ACT: The Scottsboro Boys

I never wrote about the excruciating pain that was our last Out with ACT adventure, which was the Beckett plays directed to soul-killing numbness by Carey Perloff. Word was it got rave reviews from Beckett fans in the NYC literary scene. Theater-goers, not so much. I felt bad falling asleep during the beginning of the second play (the first play ran under 15 minutes), until I realized I was enjoying memories of Belize much more so than the show, despite the amazing actors on stage. Kevin poked me awake and I was afraid I had been snoring, but he was just directing my attention to the many, many other sleepers in the audience—one near us had crossed his arms against the seat in front of him and put his head down completely. It may have been artistic, but it was not remotely entertaining.

We left early. We could't even bear staying for the reception. I texted our friends to apologize that we couldn't stand any more and would miss seeing them afterwards. Their reply, "We're almost home." They live in San Rafael.

We missed the Out night but rescheduled to see the acclaimed The Scottsboro Boys. As is my habit, I went into the show blind to its premise and content and avoided reviews other than the raving words postered around town. I had no idea of the backstory.

And wow, was that a powerful and deeply disturbing story, made all the more so by it's telling as a racist Vaudeville minstrel show complete with tap dancing and blackface. The cast is superbly talented (and as evidenced during a wardrobe change, ripped). And Hal Linden is just perfect for this role, as frankly is the entire ensemble, with strong applause to Jared Joseph JC Montgomery. There was a whole lot of disturbing behind the singing and dancing, and Kevin and I would have loved the opportunity to discuss it with the cast after the show had this been an Out night.

I feel about this show how I felt about Scorched: It is unbearable ugliness beautifully rendered.

living

Talking about my life and some of the choices I've made, the adventures I've had, and the life I have led so far, I was asked why I did the things I did and do the things I do.

When I was about 24 or 25, there was a turning point when I all at once realized I had nothing to fear, and then feared nothing. (To a point of course.) But many of my most brazen choices have been deliberate ones. The question was "why?"

I made a promise to a poet once—a mentor when I needed one. I was far too young to understand it at the time. Then, it seemed an easy promise to keep. I did not know that it would be an act of bravery every day since. He was a man of beautiful words. These words were not his, but they were true.

I promised that I would not when I came to die discover that I had not lived.

I may get knocked down a lot, but I am not on the sidelines.

Game on.

tribute

S: Are you free August 2?
P: Can't. I have Tears for Fears.
W: I'm free. I only have Tears for Mild Anxieties.
P: Great name for a tribute band.
W: I do my crying at night.

mind games

I like to play mind games. Specifically Hungry Hungry Hippocampus.

booters

T: The Sundance Saloon's beach party is next Sunday, are you going to take your clothes off?
W: I'll wear a swimsuit, but I'll be keeping my shirt on. Hysterical Blindness isn't just the name of a band.

alright, you figure it out then

S: I'll get back to you when I suss that out.
W: Why does that sound like it should be followed by a hot towel?

happy monday

Another fun-filled summer SF weekend. Continued happys to all the birthdays and anniversaries celebrated over the weekend. What few photos I have will be shared soon.

In the meantime, here's to sunshine and smiles.

Google Fu

Years ago in Library school I learned how to deep search Google. There have been some advancements, and here are some tips (via Mashable) to make your searches more precise. Pretty cool stuff here. Click through the short slideshow!

Swan Ball 2012: Looking good at 50. And the hat.

The Swan Ball issue of Nfocus has hit the stands, which reminds me I need to follow up on my June adventure to Nashville with a proper Swan Ball post.

This year was the 50th Swan Ball, and accordingly there was much pomp and plenty of circumstance.  I was invited to the ball both as guest and writer, and for a time was going to try to pull double duty as a  columnist for Nfocus and an escort for my recently widowed mother.  This was the first Ball without Dad, and Mom really considered not going, despite how much she loves the Ball.  But as the 50th anniversary, she was being honored not only in her role as past Co-Chair, but also four decades of tireless service to the Committee.  I'm glad she went, and we did get to spend some fun time together even though I was not her escort for the evening.

