russian around

Klaus is stateside for some science things in SoCal and Salt Lake City and arranged to fly in/out of SFO so he could see his old friends. I was thinking I hadn't seen him since RMJ and I dropped in on him and Jens in Copenhagen, but I forgot that Klaus did make an appearance last winter.

Special K arrived late Friday night, and while Shilpa and I arrange to be on hand on Polkestrasse to welcome him, he crashed and went straight to bed. But only after deciphering RMJ's code. RMJ received a could-not-refuse last minute invitation to dinner with fashion royalty, and knew he would likely miss Klaus' arrival on his doorstep. RMJ didn't just want to leave his Nob Hill flat unlocked with a note on the door. But how could he leave a note for Klaus that was obvious to him, but not an invitation or explanation to strangers of how to gain entrance and clean him out. I think RMJ came up with a fairly ingenious plan: he left the key under the mat, and left the note for Klaus in Danish (by way of a web-based translator).

We had bandied about ideas for entertaining Klaus while he was back, and one sentence clenched it. Saturday morning, RMJ and Klaus were having juice in the sunlight through the bay windows. Klaus said, "Wow. This is beautiful. I haven't seen the sun since July."

Since July.

Denmark has way long winters, and the summer sun was obscured early this year. (I never saw the sun during my stay in June.) This revelation put an end to RMJ's fantasy of relocating to Copenhagen.

It was sunny, clear, and warm. And for our sun-deprived friend, it was an easy decision: we packed the backs and were on the road to the Russian River by early afternoon.

It was a gorgeous drive and that was half the fun. We hadn't been able to reach the Triple-R all day and managed to get the last two rooms when we arrived. (My apnea/snoring has proven time and again I need to get my own room. Poor Klaus knows first hand.)

RMJ has been thinking of writing a story along the lines of six degrees three degrees, seeing how in our experience everyone knows everyone else, and six degrees is way to distant a separation.

Within thirty seconds of walking through the gate we had each seen two people we know. The rest of the weekend we just referred to them as half-degree connections.

We settled, ordered some roadies, and walked into "town." On the way up, we passed someone driving down the road in what can best be called a "contraption" which looked like a motorcycle in the front, but had the rear half of some sort of old Mazda for it's back end. Very odd. But then downtown, we encountered this:


"Twisted Toys" was painted on the front.


Not surprisingly, it was parked in front of a liquor store (see right). I say "a" liquor store and not "the" liquor store as in addition to the enormous Safeway across the street, there were three other liquor stores within a block. And there's not a whole lot of "town" downtown to begin with.

And what the hell is this for?


Is the lower horn some sort of opossum impaling device? Dunno. But creepy.

Another creepy bit "downtown," was the now, and who knows for how long, derelict public building. Well it looked public. Maybe it used to be a bank.

It was only slightly creepy, but what made me take note was the sign high up in a window. Oddly not at eye-level or at any sort of obvious location. It didn't just say "keep out,"

but added in magic marker it said: "or else!!!"

'k. Duly noted.

And then there's this.
Add your own caption. Or addiction. Whatever.

We enjoyed our walk and window shopping (shops had closed minutes earlier).

There were other "attractions" around town, and clearly, I am easily distracted.
New since my last visit, or perhaps I just never noticed, is the renovated foot bridge. From the bridge, we enjoyed a sipping the roadies, each other's company, and a California mountain sunset.

We also walked to the other end of "town" to check out the fate of the former Fife's, now Dawn's, resort. It's too bad the previous owner was such a petty, bitter man than he felt the need to salt the earth and poison the well when he was done with it. Or in the words of a local (when pressed for the local story), he "acted like a child who would rather break his toys than let anyone else play with them."

Dawn's was much more formal than I expected but I also couldn't recall being inside the main building when it was Fife's so I didn't have a basis for comparison. While very lovely in a dress-restaurant sort of way, it did strike me as a bit pretentious and stifling. But I understand that is the new target demographic. In the main room/bar area there was a marker board indicating the night's program was "Harmony Fusion." RMJ, Klaus and I stepped out onto the upper deck overlooking the pool and bungalows. The incoming parade of, shall we say, playfully ample and stern women, indicated to us that the gay bent of the former fife's wasn't gone, just inclined to the opposite gender. We being we (Klaus excluded), we engaged. I asked one woman, "Are you Harmony Fusion?"

"We are!"

"So you're a group?"

"We're a Sweet Adelines."

"I thought it might be just one person. The sign inside made it sound like it was the name of the lounge singer tonight: Harmony Fusion. Two shows on Sunday. I think that's going to be my new drag name: Hi, I'm Harmony. Harmony Fusion." (Harmony Fusion chapter site)

When I checked with the Triple R on Friday afternoon, there were only three rooms left. We were lucky they had exactly what we needed when we checked in, and we secured the last two rooms. After we settled and disco-napped, we met poolside under the glow of the "No Vacancy" sign.

Klaus had gone out this morning and generously brought along some Veuve Clicquot for his hosts, which we enjoyed poolside by candlelight before setting off for dinner.

Vacations for me tend to be either heavily planned, or not at all. And for spontaneous trips like this, I love the absence of schedule. And I like being with like minds. We happily decided to wander down Main Street and dine wherever our fancy found.

