Work hard and play hard 2 - The Red & Black Gala

Okay, the official name of the event was "The Red Hot Black and White Gala." This event was a formal sponsored by the department down the hall for the entire campus and held at the Gift Center downtown. They had been pushing the Red and Black theme and I had just processed it as a Red and Black Ball. They have had Black and White Galas before, but they get confused with the greater San Francisco Black and White Ball which is a huge deal benefiting the symphony, attended by hundreds (thousands?) who bring it.

I hadn’t planned on going (I had planned on being in recovery), but Shilpa and Amy gave me the hard sell. There are not that many friends I can call on to go to a formal event at the last minute, especially a formal event which will have no one they know, no gays, and perhaps require glitter and face paint (I had a plan).

But there is Jim Myers (or as he is called only by me, Jimbo). He said “sure,” but he doesn’t own a tux. So we worked out our own wardrobe/costume for the night which worked out so much better.

Jim spent the morning shopping, and I joined him down in Jonestown Stonestown Galleria as I could use a pair of dress black pants that were a littler, shall we say, roomier (despite dropping a few lbs on the SBD). And I had a tear down the backside of my springtime pajamas and could use a sprucy new pair for Sunday’s Pajama Brunch. While shopping I got a call from Shilpa who needed me to rescue her with my set of keys to her apartment.

Let’s just take a few moments for Shilpa and keys. Shilpa is constantly losing things. On any given day she'll lose her keys faster than a cheerleader's virginity on prom night.

This is a running gag now. In the three short years that I have known her, I have lost count as to how many times she has lost her keys or locked herself out of home or office. It has past comical and entered into tragic. This time, her keys were wisely in the pocket of her favorite fleece. As it was such a lovely day, she decided to hike from her place through Golden Gate Park to points north where she would meet up for shopping with her party companion Amy Droptrou (a play on her real name, and so indicated as to differentiate her from another regular blog character, Amy Day). It was a sunny day and somewhere along her route Shilpa took off her fleece. Only miles later when she boarded the Geary did she notice she no longer had her fleece.

Or her keys.

Yesterday we had a major work event, which Shilpa ran quite smoothly. Afterwards I dropped her off in the Gultch for a fine dining night with Droptrou. Later that night she called me at home while she was bored waiting for a cab. This morning she told me she lost her cell phone, which mush have fallen out of her new purse into the cab. On a related note, she is now on her third digital camera in 18 months. As my mother used to say, I fear that girl would lose her head if it weren’t screwed on (bless her heart).

But I digress.

Jim and I shopped unsuccessfully and I went back to the City, got my keys to Shilpa’s place, picked her up from 9th and Irving and got her home and inside her building.

Jim met me for cocktails at my house where we prepared our final touches before heading out to the Gift Center. [Side note: We wished for roadies later. I forgot that the constant at the Gift Center is a crappy bar with over-priced drinks. The wise BYO or flask it, tacky though it may be it is certainly the wiser move, and oddly appears more sophisticated. And any booze you bring in (subtly of course) if guaranteed to be better than what they serve.]

Keeping with the “Red and Black” theme, I must say that we looked great. Or as we say, we brought it.


The question was, were we a pair of Jacks, or just a couple of queens.

During the evening, an older gay couple sought us out as the only other gay couple and we had a lovely conversation. When I mentioned this to RMJ at brunch the next day, he asked, “What made you stand out?” Ha ha.

Shilpa and Amy looked fabulous too.


While the event was very nice and well produced, it was basically one big prom, with the younger, more inexperienced guests treated it like the only other formal functions they’ve been to, which was prom. I even had to take some photos across the room. Take note of the wrist corsage (wrist corsage?) and matching boutonnière.





Amy Droptrou became Shilpa’s travel gnome as she ran around posing in front of bad outfits and scary looks.




Seriously, who attends a formal and dances wearing a dress and a backpack?

Walking around we were slow to notice one pair of boys who were looking very cute wearing complete negative black and white outfits. One had white pants, the other black pants; black vest/white vest, white tie/black tie...even skin color. They did have matching giant jeweled earrings. We pegged them as the other gay couple and started talking to them about their, well, costumes. They were quite pleased with themselves, as they should be. Making conversation, I asked where in the complex organization they fit in. One said, "Oh my mom works here. I'm just here with my mom and my girlfriend, and he's my friend who came with."

We had to back up. Girlfriend? Right. He repeated the scenario so I had to ask the white guy, "So, you're here with his mom?"
"I suppose, I guess, yeah, I suppose."
"Is she hot?"
I also noted out that they were such attentive boyfriends as the girl were dancing and they were cruising together. Later I asked to take their photo, and they struck a total made-for-TV street pose.

Word.

We felt that the only thing missing was the photographer’s station to take the prom pics. We staged our own.



We knew a several of the producers of the event, and as we were the primary enteraintment, we had a fabulous time, looking fabulous.








Shilpa, of course, took many photos, as her dependency on her Elph borders on the pathological. Note the constancy of the camera.




After the band finished, the music became just cheesy hip hop which I really didn’t like. Jim and I took Shilpa with us to Badlands in hope of better music and dancing. Unfortunately, the place was too crowded to be much fun, and dancing was impossible.

We of course, continued to be fabulous.





Complete Red and Black Gala photo album on my personal site.
(And the obligatory photo set on flickr.)

Work hard and play hard

No pun intended.

No much to report during the week these days as it is nothing but nose to the grindstone, and I am almost out of nose.

Friday was our a corporate Staff Appreciation Day, and the office was scheduled to be closed after 10:30/11:00 for a day of many festivities in Golden Gate Park. Unfortunately Shilpa and I were buried not only in additional work that needed doing, but also a slew of new items which required response by the end of the day, so we did not get to flee the office in search of barbecue until after 2:00. The weather could not have been better—sunny and clear but cool—and it was a wonderful way to start winding down from a whirlwind of a week.


But it was by all means, one of those days. And by 10:30, I wanted a drink. Shortly after I muttered that to myself, I got an e-mail from Shilpa saying the same thing. I was on my first week of South Beach Phase I, which calls for no alcohol. And when it comes to drinking, I don’t want to be one of those people who drinks because they need a drink. I just want to drink because I want a drink.

But come ON. There is only so much one can take before they say F-it and go get a drink.

