Two out of three ain't bad. It's worse.

Ooooh... It's eat, drink and be merry. (Or in our case, Mary.) Sunday afternoon/night I learned what happens with lots of drinking and lots of merry-making and no eating. I never got around to taking any food Sunday, but started out with vodka/sodas when I finally arrived at Lorenzo's birthday party. The celebration for Zo started around 4:00, and I didn't get there until almost 7:00. I tell you, this whole running around town on errands without a car takes much longer than I thought.

Zo's friends were total PLU and lots of FUN. I did have my camera, but only took a few shots.



Zo's friends are fab, and I was loathe to leave them but Kate arrived to give me a lift to the Sundance Memorial Day party and I had plans to meet other friends there. I was happy for the ride, and was somewhat bound by it as Space 550 is way out there, and cabs cannot be hailed curbside from either there or Zo's.

I hadn't been dancing in weeks and really missed it, but after I arrived at Sundance I regretted not staying at Zo's with the fun new people. I went a little crazy at Sundance Saloon, but just a little. It closed in about 45 minutes, and only a few of my tight dance buddies were still there. But the vodka had hit me now, and it continued to flow freely from behind the bar. And knowing I would not be driving, I was not pacing myself. And I forgot about the empty stomach.

The lovely and talented Dana generously offered to drop me off in the Castro on his way to dinner, where I could easily hail a cab back to Zo's. His generosity extended to driving me up to the top of 17th and back to Zo's party. Amy and Shilpa had both called to let me know that they had arrived and to demand my return.

By this time, it should have registered that the cocktails were having an effect. But such, I suppose, is the nature of being affected. Dana is tall, fair, and handsome, and a good dancer to boot (no pun intended), and in hindsight I completely embarrassed myself while getting out of the car by professing my attraction to him. In the cocktail party in my head, Subtlety had passed out on the sofa and Flirty and Loud were drawing on her with a magic marker. Slutty was doing shots in the bedroom and getting into costume for a performance later.

The party was still underway with the die-hards at Zo's. And I was very flattered that they were dancing to and singing praises of the mix CD I gave Zo for his birthday. I did intend it to be a good party track, but I had no idea that everyone would want a copy of Zo-Zo a Go-Go. Ultimately, Darien and I moved the chairs out of the dining room and made a dance floor. Again in hindsight, I was a little out of control. Shilpa, bless her heart, kept trying to feed me. I graciously accepted, but surrounded by aerobics instructors I was not inclined to pig out. I was, however, inclined to dance.


With my alter(ed) ego clearly in control, it seems I was throwing myself at Paul like I was a lawn dart. Shilpa may be exaggerating, but these pics sort of lend credence to her assertions:



Not only is Paul handsome and charming, he was also the only other single guy there. I am shamed to say I was on him like a duck on a june bug. If you are checking this Paul—apologies for the messy. And are you free for dinner?

Shilpa is pathologically addicted to taking digital photos. Even after editing out the unflattering pics she still had 181 to post to her Flickr account. Egads!


Here are some of us getting down:












But this was nothing compared to Zo-Zo a Go-Go!




Afterwards, we managed to fit eight of us into Amy Day's tiny hatchback.


(That's three of us in the front passenger seat.)

I completely forgot that there was a Trannyshack/80s night at the Cat Club, which would have been perfect for us. Instead we ended up dancing at Badlands. More of Shilpa's pics:







I remember very little of this. I did wake up the next day and wonder where all my money had gone.

And, it seems, my penchant for licking things/people continues unabated.

Mmmm. That's good Zo.

(Note Darien peeking through! Love it!)

Nerd alert

I am a big grammar guy--Dave Barry's "Ask Mister Language Person." While I cringe at bad grammar and punctuation, I will admit to merely typing furiously and clicking "publish" when it comes to the blog. I will correct and tweak posts once they are up, but as ruthless a copy editor as I am, my own faults are often on display in this space. (Say as I say and not as I say?)

Regardless, am I huge nerd for finding this funny?

Maybe so. But you have to give me this:


As Helena Handbasket would say, "C'mon y'all, that's funny." Or at leasting a thinkin' funny.

Found via A Capital Idea. Source and source.

Coffee, break

One last thought on the recent Nashville trip. My mother, my brother Jay, and I are coffee people. For medical reasons, Mom has had to switch to half-caf or mostly decaf, but when I'm home it's an excuse for a full-bodied pot of coffee.

