I'm just sayin'...

passing in the eccentric lane

2012-01-30T16:38:00.000-08:00

Seriously. You're like just "having cats" away from being a crazy cat lady.

crimson tide

2012-01-30T16:12:00.000-08:00

"Did your punctuation finally show up."
"Oh my god, it was like a crime scene in my pants."
"CSI: My Panties."

on edge

2012-01-30T16:11:00.000-08:00

Overheard—

"I totally snapped at the new girl today."
"Was it short tempered, or more like 'Girrrrl...>snap<?"
"Short tempered."
"How boring."

more of why I love SF

2012-01-30T13:58:00.001-08:00

Because this is overheard at work. From Special K:

Coworker, holding open door: "Are you coming out?"
Me: "Yes, and I want the world to know."

I really do imagine this is the sort of office dialog that only goes on in SF.

I'll take two and call you from the hospital

2012-01-26T16:48:00.000-08:00

After a loud cough in my office, a coworker asked if she should call me the paramedics. I said I'd only need just the one.

high ate us

2012-01-26T16:39:00.000-08:00

I really wanted to take January "off." And I did manage it a bit. A lot less going out. A lot more veging out. A lot more alone time. All I sorely needed. But also, new job with a lot of learning and all day trainings for a few weeks sort of wiped me out too. Between the stress of the holidays, new professional gig, and finally getting some time alone to process the loss of my father—in the rare times I dare to I allow my mind to go there—have made for not feeling either terribly social or all that funny, which makes for a dearth of blogging.

I suppose I could our some of these introspections into prose, but I have been, as Whendon might say, happily vacationing in the land of not coping.

But here have been some bright spots and social events and things worth posting about. Not to mention I seem to still take about a gazillion digital pictures a month, half of them reminders of things I'd like to write about sometime. But the ennui and inaction have extended to iPhoto, and an attitude of "I'll tags and upload those later." Meh.

All work and no play have very much left Jack a dull boy. And fat. Wow. All right. Enough.

Back to blogging, back to tagging, and I'm putting down the ladle of comfort food. No more grief bacon for me.

I'll ease back into it, but you can expect posting to resume. I'll start with some event-based observations and photos with captions and get back to funny shit later. Man, reading the Bloggess makes me miss being funny (DAMN she's funny). I just don't seem to have access to that like I used to.

Processing....

To tide you over, here is a photo of me with my mother at the MBA (high school) senior Mother-Son luncheon. Or rather, hair is a photo of me with my mother...

why I have no sexy photos of myself

2012-01-11T14:55:00.000-08:00

Beside the fact that darkness is my friend and naked is not my best feature, I do not have any pics of my man business on my computer, my phone, or on any site.

The photos of your junk will be publicized.

THIS is art. Beautiful.

shit memes say

2012-01-11T14:53:00.000-08:00

I hate to say it, but when they're done well, I really like these. When they're done well. The "southern gay guy" one was just bad. I think the first guy deserves more credit for starting it.

This meme continues to amuse me.

As, unexpectedly, does this one.

off their rockers

2012-01-11T12:39:00.000-08:00

I think this may be the best prank show yet. C'mon, with Betty White? Awesome.

they tried to make me go to rehab

2012-01-09T17:32:00.001-08:00

If I have to go, I want to go to the Betty White Clinic. Sounds much more fun.

Pacific Gay & Electric Company: Hey you guys!

2012-01-09T17:28:00.000-08:00

You hear of all sorts of fraud and shenanigans regarding power companies in general and PG&E in particular. I remember a tale of a math teaching using an electric bill for math problems and even professors couldn't get the companies calculations to make sense II remember reading the story years ago but currently can't find the article in the amount of time I'm willing to spend looking for it). It all seems a bit of smoke and mirrors, if not outright malfeasance.

So it came time to pay my bill this month and I decided instead to pay a call on PG&E. Four voice menus and twenty minutes of hold time later (thank goodness for hands-free), a very polite and affable customer service rep gave me very pleasant replies which amounted to no answers.

Heres' the thing: in October when Dad went in to the hospital and subsequently died, I went home for two weeks. When the roof was getting torn off in November, I went home for two weeks. IN December, I went home for two weeks at Christmas. I may have used up all of my leave, but I spent six weeks out of the past three months in Nashville. That is to say, not in my apartment. And yet each month, my utility bill increased over the months when I was actually there. If I am not running the stove or turing on any appliances, it would reason that my consumption (not accounting for the vampire effect) would drop considerably, maybe even much as half. But according to PG&E, these are actual readings from a meter reader. There are no smart meters at my building yet, but we are scheduled for installation...sometime.

They are telling me that when I am gone half the time, I am using the same or as much gas and electricity as when I am there full time.

I'm calling shenanigans on this one. There is something seriously rotten in the PG&E assessment and billing and it's not the sulfur they add to the natural gas.

I want my data entered somewhere. These can't be honest calculations. Surely there is some conspiracy-inclined investigator looking into such things.

Just putting this out there for Google should such be the case.

no snow

2012-01-09T17:13:00.000-08:00

Man, it's like August out here. The past weekend has been sunny and about 70 here in SF. Where be the cold and the rain? Or more importantly to my friends who strap boards to their feet and pay a fortune to careen down steep hills, where the freak is the snow?

Via the SFist, Unofficial Networks asked a National Weather Service meteorologist to explain WTS (where the snow?):

Last year was a strong La Niña with the stationary high pressure further south and west of the coast allowing the jet stream and associated storm track to drop out of the Gulf of Alaska and bring copious amounts of precipitation to the Sierra. This season the La Niña signal is weaker with a high pressure ridge over the west coast allowing very little precipitation to make it to the Sierra. It is important to understand that La Niña can either be wet or dry and rarely brings average precipitation to the Sierra. There are other oscillations that couple with La Niña and have an impact on whether we end up with above or below average precipitation.

... It is very unlikely to stay this dry for the rest of the winter, but how wet it will get is extremely difficult to predict. La Niña is forecast to weaken and become more neutral into spring. Once we get the ridge of high pressure to break down or shift, we should expect more typical winter storms for the rest of the winter.

Bring on the gravel angels.

there's a frog in my throat

2012-01-09T16:28:00.000-08:00

I love that this was sent in by an expat in Paris.

How to fake French:

advice for the inexperienced straight girl in the gay bar

2012-01-06T13:22:00.000-08:00

My Baby's Got a Secret
Okay, it's a little hackneyed and to me, a bit meh overall, but there is an entertaining post over at Gawker: The Secrets Gay Men Don’t Want Straight People to Know. The funny in it is that, yeah, it's pretty much all true.

From the bit:

We Have Our Own Celebrities
Straight people think, "Oh, the gays love Madonna and Lady Gaga and Kathy Griffin." Yes, it's true, but there is a class of gay superstars you don't even know about. You think gay people love Gaga? You should hear when a Robyn song comes on at a gay bar. Then it is fucking over. Don't forget the Scissor Sisters, anyone who was ever on RuPaul's Drag Race, Ben Cohen, cabaret superstar Mx. Justin Vivian Bond, or all the women whose careers we are personally keeping alive like Cyndi Lauper, Margaret Cho, and Sandra Bernhard. You may think you know what we like, but you don't even know the half of it.

We Don't Love Drag Queens As Much As You Do
Drag queens are great! Some of my best friends are drag queens, and some of them put on great shows. But we see drag queens all the damn time. You can hardly go to a gay bar without running into one who is "hosting," doing a lip sync number, running a contest, or just generally harassing people. For straight people it's a treat. It's fun and exciting and awesome. We're glad that you can be in on the campy fun, but don't hate us if we don't match your enthusiasm. Imagine if you took us to a straight bar and we were like, "Oh my god! They have the football game on the television over the bar. Isn't that amazing! That's so awesome. Look at that screen! It's so big and clear. Let's give it a dollar! Do you have a dollar? I want to tip the screen," you would think we were some crazy asshole. That's how we feel when you wig out (pun intended) over drag queens. Just clarifying.

I tend to rant about the "tourists," when I go out. I use "tourist" to refer to the self-important yet clueless straight people (usually young women) who take over gay bars and think they're all cool because they're in a gay bar (but cooler than the gays in residence? no.) and that the gay guys should cater to their whims because they are (1) girls and (2) straight, as if invading a gay space was some act of political or moral support on their part, and that gay boys are all just desperate to have a new straight girl best friend and she's going to be it. These are the people who treat a gay bar like it's a zoo. This is our home people. Show some respect. We are not your monkeys, but if you piss us off enough we are quite prepared to fling some poo.

The annoyance factor goes up tenfold if it's a bachelorette party. It's gotten so bad, the hot dance club and show bar in Nashville is adding a third, mid-evening drag show just for the bachelorette parties/straight kids in an effort to reduce the incursion of annoying gaggles of straight girls into the later show.

Honestly, the young-straight-girl-gaggle incursion is incredibly annoying. We're not grateful to have you here, and your behavior is deplorable. This is not a gay thing, this is an annoying straight girl thing. I am not saying that straight girls are annoying; I am saying that annoying girls are annoying.

There are MANY awesome straight girls we love to hang out with and actively invite into the bar scene. Actually, I consider these people women rather than girls. They've been to school and they get it. We are not their "gay friend" and they are not our "straight friend." We are simply and completely "friends." And they mind their manners when Out. As do we.

The girls I'm ranting about would be annoying in straight bars too. But while any room of men would consider these girls fucktards, the straight men might be willing to endure their company because of their stimulating looks or the possibility of some penis-related action. Gay men are not distracted by their pouty lips or pushed-up breasts, and to many gay guys these girls are pretty much dick kryptonite. The guys are out having fun in the bar and you're pouring ice water down their pants, so don't expect the same treatment to which you are accustomed.

Imagine the self-centered bachelorette bimbos invading a sports bar on game night. Even if they're hot, there is a limit to what the guys will put up with for that sake alone. Don't push in front of the bar, don't bogart the wings, and don't block the view of the screen. The game is on, and we're here to watch it. It's guys night out, and they're intruding

I've said it before: gay bars are sports bars. We just have different sports. And none of them are you.

So, if you fear you might be one of these girls, if you have Googled "bachelorette party gay bar" and found this, or if you are a young straight girl who goes to gay bars and someone has sent you a link to post, then pay attention: these are the three primary rules you need to learn and adhere to if you want to have a good time without getting your beads read.

You are a guest.
No one wants to fuck you.
Mind the bar etiquette.

You are a guest.
Behave like one. Enjoy the welcome but do not assert yourself. Do not be the fat, loud American tourist on European holiday.

No one wants to fuck you.
While gay bars tend to have a sexually-charged atmosphere, you have no power here. No one will defer to you, and you are the lowest person on the totem pole. You are, at best, equal. Bigger breasts will not get you free drinks nor the bartender's attention. We're the queens, you're a bee.

Do not get physical or throw yourself at a gay guy because he's considered "safe." This cuts both ways: It is NOT okay for a gay guy to kiss/ touch/ molest you in any fashion without your express consent. Most men, even the gay ones, are fascinated with breasts. But if a gay guy reaches for your mammaries, it should come with either a go ahead from you or a smack down from his peers. It's not just incredibly tacky, it's sexual assault.