Our fancy found the Main Street Station, and I'm glad it did. It was past nine so we were fortunate to be seated anywhere, and especially lucky to find a table here. The service was sporadic, and the delivery of the meal was slow, but the quality of the service when we received it and the quality of the meal were excellent. The owner had gone through Atkins in the past and had altered the menu to include more low-carb options, including Michelob Ultra beer and cauliflower au gratin as an optional alternative to mashed potatoes and gravy. I had the pot roast, which was amazing. It had been slow cooked for over eight hours, and it melted in the mouth (clearly, I had a moment with my meal). Even though I had been exceptionally strict with the South Beach Phase I all week, I invoked the vacation rule (diets do not apply), and ordered the Ghiradelli Chocolate Brownie a la Mode for dessert.

It was worth every last carb.

Most unexpected and most delightful was the live swing band. "Out of the Blue" were amazing musicians and thoroughly entertaining. The restaurant tacks a $5 cover for each person at your table, and it was well worth it. They crafted unique versions of some well-worn songs, standard and eclectic selections.


Sitting with my good friends, on vacation, with a good meal and good music and I was happier than a pig in mud.



Afterwards, as we do, we chatted up the band. We were also the only people left in the restaurant so there was no one else to talk to. Klaus got his picture took with an upright bass (so did RMJ).

I commented later that at the restaurant "RMJ got to stoke the bass," which when said aloud poolside with a bunch of lascivious queers takes on an entirely different meeting.

Even thought we intended to rage Saturday night, the karaoke was pretty tragic, the Rainbow Cattle Club empty, and the Long Islands sufficiently strong that we were all out by 12:15.

We had brunch at Pat's diner in the morning. And ever with a local theme, we had Korbel mimosas (Korbel is made just down the road).


And we made it to Kings and Queens, the vintage store RMJ had wanted to see Saturday but it was closed. RMJ found passable black leather jacket that could be minimally amended to have a cutting edge SoMa leather look.

Then, of course, there was the fur cape.

And, you know, golden sequined shoes.


Upon closer inspection I noticed that it was not truly a fur cape, but a real fur stole that some queen had stitched to a large fake fur square with a creepy/crappy lining. Anyone stroking the upper half would think it was all genuine fur. Kinda clever, poorly executed, and entirely tacky. But you know how we are with capes.

Klaus and I left empty handed.

We returned to the Trippe R motel/"resort" to regroup. (RMJ insisted on referring to it as the R-R-R for two reasons: (1) he likes to sound like a pirate; and (2) we all got jollies from other people's expressions and immediate corrections.

We're like that.

The day was beautiful and everything was in bloom.

We decided that the day was hot enough and the sun was bright enough to spend the rest of the day happily soaking up rays poolside.

So very, very nice.

As I've said, Klaus hadn't seen the sun since July, and it was snowing in Nashville. Poolside suited me just fine. And we were endlessly amused by my old friend David McCulloch (not the author, and "old" can be true in both senses),


his randy and incredibly beefy bf Mike,


and the little hottentot prancing about being pretty and playing hard-to-get with Mike.

This clinched the half-degree notion of the Gay Bay Area: the last time any of us were up at the Russian River/Guerneville we were with each other back in 2005. We took a break from the Grove to spend an afternoon poolside at Fife's. RMJ is thin and furry. Klaus is hairless and cur like the viking he is. I am of ample size and only took some comfort in the bearish company. Some pretty little twink in the pool gave us some attitude. I did the last thing he expected, which was to dive in clothed and dunk him. RMJ loves that story, and had recalled it when we first arrived.

So, the last time we were all up here we were together, poolside, in 2005, and yet:


same twink by the pool. RMJ has kept up with Arthur over the years and he's back in the Bay area, although I never got it clear if he moved back from SoCal back to Guerneville or found a place to live in the City. But still--three years later and same pool boy. But he was pretty, and sweet sweet, or perhaps just pretty sweet.

RMJ can, and usually does, talk to anyone and everyone. There were the messy, messy gaysians from the City we met at dinner. The trying-to-look-ghetto white guy was wearing Fire Island wear which got RMJ's attention. The conversation pretty much came to a halt after he identified his Fire Island status as restaurant dishwasher. (Aside to me: "Honey, we don't talk to staff.") That, and they were drunken messes who clearly did not know how to behave properly in a venue that wasn't a drug-ridden gay ghetto disco.

While that conversation came to a fairly abrupt halt, another RMJ excursion blossomed into a new friendship. We all noticed Adauto for two reasons: (1) he's a sexy little Italian man and (2) he was wearing some of the sexiest leather shoes we'd ever seen and they looked less than two days old.

And yes, we are that gay.

Adauto had just returned from Argentina where he had the shoes made. A South America/Argentina/ BA lover, this topic was custom made for a RMJ introduction and conversation.

However, he could not own up to his own pedigree and "International Affairs" ( as I refer to his proclivities) as he had firmly established an alternate identity earlier and could not escape it.