Jay is a purist. He has a an espresso machine at his house and won't drink out of a pot that was brewed more than two hours ago. At his house, the question of freshness is down to the minute.

Mom and I are a different story. At Sheppard Place, when I ask my mother of the coffee pot, "How fresh is this?" the answer is a day of the week.

There is a reason the pot is below the microwave.

image credit

Steeplechase Weekend Day 3: The Races!

The 65th running of the Iroquois Steeplchase was a blast. Ginger and I were very excited about being each other's date in Mom and Dad's box this year. At the last minute, the Tyrell's offered Ginger their box, free of charge, as they were going out of town and wouldn't be able to use it. We were in the very fortunate if not busy position of being guests to Fran and John and playing with that crowd, and being hosts to another set of people in different box. Ginger and I love to play "the game." Now for us "the game" is either at dinner, the practice of ordering a variety of dishes and all sharing, or at dinner parties intentionally inviting people who may be strangers to each other, but are all so fascinating and entertaining that we know they will enjoy meeting each other and an unexpectedly good time will be had by all. We played the game with this box and found a really good group: Robin Campbell, Elizabeth Estes, Sandy Nelson, Steve Sirls & Allen Decuyper, Keith Hinkle, and to arrive when possible, Keith's boyfriend/'guy he's dating' Shamus. SUCH a good group to throw together, and throw down together.


Ginger and Wilson

While the days beforehand had been hot and stormy, race day proved nearly perfect. The skies were clear with only the occasional clowd to offer shade, but the air was cool and the breezes felt like A/C. The wind was a bit much, causing havoc with some hats, but this was so much better than last year with the downpours or the year before with the heat stroke. This was a nearly, if not truly, perfect day.


I collected box lunches for most everyone from Bread & Company, and we packed up no fewer than three coolers before we left Sheppard Place. By far the favorite drinks of the day were the Mandarin & Sodas and the Greyhounds—perfect for the sunshine. In addition to the box lunches, Allen and Steve (or perhaps just Allen) prepared some wonderful tasty bits. Complete with sterling serving tray, Allen prepared for us bitesize cucumber sandwiches and little tomato/bacon/mushroom/something marvelous bits.


While Mom and Dad's box has the enviable position on the finish line, the Tyrell's box is on the end which allowed us to spread out and have unobstructed views of the home stretch.



Ginger and I flitted back and forth to Mom and Dad's box, which was just as fun and featured equally charming company. Mom always looks great.


Jay and Fran Hardcastle


And of course, Papa John.

Steeplechase is always a special treat for me as I get to see all sorts of folks I would never see on an average day in Nashville. Particularly wonderful is the annual appearance of the fourth Hardcastle son Joe Calvin—who long ago gave us the adored race tumblers we use at the races, and he long ago dubbed my father "Papa John" (which now is what my generation and his grand kids call him). Sadly, Joe is getting a divorce soon, and (clever mother that she is) Fran wasted no time introducing him to the currently single and fabulous Ginger.


Joe Calvin and Ginger Hale

Also at the races was author/artist/friend Emme Nelson Baxter and her kids. Bradley went to hang out with Gage for a while, and Sloan was surrounded by her pre-teen posse. They were impressing their friends by calling out to "cool Uncle Wilson who lives in San Francisco." I felt pretty cool myself being the object of such adoration by a crowd of 11- to 13-year-olds.


Emme Baxter and Wilson Hardcastle

So wrong
Now while most folks at the Steeplechase look resplendent, as more raff and less riff participate some serious mess is finding its way up the hill from the infield. Not to get all snotty, but I felt the need to take this picture just to give the caption "so wrong:"

Here are my points: The seersucker is fine, and completely race appropriate. But now that you can get seersucker at Target or Old Navy, it's gotten a bit ubiquitous. The seersucker, in and of itself, not so bad. But for God's sakes, put on some shoes. Southern men are not expected to wear socks with loafers in the summer, except when it might be too sudorific or odorific not to do so. Personally, I hate flip-flops as men's shoes unless you're waterside. And don't wear them with a suit.