I always look for an able to write about when commenting on the Ball, but there have been fewer and fewer ribald incidents the farther removed I am from the "young people" making them.  That, and now that the stories I do hear wind up in print, I rend to hear fewer stories.

This year, as the golden anniversary, I really enjoyed chatting up past Chairmen, most of whom are close friends of me or my mother, and getting their favorite memories of San Balls past.  It was amusing to note that sometimes their most remarkable memory may not be their favorite memory.  Many thanks to Betty, Nicky, Em and of course Fran for their recollections.  My write up of these anecdotes, The Swan Ball at 50: We Should All Hope to Look This Good, is on Nashville stands now and online. (The new Nfocus Web site is completely jacked but at least you can link directly to this article if you click.  The print edition, unfortunately, features a typo in the first sentence and it is still grating on me.  The web version appears clean.)










So other than brief mentions before, here's the story not in the magazine:

So... Aretha Franklin was the dinner entertainment for this year's ball.  Sure she's a diva...correction... she's THE diva, but I thought for sure as such she must have a sense of humor about her iconic status.  When I heard that Aretha was performing, and that my brother Mac, one of the two live auctioneers for the night, was going to be introducing her, I could only think of one thing:

Yeah. Aretha. Hat.

Mac needed some schtick for the introduction, and to announce after her performance that the next round of auction items were up for bid in the loge, and he turned to me to brainstorm. Again, all I could think of was this:


C'mon.

The inauguration hat became a freaking meme for heaven's sakes.

Consider:




So, crafty little snark bucket that I am, I whipped up this for Mac Friday afternoon. Not bad if I say so myself:


Let's compare side by side.


Apologies for the self-indulgence, but it still cracks me up.

James told me tonight that he showed the pic to his friends, and they thought it was great.  They also thought it was the size of a broach—something small he could wear pinned to his tailcoat.  Oh hell no.  I totally Beach Blanket Babylon'ed this shit.  

As it turns out, part of Aretha's rider is that you cannot introduce her or say her name. Seriously. Her own people do that. So neither Mac nor Jeffrey really introduced her. And good thing he did not wear her hat as apparently she did not find any of the evening amusing and was terribly difficult to work with. But hey, she is THE diva and she has well earned it, so no love lost from me.


But all in all, after reports of those who coordinated with her, I am glad she never saw my hat. I'd be a bit afraid of what her people might have done to me.

But for the rest of us, it was hilarious. We ere concerned that a room full of wealthy white Republicans may not have gotten up nearly to watch the black Democrat be inaugurated as President of the United States and thus would not get the joke. We also dedided that if only a dozen people got the joke, those would be the people we were playing to anyway. This joke was for them. Our people. PLU. Right. On.




And yeah, the PLU loved it.






You can tell by the crowds of people around Mari-kate that it was well past Everyone Else Has Already Left O'Clock. We rocked the hat a bit late in the night.

Grey Goose was one of the sponsors, but the bartenders were told not to pour from the hundreds of bottles of the L'Orange as those were just for show. Ultimately, my peeps came through for me and the spice did flow.

Normally I leave the lime if asked. Once they started adding the twists, it was a helpful way to keep count of how many I had.


Four drinks, four limes... but there comes a time when there are so many limes there is no more room for vodka and you have to start over. One, two again... Just sayin'.

Other special highlights of my Swan Ball night:

Spending time with one of my all time favorite people whom I rarely get to hang with: Whitney Daane. And her awesome shoes.


Visiting with Drake and Christina Jarman, who was wearing the gown custom designed for her husband's grandmother for the very first Swan Ball.


