Random photo roundup

Hey kids. I'm killing a little time while I do laundry at the Sit-N-Spin.

Here are a couple of shots I have been meaning to post but are appropriate to nothing. Just random observations.

Kevin bailed on me for Folsom this year, and at the last minute decided to spend the weekend/fair with his bf. Folsom morning the rodeo folks sent out a call for help needing twice as many bartenders as they had arrannged, so I volunteered at their booze booth for the day and let the masses come to me.


I took this photo of Scott wiping off a pile of cash that experienced a margarita spill.

Literal money laundering.

This next pic I took at Hardly Strictly. I call it "Disturbing Intimacy."



The woman folded a piece of paper to pick the teeth of her boyfriend.

This last one was also taken at HSB. I had stopped to put my shirt in my backpack behind the marchandise tent when someone shoved two downy full-sized chickens through the flap and left them on one of the tether barrels. There was one black and one white, and all of sudden we had an instant petting zoo. Who the fuck travels with chickens?



I pointed this out to a friend who merely deadpanned, "Of course, the black cock is bigger."

And here's something you don't see very often. Unless you're me.


A leather daddy in full regalia, and a feathered irish pixie headband. This was from the Indian/Irish/Gay Summer birthday party.

Which also featured the cannibal's buffet:


A pot of boiling boys. Or "Nine guys and nine little indians."

And for this last one-- you're on your own for a caption:

iWait for iPhone

Well, I still have not found a replacement for the stolen SLVR phone. I wonder if I can hold off until MacWorld in January '07 when Apple is expected to release two iPhones.

Of course, I know better than to buy the first model of anything, even an Apple. But (1) I need a new frakkin phone and (2) you just KNOW the I phone is going to be way cool.

The Madness of King George

The President signed away the most basic human right for Americans today. Why has there been all this talk that "terrorists want to take away our freedoms"? The Bush administration is doing that all by itself.

American citizens can now merely be called a witch an enemy combatant and thrown into a hole without cause, defense, charge, trial, counsel or argument.

This is what American soldiers have been dying for since the first colonist considered himself an American. The right of habeas corpus was a major part of the American revolution. It is a legal tenant codified in the magna carta.

At the worst, I fear that Republican (and yes many Democratic) members of congress are overwhelmingly more interested in power than good governing--but how can even the most corrupt elected official think that taking away the most basic of American freedoms is okay? This is anathema to the essence liberty--this is against everything they have sworn to protect and serve.

Where are the flag wavers now? Where are the conservative "patriots"? How can the red-blooded, church-going, fag-hating, conservative voters support the very opposite of freedom?

Is it stupidity or apathy? (Blind devotion to religious pandering is included in "stupidity.")

On MSNBC's Countdown, George Washington University Professor Jonathan Turley said, "The Congress just gave the President despotic powers and you could hear the yawn across the country as people turned to Dancing With the Stars."

Crooks and Liars has the MSNBC Countdown/Keith Olbermann coverage:

Today, 135 years to the day after the last American President (Ulysses S. Grant) suspended habeas corpus, President Bush signed into law the Military Commissions Act of 2006. At its worst, the legislation allows President Bush or Donald Rumsfeld to declare anyone — US citizen or not — an enemy combatant, lock them up and throw away the key without a chance to prove their innocence in a court of law. In other words, every thing the Founding Fathers fought the British empire to free themselves of was reversed and nullified with the stroke of a pen, all under the guise of the War on Terror.

Apparently, these colors DO run.





image from cafe press

Bitch shut UP!

This photo was taken by accident. I had meant to delete the random "photo of the back of Amy's head" from the camera after Shilpa took it. But after I imported the evening's pics and saw this in iPhoto I knew I had to keep it.

I could caption this in so many ways, or use it in future marketing materials. But for right now, I'm sticking with the caption: "Bitch shut up!"

Fly me to the(ir) moon.

They could never get away with this in the U.S.



I think it's hilarious.

And as a gay man, I find it funny and not offensive. I don't think it is mocking gay men as much as it is mocking the gay flight attendant stereotype. I may have to make t-shirts that read "Hot towel? Hot towel?"

But should I be offended? Am I just to happy-go-lucky? Too gay-go-lucky? Of course, if some company used another minority, for example blacks, with sterotypes of fried chicken or gangersters or whatever, all HELL would break loose. Or if an ad used hispanic stereotypes for that matter. But what about a Jews? Would an ad mocking the Jewish mother/guilt thing be racist or just funny? (presuming it was done well) For example: an ad for "Schwartz's Lightbulbs" and a cliché Jewish-mother-figure saying "Don't vorry about me. I'll just sit here in de dark..." Would that be racist? Were the Italian stereotypes offensive in the old "That's a spicy meatball!" Alka-Seltzer ads? What about the Italian sterotypes in the current Olive Garden ads?

I find those offense, but just because it's the frakking Olive Garden. Ugh.

I'm really interested on thoughts of ethnic stereotypes- when is it funny and when is it bigoted? Are gays the last bastion of stereotype-based humor? Is it that gays are just funnier than the rest of you? That we not only get this joke, but were likely it's authors?

Or is this more of a metaphysical discussion on the nature of humor? If, as a gay person I find this funny, it's okay. But if a redneck finds it funny, is it bigoted? Is the answer in the intent? Is this akin to black people telling 'black people jokes'? Or being the only people who can say "nigga please!" without offense?

Tina Fey was able to write "Nigga please!" as subtitles to bickering Vietnamese valley girls in the movie Mean Girls and make it funny and devoid of racial tension.

Where is the line between funny and cruel when it comes to using minority stereotypes for humor?

Please share your ideas in the comments.

(People rarely comment to this blog, and those that do are regulars. But I get around a 100 hits a day so I know there are lurkers out there. What do you think?)