By the time we got to the park, we had missed most of the festivities but still got to visit with a lot of folks, and scrounge for no-carb food stuffs. I was going to meet the boys later and Shilps had an appointment in the Marina, so we killed some time together with sunshine and the sunroof. And sat on a deck and had a well-earned and well-deserved mandarin and soda. Ahhhhhhhh. I have been very good on this no-carb no-sugar thing, and even meeting friends for dinner and drinks all week, had abstained from alcoholic beverages. I have learned, as many others before me, that the South Beach diet is great, and easy to follow as long as you allow yourself exemptions on the weekends. I am trying to look at this diet as a lifestyle change, and not just something for the next couple of weeks. And that will only be possible if I allow for social drinking over the weekends.

And I have discovered the super-low carb chocolate ice cream bars from Weight Watchers, and the no-sugar-added fudgesicles. These are my saving graces. And I almost went nuts last night at Safeway when I found that they were out of both. Conspiracy!

After our cocktail I dropped Shilpa off at her appointment, and after a don’t-bother report from Barney headed home for a wardrobe change and some chill time. I was happy to be off from work and ready for the weekend. I stopped at Pitch for a visit (and possible trim) with Emmanuel and my new barber stylist. Good neighbor that I am I always offer cocktails. I brought a shaker of raspberry cosmos, and a carb-lite vodka soda for myself. It was a nice evening and I ended up getting a trim and a color tone at the end of the day. My stylist was excited to hear that there was country music and a gay rodeo in town, and asked to join me later at the 77 El Deora show.

I was excited about 77’s return from their euro tour and last time at the Knockout the crowd was pretty cool. Of course, last time their follow-up act flaked and never showed so they had to play for three or four hours, which was fine by me.

I invited SkotLand to join me after his family obligations, but those ran way late and he never made it. My stylist was waylaid as well so it was just me.

Again, the same guy they had been paired with before, totally flaked. He did not inform the owner/manager that he wouldn’t be playing, but one of his buddies showed up and said “X can’t make it tonight. But me and my buddies can go on instead…” Which to me sounded like a total bait and switch.

And not only were these guys total “I’m in a band, aren’t I hot” posers, they suuuuuuucked. Their music was crap, and very garage band/fraternity row jam-band wanna-be’s. Jeanine called them “Dead-inspired” before they fell into their dirge rock.

I really can’t convey their level of suckage. Enjoyed, it seemed, only by the friends/hos they brought with them. And their style of music was nowhere close to the Country Honky Tonk music on the marquee and previously advertised around town. It was the sort of music visibly drove people away at the door (certainly not worth the five bucks either) and annoyed the genre locals who had arrived in complete period 50s/rockabilly wardrobe and styling.

It was midnight before 77 took the newly-constructed stage, and even then the previous band left all of their instruments and enormous rotating woofer on the dance floor, which was only 15’ by 12’ as it was. There was little room for dancing, which sucked because 77 is great for dancing, and many often do. And they left their gear on the tables and chairs in the corner so there were no longer places to sit or rest drinks. One guy even came over to shoo someone (okay, me) from sitting on one of their cases, and later they were exasperated that people would rest their drinks on their crappy wooden cabinet they left against the wall. Seriously, they should have taken all their crap back to their cars when their set was done.

During the 77 El Deora set, I got to dance a little bit with Mau’s wife, the ever-lovely Jeanine. The woman can flat out dance, but she is so petite it is often difficult for me to dance with her (me being not so quite petite). Later, a blond girl named [redacted] asked me to dance. I accepted and then tried to dance with her, but either she was too drunk or too devoid of any rhythm/grace to dance along with me. We were couples dancing (just a basic swing) and she would routinely just fall, or stand there, or spin only halfway around, then just stand there as if she forgot where she was. It was extremely frustrating.

Then her girlfriend asked me to dance. (I didn’t initially know there were there together--and not together in the lesbian way, just girl friends girlfriends.)

She was also a train wreck. But I was a gentleman and just tried to be a strong lead and show her a good time.

They kept asking me to dance, and it just got worse and worse. I don’t know if it was the shoes or the blood-alcohol content but these girls could not move on a dance floor, tiny though it was. And I have a reputation to uphold when it comes to dancing and I was hoping the onlookers could tell that I was doing my best, and it was just Laverne and Shirley bringing me down.

After a few rounds, I graciously extricated myself and went to the bar. Moving from just soda to a mandarin-and, the blond sidled up to me again, put her hand on my chest and looked up to me: “Do you have a girlfriend?” She slightly slurred.

“No,” I said as sweetly as possible, “I’m gay,” my voice tinged with disappointment as if to say, “if only I weren’t…”.

“No, do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.” I tried to be clearer, “I have boyfriends” Not that I actually have boyfriends, but it’s not for lack of wanting.

I left her (I imagine) devastated. I accepted her compliments to my dancing, and politely declined to repeat the experience.

When they left the bar they were rebounding off one another on the sidewalk, and begging cigarettes. My only thoughts as they stumbled into the Outer Mission night were that I hoped (1) they would quiet down and not display themselves as such easy pickings for a sexual assault in this neighborhood, or (2) that they weren’t getting behind the wheel of a car. And (3) thank God they were gone.

When I got myself home, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. And Saturday I welcomed the opportunity to sleep late and didn’t open my eyes again until after noon. Baby needed his rest as Jimbo and I were planning to join Shilpa and Amy Droptrou for the Red Hot & Black Gala and it was going to be another long night.

Time keeps on slipplin', slippin', slippin'

into the future.

It's five o'clock and I am just now getting a break for lunch. I was hopping to use lunch time as blog time, but you'll have to wait until cafe time tonight.

Overheard at work - 23

"I think I need some Neosporin for my finger."
"You need some Neosporin? I've got some in my gym bag for my boob chafe."

busy boy

It was a hell of a week. I've been crazy busy at work taking on more and more responsibilites have had zero breaks for the blogging. Then the weekend pounced and now I have some super happy fun times to write about.

Later.

I'm just back from a pajama breakfast and we all decided to bail on the park plan and return to our respective abodes for naps. As long as we were dressed for it, and wiped out, it seemed like the thing to do.

Pretty much, this is how my approach to the weekend went:

up all night

Another conservative, red-state wing-nut is attacking a library for something they find offensive. Frankly, the mantra of any librarian in Collection Development is that any library should have something to offend everyone. The Library should have something for everyone, but not every thing is for everybody. This is not a difficult concept to grasp.