There are certain men who can pull off the bow tie and look sharp—even handsome. Joe calvin is one of these men. This guy, like Tucker Carlson, is not. Seersucker plus bow tie equals either "Norman Rockwell," or "trying too hard." The cell phone is slightly forgivable. Logistics around the boxes can be problematic at best. The cigar is the last straw. This turns "trying to hard" into "TRYING TOO HARD" to look cool. Flips+seersucker+croakies+bow tie+cell phone+cigar=huge poser.

I present to you the poster guy for "so wrong." I was just glad I could not smell his after shave.

Now the infield is a different story. This used to be a small tailgating crowd watching the races. It is now a frat party bacchanal gone apeshit in pastels. There are the trashy guys, dancing muscled and shirtless for the adoring crowds of girls (I admit these hard-bodied A&F rejects turned my head too and made me wonder just how drunk were they...)


And the ever-so-subtle beer bong:

There are also roving cliques of girls who look WAY too young to dress so trashy. If you've just turned 14, should you really be trying so desperately to get hammered and date raped? What the F are these girls thinking? I was thinking at one point if the infield were a band or an album cover, it would be called Whores in Ralph Lauren. I am saying this as a gay man who enjoys Folsom and the PowerHouse: these kids were skanky whores in good clothes. The guys weren't much better, but they are the kind of skanky whores I can get behind. So to speak.

While roving around with Keith and looking for Mike Smith, we marveled at the sight of it all. One guy bumped my shoulder as he successfully frizzbee'd his dip can into a box of empties. I think this pic sort of sums up the infield this year:



There was one infield incident that surprised me. Sunshine being strong and my hairline being thin, I was wearing a cap for a lot of the day. A slightly activist of me, the ball cap I keep in Nashville is a Human Rights Campaign hat. Very subtle, but still a little assertive. (Assertive but not acerbic?). One guy stopped me as I walked past,

"Hey man, what's that mean?"
"What's what mean?"
"The sign on your hat."
Internally I brace. "Are you kidding me?" Basically, I'm trying to figure out if he is starting something. This is a very drunk, southern, frat-boy bunch.
"No seriously. I see it all over town and I don't know what it means. I'm so glad to ask somebody."
"Oh." I pause. This is an opportunity for education. But how best to explain it? Slightly swayed by sunshine and vodka, I kept to the simple truth. "This is the sign for the Human Rights Campaign. (I took off the hat and showed him the back where it was spelled out.) It's an advocacy group supporting equal rights for gays and lesbians. It's an equals sign, because we should all be equal."
Slightly surprised, "Oh. Cool man. Thanks. I had no idea. Very cool. Have a good one."
And we parted ways. Later I wondered where exactly he had seen it. Roommate perhaps? Hmm.

Before I conclude with the Ballad of the Seersucker Drunk, I feel the need to share two more pics, which may put me more towards the infield than the boxes. Even box-goers have to take emergency measures now and then. But we all stand together, as it were.

(emergency pee break)

After the day at the races, Mac and Emily hosted an after party. We were all pretty wiped out by this point, but I was happy to have my camera handy for this:


Chocolate, lighter, cigarettes, and vodka.
She's got the whole world in her hand.

All Steeplechase photos.
(note: this link will only be active for a few months)

....................................................................................................
Ballad of the Seer Sucker
We were packing it up for the day, having waiting out the mass exodus. Really, why leave and fight traffic when you have good food, good drinks, good company, and good weather? Our box was perhaps the last to leave the hill. Just beyond the fences in the public hill area, there was a guy who had clearly passed out hours earlier and whose friends had left him there. We noticed him because other people leaving the hill would stop to have their picture taken with him, pose with him, or pile objects on him for the photographs. His face was also roughly the shade of a lobster, in high contrast to his suit. Ultimately one woman, clearly a mother, tried to rouse him and see if he was all right. Note that she did this after she took a series of photos. She roused him, got him to shake it off, and gave him some water. He continued to assert that he was fine, but was clearly confused as to where everyone had gone. He got up and started walking around the hill. Just wandering up and down. (Click the image to enlarge.)


He would stop to pick up a paper plate, walk 15 feet, carefully put it down again, and repeat the process with other bits of trash, ultimately making it back to his lawn chair, where he passed out again. I got a few seconds of this on video with my little digital camera:

Steeplechase Weekend Day 2: the Hunt Ball

So Friday night (5/12) was The Hunt Ball. I had been invited as the date/ boy toy of the FABULOUS Elizabeth James. EJ ROCKS! And both "Fab" and "Rocks" are understatements.