Post script:
Still using flight attendants, but this one should be considered offensive-- featuring an Austin Powers shagging background groove and women presented like high-priced whores.

total fag•o•cyte

Amoeba and a-you-ba, together forever.



Sometimes when a girl says "You're smothering me," she means it literally.


(Photo taken at Badlands on Coming Out Day. Phagocyte reference credit to Shilpa the huge nerd.)

DINKS

And for those without kids, there's an array of dog costumes.

While this is sorta funny in theory, I think it is cruel and borders on the insane. And I will mock you mercilessly if you put it into practice.

What little Jonny will be wearing this year

Dear God in Heaven, who would dress their child in this Halloween costume?

I mean, other than me.

I wonder if the kid's name is John.

And if his parents think he is a little shit.

This reminds me of the time, I think I was about 12, when I helped design by parents' TP-related costume for a "come dressed as an old song" party. They went as "When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there." The winners were an old, southern, white, socialite, geriatric couple who came in overalls, red shirts, gold chains, blackface and skull/mohawk caps who came as "(Mr.) T for Two."

It's time again for me to come up with something clever for Halloween. Maybe a song this time...

Suggestions are welcome in the comments section.

frakkin' awesome

Television Without Pity has a new limited-edition shirt for sale via Glarkware.



If you are a new Battlestar Galactica fan, you get it and you love it.

getting a map smear

World 66 has a neat set of mapping utilities. The top two are the most relevant to me: one app maps which US states you've visited an the next maps which countries of the world you've visited.

It looks like I really am a southern boy.

"winners"

I learned my lesson regarding silent auction bidding two years ago when, with Kevin, I placed many last-minute bids while hammered. I "won" several items which quickly went into gift piles. Along with the good bargains like wine baskets and dinner or service certificates were questionable adult materials I was happy to (re)gift in plain brown wrapping.

Kevin and I were not companions at this year's Stompede as he (of course) went with his boyfriend Shawn. They apparently took up the banner for reckless bidding. Here they are with their "winnings" (Can you really "win" an auction? You still pay for it...)



Their auction items are surprisingly indicative of their character(s). I image if they needed to describe tehmselves in 25 words or less, they should just list their winning bid auction items: Passes for a brewery tour, certificates to a tanning/sunless tanning salon, a retro Wonder Woman lunch box, and an array of hardcore gay porn.

If the man-on-man sex action wasn't enough to make them gay, this shopping spree is.

Lame post

In more ways than one.

The Stompede weekend was fun, but my ankle was so tender I couldn't attend much of the workshops. I did dance Friday night, took in an hour of lessons Saturday afternoon, and danced the night away at the Stompede Saturday night.


Basically I couldn't walk yesterday. I spent most of Sunday lying with my leg propped up and napping copiously. I did not have the energy or the ability to attend the Sunday night party-- which was (I suppose literally) sorely missed. I am still limping and am now trying to get an appointment with a doctor. This has been a problem for about a year now.

I tried to get a lot of photos and videos of the dance to share, but that didn't work out either. A double-ringed, fully-packed Barn Dance to disco music is a sight to see from the mezzanine, as are the always impressive Barbary Coast Cloggers. I tried to get several minutes of video of the Barn Dance and the BCC's but it didn't work. I recorded several minutes of video, but they were nowhere on the card. The only thing I can think of is that I turned the camera off too soon--stopping it from saving the extended video to the SD card. I have two clips that are only about 10 to 15 seconds each, which is really disappointing. I had a great view for filming the BCC and thought I had captured an entire dance. Alas.


15 second clip:



Update.

Wednesday is the new black

I am about to head out into the weekend and three days filled with dance workshops, parties, and cowboys who know how to move.

But before I run off, I just wanted to share a few bits from Wednesday night.

Kevin and I went to the San Francisco Independent Filmmaker's Black Party/benefit at Space 550. Now while the crowd was in numbers just a fraaction of what we expected, we had a great time. The $30 tickets were cheap compared to the quantity of sponsored/free Crown and Smirnoff we enjoyed. And of course the highlights of the evening were screenings of Mary Guzman's short film "Do the Math" and the other performances.

The DJ was great, but with relatively few people compared to the vast space, no one really got grooving on the dance floor. He did have the new Dixie Chicks' CD, and so after some prompting by Mary he played a fast waltz and her cowboy friends were quickly coupled up on the dance floor and were billed as additional entertainment.

Another highlight of the evening was meeting cinematographer Morgan Schmidt, an exceptionally cool (and exceptionally hot) guy who earned more cool points by being completely unaffected by my obvious affections. We had enough shared interests (film, digial filming, etc) and personality traits to converse easily. He's a handsome good guy I hope to hook up with Shilpa. They may not be a perfect bf/gf match, but I think they would really enjoy each others company for a while (if only for a little recreation).

Regardless, with his charm, wit, talent, smarts, and ability to enjoy the odd situation; he's certainly a keeper for the social circle. I am interested to see how he might hold court at a Club Jackson do.

Although I am pretty much over the cold, Kevin's was in full swing and he had a whole Kathleen Turner voice thing working for him. We also talked about Shilpa, mostly because we planned to pimp her out to Morgan the organ.

On the way home, I talked to Shilpa on the mobile and she convinced me to join her and Ruby briefly at the Starlight Room, which is a nightmare to be retold later. Ultimately, against my will as I was still fighting the cold, was exhasuted, and had a big day Thursday, we ended up at Badlands. The girls wanted an escort to go to the Castro to celebrate National Coming Out Day. I left them there around 1:30 and they were still going strong.

Best lines (remembered) of the evening:

Wilson: "My God. I was throwing myself at him like I was a lawn dart."
Kevin: "Illegal in 30 states..."
Wilson: "Just like me."

