The Justice Squadron!

I am trapped in a courtroom waiting to hear if I will be required to serve on the jury for murder trail. It is expected to run through June 22. I think. I may have misheard. At first I heard July 22, because that is my Dad's 70th birthday and I will be back in Nashville for that. I don't mind serving on a jury as much, it's just that I will be home with the family Thursday-Monday the second weekend in June, the third weekend in July, and in August or September I plan to have the follow up surgery to alleviate my apnea. There is rarely a good time for jury duty, but this summer particularly sucks if I am required to be at the south of Market courthouse for any extended engagement. The last time I was called for jury service was the week of my last surgery, and I was excused. I don't know what they will do with me today. I am particularly annoyed by the tone of the judge, who started out thanking all of us for showing up and stressing the importance, honor, and duty of jury service. Those platitudes were quickly supplanted by impatience and condescension with her instructions as to what and what she will not consider a hardship.

I've filled out my hardship form and am waiting with the 200 other folks to see if I will be excused. (My hardship is that I will be in Nashville in June and July.)

All morning I have been thinking about that Simpson's episode when the Mensa people took over running the town. Comic Book Guy created new juror summons to get people excited about serving. Instead of a jury summons, citizens of Springfield received a comic-styled sheet announcing that they had been invited/inducted into The Justice Squadron!

Moe seemed impressed.

Gotta stop now. Back later. (post backdated)

Overheard at work - 11

If you have a shirtless photo on Friendster, you're pretty much a whore.

(I'm just sayin'.)

Overheard at Work - 10

"You want to try one of these?"
"What are they?"
"Lentil pea flavored faux chips."
"They look like dried areola."

Overheard at work - 9

Three words you never want to hear together: "Indian rap band."

As in, "So that guy I'm not dating is going down to L.A. and has a friend who directs music videos. Oh, like for an Indian rap band. It's horrible. So emabarassing. I'll send you the link."

The Indian rappers are a group calling themselves "Karmacy." Which is better than what I would call them. (Something like "root canal from an ex-girlfriend," because it is painful and awkward.)

The link is to the production company Plan 9, but Ed Wood has nothing on this group for out-of-this-world bad. (The production, however, is good. Plan 9 should be praised for form, but not be blamed for content.)

Hot and wet

Pink is the New Blog has a link to the trailer for the new WB series "Aquaman." However, it also seems as though the newly merged CW network may not pick it up. This is surprising as Smallville is such a huge hit and so abominably written that I can't see how a beach/shirtless/bikini-clad version of Smallville could fail to garner the teen audience. Throw in the Bermuda Triangle for good measure and you even get the nerds.

See the trailer:


Read the gossip on Pink. (You'll have to scroll down a a bit.)

Clearly, the above trailer looks more likely to win new viewers than this one.

Update: Apparently the promo has been taken down from YouTube because the PTB don't want it out there.

From the AquamanTV.com website:

The Aquaman promotional trailer that landed on Youtube.com "has been removed at the request of copyright owner Warner Brothers because its content was used without permission."

The trailer video was viewed over 100,000 times and was in the top ten most-viewed videos on the site for the past few days.On the bright side, this means that the studio is aware of all of the fan demand for the project.

The trailer is probably hosted on other parts of the Web, but you'll have to find it for yourselves. I'd prefer not to hear from any lawyers myself :) Hopefully everyone who wanted to see the trailer has been able to.

traDDitional

So Shilpa had a date tonight. But the FOB called and said he'd be late. As in, "instead of 6:30 how about 9:00/9:30." Yeah. Whatever. She called, but at 8:00, I was still at work. Tomorrow's a crap busy day, and I need to prepare all of next week tonight as I will be in meetings from 8:00 to 4:00 tomorrow, but have the possibility of jury duty starting Monday.

So, having no car and no groceries, I was going to walk over to Crêpes on Cole for a dinner salad. Shilpa wanted to get together for a drink and socialize before her date—her interest in which was diminishing by the minute. She had started already (go girl) and I agreed to meet at our favorite Café Flore. We managed to time it so we caught the same train.

Love this girl. We are what to the other makes daily life with Señorita Psycophath bearable. And she is such a silly drunk. Happy, lovable, giggly, and hilarious.

I ordered the chicken breast with rice and veggies. I can't identify any (meaning the presence of) seasonings on the rice, chicken, or veggies, but all are amazing— light, buttery, but not buttery and melt-in-your-mouth. Seriously folks, if you ever get to SF, Flore is the best place for lunch. I would say dinner, but if you are a tourist you should do something tourist-y. This is a neighborhood place, sensibly priced, recently gained a liquor license, and is oh so good. Later, the cafe becomes Bistroteque. Something I have not yet experienced. But I digress.

Gems from the dinner (evening of her watching me eat) with Shilps:

Walking from the Muni:
"It's like that song: NoTika Masala! It means 'no curries!'"

At dinner:
"That's why it's so hard for me to meet Indian guys. They look at me and see an independent woman and don't know what to do. But if they get to know me they learn I'm charming, speak three native languages, visit my parents regularly, and can cook up a native storm. And I've got double D's. What is their problem?!"
"I've got a new calling card for you: Shilpa Anonymous: traDDitional."

Enjoy this post while it lasts. I know she will e-mail me later tonight and demand its removal. Can't say I blame her. But c'mon!

And as she was leaving... btw, FOB called when I got on the train and said he was already at the bar at 8:30. She was planning on 9/9:30 and left here at 9:20, loathe to leave her number one gay. I am, clearly, fabulous company.

As she was leaving, I say to her, "Call me if you need rescuing. I'll take a cab, check my bag, and pretend to pick you up at the bar."
"Thanks Sweetie."
She walks to the exit, turns on a heel, and shouts past the other diners, with a somewhat accusatory tone, "I'LL BE TEXTING YOU!" Turns, and gets a cab.

The other diners turn in unison and look at me.
"Straight girl. First date." I say.
Seriously, all together, heads nod and one hears the waves of "Ahhhh."
Me, left alone at the table with my entree and wine, say "Drama, table of one, your table is now available."

Love that girl.

Overheard at work - 8

(Upon leaving work to go on a date.)

"We're not eating, just drinking. (pause) I hope I don't do anything stupid. I'm saving myself for [shall remain nameless]."

yeah huh.

And on BBC World News...

I am not making this up. This just in from the BBC. I'm guessing only in America could a group of researchers get a ridiculously large grant to study this. WTF? (No pun intended)

The headline: "Penis is a competitive beast."

That we knew.

Lead paragraph of the story:

Tests led a team of US researchers, headed by Professor Gordon Gallup, to conclude that the penis acts as a "semen displacement device" and its shape has evolved in part to displace another man's semen.

Dude, I can totally see your semen displacement device in that swimsuit.

Heads up.

Better than heads off. But damn close. Be glad that these aren’t the people in your neighborhood.

Shopping on the DVC

So The Da Vinci Code has opened. I have been of two minds about seeing this. On one side, the book was such simple fun action/adventure/mystery with some thought thrown it, how can the movie not be a good ride? And on the other hand, I don’t want to spend two hours fidgeting in my seat mentally consumed by how badly Tom Hanks needs a haircut.

From the San Francisco Chronicle’s review (by Mick LaSalle)

There are reversals of expectation, miraculous escapes from certain doom -- all the things that make thrillers thrilling. But “The Da Vinci Code” isn’t thrilling. It’s not a complete dud, either. Though it's tempting to deal in extremes when talking about the year's most anticipated picture, the truth is that “The Da Vinci Code” is a pretty-good-but-who-cares effort, a moderately interesting diversion that will hold audiences in the moment but leave them unmoved and unchanged. For a routine entry, that wouldn't be bad, but for a 153-minute blockbuster, directed by Ron Howard and written by Akiva Goldsman (“A Beautiful Mind”), there's no pretending it lives up to expectations.