EJ looked great. But I do notice that in this photo her fleur looks comically enormous.

We were excited to see some of our favorite people immediately upon entering. Here were are with Zulu Scott-Barnes.


Zulu was so nicknamed by his English boarding school classmates as he is from South Africa. Zulu occasionally identifies himself as an African American. Before marrying one of my best friends and "settling down" in Nashville, Zulu traveled the world as a professional polo player and later dealer in thoroughbreds.

I've attended the Hunt Ball several times before, but this year was far and away the most fun. Either the crowd is getting younger, is getting more of the younger, or I am just getting older and of the age of those who like the Hunt Ball, but aren't associated with a Hunt Club. At any rate, the company was lively and Pat Patrick's Band was as amazing as ever. Their genres for mood music for the various stages of the night were different than usual, unexpected, and spot on. The martini luge was more gimmicky than classy, but it was a welcome attraction. The BMCC also kept dining tables out of the main ballroom, which made for a much better dance space (mood, lighting, flow) as well as allowing more actual space for dancing. And adding a bar inside the main ballroom was genius.

Almost all of the dining tables were outside under a tent beyond the main patio, and the weather was perfect. The centerpieces were also a bright stroke of inspiration. I have seen art cakes around SF, but never in Nashville.



The centerpieces to each table were colorful race hats, and also our desserts. So much better than flowers which block the view of people at your table. And as is rarely the case, these cakes were even better tasting than looking.


Ridley Wills III cuts a hat.

A feast for the eyes and the tongue. And my company a feast for the ears (and also pretty).

Always a pleasure are Susannah (friends since we were four) and her husband Zulu (aka Alec Scott-Barnes).


And luckily for me my favorite cousin Biz was there with her husband David.


Elizabeth and David Dingess

And if you look even moderately closely you may notice one of the family jewels. I do love Biz's taste and she has, or has access to, some wonderful accessories (other than me).


I told her how much I loved her in "Titanic."

Other fun and pretty people at the party:


Trisi and Ken Larish


Kim Simonton, visiting from New York, and the always handsome Mark O'Bryan


And the always lovely Carolyn Thombs, whose husband is ever so patient with our affections and my monopolizing her company on the dance floor.

Of course, there was a jewelry designer there with pieces on display and for sale.


And as brilliant as they are, they are not as pretty or expensive as I am.

Speaking of brilliant, pretty, and expensive, my parents looked fabulous as well:


As I may have said before, I may get my penchant for themes from my Dad. Suitable for the Hunt Ball, Dad wore the Children's Hospital tie I painted for him a couple of summers ago,



and his new hound-handled cane.


Beyond the company, the delectable menu (the BMCC has a new chef who is superlative), and the music/dancing, one of the highlights of my night is when Alice Randall crossed a room to take my elbow and say, "Wilson Hardcastle, I love your blog."

Holy crap. I quickly tried to remember what I had posted recently, and apparently the blood drained from my face as I did so. This is just for fun. And for the dozen or so friends who follow the (my) weirdness that goes on in this City. (Okay, more than 12. I get around 60 to 80 hits a day now.) I know that potential employers and boyfriends read this, as well as my family on occasion, so I try to keep the action here above the belt. But still, I'm just sayin' here. And what I'm just saying isn't exactly meant for the 37205/parental set. Well, it is what it is. Wholesome and Folsom alike.

And, let me tell you, such a compliment coming from Alice Randall, award-winning author and songwriter, is high praise indeed.


Alice Randall and Wilson Hardcastle

Another moment which completely cracked me up was when EJ left the ballroom to join the few but desperate smokers on the back patio. Ever the lady, EJ does not want the smell or stain of cigarettes on her fingers. And so she keeps a single smoking glove in her purse with her smokes!


The smoking glove.

And my favorite caption of the night (not truly spoken, but imagine the southern drawl please):


"This is my smokin' hand and this is my drinkin' hand."

And, saving the best for last, here are my best "overheards" scrawled on cocktail napkins and rediscovered in the morning:

"...saggy bosoms." (these words caught my ear and I started paying attention.)
"Who has saggy bosoms?"
"'Saggy bosoms.' Sounds like bad name for a band. Or an old bluegrass song."
"Isn't that a place near Bersheba?"
"No, that's Soggy Bottom."
"I just like to say 'saggy bosoms."
"I once dated a Sally Bosoms. Popular girl."
•••
[Unremembered unintelligible name]
"What kind of name is that?"
"It sounds dark and uncircumcised."
•••
and my all time personal favorite:
"Who was that?"
"That was [so and so]."
"Isn't he running for something?"
"Yeah, Judge. But he used to shit himself when he got drunk and I just can't see myself voting for him."

----------
After the party was over, I weighed my options of (1) wisdom: go to bed, get some sleep, and rest up for the Big Day starting in the morning; or (2) wanton: go out to Tribe and be with my other people for a drink and then go to bed. At the bar I met Jake, who had ditched the shirt and tie parts of his tux, but recognized me from the Ball.



Photos on flickr.

Evolution of dance

This has been going around for ages, but we in the office and at dinner parties have been watching it over and over again recently. Seriously, this guy is way talented and I would love to buy him a drink. Or dinner. Or pick out china. I'm just sayin'.

And as we keep talking about it, and dancing to it here at Drinkie's dinner party, I think it deserves a reference here.

The evolution of dance:

Steeplechase Weekend Day 1: the Arrival

My time has not been my own with catching up at work, having jury duty, and working after to get shit done after a day of jury duty. But I am eking out some time to finally post about the fabulous Steeplechase weekend!

I arrived Thursday afternoon completely shattered. It was a long, hot flight, and I was sufficiently sleep deprived as to be short on sugar and patience. Mom had told me that she and Dad would be in a H.G. Hill Board meeting and I should call their phones when I landed. They would be on silent but vibrate and I should try calling Dad's first. Jay Bradford was on my flight and suggested I ride home with him. Billy Lyle was coming to pick him up, and Jay's parents' place is only two or three streets away from Mom and Dad's. I called Dad's cell three or four times. Mom's three or four times, and sent text messages to both. Instead of getting them out of a meeting, I accepted Billy's gracious offer to take me home. En route, Mom called to say that Dad was already at the airport. I finally got dad who was still in traffic on his way there, but turned around and headed home. All of this might have been better coordinated had they thought to tell me that Dad had a new cell number.

It was nice to be home. I forget how lush Nashville is. And with the recent rain, even more so. It was sunny when I landed, and storming on the way home, and then humid and quiet by the time I made it to Sheppard Place. All I really wanted was a nap. Less wanted, more needed. Terribly. Previously just short on sugar and patience, I then running on fumes and ready to snap. Dad came home and welcomed me warmly. We chatted briefly, but if anyone knows the necessity of a nap, it's Papa John. Mom showed up and of course we needed our warm welcome homes. But really, I needed a nap. Ellen would be joining us for dinner, and Mom wanted to make reservations at 7:30 at the Club. That was fine by me. That would give me 15 minutes to sleep, 15 to get ready, and 10 to get there (it's just a block away). However, Mom felt the need to make the reservations while standing over me—me being in sleep shorts in my bed, head down, eyes closed. She brought in the cordless phone from their bedroom at the other end of the house to make the call next to me while I was trying to sleep. And, of course, partly for being nearly lobeless a headset can press uncomfortably against her earring, but moreso because the antenna from the phone might muss her hair, she has to use the speakerphone on the handset.

I was ready to crack. Barely holding it together. Impressing the importance that I have a nap before I take someone's head off. I manage to eke out 15 minutes to touch the dreamspace and pull myself together, and she brings a megaphone into my bedroom. My God I had forgotten how crazy my parents are.

And it wasn't just that. How could the accomplished socialite get to her [shall not be revealed] age and not know how to make a reservation? "Yes, we would like a table for four at 7:30. Under 'Hardcastle." That's all you need. But no, when Mom makes a reservation, she feels it necessary to share her life story, or at least the previous several hours. And painfully, in real time.

I kept muttering from bed "Just tell him how many and when. He doesn't need to know why."
"Really, I don't need to be here for this conversation."
"Can you please continue that call in the other room?"
Finally I reached the breaking point, and I am still impressed by my restraint. Any other Hardcastle man would have gone ballistic at this—I've seen it too many times. But still I had to yell to get her to understand, "Mother. I love you very much. GET OUT!" Basically, my 15 minutes of nap time were spent listening to a conversation that was the audio equivalent of watching someone fold up a map incorrectly. Arrgh.

I write all this not to dig on my mother, but to tell the story. Are we all completely annoyed by our parents? I mean, I love them dearly and we get along great. My family is tight, and that is saying something for all we have been through. And I certainly feel blessed when comparing my familial relationship with my cohort. I love my mother, but does she have to act like such a... mother all the time?

Luckily, we could not get a reservation until 8:00 and I got my 15 minutes of unconsciousness and was a much happier houseguest.

Dinner was fabulous and I got to see some familiar faces, and the added bonus of some quality time with my newly eleven niece Ellen.

Next update: Day 2: The Hunt Ball.

Noms de plumage

EJ has started signing her e-mail with silly names. It started off with "Winnefred Elizabeth Bagos." To which I replied with "Harvey." Now she's signing off as "Hardin Long."

Which is scary because we know guys named Hardin, and people named Long. Here's hoping they do not connect and think to get cute. That's a lot to live up to.

ordering off the (wo)menu

A Pink Taco in Scottsdale? Even so, I'll be ordering a burrito.

Overheard at work - 12

Did you ever notice that Elizabeth Dole's initials are E.D.?
Like, you know, Bob Dole and his ads suffering from "E.D."...

Mine own bons mots

Unrealted to the comments from Ms. Verde.

My line from dinner which is entering our lexigraphic shorthand:

"Pot called. Kettle is the new black."

from the mouth of Titties Verde

As I recall, I have not yet had the time to write down the Ballad of Titties Verde, but I still love it when her character comes out. I found these bons mots scribbled on a piece of paper from Wednesday night's aMAYzing dinner.

Titties Verde on Scarlett Johansson:

"She's eaten plenty of meat and can back it up with a side of pussy. That woman is hot."

Titties Verde, it should be noted, has at times enjoyed fruit from both ends of the garden.

and big sharp pointy teeth

New from our friends over at ThinkGeek.

Monty Python Killer Rabbit Slippers

Thirdsons!

Third-born males rock.

This just in from Sandy Nelson (the grandmother): Carrington had a third boy this morning - Simon Prentiss Fox - 6 lbs. - very cute.

And now this from David (daddy): We are pleased to report that Oscar and Julius have a new baby brother. Simon Prentiss Fox was born at 10:37 a.m. today. He's named for his great-great-great grandfather Simon Fox (who came over from "the old country") and his uncle, Prentiss Nelson. He's 6 pounds 1/2 ounce, 19 inches. The delivery was C-section, so Carrington will be in Baptist Hospital until Monday. Both Simon and Carrington are doing great!

Blue darter

Sent to me by alert reader Dr. Barney May:

I thought of you when I read this. Thought you might like to share it with [your mother] as it would appeal to her sense of humour and clinical interest.

This is a New Zealand news item about a particularly conflagratory event in the operating room.

I duly forwarded it my mother.

She has reported that my father thought it was hilarious.








Update: The above link no longer works, but the story was copied and pasted into someone else's blog here.


The story:
A patient's "gas leak" is being blamed for bringing a hospital operation to a fiery end.

The man suffered minor burns in a brief but "dramatic" operating-room fire which is believed to have been caused by flatulence, The New Zealand Herald reported today.

The man was at the Southern Cross Hospital in Invercargill to have hemorrhoids removed and was singed in the "exceedingly rare" incident involving his own gas.

"This was thought to be flatus containing methane igniting," a health source told the newspaper.

"There was a sort of flashfire and that was it, but it was fairly alarming at the time."

Haemorrhoids are swollen veins in the lining of the anus. If they protrude outside the body and become troublesome, they can be removed by surgery, which in the Invercargill case employed an electrical "diathermy" machine. A hand-held tool for cutting tissue and cauterising to stop bleeding, it produces heat and can spark.

Southern Cross is releasing little detail other than confirming an "electrical fire" occurred on March 22 and that it commissioned an independent forensic scientist to investigate.

Even on the scales of justice I am overweight

It was a long afternoon of voir dire. As the session closed, the attorneys got to invoke their preemptory whatevers and reject certain jurors. By this time, I was kinda invested in the case and was looking forward to the arguments (I didn't come in here for abuse; I'm looking for an argument!). Before the session closed, I was hoping the ADA would ask me another question. Her questions were so poorly crafted I wanted to take a crack at calling her out on it. I suppose her intention was to make sure there were no indecisive jurors who might prompt a hung jury. She asked of those with children, "Have you ever had to make a decision regarding your children?"

okay, DUH! Are you kidding me? And when she made a mistake and asked someone without kids, or someone with only one child, she would repeatedly ask, "Have you ever had to make a decision?" Sometimes she would clarify, "In your life, have you ever had to make a decision about something?"

Oh my God. This young woman was not the brightest in her class. I was waiting for another question to me so I could say something along the lines of, "Juror Number Ten asks if counsel might wish to reconsider the question." "With all due respect to this court, and considerably less to the counselor, 'have you ever made a decision'? Everyone makes decisions all day long. We made the decision to open our mail. We made the decision to read the jury summons. We made the decision to heed the summons, appear here today, and to pay attention during the proceedings. Clearly, everyone makes decisions on a daily basis. I don't see the aisles of Safeway clogged with bodies because we all go catatonic when faced with the dilemma of paper or plastic. And I am making the decision to risk offending his Honor with my candor in expressing that this potential juror hopes that counsel makes the decision to do her homework before wasting any more of this court's time."

As it was, she rejected me as a juror and I have been excused.

Perhaps she could see it on my face. Or could tell by the 'pfff's or open laughs during her questioning.

My favorite response to her questioning was from a new alternate, who was Chinese with good English skills although severly accented:

"Do you have any children?"
"Three daughters. 44, 42, and 40."
"Have you ever had to make a decision regarding your daughters?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"You've never had to make decisions regarding your daughters?"
"No. Their Daddy."

[Laughter and even some applause from the gallery and juror pool.]

"What about your job? Did you ever have to make any decisions in your job?" (Again, are you kidding me with these questions?)
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"You never had to make a decision in your job?"
"I was a dealer in Vegas. We don't make the decisions."

Love her.

courtside seat

I'm still on jury duty, but on lunch break. But with only three lunch places nearby, including the McDonald's, and no nearby wi-fi, lunch time is really frustrating. For all the lip service they pay to the importance of the jury process and respect for jurors, you think they would have coffee for less than $2 in the building and a wi-fi hotspot in the juror waiting room. There is a wi-fi service for the courthouse (which is some serious scary skanky by the way), but it is a monthly service for people who work here, and the day pass for those on jury duty is around $10. For fuck's sake, this is San Francisco, arguably the most wired city in the world. The City has a network in the building, is it too much to ask that they spring the $50 for an access point and open a secured port, or offer daily keys, for those doing their civil service. Honestly.

The commute down here is significantly more than my three blocks to work. I take the N to Civic Center then change to the 19 Polk (which oddly does not run down Polk Street), then walk the two blocks to the courthouse. This morning the line to get in was out the door and almost all the way down the block. Think airport security lines, but without x-ray machines, you don't have to take off your shoes, your bags get hand-checked, and with such thoroughness that I could stuff an attack dog and the Iraqi guard in my backpack and be passed through. And the attitude is lovely I hope the illusion of security is enough to prevent any of these whack jobs from bringing anything dangerous and acting out in there.

We're still in voir dire, but as Juror #10, it looks like I am here for a couple of weeks. I need to start brown-bagging something healthy, and start packing/freezing some coffee in the morning. SoMa this week is way hot, and not only is it warm and dry in the depressingly adorned courtroom, but the idea of sitting and paying rapt attention for two weeks without a cup of joe at hand (or the option of going to the bathroom as my bladder deems necessary) is equally uncomfortable. My apnea already makes me a little narcoleptic; I hope the litigants can keep this interesting enough to ensure consciousness without caffeine.

My break's over. I'll have to upload this later when I get a connection somewhere and backdate it to 1:14.

Hung jury

Sorry for the absence people. I have been stuck on jury duty all day. I have been assigned to a case and go back for more questions tomorrow. Unfortunately, this comes at a significantly inconvenient time for work. On the upside, I was originally assigned to a murder case which is expected to last until August. This one should just last two weeks. I have already been cramming for work to deal with this week and next, and this just doubles my daily workload.

Back to raining and pouring: I need a new job. I need a new apartment. My car has been stolen. And I am on jury duty. I am not buying any lottery tickets this week.

I wonder what the moon is up to now.

Major points to those who get this reference. It sort of sums up my attitude now:

My boat's gone. My candy's gone. Dead pirates are coming to get me...I wanna go home.

(If it rings a bell, say so in the comments section.)

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.