Pearl necklace of wisdom

Driving back from Hermitage, Tennessee at 5:30 A.M. with a love hangover is not the best way to start Steeplechase day.

He was/is a great guy, but Hermitage? Lordy. For you Bay Area folks, think of going home with someone from the Castro to Walnut Creek, but the town has all of the sleek sophistication of Colma.

When I left to come home, there was the frustrating blue dawn of morning. It became a race: could I get home and to bed before being touched by direct sunlight. The sun was rising fast behind me as I drove down 40 back to Belle Meade. My own little celestial game of tag. I made it to bed before dawn actually broke. Add to the exasperation of the knowledge that a very active and very long day would be starting in a mere four hours, the shame of having to return home so late from a night out to your parents' house. My morning arrival did not go without notice by my mother, but gracefully and gratefully it did go without comment.

Haste to the 'Chase

It has been insane all day here in the office. The Director has been out sick this week, as has half the staff. So Shilpa and I have been covering for everybody else. I've been so busy with other people's work, I haven't had time to get my own stuff done. Lucky for me I had planned ahead and I began this week in good work shape in preparation for leaving tomorrow morning to go home to Nashville. But I don't have any time now, just a few secs to post this and wrap up before I go home to pack.

It's Steeplechase weekend! Always a blast. And exhausting. How much heat and partying can one man stand? We'll find out. In celebration of the weekend I have redesigned my home page and put up some fun pics from last year.

This year Ginger is my date for the Fabulous Hardcastle Box on the finish line. But this week Ginger was also generously gifted a full box by the Tyrells who won't be able to make it this year. So we are being hosted by Fran and John in their box, and hosting eight others in another box. We have put together a really fun group of people who are incredibly interesting and entertaining, which is good because they won't know each other. Ginger and I will be flitting back and forth from family to frivolity. Which is what we really do race day anyway.

Riders to the posts!

Backstage at Surreal Life 6

It's trashy reality TV Tuesday at Kevin's. Imagined backstage dialogue after Flo speaks truth to low voltage:

"Don't be upset. C'mon now. Let's be honest. I'm a violent tranny, and you're a whore. I'm not saying it's bad, but I am saying it's true."

Do Not Taunt Happy Fun Ball

My cool little niece Ellen is turning 11 tomorrow. Discussion of gift ideas and wish lists has been circulating amongst the fam via e-mail. Among the suggestions were one or two games for whatever super-high-tech tiny touch screen Nintendo thing she got for Christmas. The suggested game title was along the lines of "Super Monkey Ball."

Mom just e-mailed the crew to say that she had gotten Ellen the "Super Monkey Ball" (so that others would not duplicate the purchase).

I had to e-mail back to the list: "Why does the phrase Super Monkey Ball make me uneasy?"
Fran replied: "Singular. Not plural."
Honestly, I don't know which is worse. Having Super Monkey Balls, just one Super Monkey Ball, or [shudder] a monkey with just one Super Ball.

All things considered, I just hope they are all going to some sort of formal party.

At which I hope they will be having more fun than a barrel of themselves.








Update: Mom wrote back. And it's pushing midnight in Nashville. My Mom is freakin' hilarious. I read it to Kevin who said he wished he had such a funny mom. I told him that my mother always said that "Insanity is hereditary. You get it from your children."

Colbertgate is not a toothpaste

The commentary and analysis on Stephen Colbert's address at the White House Correspondents' Dinner rages still.

However varied the content in the blogosphere may be, one can always count on the Christian Science Monitor for exceptional quality journalism. Commenting today on the reaction to the Colbert address (some calling it "Colbert-gate"), and the desperation and hypocrisy of the dinner itself, is bimonthly political columnist Dante Chinni. The piece is insightful, well-written, and highly recommended.

Favorite pull quote:

First off, the correspondents dinner showcases two of this town's biggest psychological issues, its feelings that it is the center of the universe and its fear that no one really cares what happens here. The dinner is like prom as imagined by the debate team.[emphasis added]

Love it.

Overheard at work - 6

"I don't like to do things half-assed. I like to do them, you know,... "
"...full-assed?"

Let's hear it for the boy

The Very Reverend and openly gay and long-term partnered Robert Taylor (and Dean of his congregation) was not elected to be the new bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of California. But he was welcomed back and applauded by his home congregation in Seattle.

"I think the question we're struggling with as a church is that baptism makes everyone a full member of the church...So we're struggling to live the truth of what God already knows. ... God is inclusive. God is filled with love and justice."

Amen.

Apple sauce

Talk to the hand cause the court ain't listenin'. (The court is listening to its iPod.)

The British court has ruled in favor of Apple/iTunes over the cry Beatles. Wired has the bare bones but informative AP story. The SF Chronicle adds a little more context and commentary. But my favorite reaction to this news is over at iTWire: Apple Ruling Demonstrates the Absurd.

Previously: Rotten Apple Corps, Dung Beatles, Bad Apples

Tiptoe through the juleps

The Kentucky Derby is this Saturday! Now while my annual Derby Day party is much anticpated, I have to decline to host this year. While I hope to have julep in hand and a television before my eyes come three o'clock, at noon I will be in Sausalito for the Christening of little baby RND (aka Zach).

Now where in this City can I find a silver baby julep as a gift?
......................................................................

For those non-southerners of you who do not know, the Mint Julep (note it is not spelled like tulip), takes its name from its traditional serving vessel. The silver or pewter cup is known as a julep. I have a set (of course) at home for just such occasions. Now, if only I could find a shop here to buy one for Roman.

Yo ho ho

And a seriously creepy barrel of rum.

More like Psycho de Mayo.

Map/Quest

This should make our evenings much more efficient.

For the thrifty, but thirsty: Stumbling Donkey

Oregon supes add injustice to injury

How crazy is this? The Oregon supreme court has ruled that medical marijuana patients who fail drug tests may be fired for failing the drug test for the drug to which they have been prescribed.

Even though they are not under the influence during work hours. Which is relevant because it is basically a workplace safety issue. What makes this insult to actual injury is that the only legal drug for medical affliction is toxic, debilitating, and sufficiently impairing as to make the worker unsafe to work, whereas the medical marijuana treats his ailment at night while leaving him alert and unaltered for his dangerous work (in a lumbermill) during the day. The drug test in question checks for metabolites remaining in the system for four weeks, and has no test for checking if the active drug is actively in the system at the time of testing (or any other time for that matter).

Another point of the case turned on the judges' appraisal of his level of disability, and their opinion seems devoid of common sense. Pam over at Pam's House Blend has clarified the legalese nicely: If you use medical marijuana to treat a condition so you may be unimpaired enough to work, an employer may fire you if you fail a workplace drug test -- because if you're healthy enough to work, you're not disabled enough to protect from firing.

Read her report here.

Overheard, and so wrong

You walked into that one like a battered wife into a door.


(okay, I was the one who said it.)

Overheard (from Tony) - II

Ever since I flogged him at the S&M booth, he's been kinda weird toward me.

Overheard (from Tony)

My love tank is empty so I am taking the night off.

When I reign, it pours.

(Sunday follow up to Friday/Saturday.)

Something is freakin’ up with me. For a guy with more body issues than Men’s Health, I am feeling pretty confident this week. I am garnering all sorts of unsolicited attention and in the dating game have switched from hunter to prey. I don’t get it, but I am not complaining. And I fear to examine it too closely lest it vanish for the scrutiny. (I'm sure there is some Heisenberg corollary to this somewhere.)

So, with the assistance of my friends Robert, Kevin, Shawn, and Jack (Daniels), I was the flame(r) to the hairy moths in the Powerhouse. And the object of attraction for [Anonymous Public Figure]. APF left me a message before I could even get home from the bar. And called me first thing in the morning and left a message (I try not to be vertical before 10:00 A.M. on Sunday if I can help it.) asking if he could bring me breakfast in bed.

Now while I clearly have a history of falling for any flattery, two phone calls in an eight hour period and an offer for breakfast in bed before a first date sort of sends Robbie into warning mode.

I agreed to meet him for breakfast at Squat and Gobble (the one in the Castro), which is one of the best places to be whenever it is sunny or warm enough for breakfast outside. There is also the sidewalk parade and the likelihood of seeing friends and acquaintances. True enough, we both saw many, many friends and acquaintances, but surprisingly no one overlapped. Robert has been pushing this relationship (relationship? I’ve known him for nine hours!) as we are great matches for social circles, interests, abilities, and most of all, protocol. I just want to have coffee with a guy first, then maybe go on a date, and then take it from there. Then again, compared to Robert’s love life, I have the pace of a glacier.

We had pleasant conversation during brunch, and he stroked my thigh and my hand and all of that and it was quite a nice time. He then asked if we could go for a walk, which considering the weather was an excellent idea. As we started up the hill he asked if we could have a kissing date. First time I have been asked as such and I agreed. I did establish that I already had plans to meet Robert in the afternoon and had to get a variety of designs done before going out with Lance to Sundance (all true). I also established that I was pretty atypical for a SF gay guy in that I don’t really kiss or kiss-plus on a breakfast/first date. I know, very Brenda circa 90210. But he was very interested in dating, and I was uncertain, so I wanted to take my time.

“You didn’t have any trouble kissing last night.”
Hooking up in a bar, and in place like the Powerhouse no less, is a very different thing. This felt like bringing a U-haul on a first date. I merely replied, “That was at one o’clock in a bar and Jack Daniels was involved.”

The walk we went on was to his car, in which he drove us to his house. While I would have preferred more conversation, we made out for about an hour. Which was very nice and sensual and felt long overdue. However, I still wasn’t in the zone yet with this guy, and kept the program to PG-13. However what buttons he had access to were sufficiently pushed. And he had all sorts of pining gazes and sexual flattery that I was very much feeling wooed.

I had to wrap it up to meet Robert downtown, and we eventually said our goodbyes. I walked home as he lives just at the top of the hill. He will be out of town for work for about a week, which gives us some pondering time. Clearly, this train is headed for Boyfriendburgh, and I am wondering if I need to get off (bad choice of words) at the next stop. Academically, dating APF would be all well and good, impending fatherhood with unbalanced co-parent notwithstanding. But so far, I am just not feeling it. And as I have truly loved seldom but crushed often, the fact that I am not excited about the train ride should be warning enough.

I took muni and a cab up to Nob Hill to meet Robert at the antique car show in the park, have a little bubbly and nibblies, and catch up. The Sunday was perfect for the park, and I could not have been happier lounging with Robert and the Kiwis (Lance and Barney).


A good time was had by all.

And the warm weather and the sunshine brought the park into full bloom.



Sundance Saloon was also an interesting end to an interesting weekend. Like last week, with so many people and so many of them friends, I felt like the beau of the ball. Handsome men begged for dances, bought me drinks, held me close, and expressed their sweet somethings (these were not nothings). Is it any wonder I am a regular?

While Matt did not make an appearance, there were other romantic storylines unfolding. I danced repeatedly and platonically affectionately with an ex, a first-dater, and ships in the night. But also, there was the dramatic return of the dramatic storylines of A, B, and C.

While I have distanced myself from the far too handsome A, and I have tried to avoid him as the black hole of attention, he is wheedling himself back into my good graces and into my arms, if only for a dance. It’s not that I have neither will power nor self-respect, it’s just that I don’t have enough force from either to escape his gravitational pull.

Something is going on with him which seems to be vexing and complexing him. I got the idea that at least one issue was with his equally hard-bodied and (by all indications) hetero-married and curiously constant companion. I am trying to resist my caretaker instincts with this one. I have been drawn in and discarded before. Not that I ever learn. Always giving and forgiving.

While perplexed by A, vexed, B was a non-issue really. He seems much more friendly with me now. I wonder if his previous distancing was because he sensed my ridiculous long-term crush, and now has sensed its absence. Unfortunately, his renewed kindness is sort of bringing it back. Le sigh.

Far more dangerous was the rekindled interest in C. Rekindled is not a strong enough word. If there were a single verb to describe dumping a pint of lighter fluid on candle flame, it would be that-ed. I have seen him out and about—street corners, grocery stores (is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?), bars, etc.—and he continues to be his flirty self. I am a big flirt too so I can take that with a grain of salt, or rather the salt lick it requires. But in fact the rendezvous on the street was sufficiently intense as to evoke poetry (never to be posted here—I may have no shame but I do have pride). I have never seen eyes such as his by the rainlight. And the vision of which blurred the memory of all else of the occasion. The fresh rain smell of his rainlight eyes was remarkable to me—that such synesthesia could be the cause of such amnesia.

While the train of APF may be headed to Boyfriendburgh, for C this train of thought will lead only to Madness. (Population: me.)

Sunday night we danced. And shadowed. (example of the shadow) And sappy as it sounds, his shadows are almost that—dimly dark, weightless, graceful, dangerous, and ethereal. And sexy as hell. Chatting with others in the corner later, C said, “I never said ‘no’ to Wilson.”

I must have looked incredulous for he followed up with “I never said ‘no’ to you.”

“Then I must not have been asking the right questions.” I drawled.

I thought a bit and said, “Now that we have established that you won’t say ‘no’ to me, I have another question.”

This is the first time I have seen the façade crack. Under any circumstance. His expression, always a mixture of sultry, inviting, and mischievous, transformed in a blink and his eyes registered an honest expression—of honest anxiety, bordering on fear. Unconsciously or not, he considered our past and our present, and realized at this very moment he should not be playing the game.

“At dancing!” He clarified. “I never say ‘no’ to you for dancing.”

“Oh, the qualifier. That has come much too late.”

The question in question popped to my mind immediately in my usual witty, flirty, humorous pattern, meant for the benefit of an audience as well as my advancement. But just as I started to give it voice, I was struck dumb. Dear God, it wasn’t a joke at all. It suddenly and surprisingly occurred to me that I would mean it.

I didn’t want a yes, per se. I would not expect a yes and a yes would be illogical and untimely and irrational and crazy. But I meant it, and if he said "yes," I felt a calm in realizing that, yes, I would too.