Kevin: "Well, she might be reaching her expiration date."
Wilson: "No. She's just about to 'go bad'."
[much later, on a similar topic]
Kevin: "Well, there's a point where you go bad, and then there's going sour."
Wilson: "Or in my case, bitter."

Kevin: "She needs to take care of things. Battery operated or manual."
Wilson: "Or, preferably, Manuel."

.......................................
This morning, Shilpa was telling Amy Day and me what happened at Badlands after I left her and Ruby on the dance floor:

"I thought he was gay so I let him molest me."

Apparently he then got pretty agressive, said he was straight, and got too intimate with her business and she had to fight him off. Luckily, a tall dark and fagsome man pulled him off of her and became her guardian/dance partner for the remainder of the evening. Clearly, those horny straight boys can be devious when they want some lovin. Word has gotten out that gay men get all the girl play.

Posers.

such an ass

Pearls Before Swine



Strangely appropriate for this Friday...

a few really good men

From Towleroad:
The New Military Pin-up: Beefcake Marines Strip for Wounded Vets
"100% of the proceeds from the calendar will go to aid wounded veterans."

Produced by Freedom is Not Free

More than 18,000 service men and women have been injured in the war, and more than 2,600 have given their lives for our freedom. Many of the wounded are young and face an entire lifetime of “healing” and coping with disabilities. Regardless of partisan or political views, our country recognizes the need to aid our service men and women who endure great sacrifice to protect our freedom.

How much is that doggie in the window?

I laughed so hard I thought I'd have puppies...



(okay, I didn't laugh all that hard but it is funny.)
Thanks to Queerty.

Nice day for it.

A white wedding that is.

Deb Price writes about Molly McKay in her column this week. An interesting choice for National Coming Out Week, as she may be "the most openly gay person in America." She comes out many times a day, and in a white dress no less. (How debutante!)

I just love that she can work in a Miss Havisham reference!

Read about the activist commuter in the wedding gown.

a good bad review

Alert Reader Kevin Koberle sent this to my attention last week.

The reviewer's complete disdain for Clay Gayken continues to amuse me.

From the San Francisco Chronicle:

CLAY AIKEN

There is a line to be drawn with bad pop music. If
it's not at hearing high-pitched "American Idol"
runner-up Clay Aiken debase and disembowel songs that
didn't have that much going for them in the first
place, then where? His debut album, 2003's "Measure of
a Man," mainlined lite-rock cliches. Here, Aiken and
his new hairdo simply set the controls for sappy and
come up with their personal "Now That's What I Call
the Worst Music Ever 14," with covers of Richard
Marx's "Right Here Waiting," Foreigner's "I Want to
Know What Love Is," Mr. Mister's "Broken Wings," Bryan
Adams' "Everything I Do (I Do It for You)" and Celine
Dion's "Because You Loved Me." It's going to take
years of therapy and 500 consecutive hours of Dinosaur
Jr. to get over this one. -- Aidin Vaziri

CLAY AIKEN
A THOUSAND DIFFERENT WAYS
RCA
$18.98

SF 911

Of course, Reno 911 isn't so funny when you consider how effective the police/justice system is in San Francisco. Is it any wonder that we, the residents or SF, or routinely victimized by auto thefts and auto break-ins? I have had my car stolen once, and windows smashed in and posessions stolen three times since I moved here.

What sucks, beyond the obvious, is that this is commonplace, and the acts of vandalism are by repeat offenders who just continually rotate through the revolving door of City Hall/the police station without being stopped. One man, hundreds of victims, no real jail time.

From the SF Chronicle:
'Nuisance' criminal personifies flaws of S.F. justice system

Yes Ossifer?

As long as we're on Reno 911, here's one of my favorite clips. I know it's been around a while, but it bears repeating.



Step, bump, step, bump bump...

Librarian still foxy.

Props again to my favorite blog: Foxy Librarian.

Who else could work Reno 911 into a library blog? (I love Reno 911)
Foxy writes:

In my favorite episode featuring Big Mike, Lt. Dangle holds a scavenger hunt, the prize being two tickets to an execution later that evening. As Deputy Travis Junior explains, this is a particularly desirable prize because “getting two tickets to an execution is like getting two tickets to NASCAR on the front row, except you *know* Jeff Gordon's gonna die.”

Scavenger Hunt Items
Crackhead with a wig- 5pts.
Perp over 6'5"- 10pts.
Man with teats (B cup or larger) - 5pts.
Best looking hooker- 15pts.
Red foreign car- 5pts.
Perp with animal tattoo- 5pts.
Double Points if perp is Jewish

...Reno's finest should have started at the library; if they had, they would have completed the hunt in about 5 minutes.

She loves Big Mike, I love Junior. We should get along just fine.

National Coming Out Day

The videos:

Olly olly oxen free!

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

It's October 11: National Coming Out Day.

Human Rights Campaign - National Coming Out Project
About dot com:National Coming Out Day
Wikipedia: National Coming Out Day

Check here for an update later about one of my favorite coming out stories.

Hint: It did not involve a cotillion.

Although that would have been something.