RMJ was "Brock," a pizza-maker in the Outer Richmond. Klaus was "Lars" from Norway, in the states marketing winter sporting apparel. I was merely "Willo," and my job was the court-appointed consultant to Abercrombe &Fitch to make sure their wares are age-appropriate and their staff and marketing reflective of diversity. I cited several people as being far, far to old for their A&F wardrobe selections. Speaking purely as a professional I assure you.

I sucked at the Game of Alter Ego and would frequently slip when introducing or calling out to Brock and/or Lars.

Regardless, the boys men who had, ostensibly, come into Guerneville just to go to the Safeway but lounged with us by the pool all day became our new favorite people. It turns out that Richard works for the same outfit I do (not A&F but IRL) and we know some of the same people. Richard also has owned his place in Occidental for over 20 years and rarely uses it, and we gave him good excuses to open it up more often.

Brock, Richard (aka Marilyn) and Adauto

After the sunset it was time to go home. RMJ suggested we drop off their stuff at his place and then we go directly to Sundance Sallon. RMJ goes from time to time just to watch me in my element and always has a good time. He thought it would be a fun something new and very non-Denmark for Klaus.

On the ride home, I was looking forward to stopping at the antique Tasty Freeze, this one called Foster's Freeze, in some tiny, tiny town on 116. RMJ and Klaus got strawberry shakes and flirted with the teenage boy behind the counter. I was very happy and nostalgic with just a classic soft-serve.

I did have to pop in the potty before continuing the drive home, and was surprised to see an antique BORAX soap dispenser, clearly an original fixture.


Even more surprising, it actually dispensed old, granulated soap powder.

I didn't know they even still made soap power for antique dispensers. It was a total time warp feeling for me (and obviously I thought it notable as I took pictures. Is that just me?)

After a night of two-stepping--RMJ took to the floor once or twice and Klaus did not, but not for lack of invitation--we picked up Shilpa from the N at Duboce Park and hit the Badlands.

As usual, as asinine as the place is, it was a great deal of fun. Post-Sundance Sundays usually are, and Badlands time with Shilpa and RMJ always are.


What I had never seen before though, was the ever-demur Klaus getting his groove on:

Awwwwwsome.



Shilpa was getting no lack of hassle on the dance floor ("Why do gay guys think they can just grab at all my parts?!") and Klaus was her Knight Viking in Shining Armor.


And now for a couple of shout outs:

First, a big Hey Hey to Lance and Rey!

Some lovin' to Jason.

And last, but never ever least, the tall and trim and always so kind hotness that is Matt.

Get your ass on the dance floor.

And that, finally, was the end of the long weekend of fun.


You know, after Sparky's...


[flickr set]

capital letter

Silliness will resume later. I thought this merited reposting here (reposted from Pam's House Blend). Well said.
___________________________________________________________________

A letter to Sally Kern from a senior in high school in Oklahoma.

*******

Today my nephew attempted to deliver a letter to Sally Kern but was stopped by a highway patrol man. With his permission I am distributing the letter to all news stations and thought I would include it here.

Maybe we can all stand to learn a listen from this smart, loving, young man. He more than most has reason to hate. He lost his mother, my sister, in the Murrah Building bombing.

Elizabeth


Letter From Tucker

Rep Kern:

On April 19, 1995, in Oklahoma City a terrorist detonated a bomb that killed my mother and 167 others. 19 children died that day. Had I not had the chicken pox that day, the body count would've likely have included one more. Over 800 other Oklahomans were injured that day and many of those still suffer through their permanent wounds.

That terrorist was neither a homosexual or was he involved in Islam. He was an extremist Christian forcing his views through a body count. He held his beliefs and made those who didn't live up to them pay with their lives.

As you were not a resident of Oklahoma on that day, it could be explained why you so carelessly chose words saying that the homosexual agenda is worst than terrorism. I can most certainly tell you through my own experience that is not true. I am sure there are many people in your voting district that laid a loved one to death after the terrorist attack on Oklahoma City. I kind of doubt you'll find one of them that will agree with you.

I was five years old when my mother died. I remember what a beautiful, wise, and remarkable woman she was. I miss her. Your harsh words and misguided beliefs brought me to tears, because you told me that my mother's killer was a better person than a group of people that are seeking safety and tolerance for themselves.

As someone left motherless and victimized by terrorists, I say to you very clearly you are absolutely wrong.

You represent a district in Oklahoma City and you very coldly express a lack of love, sympathy or understanding for what they've been through. Can I ask if you might have chosen wiser words were you a real Oklahoman that was here to share the suffering with Oklahoma City? Might your heart be a bit less cold had you been around to see the small bodies of children being pulled out of rubble and carried away by weeping firemen?

I've spent 12 years in Oklahoma public schools and never once have I had anyone try to force a gay agenda on me. I have seen, however, many gay students beat up and there's never a day in school that has went by when I haven't heard the word **** slung at someone. I've been called gay slurs many times and they hurt and I am not even gay so I can just imagine how a real gay person feels. You were a school teacher and you have seen those things too. How could you care so little about the suffering of some of your students?

Let me tell you the result of your words in my school. Every openly gay and suspected gay in the school were having to walk together Monday for protection. They looked scared. They've already experienced enough hate and now your words gave other students even more motivation to sneer at them and call them names. Afterall, you are a teacher and a lawmaker, many young people have taken your words to heart. That happens when you assume a role of responsibility in your community. I seriously think before this week ends that some kids here will be going home bruised and bloody because of what you said.

I wish you could've met my mom. Maybe she could've guided you in how a real Christian should be acting and speaking.

I have not had a mother for nearly 13 years now and wonder if there were fewer people like you around, people with more love and tolerance in their hearts instead of strife, if my mom would be here to watch me graduate from high school this spring. Now she won't be there. So I'll be packing my things and leaving Oklahoma to go to college elsewhere and one day be a writer and I have no intentions to ever return here. I have no doubt that people like you will incite crazy people to build more bombs and kill more people again. I don't want to be here for that. I just can't go through that again.

You may just see me as a kid, but let me try to teach you something. The old saying is sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you. Well, your words hurt me. Your words disrespected the memory of my mom. Your words can cause others to pick up sticks and stones and hurt others.

Sincerely

Tucker

CPH to SLC

E-mail from Klaus:

I am now in SLC. The Biacore workshop is quite intense, with almost no breaks. I didn't have much time to see the city. It is 5000 feet elevation! and the mountains goes from 8000 - 11.000 feet. I look forward to go skiing on Saturday. I even get my own private goldfish in my room (see pic). Unfortunately one of them already died :-(


Goldfish in room: nice touch.
Dead fish in room: not so much.

if we're going to go,

we have to shop for dresses.

I've decided to wear a God-awful, colored gown and wear a sign that reads "Always a Bridesmaid."

Me: "Where can I find a huge, god awful shiny number"
Shilpa: "Ross! And it'll be cheap."
Me: "I'm thinking drag shopping implies a cocktail."
Shilpa: "Implies or requires?"

must tang Sally

Surely by now you've heard Oklahoma State Representative (and wife of Baptist minister) Sally Kern's ignorant, bigoted diatribe against gay people.



How so very Christian of her.

The video has gone viral and Kern is in the middle of a shit Santorum storm of her own making.

Ellen, in her charming way, tried to call her (out).




Now it seems, she's covering up a gay son whom she disowned. Poor guy was pretty much biblically abused his whole life and had to act out by cruising the toilets at the Baptist university. Successfully, one supposes, getting off with other closeted (or not) gay kids other biblically and emotionally abused by parents who failed them too.

From the comments uncovered at Queerty:

Jesse Kern, Sally’s son, was raised in a strict Baptist environment. If your claims are true then you must blame her and her husband for his turning out that way. Most gays aren’t out there breaking the law and engaging in public sex acts and solicitation. Jesse chose criminal behavior to act out on his desires.
…
I see in this foolish woman much anger and resentment. Her beliefs are challenged within herself, because if she stands by them then she must accept her part in her son being a homosexual. She isn’t strong enough to do that. Instead, she has created a paranoid delusion that there is some vast conspiracy of gays infiltrating schools and governments to turn others gay and force their lifestyles on everyone. Her subconscious has created this great gay evil so she doesn’t have to blame herself and she says her son as a victim.

Had the gays infiltrated Jesse’s school and indoctrinated him then? Funny, how he attended Baptist schools. His attendence [sic] at Oklahoma Baptist University was marred by his repeated censure for cruising the school’s toilets. Had he been able to live his life openly he would not have had to engage in such actions.

Oh goodie. Someone has made a video response.

The Ballad of Sally Kern:

WAY past the time to sh*t

or get off the pot.

from Alert Reader Shipa Patel.

If I hosted a television trivia game show,

I would call it The Aaron Spelling Bee.

pat the bunny

Poor rescued test lab bunny's brain pops right out of its little head.



Aw.

The Ides of March approaches!

The older of my brothers, Jay, was born on March 15, so I have always been aware of the Ides of March. And that reminds me, I need to start shopping and quick.

This however, is news to me. And I'm hoping I can get my act together in time for Saturday afternoon. It may just be some fabric, a hot glue gun, and spray glitter.

Beware!

The Brides of March!

Did you hear about the head injury at the soviet rhythm symposium?

There was a concussion at the Russian percussion discussion.


Hope to get Russian River recap up today.

Hey, Lady.

You, Lady.






Adding to the mix.

weekend consitutional

I've decided to stay on South Beach, but to allow social drinking on the weekends and vacations.

And the past couple of days have been both. (Russian River tales to follow.)

Last night:
"I thought you weren't drinking any more."
"I'm just taking my liver out for a walk."

achoo!

It might be be a virus.

Beware the new Newton virus for Mac:



via Engaget

did you break a mirror or something?

Alert Reader Paul Day borrowed my car.

It got stolen.

Alert Reader Paul Day borrowed my computer.

The motherboard is fried.

"It's not my fault."

"Whatever dude. But you are so never babysitting."

we're off to see the river

Looks likes it's a go. No Rodeo Shopping for me tonight. Not that I need any more boots. (Buckles maybe.)

Forecast for today: High of 80, low of 40. WTF?

waiting for the world to come to me

My weekends of late seem to be booked with international guests.

Fraternity brother Lee, who lived in Japan, got his PhD at Columbia, worked in D.C., and now teaches Japanese History at Annapolis (all of his students look like this. OMFG.), was in town on Saturday to give a talk at UC Berkeley. I hadn't seen Lee in years, and it was nice to walk him around town and catch up. After the cartoon museum and walking all over downtown, we had lunch at Harvey's, then moseyed about the Castro for the rest of the afternoon.

During lunch it occurred to me that he is now known as "Professor Pennington." I nearly clutched my pearls! "My God!" I said. "You're 'Professor Pennington' now."

"Yes. So?"

"You sound like a character from Clue."

"Do not."

"Well, whatever, but I'm not leaving you alone in the conservatory with the candlestick."

At lunch, I ran into Jeffrey whom I have also not seen in years. Which was by choice— he married my good friend Mike then they fell off the face of the earth and wouldn't socialize, for which I blamed Jeffrey. And then they broke up, for which I also blamed Jeffrey (a bit protective of Mike I am, even if I'm not in his life anymore). I had consciously kept my distance, which was stupid in hindsight, and it was nice to catch up a bit with Jeffrey (love his flickr sets) and his current significant other Collin. (Surprisingly, Mike also contacted me this week via facebook, and he also has a new SO.)

I have seen Collin in all of his Flickr loveliness, but didn't know he was deaf. I was glad I had taken a couple of semesters of ASL and it was fun having what passed for a conversation (I am out of practice and all my sign is pretty much bar vocabulary.).

RMJ and I had been invited to the the first anniversary party at the Barber Lounge and took Lee along. Between the car and the club, I ran into dear old friend and former coworker Karin Oliva, and we sort of made a scene on the streets squealing with delight and surprise. Happy birthday Karin!

The Barber Lounge is an amazing space, and other than the sake-only bar, the party was perfect. There were some artist shows opening that night (one of which was Michael whom I met last summer at Martuni's), and the crowd was just a near-perfect blend of gay and straight, young and old, well heeled and worn heeled, hip and pop, hot and not. And the crowd density remained optimum throughout the night. Lee, who had been up since 5:45 and had to leave from Berkeley at 6:00 the next morning, wasn't too taken with the event and happily BARTed back to base leaving RMJ and I to work the room as is our wont.

While Beau was not there to host (Beau works there but was in PV for the weekend), there were plenty of familiar faces and the entire experience was a pleasant surprise.

Parker, Russ, BJ

RMJ and Parker

hot hands (body workers)

Afterwards, we had plans for Coco's pre-party at SW's and then a finale at Hot Mess. We met up with Shilpa at the pre-party, and RMJ convinced us to take a detour to the Eagle for their first-Saturday-of-the-month Uniform night.

THAT was fun. I was totally enabled by my friend Jack. Shilpa has the rocking figure for a corset, and the cut of her jacket looked like one. Too bad it was floral. Not so much with the blending. RMJ was very attentive to Shilpa while I was distracted by in a familiar face.

Finally, we made it to the Stud for Hot Mess. And we were hot and messy. [Flickr set]

Jim Myers being a hot mess.

The usual selfie.

Hot and messy.
(But not in that order.)

Seattle Bill arrived from Amsterdam that afternoon and was invited to join us, but he crashed in his hotel room and did not revive until morning.

Sunday morning and afternoon I spent with Seattle Bill. As I got off the N at Duboce Park, I remembered talking to other friends and family in the morning who were complaining about the snow.

This is what our Sunday looked like:

I was hot in jeans and short sleeves.

I met him at the Castro Squat & Gobble for brunch, then we did the nose-around thing (an exact repeat of my day before), took a perch at the LookOut (former Metro)

and then went back downtown for the Apple Store and Barney's and Union Square (ditto with the repeat).

After 48 hours of walking all over the City, my feet had had it. Ouch ouch ouch. I needed a serious nap before making it out to another long night of hard dancing at Sundance.

Unfortunately my feets have not recovered and last night's hours of hard dancing (this is my only exercise these days so I try to make it count) destroyed my feet. I've got a reflexology appointment in an hour at U2 Beauty (found via Yelp). I'll let y'all know how it goes.

So, last weekend: Japanese History from Annapolis, Seattle from Amsterdam, and tonight Klaus from Copenhagen.

All the world is coming to my oyster.

Y'all have a good weekend!

be myself?

I could just go as I am, but no one would think I was in costume. But I'd be authentic! Sadly, no can do with the timing, but still. I would like to get a mass of actual librarians to take that shit over.

The Naughty Librarians' Convention

Santa Klaus is coming to town

Klaus gets into town tonight. He's staying with RMJ and I'm not sure what we'll get up to over the weekend. RMJ wants to go away someplace, and it looks like we may head up to the Russian River for a Sat-Sun or Sun-Mon getaway.

The weather is awesome and the friends are fun. Danny (the barber) is a near expert in all attractions and lodging in Guerneville and gave good advice. We have done zero planning and haven't come to any decisions, so I can't make any reservations. Tracy at the Triple-R tells me even though they only have three rooms left for tomorrow night, they'll make sure we get set up someplace on the street.

It'd be nice to get away for the weekend. The last time we three were at the River, we had a special time.

beauty shop gossip

I got a haircut at Joe's over lunch. I was a bit early (a rarity for me) so I stopped at Spike's across the street for a coffee. There was a guy sipping his coffee and shuffling on the sidewalk. He was hot in a "dark room total power top fuck machine" sort of way. He was not very tall at all, but just oozing sexuality (although, for the moment, not literally). He seemed vaguely familiar. He had the whole leather/butch day look down to the boots, and I noted the carefully folded and carefully displayed hankies in his back pocket (left side, naturally).

I reflexively rolled my eyes and thought, "Really? Are we still doing that?" There were multiple hankies, carefully folded so that each color was displayed in the triangle folded out of the back pocket. Among the colors were dark blue and red. And I thought, "It's a little early in the day."

(Then again, "3:30's almost four..." for those of you who know that story.)

Danny (also) was waiting for me, and after I got in his chair, the guy from across the street came in and sat in Joe's chair opposite mine. He looked so familiar that I assumed I had seen him around at Folsom or Dore or the Powerhouse or the Eagle or some leather thing with Tony. Turns out the guy is a big leather/dominant porn model-actor. Although I do not recall him in that context. Overhearing their conversation is one of the reasons I love this town. Whatshisname (I tried to find his profile on the Falcom site to link to but no luck) was in town for a shoot/some event and was staying at the Falcon Studios apartment (site NSFW). He came to Joe to get a "halfhawk" (a shorter, limp Mohawk).

Among the topics: leather and whips and how long it takes to condition a good whip, thieving airline people who have stolen incredibly expensive whips, whip/leather skills, etc.

On the topic of stolen whips and the burden of replacement: "It's not the $700 even, but the year it takes to condition the thing." (I may have misheard the cost.) "And you have to lie to get another one--it's for my sister. In Montana. She's getting married and they are getting their own ranch..."

Apparently, one cannot order a handmade, super-special whatever kind of whips these are with no questions asked. I thought, "You can't just order a whip from the leathermaster and have it shipped? You have to explain yourself?"

I also thought, "Some of us are actually members of the rodeo. We wouldn't have to lie. How is it possible that I am butcher than this guy in any respect?"

The best line I overheard from the barber's chair: "I can't believe [some guy broke it]. I only got to use it for one shoot. Man, after that, I just fucked him like a baggage handler."

I don't get it, but I love it. (Are you the baggage handler in this scenario because they always screw people over so badly, or is the bottom the baggage handler, and it's a revenge/punishment sort of thing?)

But still.

Only in SF.

country calendar

For those so inclined, I make the following recommendations for fun live music this weekend:

Friday
77 El Deora at the Fourth Street Tavern in San Rafael, 9:30, free
(sure you have to cross a bridge, but it's a good dive)

Saturday
Red Meat/The Cap Gun Cowboys at The Knockout, 9:00, $6

Sunday
Sweet ’n’ Lo’s at Ireland’s 32, 7:00, free


Full calendar at Hicks with Sticks.

040404

Wow. I haven't been paying attention, but recently I'm Just Sayin' logged it's 40 thousandth visit.

The counter currently reads 040404 hits.

Over forty thousand visits? To lil' ole me? I'm touched.

(As many of you think silently, "yeah, in the head.")

Thanks for playing along.

Love that you're here, watching me dance in circles and generally doing pratfalls for your amusement.

>sniff.<

Feels like home.



If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend.

who watches over you?

I will say it was the slightly esoteric nature of this one that made it my favorite.


That, and I love They Might Be Giants, and have such positive memories associated with their endless play with new friends during my freshman year of college. Comments from others made me think this merited revisiting.

As the years went by, I loved seeing the Animaniacs and Tiny Toons make little cartoon videos. I couldn't find the Animaniacs (I think) version of Birdhouse in Your Soul, but here's the music video (which I had never seen before searching for the cartoon version on YouTube).



And for those of you who never got into TMBG (how sad for you), it's about a night light.

gimme some sugah

At work this morning, as I passed Sharon in the hall:

"Would you like a cup of coffee? Brand new? I bought an extra one for Helen but she doesn't want it. It's black. Unadulterated."
"Can I get one with adultery?"
"That would probably cost extra."
"Usually does. In the long run."

f'ing dance with me

Wow. All I can say.

That, and "May I have this dance?"



Loooove it.

Jesse On the Brink's runner up for Gayest Video on the Web.

Here's his number one:




My reaction was WTF? But because it was framed as the gayest video on the Web, I think that's hilarious.

If you need a dose of circuit faggotry with some bitchy, occasionally NSFW stuff, check out Jesse on the Brink. Otherwise, don't.

do not recommend Shady Pines

The girls are headed to Miami for a little vice.

So Ging' and I are headed to Miami (David gave me 2 tickets to the women's finals tennis tournament, sony ericsson for Christmas) in April. Know any good restaurants? hot spots? nothing too crazy... :) we are staying at the four seasons....

I know zip about Miami. Any suggestions?

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(Hmm, which one would be Barry and which one would be Ginger?)

percent of heart eclipsed as a function of time

This is a local friend's flickr set. It's an awesome meme.

Statistical/graphic/chart representations of songs.




Love it love it love it.

These two tie for my favorite:

R2D2, street justice

A bar owner in Atlanta built a robot to chase away local drug dealers and other unsavories. I'm not sure of the civil liberties implications, but this cracks me up all the same.

I'm not too constitutionally bothered as it lacks the scary armament of RoboCop--it's armed with a squirt gun.

From the Atlanta Journal Constitution:

Late at night several times a week, Terrill powers up the 4-foot-tall, 300- pound device and reaches for a remote control packed with two joysticks and various knobs and switches. Standing on a nearby corner, he maneuvers the machine down the block, often to a day care center where it accosts what Terrill says are drug dealers, vagrants and others who shouldn't be there.

He flashes the robot's spotlight and grabs a walkie-talkie, which he uses to boom his disembodied voice over the robot's sound system.

"I tell them they are trespassing, it's private property, and they have to leave," he said. "They throw bottles and cans at it. That's when I shoot the water cannon. They just scatter like roaches."

Or in other words: "Come Go quietly, or there will be trouble."


via BoingBoing

I bet you say that to all the boys

"As long as it doesn't get in your mouth, it's fine."

-ARPD, out of context.

burn, Baby, burn.

Kevin just got back from a skiing holiday.

He forgot to apply sunscreen.

He had to take yesterday off work as he has second-degree burns across his face and it's quite nasty.

He is still blistered and peeling. He goes back to work tomorrow (today is his day off), and I really want him to wear a Phantom of the Opera mask.

I told him he should diagnose every third patient with "Music of the Night."

(I'm sorry, Madame, you have The Music of the Night. I'm going to have to prescribe some anti-opera medications.")

can it be made into boots?

Or perhaps chaps?

Quite literally, the new black.


(Yes, I know this story is a week or so old, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately and felt like sharing. What other cool stuff can this apply to?)

77 bloody skins

I'm getting appropriately noir-y for my belated comments on 77 El Deora's last appearance at Cafe Du Nord.

Several things were remarkable about that night, not the least of which was FishStix playing with a sliced finger. Earlier in the day it seems he caught his glove in, which pulled his hand into, an industrial drill press. That does not sound good. He had wrapped the gash and then taped it up in the finger of a latex glove, thinking that would do it. And trooper trouper that he is, he played.

As far as fingers go, I imagine drumming is pretty much the definition of a high impact sport, and not good for the gash. He sounded great though, despite the bloody mess his finger was after the set. I helped him heal by buying him shots of Jack Daniels. My good friend is good for something other than getting me into trouble.

Me, FishStix, Coco

Coco is the perfect wing-woman for dives and honky tonks. And I mean that as a compliment. She and Jeannine met at the last Brisbane show (rumor has it the Lost 23 Club was shut down for some alcohol violations, which surprises me zero), and the three of us enjoyed a dark corner of Du Nord and thoroughly enjoyed the set.

Coco and Jeannine had a cool conversation about the evolution of the urban Honky Tonk/Americana country fan. Coco loves urban country (I can't bring myself to call it "rockabilly"), but she started out as a total punk girl. So, it seems, did Jeannine, who was a punk videographer back in the day. Out of their conversation I learned that it is a very common progression, punk to honky tonk, and most of the fans in the usual crowd experienced a similar journey. Jeannine and Coco agree that it's a rebel thing.

I for one (as it says in all of my online profiles) love live music in small venues, and the thing that draws me to the local Americana scene is the same thing that draws many to this sub-culture: not only is the music well crafted, but the scene is hip without being too popular. It's alternative, but cool. I'm rarely one to embrace the mainstream. It's a manageable crowd of like-minded people whose minds are unlike other people. As RMJ might define it: there's a filter. The mass of the general public whom I might find so annoying aren't going to be there. (They are going to be at the Colosseum or a Hannah Montanta somesuch and thank God they are not here.)

Jeannine has a similar and better-articulated theory along these lines. The camaraderie with strangers, the soulful music, the small off-beat venues, the feeling of belonging among complete strangers—all of that and much more which I'll have to ask her to repeat. She calls it Ambient Sex. I love that.

Dancer that I am, sometimes I take to floor at the 77 shows. Jeannine is a marvelous dancer, but compared to my 6'2"/6'3" frame, she is remarkably lilliputian and it is a difficult lead for me. Even though we both kept squirming in our seats, I did not ask her to dance. In addition to the height differential, I am generally reluctant to dance when the scene is crowded hip/urban like Du Nord, and no one else is dancing. If you head up to the stage and dance then it becomes all about you.

And you'd better bring it.

Unable to resist any longer, we went up front for their single encore number. We weren't three measures in before another woman appeared, pushed Jeannine away, and claimed me for her own.

I did know this woman—Kate and I have become "club friends" over the years as we follow the same sorts of bands around town, and particularly 77 El Deora. And we can dance. She's also club friends with Jeannine, who graciously allowed Kate to cut in.

We brought it.

Seriously.

Double-time with the swings, hard on the two-steps, sultry with the slows, and even glamorous on a waltz. Kate remarked that she thought I had gotten so much better, when truthfully it has been more a lesson of experience with her. The more I dance with her the more I know what she is capable of and I can take it up a notch at a time.

We were like freaking trapeze artists with the throws and catches. She was rock solid and right there with every spin. Which is a good thing as else she would have flown into an amp at close to 30 mph.

During the next band, sets of visitors took our picture or videoed us, two more women asked me to dance. And by the end of the night three women had asked me for my phone number. I didn't have the heart to tell them I was gay. (A week later Kate offered to start telling my female admirers "as a public service.")

I do think that if you are going to ask a guy to dance with you, particularly someone who has been burning it up all night, you should have some basic skills yourself. Such was not always the case. After I while I just settled into a generic swing with the new girls, because when I'm leading a simple swing I can force them to move and land as I want them, and on the proper foot. If you can't count the rhythm, please don't take the space on my dance card.

I'm just sayin'.

At the end of the night a very nice girl approached me with her wing-woman, and was clearly working me. She was sweet and kind and I just couldn't work my penchant for the mens into the conversation. And frankly, sometimes it's nice to pass. Dunno why. Just feeling the love I suppose. She followed me I saw her again Sunday afternoon at Thee Parkside. Kate was surprised she didn't know I was gay (this is when she offered her Public Service Announcements). I said I probably shouldn't have led her on by letting her blow me in the bathroom. (Totally kidding of course, but Kate completely bought it and was appalled for the 10 minutes I let her rant about it. That was probably evil, but it amused me so. And that, we all know, makes it all right.)

Back to the dancing— During one particularly slow song, Kate and I found a sultry groove and cradled in each other's arms. Very romantic. We had a moment.

During this moment, a tall blond clad in all black with leather pants strutted onto the dance floor. She was swaying her hips and strutted with a purpose. Me being me, I though she was coming to cut in (ha!). She prowled to front and stage center, took off her top layers, and then began humping the stage/dance floor. OM f'ing G.

I still had my eyes open as I was leading, but Kate had closed her eyes and succumbed to our moment. I started leading her around so she could get a look. I kept wanting to nudge her out of her reverie to check out Batshit Crazy.

By the time she was down to her bra, she was humping and flailing like Tawny Kitaen in a White Snake video. I totally thought the band was going to break into Here I Go Again On My Own.

Ultimately Mau, Jeannine, Fisher, Coco and I were enjoying each other's company at a table in the back. Batshit Crazy tried to engage. At first she hit on Mau, aggressively. Good friend and wing man that I am, I totally bailed on him, fled for my own life, and left him to manage on his own. I heard him work the word "wife" in to the conversation five or six times.

He barely escaped, but only by sloughing her off on our table where she worked her way from Fish to me to Coco. Hence the introduction: Coco, this is CooCoo. CooCoo, Coco.

It was also around this point in the evening that Coco, ever efficient, discovered that while the small glasses of well vodka-sodas were $7, an enormous pint of Long Island Iced Tea was just $9. One by one the table moved from their beverage of first choice to the More Bang for the Buck. And thems were tasty. We converted Jeannine to LIITs, but diminutive as she is that could have gotten dangerous.

And again, shout out to David O. You know who you are. :)

I'll leave you with one final vignette before I'm off for the night and start back blogging the weekend that just was.

While sharing drinking stories, Coco told us of a recent night when she wound up drunk at home (the safest place to be). A week later there was an unidentifiable charge on her card to GoDaddy.com (web hosting/domain name parking service). In her stupor, she had the clever sense to go online and register the domain name: GoddessOfDrink.com.

Coming soon.

It only cost her $21—appropriate as it is also how old you have to be to visit the site.

say thee anything

I'm buying one.

New at threadless: I Love the 1880's.

Click to embiggen.

hold it right there, mister

okay, I was going for a freeze frame pun there, but now that I've written it out, it just sounds dirty.

hee hee.

While I was recuperating and curled up at home last Saturday (well, two Saturdays ago) and bailing on the San Francisco Freeze in the freezing rain, the hip Londoners showed up in massive amounts for The Great Trafalgar Square Freeze.



Brilliant!

no raves for Rants

Asswipe Republican Iowa House Minority Leader Christopher Rants has been pushing and pushing for a "gay marriage" debate in an attempt to push for a constitutional amendment prohibiting marriage equality.

Among his fear-mongering rants- Iowa has no residency requirement for marriage, and therefore gays from all over the world will flock to Iowa to get gay married. Gay marriage will turn Iowa into Las Vegas!

I think Rants may have taken the wrong rant on this one. Any legislator with a healthy relationship with any Chamber of Commerce might be thinking, "Hey, people LIKE Las Vegas! People actually go there. On purpose. And they spend boatloads of tourist cash. Allowing 'gay marriage' will turn Iowa into the next Las Vegas!? When can I vote yes on this?"


See also.


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And for the last time, it's not "gay marriage." It's just "marriage." We just want equal treatment under the law. Why is that so offensive? How is this so terribly, terribly scary to failed Christians conservatives?

asides of the weekend

opposite ends of the entertaining company spectrum:

"He was like a bucket of mud with a stick in it, wrapped in a wet blanket."

and

"No more Mandarin/Tangerine/Clementine and sodas for me. NO MORE."
"By which you mean: more please."
"(Yes I do.)"

help yourself

Sort of reminds me of asking how to spell a word, and being told to look it up in the dictionary.