Partying with the fun kids, like the always adorable Emily Bond (I love to tell people that her father's honest-to-God name is James Bond. Which is in fact honest-to-God true.) Only she would bring such an awesome beaded clutch to the bluest of blue blood formals.


Recognizing the surreal inherent in such an event. Like this auction item that went for many thousands of dollars: A Special Swan Ball Edition Browning Citori 12 Gauge Shotgun. Seriously? Someone is going to feel all manly and superior to his buddies showing off the Swan Ball shotgun in the duck blind? I suppose it's a collectors piece, but honestly. This was one of the best WTF!? moments for me that night.


Dancing with my amazing mother:


(And coming home past four in the morning to find her in a dressing gown in the kitchen eating White Castle. Come ON that's awesome.)

I do have to say the highlight by far came far into the night/early morning, in meeting and dancing with a pleasant surprise.


Entirely unexpected at the Swan Ball. Right On indeed.

i'm more of a specialist

although most librarians are generalists, we can specialize.

Unshelved

low blow

This card is pretty funny, but it reminds me of what I used to say in jest to my brother back "in the day" when we would carouse Nashville nightlife together.

Sometimes I would look at him and say, "Just when I think you can't sink any lower, you find a basement door."

my brothers were such angels

So many memories from childhood. I love this.

campy

Guess who's back at camp?





God I love that kid. And her letters are incredibly fun. I try to write her every day if I can, but every other day is just as well because then it gives me more to say. This time I know not to send anything larger than a flat number 10 envelope. And I am getting a kick out of sending the letters in my custom envelopes from The Cool Uncle.

DFTBA mother fucker.

family foodies

Brother Jay and his wife Stephanie took a spur of the moment vacation to Half Moon Bay last week, and stayed in San Francisco over the weekend. They enjoyed staying at the Ritz both places, and after their reports, I can't wait to take a Ritzy vacation to Half Moon Bay when I have the occasion to go with someone. It sounds amazing.

Jay & Steff enjoyed staying downtown and sticking to typical tourist things. Next time I hope they can stay longer and enjoy more of the neighborhoods. The did get some great eats, dining at Lemongrass on Polk Friday night, and Saturday night they took me out (well, I drove, they treated) to dinner at Chez Panisse in Berkeley—pretty much the birthplace of gourmet California Cuisine. And it was excellent all the way around.


Sunday morning we did not have all that much time before their afternoon flight, but I wanted to treat them to brunch. While Harvey's is hardly foodie fare, Sunday brunch is much fun and it would give them an opportunity to sample the energy of the Castro on a summer Sunday, people watch, and meet a lot of my friends. We really did have a great morning.


Surprise bonus, when it's just "brunch" on not "brunk," the check is ridiculously cheap.

Best line of the day: hearing my incredibly wholesome sister-in-law call to her husband in a Castro shop, "Jay come look at these great harnesses! We need to get one."

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, we were in the pet gift shop.



I may leave out that detail when I retell the story.

maybe, maybe not

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I have been enjoying the Call Me Maybe lip dubs and covers.  Some of the mashups with Payphone are quite beautiful.

But, as usual, the muppets are batting cleanup.

First: the original video.  And gotta love the gay twist.



Second:  A compilation of about 75 lip dups and such.  Much fun.



Third: Carly Rae Jepsen singing Call Me Maybe with Jimmy Fallon and his band playing on toy instruments. You really should watch this charming bit to get some of the final references.



And finally: Cookie Monster sees that you have cookies, so share them maybe.  Extra love for "get the skim milk."

you are what you drink

Oh, it's just like me!



Subtle, but dazzling.



Oh for fuck's sake.... I can hear you bitches laughing from here.

Q in the form of an A

My boss just stepped in to show off her trivia skills, as evidenced by her recent at-home performance on Jeopardy! She knew what Jack had to do in 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.*

My first instinct was wrong, and when I thought about it,  I only got close.  Alex would have been smarmy to me too.

