Senator Leland Yee, was killed by efforts from AT&T.

More dead trees, more trash, more hassle, more waste of energy and resources.

I really don't need an AT&T phone book. I am shackled to AT&T for my iPhone wireless service, so not only would I just use my domestic wifi to look up the number (rendering the phone book useless), but AT&T's service is such complete crap that I couldn't even make the call on their network if I wanted to.

WWDC, AKA iPhone 4 show

Right this moment, Steve is touting the new iPhone 4 as if he were not only Moses bring you the tablets, but the God who carved the stones. Still, the details from the live-blogging seem pretty exceptionally cool.

But I am waiting for the AT&T shoe to drop. ("We have AMAZING technology, and we're forcing you to run it on the WORST network! And raising the price for doing so!")

But in honor of the Applegasm going on downtown, here's a quote that was sent out this morning via the office tech Listserv:

"Dell has announced that it's releasing a competitor for the iPad. It’s a great alternative for people that own an iPad but are fed up with it working all the time."
—Craig Ferguson

Information presentation awesome

Oh Great Maker. I went to grad school in information science so I could design stuff like this. Unfortunately, they didn't have any classes that came close to this sort of work.

I believe this may be the best designed delivery information system ever. It's specific, interactive, intuitive, and immediate. And it just looks so, so cool. And of course, it tells you what you want to know.

Your guide to the 2010 World Cup tournament.

I'm all in geek drool over here. Now if I could be so interactive with some of the players...(specifically numbers 1 and 8).

I lost ten pounds of me to meth

We've been saying we want to do crystal meth, but just for a week to lose the weight. We want the skinny that comes with meth abuse, without the lost of teeth, job, life, hygiene and sanity.

Then we thought it would be awesome if we could just target the meth to our "problem areas" (i.e. rolls of fat). Perhaps if crystal meth came in some form of topical cream...

Maybe call it Crystal Light?

fog all up in the hair

Wow. It's a bit "humid" today. And by that I mean really, really foggy up here. I use Shilpa's hair as my weather barometer. And judging by now, her favorite cheese must be gorgon-zola.

TGIF-SF, May 4-6

Lots going on this the first weekend in June (get your Pride act together people). Anyone is welcome to join me for my favorite treats this weekend:

Friday night (tonight): Nasty Pride—Suzan Revah's now monthly filthy fundraiser for the AIDS Emergency Fund at the Powerhouse. Tonight's Nasty celebrates Pride (okay, it always celebrates gay/leather pride, but this is officially "Pride Month") and local Mr. SF Leather and Friend of the Blog Lance Holman just back from International Mr. Leather in Chicago, where he was crowned First Runner Up!

[Personally, and I will get shit for this, I think he was robbed. It was like going up in a talent/costume contest against an adorable kid with a sick puppy. Lance lost out to a handicapped FTM transgendered person. I am ALL about diversity, clearly, but you can't tell me that those "awwww" and "celebrate diversity in the community" adjectives didn't affect the voting. Lance embodies Mister Leather. And for me, Mr. Leather is about masculinity and power (yes, the competition is about many other things too, I'm just speaking for me). A transgendered person in a wheelchair just does not embody that mental ideal for me—that of dominating power and masculinity. Of course, I am sure the winner is a great person and active in his community, and I am sure Lance will have no unkind words to say. But Lance is also a great and gracious guy who would not. But I get to rant and vent in my own blog and am doing so. Lance worked so hard for this, and I feel like he was handicapped by not being handicapped. /end grumble.]

Saturday: A day full of fun stuff, including the Union Street Fair, and I plan to cap off with Bearracuda with DJs Matt Effect and 50 Pound Note (love that name for a DJ!) at the Deco Lounge.

Sunday it's the Indie Mart starting at noon down the street along Thee Parkside (17th and "all down Wisconsin"). The Indie Marts are just FULL of awesome stuff. Nice musical lineup too.

Later Sunday night starting at 8:00 it's Maurice Tani, Jenn Courtney and 77 El Deora at Freight & Salvage, 2020 Addison Street in Berkeley. Always awesome. (Opening the evening will be the singer-songwriter/ folk diva Claudia Russell & her Folk Unlimited Orchestra and the eclectic string band Don't Look Back.)