That being said, there are also plenty of fag stags around and you are encouraged to hook up with them.

Mind the bar etiquette.
Order your drinks from the well, then get out of the way. Do not block access to the bar. Do not be expected to be served out of order because you're a girl. Do not order a drink with more, at the most, three ingredients. If you are considering a blended drink, there better be a spinning slushy machine behind the bar.

Finally, while not a rule, my awesome gay-bar-going-straight-women friends would remind you to respect Dick:00 (pronounced 'Dick O'Clock'). There will come a tipping point in the nightlife of any gay bar where the inclination to hook up overcomes the inclination to socialize. In some settings, this may vary from a slight yet perceptible increase in the cruising factor to a marked increase in sexual energy if not an outright frenzy to get laid. When dick o'clock chimes, the girls work on leaving, and the guys get to work on leaving together. If you pay attention, you can hear the ticking before the bell actually tolls.

Experienced friends sometimes invoke a code word or phrase. This roughly translates to "I love you, really. But I am working on this bit of hotness here and it looks like it might go someplace naked, so our hanging out together portion of the evening has come to an end. Let me know if you need cab fare."

Tennessee Titans

2012-01-04T16:22:00.000-08:00

Someone forwarded this link to me with the question, "Does this make you then son of a titan?" This is The Nashville Scene's 2011 In Memoriam spread of the influential and notable people who will be missed ("Titans" is the word they used.). My father, John Hardcaslte, tops the list under Business. Betty Brown, all around awesome person and mother to my good friends Susannah, Nina and Eliza (and Martin 3), tops the list under Connectors. Both passed this year, and both from the same kind of Parkinson's. We've been through a lot and loss together. And Nashville is the less for their moving on.

Business

JOHN HARDCASTLE
1936-2011
Real estate titan, H.G. Hill Co.

By Bruce Dobie

John Hardcastle combined a banker's manners with a historian's intellect, and that mix produced one hell of a delightful and agreeable man. With his wife, Fran, he was firmly planted in Aulde Nashville social circles, but displayed a driven intellectual curiosity and often thumbed his nose at convention — such as his participation, in 1976, in a re-enactment of the storied 1779 flatboat trip from Kingsport to Nashville that historians consider the founding of the city. Similarly, the first time I ever heard Hardcastle deliver a lecture, on Nashville history, he was dressed in a coonskin cap and other 18th century attire. If memory serves me correctly, he was channeling James Robertson. Perhaps "performance historian" would be an apt description of his metier.

Besides his passion for Tennessee history, Hardcastle was an ardent environmentalist, active in the early efforts to save Radnor Lake from development. He was also active in the Nature Conservancy. (At his funeral, a son offered the remark that while his father loved nothing more than sleeping outside in a tent, the only tent his mother ever really loved was the one enveloping the Cheekwood grounds once a year.) Professionally, Hardcastle started out as a banker but later was named president of the H.G. Hill Realty Co. Under his watch, the company developed the upscale project Hill Place on Post Road.

Hardcastle was an extraordinarily sociable man and had a fabulous laugh. In fact, just about everything he said seemed to start out seriously but then detour down a trail of good humor. At one point in his long slide into so-so health, I ran into him at the Whitland Avenue Fourth of July picnic, which he loved. He was dressed in a natty red-white-and-blue. "Age is getting to me," he said, taking a seat on a nearby bench. I then repeated to him what John Jay Hooker had told me, when he had turned 70. "When I woke up this morning," Hooker said, "I grabbed my penis and told it, 'Penis, if you were alive today, you would be 70.' "

John Hardcastle laughed so hard I thought I was going to have to call a doctor. At his funeral, a Dixieland jazz band played classics, and smiles broke out everywhere.

Connectors

BETTY BROWN
1939-2011
Environmentalist, philanthropist, progressive, single degree of separation

By Bruce Dobie

Betty Brown tended to a broad array of interests from her (and her husband Martin's) almost feudal spread out Hillsboro Road. Her agenda seemed to flow rather organically, although an official obituary would point to the fact that she was the founder and guiding light behind the Nashville Tree Foundation, which has planted thousands of trees here. There were other board memberships certainly, but most of her official commitments stemmed from a love of the outdoors. Friends often found themselves traipsing after her to inspect one or another wildflower on the family's property. Her environmentalism was, in many ways, her religion.

Because of her husband's family ownership of Jack Daniel's, Betty had standing the moment she moved to town. But from then on, it was her ballgame. Smart, progressive, unabashedly happy and willing to do whatever she wanted, she was a force. Betty didn't spend her time grooming future Swan Ball chairwomen. But the social arts were, in fact, her forte. Betty was a consummate and inveterate connector of people, always at the center of something. A visitor to her and Martin's house might find seated around the table a talking medley that included a congressman, an Episcopalian bishop visiting from California, and an environmental activist just in from the woods. Her summer trips to the family compound in the Canadian wilderness, attended over the years by dozens of thankful guests, were studies in how to make the difficult look easy. Betty's running buddies were a who's-who of literate, well-heeled Democrats, and at the Brown home they were often refreshed.

One time around Betty's table, someone mentioned a nasty divorce whose details were rocking the city. "Yes, they're negotiating here," she said nonchalantly. Activity often found Betty. She was comfortable in the fray. She loved spotting talent, putting people together, mixing it up. Her native Louisville pulled hard, but Nashville was where she invested her time and energies. An epic struggle with Parkinson's claimed her far too early. What we all would have given to see a vibrant Betty, 25 years hence, still presiding, the city's grande dame. She was buried in a wooden casket made from a tree felled on the family property. The gal had style.

books can take you to fantastic new places

2012-01-04T16:13:00.000-08:00

And artist Guy Laramee makes that happen, appropriately enough for the literate, literally.

Check out these amazing landscapes carved from books.

Christ loves. Christians hate. W†F?

2012-01-04T14:59:00.000-08:00

It's a bit of a long post but well reasoned, well researched, and theologically sound. The Reverend Mark Sandlin takes on the arguments/positions that the Bible and/or Christianity condemn homosexuality and exposes them as the unfounded and unsubstantiated excuses for bigotry, and hypocritical acts of hate that they are.

Pretty great stuff.

Clobbering "Biblical" Gay Bashing: Christianity and “Biblical” Hatefulness
By The Rev. Mark Sandlin

From Believe Out Loud.

It starts strong and goes from there:

We Christians are good at a lot of things. Helping others. Dressing up on Sunday. Quoting scripture. Pot luck meals. Taking care of church members. Weddings. Funerals. Worship. But perhaps the thing at which we are the most persistently exceptional is misinterpreting the Bible then running amuck in the world because of it. Honestly, mad skills. And history backs me up on this one.
We have used the Bible to support, promote and act upon some pretty un-Christian things: slavery, holocaust, segregation, subjugation of women, apartheid, the Spanish Inquisition (which, no one ever expects), domestic violence, all sorts of exploitation and the list could go on and on. Oddly, if you ask theologians to pick one biblical theme to rule them all, most of them would say “love”... well, love and grace. Okay, love, grace and forgiveness. Fine. They probably would not specifically agree on a single term, but they would most likely name something that is, in every way, the opposite of the oppression, belittlement, hatred and marginalization represented by the numerous atrocities committed by the Christian Church.

Excerpts:

So, as others have pointed out before, we use the Bible as if it is a sex manual, telling us what is and isn't acceptable in the eyes of the Lord your God. Thereby delineating out those whom it is okay for us to judge, and toward whom it is okay to direct all kinds of nastiness and holier-than-thouisms.
The reality is that the Bible is not a sex manual. I know, shocker. Right? Actually, it's a good thing (depending on your particular level of sexual prudishness – personally, compared to the Bible, mine is pretty high). You see, the Bible not only promotes marriage between a man and a woman, but it insists that that marriage be within the same faith. Not only should a wife be subordinate (Ephesians 5:22), but she should also prove her virginity... lest she be stoned (Deuteronomy 22:20-21). Oh, and the whole thing would probably be much better if it were arranged (Genesis 24:37-38). And that's just the warm up act.
According to the Bible, if a woman's husband dies and she hasn't had a son, she must marry his brother and have intercourse with him until she has a son (Mark 12:18-27). Sometimes, biblically wives are good, but concubines are better. Many of the “men of God” were not only married, but at least three of them had more than one concubine (Abraham, Caleb, Solomon) and they remained “men of God.” But like I said, “biblically wives are good” and there's no such thing as too much of a good thing. Right? So, why not have many wives? God frequently blessed polygamists (Esau, Jacob, Gideon, David, Solomon, Belshazzar).
As far as sexuality and the Bible's perspective on woman as property and as slaves... well, as you can imagine, it does not get any better.

...

Sodom is referenced multiple times in the Bible as an example of great sinning. And what might that sin be?
In Isaiah 1:10-17 it is thought to be injustice, not rescuing the oppressed, defending the orphan, pleading for the widow. In Jeremiah 23:14 it is adultery. In Ezekiel 16:48-49 it is the sin of not aiding the “poor and needy.” In Zephaniah 2:8-11 the sin is bullying, boasting and pride. In the Wisdom of Solomon it is “the bitter hatred of strangers.”
The sin is not about being gay. It is not about non-straight sexual orientation. The sin of Sodom was lacking hospitality, not being just, bullying, hating strangers, not caring for those marginalized. Funny, they are all things Churches (and individuals for that matter) sorely need to keep in mind and be better at practicing when it comes to how we do or do not welcome LGBTQ folk into our lives. After all, in today's society, who is more marginalized, more bullied, more treated like a “stranger,” than them? Come to think of it, not so funny.

...

Scholars have pointed to various reasons for ancient Israel's seeing male-male sex as taboo in Leviticus. It may be the same reason the rhythm method was thought to be wrong in the eyes of God, which presumably is that, as I have mentioned, they thought sperm contained the whole of life (how typically male-dominated-society of them). Therefore, in their way of seeing it, “Every sperm is sacred. Every sperm is great. If a sperm gets wasted, God gets quite irate.” On the other hand, it may be that they thought it was taboo because it went against their understanding that mixing of kinds, just like the mixing of two kinds of cloth was taboo. Male-male sexual relationships, in that way of seeing things, mixes up their understanding of gender roles.
Whatever the reason, the perspective in these clobber verses were based on an understanding of sex and sexuality that was just as misinformed as their understanding of the earth in relationship to the sun, of fish, of pork and of reasons for stoning children. In our scientific age, it is time to let go of archaic perspectives and start recognizing the things that are truly an abomination in the eyes of God: lacking in compassion and love, exercising judgment against others, and practicing and encouraging hate.

...
The rest of it is pretty holy too.

2012-01-03T14:39:00.000-08:00

I've always thought of Indiana Jones as an homage to the classic treasure-hunting and jungle-exploring adventure films/serials rather than purely original ideas.