That about sums it up. But Mr. LaSalle does give me my favorite press quote of the day (in bold, emphasis added):

Give credit to Bettany for a gutsy performance. After seeing him half nude and flagellating himself, it’ll take a while for audiences to buy him as a romantic lead. If only for the lack of opportunities, no one wants to get typecast playing lunatic albino monks.

Un-iform

It’s Tuesday. My first day back in SF. Kevin and I have a pseudo-standing Tuesday night date. But with me without wheels I would have a hard time getting to his place. He called and asked if I wanted to go out, and I found that yes I did. I could use a whisky and a frisky and what did he have in mind?

Apparently (all the good stories start with “apparently”), ever since the Loading Dock closed, there has been a social void for those heavily into uniforms/uniforms & leather. Tonight is the inaugural test of the occasional “uniform night” at the Powerhouse. Tony will be doing outreach again. Kevin told me just to wear my uniform gear. “You know, cop, patrol officer, fire department t-shirt, chaps, camo’, whatever.”

Uh…yeah. What uniform garb would that be? Lord knows as a Hardcastle I have a costume section in my closet, but rooting through my wardrobe the only uniforms I could muster were cater-waiter and someone from Target or Best Buy. “Just wear lots of leather,” he says. That pretty much puts me in three belts and four pairs of shoes.

I’m wearing a black tee and cargo pants with boots. But with the attention I’ve been getting this month, I’m sure it’ll be fine. In any event, there will be Jack, and I’m not driving. Now that’s a uniform I can wear.

For being in the air so long, it was a mundane Monday.

It was a looong way home Monday. My flight was delayed at BNA for over two hours, then the long flight, then without a car to collect me I took a bus, and BART, and another bust to get home. The commute from OAK was over an hour. Which actually may have been about the same considering bridge traffic at rush hour. It wa pushing 90 across the Bay, 75 over the hill, and maybe 45 degrees from my place westward as the fog smothered the Sunset.

I sort of unpacked, but mainly just vegged. Tired from the weekend’s revelry, and the stress of dealing with a stolen car, I just wanted to sit down. I had planned to go for a walk and maybe get dinner in the Castro if just to wrap myself in the City again, and to be around my people. I didn’t get truly motivated and appropriately attired until 8:30, and I remembered that MUNI service now stops at 10:00 so I would have to take a cab back if I went a-wandering. Ultimately, I updated my iTunes, plugged in the Nano, and went for a walk in the cold and windy fog down Haight Street. Then home again with San Franciscan comfort food—shanghai noodles from the Citrus Club. Yum.

I go walking, after midnight, out in the starlight, just the way we used to do...

Overheard at work - 7

"He still hasn't called me?! What does it mean? How many days before I really have to worry? He's killing me!"
"Is he strummin' your pain with his fingers?"
"Yes. He is killing me softly. What's with the whole timing and phone call thing?"
"It's because you're a girl and girls over-analyze and play all sorts of games."
"But I don't play those games!"
"That makes you an abberation, and he won't know what to do with an outlying data point. All girls play games with men. Sometimes it's Clue; sometimes it's Sorry."

I suppose we could add Trouble, Concentration, Risk, Stratego, (are you a man or a) Mousetrap, MasterMind, Operation, Mystery Date, and Life.

Stretching it: Battleship and Monopoly. Waiting to get slapped: Old Maid. And further extending it to cards: Gin.

Feel free to add your own in the comments section.

Hunt Ball, Iroquois Steeplechase and such

Yes, yes. In a minute. I have that pesky "day job" thing to attend to. I will edit photos and start the narratives as soon as I can.

A propos to the weekend's theme, hold your horses.


And, Mary McGee, because I have heard that you are anxious about your appearance in the blog, I will be sure to shame you. Your backhand to Ginger's ass left a mark. (not that leaving a mark isn't something I can't usually get behind. pun intended)

Apple surprise?

As one might expect, the Apple Corps v. Apple Computer case is getting more play (no pun intended) in the U.K. than over here.

Pete Mortensen (man crush) over at The Cult of Mac has posted about the BBC interview which was supposed to be with Guy Kewney, editor of a tech website, but instead they just got some "guy." The BBC wound up interviewing a cabbie/IT job applicant on the air for his analysis of the verdict.

While not exactly eloquent or articulate, he certainly held his own. My favorite line from the transcript (also Pete's favorite) is the descriptor "Face of horror" when the cab driver is introduced as "editor of the technology website Newswireless."

Check it out over here.

Previously: Apple Sauce, Rotten Apple Corps, Dung Beatles, Bad Apples

Back in the saddle, but not the driver's seat.

Hey kids. I had no idea I had such a following, or ye few but faithful. My absence of posting has been duly noted and I'll get right on the weekend's story-telling.

But I’m a little busy at the moment. Work blacklog is taking precedence over personal creativity. After a hideously long day of travel yesterday, brightened only by the charming company on the plane, I was too wiped to have the energy to write, much less to write anything of quality.

I am also a bit distracted. Yesterday morning (in Nashville) I got a call from Paul Day (in SF). We have a mutually beneficial arrangement in which I loan him my car while I am away, and he drops me off and picks me up at the airport. He called me just after he left his boyfriend’s house to drive to work. The car was no longer where he parked it. And it wasn’t towed.

One of the most painful ways to end a vacation: getting your car stolen.

And of course, all of my insurance/vehicle information is back in my SF apartment, so there was only so much I could do. I called the dealer to get my VIN and called the police, who would not take a report over the phone. Paul called them again (they having told Paul I would have to make the report and telling me that Paul would have to make the report) and an officer came to take his report, generate a case number, and put out an alert. Today I deal with the insurance company. I am not optimistic.

And, okay, who the hell would want a crappy old Saturn? Sure, I need it. But when shopping in the Castro for a car, the 10-year-old Saturn with scrapes from vandals is what catches your eye? The factory stereo with cassette player? Maybe it was the rainbow cowboy sticker. Or Davidson. Or MBA. Or the subtle Phi Gamma Delta star. I have now heard that it’s a fairly easy car to steal, and they are often taken for a ride and later dumped. Criminy.

And I am also thinking of all the stuff I had in the car. Not only am I over-prepared for any occasion, I also use my car trunk as extra storage space as my apartment is so small.

Short list of things in my car (stream of consciousness):

• FastTrak transponder (I’ll have to cancel that too)
• CB radio kit
• Leather-bound, monogrammed road atlas I received as a graduation gift from Barry and Went which has been invaluable
• Random CA/NV maps
• iPod/Cassette adapter
• Flashlights
• Lipbalm
• A pair of prescription sunglasses and a pair regular
• $20 in quarters for parking meters
• House keys to James’, Kate’s, Deb’s, Lances, and Michael’s apartments.
• Umbrellas (2)
  In the Trunk:
• Brand-new high-end compact jumper cable kit Dad gave us each for Christmas (SHIT!)
• A packed suitcase containing jeans, khakis, running shoes, dress-shoes, t-shirts, boxers, socks, belts, two dress shirts, sweater, knit shirts, swim trunks, shorts, sleepwear, drop-kit, towel, hat, sunscreen etc.
• Sunshield
• Collapsible hose and nozzles
• New jumbo box of laundry detergent
• Vend cards for the laundrymat ($20)
• Windbreaker
• CDs
• Extra t-shirts
• Bottles of water
• Milk crate holding all of this stuff.
• Windshield fluid, Windex, and paper towels
• New, unopened croquet set
• Koosh darts
• Bubble machines (why do I have several?)
• Kite
• Toolkit
• Spray glitter
• Treasured can hugger from Graceland
• Homeless care packages (beer, water, meal bars, wetnaps)
  And in the big plastic tub:
• Beach sheets, blankets, and towels
• Sidewalk chalk
• Cirtonella lanterns
• Emergency road kit with jumper cables, flares, bags, flashlight, fix-a-flat etc.
• Vollyball
• Softball
• Mitt
• Frizbees
• Hats
• Water
• Kite string
• Emergency blankets

Okay, I am way prepared. And what’s even more strange, is that I am sure there are many things I forgot.

Crap this is annoying.