Then I got all the lines about guys in 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover confused with the lines about gals  in 88 Lines About 44 Women.





She noted that there was nothing for "Wilson" to do in 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.

I explained it's because no one has ever asked me to leave.







*Slip out the back. Both the contestant and I said "step" out the back.

booze bitte

I had to go to the lamp store in the Inner Richmond and spied this bar across the street. It's straightforwardness makes me want to check this place out as soon as possible. And I'm bringing the cool drinking people with me.

It's called München.



The slogan painted on the simple exterior reads:

No whiners
No website
Just booze

Agreed.

my hair loss was more gradual

and permanent.

Pretty awesome as far as pranks go.  Dude cuts his long locks of three years, makes a wig out of his own hair, then quickly removes it at opportune moments to freak out his family and friends.

Sugar and spice and everything lice

I don't know why but seeing this post in my feed this morning cracked me up. That my life could include such pleas:

They could call their boutique "Sugar and Space and Everything Lice."  Or perhaps "Of Lice and Men."  "Lice Girls."  "Three Blind Lice."  "Lice Guys Finish Last."

The San Franciscan franchise would be called "Lice-A-Roni."

Would "Fried Lice" be racist?

San Francisco Drift

Sometimes while driving in the City, I can go from zero to apoplectic in about 60 seconds. Weekends are unusually bad because not only are the streets full of careless drivers, it's full of drivers who rarely drive, and even less so actually drive in a City. On the shuttle to work I look out the window and down into so many cars with people texting while driving, sometimes with both hands, that I know the daily commuters are dangerous too, but the weekend drivers with less experience, and especially the suburbanites who come into the City, are a downright menace. Not only is it just frustrating to be behind people who have no idea where they are going, which lane ends, which turn is left only or which streets are one way, but the experience being trapped behind those that make a right turn form the far left lane, those who stop in the middle of an intersection for almost a minute before picking a direction, those who are confused by the green light (hey, it means "go"), those who stop at interactions with no stop sign, those who don't realize that the major arteries are timed, or as my mother puts it: those who take their half of the road down the middle—are enough to make that blood vessel behind my eye want to pop. Add tourists to this mix during the summer and I need to add 30 minutes to my commute time or I'll lose it in the frustration.

And thus—I envy this guy.

This is some serious driving skill. And what a town to do it in! I can't imagine when they filmed some of this as so many streets had to be closed (when did they get the Bay Bridge all to themselves?). The sunlight shadows makes it look around noon, but so many of their locations are rarely so deserted. Oh, to cross the City like this...

DC and Ken Block present Gymkhana FIVE: Ultimate Urban Playground; San Francisco.

Shot on the actual streets of San Francisco, California, GYM5 features a focus on fast, raw and precise driving action. Filmed over four days, director Ben Conrad and his team are back to work on their second Gymkhana production and delivered the entire city of San Francisco as Ken Block's personal gymkhana playground. DC Shoes also provided fellow DC athlete and longtime Ken Block friend, Travis Pastrana, to make a cameo appearance on his dirtbike, and S.F. resident Jake Phelps of Thrasher Magazine fame also makes a cameo as Block hoons S.F. in his most incredible Gymkhana yet.

you can do it

A coworker bought a couple of cases of soup at Costco, then discovered the soups did not do well with her acid reflux.  She brought a box into work and basically put a sign on it saying "free kittens."  I felt the need to comment.  I'm snarky that way.  (Photo was taken at the end of the day after most of the cans were taken, but you get the idea.)

Hill people

Kelly and Mike made a little trip to SF this week, and I was crawling out of my flu hole, and there was no sunshine to be had, I took them to Brunch at Harvey's.  It's nice to be a known regular as Seth was kind enough to hold the cover table for us.  Kelly (whose porn stash I referred to as "nice. very 'windowless van'") and Mike were quick to accept the concept of "brunk."

Empty bloody = sad; full bloody = happy!