This guy is suing the "Bentonville (Ark.) Public Library for keeping The Whole Lesbian Sex Book by Felice Newman on the open shelves where his sons could find it." Okay, these kids were 14- and 16-years old! News flash Pops: if teenage boys find a book about sex, or lesbian sex, they were looking for it.

The father claims they found it while researching military academies. Right. (Meaning What? Meaning his sons are manly boys not interested in photos of women having sex but rather "masculine" in their male-only military homoeroticism and interested only in male-on-male domination and sodomy as plebes at a military academy?).

As part of the complaint, the father alleges that finding the book made his childen "greatly disturbed" and "caused many sleepless nights in our house."

Seriously Pops, your sons may be staying awake at night under the covers, but that's not because they are "disturbed." They are not running out of Kleenex because they have been crying all night, if you catch my drift.

Hit me with your best shot.

Fire away.


Oh Lordy, a Booze Belt. Just what this cowboy needs. (You know, when I get off this wagon.)



Via Gizmodo.

Special Editions

Why I love DVDs: all the extras. You can see the Director's deleted scenes and alternate endings...

Oh no it's Kryptonite!

This just in from Alert Reader and Evil Genius Professional Chemist Dr. May: Kryptonite Discovered in Mine.

Later, at the Hall of Justice....

or in other words

The South Beach Diet is very popular here at work, and one co-worker welcomed me to it saying, "or as I sometimes call it, 'The South Beached Whale' diet."

Day two and loving it, but at times peckish and often craving juice.

And pack the sunscreen.

It's Monday, and I've started the South Beach diet.

Shilpa has been working out two to three times a week for a while now. She got really fit, but didn't really lose any weight. Then she south-beached and started dropping the pounds like a social climber drops names.

Sure, she gets a crazy look in her eye* when she craves a baked good, but I think I can drop all carbs for two weeks without going insane. It's the tea-totalling that's going to be the sanity-kicker.





*one eye sort of bugs out and she gets a sort of "dingo wants a baby" expression.

Footprints in the butter

Last week, Shilpa introduced some of us to her new imaginary friends: Red Elephant and Blue Elephant.

The Red Elephant is huge, and consists of things like work stress, not asserting boundaries with her mother, over-drinking, and unhealthy eating (mmmm, burritos...).

The Blue Elephant is a pygmy. It embodies things like moderation, sobriety, exercise, self-respect, and earned pampering or positive self-indulgence.

The goal is to shrink the enormous Red Elepant and grow the diminuative Blue Elephant. Staying at home more nights a week and getting a good-night's sleep is feeding the Blue Elephant. Eating a pint of Ben & Jerry's while watching TV doing the "stay at home during the week" thing is feeding the Red Elephant (Shilpa doesn't like ice cream. I ate the Ben & Jerry's.).

So we are all about "feeding the Blue Elephant" now. All things should be in moderation, so there will be some feeding the Red Elephant from time to time, but even moderating Red Elephant food actually feeds the Blue Elephant.

Shilpa's going to be my positive influence these next two weeks as I try to shed some weight before our black-tie fete in May as well as the upcoming Steeplechase.

My new slogan: Feed the Blue Elephant.

Rick415

Good Friend and Alert Reader Rick Marshall is, alas, no longer a 415-er.



And we wish him a very Happy Birthday all the way out to that other coast!

About last night

Susannah Brown Scott-Barnes was in town and hosting a jewelry trunk show at her sister's home in the Presidio. MUCH fun always with Susannah, Nina, Lisa, and Zulu. And the added fun of Eli and Rosana and rambunctious Alejandro, as well as the also of Nashville Suzi Cox McNeal and the always lovely Sara Mussleman.

I took Shilpa along with and we got suitably gussied. The blond was much discussed. And I found a little bit of fabulous for Mom for her birthday. Now the trick is not to lose the expensive bauble until I can give it to her-- her birthday is not until December.

Shilpa and I are back in form--looking good and having random super-happy-fun-time. And considering this crazy ass, overly onerous work week, this fun was much needed.

Hopefully I will have time to crank out an amusing narrative later, but let me just say: wow, Thursdays at Mecca? THAT's a LOT of lesbians. Like, more than I've seen at Pride. And very lovely. But... wow.

Shilpa and I also discovered a secret treasure map hidden in my windshield glass. Maybe my car's previous owner was Dan Brown. Or Nicholas Cage.

After-drinks-drinks at Catch, sandwiched between really pretty and pretty creepy. Shilpa got the better end of that bargain. (Seriously, you really want to call me out on my 80s television trivia? You're calling me out on Alice? Even after you could not, but I could, successfully recite all the principle actors, the full lyrics to the opening and closing, and the development from silver to small screen? Seriously, let's talk about something else.)

It was such a horrendously long and jam-packed work day that she and I did not get a chance to take a break for lunch until 5:00. So I suppose it was fitting we ate dinner around midnight. Which pretty much just left Orphan Andy's.

But them pancakes were goooooood. If not South Beach approved.

Taking off soon-- going away happy hour cocktails for Coco who is headed to Morocco for her 40th.

i protest

On the front steps yesterday, about three homeless desperate-looking people were loudly but lamely protesting medical testing using animals, utilizing photos of puppies with the caption "I am not a test subject."

As we passed by I turned to Shilpa and said, "I'm really enjoying this polio-free environment today... You?"

Crazy landlords

Now I have a particularly love/hate relationship with my landlady. She like to think she is Mrs. Madrigal, but I'd settle for even Mrs. Roper.

Now this landlady is just crazy mean:

The embedded player forces an auto-start, so here is just the link.

Dose of Cuteness

I have been beyond busy and have no time for posers posting.

But this just in from Sister Emily. Super cute photos of the new newphew Leland.







I will be going home in May to meet him- finally!

I am already reduced to baby talk.

Just wrong

I don't know why, but this just seems kinda IKEA meets creepy.

Sort of reminds me of the I Love Ewe inflatable sheep "toy".

Just wrong.

Looks like it's time for a lawsuit

Every spring, I have a hard time adjusting to daylight-saving time, but I would rather be tired and slightly off for a day or two than not have it. I love the long summer nights, and daylight evenings until 9:00.

One local radio host moans and whines each year that "daylight savings time is stupid" (enough that I don't listen to that station any more), and some people just go on and on about how much they hate daylight-saving time. And Arizona just won't have anything to do with it (I suppose the desert gets enough sunlight as it is).