As memory serves from Designing Women, early 1990s:

Suzanne: I can't believe you just met the woman and already you're bad-mouthing her.
Julia: I don't think it's bad-mouthing someone to call her a lesbian when she just sat here and told us.
Suzanne: When? When did she tell us?
Mary Jo: Well, most heterosexuals do not refer to their partners as "lover." And everybody knows that the Pink Giraffe is a lesbian bar and restaurant.
Charlene: I didn't...not until Bill and I went there one Sunday for brunch.
Mary Jo: And besides, she told us that she just came out.
Suzanne: So what if she's the world's oldest living debutante?
Julia: Suzanne, when she said "coming out," she did not mean: "at a cotillion." She meant: "from the closet."
Charlene: You know Bill and I had pretty good eggs Benedict at the Pink Giraffe.
Mary Jo: What did you think she meant when she said "Sappho"?!
Suzanne: I don't know! I thought it was a detergent!
Julia: Well it's not.
Suzanne: So who is she? Somebody's maid?
Julia: Sappho was a famous Greek poet, and also a famous Greek Lesbian.
Suzanne: Well, I'm sorry! I'm not up on homosexual history and the latest lesbian lingo!
Mary Jo: Lighten up, Suzanne. It's the nineties.
Suzanne: Yeah, well, it's not the gay nineties.

Shout out

Just wanted to send some love out to my pseudo-sister in Atlanta.


This is her high school photo from Harpeth Hall—some time in the 80s.

It is typical brotherly love to send a kind shout-out in the form of potentially embarassing old photos. I would like to remind you, Margaret, that of the photos to chose from this one is merely sweetly nostaglic. If I wanted embarassing, you know you would have gotten it.

Feel the wuv.

fan/attic

Brought to my attention by alert reader Paul Day.

Now I thought I was pretty enthusiastic as Buffy fan when I made the "Salty Goodness" and "Bored now" t-shirts.

But my fanaticism is nothing compared to this guy's jones for "A Christmas Story."

The house where the classic film "A Christmas Story" was shot is officially being opened up to the public as a tourist attraction...

The house was purchased for $150,000 on eBay by a devout "Christmas Story" fan from San Diego who went into business making and selling exact replicas of the famous leg lamp. The new owner began using the profits from the sale of those lamps to restore the house to its original glory, and was finally able to convert it into a non-profit musem dedicated to the movie.

The cold war continues

Home with the cold today. I don't feel all that congested, but I still seem to be producing enough phlegm to clog a sewer pipe. That's not so bad but it's the splitting headache that's killing me.

Pretty much I have spent the day in bed whimpering and watching the entire first season of Lost on DVD.

Summer colds suck. Hopefully resting today will mean health for the weekend.

Oops.

I may have broken Shilpa's brain. There was an audible 'pop' while she processed-- realization resulting in a cry of "That is so wrong!"



(while reading the second comment...)

I [heart] Fast Women

So it's the Indian religious festival of Shamalamadingdong (okay, clearly not what it's called but I forget the real name) and so Shilpa's been fasting for over a week. And not a completely crazy "can't eat anything but water" fast but "no booze, no salt, no meat, no starch, no vegetables" sort of fast. Basically, all she could have is fruit. Which, lucky for her, allowed for plenty of me.

It was the "no booze" thing I thought would be the challenge. Or maybe the salt. But apparently, as some of us retain water, she's been retaining vodka and has noticed a marked shrinkage in her waist. She was already hot (we know that), but she's loving getting back into the "thin clothes" and has decided to keep the traditional "fast on these items on these days of the week" an ongoing exercise.

I love fast women.

Especially since I can pretty much trump any fast. I am the living caveat, a get-out-of-fast free card.

There is a reason my calling card reads:

...........Wilson Hardcastle
.................enabler


Although with her results, I may join her on the wagon. After the Stompede of course.


Oh look, the wagon has a bar...

"Yeah Buffy, what are you going to do now?"

Ooooooh. It looks like the saga of our favorite Chosen One isn't over yet.

Buffy: The Vampire Slayer's eighth season will be in comic book form.

Written and directed by Joss Whedon.

give me a hand here?

When you're getting ready for a night out, and your girlfriend asks you, "Honey, would you zip me up?" It's a sweetly sort of casually intimate act.

If the roles are reversed, the same phrase, "Honey, would you zip me up?" is just creepy.

I'm just sayin'.

Cold war

After the concert in the park, I met Barney at RMJ's for sangria followed by a screening of Shortbus at the Embarcadero Cinema.

Amazing. Loved it. It's my new favorite film.

I'm afraid some people will be put off by the advance notice that it's kind of about sex (but not really) and features plenty of nudity and/or sex. But the sex is so not...sexy. It is the opposite of either Hollywood sex scenes or porn. It's just sex as a natural part of people's lives. Which sex is. (well, some of you more than most. And certainly more than me.)

It is not titilating, not gratuitous, and not salacious. No soundtrack, camera tricks, buffed out bodies, artful lighting, or grand orchestrations. I was much more uncomfortable watching the sex scene in Top Gun with a theater full of people than I was watching group sex or a threesome with the crowd at the Embarcadero. (For those of you who don't know SF, the Embarcadero is a high-end Landmark Cinema in the Financial District in downtown San Francisco, surrounded by towers of investment bankers, venture capitalists and lawfirms. The antithesis of tawdry.)

Short take on Shortbus: Go see it.

Shortbus on Blogspot.

We went out to celebrate Barney's birthday afterwards, hooting out the car window at the sailors we passed en route (Fleet was in, remember? Such babies! They all looked 18-20. So young!). Appropriately enough, we went to the Jeff & Gary party "Drunk and Horny" at Underground SF.

While we were all well established as both (a) horny and getting to (b) drunk, I left the boys there and went home early(ish) as the cold I felt growing on Friday night decided to bloom in my sinuses Saturday around midnight.

Yesterday I was a puddle of congestion and exhaustion. I took a rest period Friday night in an attempt to stave off the cold with sleep and homemade chicken vegetable soup. But that train has pulled into my station. I slept most of yesterday, getting out long enough for a late lunch in the sun at Harvey's with Jeff and Tim, but came home again and fell asleep watching movies for the rest of the afternoon/evening.

