Silly rabbit, lyme disease is for kids.

The new TRIX "tick remover system." (Via Kevin Kelly's Cool Tools.)

Those Swedes know their ticks better than a guy with Tourette's.

This is actually pretty ingenious and very, well, handy for someone who hikes or has outdoor pets.

This would have been a lot easier than the tweezers and kerosene my parents had to use on my privates to remove 98 baby-ticks after I stepped in a nest on a hike with my dad. I was six. Very scary. I hate ticks more than that chair.

Beatboxing the 'Street

Okay, maybe I am just slow to the urban/street music scene, but I have never heard of beatboxing as a term.

However, this guy (Greg Pattillo) seems really talented beatboxing on the flute. Shout out to Rick415 in NYC: you've got to find this guy on the streets.

(The Sesame Streets?)



See also: Inspector Gadget.

Nightmare on Sesame Street?

When I was very young, under four or five years old, I had a recurring nightmare that a chair in the den would strangle me with one of its legs. I couldn't breathe or call for help. One of the scariest aspects of the dream was that I could barely whisper, and so could not get the attention of my mother, just in the next room, to come and rescue me. The suffocation was very, very real.

We moved to a new house when I was four and took the chair with us. It is still in my parents house, and I still hate that chair.

I had other recurring drowning/suffocating dreams growing up, which I can now attribute to my terrible sleep apnea. While sleeping I was in fact suffocating, and incorporated that experience into the dreams.

But for all of my odd recurring dreams, or dreams with recurring themes, I never had a Sesame Street nightmare that I can recall.

Last week BoingBoing posted an oddity about S.A.M. the Sesame Street robot from the 1970s. This sparked a great deal of reader comment regarding the early Sesame Street content that terrorized and traumatized a generation of kids.

I vaguely remember the Carmen-singing orange, and the Ernie mummy, but neither freaked me out much. I do remember being a little disturbed when muppets would remove too much of their faces. Playing with Bert's nose was one thing, but completely removing the mouth and nose (and eyes) rather bothered me, but probably because of my experience of/fear of asphyxiation.

Particularly noted in this BoingBoing Sesame Street Fears roundup are the "yip yip" aliens. I never thought those guys were scary. I freaking loved those guys. In pre-first grade, Chet Frist and I would "yep yep yep"/"nope nope nope" all the time and think it was hilarious. I still pester him from time to time with a Sesame Street aliens YouTube clip.

Briiiing!

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

By the way, happy Friday the 13th.

Any weirdness going on out there?

Other than elephants in traffic I mean.

Triskaidekaphobia

footprints now ALL OVER the butter

Elephants loose in York (Canada) traffic.

Hilarious, but no joke.

Hear the police dispatch recording here.

"Can I get a twenty on the elephants?"


Related: Can you believe that Wikipedia has an entire entry on Elephant Jokes?

Oh for goodness sakes.

No, seriously.

Xanadu on Broadway got a pretty rave review in the New York Times.

The male lead is being played by Cheyenne Jackson as last-minute and temporary substitute for James Carpinelloas he was, and I assume they are not making this up, "injured in a skating accident and will return to the role when he heals."

Yes, Xanadu is painful to many, and to some it seems quite physically.

With apologies to Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Isherwood praises the stage play, and bemoans the original with the line: "In Xanadu did Newton-John a blooming film career destroy."

I may have to make a special trip to NYC for some XXX theater. Xanadu is currently breaking box office records for its theater.

I wonder if they'll make a porn version (they always seem to)-- XXXandadu.

Overheard at work - 26

WH: I shouldn't go out tonight and drink more money. I just got my Visa bill and I can't believe how much I spent last month, what with the new tech, car insurance, and all that stuff.

SP: At least you're not in the red.

WH: That's because I've been selling my blood.

SP: As what? Lighter fluid?




I can feel the love.


It's kind of tingly.

peppered rose

Seen at the Dolores Park Café: arrangements of chili peppers and roses.

Is this where we get "hot pink"?

It's Thursday

And that means it's 80's night at the Cat.

And Alert Reader Paul Day and Shilpa are losing their shit for it. Amy Day (no relation) is bringing her sister (relation), so it will be Shilpa and four Days. She is not sure she can handle that.

I however want to two-step and go to bed at reasonable time to be responsible for my early-morning meetings tomorrow. Shilpa complained that I am consider my 10:00 A.M. meeting as "early." But I am NOT a morning person. I need to GSD and caffeinate beforehand. But still, I may be convinced to she-bop after boot-scootin'.

Paul Day is working downtown this evening .
Shilpa plans to shop downtown and offered to meet up to share a cab.
Paul thought that was a good idea.

If you know Paul and Shilpa, you know that I am paraphrasing. Big time.

The e-mail chain is as follows:

PD: [Subj: Is your hair teased yet?]

I am so like super excited about tonight.. Like yeah!

SP: [Subj: My leg warmers are ready to go. What a feelin'!]

You are like, so TOTALLY my #1 boyfriend, like ohmigawd!

Gag me with a spoon already.

It is indeed the big night. I feel like it's prom or something.

Since the Bar was too full of crazies, and I got to the Cat too late last time, I feel like this is the big 80s make-up. I'm going to be there as early as I can. I'm going to be in downtown shopping so I can meet you and we can cab together if you want -- to save on dinero...lemme know your thoughts.

PD: [Subj: RE Legwarmers...]

OMG! That like totally works for me! Like where are you going shoppin'? I hear the Chess King is having this totally tubular sale today. Half off all rayon!!