Other gay stuff: (what follows is gay, not the Indie Mart or 77)

Friday (today): AIDS Life Cycle "Bon Voyage" happy hour party at the Lookout.
Saturday: Gay Day at Raging Water (Sacramento)
Sunday: Buckin' Rodeo BBQ at Brix Nightclub (San Jose); The Royal Daddy/Daddy's Boy competition kick off at the Powerhouse (benefits the Breast Cancer Emergency Fund)

Also very much of note: Newly out Chely Wright will be playing the GLAAD Media Awards in SF this weekend, hosted by Bruce Villanch and featuring Cybill Shepard.

What about beignets?

It's National Donut Day! Free donuts at many places, including Dunkin and Krispy. As much as I love a donut and a patriotic excuse to eat one, one the (donut) whole, I'd rather have a fresh beignet. Yum.

And someone had better get started on the National Funnel Cake Day.

Do you remember? There was a time...

...when people on the street were walking hand in hand in hand. They used to talk about the weather, making plans together—days would last forever.

Do you remember? Once upon a time, there were open doors—an invitation to the world.

Memorial Day Weekend 2010.

let's wrap this game up

Its an open secret—gay men, and their friends, rarely pay for condoms. At least in urban areas where a variety of agencies with the mission to stop the spread of HIV place giant fishbowls of free condoms in every bar and bathroom. There is really no excuse for any gay man not to have a condom handy if the situation, ahem, arises.

Also, it's fun to fill your fruit fly's purse with them when she isn't looking. No reason she shouldn't be safe too.

The very long Memorial Day Eve Sunday in the Park (with Wilson's break for dancing) ended back in the Castro. However, after 12 hours together, the conversation started to wane. Enjoying each-other's company again at Toad Hall, someone dug into the adjacent bowl of condoms to discover that the STOP AIDS Project had switched to a new brand, and was fully stocked with "One" Condoms, each apparently with a different design.



And Lordy, were there many, many designs. And many were very, very clever. While there seemed to be an endless number of designs, one could find a pair as they pulled from the bowl. Which somehow, or perhaps obviously, led to several hands of "Condom Go Fish."

.

Got any "Stiff One"s?
Go Condom.

workout and a shower

We kicked of Mem Day Weekend with a happy hour Thursday night at Toad Hall. Skot Land just finished his first semester of exams (design school for interior architecture, way to go) and wanted a little happy time. We are always pro-happy time.

One of Skot's friends who joins us from time to time works in a dildo factory. ("Of course he does." I hear you say. Yeah, I love living in SF.) From time to time, he bings us free "irregulars" they can't sell—a concept which totally cracks me up. One of his responsibilities is the shredding and destruction of such irregulars and other ill-formed toys. He has to shred these because otherwise, people dig through their trash for them. This just cracks me up more and more, expect for the creeped-out factor. And I know this must be a problem as when I helped a friend clean out his recently-deceased brother's home, we returned in the morning to find all of the expired medications, personal items, and sex toys were taken from the garbage.

Anyway, this dildo-factory friend (who shall remain nameless) also gets to play around with the molds and materials from time to time. Sometimes he tries mixing different color elements to see how they combine in the melting/forming process. He does this in small sqaure trays, and he uses the results as coasters for fun. Coming straight from work (insert your own joke there), he brought a couple along to happy hour.



Then it struck me. These would be a genius material for bathroom shower tiles! These tiles are strong, but pliable and rubber-like without the biodegradable decay issues. You could have your own padded bathroom. Young couples could romp without bruising. When the elderly slip, the bathroom breaks their fall. Just picture them as tiles:



I imagine they would be more popular in showers designed for two. Or, you know, more.

And here we had it: a material maker, the idea, and an interior designer— all at the same table! Was this IT? The genesis of an idea? A new product? Massive commercial success by combining disparate enterprises (dildo manufacturing meets domestic textiles)?

Meh. We just ordered another round of drinks and moved on. But it was so close...