Pearl necklace of wisdom

Driving back from Hermitage, Tennessee at 5:30 A.M. with a love hangover is not the best way to start Steeplechase day.

He was/is a great guy, but Hermitage? Lordy. For you Bay Area folks, think of going home with someone from the Castro to Walnut Creek, but the town has all of the sleek sophistication of Colma.

When I left to come home, there was the frustrating blue dawn of morning. It became a race: could I get home and to bed before being touched by direct sunlight. The sun was rising fast behind me as I drove down 40 back to Belle Meade. My own little celestial game of tag. I made it to bed before dawn actually broke. Add to the exasperation of the knowledge that a very active and very long day would be starting in a mere four hours, the shame of having to return home so late from a night out to your parents' house. My morning arrival did not go without notice by my mother, but gracefully and gratefully it did go without comment.

Haste to the 'Chase

It has been insane all day here in the office. The Director has been out sick this week, as has half the staff. So Shilpa and I have been covering for everybody else. I've been so busy with other people's work, I haven't had time to get my own stuff done. Lucky for me I had planned ahead and I began this week in good work shape in preparation for leaving tomorrow morning to go home to Nashville. But I don't have any time now, just a few secs to post this and wrap up before I go home to pack.

It's Steeplechase weekend! Always a blast. And exhausting. How much heat and partying can one man stand? We'll find out. In celebration of the weekend I have redesigned my home page and put up some fun pics from last year.

This year Ginger is my date for the Fabulous Hardcastle Box on the finish line. But this week Ginger was also generously gifted a full box by the Tyrells who won't be able to make it this year. So we are being hosted by Fran and John in their box, and hosting eight others in another box. We have put together a really fun group of people who are incredibly interesting and entertaining, which is good because they won't know each other. Ginger and I will be flitting back and forth from family to frivolity. Which is what we really do race day anyway.

Riders to the posts!

Backstage at Surreal Life 6

It's trashy reality TV Tuesday at Kevin's. Imagined backstage dialogue after Flo speaks truth to low voltage:

"Don't be upset. C'mon now. Let's be honest. I'm a violent tranny, and you're a whore. I'm not saying it's bad, but I am saying it's true."

Do Not Taunt Happy Fun Ball

My cool little niece Ellen is turning 11 tomorrow. Discussion of gift ideas and wish lists has been circulating amongst the fam via e-mail. Among the suggestions were one or two games for whatever super-high-tech tiny touch screen Nintendo thing she got for Christmas. The suggested game title was along the lines of "Super Monkey Ball."

Mom just e-mailed the crew to say that she had gotten Ellen the "Super Monkey Ball" (so that others would not duplicate the purchase).

I had to e-mail back to the list: "Why does the phrase Super Monkey Ball make me uneasy?"
Fran replied: "Singular. Not plural."
Honestly, I don't know which is worse. Having Super Monkey Balls, just one Super Monkey Ball, or [shudder] a monkey with just one Super Ball.

All things considered, I just hope they are all going to some sort of formal party.

At which I hope they will be having more fun than a barrel of themselves.








Update: Mom wrote back. And it's pushing midnight in Nashville. My Mom is freakin' hilarious. I read it to Kevin who said he wished he had such a funny mom. I told him that my mother always said that "Insanity is hereditary. You get it from your children."

Colbertgate is not a toothpaste

The commentary and analysis on Stephen Colbert's address at the White House Correspondents' Dinner rages still.

However varied the content in the blogosphere may be, one can always count on the Christian Science Monitor for exceptional quality journalism. Commenting today on the reaction to the Colbert address (some calling it "Colbert-gate"), and the desperation and hypocrisy of the dinner itself, is bimonthly political columnist Dante Chinni. The piece is insightful, well-written, and highly recommended.

Favorite pull quote:

First off, the correspondents dinner showcases two of this town's biggest psychological issues, its feelings that it is the center of the universe and its fear that no one really cares what happens here. The dinner is like prom as imagined by the debate team.[emphasis added]

Love it.

Overheard at work - 6

"I don't like to do things half-assed. I like to do them, you know,... "
"...full-assed?"

Let's hear it for the boy

The Very Reverend and openly gay and long-term partnered Robert Taylor (and Dean of his congregation) was not elected to be the new bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of California. But he was welcomed back and applauded by his home congregation in Seattle.

"I think the question we're struggling with as a church is that baptism makes everyone a full member of the church...So we're struggling to live the truth of what God already knows. ... God is inclusive. God is filled with love and justice."

Amen.

Apple sauce

Talk to the hand cause the court ain't listenin'. (The court is listening to its iPod.)

The British court has ruled in favor of Apple/iTunes over the cry Beatles. Wired has the bare bones but informative AP story. The SF Chronicle adds a little more context and commentary. But my favorite reaction to this news is over at iTWire: Apple Ruling Demonstrates the Absurd.

Previously: Rotten Apple Corps, Dung Beatles, Bad Apples

Tiptoe through the juleps

The Kentucky Derby is this Saturday! Now while my annual Derby Day party is much anticpated, I have to decline to host this year. While I hope to have julep in hand and a television before my eyes come three o'clock, at noon I will be in Sausalito for the Christening of little baby RND (aka Zach).

Now where in this City can I find a silver baby julep as a gift?
......................................................................

For those non-southerners of you who do not know, the Mint Julep (note it is not spelled like tulip), takes its name from its traditional serving vessel. The silver or pewter cup is known as a julep. I have a set (of course) at home for just such occasions. Now, if only I could find a shop here to buy one for Roman.

Yo ho ho

And a seriously creepy barrel of rum.

More like Psycho de Mayo.

Map/Quest

This should make our evenings much more efficient.

For the thrifty, but thirsty: Stumbling Donkey

Oregon supes add injustice to injury

How crazy is this? The Oregon supreme court has ruled that medical marijuana patients who fail drug tests may be fired for failing the drug test for the drug to which they have been prescribed.

Even though they are not under the influence during work hours. Which is relevant because it is basically a workplace safety issue. What makes this insult to actual injury is that the only legal drug for medical affliction is toxic, debilitating, and sufficiently impairing as to make the worker unsafe to work, whereas the medical marijuana treats his ailment at night while leaving him alert and unaltered for his dangerous work (in a lumbermill) during the day. The drug test in question checks for metabolites remaining in the system for four weeks, and has no test for checking if the active drug is actively in the system at the time of testing (or any other time for that matter).

Another point of the case turned on the judges' appraisal of his level of disability, and their opinion seems devoid of common sense. Pam over at Pam's House Blend has clarified the legalese nicely: If you use medical marijuana to treat a condition so you may be unimpaired enough to work, an employer may fire you if you fail a workplace drug test -- because if you're healthy enough to work, you're not disabled enough to protect from firing.

Read her report here.

Overheard, and so wrong

You walked into that one like a battered wife into a door.


(okay, I was the one who said it.)

Overheard (from Tony) - II

Ever since I flogged him at the S&M booth, he's been kinda weird toward me.

Overheard (from Tony)

My love tank is empty so I am taking the night off.

When I reign, it pours.

(Sunday follow up to Friday/Saturday.)

Something is freakin’ up with me. For a guy with more body issues than Men’s Health, I am feeling pretty confident this week. I am garnering all sorts of unsolicited attention and in the dating game have switched from hunter to prey. I don’t get it, but I am not complaining. And I fear to examine it too closely lest it vanish for the scrutiny. (I'm sure there is some Heisenberg corollary to this somewhere.)

So, with the assistance of my friends Robert, Kevin, Shawn, and Jack (Daniels), I was the flame(r) to the hairy moths in the Powerhouse. And the object of attraction for [Anonymous Public Figure]. APF left me a message before I could even get home from the bar. And called me first thing in the morning and left a message (I try not to be vertical before 10:00 A.M. on Sunday if I can help it.) asking if he could bring me breakfast in bed.

Now while I clearly have a history of falling for any flattery, two phone calls in an eight hour period and an offer for breakfast in bed before a first date sort of sends Robbie into warning mode.