Another student of film had the same notion, and demonstrates how closely the "new" movie recreated the old ones by recreating the first 13 minutes of Raiders of the Lost Arc, shot for shot, using footage from earlier films from which it drew its inspiration.

American Courage

2012-01-03T11:15:00.000-08:00

So you say you want a resolution:

NYD in SF

2012-01-03T11:10:00.000-08:00

My good friend Ireland brought his boyfriend and three kids to the New Year's Day chili party. They went to another party afterwards and he sent me this note:

We went to another New Year's party yesterday and apparently Pollo was there. I only knew that because just as we were leaving, a 6 or 7-year-old came running down the hall saying, "Pollo's here...as a boy!"

I love this.

Happy 2012

2012-01-03T10:53:00.000-08:00

Let's make it count.

As in past years, the holiday time in TN was too packed to post, even though there was ample material.

And the very special Annual New Year's Day Papa John's Black Eyed Pea Chili Party, was a huge success this year, of not also a huge expense, and it was the first year I didn't send out invitations but just made Facebook event, and it was the first year I ran out of food. I made a ridiculous amount of chili and four batches of cornbread, and it was gone so early.

And as I was manic host all day, I did not get much quality time with my lovely guests, and didn't get to take any pictures.

Next year: (1) cauldron, (2) designated photographer, and (3) a sign-in sheet. There were so many people and the day was such a blur I would love to remember who all was there, and get a better headcount as it related to bar and food consumption.

Thanks to all the lovely people who spent New Year's Day with me, and this might have been the best batch of chili yet! (I tasted it while cooking sure, but at the end of the day I never got a bowl myself—I even ordered take out for dinner as I was out of food. Locusts! All of you.)

Considering the emotional and physical toll of the holidays, I have never been happier toy get back to work. And considering my recent creeped-out experience at the Hallmark Store while in Nashville, I'll leave you with this awesome image I stole from Regretsy. Sort of sums up a lot of the holiday feelings.

If you know what I'm talking about

2011-12-30T15:35:00.000-08:00

It's on. Anytime after 1:00.

little bit of heart and soul

2011-12-29T16:10:00.000-08:00

Overheard at Tribe's Monday night karaoke, hosted by Keith:

"Are you going to sing?"
"No. This is my first drink."

Asked and answered.

And pretty much sums up karaoke night.

Hallmark channeling

2011-12-27T15:55:00.000-08:00

Yipes. I was inside the enormous Katy's Hallmark Store in the Belle Meade area with Margaret, surrounded by post-holiday margin shoppers and way too many floral prints, offensive scenes, and God Squad merch. It occurred to me, this is what the inside of a Tomas Kindcade cottage must look like.

See also.

we don't need no stinking vadges

2011-12-27T14:35:00.000-08:00

To the table next to us at Burger Up showing way too many ultrasound pics:

We don't need to see two dozen photos of the inside of your uterus at lunch.

Thank you.

(reference)

and to all a good night

2011-12-25T01:22:00.000-08:00

As I snuff the candles and darken the tree, it's deeply sad to face that the fact that Santa doesn't live here any more.

Merry!

2011-12-24T20:53:00.001-08:00

bad elf

2011-12-21T20:21:00.000-08:00

I just passed a display of mini megaphones. Tis the season to blackmail siblings with small children.

The Word of My Year

2011-12-20T15:57:00.000-08:00

Kummerspeck (German): Excess weight gained from emotional overeating. Literally, grief bacon.

Nom.

He just knows.

2011-12-16T14:54:00.000-08:00

You better watch out.

Just sayin'.

tip o' the hat

2011-12-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

Shopping with Niece Ellen:

Me: ‎"I think this hat is too small"
Ellen: "My Dad can't wear hats."
"His head is too big?"
"No, he just looks ridiculous."

We Wiss You a Merry Chrissmiss

2011-12-16T11:20:00.000-08:00

They may now call it the All School Winter Assembly, and combine it with Grandparents' Day, but we know it's really still The Christmas Sing at the Ensworth School. Although it's now less singing and more band and even some impressive dance.

.

Niece Ellen played the jazz keyboard for their electric version of Vince Guaraldi's A Charlie Brown Christmas. And while the absence of Papa John was keenly felt, it was a heart-warming show for Franna. And she so loves (as have I in my recent years as escort) taking Ellen out afterwards as the kids begin their winter break.

.

Pancake Pantry!

all the things she said... she's unbelievable

2011-12-14T16:46:00.000-08:00

Okay, it may be wrong how much I love this video: "Shit Girls Say."

It's funny because it's true.

Fast on it's heels came a parody of a satire, "Shit Gay Guys Say."

Which is also funny because it's true, but not as clever as the first one. If I want my sides to ache laughing at crazy shit gay guys say, I'll happily tune over to Louis Virtel. That bitch is funny with a capital PH.

take this job and dance it

2011-12-14T16:40:00.001-08:00

So, well, there's this.

Guys can dance. And those legs are fierce.

jet set photo set

2011-12-14T16:39:00.000-08:00

I tend to take lots of photos. And generally I am playing with other shutterbugs as well. It's sort of a pain to all swap photos later, or download which ones we want from sharing sites. Now the cool people who brought us Hipsamatic for the iPhone now have a sharing/photo pool app based on the concept of the analog disposable cameras people used to provide for sharing at events. You invite your friends to join via Facebook, set up a camera (24 exposures, naturally), and if one person takes a pic to that roll, the count is reduced by one, and the image shows up in the roll on everyone else's phone too.

The app is free and additional "lenses" cost about a dollar.

Hipstamatic Disposable from Synthetic on Vimeo.

Via Cult of Mac.

holidaze 2011

2011-12-14T16:33:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned earlier, I've been a little nutters. I have been manic with Things To Do and and still way behind. I have bailed on most holiday functions and fun stuff (see SantaCon, leisurely shopping, caroling, tree trimming, cookie parties, baking...) in favor of productivity. I fly back to Nashville tomorrow.

The events I could make time for included a farewell to our dear Reindeer Jim, the swanky Toys for Tots party (which while the "fancy" party of the season, has devolved into just a large cubed room with "A Gay"types roasting in the heat and paying $12 for a weak well drink. Looking over the photos—I am supposed to be in there somewhere—I was struck by the near total absence of bellies or bears which have become hallmarks of the company I keep. Hmm.), a wonderful house party complete with staging area and photo booth, and my annual favorite (now that this is on hiatus), the Sundance Saloon Holiday Party. And my new tradition of Photos with Santa.

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Those, and the can't-be-missed new tradition of touring the downtown hotels and Union Square store displays and holding our own photo shoots.

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As you may recall, museums are not off limits.

Right the Ho on.

Happy everything everybody.

boys for tots

2011-12-14T16:17:00.000-08:00

Okay, so let's recap my past couple of months. New job. My father died. Two long, emotional trips to Tennessee. My sister-in-law's father died. I took two weeks to clean out 40 years of hoarder crap/absolute treasures from my parents' attic, which is about a kajillion times the size of my apartment. Thanksgiving. Office move. More new job stuff. Christmas shopping. Parental tech support. Parental emotional support. Cleaning out three months of "i'll deal with this later shit" form my apartment so I could see the floor, clean the place, take the harvest decorations down, go to storage unit, go to storage unit, put holiday decorations up, amass family Christmas presents in organized piles in now tidy home. Shop for relatives. Ship for relatives (seriously, they want to close more post offices?). Clean out closet of skinny clothes to make room for fat clothes inherited from fashion brother. Make reservations to use all Groupons which will expire in about drive minutes.

So really, it is no surprise that (1) I am exhausted and (2) haven't been blogging much.

And that James and I could not schedule our mutual birthday dinner (birthdays are the last week in August) until the first week of December. I had gotten a Groupon for Burgers for two with unlimited bourbon and tots at Bullit (named for the McQueen flick filmed in SF) on Polk Street. The Marina end.

Here's my one minute review of Bullet: Very marina, cruisy, meat market, understaffed, understaffed, understaffed, very capable and kind single waitress for a hoard, and the gayest —dancing with elbows above the shoulders gayest—soundtrack ever. And awesome, awesome tots. Hammina. Salty freaking goodness. Sure, Fatty McPhaterson over here is postponing diet and exercise until January and so could have gone through four of five baskets on our unlimited tots deal if it weren't for the entirely reasonable that is James. Our deal was good for 90 minutes, the first 45 were spent waiting for service. For 20-something straight people, go get a drink, pose, and pick up. Everyone else, go for the tots, sip your drink, and play anthropologist watching the Marina Mating Rituals. Eunce, eunce, eunce. (That's the gay dance backbeat.)

That's what they're going to call my love life now

2011-12-11T19:05:00.001-08:00

Expiration dating.

And on an unrelated note, I'm going to start referring to going out with much older guys as "carbon dating."

Watch out for that banana peel

2011-12-09T17:00:00.001-08:00

Best overheard slip of the tongue today: "I was a pallbearer at his wedding."

"A hug is just a strangle you haven't finished yet."

2011-12-09T16:36:00.000-08:00

For those of you who loved the Big Metal Chicken:

Beyoncé, meet Copernicus.

I'm in wet-my-pants love with the Bloggess.

best of autocorrect

2011-12-08T12:40:00.000-08:00

I am getting really annoyed at the new iPhone-like autocorrect system in MacOS Lion. It seems to be correcting differently than before, and I am getting simple typos corrected to nonsensical messages.

Always here to show me how bad it could be, is DamnYouAutoCorrect.com. And here is their list of the 25 best of the worst of the year.

thanks, neighbor, but I just came over for a cup of sugar

2011-12-08T12:32:00.000-08:00

Via the SFist: FDA Decides Fremont Man Is A Sperm Factory

Putting your junk in a Kleenex? Fine. Putting your junk in a cup for a couple to get pregnant? fine. Putting your junk in a hundred cups, the feds would like a word with you.

I'm all for government regulation when is comes to the financial system, but now the FDA is saying at some point X many cups of junk is too many to go without regulation. Dude has been privately donating to couples with seed need for eight years (reporting over 20k e-mails inquiring about his product). Now the FDA considers his body a lab and himself "a manufacturer of human cells," and in need of bureaucratic oversight.

Seriously? FDA? You have so much other work you need to be doing. Focus.

with your nose so bright

2011-12-06T11:38:00.000-08:00

I think Rudolph was just drunk.

kind words

2011-12-06T11:35:00.000-08:00

I kind of needed this today as I am getting more assignments for which I have not yet received either training or even the electronic privileges to complete, and was feeling that I am not performing to the level to which I'd like. I received an e-mail from someone I use to work for/with in another capacity. She was just thinking of me and in closing she wrote "I miss your silly way of getting everything done expertly."

That pretty much sums me up. Yes I am silly. And people worry about my honesty in the blog vis-a-vis employment. But I get to be silly, because I get my shit done, and done well.

Back to that pesky grindstone now.

this is why you are fat

2011-12-05T16:29:00.000-08:00

and by you, I mean me.

Today's temptation, to which I succumbed: bourbon molasses chocolate pecan pie. Hand made by me with leftovers from thanksgiving baking.

At least I took the rest of the office down with me.

dance party/party of one

2011-12-05T00:10:00.000-08:00

I just can't not love this. Super silly fun, AND holiday cheer? Sign me up.

This was shared by someone on Facebook, or maybe I saw it on another blog—funny thing is, either all malls now look just alike, or that is Green Hills back in Nashville.

Update: I read the notes below the fold. That is Nashville. How random!

Here's his first one of these "I had this idea to go to a public place (in this case...the local shopping mall) and dance like no one's business....the only catch is, there is an iPod in my ear, so no one else around me can hear the music.

Heads turned. Jaws Dropped. Hilarity Ensued.

Shot at Memorial City Mall in Houston, TX 7/18/11."

This guy defines balls out. He's fearless. I can think of so many people who would be too terrified or mortified to so such a thing. I try to live my life this way.

What's that old line? Dance like no one is watching.

be a coffee achiever

2011-12-04T23:56:00.000-08:00

Via BinkieMcFartnuggets:

"How they kept on making these ads and still selling instant coffee is a mystery yet to be solved by mankind."

It reminds me of the time, as a practical joke, Geordi replaced all of the dilithium crystals with new Folger's crystals. And then everyone died.

Finally

2011-12-03T14:17:00.001-08:00

It's nice to have the other kind of "one of those days."

Sunny, warm, and social on a December 3.

For collaborations, the pod beats the squid

2011-12-02T15:02:00.000-08:00

As so many of our electronic and digital devices have big ol' power bricks/transformers at the plug/socket end, I heralded the advent of the power squid design over the multi-outlet strip. with it's too-close-together outlet configuration.

But for multiple devices such as lighting, laptops or other items which need to share power but not space, here coms the new Power Pods. Such genius!

Via RedFerret:

Power strips are great for when you have several different items that need plugged in around the same area. But what happens when you have a few things that are several feet apart, and nowhere near an outlet? Suddenly you’re dealing with a tangle of extension cords and power strips, which looks messy and dangerous. Wouldn’t it be great if you could get a power cord that had multiple outlets spaced along its length? Soon you will be able to.

Over at Quirky, a project has recently gained enough funding to be turned into a full-fledged product. The idea is simple. The Pod Power is a 15-foot cord with a three-prong outlet at every three feet. Each length of cord will wrap around the previous pod, so that you only have as much cord exposed as you really need.

beer buzz gets crafty near Dolores Park

2011-12-02T12:24:00.000-08:00

We've long been a fan of the tasty MateVeza brew, hand crafted with yerba mate which makes it also naturally caffeinated. I got an e-mail this week from the kind folks at MateVeza (not spam, I subscribe) announcing that they plan to open a brew pub near Dolores Park.

All I can say is "cheers!" The SFist has more to say.

take note

2011-11-26T14:04:00.000-08:00

As a man of letters, I'm speaking of actual missives not just talking as a writerly person, I have found a new interesting blog. Well, it's new to me. Cleaning out my parents' attic over the past few weeks I came across several caches of priceless hand-written letters—letters from my grandfather to my grandmother during the second World War, letters from my cousin in Alabama chronicling her life as an early teen and attendant drama, letters to/from my brother from his college years at Davidson and at King's College in London (including a wonderfully saucy one from one brother to another)—and as I collected these tangible treats, I thought how my niece and nephew might miss you on such treasures, such tangible records of their lives, should all of heir correspondence be electronic. No more pens put to paper. No one will clean out their attics and ponder wistfully over old YouTube directories and Facebook posts.

The blog which caught my eye is Letters of Note, which singles out different physical epistles each post and offers insight, commentary or reflection on, well, letters of note.

As long as we're talking about the written word, another wonderful gem crossed my path this week: a startup company offering hand crafted antique books—be they law journals, medical tomes, or cookbooks—handcrafted to conceal a hand-crafted Italian glass flask within.

Now these are books I could really get into.

Bender Bound: Each item is made to order and takes six to eight weeks to fulfill, so no luck ordering for the holidays this year. Which is sad because I really wanted to get Jay one of those big boring law books with a bottle within for his office. Each one runs about $130, with pre-orders discounted to $100. The lads are seeking capital funding to continue and grow their business. On a side note, they proudly note that "No hipsters were employed during the crafting of our books."

Brinicle

2011-11-26T13:49:00.000-08:00

From the BBC:

A bizarre underwater "icicle of death" has been filmed by a BBC crew.

With timelapse cameras, specialists recorded salt water being excluded from the sea ice and sinking. The temperature of this sinking brine, which was well below 0C, caused the water to freeze in an icy sheath around it. Where the so-called "brinicle" met the sea bed, a web of ice formed that froze everything it touched, including sea urchins and starfish. The unusual phenomenon was filmed for the first time by cameramen Hugh Miller and Doug Anderson for the BBC One series Frozen Planet.

Letter to Three Wives

2011-11-24T22:16:00.000-08:00

The synopsis looked promising so I set TiVo to record it on TCM. Then I saw Steve Hayes's recent episode (#87) of Tired Old Queen at the Movies and I can't wait to watch it (Letter to Thee Wives). But maybe I'll save it to savor with friends...

As a film buff and major mo, it's hard not to love Steve Hayes.

Stuff it.

2011-11-24T09:29:00.000-08:00

The best Thanksgiving cooking show ever. Eight minutes of joy and all you need to know to make a Thanksgiving turkey, even the vegetable dish should you use her advice on that too. LOVE her. Full of wisdom, not full of shit.

I learned last year at Turkey 2.0, cooking a turkey is just baking another damn bird, and gravy makes it tastier. It's not stem cell research.

Celebrate with me by watching Chef Tante Marie, AKA Mary Riley of Mary Riley's Cooking School's "Put the Fucking Turkey in the Oven."

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

he could have been a boy named Sue

2011-11-24T02:09:00.000-08:00

I met a guy in Nashville at a party. As we were making introductions he said, "They named me Benny Joe Junior...on my 18th birthday my father apologized."

Now on my list of things to be thankful for: not being named Benny Joe Junior.

Or Sue.

Is anybody hungry?

2011-11-23T23:27:00.000-08:00

Hungry like the woof?

Uncharacteristically, it has been a very flirty several weeks for me. I am not accustomed to being on the receiving end, so to speak. Why is it that as soon as I am at my largest and least want anyone to see my body, there are so many digital knocks at the door I'm worried for my chinny chin chin. Then again, if it's a big bad woof come to blow me down, I am totally okay with that.

I would also be okay with three little pigs.

be prepared

2011-11-23T23:05:00.000-08:00

"If they make me go to a AA meeting, I'm taking a flask."

My new drag name

2011-11-23T22:56:00.000-08:00

I love Miss Otis Regrets. And I have tried on Pearl Haggard and Tempers Flair. But I think from now on, if ever get into a drag persona again, her name will be Cheyenne Demure.

Update: I have been informed that this is hardly original (like my other favorite, Tequila Mockingbird). Just great queens thinking alike. I think I'm back to Tempers Flair.

Should the need ever arise again...

slim fit

2011-11-23T22:47:00.001-08:00

Looking at the PYT passing by in the bar in Nashville, with slender hips and even slenderer backside, my friend says, "He must be taking Noassitol."
"Is that available over the counter now or only by prescription?"

too much for a pithy title

2011-11-22T09:31:00.000-08:00

But absolutely required reading. After reading that, see the follow up.

enough

2011-11-21T09:25:00.001-08:00

I am really looking forward to the second week of January, when I am hoping nothing will be happening.

sidelong glance

2011-11-21T09:24:00.001-08:00

"That drag queen is best viewed with peripheral vision."

do not try this at home

2011-11-17T00:16:00.001-08:00

"Realty" TV isn't even close. But it occurred to me, Tosh.0 completely is.

Nashville November 2011

2011-11-15T10:10:00.000-08:00

I'm home in Nashville for the week to spend more time with Mom post-Dad. That, and the roof needs to be replaced and this time they're going to have to take the entire roof off so I am home to move everything, everything out of the attic. 40 years of stuff. It's day three and I have not yet moved an item, but there has been lots of prep and other work. Like tech support x4.

Also, more sad news—my trip was well timed as the day before I left Emily's, my sister-in-law's, father died. I landed in time for the family gathering and the visitation, funeral and wake the next day. Bill Johnston was a REMARKABLE man and dedicated cancer surgeon and father. Tragically, we was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at the young age of 53...16 years ago. Our families are close and losing both fathers within a month of each other has brought us even closer in the shared experience. Bill's siblings and their families flew in for the service and were all absolutely great people and a pleasure to meet—especially the kids. If they've found their way here, shouts to Darby and Max.

On a fun note, there has been a happy surprise— I got this e-mail from Davidson alum and fraternity brother Towner:

Guess where I am!
This was clearly the Pancake Pantry! And Tooner didn't know I was in town. Unfortunately, neither of us had the other's mobile number, so it took some calling among other Fiji's to find out. We did manage to hook up and his hotel is just a skip from Tribe so he joined me and Keith for drinks, dinner and showtunes night. He left this morning, and we got some more quality time in at MOnday's karaoke night, which is hosted by Keith. Towner pulled out a couple of numbers, including House of the Rising Sun and I started slow (I cannot carry a tune.) with the theme song to Three's Company, and closed with Who's Your Daddy? and Being Green.

I have, shall we say, a limited repertoire. (Seriously, me and signing do not get along.) But one does want to participate. I was searching for a song featuring only the three notes I can make, and was happy to come across this track in the catalog.

While I could never hope to perform this, shouts out to the awesome Dean Miller. We were friends though Cousin Clark "back in the day" when he was launching a performing career in addition to a successful songsmithing one. You may be more familiar with some of his dad's work, such as King of the Road.

Speaking of talented songwriters/performers, Ellen Hardcastle batted cleanup at the Ensworth High School talent show Saturday night, which is no small feat. She performed on of her original works for the piano. The baby-faced, adorable and golden-throated Sam Williams sang the penultimate number with the Joyce twins on piano and percussion. He family was sitting in front of us, and at dinner afterward at the Sportsman's, we all thought it was pretty cool to say that Ellen just performed for Hank Williams Jr. While Papa John remains on repeat in our playlists, we are also big fan of the piece she performed for the show, Esther. Here she is playing it at home, recorded with her laptop.

And while we're at it, here's to Papa John.

Okay, enough of this. I've got to hit the store, load up on caffeine and music, and start hauling stuff from the attic to the basement. Y'all take care.

David Mamet's Race at ACT

2011-11-10T17:37:00.000-08:00

One word review: Preachy.

Five word review: A terrible play, beautifully acted.

In fact, all production values were impressive. But wow, was this hard to watch. Or rather, listen to. Not because the subject of race in modern America is uncomfortable, but I could not willfully suspend my disbelief enough to think that any first year law student would be so stupid, incompetent, and contrary to duty and interest as these characters (particularly the associate), much leads seasoned, talented professionals they these characters are supposed to be. Pretty much any episode of Law & Order does a better job of dramatizing (1) legal drama or (2) issues of modern race relations. David Mamet was really full of himself in this one. Ugh. I imagine this would be painful for any actual lawyer to sit through without screaming.

Dia de Meurtos

2011-11-10T17:26:00.000-08:00

Kevin and I try to spend Day of the Dead together and participate in the ceremonies in the Mission, and this year was particularly poignant for both of us. The Mission event has gotten larger, and larger, and we consider sort of the "New Halloween," but hopefully with less trouble as it is not an ego-centric event but an other-centric event, and respectful and celebratory to our mutual dearly departeds. I was impressed this year that the vast majority of attendees were fully participatory in victorian death garb and/or face paint.

We started at Chris and Tom's, who have generously and kindly kept me on their giant Day of the Dead party list these past several years. Chris and Tom also own/run Regalito's so their food was amazing. They moved their altar to the garden this year, which was gorgeous as always. By the way, the cross of calla lilies is carved from wood. Beautiful.

I added my tribute to Dad.

The whole night was rather emotional, and I didn't think it through beforehand that, yes, I needed to be participatory and face painted as is my way, but I didn't consider how much it might run every time I teared up.

The altars in the park ranged from intricate and creative to simple and unabashedly honest.

I added another memorial for Dad at one of the public altars set up, and Kevin placed this photos and remembrances of his brother and grandmother. We shared our grief and appreciation and celebrated their lives as we could.

Ode to Papa John

2011-11-08T13:07:00.000-08:00

Ellen Hardcastle, my very talented niece and namesake to the new Hank Green album, composed a piece for Dad the afternoon that he died. She performed it at the service celebrating his life and I love this in all sorts of ways.

Here is the Ode to Papa John, by Ellen Hardcastle.

She writes, "This is a song that I wrote the night my grandfather passed away. He loved jazz music so I thought he would appreciate this. It's not really like what I normally write, but I think it captures everything I want it to."

GWLBWLB

2011-11-07T23:03:00.000-08:00

The promos for the Nashville-based new season of the Sundance Channel's reality show Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys are hitting the web.

As a rule, I loathe "realty" television, which is not even close to reality. Unscripted is the industry term. Contrived works for me as well. Dear God, anyone remember how complete fake and absolutely terrible Boy Meets Boy was? Ugh. This show looks on par with the artificiality typical of "reality television." But..it also looks entertaining. And I do love watching shows where I have a personal relationship with the locations.

This season centers on four gay guys and the girls who love them/their BFFs. I know half of the guys. Not well mind you, but still. The Nashville gay community may be wide but it's not all that deep.

The "gay dad" in this is Keith's boyfriend. He was approached to be a central figure, and after much deliberation, declined. Later, he was asked repeatedly to be a part of the show as he and Peter began dating and became a couple. Sure, being on national television is exciting, but there was just too much of a questionable and manipulating risk factor to make it worth it. In my opinion, his decision not to participate was a wise one. (Of course, while the Jersey Shore whores are an international laughing stock, they are comforted by their piles and piles of money. FWIW.) While personally and professionally I think Keith should shy away the cameras, I think Peter's participation is likely a good thing for him. He is rising as a stand-up performer and actor and for that industry, sometimes any exposure is good exposure, and I want to be supportive of his professional aspirations. He appears to be a genuine and solid guy and I hope he is "cast" as such by the editing.

I first met Brent, who appears to have been cast as the Hot Mess in this show, when I was home in the summer of 2007. I always found him to be charming and nice if not manic and socially determined. From my perspective, he was setting himself, fairly successfully, as The It Gay Guy in New Nashville. He worked pretty much every angle, was at every party, and made sure to know as many people as he could, and to be the center of any event he attended. I do not say these things as aspersions, and actually have respect for his knowing what he wanted and putting in the effort to get it. Of course, he could also be exhausting, and unabashed social climbing tends to rub me the wrong way. So perhaps the "hot mess" the promos present him as is not too far from the truth.

"Cast" members aside, I don't have any respect for producers or show runners of reality television. Reports from Keith included conflict pitches from producers. I imagine they wanted dramatic scenarios where drama ensued with a girls best gay friend gets a boyfriend and it becomes all southern trashy jealousy and sass. (And Keith, knows he can pull out that sass and turn on a heel when warranted. I am glad, though, that it won't be on air or online.)

Last June me and mine attended a benefit "Princess Party" featuring Debbie Gibson and sponsored by, among others, Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys. Yes, gay men may have straight female close friends. However, we tend to call each other "friend," not "gay friend" or "straight friend." That really cheapens a genuine friendship. (Likewise, we argue that it's not "gay" marriage. It's just "marriage." We don't gay park our gay cars either.)

At the Pride event, producers from the show repeatedly hounded my friend soliciting her participation on the show. The female producer was intrigued because when she asked, "Which one of these guys is your GBFF?" her response was, "umm...they're just my BFFs, minus the G." Which of course, had the opposite effect, and then the producer wouldn't leave her alone. That my beautiful, successful and self-assured friend had more than one "gay best friend" must have made her look like a gold mine, or in reality television terms, crack. The producer even pitched a variety of attention-getting scenarios, all of which centered around pitting one friend against another. I suppose she was looking for a catty bitch fight, but if these people are your friends, why cause them grief? With friends like those, who needs enemas.

My friend was pretty clear that she had zero interest in participating. She was much more polite than I would have been. I wanted her to say something like "No thank you. I am interesting without being on television."

We were IM'ing about this when the promos came out:

A: And that's EXACTLY why I have no interest in reality TV. Because it's not real. And in no way would this show have been an accurate portrayal of us.
A:We're way darker.
B: Seriously. How can we dispose of the bodies with a camera crew following us around?
A: Oh, I'd like to take that challenge.

Goosed.

2011-11-07T15:13:00.000-08:00

Google became the dominant search engine basically by two methods (1) the complexity of it's search algorithms and (2) the simplicity of it's interface. Although now the search results are ad-laden and related to personal histories and online interactions, which may be distracting to some and disturbing to others. Particularly for mobile users. And let's face it, we don't want all of our searches logged into a pop-up history.

Giles at the Cult of Mac recommends a new mobile search engine for iPhone users which is seemingly just as powerful as the Google app but more mobile user friendly. And as they say at DDG, "Google tracks you, we don't."

Check out Duck, Duck, Go. I've made the switch and I'll let you know how it goes after a couple of weeks.

Beware the Candy Man

2011-11-04T11:12:00.000-07:00

This is funny because it's sad. Jimmy Kimmel challenged parents to to tell their kids the morning after Halloween that they ate all of their candy, and then to upload videos of the reactions to YouTube. I think no one was prepared for so much crying and hysterics.

Sure, I get it—getting all hat candy is exciting, a lot of work, and some of us tended to hoard all of the candy treats like treasure, and to find that it's all been taken is upsetting. But I am surprised at some of these intense reactions. I'd hate to see their coping skills at something genuinely tragic. The two kids at the end though are priceless. Very disappointed, but completely calm and reasonable about it, and totally call Mom out. Of course, these kids are so collected they may grow up to be either leaders of industry or criminal masterminds.

I don't think I could pull this on Leland. Watching these videos, it seems way too cruel. That, and Leland has a serious crack-like relationship with sugar. This would really shatter his world and possibly scar him for life. To do this just to watch a sweet kid cry is not that entertaining.

I'm just going to assume all of the crying, raving kids in this video are brats. It makes the laughter easier.

The father formerly known as prince.

2011-11-03T14:59:00.000-07:00

Another heart-felt letter about Dad, sent to my brother Mac, and forwarded to the other sibs:

Mac, I hope your doing ok. I know this has been a difficult time for you. I know this sounds trite but when my mom died this summer I was struck by the finality of it all. The eternal aspects of the whole thing are just overwhelming.

I think I told you this story, but when I returned to Nashville 24 years ago your Dad wrote me the nicest letter. I had inquired about a job and Alex Buchanan had spoken to your Dad about me. While he had no openings at the time, he wrote me the kindest letter, as if I was an old friend of his coming back to his home town. I took that as an opportunity to call him and we exchanged phone calls for several years after that.

I have never met anyone in this town who didn't think your Dad was just a prince of a man.

I know that as time passes your pain will fade, and you will remember proudly all the great memories you must have.

Paul

Paul Gxxxxx
Nashville Personal Trust

Suddenly, the items on my "to do" list don't look so bad.

2011-11-03T14:04:00.000-07:00

I kind of love this headline, if not just for the "exhausted with all the bullshit" attitude of the copy editor who wrote it.

Looks like Lindsay will not be passing Go.

I may have come up with something along the lines of "Lindsay does not pass Ho, goes directly to jail."

dumbass

2011-11-03T12:30:00.001-07:00

making history

2011-11-03T10:15:00.000-07:00

Sent in from Alert Reader Holly. From the Metropolitan Historical Commission Newsletter, November 2011:

MHC Updates
Remembering John Hardcastle
As many of you know, John B. Hardcastle, a former member of the Metropolitan Historical Commission, died in October. Mr. Hardcastle joined the commission in July 2003. He was a devoted and active member of the commission for many years. A long-time advocate for the preservation and protection of our community’s cultural and natural resources, Mr. Hardcastle served as President of Friends of Warner Parks, board member for Friends of Radnor Lake, Director and President of the Tennessee Historical Society, Trustee and Chairman for the Tennessee Chapter of the Nature Conservancy, and numerous other roles with additional organizations. Thank you, John, for your service to our commission, and to our city!

Disco+PBR+1979 Patrick Swayze, you do the math

2011-11-02T14:25:00.000-07:00

Via Uptown Almanac, a 1979 PBR ad with a very young Patrick Swayze getting his groove on.

Several take aways here:
(1) The hair. My god the hair. On Patrick. And his incessant smile. I particularly love the "Brett Girl" hair shake he gives just after he's bounded down the stairs from of his apartment building.

(2) Seriously, that excited/expecting look he's sporting on his face makes me think he's walking with a raging erection strapped down in those dance pants. Maybe he could use that scarf he's dancing in.

(3) I don't know enough about the dance club scene of 1979—would exhibition dancers like that in a disco be considered gods or douchebags?

(4) Seriously? People ordered PBR drafts in dance clubs? And they were served in huge steins? And it was both butch and feminine to do so? She looks ridiculous with that enormous mug. And I mean the glass of beer in her hand. Wouldn't the hot dance chick be more likely to order something situational pretentious like a Creme de Menthe or a spritzer or something?

And thanks to YouTube's "related" feature, see also.

we know Jack

2011-11-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

I almost forgot to thank Eric and Greg for their fun Harvest Dinner gathering and jack o'lantern carving.

Emily, professional organizer, had the most organized jack o'lantern.

Greg, inspired by the recent Picasso exhibit, went Cubist.

Jenny used a stencil but turned out to be a little more Rorschach.

PeeDee's was a little..."special." If this pumpkin were on "Strangers with Candy," it would like cake.

I went with a seasonal scene rather than a face, but was pretty pleased with what I could carve with a wide saw and a small gourd.

Aaaaoooooooo!

National Let's Play Dress Up Day!

2011-11-01T17:33:00.000-07:00

AKA, Happy Halloween.

Loved, loved, loved my flight attendant gurls. And no surprise they handily won the costume contest at the Powerhouse before moving on to Trannyshack. We caught up with these illuminated ladies (the dresses had landing lights!) at Twin Peaks before the rest of their long night flight. I've guessing it was a red eye!

You just gotta love this.

My "Man with a Dilemma" worked out nicely too. The gag and megaphone details were noted and duly appreciated.

Thanks to Alert Reader Coco for hosting a pre-party at Beck's Motor Lodge (Yes! Beck's!! Holeee...), to David and Sean for bringing it, and to Oliver and his face painting fun at our final destination of 80s dancing.

Happy Halloween!

Brother, can you spare a million dimes?

2011-11-01T16:17:00.000-07:00

Oh Goody. San Francisco ranked fourth most expensive US city.

Is it any wonder I am over 40 and still live in the same rent-controlled studio apartment I moved into in 1997?

voices carry

2011-10-31T17:13:00.000-07:00

I am still very much in the laying low mode, and certainly am not interested in all of the death and macabre aspects of Halloween this year. I'm still in the graveyard basically and it's not all that fun. However, I do love Halloween, and spending time with friends and dipping my foot in the fun is preferable to sitting at home. I had just the right amount of Halloween this weekend—meeting my friend Reindeer Jim early to snag a window seat at Twin Peaks to watch the crowds and costumes on Drag Saturday. Police had put barricades around Jane Warner Plaza and their Mobile Command Unit, and were calmly and politely keeping the streets clear and sidewalks safe. It did seem that they put the barricades around Jane Warner Plaza while people were still sitting there and barricaded these people inside. Like good Castro community residents, they merely adjusted their seating to turn the plaza into a parade viewing stand for the nights festivities.

We spent hours visiting with friends passing by, and those who planned to meet us on a seemingly never-ending schedule of festivities Saturday night. Neither of us were interested in a long, raucous night, nor SoMa, nor the big Trannyshack, not the GLAAD masquerade ball. Basically we wanted three things: festive, costumes, and walking distance from home. ("Cocktails" is included with the "festive.") We were early enough that we were also able to call ahead to our host friend at Harvey's and get seated for a proper dinner, which also lasted hours as we had a good perch, good food, a full bar and even Scream with closed captions on the screens. And we got to get the hell out as the Castro filled with early-twenties straight people. At least the bulk of them were in costume and as long as they were participating I could sort of endure them. So much better than past years of thousands descending and very few in costume. Cops were out in force, and the streets were constantly hosed down, but by the time I left the crowd seemed to remain well behaved. And while the streets were certainly dominated by B&Ters, the recent Halloween danger element didn't feel nearly as strong. My patience is pretty much gone for interloping aliens—those who invade the Castro as if it were a zoo and not a community.

Reindeer Jim was under the top and perfectly adorable in his child-like superman costume, well except for the red leather bondage cuffs (but you have got to love a guy who buys a kid t-shirt so it will be all sexy and tight, and it is STILL too big).

My favorite drag troupe rocked it in their stewardess looks, and photos will be duly added when I upload them.

For costume this year, I sewed an angel doll on one shoulder, and a devil on the other. Very "cartoon man with a dilemma."

By the end of the night I had a new caption for my costume.

To my voices of conscience, I had affixed a ball gag to the angel and gave the devil a megaphone.

The caption should read, "Well, this explains a lot."

Simon Pierro's Halloween Magic

2011-10-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

A prestidigitous horror tale using the iPad...

Office scene

2011-10-31T14:50:00.001-07:00

I just thought the office could use a little something today.

Boo.

2011-10-26T13:52:00.001-07:00

This video sort of got me back into the Halloween spirit. I love the boo game!

stocking stuffers

2011-10-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, nothing has put me in a better mood or broken the sad spell quite so spectacularly as this post on Regretsy (side note, "Etsy" is a DIY craft website where people feature and sell usually cool stuff they make. Regretsy is a blog about stuff other people make proudly and offer for sale, but are creepy crap and duly ridiculed by the exceptionally funny April Winchell. Tyical to her genius, she refers to her site as "Where DIY meets WTF." She also seems to have taken a new nom de plume: Hellen Killer).

So some lady person invented this shield for her lady business: it's a female athletic cup of sorts—a shoehorn to hide bulging lady bits and prevent the dreaded camel toe. This post is so full of awesomeness it's all I can do not to copy and paste the whole thing here. This has really made my day. Which should disturb all of you, except for the fact that if you've read IJS this long you are well past disturbed and over the county line right with me.

My favorite things about the NoMoCamelTo Regretsy blog post:

It's filed under "vaginas." Seriously.
The apparent translation for "protruding vagina lips" is "Bajingo." I now want to refer to national vagina pride as "Bajongoistic."And I think there should be Bajingo parlors for the elderly. And drag queen fundraisers.
The phrase "engorged, rubbery poon" appears in this post.
That the current events/topical humor joke "Your cooter is too big to fail!" is in ALL CAPS.
Also notable: I have, in fact, aways thought that your cooter was too big to fail. And yet...

Honestly, I am feeling so much better now. And inspired to productivity.

Shouts to Adriana whose comment was "Uh, okay, I thought it was going to be a joke, but this is a real product? Wow. Christmas shopping just got easier!"

And a full standing vagina monologue to Alert Reader Coco who shouted out: "Stocking stuffers!" LMFAO.

dealing

2011-10-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm still not feeling very social or humorous or chatty, and so not so much in the way of posting. My snark runs so deep that I don't expect it will be much longer before sunshine and snide comments return to the blog.

I have been laying low these days. I was thinking that upon my return I would deal with things emotionally by throwing myself into work and working out. Not so much. It's more along the lines of chilling at home, preferably alone, with movies and comfort food. I really did think I would be more driven and proactive upon my return, busying myself away from quiet contemplation, but it turns out I am just a frilly white dress away from becoming Miss Havisham.

(I said white dress. Assholes.)

While declining most if not all social invitations since my return, I did feel the need to step out Friday after work for happy hour. It had indeed, been a week, and I was inclined toward a little bear festival that is now Friday's at the Midnight Sun. Hunter was kind enough to escort me and it turned into a fun pub crawl with the Sheepish Lion and we still managed to make it an early night. It was nice to be out, and I did get to visit briefly with good friends* who either did or didn't know and offered their condolences without making me lose it again. And I had just enough reasonably consumed cocktails to enjoy the silliness that Friday happy hours often devolve to, including taking photos that really shouldn't ever, ever be shared.

*ridiculous amount of hugs to David O. Thanks man.

you with me

2011-10-21T14:27:00.000-07:00

I was talking with someone today about my Dad's final moments. At one point Mom looked lovingly upon Dad lying in the hospital bed, unresponsive, and choked out to her sons, "I've loved him since I was 19..."

The conversation turned—today's conversation not the one by the bedside—to the impressive nature of my parents' marriage, and our personal relationships, or rather lack thereof, of our singleness, and the fear and/or likelihood of "dying alone."

I used to joke that because I have hard time finding a relationship which lasts longer than milk, but now I have a new response to those sorts of questions:

"Do you think you're going to die alone?"
"Me? No. I'm not going to die alone... I'm going to take all of you bitches out with me."

Photos of Papa John

2011-10-20T16:57:00.000-07:00

As I collected photos for the slideshow to play during the visitation, brother Mac sent me this pic snapped just weeks ago with a camera phone. It sort of encapsulates the coolness of my Dad. And seriously, Leland in the driving goggles? How ridiculously awesome is that?

Best. Funeral. Ever.

2011-10-20T16:10:00.000-07:00

I am back in SF. I hesitate to call it "home," but I am eager for the solace of my San Framily. I was a little troubled as to what to title my first post back at the blog, but this was my tweet immediately after the service and I think it still stands. The celebration of my father's life that was the Service of the Witness to the Resurrection was amazing. Sure, I was choked up and near sobs, voice quivering, during my entire celebration of life portion of the ceremony, but it was one great funeral. I am again in awe of my brothers and their talents, and of the life and work my father inspired.

I am hanging in there. I worry about mom a lot. And in the calm, quiet moments, when peace begins to find me, I cry again. I've decided that's okay. Like now, typing this. But that's not what I want to post about. It was, as you might imagine, a deeply moving couple of weeks and I have much to reflect upon and write about. But I believe I will wait a while, let some of the pain scab over, before I explore the experience by writing about it. Like most of life's richest moments, it was a deep well full of both tears and laughter. Two faces, same coin. Intense joy for what was, intense sorrow at its loss, and celebration of the continuing legacy.

So, back to that.

Best. Funeral. Ever.

The music was incredible—Mom and Dad are heavy into the Dixieland Jazz scene in Nashville, and the incomparable Sam Levine, performer and member of the Church, arranged the musicians and all of the music for the ceremony, including the hymns requested by Dad: A Closer Walk with Thee, How Great Thou Art and Amazing Grace. The music was so moving, the congregation applauded at a funeral—a first for this church and perhaps many others. Ellen, my ridiculously talented niece, composed a piano piece in celebration of Dad and performed it from memory at the service. I was, as you might imagine, a bit of a wreck. But I found grace and comfort in a simple truth during the service:

You just can't cry in the face of a banjo.

The three sons each took 7-10 minutes to celebrate the life of our father. We did not compare notes beforehand, and each of our expressions were as unique as our personalities, and reflected our own individual relationships with our father. It never occurred to me prior to that point that, of course, we all would have a different relationship with Dad. I just thought of him as "Dad," but each son brought to the dynamic his own time, trials, tribulations, and tributes and so naturally we each had a slightly different yet shared perception of "Dad."

Okay, I'm processing and narrating again. This is supposed to be a brief post.

The service was awesome. So much so that I started jotting down sentiments overhead as we were leaving the church. Such as "That was so much fun!" "I would go to that funeral again tomorrow!" and "If there were selling DVDs of that service I would buy one!"

In his typical superlative fashion, John Beasley merely wrote, "No one in Nashville dare die for at least two years."

Dad requested long ago that his service be full of music and laughter, and we honored that request to trumpets and banners. So many friends and family have contacted us requesting copies of the sons' "performances" that I have made a website for people to visit and share. I remember thinking the morning of that I wish I could video record the service, but dared not vocalize that desire as it did sound exceedingly eccentric. After the service we were surprised and grateful to learn that the church keeps an audio archive of each service, and they were able to burn for me a CD.

The website for the Service of the Witness to the Resurrection for John Bachman Hardcastle is split into five pages:

1) The Transcript: the program of the service with the written portions of each son's celebration of life.
2) The Service in Sections: The service, with transcripts fro the celebration of life, with the audio track of the service broken into discrete sections so you can pick and choose which element you would like to hear.
3) The Service as a Whole: One long audio file of the service that you can listen to uninterrupted, in its entirety, with the transcript below.
4) The Service with Slideshow: Same as the previous page, but this audio recording of the service is accompanied by a a slideshow of photos of Papa John throughout the years.
5) The Obituary: presented in a readable format. The newspaper and the obituary website is convoluted with no line breaks. This is just much easier to read and share electronically.

So, with no further ado, here's the site. http://web.me.com/wilsonh/JBH/

Share. Comment. Enjoy. You know, enjoy it for what it is. It may be the best funeral ever, but it is still a funeral and I still can't listen to it without crying. But you also won't be able to get through it without laughing. I recommend listening to the brothers' bits (and Ellen's piano piece). Those really are meant to be heard and not read. After you listen to Ellen's piece. So beautiful.

Raise a glass to Papa John!

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I am planning a "funeral listening party" to celebrate the life of my father. This will be small and intimate and if you think you are likely to be there, you may choose not to listen and rather wait until that time so you may hear the celebration with fresh ears.

Thank you all for your love and support during this time. That may sound trite, but it is true.

For the next several weeks, I will endeavor to post snark and City observations as much as personal introspections. This may appear to feature a little split personality disorder, but it will depend on my mood and what interesting things catch my eye. Things other than tears.

One last time around the lake

2011-10-08T15:47:00.000-07:00

Here is the home movie from our last family vacation with Papa John, this past June at Emily's family's place on Pickwick Lake.

John Hardcastle, 1936-2011

2011-10-08T15:45:00.000-07:00

HARDCASTLE, John Bachman. October 6, 2011. Born July 22, 1936. Preceded in death by his parents, Kendrick Crossman Hardcastle, Jr. and Elizabeth Bachman Hardcastle; brother, Kendrick Crossman Hardcastle III; and nephew, Kendrick Crossman Hardcastle IV. Survived by his wife of 52 years, Frances Keltner Hardcastle; sons, John Bachman Hardcastle, Jr. (Stephanie), MacDonald Keltner Hardcastle (Emily), and Wilson Gaut Hardcastle; grandchildren, Bradley William Hardcastle, Ellen Merritt Hardcastle, and Leland Keltner Hardcastle; sister-in-law, Mia Canaris Hardcastle; and nephew Christiansen Niels Hardcastle.

John married the former Frances Merritt Keltner on September 26, 1959. Fran was the love of his life, confidant, and dance partner for 52 years, and with her he raised three sons: Jay, Mac, and Wilson. A family friend, Joe Calvin, gave John the nickname “Papa John” while Joe was in high school, and the name stuck – he was known as Papa John to his children’s close friends and his three grandchildren, Bradley, Ellen and Leland.

Outside of his family, John’s greatest joys in life were his involvement with his church, his active participation in outdoor life, and studying local history. John was a member of Westminster Presbyterian Church, where he served as a deacon, an elder, a Sunday School teacher, and Clerk of the Session. John served as the moderator of the Presbytery of Middle Tennessee, was a commissioner to the 213^th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA), and served on the advisory board of Columbia Theological Seminary.

In a 1990 letter addressed to the then senior pastor of Westminster, John wrote “I stand in awe of God’s creative power and take seriously the stewardship implied in the grant of dominion over the earth, its growing things and creatures.” Because of his appreciation for creation, John loved the outdoors, and enjoyed hiking, backpacking, and long horseback rides. He was particularly proud of his efforts at conservation and saw these efforts as an extension of his faith. He served two terms as President of Friends of Warner Parks and received its Best Friend Award.

John served two terms as a member of the Conservation Commission of the State of Tennessee and one term as its chairman. He was one of the four citizen members of Governor Alexander’s Safe Growth Team and a member of the Tennessee Outdoors Commission. For more than a decade, he served as a trustee of the Tennessee Chapter of the Nature Conservancy, and three terms as its chairman. He received the Nature Conservancy’s National Oak Leaf Award for effective leadership and outstanding service. John was active in the effort to save Radnor Lake from commercial development and served for a number of years on the board of Friends of Radnor Lake. During the mid 1990s, John and his youngest son Wilson founded the informal Full Moon Walking Society, leading unique hikes and monthly walks though the Warner Parks on the Tuesdays closest to the full moon.

John enjoyed local history and civic affairs. He was a director of the Tennessee Historical Society, served four years as its president, and was a significant contributor to The Tennessee Encyclopedia of History and Culture. John frequently addressed school and civic groups on Tennessee history, often in period attire and sometimes notably in the persona of James Robertson. He served as a commissioner on the Metropolitan Historical Commission and was an alumnus of Leadership Nashville. In 1976, he participated in the reenactment of the 1779 flatboat trip lead by John Donelson from Kingsport to the banks of the Cumberland River settlement that ultimately became Nashville.

John enjoyed story-telling and southern folklore, and was particularly fond of the Jack Tales, a collection of Appalachian folk tales that he often told over campfires to audiences of scouts, adults, and lucky passersby.

John graduated from Montgomery Bell Academy in 1954, where he was president of the student body in his senior year. He graduated from Vanderbilt University in 1958 and the Stonier Graduate School of Banking in 1972. He began his banking career at the Nashville Bank & Trust Company, which later became known as Nashville CityBank. John concluded his banking career as Vice Chairman of the Board at Dominion Bank of Middle Tennessee in order to become president of the H.G. Hill Realty Company. While at H.G. Hill, he spearheaded the development of the property on Post Road in Nashville now known as Hill Place, lead the redevelopment of parts of Hillsboro Village, and at the end of his career was involved in the early planning of the redevelopment of the H.G. Hill grocery store property on Hillsboro Road into the open air pedestrian shopping mall known as Hill Center.

Honorary Pallbearers: John Amidei, Thomas G. Andrews, William L. Bainbridge III, E. Warner Bass, Wentworth Caldwell, Jr., James S. Frazer III, James W. Granbery, Robert E. Harwell, Jr., Harold E. Jackson, Jr., Richard W. Lenderman, Joseph P. McAllister, George F. McCanless, Jr., Neil C. Parrish, Edwin P. Voss, William M. Ward, John S. Warner, M.D., W. Ridley Wills II, and C. Prim Wood, Jr.

Pallbearers: James H. Armistead III, William G. Bainbridge, James F. Baxter, Jr., Joseph H. Calvin III, Scott W. Campbell, William G. Crook II, Charles K. Evans, Carrington N. Fox, T. Hartley Hall V, Christiansen N. Hardcastle, Jonathan M. Harwell, Elizabeth R. James, Margaret P. McAllister, W. Paul Wallace and J. Sloan Warner, Jr., M.D.

A Service of the Witness to the Resurrection will be held at Westminster Presbyterian Church at 2:30 PM on Monday, October 10, 2011, with a visitation with the family at the church preceding the service, beginning at 11:30 AM.

Memorial gifts may be made to Westminster Presbyterian Church or Friends of Warner Park, earmarked for the renovation of the historic WPA-era shelters in which John shared many stories and rested during many walks.

Funeral arrangements by Mount Olivet Funeral Home and Cemetery.

We love you, and goodnight.

2011-10-06T23:34:00.000-07:00

John Hardcastle left the party today just after noon, surrounded by his wife and sons, and departed as peacefully as could be hoped. The love he brought to this world was tremendous.

Visitation with the family will begin at 11:30 Monday morning October 10, 2011 at Westminster Presbyterian Church. The Witness to the Resurrection will be at 2:30 p.m.

We ask that donations be made in his name/memory for the Warner Parks Shelter Restoration, specifically the preservation and restoration of the Indian Springs Shelter, where Papa John told many stories and led so many groups of hikers, walkers, campers, scouts, and friends of the wood.

singing it

2011-10-03T17:45:00.000-07:00

I inherited many things from my father: tendency towards the narrative, my hairline, my waistline,... my singing voice—which is on par with the hairline and waistline. Even in six years of forced church choir, I was often asked to be a "listener." Dad has asked for music at his memorial, and I can honor him best by not singing.

But there is a song that I always imagined I would sing at his funeral, or would ask my friends to do so. The closer the time comes the less I think I will cite the song, save for the opening lines. I remember vividly the first time I heard Suzi sing this song: I was with Jennifer Farnette, Patsy Reed, and Mary Jo Freeman at the Douglas Corner Cafe to hear Suzi Ragsdale, Verlon Thompson, Darrell Scott and Jelly Roll Johnson sing in the round. It was maybe 1994. I teared up then, and I almost full out cry when I hear it now. One of my absolute favorite of Suzi's songs is My Father's Eyes (link opens in iTunes). She has a keenly beautiful voice, and the lyrics cut a little close to the heart as well.

I was born with my father's eyes,
and my mother's disposition.

Now and then, in a town this size, it's a cross to bear the resemblance.
Once I ran away to Memphis, to find someone different to be.
But all I could change was my address.
And now I know, I'll always see through my father's eyes.

yeah my Dad, he;s still going strong, and she still in love with my mother.
I just know we could last that long if we work things out together.
If this world is any indication, it's a longer than longer shot.
But I think we could be the exception.
Hell, I just can't see why not through my father's eyes.

Though we may travel fast and travel far,
One thing we can;t get past is who we are.

If someday we should have a child, I hope he's just like his father:
Heart of gold, and brilliant smile and a perfect sense of humor.
Or maybe some combination of the best that we both can be.
And wouldn't it be amazing, to see him looking back at me through my father's eyes.

Sure, the parentage line takes on a twist with the whole "my kid would have two dads" thing, and I don't think all of Dad's friends would be able to work through that bit so it's best left out, no matter how powerful a notion I find it to be.

crossing the line

2011-10-03T17:15:00.000-07:00

You know that whole "students taken by hostile governments" thing? Like the two hikers just freed from Iran?

Yeah, Dad did that shit old school. From the The New York Times, August 10, 1958:

That's some cold war crazy right there. And while the Czechoslovakian "authorities" claimed that Dad climbed over barbed wire fences to pose for photographs, Dad reports it was a country road and an open field in the middle of nowhere and soldiers jumped from bushes to take them, claiming the board was somewhere "over there near a rock" and that he was two feet on the wrong side of it.

Family friend and U.S. Senator Al Gore, Senior, helped get Dad out.

The last time some American students were taken in Korea, E. Thomas Wood reported on Dad's experience in the Nashville Post.

the time has come, the Walrus said

2011-10-03T16:35:00.000-07:00

to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax. Of cabbages and kings.

I remember this line of Lewis Carroll's clearly as they were painted elaborately on a rough hewn greeting card I bought years and years ago to write a letter to my parents telling them I was gay. I never wrote the letter (I did come out, obviously), but I think I kept the card in my old desk. These lines keep ringing in my head this week as, sadly, the time has come.

Papa John is in the hospital with pneumonia. Last week it looked like the beginning of the end and I bought a seven-day advance ticket home to Nashville. We weren't sure which way things would go and I was told to "wait and see." I bought a ticket anyway. Today, it looks like the end is very definitely nigh. I am still getting conflicting advice regarding either to get an emergency ticket home asap or to keep my Wednesday flight plans. Some argue that I can't do anything even when I get there, so not to over-rush it. But there is value in being present, and I want to be there with him if only to be there with him. I'm seeing what I can do with flights now. And packing. I have't worn a suit in years (California living) and had to buy one Friday. The alterations won't be ready until tomorrow.

Jay and I have been writing the obituary. I have been trying to rehearse a eulogy in my head but can't get though it without sobbing and can't imagine getting through it with a congregation.

I worry a lot about Mom, maybe more so as she has been the stalwart so far. I fear that when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.

Sharing experiences with my San Framily, I am struck by how fortunate I am to have such a close, loving, and honest relationship with my parents. That is not nearly as common as it should be.

With the ever-advancing Parkinson's, I thought I had been able to prepare myself bit by bit, saying goodbye to pieces of my father as they left us. Preparation was an illusion. I can only think that while my pain is acute it is because it is pure, and I can be comforted that it could be worse as our relationship was relatively uncomplicated.

I have no unresolved "issues" with my father. We say "I love you" as often as we can, and furthermore we mean it. I know that he is proud of me and he knows how much I have admired him. We touch. We talk. We hug. We hang.

We have left nothing unsaid. ("Of course not, you're a Hardcastle." I hear you jest.)
yet, there are tales left to be told. ("Again, of course you'd say so. You're a Hardcastle.")

I regret that I have not partnered in time for him to meet the love of my life.

And where are my father's lectures? His history lessons? Or his monologues on the extended genealogy of anyone and everyone he may ever come across— now that I want to hear them? Those were taken from us first, and far too soon.

The blog will be dormant for a while. Unless I feel the need to vent snark as part of my process, don't expect many postings for the next several weeks. Updates and details may be posted here as appropriate.

Peace out.

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.

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resistance is futile

2011-10-01T15:39:00.000-07:00

I suffer from obstructive sleep apnea to the point that I wake up frequently gasping for air during the night. This has been a life-long affliction as my earliest recurring nightmares are always of suffocating or drowning.

My snoring is epic. I have been asked to move campgrounds before. And it may have something to do with my inability to form lasting romantic relationships.

I had originally planned to have surgery to deal with this, and had the first of two sets successfully performed. As the second set of surgeries required a six-week recovery period and a lot of pain, I put it off for years. When the time finally did come, I caught a cold the morning of and had to cancel—never to return. Later, doctors told me surgery wouldn't have the 80% success rate previously estimated, but more like 20% to 30%, which really didn't seem to be worth the pain and effort. I finally caved and returned to the pulminologist for a proper, in the la, sleep study to determine my current level of apnea and the possible use of a CPAP as a remedy.

Holy crap that was a lot of wires. Here I am getting jacked in for the sleep study.

The tech was wonderfully charming and just a baby. As he added more and more wires, I said, "We have the technology. Make him stronger. Faster." Nothing. Did not get the reference. And explaining it made me feel really old. Maybe a Locutus reference would have been better.

After attaching more leads to my scalp I said, "I hope the governor calls." Nope, still nothing. Maybe clemency is granted by tweet now.

Long story short, I loved the CPAP and look forward to getting my personal one fitted and running. I may not have ever had a good night's sleep in my life. I am looking forward to this, even if it severely dampens my dating life. It's one thing to be all "Who's your Daddy?" It's another to wear a face mask with asthmatic sounds that more along the lines of "Luke, I am your father!"

Zoology

2011-09-30T15:25:00.000-07:00

So, I was called at the last minute to volunteer at a new fundraising attraction at the Folsom Street Fair: The Petting Zoo. Or in this case, the Heavy Petting Zoo. It was, in theory, a good idea. There were a series of carnival-like tents with hay bales, a gate, and sexy sideshow stages out front, advertising hirsute, muscled go-go-ish sort of boys dressed in a variety of animal-themed furverted outfits inside, with a farmer out front enticing passerby's to venture inside the tent full of other fetish/scantily clad "animals" . Fair-goers would donate $5 to enter, get their photo taken with the animals, and could heavy pet, fondle and get as frisky as the personal boundaries of the individual animals would allow (which at Folsom is saying something). As it turns out, half of the animals didn't show up, everyone was late, and no one wanted to wait inside the tent to entertain the paying customers when they could see their friends at the fair walking around outside. While it was fun, and finically successful for the charities, for a couple of hours, it quickly devolved into a barnyard clustercluck. Not that the animals were not beautiful, and purrfect for petting. Especially my little NYC puppy who helped me out front.

While I do not have the muscled nor furry physique required to participate in such a Heavy Petting Zoo, I was recruited to stand out front and take donations and give out tickets. I was asked if I could dress like a farmer. Leather fetish gear I don't got. Cowboys drag? I got closets full. It was raining all morning then the day turned to very humid, so the starched gingham quickly wilted. Here I am relieving Steve as the frontman. And the favorite of the full-costumed furries, PedoBear.

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As I did not have the same silent sales attributes as Steve, I thought I should take an active role in recruiting donations and entrants. I became a sort of carnival barker, and pretty much exhausted my repertoire of salacious animal puns. I cried out:

"Come visit the Heavy Petting Zoo! Re-live that first romance down on the farm!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Pat the bunny! Spank the monkey!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo, where you can get it straight from the horse's mouth!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Learn a new meaning to the term hay, ride."
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Inappropriately touch the animals!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Milk the Mad Cow!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Ask the horse, why the long face?"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Lie down with dogs! Get up with pleas!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Eee, Aye, Eee, Aye, Ooooooh!"
"Come visit the Petting Zoo! Give the dog a bone!"

I actually got a bot light-headed from all the shouting. It was also humid. And there was vodka.

I did not take any more photos though—wish I had. But there were shutters flying all day and I am sure my herd and I are all over Flickr. These are the only other pics I took: My NightMare sidekick who was giving carriage rides, and this woman's whom I had to applaud for her ironic/obvious wear, knowing as many drag title/sash queens as I do.

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cookie monsters

2011-09-30T12:32:00.000-07:00

Meaghan Mountford has concocted some devilishly delightful Halloween treats: mummy cookies on a stick and Frankenstein marshmallow pops! Check her stuff out over at The Decorated Cookie.

My dessert-baking little niece better get on this.

Via Laughing Squid.

Lady in Red

2011-09-30T11:15:00.000-07:00

Go Grizzlies!

The Nashville Grizzlies (gay rugby team) annual Red Dress Rampage fundraiser is pending. Via HotToddy, this shirt of awesome:

Want.

Happy XMCA-Mas

2011-09-30T07:24:00.000-07:00

Unattributable, from the Interwebs, and sacrilicious.

voitures

2011-09-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

Sitting in my phone and waiting for upload have been these little bits for the family. My nephew Leland is obsessed with Pixar's Cars characters. He was ecstatic to be able to build his own Cars car last holiday season at the new Disney Store in Union Square.

At my neighborhood's farmers' market last week, the voice of the singing French car in Cars 2 was performing for tips. I took a pic and clip for Mac and Emily. They are still debating on whether Leland would this think this was cool, or if it might destroy the illusion that the Cars are real.

apologies

2011-09-29T18:10:00.001-07:00

Links to Paul Rudnick's new humor piece in the New Yorker have been making the rounds. "I'm Sorry" is a satirical take on the "politician's apology for [sex] scandal" which I suppose by this point has become a meme.

It is kinda funny. I would have thought it all-the-way funny, if Steve Martin hadn't done it first.

In 1998.

The New York Times even has the selection entry from Pure Drivel online.

A Public Apology
*
Looking out over the East River from my jail cell and still running for public office, I realize that I have taken several actions in my life for which I owe public apologies.

Once, I won a supermarket sweepstakes even though my brother's cousin was a box boy in that very store. I would like to apologize to Safeway Food, Inc., and its employees. I would like to apologize to my family, who have stood by me, and especially to my wife Karen. A wiser and more loyal spouse could not be found.

When I was twenty-one, I smoked marijuana every day for one year. I would like to apologize for the next fifteen years of anxiety attacks and drug-related phobias, including the feeling that when Ed Sullivan introduced Wayne and Shuster, he was actually signaling my parents that I was high. I would like to apologize to my wife Karen, who still believes in me, and to the Marijuana Growers Association of Napa Valley and its affiliates for any embarrassment I may have caused them. I would also like to mention a little incident that took place in the Holiday Inn in Ypsilanti, Michigan, during that same time. I was lying in bed in room 342 and began counting ceiling tiles. Since the room was square, it was an easy computation, taking no longer than the weekend. As Sunday evening rolled around, I began to compute how many imaginary ceiling tiles it would take to cover the walls and floor of my room. When I checked out of the hotel, I flippantly told the clerk that it would take twelve hundred ninety-four imaginary ceiling tiles to fill the entire room.

Two weeks later, while attempting to break the record for consecutive listenings to "American Pie," I realized that I had included the real tiles in my calculation of imaginary tiles; I should have subtracted them from my total. I would like to apologize to the staff of the Holiday Inn for any inconvenience I may have caused, to the wonderful people at Universal Ceiling Tile, to my wife Karen, and to my two children, whose growth is stunted.

Several years ago, in California, I ate my first clam and said it tasted "like a gonad dipped in motor oil." I would like to apologize to Bob 'n' Betty's Clam Fiesta, and especially to Bob, who I found out later only had one testicle. I would like to apologize to the waitress June and her affiliates, and the DePaul family dog, who suffered the contents of my nauseated stomach.

There are several incidents of sexual harassment I would like to apologize for:

In 1992, I was interviewing one Ms. Anna Floyd for a secretarial position, when my pants accidentally fell down around my ankles as I was coincidentally saying, "Ever seen one of these before?" Even though I was referring to my new Pocket Tape Memo Taker, I would like to apologize to Ms. Floyd for any grief this misunderstanding might have caused her. I would also like to apologize to the Pocket Tape people, to their affiliates, and to my family, who have stood by me. I would like to apologize also to International Hardwood Designs, whose floor my pants fell upon. I would especially like to apologize to my wife Karen, whose constant understanding fills me with humility.

Once, in Hawaii, I had sex with a hundred-and-two-year-old male turtle. It would be hard to argue that it was consensual. I would like to apologize to the turtle, his family, the Kahala Hilton Hotel, and the hundred or so diners at the Hilton's outdoor cafe. I would also like to apologize to my loyal wife Karen, who had to endure the subsequent news item in the "Also Noted" section of the Santa Barbara Women's Club Weekly.

In 1987, I attended a bar mitzvah in Manhattan while wearing white gabardine pants, white patent-leather slippers, a blue blazer with gold buttons, and a yachting cap. I would like to apologize to the Jewish people, the State of Israel, my family, who have stood by me, and my wife Karen, who has endured my seventeen affairs and three out-of-wedlock children.

I would also like to apologize to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, for referring to its members as "colored people." My apology would not be complete if I didn't include my new wife, Nancy, who is of a pinkish tint, and our two children, who are white-colored.

Finally, I would like to apologize for spontaneously yelling the word "savages!" after losing six thousand dollars on a roulette spin at the Choctaw Nation Casino and Sports Book. When I was growing up, the usage of this word in our household closely approximated the Hawaiian aloha, and my use of it in the casino was meant to express "until we meet again."

Now on with the campaign!