I'm at work now, but just want to get top items on the list done before going back home and back to bed. I really> need to get rid of this quick because it's another fun week: It's SF Film Society Block Party this Wednesday night and I've already bought tickets for me and Kevin, and Friday kicks off the three days of dance workshops and parties that is the Sundance Stompede.

I hate having a cold. Not only do the symptoms make me miserable, I don't have time to be slowed down like this. Yech. Maybe next weekend. Yeah. Cold, come back then.

Blues with my bluegrass

The Indian Summer was in force this weekend with three (and now four) days of clear skies, sunshine, and abberant heat. Perfect for Fleet Week watchers or reveleres at the HSB. According to the paper, as many as 500,000 folks may have descended into Golden Gate Park for the Hardly Strictly weekend.

I made it out to the park on Saturday and caught a lot of good music, including my new favorite (first introduced to me at HSB in 2004) the Dry Branch Fire Squad (if not for his stories as much as his music), a stellar performance by my buddies the Barbary Coast Cloggers...



...and I got to chat briefly with an old friend from Nashville, Verlon Thompson, who was part of the songwriter's circle before he did a set alone with Guy Clark. Verlon didn't sing much in his and Guy's set, which was a shame.

Verlon Thompson and Guy Clark

During the soungwriter's round robin, Verlon sang a couple of songs. His voice is very distinctive, and soufully resounding. I used to go with Jennifer or Patsy to the Douglas Corner Cafe to hear them play about once a week "back in the day"-- back when they were Suzi Ragsdale and Verlon Thompson with Darrell Scott and Jelly Roll Johnson. Looking back, closet issues notwithstanding, those evenings at Douglas Corner were some of the happiest moments in my life. Hearing his voice again, I started to tear up. The memories of that summer with Jennifer, and the evenings in the round with Suzi, Verlon, Darrell, and Jelly-- along with Patsy Reed and Mary Jo Freeman (now Johnson)-- the memories were so thick I had to brush them from my face to see the stage. I did get to speak to Verlon briefly between sets. And it was an odd sensation of stepping one foot in the past, but being careful not to put any weight on it lest I lose my balance.

Of course, we've all moved on in our own ways-- for all his timber tones Verlon is not a recording singer but a significant songwriter, Suzi is now with Darrell (and I don't know how amiable the separation went), Jelly and Mary Jo still send me intricate Christmas cards from the NYC MOMA and I understand Jelly is still getting gold/platinum records for his session work. And Jennifer, "the girl I would have happily married if it weren't for the gay thing," is still in Nashville, but married now with twin boys and a baby girl.

But for a moment on Saturday afternoon, I was back in Nashville, young and anxious, finding adventure with a beautiful woman on my arm, discovering music that would change me forever, and feeling every second uncertain of the future, but knowing too it held nothing but promise.

Eleven years later, I don't have an answer. Has that promise been fulfilled?

Hey, it worked for Rapunzel...

San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom has let his hair down. And only in San Francisco would a mayor letting his hair down be newsworthy because it was done so literally.



Another sexy, 'looking like a college kid and not the mayor' view here.

(The usual Gavin:)

Rest period over

At the pool where I swam during my youthful southern summers, the ten minutes before each hour the lifeguards would screech their whistles and call for "Rest Period!" and all the kids would have to get out and would wait anxiously until the ten minutes were up and they would reclaim the water from the mothers and senior members who took the opportunity to cool off or swim a few laps in child-free tranquility.


Much later in life I learned that other pools would refer to this period as "Adult Swim." But I can still remember the eagerness with which we awaited the second whistle and the shouts of the life guards: "Rest Period Over!"

Last Friday night I enjoyed a private version of Midnight Mass meets MST3K with a DLP screening of Kinky Boots at Club Jackson. Ironically, all the boys (including me) showed up in comfy pajama-like casual clothes for curling up on the couches, and the straight couple in residence were decked out in, of course, kinky boots. The universe must have felt a shudder that at a party with me, RMJ, and Kevin, not one of us thought to arrive in thematic attire.

I'll wait while you clutch your pearls.

Saturday night, less than a week ago yet seeming so far away, was the first free evening I had had in, what, 36 days. After a domestically productive and also sinfully leisurely day, I had nothing going on for that night. For a moment I thought it was kind of loser to be a single guy in the City and home on a Saturday night, but that moment was fleeting before my shoulders relaxed and I thought, "Thank God. I'm exhausted." Every night had been booked for over a month and it was sooooo nice to be able to sit alone, cook a little dinner, pop popcorn, pour a beer, and curl up in the dark with a movie by myself. It felt sinfully selfish and I loved every moment of it.

By the way, if you haven't seen it, I strongly suggest adding Kiss Kiss Bang Bang to your Netflix queue. I am not a fan of Robert Downey, Jr., and still loved this movie.

However, with the Castro Street Fair pre-parties, fair, and all day dancing on Sunday, the respite was short lived.

The social San Franciscan's October is as busy as its September. This weekend alone features three days of the amazing Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival (profiled on NPR's Morning Edition this morning), Fleet Week, the Blue Angels and the Red Bull Air Race events, three birthday parties, and two housewarming parties. And who can make time for the band, theater, and movie invitations?

Clearly, rest period over.

If the bus is a-rockin'

e-mail exchange:
................................................
From: B (another New Zealander)
Subject: Had to share my thoughts with you

so, i was watching a excellent PBS doco on race in america covering all the events in the south during the 50--60's leading up to desegregation.

during a series of interviews relating to rosa parks i had the thought to myself, 'wow, imagine if they made all the homosexuals sit at the back of the bus'. think PoHo on wheels, ?...;-}

X-B

................................................
From: Me
Subject: Re: Had to share my thoughts with you

Yes, but if they made all of the gays sit in the back of the bus, within weeks they would have made us sit in the front because we would have managed to install a wet bar and a stereo in the back. (And a disco ball?)