I agreed to meet him for breakfast at Squat and Gobble (the one in the Castro), which is one of the best places to be whenever it is sunny or warm enough for breakfast outside. There is also the sidewalk parade and the likelihood of seeing friends and acquaintances. True enough, we both saw many, many friends and acquaintances, but surprisingly no one overlapped. Robert has been pushing this relationship (relationship? I’ve known him for nine hours!) as we are great matches for social circles, interests, abilities, and most of all, protocol. I just want to have coffee with a guy first, then maybe go on a date, and then take it from there. Then again, compared to Robert’s love life, I have the pace of a glacier.

We had pleasant conversation during brunch, and he stroked my thigh and my hand and all of that and it was quite a nice time. He then asked if we could go for a walk, which considering the weather was an excellent idea. As we started up the hill he asked if we could have a kissing date. First time I have been asked as such and I agreed. I did establish that I already had plans to meet Robert in the afternoon and had to get a variety of designs done before going out with Lance to Sundance (all true). I also established that I was pretty atypical for a SF gay guy in that I don’t really kiss or kiss-plus on a breakfast/first date. I know, very Brenda circa 90210. But he was very interested in dating, and I was uncertain, so I wanted to take my time.

“You didn’t have any trouble kissing last night.”
Hooking up in a bar, and in place like the Powerhouse no less, is a very different thing. This felt like bringing a U-haul on a first date. I merely replied, “That was at one o’clock in a bar and Jack Daniels was involved.”

The walk we went on was to his car, in which he drove us to his house. While I would have preferred more conversation, we made out for about an hour. Which was very nice and sensual and felt long overdue. However, I still wasn’t in the zone yet with this guy, and kept the program to PG-13. However what buttons he had access to were sufficiently pushed. And he had all sorts of pining gazes and sexual flattery that I was very much feeling wooed.

I had to wrap it up to meet Robert downtown, and we eventually said our goodbyes. I walked home as he lives just at the top of the hill. He will be out of town for work for about a week, which gives us some pondering time. Clearly, this train is headed for Boyfriendburgh, and I am wondering if I need to get off (bad choice of words) at the next stop. Academically, dating APF would be all well and good, impending fatherhood with unbalanced co-parent notwithstanding. But so far, I am just not feeling it. And as I have truly loved seldom but crushed often, the fact that I am not excited about the train ride should be warning enough.

I took muni and a cab up to Nob Hill to meet Robert at the antique car show in the park, have a little bubbly and nibblies, and catch up. The Sunday was perfect for the park, and I could not have been happier lounging with Robert and the Kiwis (Lance and Barney).


A good time was had by all.

And the warm weather and the sunshine brought the park into full bloom.



Sundance Saloon was also an interesting end to an interesting weekend. Like last week, with so many people and so many of them friends, I felt like the beau of the ball. Handsome men begged for dances, bought me drinks, held me close, and expressed their sweet somethings (these were not nothings). Is it any wonder I am a regular?

While Matt did not make an appearance, there were other romantic storylines unfolding. I danced repeatedly and platonically affectionately with an ex, a first-dater, and ships in the night. But also, there was the dramatic return of the dramatic storylines of A, B, and C.

While I have distanced myself from the far too handsome A, and I have tried to avoid him as the black hole of attention, he is wheedling himself back into my good graces and into my arms, if only for a dance. It’s not that I have neither will power nor self-respect, it’s just that I don’t have enough force from either to escape his gravitational pull.

Something is going on with him which seems to be vexing and complexing him. I got the idea that at least one issue was with his equally hard-bodied and (by all indications) hetero-married and curiously constant companion. I am trying to resist my caretaker instincts with this one. I have been drawn in and discarded before. Not that I ever learn. Always giving and forgiving.

While perplexed by A, vexed, B was a non-issue really. He seems much more friendly with me now. I wonder if his previous distancing was because he sensed my ridiculous long-term crush, and now has sensed its absence. Unfortunately, his renewed kindness is sort of bringing it back. Le sigh.

Far more dangerous was the rekindled interest in C. Rekindled is not a strong enough word. If there were a single verb to describe dumping a pint of lighter fluid on candle flame, it would be that-ed. I have seen him out and about—street corners, grocery stores (is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?), bars, etc.—and he continues to be his flirty self. I am a big flirt too so I can take that with a grain of salt, or rather the salt lick it requires. But in fact the rendezvous on the street was sufficiently intense as to evoke poetry (never to be posted here—I may have no shame but I do have pride). I have never seen eyes such as his by the rainlight. And the vision of which blurred the memory of all else of the occasion. The fresh rain smell of his rainlight eyes was remarkable to me—that such synesthesia could be the cause of such amnesia.

While the train of APF may be headed to Boyfriendburgh, for C this train of thought will lead only to Madness. (Population: me.)

Sunday night we danced. And shadowed. (example of the shadow) And sappy as it sounds, his shadows are almost that—dimly dark, weightless, graceful, dangerous, and ethereal. And sexy as hell. Chatting with others in the corner later, C said, “I never said ‘no’ to Wilson.”

I must have looked incredulous for he followed up with “I never said ‘no’ to you.”

“Then I must not have been asking the right questions.” I drawled.

I thought a bit and said, “Now that we have established that you won’t say ‘no’ to me, I have another question.”

This is the first time I have seen the façade crack. Under any circumstance. His expression, always a mixture of sultry, inviting, and mischievous, transformed in a blink and his eyes registered an honest expression—of honest anxiety, bordering on fear. Unconsciously or not, he considered our past and our present, and realized at this very moment he should not be playing the game.

“At dancing!” He clarified. “I never say ‘no’ to you for dancing.”

“Oh, the qualifier. That has come much too late.”

The question in question popped to my mind immediately in my usual witty, flirty, humorous pattern, meant for the benefit of an audience as well as my advancement. But just as I started to give it voice, I was struck dumb. Dear God, it wasn’t a joke at all. It suddenly and surprisingly occurred to me that I would mean it.

I didn’t want a yes, per se. I would not expect a yes and a yes would be illogical and untimely and irrational and crazy. But I meant it, and if he said "yes," I felt a calm in realizing that, yes, I would too.

My next thought was a line which has stuck with me from all those hard-boiled detective Travis McGee books my brother loved: When your luck is running, push it.

Expecting nothing. Wanting nothing. Perfectly content just to ask. To have lived my life and said these words, and at the time mean them. That was more than enough.

I looked him in the eye, spoke his name, and asked him to marry me.

Colbert Rapport

Thank God for Stephen Colbert. The only man strong enough to speak truthiness to power.

While the mainstream press, itself evicerated, has been largely pretending the keynote address didn't happen, it has finally gotten around to acknowledging Stephen Colbert's performance at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. Now they are trying to brush it off as unfunny.

Clearly, as anyone at home was watching on television or more likely online, it was hilarious, even though few in the room were really laughing. Pretty much the President and the press were called to account that they all basically suck at their jobs.

And while the corporate press may try to ignore the exposure of their failings, coverage and praise for Colbert's performance (it was a performance of the faux pundit Stephen Colbert, not Colbert speaking as himself) is all over the web.

From Editor and Publisher. But my favorite take is from Salon here (with rather insightful comments on the historical use of irony in political satire) and here.

And would you believe?

If the South is gonna rise again...

...it won't be as a phoenix from the ashes.

Georgia, on no minds.

Another Improv Everywhere moment

I am a huge fan of Improv Everywhere, and somewhat feel that is what my life is like, just on a much smaller scale. That's me: improv of one. While I think that the Mission: Best Buy was brillant, my favorites are No Pants (read the resulting legal decision) and the Time Loop (described during the interview on This American Life). Many people hold the Mission: Even Better Than the Real Thing as number one (in which they pose as U2 and perform a rooftop concert a couple of hours before the real U2 appear across the street at Madison Square Garden).

My favorite excerpt from an agent's field report:

Once they realized that we posed no immediate threat to them or the community at large, they decided to let each of us go on a disorderly conduct charge. Such a charge, I was told by the officer who filled out my summons, more than likely would carry a $20 fine.

OK, great. So, for $20 I can pretend I’m a rockstar on the roof of an apartment building in New York City, entertain hundreds of passers-by and have a blast all the while, but a right turn onto 7th Ave. from 34th Street between 6-8 PM costs me $75. Another reason why I don’t have a car.

Let them eat cape.

Friday night, Shilpa and I accompanied the newly single Amy to an art opening (to which she was invited by the artist) at a café in Bernal Heights. As a newly single gal, Amy needed some slightly slutty shopping for socializing, and Shilpa had tricked her out nicely earlier in the week. While still maintaining a sophisticated air, the beams were on high, and phasers set to stunning. [The Hootchification of Amy Day, a new Teen Valley High romance forthcoming from Shilpa Patel.] Not that Shilpa and I have wonderfully successful relationships to give us any credibility, but we have successfully wooed a boy or two (not together of course) and when we bring our game we can certainly work a room. And we took to educating Rita on the art of casual conversation, flirting, non-verbal communication, and the ambush and retreating tactics in the art of lovefare. We were also hell-bent on getting some flattering photos for her Friendster profile. I will say this, when Amy identifies an object for potential affection, she doesn’t screw around. A sandy-haired, artistic, scientific, athletic Frenchman? J’en veux!


Afterwards, we took the short hop to the Outer Mission for Crazy Coco’s birthday party, which was lots of eat, drink, and with nothing but straight girls and mo’s, quite Mary. While my girls didn’t know anyone, and felt that they were overdressed and feared they would be considered Marina girls, they had a great time.



The freely flowing vodka and amazing tamales didn’t hurt. And they got to meet/chat/dance with some amazing mo’s. However, Amy’s intense ophidiophobia kept her secluded in the back bedroom for a little while.

Gay men do love to wear boas.

When we finally closed the party down at three-ish, it was a loooong drive to return Amy to her abode at Ocean Beach.

I should mention I got two messages Friday evening. The first was to my home phone in the afternoon and I got it after work before picking up the girls. Matt called and said he was really busy and just getting around to returning e-mails and phone calls, thought I had invited him out to dinner and a birthday party for tonight (I called Tuesday), and unfortunately he already had dinner plans. I responded to the answering machine, "It's Friday. So do I. I didn't sit around all week waiting for the phone to ring..." But the rest of the message was sufficiently apologetic and romantically interested to merit another invitation. Final exams are a good excuse for being socially scatter-brained, but he couldn't send a "sorry. can't. finals week. let's try again later." e-mail? Add to that my friends in UC Berkeley administration said finals weren't going on last week. Hmm. He seems genuine and is genuinely charming so it is worth another try. Again, we'll see.

Also on Friday night I got a last minute invitation from Robert for a black tie dinner party, which I can never refuse, especially now that I have a new swanky and well-fitting evening suit. He later indicated that we would also be wearing capes. My life to this point has been such that this neither surprised me nor struck me as at all odd. And to which I readily agreed. This additional wardrobe accent was given the context that we were the among the (token) colorful gays invited the party, and we would be stepping up, as it were. I never mind a cape. Added bonus: afterwards we can go fight crime.

Saturday evening, we met for pre-drinks and wardrobe at Rich’s absolutely beautifully redesigned Italian villa overlooking Dolores Park and the City. If Dwell and Architectural Digest are "shelter porn," this home is a shelter orgasm.



Juan Carlos, his boyfriend, was in from Spain and rounded out the handsome, royal flush. Details of the party had been intentionally withheld from me (you know I love surprises), but we were each designated a royal title and foreign nation to represent (fictional or historic) and outfitted in robes borrowed from the wardrobe department. Eventually I became Lord Brown of Wildwood, Caledonia. I know that if I were from Caledonia I should have been kilted, but the title and location were in homage to Nashville royalty, and I have always just loved the sound of the name “Caledonia.” So while I was not in a kilt (good thing too as there were too many ill kilts at the party), I was be-robed and be-jeweled by Robert.

a very enthusiastic wardrobe department

Robert’s cobalt regal robe was stunning and suitable to his fictionally native Denmark. In a gold and black lamé animal stripe/wood grain, I felt less like King Arthur and more like Bea Arthur.

Ultimately, the gala affair was a birthday party at the Maritime Museum with an International/Royal Passport theme. I was impressed at how many people came in professional, albeit period, costumes. We, of course, garnered the attention we deserved for looking so fabulous.


Juan Carlos, Duco deSomething Spanish, found a woman who grew up as a small child in Spain and was wearing a vintage flamenco dress.


My favorite though was her stunning daughter. She is Filipino and her husband is Vietnamese, and they were married in Vietnam. How many women can look stunning and be completely appropriate wearing their wedding dress to a cocktail party?


Inappropriate? Hardly! And how many women get to wear it more than once? For the price of wedding dresses, they should get more than one outing.

The caped crusaders left for Martuni’s to meet up with Kevin and Shawn. The company was lovely if the vocals were not. We had an unspoken agreement not to explain the capes, and when queried responded as if this were perfectly appropriate formal attire for whatever we had been attending prior. Like I've learned: never explain. We had unwelcome company which was rather politely dispatched by Robert, even though the guy was not getting it. Finally he asked “Are you telling me to go away?” I bit my tongue not to respond, “No, that’s what he is very carefully trying not to say. But if that’s what it takes…” We also had the polite and charming attention of the older couple behind us, who reminded me in so, so many ways of my parents. The man was amused, supportive, and disengaged, while his wife could barely contain her enthusiasm, and repeatedly and with genuine enthusiasm told us how wonderful we looked. She clearly wished she had been part of the fun and had the occasion herself to wear dramatic capes.

Rich and Juan Carlos called it a night, and the rest of us were ready for a change of venue. Where else would we be appropriate in black ties in this town? Why the Powerhouse of course.

Actually, we wanted to go see Tony who was working a fundraiser there and to be supportive to the cause. We ditched the capes, ties, and undershirts but kept the rest of the formal wear. It was surprisingly well received. I suppose it is just another level of fetish drag, and the clientele was very attracted to it (note to self.)


I started to make a snide side comment to Kevin and Shawn about Robert after we made it upstairs to the back area and spotted Robert against the wall with someone. “Good Lord,” I said, “he’s already found someone to make out with…oh… That’s [Anonymous Public Figure].” They were just chatting and Robert introduced us again. We had met several times socially but never had had any significant conversation. I still had the “I’m going to kiss someone this weekend come hell or high water” attitude and ironically, I was the embarrassing friend later as I unabashedly made out with [Anonymous Public Figure].” I declined an overnight invitation but gave him my number. There was a message waiting for me by the time I got home.

Sunday update to follow.

Brilliant Blue

No, we don't work at Best Buy.


Another example of why I adore Improv Everywhere.

April showers.

A deluge of weirdness this weekend.

By Wednesday of last week I thought that this weekend would be eventful. By Thursday night I thought it would be completely boring. Come the cool blue dawn of Monday, I contemplated the previous 48 hours in disbelief.

In the mix this weekend: gallery opening, managing a girl's crush, lessons in the game, the “classy hootchification” of Amy Day, birthday Bacchanalia for a hot tamale with actual tamales, a snake named Harley, formal wear capes, black tie in a leather bar, being fondled by an elected official, antique car show, champagne on Nob Hill, the unwise rekindling of an old crush, an equally ill-advised marriage proposal, and food poisoning.

I blame the moon. It’s all new and creative and bringing all sorts of odd flotsam to the surface. I seem to be riding a tide. Of what? I dunno.

It's May first. What will this moonth bring?

Black tie, white hot.

Shilpa and I have gotten as close as sibs. We are fabulous, riotously funny, and we make work bearable for each other. Last night was a big black-tie work function. And frankly, we looked hot:


And we could't resist taking a prom pose:


But the question remains, which one is the prom queen?

Overheard at work - 5

"Are you bringing roadies? I just need to know if I need to bring my own."
"I'll set you up. Would you like a dark liquor? That tends to make me flirty."

Babes in Toyland: Weekend Review, April 22-23

Before we get to this next weekend, which hopes to be eventful, I want to catch up on the last one.

I crossed a bridge (horrors! horrors!) to go take a spin in the fabulous 77 El Deora over at the Ivy Room in Albany (just north of Berkeley). While the door guy, who looked like Uncle Jesse’s stoned cousin, argued with me that they weren’t playing that night, the marquee in front of which he stood begged to differ.

Saturday was a home/neighborhood day filled with sleeping late, cleaning, going to the hardware store, grocery etc. and getting my haircut on Haight. I had planned to go down to Union Square and get a new tux but time did not permit. I had made plans to see (finally) Deb and little Roman (although his name among the tribe is Zack) at her place in Sausalito.


Roman at five weeks. Already a charmer.

Deb’s niece Grace visited about five years ago, and was pushing ten at the time. We had much fun and she thought I was the coolest person in the world. Which of course I am. This weekend her younger sister Emma was in town. It was very odd to see her younger sister who is much older than the Grace which exists in my mind. Grace had told Deb to tell me ‘hi,’ and had said to Deb “I can’t believe I haven’t seen Wilson since I was ten.” I feel like it was just last summer, but five years to a fifteen-year-old is much more significant.

I recall we took her to Michael Driver’s birthday party at David Britt’s place in Rockridge (aka the Britannic Gardens). It was a lovely garden affair with about 90% fabulous gay men (well I suppose it was more like 50% fabulous gays, 40% just plain gays, and then 10% straight couples). What could be more fun for a 10 year-old girl? Those big mo’s were basically ten-year-old girls anyway. Driver was wearing a tiara and even got some Hello Kitty gifts.

I’m just sayin’.

The highlight of the annual event is the frozen margarita machine. Which looks just like a slushie to a little girl and its hard for her to understand why she can’t have one. Grace did have a wonderful time, until she got sick with a bad tummy ache. Either she had gotten into the frozen margaritas, or perhaps it was easting her body weight in sugar coated gummy worms that did her in. My bet was on a little of both. It did make the day memorable.

Grace had an intensively fantastic gay week in SF with movies and ice cream and silly events, tale telling about her Auntie Deb, and other witty repartee. I felt somewhat neglectful that her younger sister Emma had not experienced that side of SF, and felt I had to make it up as best as I could. We even discussed that Grace still talks about her trip. And I am sure I (and other guys here) have ruined her for other men. I imagine her grasping her boyfriend by the shoulders and shaking him, perhaps even throwing in a face slap, and ordering him to "BE MORE FABULOUS!"

Earlier that day at Just for Kids on Haight Street I had picked up a very cool sheep for Roman/Zach (whom I named Sherman). I also found a boa for Emma. Now buying a boa can be a tricky thing. The big chicken ones are fun by their camp value, and only certain women and drag queens can pull it off. On a 10-year-old it looks like they’re playing dress up. But the smaller, finely feathered boas (ostrich down maybe?) tend to dress an outfit up rather than making it look like playing “dress up.” It can be a practical scarf for warmth, or add a little pizzazz to jeans and a top. A thin beige boa has many more appropriate options for a little girl than a full on Mae West number. And it has the added cachet of being from her “gay friend in San Francisco.” Those worldly fourth graders. I also gave her a back of sugar coated gummy worms so she would not feel left out. (“Here. I got you something to make you sick on the plane.”)

I gave Deb her first boa at her first gay pride parade lo those many years ago and boas have a very special place in her heart. She and Emma sort of bonded over the boa. I love girls. I also know how younger kids love it when you talk to them like they are not kids, or include them in grown-up humor. However, Deb and mine humor is so exceedingly childish that it was rather ironic to consider this adult conversation. For example, upon my entering the house Deb, nursing, announced, “Sorry I can’t get up. I have a boy attached to my boob.” I responded, “That’s okay. You always do.”

Emma, Wilson, and Roman

We proceeded to have dinner, play with the baby (as much play as a five-week-old plays), and watch trashy “Top 100 Teen Idols” on TV. By 9:00 they needed to get ready for bed so I said my good-byes and went hunting for Lance and Barney in the Castro.

I couldn’t get Lance to answer his phone or a text so I went to about five bars before I gave up and headed home. About two blocks from my house Lance texted back and 30 minutes of parking later I joined them at the Metro.

Lance had taken Barney and Beth and someone else on an excursion down south all day. As Lance had spent most of his day driving, he was only on his first or second drink. Barney, as entertained passenger, had been drinking wine and cocktails all day and was on his second or third sheet to the wind.

Barney and Lance were cozy at the bar with an exceptionally handsome and exceptionally young looking guy with his young buxom gal pal in tow. I knew I would like her after she opened her mouth and all of South Carolina’s vowels fell out. When I am in SF, I have pretty much lost my accent. But put on the phone with mamma or in a bar with other southerners and it struts right out to the front porch. Law me.

Our new friends are James and Laurie. Neither of whom look much over 21. If. It turns out that they met when James was Laurie’s teacher back in high school. She just turned 21, and he’s 30. And they are both much fun. Laurie is a sassy sweet thing spending a semester up in Sonoma and who bonded with Barney over their nicotine addiction. James came out and escaped South Carolina (“Why go to college? You don’t need learnin’ for farmin’!”), became a teacher, and is now in the D.C. area getting a graduate degree in Biology. I only learned that last bit later, which in hindsight made his stories about spending so much time cutting up worms and watching them regenerate seem much less Boo Radley.

Although there was talk of going to the final pageant for Miss Bay Area Rodeo/Gay Rodeo Queen at Marlena’s, we stayed all night at the Metro having fun with James and Laurie. As young, poor, student tourists they had been staying in a cheap hotel in not the greatest neighborhood. They only had reservations for the week, and Laurie was leaving the next day (Sunday). James was in town until Monday and need to make arrangements for another night somewhere in the City.

Back in Nashville we’ve opened up our home to all sorts of new friends, and it is times like these that I regret not having a larger apartment. Lance and I had spent enough time with James to know that he was a good guy and pretty much PLU and clearly sane. We made plans to meet for brunch Sunday morning and Lance generously offered up his guest room for James to stay Sunday night. And after careful consideration James accepted. Lance too was flying out Monday for Arizona but had not yet bought his ticket. Barney, meanwhile, was slowly but surely sending his body into toxic shock with tequila and tonics.

The next day, I met Lance, James, and Laurie for brunch at Luna.

I love this pic. It looks like a stock commercial shot with the generic “Sunday Brunch” chalk sign. I also think it is a good shot of everyone. I also have to post a close up of James, because he is just that pretty:


That, and this will embarrass him as I know he’s reading this blog.

Lunch was hilarious with good food and good company. While my company ordered two mimosas over the course of lunch, I just drank my one “large” mimosa out of the ridiculous fishbowl it was served in. When the check came, that item was listed succinctly just as a “Big One.”

After lunch, Laurie left to meet her friend and drive back to Sonoma, James went to explore the Mission and see the murals, Lance dealt with the house and work and the dog and such and I headed down to Macy’s Men’s to buy a new tuxedo. I am ashamed to say I have outgrown the one I own. However, I have had the old one since like college so it’s not all that unreasonable to have spread out since then. Tuxedo shopping was a long and arduous affair, but made much more palatable by the charm of my shopping assistant Terri and the fact that I just happened on the last day of the annual Men’s sale and I was ultimately able to buy a nice $500+ suit of dinner clothes for around $260, including tax. I was tempted to buy a new silk dinner jacket as well, but thought that the cheap one I already own was sufficient and I should not look for excuses to spend more money. (Now that I have tried on my old dinner jacket, which won’t even accommodate my shoulders or biceps, I regret not getting a new one while it was in a reasonable price range. The summer formal season is upon us you know.) This week I have been bidding on this vintage western one on eBay:


Sunday night, heh heh, Lance and I took James out to Sundance Saloon. Generally, gay cowboy country western dancing is not what most guys expect when they come to San Francisco. Which is why I think it is such fun to take tourists. It is so off the guidebook track, everyone is genuinely friendly (and friendly without agenda), and everyone has a good time. Lance and I started going together and took the lessons years ago, but he has only been back five or six times in the past several years.

I was worried about James on the way over, as we were playing country music to gear up, and he was having some unpleasant childhood flashbacks (a little SC-PTSD). But after a long night of drinking and dancing I believe we successfully created some positive associations to country music. And for not having two-stepped before (and for being in sneakers), James danced quite well his first time out.

The turnout at Sundance has been increasing steadily, and almost double that of last year. The popularity is such that they are now trying a Sundance night Thursdays as well. I have no idea if it will be as much fun. The crowd last Sunday was great. A lot of new people, and almost all of my old favorites. Lots and lots of dancing, even if the dance floor is too crowded to do anything particularly expressive. Matt was there again, but Jackson was not. I thought they were good friends but it seems they just met each other a week or two ago at the lessons. Matt had left me a voice mail earlier on Sunday asking if I would be out at Sundance, and we spent some time together at the bar. I got a very strong "interested" vibe from him and thought about going out with him even though I know first-hand (I suppose literally) the dangers of dating within the Sundance Saloon population—if things don’t go well it may be extremely awkward as you will see them again, and on a weekly basis.

I called Matt Tuesday evening and left a voice mail asking him out for tonight (Friday)—dinner first then a drop in at Coco’s birthday party, and maybe even a 77 show later depending on how the evening progressed. He never called back. I am trying to reserve judgment and will update later.

Overheard at work - 4

"Oh! We had the scary tranny shuttle driver again today! She nearly killed us five or six times."

Craziness in the Castro

Cars collide with explosions, deaths, and lots of fire. Craziness at Castro and Market. This all went down in front of Cliff's last night.



Read the story from the Chronicle.
(Photo also from www.sfgate.com)

Rubber band - II

Right on! The Whoreshoes have a track called Gay Rodeo.

Three full-length tracks are available for download from their web site.

Rubber band

I love a clever band name, especially for a honky tonk band. I found a new one while checking out the calendar over at Hicks with Sticks.

Sure the "Dolly Ranchers" had a cute name, but I was (ahem) blown away by The Whoreshoes.

Backblog

Hey Kids. It was miserable week but a great weekend. And I'll get around to the stories of Friday in Albany, Saturday in Sausalito, Saturday night and the lovely Laurie and James at the Metro, and a near perfect Sunday of good company, sale shopping, and dancing. But not now. Not enough time today. I do, however, have a backlog of overheard comments scribbled on cocktail napkins which I accumulated last week and weekend.

From after work cocktails at Café Flore:

On the recent largess of Janet Jackson, and then some other random divas:
"They have always had BAP."
"BAP?"
"Big Ass Potential. Now they are just actualizing their big butts."
(Me) "'Ass Actualization?' That sounds like a really bad class at the Learning Annex."

Same day, remarking on small tourist with an exceptionally large camera:
Says the pediatrician: "The smaller the man, the larger the camera."
[Silence around the table.]
Pediatrician, matter-of-factly, "It's an extension of the penis."

Also from the pediatrician:
"It's never too early to start drinking."
[Shocked looks around the table.]
"I meant in the day!"



And last, but not least, dating advice overheard in the bar much later:
"Subtlety never got anyone laid."

PH, balanced.

When I first moved here, I stayed very much in my comfort zone. True to my 37205 background, I joined the social circle best described by the now-defunct bar Alta Plaza. Very A-gay, socialite, moneyed, white, WASPy-- basically Pacific Heights.

Flash forward more than nine years. Tonight I am attending the finals of the South of Market Bare Chest Calendar competition at the Powerhouse.

I know four of the contestants.

And dated one of them.

Passive OK Senate Gives Passive OK to Libraries

I had heard rumors and muttering that some yahoos in the Oklahoma House passed a bill, by an alarming 60-33 vote, they would deny state funding to any library that did not segregate any children's or young adult's books dealing with or featuring any gay themes or contents into a restricted area. Aside from the fact that politicians have notoriously always proven themselves to be incredibly ill-equipped to determine appropriate manage academic materials much less what the public should have access to in a public library, I can't imagine any library, librarian, or the ALA standing by this. As this moved to the state senate for a vote, I sensed a huge backlash coming. They should know better than to fuck with a librarian.

While the Oklahoma senate took the coward's route and did not slam the bill into oblivion for the bigoted uselessness that it is, it at least recognized the dangers or the denegrations of supporting such a bill and let it expire without action.

Oklahoma Senate Won’t Defund Inclusive Kids’ Collections

What dreams may come

Or rather, nightmares. Yesterday was a seriously crappy day. The beast howls again. I didn't have time for much in the way of lunch, and succombed to the evil that is the Panda downstairs. At first glance, I was reassured by my fortune cookie: "Your luck will be changed today."

Until I noticed it didn't say for better or for worse. This week, I am much more of a glass-half-empty kinda guy.

First "Cowboy," now "Acoustic."

Erasure's new album (released yesterday in the U.S.) and The Acoustic Tour are being referred to as "not your 80's erasure" and "a Nashville sound." There has got to be some genetic tie between gayness and Erasure. I don't get it really. But I love it. And I have always regretted not going to their concert in SF the week that I finally moved here back in Feb 1997. But I didn't know anyone here yet and didn't want to go alone. Had it been vinyl I would have worn out the grooves on the Cowboy album.

They are scheduled to play the Herbst in SF on May 11th, when I'll be in Nashville. And they will be playing in Nashville on May 5th, when I'll be in SF. Criminey! The SF show is already sold out, but what I wouldn't give to see Erasure at the Ryman! (Long legs of mine be damned.)

I say I say I say.

Quake me up before you go go - IV

I am way too tired now. We have also each nodded off at our desks once or twice this morning. I was up at 3:30, and may have been abandonded my muni, but met some fun people in the wee hours with whom to share a cab: Piet, Anna, and Anna (the latter pronounced Ah-Nah). Anna the latter has been going to the anniversary ceremony for more than 30 years.

More details to follow, but I am headed home for a much needed disco nap now.

Here are some pics from the morning. Professional coverage and wonderful photos are all over the web (just Google News "San Francisco Quake 100" or the like), so I won't bother linking or re-posting anyone else's work here.

RMJ had to abandon the black top hat plan, but still he still managed to craft us some fun headdresses. The idea was that we would all stand out looking for each other at the fountain (as they did 100 years ago) and when we came together we would make "San Francisco." We had lots of photo ops and enjoyed the company of many another costumed reveler. At the time RMJ joined Lance and me (Lance was on time, I of course was not, and RMJ appeared even later), Barney still hadn't left the house. So we forayed without him and stumbled upon RMJ's friend Maurice (wandering with Ggreg at the time), who is always happy to don a costume or a big hat. Especially if there is glitter. We found our fourth.


Lance Wills, Robert Michael Joseph, Maurice Kelly, and Wilson Hardcastle
(I look like a young Wilford Brimley.)


Robert Michael Joseph and Maurice Kelly


Maurice and Ggreg


The SF Quartet at Union Square
Lance Wills, Robert Michael Joseph, Maurice Kelly, and Wilson Hardcastle


Fun period couple


Meet me at the Saint Francis.

Quake me up before you go go - III

RMJ is now designing theme hats and will be bringing long black formal coats for us all. A little period, a little formal, and a little playful. We shall see.

Some (those who would rain on a parade) have protested these events because one should not celebrate a tragedy. This defining moment, the quake and fire, are not being celebrated, but remembered-- and these events are billed as part of a commemoration.

What we are celebrating is the rebirth of the City, something of which San Francisco should be proud. And I think the logo is brilliant:


SF Rising

Quake me up before you go go - II

Lordy. I am now meeting Lance at Virgin tomorrow morning at 4:15. It will actually dawn on me. (Get it off me! Get it off me!)


Then I suppose I'll head back here to the office super early. Which is good because I was given several "rush" assignments today which means none of the work I already had and needed to do today didn't get done. Grrrr.

The 1906-2006 Calendar is here. Pretty cool.

Quake me up before you go go.

Tomorrow is the centennial of the Great San Francisco Earthquake and Fire. There will celebrations and rememberances tomorrow morning starting at 4:30 at Lotta's fountain. I plan to join RMJ, Barney, and Lance tomorrow morning for the festivities. As much as I am NOT a morning person, this seems a once-in-a-lifetime event not to be missed. Hopefully, we can all find each other successfully.



Much to read and see at the centennial site. And there is an impressive series of photographs at the US Geological Survey.

See also the extended coverage and commentary from the San Francisco Chronicle.

Bees in my Easter Bonnet

It was a great weekend-- A nice if brief visit with Jan on a Rainy Saturday, interesting evening at the Rodeo benefit "Buckin' Taxes," and a fabulous Easter with James, then James with Scott and Scott, followed by Barney and RMJ, then Tony, and ultimately Sundance and the charming new company of Matt and Jackson. Unfortunately, I'm way too busy to write about any of it now. Lots of big "rush jobs" for a Monday. Easter bunny funnies to follow.

"digital" laser tag

Very, very cool.

This tiny wireless device uses a laser to project a full-sized virtual keyboard for typing with Bluetooth-enabled phones, PDAs, Blackberrys, etc. The device is only 3.5 inches tall and about one inch wide. Your "keystrokes" are also accompanied by a synthtic click sound. I have no practical use for one, but I imagine it will be great for travelers. $180.

C'mon. How freakin' cool is this?

Okay, I am a huge nerd.

From ThinkGeek.

a Wilson sort of Picket

This has been making the e-mail rounds, and was sent to me by Shilpa.


Love it.

Wholly shit?

Credit to Gizmodo.

The skid mark safe. Hide your valuables in these underpants that no one would want to touch. While I don't know if this is a brilliant idea or not, I do find it laugh-out-loud funny.

Gizmodo entry.
Product order page.

future so bright

Or rather, bedroom so bright, gotta wear shades.

Ginger has informed me now that Chuck's line ("For all the money she spent on draperies she coulda put some up in here.") is now infamous, she has finally installed some shades in the large guest bedroom. Fabulous drapes will have to follow, but at least there are some shades.

I'm sure I will appreciate that come Steeplechase weekend...

Shout Outs

I just got a call from Ginger, who apparently didn't know I had a blog. But she just heard some stories about her told back to herself, which originated here. First, I thought she knew I had a blog (how could she not?). Now she does. And secondly, she heard about the blog from Barry (Caldwell) Maddux. Now, I LOVE cousin Barry, but how the hell did she know about the blog?! Ginger's answer is that Barry is a mother, and mothers know everything.

Like I said, LOVE Barry. Glad you're here. Shouts to Ginger and Barry.

Word.

Overheard at work 3

"Clearly, you are a woman of loose lobes."

Freaky Friday

It's a familiar refrain: too much to do and not enough time to do it. And sadly my too much to do has nothing to do with my day job, and yet I am chained to my desk.

I had my taxes done by a friend and professional tax guy, so you would think that would be stress-free. But it turns out I owe money (still not clear how). And the deadline is in two days and I haven't paid or signed anything. I had to pester him last night to make sure all was set, but I need to go to his office to finalize things. And when would that be? It has to be Friday (today) or Saturday (tomorrow).

Jan will be here Saturday. She and her school will be leaving Tahoe at 7:30 in the morning, driving to Pier 39, taking the Alcatraz tour, then driving directly to SFO for their flight back to Glasgow. The only time Jan and I have to visit are that day, but she can't leave the kids so I am going to the island with them.

So I have to make time for TaxMan today. Which will have to be at lunch because Jan called yesterday with requests for items either only available in the states or likely half price here. Amongst the items on the list: The L Word Seaon 3, Alias Season 5, and a North Face women's down vest, black, size small (Because the North Face shop in Heavenly is out of them). Hmmm. The nearest North Face shop is downtown. But the cheapest place to buy DVDs is Target, way down the peninsula. Virgin Megaletdown, er Megastore would be convenient, but their markup is psycho. I'll have to call Best Buy and see if they have those-- that'll do. This sort of screws up my previous schedule for the evening as I really need to do laundry and get a haircut, and was hoping to clean up the squalor my apartment has become. And I really do have to pick up my print job from Kinko’s that has been waiting since Monday.

I haven't received any e-mails from the Rodeo recently so I checked the Yahoo group and apparently I have been missing messages and meetings. Not only do I feel like a total flake for these guys, but there is also a benefit party tomorrow night where I had hoped to volunteer, but I don't know if I can deal after Alcatraz and the airport. Add to that, I need to crank out some t-shirt designs ASAP. Crap.

And Sunday, of course, is Easter. I always have brunch after church with Kate and James (with the bill generously covered by Papa John). I wasn't sure about this year as Kate has just moved in with her boyfriend. But James' girlfriend is in Oregon and so we are going to have some quality time together for Easter lunch/dinner.

After Barney and I unwound at the Whiskey Lounge, we ran into an ex of mine on the street and we all proceeded to drink together at Sadlands. While I there switched to vodka, the Jack had already worked it's voodoo on my whodoo and my amorous filter was duly anesthetized. I had forgotten how adorable P can be when he smiles. He e-mailed yesterday and invited me to Easter dinner at his new home in Fairfax. Sounds like a fabulous affair, but will have to decline. I don’t think I am ready for that sort of social event (testing the waters with an ex with all of his friends, whom I do not know)—regardless of the fact I already have plans with James to be followed by Sundance, where I have plans to see C (another amorously bad idea). Maybe I can squeeze laundry in between there sometime.

Oh yeah, and I have to schedule a time for a talk with the landlady. That may have to wait until next week.

So now my stalkers know my weekend schedule. Look forward to seeing you. Just don’t stop to talk. I’m busy.

Bad Apples

Ah HA!

So after my 'Beatles suck' sort of rank here and here, the motive now becomes clear. Well, we always knew that ultimately it was about money, now we have context.

Overheard at work 2

(I realize I need to use arabic numbers for these-- this could go on for a while).

"That's totally something I would say."
"I know...Stop rubbing off on me!"

"Stop rubbing off on me." I see that on a t-shirt some day.

Over read

As opposed to overheard.

Thank GOD Dr. May has come to rescue me from the office. It's been one of those days/weeks. And I am so friggin SICK of the friggin RAIN. For comfort we are now heading to the fireplace and leather chairs of the Whiskey Lounge of the Red Grill.

I have been pestered for my lack of posts this week, so I leave you with the following snippets:

From the Peaches Christ newsletter:

Favorite pull quote:

This weekend I have the exciting yet daunting task of playing den-mother to over sixty seriously drunk drag queens on a chartered bus to Reno. Sometimes it gets a little bit stressful. Much of my job involves preventing people in wigs from getting themselves arrested for out of state illegal "acts". I have to admit that I love the annual Easter Weekend Trannyshack Reno trip. Think about this. I'm the sanest person on the trip and I am in charge. Me- Peaches Christ. That should give you an idea of just how fucked this whole situation really is. Anyhow, I'm really looking forward to the upcoming adventure and its many traditions, including our Auburn McDonalds stop on the way up. I'm gonna get a Big Mac and I'm puh-roud of it.

And from Wayne Bensen regarding the Pentagon's admission that it has been spying on LGBT groups:

Here is the thing that I don't understand: I watch the news every night and I never see gay terrorist groups blowing things up. The worst I have seen is a tizzy in a gay bar, but that hardly counts as a threat to national security. So, why is Big Brother watching us, other than the fact we look fabulous?

Consolation, prized.

"I'm really not that the whore I make myself out to be."
"Yeah I know. You're just trying to keep up with the gays."

(credit to Drinkie)

just wondering

What did tornados sound like before there were locomotives?