Mike is also the Publisher over at the Nashville Scene, and this week's cover story is about my family's business. I wish they had gotten a reporter who knew Nashville and this history of Nashville business a bit better (cough, E. Thomas Wood, cough), but it's fair enough piece. Not very good, and stretching to fill inches at times, but I suppose fair enough considering some of the neighborhood angst concerning the ongoing improvements to 12 South. Cousin Jimmy has his strong personality moments, and I am impressed with his contribution to the story.

Also, I might have told the whiny little blogger and rouser of rabble in the story who clearly knew nothing about the Hill company, their 120-year tradition of community involvement, the state of mixed use development in Nashville, traffic science, or the history of 12 South to educate herself first else shut the hell up.  Including so much of her in the article came across as the "false balance" practice putting quacks on TV who assert climate change as a liberal conspiracy, or inviting Southern Poverty Law Center-identified hate groups to talk against marriage equality just so the news piece will have conflicting points of view, and therefore appear to have "balance."

Why I am not in charge.

Face to face I might have read her beads. Actually, if I were in any official capacity I would be progressional about it, just quietly seething inside. Jimmy has shown remarkable professionalism and patience. He knows well that no one like change and will bitch and moan about it until it happens, then they suddenly can't live without the thing they were bitching about.

I was pretty aghast though that there was no mention of my father who ran the H.G,. Hill realty Company for years and years and left a remarkable corporate legacy of honor, trust, and deep community involvement and leadership.  The Hill Company is not so much a "real estate developer," as it is everyone's neighbor.  And they are the first ones there with a hose if your house catches fire.  Or floods.*


*I would link to the story I wrote for Nfocus regarding the Hill Company's community efforts during the May Day Flood but the moved to a new web hosting service which has inadvertently deleted all of their archives.  

and THAT, Marjorie...

Clearly, we are going to this.

Drag Queens performing Designing Women Live.

it shouldn't have to be said

It makes me ill that we need a constitutional amendment to state the obvious. The GOP loses their collective shit over the gays "redefining marriage," when marriage equality does not in fact redefine anything. However the Citizens United ruling makes their nipples hard.

California is now the sixth state to call for an amendment to state the obvious, and I think it should be phrased this simple:

"A corporation is not a person. Money is not speech."

Festive

PeeDee and I got a little colorful for the Independence Day Pool Party.


Happy Fourth!

San Francisco Fire Credit Union

This just in from Eric Wilson. Merits reporting (with permission):

Why, in god's name, did I not switch to a credit union earlier? Holy crap. For all my Bay Area friends, SF Fire Credit Union is by far the most decent banking establishment I've ever seen. Here's my 6-month review: there are no fees for anything ... checking, ATM withdrawals (they reimburse you for fees charged by other banks), overdraft protection, cashier's checks, deposited checks that have been returned, etc. Their credit card deal is ridiculous: 7.25% APR (for everything - purchases, balance transfers, cash advances), no annual fee, no over limit fee, no balance transfer or cash advance fee, free linkage to your checking account for overdraft, no foreign currency exchange fee, AND it includes a rewards program which you get to choose - cash back, gift cards, or travel points. Their iPhone app is sickening: access to all accounts, all online services, and bill pay, as well as check deposits using your phone's camera. Add in the fact their staff is always helpful, cheerful, local, and immediately available, you basically have a banking establishment that is apparently made of unicorn tears. Two giant thumbs up.

San Francisco Fire Credit Union

Someone at the work conference had zero gaydar

Her: "You just need to find the right woman."

Me: "Actually, I'm looking for the left woman. They're more vulnerable."

and more liberal

my your office looks clean

If you need me, I'll be in the light with Carol Ann.

Hidden Histories: The Laurel Heights Cemetery (this is now my office)

mind over gray matter

The word around campus is that neurological surgeons can't make up their minds. Apparently they can only make up someone else's.

Southerners Supper, home movie

Or put another way: