Surrender Dorothy

Brad called me this morning to tell me that massive tornados ravaged middle Tennessee last night. Luckily from what I have seen, Nashville was spared, but the surrounding areas to the north were just raped by this powerful twister. CNN and WTVF.

This tornado left much destruction in its path.




And seriously scary hail in its wake.





(photos from AP, CNN, and WTVF)

Jan in April

Woo hoo! Jan will be in town next Saturday! (more Jan)

Unfortunately, she is with her school group (she's a history teacher) which will be leaving Tahoe at 7:30 A.M., stopping for tourist stuff in SF, and flying out of SFO at 7:30 P.M. That just leaves the afternoon, and she can't leave her brood.

So she's booked an extra ticket for me to join them at Alcatraz. I imagine after chaperoning a bunch of fiesty young Scots on Easter break, she'd just as soon leave them there.



Looking forward to it!

bon mots for the bon bons

I've having a bite and a bucket of wine with Drinkie at Café Flore now. I'm posting, at her request, while she's in the ladies' room.

Apparently I have reached a level of mythical status with her peeps. And I am known for one quote in particular.

Now I suspect that it is not all that odd for a gay man to be enthralled by bosoms. For some reason, I am fascinated by a good rack. (I'm just sayin'.)

Drinkie is a beautiful young woman with a great figure. I made compliment one day, and I am sure I included "and loving this" (circling finger indicating her chest). She was surprised that a gay man would be a fan of a beautiful boobs. It seems my reply has made me famous:

"Hey, just because I am not interested in the plumbing doesn't mean I can't appreciate the architecture."

Chance

I'm thinking of making non-calling cards to hand out on occasion.

What do you think about "Get Out of Jail Free" or even "Go Directly to Jail" cards...

Overheard at work

"I'm so hungry I could eat a horse and chase the driver."

Dung Beatles

How is this still ongoing? Today's report on NPR's Morning Edition seems to indicate that the case is headed in Apple Corps'/the Beatles' favor. Is this a function of British diefication of the Beatles or a disfavor of American corporations? Clearly iTunes and Apple Computer are not a record label. The Beatles should just get over it, recognize that Apple is a global brand name for computers, and now iPod and iTunes and all the silly peripherals iBranded. I imagine no one caring about Apple Corps, nor ever confusing the little green apple record company with an iPod.

Do the remaining Beatles or their heirs have anything to gain other than money? If there's no harm, then stop crying foul. The winners so far have been the lawyers, and the losers have been the public.

Waypoint high points

I finally got to catch up with Seattle Bill yesterday. During our ramble, he let me in on a little trvia. There are two primary waypoints (navigational radio beacons) for the Nashville airport: Pickin' and Grinnin'.

Love it.

I checked some amateur pilot bulliten boards for verification, and found that Nashville is one of a few places left whose waypoints are still named with a sense of humor. They are:

PICKN
GRNIN (pickin' and a grinnin')

FIDDL (point on GUITR arrival)
GUITR (name of arrival)
and HEHAW

Other Tennessee waypoints include VOLLS, VANDD, LRETA, JCKSN, GRRTH, ATKNS, SKAGS, JUUDD, WAYLN, REABA, OPERY, and AKUFF.

It was been reported that, at least at one time, Portland, Maine's waypoints were named ITAUT ITAUH APUTY CAATT and IDIDD.

Switch hit

There's really no reason not to switch to a Mac now. I've always been an Apple fan, and when I took this job over a year ago, I was promised I could work on a Mac. (However, such has not come to pass.)

There is no reason why that this office cannot switch (back) to being an all-Mac environment. We only use our computers for e-mail, word processing, excel, file sharing, and Web stuff. Basically, Office for Mac and we'd be set, without the usual Windows problems which routinely plague this office.

Many offices are the same way, but there may be one or two applications (generally payroll or system-wide network related) which can only be run or accessed via a Wintel machine. I think our Director has a couple of institutional databases she needs to access occasionally which are PC-dependent. Does that mean you or she cannot switch to a new iMac?

Not anymore. Mac has released a beta version of Boot Camp. Basically, if you ever need to, you can restart your Mac into a true Windows environment, get whatever Windows-only work done, and then switch back. The new dual-core Intel Macs can run Windows natively.

Now that is truly backwards compatible. And for those that only stayed with Windows for a particular program or two, this is quite an incentive to finally switch over to the better platform.

Dude, you're getting off on a Dell.

Finally, some truth in advertising?

Abner! ABNER!

That's it. I'm looking for another place.

I have loved my little home at 545 for nine years now, but the harassment and nosiness of certain someone(s) has gotten unbearable. It's enough to make Gladys Kravitz look like an apathetic teenager.

Ideally (and obviously), I would like to move to some place larger for the same or less money. Generally I would think that a ludicrous proposition, but in the past three months I have had three friends move to places larger than mine for less rent. So there has got to be something out there for me. I plan to take my time.

So if anyone hears of anything in SF, here's what I am looking for: a one bedroom, gas stove, parking, near public transit, and centrally located. Preferably hardwood floors, and gotta have some sunshine.

Thanks.

Loma Lynda

How did I ever miss this? (And I call myself the Keeper of Our Television Heritage...)

Lynda Carter: Body and Soul.


The Lynda Carter Variety Special, with Ben Vereen and Eddie Rabbit.
Aired Friday, March 6, 8:00 P.M., 1984.
Three Emmy nominations.
It won two.


Just for you Seattle Bill.
(And now I'm left wondering, was dangerous surgery Maggie's only hope?)

UPDATE: Oh my stars. WTF? I don't know what to comment on first: the super-fringed/winged male backup dancers in the smoke or the editor's fetish for "high-tech" video transitions. [shudder]

Take a look at this.

size matters

I'm been bothered for a while with how huge the type seems on this Blogger template. I've tried playing around with the css settings to make it a little smaller without screwing up all my past posts' line and image breaks. At the moment, I've altered the text to be 90%. So it's not you, the blog really is smaller. How does it look? (I'm liking it.)

Now if I could only get that weird white block bar at the top to go away...

In your satin tights, fighting for our rights.

Okay, I may have been slow to pick up on this 'news' item, but Lindsay Lohan as Wonder Woman?! C'mon. As recently reported over at a Socialite's Life, I have to agree and say that Charisma Carpenter would be the better, if not best, choice. Built, buxom, beautiful, womanly, worldly, wily, and has the legs and experience to kick some serious ass. (Even I got hot and bothered over that Edge photo shoot.)

Let's get those CC for WW campaigns started.

Rotten Apple Corps

So way back in the day, the Beatles started a music company with the name Apple Corps. They had a hissy fit in the 80s when Steve Jobs et al started Apple Computer, thinking people would confuse the two, because vinyl LPs and giant desktop computers look so much alike, are marketed the same way, do the same thing, and are sold side by side. Whatever. So early Apple Computer made a deal and gave a some money to Apple Corps saying fine, we won't make music. (Dudes, we're making computers over here Cali. We're not making records in London.)

But now Apple Corps-- the remaining Beatles or their heirs themselves who are behind this refusing comment on this-- is continuing its expensive lawsuit and claiming ridiculous amounts of money in damages for violating the "don't make music" agreement because Apple uses it's name in the iTunes Music Store.

An updated article about all this can be found in the (London) Times Online here.

How the hell has this managed to get so far?

My questions are these:

1. It's obvious that iTunes is making other people's music available, not acting as its own label-- regardless of iTunes exclusives. What's their damage?

2. Who the F is going to ever or has ever confused Apple Computer-- known the world over-- with an old record company? Does anyone really think that the old Beatles are behind iTunes? Is Apple Computer having a confusing or negative impact on Apple Corps' line of business by sharing the name of an everyday object and being in tangentially related fields? (Apple Corps has gone so far as to register the applecorps.com domain, but they don't even have a website—just a page holder.)

3. How have the Beatles/heirs gotten away with appearing to be petulant little greedy snots without comment or media ridicule? Is this a British-pride thing? Am I unable to defend this because I never bought into the idea that the Beatles were/are gods?

4. And I understand this is in a U.K. court, but isn't this like the attention-grabbing and uber-arrogant nonsense attempted by Spike Lee when the Spike television network launched? The judge ruled that (a) Spike Lee is not only not nearly as famous as he thinks he is (b) "spike" is a common word both as noun and verb and (c) get over yourself-- no one is going to think that a Spike Network "The Network for Men" is all about or by you.

5. Before the lawsuit brouhaha, had anyone outside the record industry really heard of Apple Corps? Are any of these people likely to be confused by an Apple Computer logo on iTunes? How could this possibly impact Apple Corps' business?

This is asinine, destructive, and if not petulant, it's just greedy.

I fear it won't happen, but I do dream that in frivolous cases like this, the judge would just say, "Get over yourself. Sit down. And shut up."

The Beatles and their widows can go back to rolling around in all their other money. Apple Corps can go on to make music. And sell it online if they want to.

The Power Power Nap

I've written about a power nap before, but I had no idea.

What if you combined the two technologies?

Focus on this Family

I always bristle when the right wing nuts or lobbyists/politicians argue against equal rights for gays and lesbians under the mantra of "protecting the children" or "save the family." Oh please. We are families. We have parents and sibs too. And the protection we needed was from the likes of these neocons. (I say this as a child of 37205, and I certainly hope Bill Frist doesn't fall for these fallacies or Christmas is going to be awkward.)

Even worse for me is when the anti-gay lobbyists and politicians use fabricated "research" to bolster an argument that children raised by gays or lesbians are traumatized by the experience. All legitimate research has shown the opposite to be true.

I recently went on an angry rant via e-mail to my family and friends back in Nashville in response to this nutcase representing Tennessee. State Representative Debra Young Maggart (R-Hendersonville) recently stated:

"I am not convinced that just because our foster children desperately need loving homes that we should just place them in homes that are available when research also shows that most homosexual couples have numerous emotional dysfunctions and psychological issues that may not be healthy for children."

I do hope Rep. Maggart actually meets some gay families. She might better learn of their love and grace first-hand. Her contrary "studies" were provided by the masters of misinformation over at Focus on the Family. As a follow up to my rant, and hopefully to bring some happy facts to light, I offer up a link to a new report issued Friday from the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute.

From the Executive Summary-

In an effort to inform the debate, the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute has conducted an extensive examination of the relevant issues, laws and practices, and available research spanning the last several decades. This effort - which represents one of the broadest, most thorough reviews and analyses to date on gay/lesbian adoption and parenting - is part of a larger, more detailed project that will be completed and released in several months. This paper, meanwhile, is intended as an overview that serves two principal functions: to inform and provide context for the often-fractious debate over gay/lesbian adoption currently taking place in our country; and, most important, to provide information that can be used to shape best practices that focus on providing boys and girls in the child welfare system with safe, committed and enduring families.

Principal Findings

• Against a backdrop of increasing public acceptance, social science research concludes that children reared by gay and lesbian parents fare comparably to those of children raised by heterosexuals on a range of measures of social and psychological adjustment.
  
• Studies are increasing in number and rigor, but the body of research on gay/lesbian parents is relatively small and has methodological limitations. Still, virtually every valid study reaches the same conclusion: The children of gays and lesbians adjust positively and their families function well. The limited research on gay/lesbian adoption points in the same direction.
  
• Though few states have laws or policies explicitly barring homosexuals from adopting, some individual agencies and workers outside those states discriminate against gay and lesbian applicants based on their own biases or on mistaken beliefs that such prohibitions exist.
  
• Laws and policies that preclude adoption by gay or lesbian parents disadvantage the tens of thousands of children mired in the foster care system who need permanent, loving homes.

Will this non-partisan research be disseminated by those focusing on families? I fear not.

Bye Bye Buck

There are lots of obits today for the legendary Buck Owens. Although I am peeved by all of the plays on "Rhinestone Cowboy" in the headlines, or the "better known as the Rhinestone Cowboy" lines in the copy. Personally, I think he is more famous for being Buck Owens. Sure lots of people remember the song, but hopefully more people have heard of the man.

At any rate, this man left the world a wonderful legacy, and I thank him.

Of all the obit bits out there, I think this profile, from way back in 1999, is the best (from salon.com).

Sah-LUTE!

sidebar note
.....................................................
Perhaps the Hee Haw appropriate headline would have been "Pfft! He is gone."

For those who can recall the tune, here's the chorus:

Where, oh, where, are you tonight?
Why did you leave me here all alone?
I searched the world over,
And I thought I'd found true love,
You met another and -pfft!- you were gone!

Exxxcellent...

I know this has been out there for a while now, but I still find it impressive. And completely entertaining.

Live action Simpsons opener:


Created by SkyTV in the UK, I think it is scheduled to air in the US as the Simpsons opener this week. Don't know for sure.

Before that she was Energizer...

As a Librarian by spirit and degree, I am extremely sensitive to the government's intrusion on our civil liberties in the library, and think that the ironically/Orewellian-named Patriot Act is vile and treasonous.

I loved today's edition of Unshelved (a comic strip set in a library). Building on yesterday's, here is this morning's installment:


What scares me most about this strip though, is that I get the Power Pack reference.

Good Lord. Am I Dewey?

Finally, someone points this out.

This arrived in my inbox via a Listserv this morning:

On Wednesday, March 1st, 2006, in Annapolis at a hearing on the proposed Constitutional Amendment to prohibit gay marriage, Jamie Raskin, professor of law at AU, was requested to testify.

At the end of his testimony, Republican Senator Nancy Jacobs said: "Mr. Raskin, my Bible says marriage is only between a man and a woman. What do you have to say about that?"

Raskin replied: "Senator, when you took your oath of office, you placed your hand on the Bible and swore to uphold the Constitution. You did not place your hand on the Constitution and swear to uphold the Bible."

The room erupted into applause.

That was both clever and wise. I fear I would have snapped back that if she is trying to create law based on her particular religion she is violating the whole "shall not pass any law regarding the establishment of religion/separation of church and state" idea. And that, in fact, the Bible says no such thing. And also that the Bible "says" many other things which she and her "pro-family" anti-family ilk find it convenient to ignore. And that by her reasoning she should get back in the kitchen where she belongs. And make me some pie.

Clearly, Raskin's response was much better.

The i's in "Irish" are smiling.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!



My line for the day (as I am head to toe in green):
"No, I'm not Irish. But I do have a drinking problem."

Caption of opportunity.

From the AP: President Bush has met with the autistic manager of a Athena Greece High School (Rochester, NY) basketball team, after the 17-year-old inspired people across the country by scoring 20 points in four minutes in his only game.

Now there is also a picture, with caption.

George Bush, right, walks with Jason McElwain at
Greater Rochester International Airport, March 14, 2006.

It's the identifier "right" which amuses me-- as if one could not distinguish the autistic teen from the President. Which is its own joke.

I imagine the President's handlers made damn sure that the teen stood to W's right. Had their positions been reversed in the wire photos, caption editors all over the world may have opted for:


Idiot, savant.

Beware the Ides!

OHMYGOD! LOOK OUT!! THEY'RE RIGHT BEHIND YOU!

Scary things those Ides.

And Happy Birthday Jay!

So sue me sushi.

When Chuck and his ilk were here last weekend, we went out to dinner Friday night at (415), a new Japanese, trendy spot in Laurel Heights.

It is also located in the Jewish Community Center, so the place is kosher. Kosher sushi? (Enforced by Kosher Kops?) No shrimp, no crab (artifical "krab" is offered), and no eel. Now we got the whole no shrimp and no crab as no shellfish thing, but no eel? That's not shellfish. Must be a "bottom feeder" thing.

The discussion did give rise to a new cuisine descriptor: Jewpanese.

Overheard in a Staff Meeting, II

Telling a side-story, regretting that she was the only one to arrive without having had pre-drinks,

"So there I was, stark raving sober,..."

Big News Day

I had a wonderful time with Chuck and his friends, and had a faboo dinner party Saturday night. It was a completely wonderful evening, but marred by the prissy old queen neighbor who complained about the coming and goings of the smokers and said he would call the police. But it has been a big news day and he is the least of my concerns.

Good news and bad. And the bad is really, really bad.

Good news:
The Vanderbilt Medical Alumni Association announced that my mother will be honored with the VMAA Distinguished Service Award. From the announcement: Fran Hardcastle, immediate past president of the Canby Robinson Society (CRS) and newly welcomed to our VMAA Board, will be the very deserving recipient of the 2006 VMAA Distinguished Service Award in recognition of her service to and leadership for Children's Hospital, CRS, and multiple other VUMC efforts."

Very cool Mom! I've always been impressed, and proud. It is nice to see her get her props!

Other good news:
Deb had her baby! This deserves its own post and will get its proper attention soon. The details: baby Roman Nicholas was born this morning after three freakin' days of labor. Roman (who shall be known among the tribe as Zack) weighs in at 9 pounds, 2 ounces. No formal length yet, but apparently Deb gave birth to a toddler.

Bad news:
The adored Doug Parsons passed away this weekend. Doug, my uncle once (twice?) removed, was always such a warm, welcoming, and charming patriarch in the clan and his kindness will be sorely missed. In trying to descibe him to my friends, I keep returning to the image of Clark Gable: tall, handsome, charming, quick with a cocktail and a kind word, effortlessly smooth, entirely genuine, without pretense or offence, and he could hold a room with his eyes. For me, he was often the main feature of family functions. And through whom I would get to know my good friend Clark. [more on Clark Parsons and my visit to him in Berlin here.]

Terrible news:
I can't really type this without losing it again. Dear friends Paul and Missy Wallace have learned that their sweet and wise eight-year-old Charlotte has a degenerateive neurological disorder.

I received this e-mail today:

As some of you already know, our family received some devastating news on 3/10. Our oldest daughter Charlotte (8) is suffering from a "Demyelinating Disease", which destroys the protective layer of proteins surrounding the central nervous system in her brain. The symptoms thus far have included weight loss and rapid deterioration of her motor skills and cognitive abilities. Multiple doctors are working furiously to try to identify the disease causing the demyelination in hopes of delaying its progress. Unfortunately, the prognosis is not encouraging.

There is a strong chance that the disease is genetic, meaning that William (6) and Mae Mae (4) could also be vulnerable.

I can't IMAGINE how they are dealing with this. I am not her parent, or even a parent, and I am a wreck.

They have a website now to share stories and information, which really cuts to my heart. However, I am deeply appreciative of the company which provides this blog service for the families of the tragically ill: CaringBridge.org.

Up for Chuck!

Chuck is in town! I think he told me he would be here in March but for some reason I have it in my calendar for April. I'm wholly unprepared and am completely excited to see him. I only hope I can clean up my neglected apartment in time to host something nice....

tv trauma?

I have a new co-worker, Dorki. She made a point this morning of stating, quite emphatically, that her adult relationships are marred by two childhood traumas: The Love Boat, and Three's Company.

There's something to this I'm sure.

And I am also afraid this is the sort of topic some student somewhere could turn into a thesis.

Whatever. Seattle Bill would still love it.

Kit Cat

While Garfield does not even approach the evil Family Circus for levels of unfunny, it certainly does lack the punch of say Pearls Before Swine.

But this, THIS, is BRILLIANCE. Garfield, as a strip, may suffer from overmuch-- the joke is illustrated, and texted, and reiterated- and is thus so oversold that it fails to be really funny or interesting. But remove all of Garfield's thought bubbles, and the strip becomes at times painfully funny and even painfully pathetic (for Jon). Often fascinatingly surreal. It is now a strip about a funny cartoon cat and the lonely man who talks to him.


These examples are great. I wish for more.

yeah yeah

I haven't posted in a while, but less for lack of topics and more for either my depression or rage at them. Rants, likely, will be forthcoming. As well as the now-stock Tucson stories which may amuse you, gentle reader.

Three nuns and a drag queen walk up to a bar...

Okay, I know I have not yet regaled of tales of Tucson, but this is too good not to share. I'm at Kevin's, and his roommate started this story from Coronation (where I was Saturday night as well...'n'other story). I just happened to have my laptop open and to be online as he started this story and how could I not post it?

Seriously. A true anecdote that starts with "Three nuns and a drag queen walk up to a bar..."

He started, "So, three of us nuns and the drag queen walk up to the bar... the boyfriend of one of the nuns decided to come in drag, so that's where the the drag queen came in... So he's buying the drinks..." (We had already commented on how alarmingly weak and alarmingly expensive the drinks were.) "...and then the bartender said, 'That'll be three dollars.'
'Three dollars!?'
'Yeah. The nuns drink free and it's three bucks for the drag queen.'"

Apparently, Rodeo drag didn't count.

That would have been me.

Like I said, whole other story.

Mystery Date: Wild Desert Animals

It's been a week since Tucson (TUCSON!) and this is the first chance I've had to put some pics together. Stories with photos to follow soon, but until then here's a little preview!


A better quality, non-flash video is also presented on my personal site over here.

Didn't you know?

Never mess with a librarian.

Apparently two zealous yahoos from Homeland Security (who the hell is screening employees over there? Doesn't Homeland Security have any security of its own?) marched into a branch library, shouted for attention, and announced that, for reasons of National Security, patrons could not use library computers to look at porn. It may just be me here but fundamental religious zealots willing to kill for their conservative beliefs, beliefs which abhor female nudity, are not likely to be at the library surfing for Girls Gone Wild. But it's not like our security agencies have a proven track record for being real good with the thinkin'.

The agents asked patrons to step away from the computers, then they checked to see what each person was reading. One man's site was deemed objectionable and the agents asked him to step outside.

My favorite part of the news article is this:

It then appears that the Homeland Security officers encountered a force which was considerably more powerful than any charter they may have been given by the President. A librarian approached them and told them to be quiet.

Ultimately, "The police were called and the men were asked to leave. Homeland Security has moved to distance itself from the pair's action. It has confirmed that the two worked for their local county office but said they were operating way outside their authority."

Seriously, don't fuck with a librarian. Don't make me go Medieval Literature on your ass.

I'm just sayin'.

Tucson Baby!

Tucson? Yes, Tucson. Random destination I know, but Kevin had his reasons. And Kevin and I can make a screaming party out of a gunny sack (even the lamest event can become an exciting experience with the right company).

The trip was an absolute BLAST!! Plenty of pics and many, many stories. But I am too busy to post about it now.

Here's the sitch: Kevin flew me to Phoenix where we met up with special surprise guest Kelly Carlson, and we rented a convertible and drove through the back desert roads to Tucson, where we were joined by our fourth, Bill (whom after this trip I will refer to as Eyore). The archor event and precipitating idea for this trip was the premiere performance of the touring company of Kevin's favorite musical (he's an unabashed show queen): Bombay Dreams.

Three days, gallons of liquor, two parks, a cave, a rotting pidgeon, three trannys, and lots and lots of commentary.

Photos and anecdotes to come.

Update.

Mystery Date

Tomorrow's the day! Kevin has planned a mystery vacation for me. All I know is that I have to pack a bag and be ready to go to the airport by 6:00 tomorrow morning.


Course set for adventure!

At your cervix.

Best line overheard in a staff meeting:

"My vagina is not making this better."

We love green eggs and Sam.

A little follow up to the Mr. Smarty-No-Pants post.

Sam was in town from NYC, and a little thrown by the 75 degree, sunny weather here while he had two feet of snow on his balcony back in Manhattan. Sam [friendster] briefly lived in the flat above Lance and is an all around wonderful guy who has become an all around wonderful friend. I joined him and Lance for brunch in the Castro, arriving after Lance's slapstick routine in which he elbowed a waitress with a tray full of drinks. By the time I arrived, they had (quite literally) been sent to the curb. I joined them at the sidewalk seating, which was much nicer anyway with the dog and the sunshine.


Lance and Sam at Catch
The three of us spent the day doing the gay/Castro shopping thing with Sam, which was excessively pleasant considering the weather and the company. Lance, who had taken two-step lessons with me years ago, asked if I was headed dancing that night. Both he and Sam thought that gay country/western dancing sounded like a lot of fun. And they were still committed even after I told them it was also their first underwear (optional) party. In addition to t-shirts and a pleather jacket, Sam also bought some snazzy underwear from Injeanious. The tighty-yellows matched his new t-shirt, and considering Sam's physique, it was our loss he never got to the point where he would drop trou. He did get some fun snapshots though (he took the one of me and Kyle at the end of the previous post).

In between shopping and dancing, Sam was anxious for a haircut. Lance went home to do some work on the house and get some work done for the office, and I stayed with Sam at the only salon in the neighborhood that could take him immediately. At It's All About You (which really, it is), Sam and I both experienced the tranny in training. Not training to be a tranny, she had that down, but training in cosmetology or whatever. She started on Sam's haircut, but had to be corrected reapeatedly by the Master of the House until he could take over. The owner/master of It's All About You is a caricature of a stereotype (if such a thing is possible) of the effeminate, fey, aging asian homosexual-- waifishly thin, loose wrists, mostly unintelligble accent, and lots of giggling. We would learn later that he used to work at another salon called "the Look of Love," which the neighborhood affectionately referred to as "the Rook of Ruv." (Don't get all PC police on me. I am told it was said with affection.)

The Rook of Ruv
After he took over Sam's haircut, the tranny convinced me to get a pedicure while I waited for him. After she drew blood, the senior pedicurist took over. Looking over the vast menu of services (what the hell is "nipple enhancement, men/women" and why does it cost over $200?), Sam thought he would also get his slight monobrow waxed. (To be honest, the hair between his eyes was barely perceptible. But I suppose if you feel a Bert coming on, you might as well wax that bit.) The sort of spa day was sort of nice, only to be defiled at the end. After the Rook of Ruv had cleaned Sam's brow, he leaned down into the chair, grabbed Sam's package, and asked if he needed anything else waxed. The offer was politely, and rapidly, declined.

The salon time was followed by sunset drinks at Club Jackson (aka Barney's) overlooking the Golden Gate with Barney and RMJ, Ing and Ing's fab girlfriend Ainsley.

RMJ and Barney
Now I mention all of this so I can talk about last night (Monday). Lance invited us all over for drinks after work as Sam and he were leaving bright and early the next day (different destinations). After a volley of e-mails, we settled on cocktails at 7:00 to be followed by beer and pizza and porn. Apparently, Lance's roommate has a new plot-intensive Falcon double-disc DVD set filmed in and supposedly about New Zealand, and Lance and Barney are Kiwis. We were looking to mock it.

Also, during the all day volley of e-mails, I had gotten sufficient grief (largely from Barney) about my dacing around in my underpants. I had threatened Barney with a reprise. And so I pciked up RMJ and Sam and arrived at the Dolores Park B&B (aka Lance's house) in my boxers.

The Freshmaker

By the way, Guys Gone Wild is the funniest damn thing I've seen. Although it must be viewed communally, with lots of beer and commentary. This was Spring Break 2005 Cancun. Or was it Aruba. We thought that perhaps that girl wasn't kidnapped at all, she is just getting laid. I am afraid, however, that next year we will see Girls Gone Wild: Girls Gone Missing!

So until Spring Break 2006 comes out, I've got my favorite wild boys right here.

And I’m not wearing any pants.

With possibly equal amounts of mischief and glee, I was able to send the following true text message to several people Sunday night:

It’s almost 11:00. I’m in the McDonald’s drive through. I’m not wearing any pants.

Those who know me know that I do, on occasion, crack myself up. This was one of those moments. Academically, I believe the humor in this lies in two parts: (1) the lack of any explanation and (2) “not wearing any pants.” I think the phrase “not wearing any pants” is inherently funny. As with Gary Larson's use of cows in The Far Side, it’s funny for any occasion. Or akin to Steve Martin’s hypothesis that any news will be perceived as just fine if accompanied by the banjo. (He posited that the banjo could have saved Nixon if he had just come out and said "Everything’s great!" while strumming. Or "I’d like to talk about foreign policy, but first, a little Foggy Mountain Breakdown.")

Such is the power of the pantless. Never apologize, never explain.

If this were an episode of Alias, we would now segue to "4 Hours Earlier" for the backplot. (I am explaining, but not apologizing.)

Sunday night was the Sweetheart's Ball at Sundance Saloon. It was also it's first underwear party ("Briefs, Bras, and Boots"). I had been very against the idea. And indeed in practice it was very much like "Sundance Saloon Goes to the Powerhouse." With a warm day, no A/C, and hundreds of dancers, the space quickly grew opressively hot. (And there was some serious O with the B's.) It was truthfully like trying to do an exercise class in a sauna. It was so hot and humid in there I got dizzy and even had to sit outside with my head between my legs for a while. There was sufficient playful peer pressure to lose the pants. But it was the heat that finally got me. I sweat completely through four shirts before I said F it and took off my heavy, wet, sweaty jeans.

Of course, ever in theme, I had heart boxers on. And man, as fervently against the idea as I had been, I became equally fervent in favor. Dancing in boxers is the only way to go. I love louging in boxers. I'm considering coming to work like this.

At the end of the night there was a big crowd at the clothes check trying to get dressed. But I was still warm outside and I didn't really care so I just took my bag of clothes and walked into the night—a vision in red tee, pink cowboy shirt, heart boxers, bare legs and boots. Then I joined the caravan jonesing for soda and fries in the McDonald's drive-through.

And I'm not wearing any pants.

Settle down, Beavis.

Alert reader Lee Pennington recognizes an absoutely necessary photo opportunity when he sees one, even though his boyfriend may think he's crazy.
(Look closely at the name of the shop. Click to enlarge.)



Thank you Lee!

I am Cornholio!

I need TP for my bunghole!

Why gay men will win any drinking game.

The truly horrible and tragic story of the young man on a murderous rampage from Massachusetts to Arkansas is finally over. The story ends with the boy shooting his female companion in the face before he himself was finally and fatally shot by police officers.

For those of you haven't been following the story, last week a teenager entered a New Bedford, Massachusetts bar, Puzzles, ordered a drink, and asked the bartender if it was a gay bar. The bartender said it was and the young man then went ape shit on the customers with a hatchet and a hand gun. He struck one man in the head with the hatchet, and the man who came to his aid, and shot a third man before fleeing. He left behind the axe and the machete he did not get a chance to use. Very scary.

Somehow getting to Arkansas with a female companion, he then shot and killed the highway patrolman who had pulled him over for speeding. Ultimately, the gunman was fatally wounded on Saturday when he opened fire on police at a roadblock following a high-speed chase.

I'll stop with the summary there as (1) there is plenty of news coverage of this online and (2) he doesn't need any more fame.

This morning's San Francisco Chronicle online edition featured a story by Pam Belluck of The New York Times. What struck me most about the piece was the final paragraph in which she cites an AP report:

At Puzzles Lounge, New Bedford's mayor, Scott Lang, paid a visit on Saturday night to tell patrons that Robida had been caught in Arkansas and was in the hospital. Several patrons expressed relief, mixed with regret that others had been killed by Robida. The patrons included Robert Perry, one of Robida's victims, who showed up at the bar after his release from the hospital, with a black eye, a 5-inch gash on his face and a bullet hole in his back, according to the Associated Press.

That's right my friends, this guy was attacked my a madman with a hatchet, then shot. And the first thing he does when he gets out of the hospital: HE GOES BACK TO THE BAR.

It's one thing to be cliche and "get back on the horse after you fall down," but to get back on the bar stool "with a black eye, a 5-inch gash on his face and a bullet hole in his back," THAT'S a man I want buy a drink.

Those Duke Boys

My previous post regarding the atrocious and not-even-so-bad-it's-funny Dukes of Hazzard movie generated some response.

I gleefully submit mathematician Vance MacDonald's proposed equation for what makes a bad movie really, really bad. Check out "An Initial Attempt to Derive an Equation That Can Be Used to Measure the Worst Movies of All-Time" over at Babblog.

The general equation looks something like this:

SR = Pb · (Sp + Sc)
Q
Where the Stinker Rating (SR) is a function of the Production Budget (Pb) times the sum of the Star Power (Sp) and the Script Factor (Sc) divided by the overall Quality (Q) of the picture. Cult Status (Cu) plays a part in there somewhere, but mostly as an elimination factor. Read Vance's proposal. It's very well done and frames the discussion of really, really miserable films quite well.

Please, altert readers, submit your answers. And as for all math tests, please show your work.

And for extra credit, here is a photo submitted by Sean and Meg in their Bo and Luke Duke Halloween costumes from last year. It seems the Honda was also Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Banged into the General Lee.

Enabler Feeding Frenzy

Kevin and I feed off of each other like DG and HB. As happy as I am that the soul mates Kevin and Shawn have gotten back together (again), I was actually very worried that I would lose Kev to the boyfriend as so many friends have disappeared before. But Shawn, also a friend of mine, knows that Kevin needs his playtime. As Kevin put it, it like having to let the dog run loose for a while. You got to let them out for a good romp pretty frequently. (It seems this has taken a linguistic turn for the sexual--this is not sleazy romping mind you, but out on the town, trouble-causing, whiskey-drinking, comment-making, sometimes bail-requiring romping. Although now that Kevin is back to being a one-man-man, I am still free to flirt with reckless abandon.)

Kevin and I are each other's enablers, which may be why we have so much fun together. Anything is possible and nothing is forbidden. After an exceptionally brief heart-to-heart, I basically summed it up like this: It's nice to know that Shawn's love won't interfere with my drinking.

And to that, Saturday was a joint birthday party for Ron (a friend of mine/ours from Sundance) hosted by Dana at his place in Danville. And Lord knows I am not about to cross a bridge, much less deal with a bridge AND a tunnel, without my wing man. I couldn't understand why someone would like to live way out way out WAY out in the boonies like that. Then I saw the inside of the house. To call it a sprawling mansion would not be entirely inaccurate. The house is big and beautiful, if unfortunately a little too thematic in its decor. Dana, also a good dancer, is big and beautiful too (tall big). And I am happy to be a new addition to the pool party list.

The party ultimately moved from Dana's place to 1220 in Walnut Creek-- the tiny gay bar behind a 7-11 that plays C/W on alternating Saturdays. After leaving with minimal mischief at Dana's (Kevin's line: "Here. I'll do it. You have more of a reputation to maintain...") we had a little trouble parking outside of 1220. Across the street between the seemingly endless red zones, was space for two large cars, and someone had parked in the middle so there was not quite enought space in front or in back to park another car without jutting into the red zone. I parked first in front, sticking out about a foot into the red. While guiding me from the sidewalk, Kevin suggested it might be better to park in the space behind, so I tried that. And yelled to Kevin out the window, "Am I better in front or in the rear?" To which Kevin went into an apoplectic laughing fit and fell into the ivy. All I could do was sit there mumbling "oh for heaven's sakes."

Hot boy primer

Apparently, A is for A-hole.

Winsome, lose some, and win some.

I had mismarked my calendar and came very close to missing the spectacular show "Odd By Nature" this weekend (subtitled "An Evening in Sean Owen's Shorts"). This collection of short scenes written and directed by Sean Owens is amazing! I tried to rave to some coworkers earlier and just came off sounding like a lunatic. Is it any wonder when describing a witty, wicked, urbane dark, light, orgasmic, frigid, and exceptionaly clever collection of theatrical bits. The wonderful concoction includes such diverse elements as "Climax" in which there is none and is rather an amusing piece about how a couple will avoid any serious discussion about their miserable relationship; a monologue from an enthusiastic twink who has been buried alive by the hottest guy; a hilarious piece imagining if the woman who swallowed a fly had done so as part of a prix fix menu; the secret sex lives of Rob and Laura Petrie; and a rousing showtune to finish off the show: Everyone Loves Porn.

Read the SF weekly review here. My WORD that show was funny.
Very winsome.

In fact, I loved the show so much, I am taking RMJ to see it again tonight. Afterwards we're going to catch Suppositori Spelling's show "All That Spaz" at the Deco (and oddly by nature enough, Spaz was at last night's performance as he too is friends with the playwright.)

Where I lost some last night-- highs and lows seeming to cancel each other out-- was feeling (or actually being) dismissed by love interests A and C. (I'll get to a little narrative about A, B, and C later when the shame wears off.) I had invited A to the show, albeit only with a day or two's notice. A works 8 to 9 Fri-Sun and loves theater and I thought this would be the perfect date night. The show started at 8:00, but ultimately he couldn't make it because his yago class didn't get out until 7:30. WTF?! You only work Friday to Sunday. Here's an idea-- take another class, work out earlier in the day, or bloody well just don't go to this one. I understand he looks as good as he does because he keeps fit, but to turn down an invitation for dinner and theater for a work out is a little too "I have to wash my hair that night" for me. I wasn't sure if A was interested or just interested in being my new friend. I have my answer. Clearly I know how he prioritizes time with me.

After A had bailed (the first time, it was off then on then off) I cast all self-esteem aside and invited C. C was also unable to go because he was going to the Bare Chest Calendar Competition at the Powerhouse. C and I have been very friendly and I have been trying to take it up a notch, with positive feedback to continue. However, a couple of weeks ago I was made to feel pretty much lower than dirt when while talking to me, he turned mid-sentence to make out with someone else. Had I known he gave away deep kisses like lollipops at the doctor's office, I probably wouldn't have wanted one so badly. Or taken it to mean something it clearly was not.

I went from the fabulous show, ditching the tie and sequined dinner jacket in the trunk, to the Powerhouse for the last hour of the competition. My friend Bill was a semi-finalist and working the room quite, uh, handily. C was holding his own court and working the room, but we chatted briefly. Ever friendly and charming and hot that C, but he made it clear that there was no interest in me beyond friendly. So I lost some there too. But the only sure thing about luck is that it will change. While neither A nor C were interested in returning my affections, there were several men at the bar who were interested in at least some limited quality time with me-- including a handsome shirtless flight attendant who was interested in some infidelity. While I was interested in going home alone, it was nice to know I had options. Made me feel pretty. Win some winsome.

Part of the competition for the calendar contestants is selling raffle tickets. The are a dollar each, or $10 buys you the length of your inseam's worth of tickets (well, belt to heel). This is a seriously, uh, hands-on experience, and Bill was outselling his competition. To be supportive, I bought $20 worth (and it goes to a good cause), which bought me both down the front and up the back's worth of tickets. And at 6'2", that's a handfull of tickets.

There were only two more drawings of the night: the remaining general prize basket of porn, lube, and this year's calendar; and the grand prize, a 2 GB iPod Nano.

I won both.

I may have lost at the game of love, but I got some lovely parting gifts.

Need a diuretic?

Cause this will make you pee your pants.

Blatantly lifted from another blog, this is too good not to share. David Hasslehoff is hooked on a feeling.

You might want to sit down for this one. We here in the office almost fell over.

Look carefully for his catching a big fish (thrown at him, not with a rod and reel), and then stuffing it in his mouth. WTF?

Power Nap

I used to joke about slipping a dog bed under my desk/desks of coworkers for the occasional but much needed after-lunch power nap. Who knew I was thinking small?

This, my friends, is the NAPMOSPHERE. For the hard-core napper. (Although generally I think that people who would be described as 'hard-core' would not be big nappers.)

From the website:

Four groups of Architecture students at the University of Stuttgart have developed products and prototypes for the relaxing nap, the so called Power Napping. Many studies show that a short rest during the day improves productivity. Up to this point there have only been a few firms that have integrated Power Napping into the course of a day.

And this is what it looks like on the inside:


Sort of like Dreamland meets Chuck-E-Cheese.

Overheard

You know you have a drinking problem when the bartender knows your name... and you have never been in that bar before.

Cooped up.

Silly and salacious, but just too much not to share. Andy sure is sexy as silver-haired and silver-tongued hottie. But he's also not afraid of a little leather.

Oh my.


Clearly, the wrong reporter is in the harness.

Anderson Cooper in the leather shop- from Gawker.

And another one falls

Yet another office coworker has resigned. I have been here just a year and am the second senior person here, and only by a matter of months. Just after I started, I had heard that the turnover was incredible because the Director was such a nightmare to work with. I was told I was the 15th person on the four-person staff in four and half years. (But hey, I was just out of school and wanted my foot in the door.)

Since I started in this position in December of 2004, we have had three people come and go. Sadly, none of them have been the Director.

I keep vacillating on whether to leave or not. I apply to other positions from time to time, but I've got a pretty sweet deal here. Sure, it is not all that intellectually challenging, and the pay is only okay, and in the past the Director has been beyond atrocious. But by indications it appears she got slapped at her last review and is taking mandatory training-- which surprisingly seems very effective. So far so good.

And I like the actual work I do even if at times it seems less like an intellectual endeavor and more like busywork. The faculty with whom I work are wonderful, and I enjoy my coworkers too (well now just the one left actually). To top it all off, I have a nice office with a door, windows that open, a view of the park (and on clear days the ocean); I walk to work and home for lunch, and my hours are pretty flexible.

So all in all, not that bad a gig. I used to hate it here, but now I am kinda content. I find I am only applying to jobs I really want and are on my career track, rather than just "well, it's got to be better than this." So while I may be here for a while, feel free to send cool archiving, librarian, editorial, or A/V job opportunities my way!

iTriPod

Nifty idea. I may have to get one of these.





The iPod TriPod.

Bad clothes

For the well-dressed villian. I now know what to wear the next time I visit the lab.

Crazy Cooter Comin' at ya.

Lord that was bad.

In our continuation of Silly Movie Night-- which had a wonderful beginning with The Cannonball Run-- last night Kevin and I went over to James and Jeanette's for pizza, beer, and The Dukes of Hazzard movie. Surely, we thought, this was something bad enough to be good, and featuring ample opportunity for MST3Kesque commenatary.

Nope, it was just bad. The three leads were sexy enough to look at from time to time, but that was about it. Only Burt Reynolds seemed to know that this was supposed to be funny, and in a "we know this is a campy remake making fun of ourselves" sort of funny.

However- J&J's new cat, Capote, was thoroughly entertaining.

Desperately Seeking Satan

Okay. So I'm a little evil. Not quite evil really, just on the good side of insidious.

DG spent last week in Jackson Hole, Wyoming for a ski vacation. He mentioned to me that he posted to Crag's List for a playmate. Now, while there are Craig's Lists for many major metropolitan cities such as NYC, LA, Boston, and Chicago-- even Alberquerque and Nashville, there is no Craig's List: Jackson Hole but only Craig's List: Wyoming. And while the Men Seeking Men sections in major cities can feature more than 50 postings an hour, graphically requesting sexual liaisons, the Wyoming board receives only about 12 tame personal ad postings a week.

Considering the scarcity of postings to Craig's List-Wyoming, it was not difficult to find his post:

Visiting Jackson - 36
Will be visiting Jackson Hole January 8-12 to ski and...? 36 y.o., 6'1", 175lb, bln/blu. Looking for anything from a ski buddy to fuck buddy to drinking buddy. Let's meet up and have a beer.

I replied. Complete with new e-mail address and adult webcam photos of some hottie (his type) from the web.

I wrote:

From: checkm8@mac.com
To: pers-121950142@craigslist.org
Date: Sun Jan 08, 2006 12:50:08 PM PST
Subject: RE: Visiting Jackson - 36

Attachments: smile.jpg; and more.jpg

I'm a rancher who is looking for a buddy in Jackson Hole. I moved here last year and am looking for a fun bud to hang out, drink beer/whiskey, and have some good sex play after a day of skiing or drinking. (Love sucking a guy in cowboy boots). You must be height/weight prop, enjoy drinking (and can hold your liquor), like making commentary during movies, and ain't above gettin' your hole greased up by a stranger during a street fair.

Sunday early evening we chatted and I helped him troubleshoot his laptop wireless connection to a nearby cafe. Later that night I received another call while I was in line for take-out before Sundance.

"Hello"
"Youuuuu Bitch."
Innocently, "What?"
"Grrrrrrrrr."
"Did someone get their mail?"

He thought this was hilarious. My goal was not to trick, as in "meet me at the bar at seven o'clock and I'll be wearing a red carnation," but rather to tease-- to create something enticing but increasing specific as to be obviously fictional. He suggested I send it to my brothers and a couple of our friends as he'd love to see what they would create.

I sort of took it a little further. First I sent it to Mac and Jay and a couple of mutual friends.

Hey kids,

It's time to play with [DG's] head.

[DG] is in Jackson Hole, Wyoming (heh heh, I said "hole") for the week on a ski vacation and posted to Craig's List for a playmate.

Here's his post: http://wyoming.craigslist.org/m4m/121950142.html

He had told me he posted to Craig's list, and as there are only about five postings a week, it wasn't hard to find his (heh heh, I said "hard") post. I am asking you to send a reply.

I already sent my fake response (complete with faked e-mail address and photos)... I had him ready to move to Wyoming and settle down, until the last sentence when it became obvious it was just me fucking with his head (I know him a little too well perhaps).

He thought it was hilarious and I'm sure he would like some more. So get creative.

(And I wouldn't mind a blind Cc)

-Wilson

The best reply was from DG's roommate, who said, "Like minds my friend...I sent him one last night.. ;-) From a chinise boy, who was 4ft 2", but with a huge [*]. We're sick and twisted."

Then I sent this to more friends in town. Then to some of my fellow miscreants.
And ultimately I started sending this out wildly to send as much grief DG's way as possible. With maniacal laughter I started soliciting responses from San Diego, Boston, Nashville, and Atlanta.

FWD: Please reply to [DG's] posting

Okay, I am getting more people involved. I want his mailbox full of fake profiles.
I am evil, and will be placing my own ad for minions shortly.

-Wilson

The responses basically consisted of the following:

*You're an evil s.o.b.
*you're evil, dude.
*That's so mean!!! LOL, I love it.

And out of all of those solicited for responses, I am ashamed, ASHAMED, that none of you participated. I thought you more adventurous than that. Or perhaps I just thought you all to be a little darker. (I wasn't asking for anything cruel-- just entertaining.)

I told some of my coworkers about it to the general response of, "You're so evil."
"I'm thinking of getting a lair."
"And minions. You need minions."

DESPERATELY SEEKING SATAN
Evil Master Seeks Minions
Master Schemer seeks minions to do his bidding in mischievous and maniacal plans. Additional duties as required. Lair accessible by muni metro. Experience necessary. Hunchback or bug-eye not required but appreciated. Sycophantic tendencies a plus. References a must. Must be proficient in Microsoft applications.

Happy New Year

This year's Annual New Year's Day Papa John's Black-Eye'd Pea Chili Party was again a hit. The crowd was smaller than expected but perfect for the space. I didn't send out the Evite until after Christmas so many people never read the invitation, and I never got around to calling the 120 invitees personally.


Most commented that the invitation was really unnecessary as I have been doing this on eight years now and people should just know. True, but there are always first timers I like to include.

Most people who know me also know if I invite you for 1:00 and you show up at 1:00, I'm likely to be in the shower. I keep pushing the time back for this party to allow for Eve recovery (mine and theirs), but it was really odd this year as the invitation was for anytime after 1:30, and people didn't appear until 3:30. But they did and mostly all at once. No drama or trauma this year, always good (but not always the case), and a great crowd of guys. Also refreshing this year is that everyone left at a reasonable time and I was able to clean up and make an appearance at Sundance by 9:00.

It was a long day and an unusual crowd but I was happy to be there. And I am rarely happier than when I am dancing. Dinyar mentioned something that stuck with me. We were both appreciating how special Sundance Saloon is, and how happy we are when we are there. He said that he felt this was the perfect metaphor for life. "It is about the dancing. The pure act and joy of dancing. It's not about the destination or the goal or the ending. It's in the dancing." And in the doing.

I forget that all too often.

Think on that, and have a happy new year.

Joy Personified

Considering the length of the last post, I won't go on so much about my night with Chuck and Ginger. I'll go on, just not so much.

Ginger ("I woke up with all my jew'ry on") and Chuck ("I know I am pretty, motherfucker.") are two of my most favorite people in my life. The three of us get along like a house on fire. Ginger I've known most of my life, but we only got to be close around 1994. Chuck and I knew each other in high school, but weren't friends until I ran into him as a friend's date in a gay bar around 1996. Chuck was in Chicago when Ginger moved there (or was that the other way around?) and I arranged for them to get together. Before meeting, the only thing they knew they had in common was me (and Nashville). They went from zero to best friends in about five seconds. I love Ginger. I love Chuck. Chuck loves Ginger. Chuck loves me. Ginger loves me. Ginger loves Chuck. Big love fest here. And it is astounding that this Christmas was the first time we were all in the same city at the same time. Chuck has since moved back to San Diego. I see him in SF or SD. And Ginger is still based in Chicago but bought a lovely place in Nashville, and I see her there or in SF. As close as we all are, it amazes me it has taken us this long to all be in the same room.

And the earth trembled.

We had a freakin' BALL. Lordy, for the folks who know me- y'all should be very afraid. Chattiness and wacky adventure exponential.

We had drinks at Ginger's amazing new home before heading out to the new Cabana for dinner. We chatted about the house, her impeccable taste (with some furnishing assistance by the "magic attic"), local gossip, sadness of those we know who still feel the need to be in the closet, home ownership (Nashville vs. Chicago vs. SD vs. SF), etc. I mentioned that a friend in Nashville just closed on a condo and hopes to pay it off within a year. Ginger hoped she'd be able to pay off the fabric in a year. Of course, the furniture and the draperies are fabulous.

Cabana had some pretty amazing food, and a very cool design. I did not realize how drunk Ginger (and possibly Chuck) had gotten during dinner. We went through two (three?) bottles of wine at dinner. Which is more impressive when you consider I was just drinking vodka. While our original plan was to go Out after dinner, Ginger was adamant about taking a cab home. She was further gone than we thought, but we both know better than to argue with Ginger when she gets an idea in her head.

All in all, one of the most fun nights I've ever had. Absolutely stellar company. Highlights of the evening:

*Ginger getting a little miffed when I did not take the left at the next light as she instructed, which would have put us in the direction of the restaurant, but the route would have taken us over a curb and through the lobby of a nursing home to get there.
*SF and SD trying to chat with LA, who was too LA to deal with SF or SD in Nashville.
*Ending up at the Chute for open mic night and my bodily carrying Chuck on stage for a duet of Captain and Tenille's "Love Will Keep Us Together."
*While Chuck was still on his Blackberry speakerphone with a honey back home.
*Wilson making out with a fraternity brother (much younger) he met last year.
*Wilson only remembering making out with the fraternity brother because he had text messaged it to Kevin.
*Stopping at 4:00 A.M. for 24 cheese Krystals, four orders of fries, and four corn pups.
*And taking said Krystals to Ginger's house.
*Ginger calling Fran (my mother) to let her know Chuck and I would be crashing at her place (in the guest room with two new, incredibly comfortable queen-sized beds).
*Ginger: "Wilson will be home in the morning." Fran: "Honey, it is the morning."
-and my favorite line of the night/day-
*Chuck and I woke painfully the next day to the bright winter sun streaming in through the unadorned guest room windows. Chuck said, in his wonderfully deep southern drawl, "For all the money she spent on draperies, you think she coulda put some up in here."
*And of course, over breakfast juice and tale-telling, Ginger clucking at us to stop referring to her cleaning lady as "Rosario."

I'm afraid you had to be there. And I'm sure glad I was.

Oh 'Holy Crap' Night.

My Christmas vacation has been wonderful. Steeped in familial love, garnished with the best of friends, and marinated in vodka.

Christmas Eve (our big family deal) was wonderful, and Christmas morning pretty magical. I even got a full-body-tremor of excitement out of my niece Ellen with her gift. It's fun to give gifts which were not on their lists, and really special when they are visibly excited at the surprise. For Ellen, age 9, I gave a gift certificate for two pedicures-for her and a friend- at the Venetian "First Class Spa." (Two comments: Pedicures because manicured colors are not allowed in school. And while the Venecian may be the most popular nail spot in Green Hills, it looks like an over-accented sweatshop and they could learn a great deal from the ubiquitous nail spots in SF. Not to mention I pay $25 for a spa mani/pedi across the street. Venetian pedis alone are $30 each.) I also gave her GCs to the Maggie Moo's next door.

I love that Ellen is in that pre-teen period where she can play the young lady and the little girl. She has grown-up attitudes for many things, but still loves her stuffed animals and play time. And she still thinks her uncles are cool.

Which of course, we are.

Bradley's gift was not met with as much enthusiasm, as even though I had cleared this with the parents weeks prior, they forgot and got him the same thing. So he arrived at Sheppard Place wearing a Red Sox hat similar to what lay wrapped under the three. (The version I ordered was, of course, the cooler one. Thanks to my Boston connection RMJ.)

So Christmas Day was magical. Christmas Night was hysterical.

After Christmas breakfast and the stockings and presents under the tree, eventually Jay & Steff and the kids went home to Sneed Road to play with other kids, and Mac and Emily left to rest up before the big Christmas dinner with her side of the family.

So for the bulk of Christmas Day, in the afternoon and evening, I was the only child left at Sheppard Place. I enjoyed chilling in front of the fire with Mom and Dad, playing with the new toys, and spent most of the day helping mom clean up from the morning and our big dinner the night before.

However, Christmas Night has always been a Big Night Out for the southern homo. I am extremely fortunate that I enjoy time with my family. I know many people, and many more gay people, who find time with their families over the holidays to be more about quantity than quality. And sometimes the quantity is measured in fluid ounces.

As Buffy once said to Willow, "I think that much quality time with my mother would lead to some quality matricide." On the nights of Thanksgiving and Christmas the gay bars are to capacity.

I received several calls from friends to meet me at Tribe. I texted back saying I was on my way, but with the empty nest pangs of the day it was difficult to extricate my self from my mother. And then neighbors stopped by to visit, blocking me both bodily and vehicularly. Finally en route to Tribe I was a good 30 to 40 minutes behind. I got calls from Chuck (in from San Diego), Brad (in from SF), Jason (in from SF), Keith (local) and Scott (local), looking for me. All of them were hanging out in a crowded bar drinking alone(ish), and it occurred to me that all of these guys were sitting next to each other in a bar waiting for me but none of them knew each other.

Brad kills me sometimes. He is perhaps one of the sexiest men on the planet, with an easy confidence I can only marvel at and envy. I believe he fears nothing... except apparently being alone in a bar or a room full of people he doesn't know. Funny that. However, Brad being Brad, I would not expect him to be alone for long.

I arrived to a warm welcome with many more friendly familiar faces than I expected and felt oddly like a homecoming king. Added bonus: I got to spend a little time with great guy and club proprietor David. I was on the same flight out from OAK with his sister, bother-in-law, and their two kids. David had been in Mississippi with his partner Michael to visit his family, but had beat feet back to the preferable Nashvegas. (We are grading on a curve.)

The excellent Christmas Day continued. Brad had been approached by several men, whose attentions he graciously declined. One man bought Brad a beer by way of introduction, and was fairly attentive but Brad extricated himself kindly as he was "waiting for a friend." The gentleman went back to his buddies at the bar and commented, "Does anyone know if Wilson is in town? Let's call him." Brad had to ask, "Excuse me, do you mean Wilson Hardcastle?" And that's not the amusing part.

The gentleman in question was Scott, and when they told me this when I got there I couldn't help but laugh out loud. THAT WAS HOW I MET BRAD IN THE FIRST PLACE. Scott had tried to pick up Brad years ago in a slightly seedy gay bar on Franklin Road. Later that night, Scott introduced me to Brad (who had driven in to town to drink, be in a gay bar, and escape his crazy family out in the boonies) as Brad also lived in SF. So perhaps we'll just do this again every couple of years.

The entire night was a blast. But there is one shining moment which stands out-one of those laughing-so-hard-you-can't-breathe-and-have-to-hold-to-something moments. San Francisco, meet Nashville. Nashville, San Francisco. You may now butt heads.

Unfortunately, many of you reading this are not Nashvillian or particularly southern and so the confusion and humor may be lost on you. The standard drunk food in Nashville is Krystal's. In SF and NYC, you get a slice. In Nashville, you drive through Krystal's. Everyone does. When I came in at 4:00 A.M. from the Swan Ball with a bag of Krystals (after dropping off my drunken date at her home), my parents (also home from the ball) were in the kitchen eating Krystals. For those of you unfamiliar, think little square burgers a la White Castle. But that really doesn't do it justice. Nor justice to the corn pub, chili corn pup, and other artery-hardening greasy treats. When one has a Krystal, it seems like it was the best idea in the world. When you are finished, you are less convinced. The next day, your digestive system and exit tract have quite the contrary to offer on the matter. We do not phrase this condition as such. But I shall not invoke such base language as this is a family blog. Well, a whoring, alcoholic family blog. We have families too.

I have never known someone to eat a Krystal sober.

They are also open 24 hours. (My brother Mac once learned that the 24 hours are not necessarily in a row. But that is another story.)

The night went on. Fun, and cocktails, were had by all. As it was Christmas night, Tribe was closing early, and there was discussion about the next plan. Keith, unlike the rest of us, had not had a large Christmas dinner was not pleasantly stuffed as the turkey of the day. Keith was pushing a food agenda—preferably late night appetizers at Sunset Grill. The rest of us wanted to continue a little more festively, and overall we decided to head to the Chute (coincidentally the aforementioned slightly seedy gay bar). The Chute is, in fact, slightly seedy, but it is also the second nicest gay bar in Nashville. There are dozens of gay bars in Nashville, but only Tribe is quite nice (long time SF'ers can think of the AP). So with only one great, second best can be pretty far down the curve. I'm just sayin'.


After disjointed discussion, the Chute emerged as the new destination, so Keith decided he would rush ahead so he could stop for some food before joining us at the next bar. Brad asked, "What are we doing?"
"We're headed to the Chute."
"Where did Keith go?"
"He's going on a Krystal run and he'll meet us there."
"Oh man, that was the best sex I ever had."

uh, excuse me?!

I had to process for a moment. Unsuccessfully I might add. Once in high school, on a dare Gantt Bumstead walked into a Krystal bathroom, removed all of this clothes, and walked out. So nudity and Krystal are not to my mind entirely mutually exclusive.

"uh, What?"
"I mean, I'll never do it again but man, that was the most intense orgasm I ever had."
"Okay... I'm still on 'What?!' Did you like get sucked off in the bathroom or something?"
"Huh? Sex on crystal was just intense...but I am not into that really."

The light bulb of comprehension went on and I lost it.

In Nashville, a Krystral run means four tiny cheese burgers and fries for about $3. A "crystal run" in SF means finding a dealer before you dance shirtless and high in a club all night. Krystal Burgers ≠ crystal meth.

I was laughing so uncontrollably it took me several minutes to regain my breath before I could explain that the only high Keith was getting was going to be to his cholesterol level.



[Update: I went to the Krystal website to grab some images. They now offer WiFi. That scares me.]

Merry Christmas!

Santa always knows my size.