And possibly a "back of the bus" back room.

-W

.................................................
LOL,

and you know the back of the bus would be 'gorgeous'!

_____________________________________________________________

So I ask you, gentle reader, what would you put in the back of the bus?

One Intensely Frustrating Cingular Sensation

How did the government's 1940’s “help the people” program called Universal Service evolve into “Universal Service” meaning that phone company customer service must universally suck. “Suck” is an ugly word and I don’t want to sully this blog with its vulgarity, but the vulgarity fits my mood on this one. Actually, I think it is far worse than that.

I spent two full hours on the phone with Cingular the other night trying to replace my stolen phone. I remained brand loyal and re-upped for another two years with Cingular and bought the super-duper SLVR. I passed on the insurance because it would cost me more in a year than the $100 purchase price of the phone, and I though surely I could hold onto the thing for a year. I was, of course, wrong.

After I dealt with re-activating my old phone and dealing with Cingular regarding the stolen one, I was told I would be able to by another re-furbished SLVR for $100. Not that I am cash rich now, and already pissed at paying $200 to replace a window on a new car I am paying for to replace a stolen car—I am not happy about paying for a phone to replace a stolen phone. If you get my drift.

I lost the direct-to-sales number the first Cingular guy gave me (who said I could replace the SLVR for another $100) and finally gave up trying to find it and went through voice-menu/customer service HELL for two freakin’ hours. Twice I was transferred to CityBank Rewards Services, who told me this happens all the time because the Cingular call center is in the same building—but I had to repeat the automated menu/stupid person process over and over again trying to find someone who could help me. The Web, which I tried first, would not let me even order the phone online, even though would appear in my cart.

Ultimately, I was told because I did not get insurance, and had just signed on for another two years, I could not get any deal on any phone for another two years. To replace the phone I bought for $100, I now have to pay $500. Understanding my plight, and seeing that I had just renewed my contract, the manager at the call center said he, although he is not supposed to, would generously knock off $20. Big help.

One way to look at it is that Cingular is offering major discounts on devices to lure new customers. Another way to look at it is they are screwing loyal customers by offering the chance, for an additional monthly fee, to buy another phone for the same price new customers do, if the phone is lost or stolen.

The ever-so-helpful operated offered that I could sign up for new service, have to change my number, and get the phone again for $200 (the new discounted price), and sign up again as a new customer. Which is just stupid. Especially when you consider that I would also have to pay a $175 early-termination fee of the old account.

So now I have the “choice” to continue to use my old phone, which works for crap and has trouble recharging, or try to find a replacement phone on eBay or Craig’s List.

I checked Craig’s List, and the only SLVRs and RAZRs for sale are from people listed in dodgy or high-crime areas. So basically, I am likely either to get scammed or be in the painful position of paying an annoying sum of money to buy back my own phone, or one stolen from someone else.

So in the meantime, I am stuck with a battered T616, while some asshole has my phone.

Update from the Department of Irony

While we're on the topic of stupid people trying to ban books:

Houston Man Pushes to Ban Book About Banning Books.

This time it's a wingnut trying to keep Fahrenheit 451 out of high schools.

Sir, read the book first. Please.

Bulletin: Stupid Women Still Cry "WITCH!"

Not only were the Harry Potter books the most challenged books this year (books wingnuts sought to ban from school and public libraries), they were also voted the favorite banned books during the ALA's Banned Book Month (September).

And the "are you kidding me?!" continues.

Here is yet another story of someone who should be reading books, trying to burn them. This time, a mother is challenging that not only do the Harry Potter books teach, preach, and encourage witchcraft; to continue to allow children to read Harry Potter books will lead to more school shootings.

Furthermore, she advocates, "That [school shootings] would not happen if students instead read the Bible."

Riiiight...because the Bible is so devoid of violence and magic. Apparently, it's not so much the "being nailed alive to a cross of wood" that killed the kind carpenter, it was the tetanus from the nails that finally did him in.

Okay readers, show of hands: How many of you are surprised this is taking place, and being taken seriously, in Georgia?

Honey, and I say this as a Tennessean, those Georgia stereotypes exist for a reason.

Please, Mister. Post, Man.

I'm sure you've noticed the dearth of postings as of late. Not only has my social life been too busy to allow for leisurely evenings in cafés sipping lattés and blogging, the living hell which is my work life has been sapping all of my time, energy, and enthusiasm. I am doing a bit better emotionally, even though I did, as they say, let the turkeys get me down.


So much backplot to cover: a fun day at the rodeo, running into an ex-boyfriend way out of his element at the Buckin' Ball rodeo party, another 80s night with the wild Indians at the Cat; the high-concept, well executed, and poorly attended Indian Summer costume barbecue birthday party, the most painful play I have ever endured/slept through, a welcome quiet night home, and a long and lovely Castro Street Fair.

Silliness forthcoming.

Absolutly not

While I'm on the subject, what is it with the freaking vodka label queens who tout Absolut and Stoli as the be-all and end-all and think they are cool, or somehow impressice, by ordering labels such as Grey Goose? (A Grey Goose Cape Cod? If a vodka is supposed to taste so good as to merit the price tag, why mix it with cranberry juice?)

It's all just marketing, people. Grey Goose wasn't some new vodka which tasted so smooth it rose to the top and became expensive-- it is just another brand from an old company created to be marketed as high-end. Whether it merits the reputation or not.

The same label queens who tout Absolut turn up their noses at Smirnoff. This cracks me up because in Europe, particularly Scandanvia, Absolut is the swill and Smirnoff is the label of choice. It's all in the branding. Personally (with the notable and detestible exception of the black cheery and cranberry flavors) I I believe that the Smirnoff Twisted flavors taste much less artifical than the Absolute "infused" options. And as much as I like to support local businesses, the HANGAR vodka flavors taste like PEZ.

To wit, I love this ad from 42 Below. 42 Below won a prestigious vodka taste test, and in the same taste test Absolut was the clear bottom of the barrel (if vodka were made in barrels).

Larger, legible version here.



In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I am a steady "mandarin and soda" drinker. So much so it says so on my calling cards. These are being replaced with Wilson Hardcastle: Vodka soda, with a twist of limelight.

Well (42) below me down.

A year or three ago, my favorite little kiwi Barney, proprietor of Club Jackson, introduced me to a cheekly little New Zealand Vodka he brought back from a visit home. The Vodka label is 42 Below.

Now while fruit-infused vodkas such as Absolut Mandarin or Stoli/Smirnoff Rasberry may be all the rage here, the super special fruitty 42 Below is feijoa. An acquired taste to be sure, but after Barney introduced me to it, I sought to acquire all I could. (Feijoa, like the kiwi, is a native New Zealand fruit. It may be that feijoa only grows in NZ actually. You can go wikipedia it up if you want to.)

The 42 Below ads are indicative of their cheeky attitude:


(larger, more legible version here.)

And because it's all natural and stuff, it won't do crazy shit to your body.

42 Below became near and dear to my heart, and to the hearts others in my circle, with their viral flash video ads. This one was originally made for a Hero party (circuit sort of party in NZ) and has been tweaked a little for the Christopher Street event. Still effing hilarious. You can CO the other viral ads on their website under "Virals" to the left.

42 Below is now a treasured treat at Club Jackson. All the more precious as one can only bring in one bottle at a time (stupid US Customs). We have just gotten word that the nearby Jug Shop will be carrying bits of 42 Below. Here's hoping for both a moderate price and a case of feijoa.

I was considering ordering a t-shirt, but I have no idea how much $95NZ is in USD.



That, and it appears that my and my 42 Below Brethren have made its creator stinking rich.

From today's The New Zealand Herald:

For two days this week the 42 Below website read: "We are totally f***ing loaded." This was a statement of the obvious - it was also an obvious thing for the company to do.

Gloating, showing off, or, as Geoff Ross, the bloke who founded the company and who is now totally loaded would prefer, taking the piss is what 42 Below is very good at. "We've won more awards than you've had hot women," is one of 42 Below's previous boasts.

So when Bacardi buys your little vodka company, the one you started in a shed in a Wellington garden, for $138 million, you're going to shout about it. And the first question I have to ask Ross is: "How totally f***ing loaded are you?

My favorite revelation in the article: The corporate office reception desk is a bar.

The ACME Bat Costume

And how to make your own from an umbrella.



The ACME bat costume*...


*only to be worn by bats.

I can hear the police captain now.

"No, seriously... Where's the car?"

Now I am far too familiar with what a pain in the ass it is to have your car stolen, but this is ridiculous.

From the Dallas Morning News this week:

Sometime between Friday and Monday, a car outfitted with cameras, tracking capabilities and a remote engine-kill system designed to catch auto thieves was stolen somewhere in Dallas – police would not say where. They also would not identify the make and model of the car, so that if it is recovered, it can remain part of the undercover fleet.

This stinks

This paragraph is taken from one of my favorite blogs. She paints quite a striking olfactory picture.

Here's my game for you: Read the paragraph, and guess the location.

The air is thick with the smell of hair grease, fortified wine tinged sweat, unwashed body, clothes that haven’t been changed in months, perhaps years, wet wool, and that curious metallic odor of mental illness. It is a heady symphony of odors both acrid and cloying and it permeates your nostrils, your clothes, your hair and your memory. The odors overwhelm our HVAC system and I could make a case that the odor situation is becoming an OSHA issue.

Here's a hint: it's her workplace.

She continues her musings:

Smells are life. I enjoy rich, pungent odors: Morbier cheese, the carcinogenic smell of gasoline when I fill up my car, the odor of books burning and decomposing from acid treated paper, the smell of mulch, horse sweat when I worked at the stables, but I often wish I could shut my nostrils like I do my eyes. That way I wouldn’t have had to endure at an old job a colleague who doused herself with some cheap, chemical perfume that clawed at my nostrils and choked my throat. I could never identify the brand, but I’m suspecting one of those awful ones named after a celebrity, like J-Lo. How depressing that anyone buys that shit.

The answer.

Liver let die.

A limited edition piece of usable art-- wherein form is truly married to function:

The Bad Liver Tiki Mug.



"This unusual mug, designed by Stuckie, is shaped like a rotten liver."

Too bad it is limited to one to a person, and on a first come, first serve basis. I certainly know some people this would be perfect for.

Oh deer.

From an e-mail with the subject "Montana Living"

>Georgi hit a deer coming home from Glacier National Park going about 40mph.
>The deer walked away...




Everyone was okay.

But SHEESH. We have deer all over Tennessee and we sometimes see them by the road at night, but in the "wildlife versus automobile" incidents, it's generally the opossums who participate. And lose. This deer, it seems, won this round.

it's quiet.

...a little too quiet.

You may have noticed the lack of new posts. Not to say there has not been a lot going down, just a lot I am not at liberty to blog. There have been a few bright moments, but basically all my time has been comsumed with (as we say here) being the Grand Marshall in the Shit Parade.

Hell is breaking loose and and it is breaking all over me.

Happy Fun Time will resume when I have the time and the emotional wherewithal to have happy fun times.

In the meantime, I will strive to entertain you with brief bits and amiable amusements. Longer narratives are going to have to wait.

Peace out.

Help wanted

Sign in a pizza shop window, on Castro Street:

Reigning Queen Retains Title

ironically, no cream

We like to get a running start on our evenings out with a cocktail at home.

And on the way.