Yes, gentle readers, these... these are my people.

can I touch your wombat?

PAD (again, not PeeDee/Alert Reader Paul Day) was giving a deposition the other day. Now PAD is an English-speaking non-American who does not have cable or watch much tv. And clearly has not watched the fourteen bajillion hours of Law & Order that the rest of us (i.e. me) has.

He came back from his third day of being deposed and reported with titillation, "I heard something new! During the questioning they were getting all in my face about something and my lawyer objected with 'witness badgering'. I've been badgered! That's fantastic!"

As far as PAD knew, a badger was just some form of woodland rodent. To him the expression sounded rather salacious. Perhaps if a woman has a "beaver" then men must have some sort of "badger." He wondered if perhaps "badger" was some form of slang verb. Could one badger a beaver? If straight men are all about a woman's beaver, are gay guys into other guys badgers? If hot slim guys with chest fur are otters, what are gay badgers?

Dunno.

But stay the hell away from my wombat.

And don't get so wombattive.

Or does "wombat" sound more like looking for a misplaced uterus?... "Where your womb-at?"

the Care Bears are next.

You should know by now that I am all about the "unique sentence." There are only so many ways one can rearrange the words in the English language, so you should appreciate it when someone expresses a string you've never heard before. (I credit Jonathan Harwell for this appreciation.)

Considering this, it should come as no surprise that this sentence caught my eye:

A Gummie Bear in Potassium Chlorate.

WTF?

Watch:


From Miss Cellania's Day of Chemistry

Marge!...Beer me.

As long as we're on Lego's, here's a ditty via Miss Cellania:

I want Charles in charge of me!

And by "I," I mean "Shilpa."

She loves Charles in Charge. And I must confess that I enabled her purchase of the DVD box set of the series during Tower's going-out-of-business sale.

I fear the only reason she did not apply for this reality show is that she never heard of it.

And yes, Shilpa, I know you are reading this right now.

Brace yourself for VH1's:

Scott Baio is 45...and Single

Tag line: Hollywood hunk Scott Baio is at a crossroads: Should he keep hooking up or is it time to settle down?

Would we still (ever) call him a "hunk"? "Teen heartthrob," maybe. And judging by the online photos, time has made Baio his bitch. Although a Google image search does reveal some pretty sexy skin back in the day.

Scary Synopsis:

Over the past 25 years, Scott Baio has lived a life that all red-blooded American males' would sell their big screen TV, car and soul for, boasting a jaw-dropping roster of erotic ex's that would even make Warren Beatty blush. This extensive line-up of Hollywood honeys include: Heather Locklear, Pam Anderson, Denise Richards and Nicolette Sheridan.

But now, staring down the barrel of middle age, Scott has come to the end of his philandering rope. At 45, he finds himself at a mid-life crisis of mythic proportions, wondering why he's still single, alone and still unable to settle down and commit to a substantial, meaningful relationship.

With nowhere else to turn, Scott has decided to fully surrender the next eight weeks of his life to a highly-regarded life-coach. This person will guide him on a grueling, soul-searching mission; forcing him to confront a laundry list of old flames in order to hopefully get to the heart of his lonely heart condition.

Each episode, he will have to confront another chapter from his semi-sordid past, by actually reconnecting with some of his most substantial and combustible flames in order to get the bottom of his bad-boy behavior.

With the help of his long-time pals, Scott will be able to successfully sift through the wreckage of his past, and endure an assortment of life-altering activities, (including abstinence), in order to finally earn the chance at actually maintaining a meaningful, stable, healthy relationship.

house hunting

with an elephant gun.

In a fit of sinfully indulgent consumerism, I spent a few, long moments fantasizing about living in this house (and being able to afford its upkeep).

From teh BBC: "The former home of US newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst has 29 bedrooms, three swimming pools, tennis courts, its own cinema and a nightclub."

Too bad it is listing for $165 million.

Seriously? $165 million?

Lordy, imagine if it were in San Francisco...

Legoland/scapes

So very, very cool. (Actually, it might just say more about me that I think this is so very, very cool.)

Flickr member artist Udronotto has posted a photoset of some of his artwork: photographic recreations of classic paintings and photographs, entirely out of Legos.

My favorite is the redux of Edward Hopper's Nighthawks.



But I also like the images from The Graduate and The Last Supper.




If you find an image unfamiliar, scroll down through the comments. Many files feature comments which post the original work for reference.

Will never do

Clearly, I'm back with the blogging.

And feel like I should take a moment to share the love:


(and the pretty.)

FriDance Review

The Friday night Sundance Saloon was a big hit. It was really well attended, the music was good, and each of the dance rooms/halls were full. Lessons in one room, line dancing in another, open dancing in the main room, and even a good crowd for the retro-disco in the Green Room.

On Sunday evenings I have a hard time getting there before 8:30 (it runs 5:30 to 10:30), especially when it is sunny out. Friday's may work better as it is more of an after work (rather than after Play) thing, and doesn't start until 7:30.

There is a downside though-- I joined some mates for the Badlands 2-for-1 happy hour right after work, then had dinner with James before arriving at Sundance actually on-time (a first for me, I know). And with so many friendly and handsome faces there, and such good music, I rarely sat a dance out. (Faces included a surprise appearance by "Treat Williams," whose number I have been carrying around in my pocket for weeks but I did not know had finally moved from LA to SF. And appearances by Shilpa--who was the one who dubbed EM "Treat Williams"--and Amy Day.)

The night was scheduled to run until 1:00 "or later" depending on the crowd. By the time 1:00 came, there were only a dozen or so of us left and we were happy they were closing. My legs had had it. I actually went home and sat in a hot tub. I woke up in the night with my (previously torn) hamstring screaming in pain. I was wiped out the next day and stayed in with a movie Saturday night.

No wonder.

I danced for five hours straight, and in heels boots no less.

it does take a genius

and even then it still might not work.

I took my laptop and my external backup hard drive to Apple's Genius Bar on Saturday to deal with my iPhoto problem. At first, I was just really pissed/panicked that it refused to recognize any 2007 photos. Usually integration is a good thing, but because all of Apple's iLife is integrated, I could not sync my iPod, launch iTunes at home (forcing an AppleTV sync) or update my home page because all of those things inter-relate and I might have lost all my photos completely. As it was, I had the image files still, but the database and libraries which bridge the apps to the files was corrupted.

And their handy "just hold down these keys to rebuild the database" fix did nothing to address the problem.

Add to that problem, Apple's Backup software would not restore the damaged files.

The Apple Genius could not fix the iPhoto problem, nor could he successfully "restore" from the backup. Someone there had a hack to look into the backup directories and pull some of the information out. An hour later, I had all of my photos and albums restored up to the date of the last backup. I tend to backup about once a month, and luckily had just done so a week prior. My backup schedule will be much more frequent from now on.

Not that I feel I can really rag on Apple. This is my second Apple laptop in eight years and the first real problem I've ever had.

With iPhoto restored, I'll start taking pics again, and will resume with the candid entertainments here on IJS.

While SF and the West were experiencing a heat wave all week, Saturday was cold and foggy and wet--miserable conditions for Tony's/Gladys' barbecue cookout. But all things considered, grilled meat with the Sisters and their boys made for a fun afternoon.

We stopped by Moby's on the way home and had a drink with Alert Reader and Shilpa's Boyfriend Paul Day. While we were there Paul noticed Scott Capurro, one of the world's most annoying "comedians" (right above Carrot Top for "Person You'd Least Like to be Trapped With in an Elevator"). Capurro spends most of his SF shilling time on Alice (top 40 radio station) and their morning crew. I had stop listening to their morning show years ago because the DJ's, who J no D's, are so loud and opinionated while at the same time being completely ignorant of their topic, and just grating. (I switched to NPR, but then all of my morning dreams were about Gaza as I slept through the alarm.) My biggest frustration with Alice is that they would frequently feature this comedian, who was never really funny but just vulgar and cruel. His schtick is basically that he is vulgar and gay and isn't that funny? (answer: no.) And Sarah and Vinnie/NoName had their tongues so firmly up his ass it was sycophantic. Grating.

On Thursday morning Capurro was a guest of Fernando and Greg, and was shilling for his appearance at some comedy club-- and clearly bombing on this morning show. With Fernando and Greg, suddenly Capurro was the least funny fag in the room. There is a difference between bitchy, which can be funny (see Joan Rivers; Will & Grace, Jack) and just being a bitch.

And that difference is "clever." There is no wit to Capurro's humor, just bitchness, without a center "i."

His level of arrogance also gets old fast. He keeps claiming that "I'm huge in England." If he's big in England then England must have a tiny hole.

During his Thursday morning appearance, Capurro spent most of his time annoying his hosts, or insulting and denigrating (again without wit or respect) another comedian appearing in town this week. However, this other comedian, Ant, is not only a friend of the hosts, but enormously successful as a stand-up and television performer (Last Comic Standing, Logo), writer, producer, etc. It just got really old really quickly to hear one hackneyed old queen bitch about and act superior to another gay performer, who is clearly out of his league.

Ant also appeared on Fernando and Greg's show the next morning, was hilarious, and totally took the high road vis-a-vis Capurro's insults.

So I am hanging out at Moby's Saturday night with Shilpa, Paul Day, and some of PeeDee's people when Paul recognizes Capurro standing alone near the bathroom/stairs. He was totally alone, and looked rather pathetic. And no one would talk to him. For such an arrogant, self-proclaimed celebrity, he was noticeably without attention. No friends, no companions, and no one would talk to him. He appeared to pose for a while, as if to say "won't someone recognize me?!" Then he played with his phone for bit, then lurked in a corner of the bar and read the free newspapers before ultimately leaving dejected.

Considering the level of crap he heaped on Fernando and Greg's show, and on Ant, I wanted to call the station and give a "loser sighting." Or at least go up to him and say, "Hey, are you Scott Capurro?!.... Can you get us tickets to Ant?"


Update: Capurro called into the show this morning to bitch about his bombing as host of an HRC dinner (which Fernando and Gred are hosting this week) and to plug an appearance in San Jose. Fernando and Greg were only thinly polite and clearly just over it. I called in and spoke to the producer and added my voice to the list of "please no more Scott Capurro" callers. Apparently, they have received tons of calls and e-mails clamoring for his absence.

And then he put me on the air with Fernando and Greg and my "loser sighting" story. Fun.

FriDance Saloon

Last year, Sundance Saloon became so popular they added a Thursday night of country/western dancing. The second night of dancing has become so successful, Sundance Saloon has expanded to Friday nights as well.

At this point, someone should just open a proper country bar South of Market or in the Castro.

Tonight marks the first Friday night of C/W dancing in the City in a long, long while.

And yeah I'm going.
......................................................................................................................................

SUNDANCE SALOON FRIDAY GRAND OPENING JULY 6

Sundance Saloon enters a new era as we open Friday nights beginning July 6.

Friday hours will be 7:30pm - 1:00am (or till the cows come home). Admission $8. There will be three rooms of lessons from 8:00 to 9:00pm: beginning two-step in the Main Room, line dances in the Green Room, and intermediate west coast swing in the Red Room.

Here’s the schedule:

• Open Country-Western Dancing in the Main Room … 9:00pm - 1:00am
• Line Dance Hour in the Green Room … 9:00 - 10:00pm
• Retro Disco Party in the Green Room … 10:00pm - closing
• Country Karaoke in the Red Room … 9:00pm - closing

Sundays and Thursdays will continue with the same format you’re familiar with. We expect Sundays to remain popular as a great way to end the weekend. And Thursdays will still serve as an important opportunity to dance in a less intense and more intimate setting, and to take advantage of the weekly intermediate lessons.


(Click schedule to embiggen.)

Freaking me out

WTF?
And this is just insane.

Talking 'bout a heat wave.

The Bay Area and most of the west is getting pounded with a heat wave. It's like 110-115 degrees in some places in the East Bay.

At my desk, it's like 50. Maybe 40. It's fog cold. And I can't even see the park any more. And it's across the street.

The forecast was for Africa-hot, so I wore a short-sleeved linen shirt to work. The fog rolled back in and I am freezing. But compared to some places, I really, really should not complain.

I'm alive...

...and the world shines for me today.

Finally, Xanadu done right. You may remember Xanadu from such posts as this and this and this, and even this.



From recent reviews comments, the Broadway (yes, I said Broadway version of Xanadu is bound for greatness: great songs, acting, and of course, skating.

I think the best part about the Xanadu stage musical is that it knows its silly and not at all "mythical" like tone of the movie. This is pure fun for fun's same. Take a look at their tag line again:



And their own description: "children's theater for 40-year-old gay men."

Right. On.

I am Xo going to Xanadu.

Codependence Day

Well, the flickr export worked before my iPhoto went all cablooey, so at least I still have the photos from July 4th at Lance's faboo new digs. I didn't take that many photos, and unfortunately none of them really showcase the swankiness of Lance's new house and deck and all of that.

They do, however, showcase some seriously hot lesbians. Charming, interesting, funny, and crazy with the beautiful. Shout out and love to my new girlfriend Toni and her luscious precious Jennifer--the (butter) fly to GayGreg's fruit.



Other pics:




Toni and Jennifer


George and David


Toni: not afraid to spread 'em.


Wilson wants to groove.

And finally, "action" shots of GayGreg and Lance:

I think I'll just have the salad.

Pugs? Sure, a cup or a bowl?


I kind of wish one were in the ladle.

iPhoto breakdown

Importing images this afternoon iPhoto crashed and now no longer recognizes any photos from 2007. That is almost a thousand photos lost. The albums are still there, but no photos. Rebuilding the database has proven useless. The files remain in the proper directory, so I have not lost the originals.

However I have lost every color correction, crop, red-eye correction, album information, and most importantly all captions, tags, descriptions, and metadata.

That is a LOT of work to restore for over a thousand files.

Good news: I recently made a backup of my entire hard drive.
Bad news: Apple's Backup sotware won't let me restore the database.

I have a date with a "Genius" in the Stonestown mall this Saturday. The SF store has been overwhelmed with the iPhone launch and won't take any new customers at its Genius Bar.

Posts featuring or requiring photos by me are suspended until further notice.

Which sucks.

it has come to this

The United States really no longer has any sort of respected international reputation.

Exhibit A--headline from The Times:

US restores pride with hot-dog victory

Why yes, I am that tasty.

This morning Rich shared some of the photos from his time in SF- sadly via Snapfish and not Flickr. (We can't all be Flickr whores I guess.)

This is my favorite by far:


And it reminds me I still haven't posted my Pride week wackiness. Stay tuned.

Captain Nelson

And had it been Major Nelson, it would have been I Dream of Jeannie jokes all night.

Carrington Nelson (now Fox) has been my best friend since we were about six years old. I don't see her much, she being a full-time writer and mother of three (under four) and living in Nashville and all. But still, we're close.

And y'all may remember her fabulous mother Sandy from last year's Steeplechase stories.

Prentiss, her little brother junior by seven years, has been an active-duty Marine serving in Iraq (and in some of the nastiest parts) . After several tours over there is now stationed in the equally sunny but considerably less dangerous San Diego. He called me this week to let me know he would be coming up to SF with some buddies and asked me out for a drink.

Upon hearing this, all the gay guys and the straight women got far too excited that I had a carload of marines headed this way. I was excited to host him but was also anxious about where to entertain a bunch of straight marines. A nice dinner and cool clubs? Cheesy clubs? Strip clubs? What straight clubs are cool any more? I haven't been straight bar crawling since James and mine days in the Mission way back when.

But still, I called James as my best buddy and Go-To Straight Man. I thought they would have the tourist thing covered, so I planned something more local-interest and off-the-guidebooks. I picked a local restaurant known for being amazing and having a good neighborhood vibe—Eric's in Noe Valley (one of my personaly favorite places), and then I thought we would do a Polk Street bar crawl, starting at the always fun Lush Lounge.

It turns out he drove up here not with military buddies, but his girlfriend, who is quite lovely, thoroughly engaging, and all together charming.


So it was just the four of us for dinner (James, Prentiss, Jennifer, and me) followed by vodkas at the Lush. Shilpa, Barney, and Kevin were going to join us for the crawl, but Barney and Kev ultimately couldn't make it, and Amy Day and Helen heard about it from Shilpa and joined us all at the Lush.



So my demographic skewed from my original vision of crazy fun single boys and The Shilpa—we were now 2 straight guys (one taken), four straight girls (one taken with the straight boy), and one 'mo.

James tells an exciting story.

Polk Street on a Monday turned out to be seedier than expected and I am now thinking I should have taken them someplace more picturesque. We crossed to the Hemlock after the Lush, but it was way too loud for my tastes, with crappy metal music no less, and weird 80's skatepunk videos projected on the wall. (To understand why this was unexpected: all of my other nights at the Hemlock have been rockabilly-themed.)

James had been going strong for several days and was coming down from a weekend of partying and camping up in Napa, so we dropped him off to bed before the next stop. All the girls were crying for the Badlands, and Jennifer was keen to take her boyfriend to his first gay bar.

And I could use some better music by far.

The Badlands Monday crowd was kinda lame (and a little creepy) and the musical theme of the night trended deeply to bad rap and hip hop, but we still had a great time (Other than the giant creepy tweaked out guy who would not leave Prentiss alone. I had to block all night. The guy would run his finger along someone, and then strike a pose with his finger pointing to the end of his mouth, as if striking some sort of cutesy 1950's little girl pose. The effect, however, was much more "look at my cold sore!")

Prentiss was a great sport, and seemed to really enjoy himself. Jennifer had a blast, and was excited to buy us all cocksucker shots (there was a sign advertising a special). And all the girls loved Dan the new bartender.


I would say everyone had a good time. We closed the place down.

Badlands.

On a Monday.

We have no shame.



Photos up at flickr.

at least it wasn't in the woods

Barney and I joined Lance and GayGreg for dinner and cocktails in Lance's new home on Sunday.

GayGreg left the apple pie resting in the window...


and Barney promptly admonished him of the old adage that one should not leave apple pies in the window to cool as it attracts bears.


How true.


(Note: No, I do not yet fully self-identify as a "bear.")

wide open letter

The silly queen over at sturtle.com has an open letter to the Harrah's New Orleans regarding their new fumbling attempt to lure gay and lesbian patrons.

It's hilarious.

(Okay, maybe it's not all that funny, but it's a good funny nonetheless.)

please, think of the children

One of my co-workers informed me today that two of her college friends have recently gotten married and are soon to have a little girl. They are likely to hyphenate the last name.

Which is unfortunate because the name will be, and I am not making this up, Shaver-Rump.

I just hope they don't name her Amanda.

not even close

To promote the new Simpsons movie, some 7-Elevens have been transformed into Kwik-E-Marts.

Going to the company Web site to find a location near you, it lists San Francisco under the locations, but the nearest one is in the South Bay tech/podunk town of Mountain View, none in San Francisco.

Let me make this clear: Mountain View is not San Francisco. It's not even close. It's not even on the peninsula.

This is the same sort of lame act the bridge-and-tunnel/South Bay set pull when they are trying to appear cool.

"Where are you from?"
"San Francisco."
"What neighborhood?"
"Oh, Hayward."

Loosely translated, that means you don't really live in San Francisco, but more likely in a trailer, and are posing.

And it's rather disturbing to see this level of insecurity and desperation for hipness-by-proxy displayed by a corporate entity.

workplace joke

just to amuse you:
-------------------------------
The Boss had to fire someone. He had narrowed it down to one of two people, Debra or Jack. It was an impossible decision, they were both super workers. Rather than flip a coin, he decided he would fire the first one who used the water cooler the next morning. Debra came in the next morning with a horrible hangover after partying all night. She went to the cooler to take an aspirin.

The Boss approached her and said: "Debra, I've never done this before but I have to lay you or Jack off."

"Could you jack off?" she says. "I feel like crap."

In case you're wondering

Why, even though I went to library school, I do not work in a library.

iStalk

iPhone ad from The Soup:

for those of you not in the market

Okay, Madame's "appearance" on the radio with Fernando and Greg yesterday was hilarious. But if you don't know who they are, you might not get it. Energy 92.7 has the only morning show with two gay guys: Fernando, who is a mixing DJ, and Greg, who is "The Gay Sportscaster." Their show is pretty funny, and they are often more ribald than I think is allowable on free airwaves.

So adding the very dirty, saucy, bitchy Madame to this mix was just explosive.

For the friends and fans unfortunate enough not to live in San Francisco, here is a profile on Fernando and Greg from one of those PBS sort of Out/Documentary/In the Life sort of shows. But, you know, interesting.

This feathered lady is no dummy.

Madame is back and she's still a hoot and a holler. Madame and Joe Kovacs were on 92.7 with Fernando and Greg yesterday and she was hilarious. Kevin and I were so excited to see the performance at the Plush Room. Kevin's grandparents used to go to Madame shows in SF and Reno all the time.

We got to the neighborhood early enough to secure parking, then walked down to one of our favorite after-theater spots for some before-theater drink and food (clearly, in that order).

It was a beautiful evening.


Welcomed by the ever-lovely and ever-charming Leti Saucedo at brick, we took a perfect perch in the window and regaled each other of our recent escapades (I had Pride and other stories, Kevin had some work material, and Kelly had just returned from two weeks in Europe).

One of the things we love about the Polk/Nob Hill in-between area are the locals. Some, like us, were metro and stylish. Then there are also the trannies and hookers. Love 'em all.

This Miss Thing strutted by our window. After some discussion, I decided I should try to grab a snapshot for the blog.


The discussion was: Tranny? Hooker? or Tranny-hooker?

After a very tasty dinner, it was showtime.



I will say that Joe Kovacs is Madame and she's hilarious. The opening minutes were almost verbatim Madame shtick from the 70s/early 80s, so I was a little worried. But it soon became clear that this repetition of material was to honor the lost Wayland Flowers, and to assure the audience that this is still the one and only Madame. The only thing that has changed is the man with a hand up her dress.


And honestly, for a woman as fabulous as Madame, you can't expect her to stay with the same man all her life.

There were a couple of slow spots in the show, but I really think it was just that the crowd was difficult to warm up, and the crowd should have had a few more drinks in them. Madame's is a silly fast-pasted wit and she needs the room to run along with her.

As much as I love Madame, I totally swooned for Joe Kovacs. Talented and wicked handsome (and yes, I did my "lawn dart" impersonation after the show).


I could see myself dating him. Kevin hoped I ended up with him so I could tighten up his act. (And after my recent experience in Nashville, I know that I am actually quite good at comedy writing, and skilled at taking other people's work and crafting it into a successful bit.)

I wonder if Joe is as saucy as Madame.


Hanging out with them in the bar afterwards, I realized I did not know the etiquette for such intimate "three" way conversation. I kept looking Madame in the eye while talking to her, which I then realized was sort of crazy. But is it disrespectful to the artist not to, when that is the personality you are engaging?

more iPerbole

The Cult of Mac blogger passed the downtown Apple store on his way to Caltrain this morning. He writes:

Though San Francisco’s Union Square Apple Store didn’t develop an iPhone waiters line until yesterday evening, the line has grown to quite the monstrosity as of this morning, running from the store’s front door for a good block and then rounding the corner. There are tents, a bizarre pie-throwing booth, and the people look restless.

clearly working for the wrong company

In college and after, I always wanted to work for Apple. After commuting past the campus on my way to classes (during grad school), I decided no matter how cool the job was, the commute would kill me. And I am unwilling to relocate to living in Cupertino or San Jose.

However, with this news, I am not so confident in my choices:

All full time U.S. employees receive a free iPhone. All part time U.S. employees who've been at the company for more than a year get a free phone. Everyone gets the 8GB model, and presumably this includes Apple retail store employees, too. This is for US employees only at this time.

Coming Attractions in the Plush Room

Kevin: "Ooh. Joan Rivers! I think Joan Rivers in this room would be awesome."

Wilson: "I think Joan Rivers in this room would be Donna Sachet."

But would she fork him?

Overheard at the bar last night:

"She is the type of girl who spoons with the drummer from Green Day."

What? No Ms. Condom?

in the news today:

India looking for Mr. Condom

Thailand had their own "Condom King" and now India wants one.

The search for Mister Condom continues. Question: Will the female counterpart be the Rubber Maid?

since I'm in a "bitchy" mood

DMV/DUI-- Laul Lynde quizzes Dean Martin to renew his driver's license.
How wonderfully bitchy. How did this pass for sub-text in its day?

Madame and We

Kevin got us tickets to Madame tonight!

I am so looking forward to it. She was on the 92.7 morning show this A.M. and was high-larious.

See earlier.

Madame and Me: A Come Back from a Broad.



From the old Madame in Manhattan:

good brown gravy

So what are you if you are Latino/Latina and love country music?

In good company.

And the word for it, apparently, is Latonky.

And you have your own Web site: Latonky.com.



Note: "Good Brown Gravy" is a great country song written by Verlon Thompson.

Mac and PC, meet Internet and Library

Unshelved has been doing its own riff on the Mac & PC ads.

e-mail from my mother

Relax. It's not what you'd expect.

HOW MANY SEC STUDENTS DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB?

At VANDERBILT: it takes two, one to change the bulb and one more to explain how they did it every bit as good as the bulbs changed at Harvard.

At GEORGIA: it takes two, one to change the bulb and one to phone an engineer at Georgia Tech for instructions.

At FLORIDA: it takes four, one to screw in the bulb and three to figure out how to get stoned off the old one.

At ALABAMA: it takes five, one to change it, three to reminisce about how The Bear would have done it, and one to throw the old bulb at an NCAA investigator.

At OLE MISS: it takes six, one to change it, two to mix the drinks and three to find the perfect J. Crew outfit to wear for the occasion.

At LSU: it takes seven, and each one gets credit for five semester hours.

At KENTUCKY: it takes eight, one to screw it in and seven to discuss how much brighter it seems to shine during basketball season.

At TENNESSEE: it takes ten, two to figure out how to screw it in, two to buy an orange lampshade, and six to phone a radio call-in show and talk about how much they hate Alabama.

At MISSISSIPPI STATE: it takes fifteen, one to screw in the bulb, two to buy the Skoal, and twelve to yell, "GO TO HELL, OLE MISS".

At AUBURN: it takes one hundred, one to change it, forty-nine to talk about how they did it better than at Bama, and fifty to get drunk and roll to Loomer's Corner when finished.

At SOUTH CAROLINA: it takes 80,000, one to screw it in and 79,999 to discuss how this finally will be the year that they have a decent football team.

At ARKANSAS: None. There is no electricity in Arkansas.

e-mail from Marc-o

Marco, former denizen of Club Jackson (and seen here modeling a "fake fur" coat last weekend*), responded to one of my e-mails this morning.

He is interviewing for a new job and is being recruited all over the world. This morning he wrote that he was in Paris.

He describes it, in typical Marco fashion, as "very French."

He himself is Italian with dual-Canadian citizenship, so maybe there's some subtext I'm missing.




*By the way, Marco thinks he's fat these days. I want to slap him.

just because

Just for amusement, a Gonzo number.

And what's with Dennis Quaid at the intro?

bedtime for Gonzo

How did we miss this?

Gonzo Unleashed: Muppet star tells all

There is a specal Muppet history/exhibit/presenations/events at the Yearba Buena this week. It's almost over and we've already missed the good bits. Although considering my schedule last week, i wouldn't have been able to go anyway.

Sigh. So much happens in SF on a daily basis it's hard to keep up.


Muppets, Music & Magic
Jun 21–24, Jun 28, Jun 30 & Jul 1
$8 regular, $6 seniors, students, youth & teachers
$6 YBCA Members

We pay tribute to one of the world’s most inspired and innovative film and puppetry artists, Jim Henson. A visionary TV producer and a worldclass puppeteer who created indelible characters like Kermit the Frog, Henson brought a unique combination of childlike wonder and adult sophistication to his groundbreaking work for children and adults alike. The daytime screenings feature films for younger audiences, while evening programs focus on Henson’s experimental work, rarities, and films for older kids and all the adults who never grew up. This two-weekend series will explore all facets of this true American genius.

(I am disturbed that the puppeteer of Gonzo looks so much like Donald Rumsfeld.)

why are you so testes?

I just came from my HIV test (I didn't study for it either.). I called my brother afterwards because it turned out to be such a humorous experience, and everyone became such complete and total smart asses—which is why it reminded me of my brother Mac. (And we will always assert that being a smart ass is better than being a dumb ass.)

My family doesn't get the whole "regular testing" thing. For them it's a freak out thing— something you do because there is a reason, and therefore something to fret about. For me and most of my kindred, it's like changing the batteries in the smoke detector. It's just something a responsible adult does every six-months (or, if you are half-responsible, every year). I don't worry about it, it's just something on my list to do around the same time I get my teeth cleaned (making it about every six months and that serves as a good reminder). XYZ gets his done when the clocks change.

Anyway, I had a sore throat recently and went to the doctor. My primary care doc couldn't see me, so I saw another. He asked "Do you have sex with men or women?" (Men.) "When was the last time you had sex?" (Uh...) He mistook for awkwardness what was just flat out unable to remember. Which reminded me of two things: (1) I have GOT to get a better love life; and (2) I just got my teeth cleaned and it's time for a test.

So I made an appointment at an anonymous/confidential center I have frequented before and went after work today.

I waited my turn, met with a counselor, and then he escorted me to the lab for the test. I usually write a check to this agency each year to support the community, and as such always opt for the least expensive test (least expensive for them). I was assured that they are all the same cost now. In the past they have always drawn blood from my arm and I have had to come back in a couple of days for the answers. This time they did a finger prick and the results were back in 20 minutes. As much as I hate having blood drawn, the finger prick is equally dreadful (that is to say, producing dread). But this was no lancet finger prick— they used some sort of plastic snap thingie that was unbelievably fast. The anticipation was considerably worse than the experience, which was as close to painless as one can get and still make one bleed. And there were no pipettes, just a teensy, tiny bit of blood collected by a tiny little loop at the end of a stick, using only surface tension to collect the sample.

So really, if anyone is reading this who has not had a test in a while, go. The process is streamlined and is as painless, physically and emotionally, as it really can be. E-mail me directly if you want to know information on the local, free, and confidential or anonymous services.

Clearly, that's not the funny part.

So, counseling and tests all over, Dave (the counselor) offered and encouraged their range of STD tests. Now I am pure as the driven snow (and by that I mean chains advised), but health tests are always a good idea so I said "sure."

He told me there were two tests: one is an oral swab and one is a rectal swab. He went on a bit before telling me that "oh no, you collect the rectal sample yourself." Well talk about burying the lead! WTF. That idea was much more stressful than the HIV test. But still.

David walked me back to the lab, where we exchanged witty banter with the phlebotomists and then he left me alone. She took an oral swab, which is not nearly as much fun as it might sound. Then she started instructing me as to the rectal swab. She called it by its trademarked name PharmCo Rapid Bunghole Test or some such. I said they should really just call it the PharmCo Eclipse.

"Because it sounds sexier, like a car?"

"No, because you stick it where the sun don't shine."

Yes, she's holding a stick I am expected to insert into my rear and I am doing shtick. Pun intended.

It just went downhill from there.

"It's the only STD test that actually does require a No. 2 pencil. You just have to shove it up your backside..."

The test kit consisted of a small vial with a screw-off cap with foil-seal top layer, and a cotton swap on a long wooden stick. The swab was still in its paper wrapper and she indicated to me how far it should be (ahem) inserted by placing her finger to a point along the shaft. My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I clearly registered alarm.

"Are you kidding me?" (I had the presence of mind, at least, not to ask if she were "shitting" me.)

She clued in. "No! NO! The cotton is on this end! Just an inch!"

"I was thinking, for fuck's SAKE!"

"Okay, there is some glycerin in the test tube and you can dip in it there first. I hear it makes it much more pleasant... I say as if I have not done this too. Now it's very important that you screw the cap on and off carefully. Do not break the foil."

"Oh, so I don't stick the stick into the vial through the foil like it's a juice box."

"No. This is not a Capri Sun."

"Honey, if I go in there and come out with a Capri Sun, I've got much bigger problems. And those require much more expensive tests."

Ultimately I went to the men's room to take my sample. (Yeah, I know, ew. Grow up for God's sakes. This is being an adult.) My primary complaint was that there was no place to hang my coat. Bigger ew.

I returned my tube to the lab. And I'll tell you it's an awkward feeling to walk into a room and talk to people who are fully aware that you've just walked out of another room where you were sticking something up your butt.

I'm just sayin'.

I entered the lab and she asked (somewhat obviously) "All done?"

"Yes, but I don't think it respects me anymore."

"Don't think it will call you?"

"Well, it told me it loved me but I don't think it really meant it... Sluttly little swab."

"Tramp."

"It was partly my fault I guess. I suppose if I didn't want it I wouldn't have dressed this way."

what is it with my friends' dates last night?

First it was the circus choreographer. And then this crazy trick. And I'm just talking about today.*

Last night, PAD (not Alert Reader Paul Day, despite the similarity of the acronym to his initials) called me from the train back from San Jose.

After midnight.

And he was hammered.

He was listening to Mika and was in danger of (1) dancing and (2) getting kicked off the train. Having been worn out post-Pride with a sore throat this week, I had curled up with my pillow and a DVD and gone to bed. I told him to call Shilpa (I am not pure evil, but I dabble). However, fairly altered and still new to the whole "cell phone" thing (Luddite), PAD kept calling me back, then dialing her number, as if he needed a dial tone. I eventually just turned my phone off.

PAD called me this afternoon and told me about the rest of his night. He detoured to the Cinch on the way home and picked someone up. They went back to his place, got naked, and started fooling around. At one point, PAD playfully (PAD claims "lightly") spanked the boy's rear end. (I qualify "lightly" as I have been on the fully-clothed business end of one of his smacks before and ouch.) According to PAD, the kid SHRIEKED then cried out, "No! That's how Daddy used to do it when he [molested] me!"

He then grabbed his clothes and fled down the stairs and into the night.

Wow.

Full sensitivity to his abuse. But wow.

Now that's an awkward date.

Then again, PAD went cruising at the Cinch. I mean, that's like shopping at the (more than one) day-old bread store. These are not the freshest baked goods.

(But may in fact be "baked," if you catch my drift.)

I am also a little creeped out as I have a vague recollection of a friend or acquaintance who hooked up with someone who could only get off if he replicated the conditions of his childhood molestations ("You have to do it like Daddy/Uncle Touchy used to do to me when I was little" sort of thing.). Which to me sounds really effed up. But I am not a mental health professional.

I'm just sayin'.

And really, my love life (or rather the lack thereof) seems so much more comforting. I'm totally grading on a curve.





*Okay, this is a pale and late-night recreation of what was a lengthy and pretty funny post. But $@#&^*!! Blogger freaking SUCKS when it comes to adding images, and DELETED the body of the post (and the saved version) when it added the image! I am so livid I could spit. Enjoy the recreation while I seethe.

iPerbole

The iPhone hype continues to rage out of control, as are stories about the hype. And waaaay too many stories on people offering their "wait for you in line" services for a fee.

But I am enjoying all the hubub. I am enjoying the energy of all this six-month, pent-up anticipation building to a total Applegasm.

Wheeeeee!



Update: Joe.My.God weighs in on "iPhonies:"

I passed by the midtown Apple Store yesterday where people were already lined up for Friday's iPhone release. Some of them have been there since Monday. I'm trying to think of anything in the entire world worth waiting for five days in 90 degree weather. Maybe a winning lottery ticket. Suddenly I'm hoping for torrential thunderstorms. Maybe some hail. I am a terrible person.

Overheard at work - 25

"It could be [somethingoranother diagnosis]. Alcohol is an irrantant."
"You're telling me. I know when you have alcohol it certainly is irritating."

unamerican activitives

The Patriot Act(s) continue to be anything but.

Librarians Describe Life Under An FBI Gag Order

three ringed

I love XYZ but haven't seen him in quite some time. He checked in last night asking if I was going to make it to Princess Kennedy's birthday party at Trannyshack. (That would be a no. I have been exhausted and under the weather post-Pride and curled up with my pillow and a DVD.)

XYZ also had a date planned with someone who has been a crush person of interest for a little while.

The guy? Not just a choreographer, but a circus choreographer. XYZ tends to date only the handsomest/most physically fit of the species. And for this to be found in someone atypical, let's say a circus performer, is itself, rather typical.

His is the Cirque de so Gay.

Circus Abs chose a cozy, romantic French restaurant for the encounter, but never ordered any food. Several wines and no solids later, XYZ was beyond hungry, but Circus Abs was food averse. It seems he already had a protein shake (we're quoting here: "because it has fewer sugars than Muscle Milk").

I have impressed upon XYZ the appreciation of the novel sentence. (There are only so many ways to arrange the words in the English language, and one should really pay attention for the sentences or sentiments you've never heard before.) XYZ now tries to remember these for me later.

Last night's bon mots: "well, I should tell you, I am really working on my silks right now and I need to focus on more protein, less fat."

Poor XYZ went home ravenous to an empty cupboard with only a nearby pizza place as possible nourishment. (Sort of the opposite of Circus Abs' diet.)

At least XYZ got some acrobatic and contortionist entertainment before he went home.

I'm imagining the video: The Three Cock Ring Circus.