Daylight-saving time may be inconvenient for a day or two, but it is hardly "stupid" and it serves to conserve energy and brighten our days.

Now, this kid has a real reason to hate daylight-saving time. But he has more cause to hate his school principal, who is the truly stupid element in this story. He spent 12 days in jail because the Principal didn't check the freakin' clock.

Cody Webb was arrested last month, after Hempfield Area High School received a bomb threat on their student hotline – which provides a range of information to students about the school - at 3.17am on March 11th. They believed they'd found the culprit when they traced the phone number they thought was responsible to Webb.

Unfortunately, the school forgot that the clocks had switched to Daylight Saving Time that morning. The time stamps left on the hotline were adjusted by an hour after Day Light Savings causing Webb's call to logged as the same time the bomb threat was placed. Webb, who's never even had a detention in his life, had actually made his call an hour before the bomb threat was placed.

The Principal is also quoted as saying "Well, why should we believe you? You're a criminal. Criminals lie all the time."

Yes, a professional educator should ignore that whole "presumption of innocence" thing. Or you know, check her watch.

Fox coverage. Local news and video.

It's inappropriate to refer to them as "hooters."

Clearly, these are "knockers."

Have a seat

This would be a very cool addition to a very small apartment. Make the studio spacious for milling about, or crowded/cosy for a sit down. Chairs when you need them, art when you don't.

Cool, but as BoingBoing noted, not nine-grand-cool.

Beating my head against a wall

Work is such fun. Once I am done doing the work of three other people who need to get their act together, maybe I'll attack my own pile.

Celebrity kisses Shilpa

And India freaks out.

Unfortunately, it wasn't our Shilpa but some Bollywood wet sari actress.

Okay, Celebrity Big Brother UK star Shilpa Shetty is apparently some HUGE deal. But OUR Shilpa still beats her out on a Flickr search (or at least she used to).

Headline of the week

I likely won't be online again until Monday. So I will leave you with the best headline of the week:

From the Billings Gazette: Butte blast blamed on leaking gas.

Oh, you bet it was. That was one major burrito.

And be warned: "People who smell gas or hear a suspicious hissing sound should leave the area and use a neighbor's telephone. Using a home telephone could create enough of a spark to cause an explosion."


It's almost as bad as that story about the Indian government demanding details of women's menstrual cycles. But at least that story was able to use the fabulous word gobsmacked in context.

The F- Word

No no, the other F- word.

And you have got to be fucking kidding me.

From the BBC:
Family of faggot fans fly the flag

A West Midlands family is playing a central role in the quest to raise the profile of a forgotten British dish - faggots.

The Doody family from Wolverhampton has been crowned The Faggot Family in a national competition, and to kick off their reign they will launch National Faggot Week.

The family will be touring the country extolling the virtues of the dish, which is best-known for its links with the Black Country.

I imagine in the Black Country, the dish is referred to as "The Down Low."

And seriously, "The Faggot Family" is named Doody? Now you are just shitting me.

Is that some sort of Santorum joke?

And the article, God help me, continues. It's almost just a series of one-liners:

"Her husband Fred added: 'It's unfair because faggots were a British delicacy long before any of the others.'"

I have heard it bragged in many bars.

"The great British faggot is full of flavour and a great belly warmer at this time of year."

Well I've been saying that for years.

"The competition was organised by faggot producer Mr Brain's Faggots."

...You know, I thought you looked familiar. Aren't you one of Mr. Brian's faggots?



Update: Dr. May asked me if I checked the date as this story sounded suspiciously like an April Fool's joke. Apparently this story is true but not really "news." The story is dated January 27, 2003.

TGIF

It has been a very busy week and a very busy day over here at IJS, and so there has been a somewhat low rate of posting.

Just a few items to wrap up the week:

• While I think I will still wait for Apple to release a version of AppleTV with a bigger hard drive, it is nice to know that there are options.
  
  
• This life-sized version of the board game Mousetrap is way cool.
  
  
• Shout OUT to cousin Barry who is shopping for a new computer for either her or the kids, and is invsitgating the switch to an iMac for the both of them. It seems that getting the husband to abandon Windows will be the main hurdle. But with BootCamp and Parallels, it should be a non-issue. Frankly, I think they should trash all threee old computers in the house (his, hers, and kids) and get one MacBook and two iMacs. Sure, one iMac is good for the whoel family, but their issue is that everyone wants to use the computer at the same time. And both of their kids are under 10.
  
  
• I have postponed the surgery indefinitely--until some time when both my chest and my calendar are clear.
  
  
• I have also decided to take my vacation in May and go home to see the baby, chill by the pool, and go to the races. Some of the boys have invited me along to Hawaii, but I do not have that beach body yet...
  
  
• And it is too soon to say anything official, but this Friday the 13th may be lucky as it appears that the Beast has been mortally wounded.

Kissing my tax man on the lips

And maybe adding a little tongue.

I was sure I had to owe a truckload in taxes this year. One of the items I didn't provide my tax prep man was additional information on long-term/retirement investments. He noticed and asked for some basis information, which I got from my financial adviser Dan. Dan, on vacation and out of the office, checked his e-mail and got back to me with all the data I needed to give my tax man Mark.

So HUGE accolades for Dan J and his amazing customer service (he is also an all around super-great human being).

And because Tax Man Mark did his due diligence and double-checked with me about the whole basis thing (I lost a lot this year) he reduced my total Federal/State tax burden from $4,360, to a mere $401.

A big wet sloppy kiss to Mark, with apologies to his partner Ryan.

Heartily recommended:

Dan J[x]
[Redacted by Request]

and

Mark Howes, EA
[now under his own shingle]

Care package

I notified a senior manager today that my surgery was canceled and that I am now available should she need me this month. She expressed condolences for postponement and the cold and such, and included:

>I have not told the various people yet but I am on active duty starting April 17 at Camp Pendleton so I will miss various meetings—including the first one with you on Tuesday.

I replied:
>Good luck to you! Can I send you a care package?
>
>
>(Can you send me a marine?)

Quick with the reply, she wrote:
>I won’t need a care package because it is too short a time. I will send you a marine if you promise to “don’t ask, don’t tell” :)

(which would be an entirely different sort of care "package")


I think I'm getting a bit familiar with my Chairs.

Chicken Noodle Soup

This cold is making me feel like CRAP, but I came into work any way because I have a major meeting. A co-worker called in with allergies so I need to cover her meeting too. So busy day and no posting.

Still with the cold.

I guess I need some Chicken Noodle Soup for the soul.

From JoeMyGod:

...I step off the curb to let him pass, but he follows me into the street to do a manic little tap dance in a circle around me. "Chicken noodle soup! Chicken fuckin' noodle fuckin' SOUP, muthafucka! Chicken! Noodle! SOUP!! " He punctuates each of the last three words with a spastic, but stylish, jazz-hands-ish sort of "ta-dah!" move, then steps up onto the curb for his encore. "Chicken!" (Ta-dah!) "Noodle!" (Ta-dah!) "SOUP!" (big finish TA-DAH!)

And then he looks at me, expectantly. "Very nice," I say, with my phone resting on my shoulder. "You'll be out of the chorus before you know it." The young man beams, takes one of those "You are too, too kind" bows, and skips into a shop across the street, one of those neon-fronted joints that sells hand blown ornamental glass objets d'art, which are sold strictly as decorative novelties, and not for use as smoking devices, officer, sir.

Brittannic Gardens

David Britt hosted a lovely Easter Brunch worthy of Hyacinth Bucket (Bouquet) and I am sure it will be the topic of the next candlelight dinner.




Flickr set

Thursday Night at the Cat Club

Pics from last week:


Flickr set

Kiss me

And mean it.

Video to Erasure's "I could Fall in Love with You"

Second Wave

Hey kids, it's another Call to Action from I'm Just Sayin'.

James' group novel The Wave Organ has made it to the second round in the first chapters contest over at Gather dot com. I asked for your help in reading and rating the first chapter, and am now asking you to check in on the second chapter, or at least visit the page and give them a high rating. This work is a group effort with different writers assuming different chartacters.

From the James:

That's right, the little Wave Organ that could has made the second round of Gather.com's First Chapters Contest. Of over 2600 entries, we made the final cut of 20. Good lord. The entire gather.com community is voting and we're getting all sorts of wonderfully disparaging commentary. If you have a moment at work I recommend perusing what has been said. It's...entertaining. And plenty of it even helpful, but it's the cranky ones that particularly shine.

Here's the link to Chapter Two of the Wave Organ. To vote, click the stars at the bottom of the chapter, right before the comments begin. That is, if you still have your gather.com account. (It's free and quick and just make up and ID and password and go vote. It takes less than two minutes. The reading time, however will take longer and will vary.)

Here's the link to the announcement of the winners. And here's the link to the San Francisco Chronicle's note about the contest (scroll to the bottom of the page).



From the James, here's a synopsis of the novel:

The Wave Organ

During a week like any other, in separate corners of contemporary San Francisco, five strangers open five fortune cookies received in the most ordinary of ways. Inside they find a handwritten note: "You are pursuing essential beauty. 5:30 am, June 15th. The Wave Organ." They are not the only ones to have received this fortune, but they are the sole respondents to its enigmatic invitation.

The five protagonists go to the Wave Organ, an out-of-the-way environmental art installation jutting out into the San Francisco Bay, for reasons as varied as their lives. They are: Charlie Lienhart, 14-year-old boy genius; Amanda Klein, rich girl with a drug problem and a poetic soul; Rodolfo Quinn, mysterious hand model who does what he must to make ends meet; Frank Hyde, paranoid parking lot attendant with heroic fantasies; and Meriwether Shackleton, uptight librarian with a secret past.

The dim light of dawn finds this group of strangers milling about the odd stone structure. To their left is the iconic span of the Golden Gate Bridge; to the right the city. A light flashes from the bridge, drawing their attention. A hidden speaker begins playing new age music and a powerful telescope seems placed there just for them. When Frank Hyde looks through the telescope, he views a lone figure leaping from the bridge.

"By now you have seen me die." says a disembodied voice from the still hidden speaker. And so they are introduced to Richard Pratt Jr., the scion of a wealthy California industrialist, and are invited to embark on an outlandish journey to fulfill the dead man's dream of revenge, hubris and ultimately, philanthropy. If they agree to his terms, beginning with a trip to an abandoned tunnel to retrieve his formal suicide note (and the grisly "proof" that he is who he says he is), they will be generously rewarded.

Over the next several weeks the five social misfits are asked to perform a series of tasks culminating in a scheme to trick Richard's father, a selfish, dangerously controlling old man, out of his vast wealth. Through the adventure they come to understand the dead man's motives, and begin to appreciate the man himself.

Richard Pratt Jr. was inherently disinclined to be groomed as his father's protégé. Always a creative, sensitive type, he was encouraged by his Chinese born mother -- a former torch singer -- in the pursuit of contemporary culture, music, and the companionship of artists and eccentrics. This bohemian lifestyle was in direct opposition to the capitalist empire created by his father, Pratt the elder. The disappearance of Pratt Junior's beloved mother, for which he blamed his father, serves as the impetus for Junior's swan song -- an exquisitely complicated work of living art.

A stoned soup of compelling weirdness, The Wave Organ is flavored with two gentleman lawyers, one rotting liver, a duo of Sicilian thugs, one mysterious hairball, a singing dragon, some crooked fingers, an x-rated marching band, and more. The final reward for these five fortune seekers is less about money and more about the nature upon which true character is formed.

inert gasses

Okay, not so much inert as, well, ert.

It's making the e-mail rounds so I thought I would share it here. It lightened up my morning, but being a guy, base humor with a dash of cute often does.

A good thing

Okay, it will be an inconvenience to reschedule (to say the least) but canceling the surgery was a good thing. While I was just fighting a cold yesterday, it is in full bloom today and I spent the morning coughing up enough nasty mucus to fill a soup tureen--something I would not have been able to do post-procedure and would have either choked to death or developed a life-threatening case of pneumonia.

So I am back at my desk with a box of kleenex and will reschedule the surgery when my chest and calendar are both clear.

The anticipation was killing me though, and I am not looking forward to that again.

Paul Day did come over last night to help me work on the freezer full of ice cream while we watched a very young Kurt Russel in Disney's surreal The Strongest Man in the World.

Surgery canceled

I got so far as naked on the gurney and waiting for several hours before the anesthesiologist came to check me out. I had been fighting a cold, and while I do not have a full-blown cold, I do have sufficient chest congestion and "wheezing" to make anesthesia, surgery and recovery very dangerous. I now need to visit my PCP to get that taken care of and go back in for the procedure in a week or two. Which is going to be a nightmare for scheduling.

Not to mention the surgery/stress-related nightmares I've been having all week. Now I get another period of anticipation.

And my fridge is fully stocked with jello, ensure, slimfast, three gallons of ice cream and such. And I've got a case of broth.

AND, oh crap, now I do have to come in to work and try to be respectable with blond hair and black roots.

Criminey.

I'll keep you posted. Off to find my primary care doctor now.

Cover me.

I'm going in.

Make Gay While the Sun Shines

Just a quick "hey" as I prepare to leave for the hospital. Since I am going to be out for several weeks, I wanted to cram as much fun into the weekend as possible. I introduced Shilpa to the expression "make hay while the sun shines."

Friday night I went across the street to Pitch Salon to get all my hair cut off so I wouldn't have to deal with bed-head in the hospital or when friends visited. The salon is owned by my friend Emmanuel and he gives me a break on prices. When I stepped in, I discovered that all of the staff had gone blond. I just wanted a buzz cut but they offered, wanna go blond?

I thought, "hey, I won't be seeing any work people for several weeks and won't have to deal with credibility issues or the sure-to-be-scary roots-growing-in period." I really don't have that much hair to turn around for, but I thought it would be fun.

And it has been. I've been like a kid with a new toy. My sideburns are already starting to grow out, but it really looks rather like it is my natural color.



Just fun. And fun for the Easter brunch over at the Britt-annic Gardens.

Keith weekend follow up

As I mentioned earlier, the Keith weekend was a blast. Here are some of the pics:

Keith and Kev at Badlands on Wednesday

Kevin arrived at the "Cowboys and Indians" dinner party in full headdress. Seen here exchanging a peace offering with out host.

Shilpa and Keith, also thematically attired.

Jeff Baker and Paul Day


We LOVED having Keith DJ via his iPod.
That, and he has a nice backside.

Just sayin'.



Paul and Fred

Me, Keith, and Barney
Barney met Keith when he came to Nashville for Steeplechase way back when.

Later in the evening, Lance showed up with his visiting Kiwis. You might be able to tell from this pic—they had been drinking pretty much since lunch.

Shilpa and Lance

Ruby gave Shilpa a text and then came over to join the fun times with the gays. And she brought it—decked out in new do, animal top, and super-rockin go-go boots. If Ruby was going to trot out the hotness, I told Shilpa to lose the sweater and reveal her assets.

Kevin presents Ruby

Just a nice one of Barney, Shilpa and me.

And this one just cracks me up.

Dr. May was ever so kind as to do the washing up.

Sadly absent from these photos are the other revelers, particularly the New Zealand imports Terry and Nigel. Terry is an exceptionally charming friend of Lance's, and his traveling companion for this leg was Terry's friend Nigel, who was just unfreaking believably gorgeous. Crazy pretty. Distracting. Some of the guys admitted it was hard to talk to him because he was just so hot.

There was also a fourth with the Lance crowd. He had said he had a bunch of people in from out of town and didn't want to show up for a dinner invite with three additional guests and so they were just going to join us afterwards at the Cinch. As usual, Shilpa and I overshopped and had enough food and booze for twice as many people. We called and they had already noshed but cabbed over for pre-show drinks.

[side note back plot: Lance is very secretive about his dating life, but has started seeing someone very regularly. We are very happy for him, but we don't often see/hear about the boy. I've never met him—he's still a snuffleupagus boyfriend to me. Lance's best friends are Beth&Greg (usually said as one like that). The new boy is also named Greg, and to differentiate, Lance's gossiping friends (that would be us) refer to them as "Straight-Greg" and "Gay-Greg." And the former morphed into "Metro-Greg" or "Mostly-Straight-Greg," well, because.]

Lance arrived with the three guests in-tow. It took me a while to get their names straight and recall them correctly. "Nigel" being easy to remember because (1) who is really named Nigel and (2) wow with the pretty. I introduced people around and chatted amiably with each of them and picked up various back-stories. I was really confused talking to the third chap as it he revealed he was from Alabama. And later he clarified that he wasn't visiting but lived here. Being southerners we played the name game. The good news was that I recognized most of the names he threw out. The bad news was they were all people he hated-- exes and such. It seemed to sour our relationship and I had to point out that I know lots of people and he could throw out the names of people he actually liked. He was a charming guy, (well duh, he's southern) and I found myself slipping into flirt mode, but was primarily distracted by playing host to a housefull of people and making sure that Keith was having a fun time.

Later, in the kitchen, Greg sidled up close to Lance who was telling a story to someone else and just sort of stood there and then subtly held his hand while they stood together. I had mis-heard his name when first introduced, and assumed--as I had been told as such--that he was an out of town visitor. I quite actually slapped my hands against my face and over my mouth to keep from squealing when the lightbulb finally went off. Internally I shouted: "OMIGOD-YOU'RE-GAY-GREG!"

For Heaven's sake people you have to tell me these things!

While Lance denies this, his blood alcohol level dismisses his opinion, he and Greg did some seriously making out at the party and at the Cinch, and a couple of us commented that (1) we really liked Gay Greg, (2) we are very happy for Lance, and (3) none of us thinks we have ever seen Lance kiss a man before. It was sort of disturbing. Like watching your parents make out or something.

Other fun tidbits of the night at the Cinch:

*Walking up to the Cinch and mingling with our crowd on the sidewalk, only to turn and see Kevin in the window, headbanging, wearing the giant Indian feathered headdress. (And not bothering to explain why to anyone in the bar who asked.)

*The drag show was brief and bad, but one of the drag queens, in leather and jeans sort of in the style of Joan Jett, had his wig tossed at it got stuck in the strand of lights in the rafters.

*It turns out that hot Nigel was straight, just travelling with a gay bloke. And he was into Shilpa. Ruby, usually the center of attention for cruising men, with her go-go boots, animal print, exotic features, and heavy glam makeup was repeatedly mistaken for a tranny.

*After the Cinch, Keith and I ran into Ruby, Shilpa, and Nigel who had gone down the street to straght bars. I took Keith, Nigel, and Shilpa home, and on the way decided to make a stop at Ocean Beach where we fanned an abandoned campfire back to life. Nigel and I went foraging for wood and kindling from the other fires. Nigel kept picking up logs that were entirely aflame, and then screaming that it was hot. I kept saying, "Nigel, its on fire!" But he didn't seem to make a connection between it being on fire and being hot. It turns out that Nigel may have been very pretty, but not pretty smart. And as the story ends, Shilpa did learn just how hot he could be.

*RMJ calling the around noon the next day (we went to bed at 4:00 and we got up at 7:45 for a quick bite before I had to take Keith to the airport) for a bed-check and opening with "Wilson, I just want to say no matter where you go you are always such a gentleman. Only a true southern man of manners would hoist up a drag queen so she could reach her wig in the rafters..." (I laughed out loud as I completely forgot about doing that. It's seemed the gracious thing to do at the time. It's difficult not to be a gentleman...)



Okay then. Enough about that, it's after 5:00 and I've got last night to write about-- but I suppose that can wait until tomorrow. We went to the Cat Club and met some French sailors. With sailors at the Cat Club, there has got to be a seaman and pussy joke in there somewhere but I can't put my finger on it. (ew.)


What did we do with the drunken sailor?

Bar, none.

I have several friends who work in the hospital where I will be having my surgery, and have many promises to come look in on me. However, I am a little worried as I won't be able to talk and am fairly sure I will not be looking my best.

And feeling, oh I don't know, down in the mouth.

Being gay and having all sorts of 'mo' better friends, golden-throated/gag-reflex comments have not been scarce.

Excerpts from one e-mail exchange (clearly from a scientist, and not Dr. May):

Me: [blah blah blah surgery]
JD: But think of the added abilities your newly unobstructed throat will offer...
Me: I'm looking for volunteers for a "before and after" test...
JD: You will have to find many volunteers to reduce your standard deviation when you complete the statistical analysis - may I suggest recruiting south of market?

Which gave me two thoughts:

(1) If one had to go looking for standard deviations, South of Market would be a good place to do it; and
(2) That would be a GREAT name for a bar: Standard Deviations. Or perhaps a leather/adult toy company.

I'm just sayin'.


Update: The idea of finding men on whom I could exercise my current skills and then compare the experience to a post-sugery performance has become known by my friends as "conducting a study," and is used as short-hand for potential come-ons. As when a hottie walks by and someone (okay, usually me) says aside, "Excuse me, I'm conducting a study..."

Last night Barney added the concept of a "double-blind study," in which for various reasons one or both of us would be blindfolded.

Young and good looking

Emily sent a couple of pics of LBL (Little Baby Leland) in some of the Wilson Wear (inappropriate gifts for baby).

Here he is in one of the onezies and the little cap I sent recently.





Unfortunately, she could not get him to keep the redneck buck-teeth pacifier in his mouth for the photo.

Flashdance!

This is the coolest flash mob ever.

From today's Evening Standard (London):

4,000 flash mob dancers startle commuters at Victoria
By Tim Stewart

More than 4,000 clubbers danced through the rush hour at Victoria station in Britain's biggest flash mob stunt.

Revellers responded to e-bulletins urging them to "dance like you've never danced before" at 6.53pm. There were knowing looks and giggles among the casually dressed crowd that gathered from 6.30pm, wearing earphones.

A deafening 10-second countdown startled station staff and commuters before the concourse erupted in whoops and cheers. MP3 players and iPods emerged and the crowd danced wildly to their soundtracks in silence - for two hours.

Now for me, this is the collest part: All of these people were dancing wildly, enthusiastically, and with joyful reckless abandon to their own soundtracks through their own headphones. The articles states that "the crowd danced wildly to their soundtracks in silence."

I am thinking of this from two standpoints: the participants, who are rocking out to their personal favorite dance songs surrounded by a throng of other dancers. It must have been like being your own DJ for an enormous club scene, even though the other dancers weren't necessarily on your beat.

And from the point of view of the passers-by, who could see the dancing but not hear the music. It must have looked like a mad rush-hour crowd all going into simultaneous fits. Confused commuters must have been looking for a reason behind the crowd starting to spasm.

Search and seizures.

And how could they not refer to a flash mob dancing as as Flash Dance?! Boggles the mind. (But I suppose that is the point...)

Tonsil Fairy

Someone at work has suggested I leave my tonsils under my pillow and see if I can't get any money for them a la the Tooth Fairy.

First of all, excised tonsils under the pillow: seriously ew.

And secondly, "a visit from the Tonsil Fairy" sounds really dirty.

(Not that I am objecting mind you.)

ool.

It's been around for a while but I was watching this again tonight and it still cracks me up.

From Don't Be That Guy Films:

Things You Can't Do When You Are Not in a Pool.

Talk about adult swim...




[If you're confused about the title, I'd prefer there be no pee in my pool.]

Tea, Earl Grey, hot.

I am a huge fan of HCI (Human Computer Interaction) and if I didn't like things like a steady income and a certain standard of living, I would become a full-time researcher. Well, that, and I hear there is like crazy math involved on the code side.

So as a graphic designer and librarian, I'll just stick to User Interface Design: an intoxicating and exhilirating area of study combining psychology, artistic design, information architecture, and syndetic structure. And yes, I am a huge nerd.

Recommended reading: Envisioning Information, by Edward R. Tufte.

And for your HCI pleasure this morning:


Human Computer Interaction in Science Fiction Movies
by Michael Schmitz

Go ahead and rip my throat out.

Well, I had hoped to avoid it but it's come to this. I have obstructive sleep apnea and it's gotten pretty bad. Not only is my snoring enough to prevent the formation of long-term relationships, but I stop breathing every couple of minutes while I sleep and it is taking a serious toll on my system. That, and I am tired all the time.

The sinus and throat surgeries to address the obstructive apnea have to be done separately (or else you wouldn't be able to breathe at all). I had the sinus work done a couple of years ago. (Or as I called it, "Cutting My Nose Despite My Pace.")

Monday morning I am going under the knife and they are going to take out my uvula, reduce my soft palate, take out my tonsils, and generally rearrange things back there. I have put this surgery off for years as I am told it is the most painful surgery you can have as an adult.

I am not looking forward to it. The recovery time is a good three weeks, and former patients have told me I'll want more. I'm hoping I'll lose some weight in this process, however I am also told that ice cream = good. (Like that was a math lesson I needed. Sure food is not love, but it sometimes tastes like love.)

I only found out Friday that my surgery is scheduled for next Monday. I am now frantically trying to get a month's worth of work done in five days, and prepare other people in the office to manage my responsibilities while I am gone.

Happy April.

Originally my doctor wanted to do a series of surgeries, including batshit crazy stuff like drilling a hole under my teeth and pulling my tongue muscle though it a little bit. Yeah, not doing that. There were other things too, but in consultation with other ENTs/Otolaryngologists, I think the tonsil/uvula/palate work will be enough.

The only words from my doctor I have found comforting have been: "aggressive pain management."

Now generally I am not a big fan of taking drugs, but pain-avoidance? Bring it ON. Give me some Hibernol and just let me sleep through the recovery.

And to address a question some of you are sure to ask, yes, it is possible that the apnea could be treated with a CPAP machine (Continuous Positive Airflow Pressure), but I do not want to sleep with a machine strapped to my face for the rest of my life. My brother Mac has had success with his CPAP machine, but he is not dating anymore either.

In bed with a stranger/date/boyfriend, there is a huge difference between "Who's your Daddy?" and (rasping through a machine--hoooh, kaaahhhhh) "I am your father."

I have also been assured that this surgery will not have a negative effect on, shall we say, "my skills." I'm not adverse to a little "before and after" testing, but I don't see that happening. I would like to work with my doctor on that particular study (hottie), but I am fairly certain that would be, oh shall we say, "unethical."

Eh. Probably just another waiver.

Grand Unified Theory

Pearls Before Swine

Sometimes it's the simple things

that can be most helpful.

How to correctly sew on a button:

Still, Waters runs deep.

AferElton's interview with John Waters.

Much fun.

AE: I'm waiting for Pink Flamingos: The Musical. I want the 11 o'clock number to be giant turds on Segways.
JW: I think it's an opera. I was going do a sequel where Divine s---s, and then basically I think I've had enough of that. Pink Flamingos is on Sundance Channel playing on regular television now, uncut. How could that be? It's amazing to me. That's the weird thing, that Pink Flamingos can be on television, and I have trouble with my last movie, A Dirty Shame, getting an NC-17 rating when I don't even show anything. It's easier to get things on television than it is in the movies now.

AE: Who's been your most surprising fan?
JW: I got a letter from a major who's in Iraq right now. He told me his whole squad or troop or whatever they call it are big fans, and they watch all my stuff. I felt like Joey Heatherton, you know, so I sent them big gift baskets with of all my movies, and they wrote back and said they were bombing while watching Female Trouble. It was very touching that they were sitting there in Iraq watching Divine.

Can't talk, coming down.

Hey kids! It has been an amazing week over here at IJS. But with the departure of Keith I have been completely deflated. It's like the day after Christmas--there has been this long period of preparation and anticipation, and once all done it's sort of exhausting and melancholy.

That and I am exhausted. And stressed. But that story is for another post.

I'll give a quick recap of the Keith Week, but sadly there are few photos to accompany.

Keith arrived Wednesday night and Kevin and I took him to happy hour at the Sadlands, a rushed Thai meal at Thai House Express at 19th and Castro (shout out to them for an excellent meal, reasonable price, and great service when we told them we were in a rush to see a movie), and a gay flick at the Castro Theater. Unfortunately we were a little late so Keith did not get the entire Victorian theater experience (the restoration is beautiful) or enjoy the pre-show pipe organ. RMJ was running equally late and joined us in our seats.

Thursday night Shilpa and I took Mr. Hinkle out to shake his groove thing--starting out with C/W at Sundance Saloon and spending the rest of the night/morning working it on the Badlands dance floor. NB: Keith can freakin dance. Damn, baby.

Friday Keith had to work in the A.M. and Shilpa and took our day off to clean and prep our respective homes before criss-crossing the City shopping for the Big Dinner at Shilpa's that night. (And can I just say, the drinking crowd at the Cinch at 11:00 in the morning is "capital C" Cree-P.)

Friday night was an absolute blast. And I understand why Shilpa "loves her gays." Dr. May came over early to rewire her bedroom light switch (not a euphemism), then Keith and Barney and I set out arranging food, lighting, and flowers. (Another thanks to Barney for doing the dishes too.)

The title of the Evite for this dinner was "Cowboys and Indians." Kevin showed up in a full on Indian Chief headress. I about peed my pants when he walked in. After the crowd's reaction sort of died down, I had to laugh when I heard Jeff Baker comment, "Now I have Half Breed stuck in my head."

And more props to Keith for bringing his iPod, packed with up-to-the-minute dance tracks and a seemingly endless array of Indian/Bollywood remixes of current dance tracks. Very cool, and so contextual.

Around the table that night were me, Shilpa, Keith, Kevin & Shawn, Jeff & Bill, Paul & Fred, Barney, and Big Jimbo Myers. Later in the evening, we were joined by Lance and his visiting entourage.

And here we will leave off the narrative until later when I can address the silliness of Lance, Gay Greg, Terry, and Nigel; the arrival of Ruby, the descent at the Cinch, fire handling, beach traipsing, and final farewells.

And as long as I'm mentioning Lance here, on Thursday evening on the way home from work, Lance was in an automobile accident and totalled his Crossfire. Thankfully, Lance suffered only minor scrapes and bruises. That speaks a lot to the safety features of his little roadster.

Pics later.

Update!

Army Street Day

Okay, I've been getting some e-mails. Yes, I know that is Cesar Romero pictured below, and not Cesar Chavez. The link for Cesar Chavez takes you to his Wikipedia entry, complete with biography accurate photo.

This is a joke people. And a reference to The Simpsons. I know who both Cesar Chavez and Cesar Romero are. I am a Californian and a film archivist. Bios on both Cesars are on the tip of my brain.

Who thought that the guy in the blue sequined jacket (that would be me) would come across as too subtle?

See, there is also a link under the ironic caption asking if you are "confused?" That link takes you to the Wikipedia entry for the episode of The Simpsons in which Homer is aided by the spirit of Cesar Chavez. When Homer asks "Why do you look like Cesar Romero?", the spirit answers angrily, "Because you do not know what Cesar Chavez looks like!!"



Homer Simpson



And for those of you not in San Francisco, Army Street was renamed several years back to become Cesar Chavez. The street signs were changed to read "Cesar Chavez (Army Street)."