Nothing makes a muni/cab ride more pleasant than a roadie.

But you don't want to carry a proper glass with you (well, "want," yes, but "wise," no), and open Solo cups are just messy and a little too tacky. Covered tumblers are great, but the best roadies are disposable (and preferably recyclable). So my response to my party's call for roadies:

Mix your cocktail in paper coffee cups and snap on the lid.

Looks like latte, tastes like vodka.



And on this cab ride, we Christened this togo the Whore's Coffee.

bi's on bikes

Sent in by alert reader (and straight man) Vance:

A link to a pair of bicycle shoes on eBay:

Item number: 330030331334

The eBay headline:
Northwave bicycle shoes. Gay interest.

Vance's comment:

Please explain.

"Gay interest" for bike shoes?

I got nothin'. Anyone else?

Shout out.

You know who you are.


Gay rodeo bits and snaps finally posted here.

technical difficulties continue

The Blogger photo server is still not working. And what fun is a Gay Rodeo recap without photos? Such as they are.

And my connection to blogger.com is hinky at best. You would think now that they are owned by Google they would be more stable. At any rate, posts will resume when I have the time and the connection becomes stable.

Arrrg!

Avast ye mateys! T'was an intense weekend it was. After the crew barely survived the brutal attack of the Bloated Harpie on Friday, this Dread Pirate strode ashore for a weekend full of cowboys-- steer riders, barrel racers, and dancing boots. There was even a break for this cowboy to take his Indian to an Indian/Irish/Bitter Queen Summer birthday roastin' (pigs and chickens) and boiling (well, also pigs and chickens, but these were men in a hot tub).

And, as ye well know, plenty of ale.

Yo ho ho and and a bottle of rum I say!

By the way, it be the annual International Talk Like a Pirate Day.


The Jobby Roger


And a little etymology from our friends over at Wordsmith.org:

buccaneer (buk-uh-NEER) noun

1. An unscrupulous adventurer in politics, business, etc.
2. A pirate.

From French boucanier (buccaneer, barbecuer, hunter of wild ox),
from boucan (a frame for smoking meat), from Tupi mukem.

Buccaneer comes from a French adaptation of a Carib Indian word bukan, a way of slow-cooking meat over a low fire on a grill. The first bouncaniers were interlopers in "Spain's" Caribbean, and the Spaniards tried to drive them out. It was only too easy for England to recruit the buccaneers into attacking Spanish interests. So modern day barbecuers, with their Webber gas grills and comical aprons, are actually descendants of the classic Caribbean pirates.

And as for sounding like a pirate, John Baur (guest Wordsmith) writes:

I've often heard people talk about pirates' "cockney accents." Wrong! The stereotypical pirate has a Cornish accent, based on the performance of Long John Silver by actor Robert Newton in the 1950 Disney version of "Treasure Island". He was from Cornwall, and his over-the-top performance and native accent are the reason people think that's what a pirate sounded like. Of course, pirates came from all nationalities. But the pop culture image is firmly embedded, and Robert Newton is the reason why.


Photos from the Rodeo weekend to be posted once Blogger's image upload starts working again...

Blogger unresponsive

The Blogger service has been unresponsive all day. Very frustrating. Posts to resume when Blogspot is working again...

More bars in more places...

If only that were true.

I could so use a drink.

The Gilded Moose

I don't know where you go to get your fix of bitchy/ironic photo captions, but I feed my need over at The Gilded Moose.

This week's favorite:

Liza Minnelli Replaces Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts

Something for the Straight Boys

I have been accused of publishing photos of my hot accomplice/co-conspirator good friend and co-worker as a ploy to keep straight men interested in the blog.



Whatever works.

Calendars for sale this Christmas.

Taco Flavored Kisses

As noted over at Metroblog, the Chronicle has a new food critic who took the daunting task of reviewing the City's taquerias--eating at 85 taquerias in only 70 days. Yipes.

Jess Hemerly writes:

Addison writes about our beloved taquerias with the wide-eyed enthusiasm that only a newcomer could show. He even includes a top 20. Bay Area newcomers take heed: gorging yourself on tacos and burritos is a great way to get to know San Franciso!

SF Chronicle/SFGate story: In search of the transcendent taqueria

Breaking news: Kate Moss to eat something

Maybe. If she wants to work the runways of Madrid.

From the BBC: Madrid fashion week, one of Spain's most prestigious shows, is banning underweight models on the basis of their body mass index (BMI).

So it looks like those waifish models will have to take their fingers out of their mouths and insert a sandwich or something.



[The photo to the right is just for illustration. I know that is not Kate Moss.]

How 'bout them Apples

Apple announced a new iTunes and new iTunes Music Store and a the cool new iPods yesterday at the WWDC. The Nano is all new--up to 8 GB, brighter screen, longer battery life, and now in five bight brushed steel colors.

They have a sleek new ad.

And I love that less than 24 hours later, someone has posted a parody to YouTube.



Made on a Mac no less. Natch.

Driving me crazy

How much fun can you have with a steering wheel?

Well, you've seen this:



And this:



But how about this?

Props to Tony

Okay sure, as a Leather Daddy of renown, Tony already has lots of "props" for his little theater. But this morning while updating last night's post, I was looking for a potentially better link than the MySpace one for his alter ego in the Order of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, Sister Gladys Pantzarhoff, and I found something very cool.

Back in April there was the crazy driver who collided with several cars and caused explosions and a fire in the Castro. What I didn't know is that Tony was in the thick of things, and had distracted his friend into conversation preventiong him from getting on his bike, which was promptly hit by the out-of-control driver.

From MetroBlogging San Franciscio, here is a link to the "live updates" and comments to the crash in the Castro, written by Tony's Mother in the Order, posting here as Violet Blue.