My next thought was a line which has stuck with me from all those hard-boiled detective Travis McGee books my brother loved: When your luck is running, push it.

Expecting nothing. Wanting nothing. Perfectly content just to ask. To have lived my life and said these words, and at the time mean them. That was more than enough.

I looked him in the eye, spoke his name, and asked him to marry me.

Colbert Rapport

Thank God for Stephen Colbert. The only man strong enough to speak truthiness to power.

While the mainstream press, itself evicerated, has been largely pretending the keynote address didn't happen, it has finally gotten around to acknowledging Stephen Colbert's performance at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. Now they are trying to brush it off as unfunny.

Clearly, as anyone at home was watching on television or more likely online, it was hilarious, even though few in the room were really laughing. Pretty much the President and the press were called to account that they all basically suck at their jobs.

And while the corporate press may try to ignore the exposure of their failings, coverage and praise for Colbert's performance (it was a performance of the faux pundit Stephen Colbert, not Colbert speaking as himself) is all over the web.

From Editor and Publisher. But my favorite take is from Salon here (with rather insightful comments on the historical use of irony in political satire) and here.

And would you believe?

If the South is gonna rise again...

...it won't be as a phoenix from the ashes.

Georgia, on no minds.

Another Improv Everywhere moment

I am a huge fan of Improv Everywhere, and somewhat feel that is what my life is like, just on a much smaller scale. That's me: improv of one. While I think that the Mission: Best Buy was brillant, my favorites are No Pants (read the resulting legal decision) and the Time Loop (described during the interview on This American Life). Many people hold the Mission: Even Better Than the Real Thing as number one (in which they pose as U2 and perform a rooftop concert a couple of hours before the real U2 appear across the street at Madison Square Garden).

My favorite excerpt from an agent's field report:

Once they realized that we posed no immediate threat to them or the community at large, they decided to let each of us go on a disorderly conduct charge. Such a charge, I was told by the officer who filled out my summons, more than likely would carry a $20 fine.

OK, great. So, for $20 I can pretend I’m a rockstar on the roof of an apartment building in New York City, entertain hundreds of passers-by and have a blast all the while, but a right turn onto 7th Ave. from 34th Street between 6-8 PM costs me $75. Another reason why I don’t have a car.

Let them eat cape.

Friday night, Shilpa and I accompanied the newly single Amy to an art opening (to which she was invited by the artist) at a café in Bernal Heights. As a newly single gal, Amy needed some slightly slutty shopping for socializing, and Shilpa had tricked her out nicely earlier in the week. While still maintaining a sophisticated air, the beams were on high, and phasers set to stunning. [The Hootchification of Amy Day, a new Teen Valley High romance forthcoming from Shilpa Patel.] Not that Shilpa and I have wonderfully successful relationships to give us any credibility, but we have successfully wooed a boy or two (not together of course) and when we bring our game we can certainly work a room. And we took to educating Rita on the art of casual conversation, flirting, non-verbal communication, and the ambush and retreating tactics in the art of lovefare. We were also hell-bent on getting some flattering photos for her Friendster profile. I will say this, when Amy identifies an object for potential affection, she doesn’t screw around. A sandy-haired, artistic, scientific, athletic Frenchman? J’en veux!


Afterwards, we took the short hop to the Outer Mission for Crazy Coco’s birthday party, which was lots of eat, drink, and with nothing but straight girls and mo’s, quite Mary. While my girls didn’t know anyone, and felt that they were overdressed and feared they would be considered Marina girls, they had a great time.



The freely flowing vodka and amazing tamales didn’t hurt. And they got to meet/chat/dance with some amazing mo’s. However, Amy’s intense ophidiophobia kept her secluded in the back bedroom for a little while.

Gay men do love to wear boas.

When we finally closed the party down at three-ish, it was a loooong drive to return Amy to her abode at Ocean Beach.

I should mention I got two messages Friday evening. The first was to my home phone in the afternoon and I got it after work before picking up the girls. Matt called and said he was really busy and just getting around to returning e-mails and phone calls, thought I had invited him out to dinner and a birthday party for tonight (I called Tuesday), and unfortunately he already had dinner plans. I responded to the answering machine, "It's Friday. So do I. I didn't sit around all week waiting for the phone to ring..." But the rest of the message was sufficiently apologetic and romantically interested to merit another invitation. Final exams are a good excuse for being socially scatter-brained, but he couldn't send a "sorry. can't. finals week. let's try again later." e-mail? Add to that my friends in UC Berkeley administration said finals weren't going on last week. Hmm. He seems genuine and is genuinely charming so it is worth another try. Again, we'll see.

Also on Friday night I got a last minute invitation from Robert for a black tie dinner party, which I can never refuse, especially now that I have a new swanky and well-fitting evening suit. He later indicated that we would also be wearing capes. My life to this point has been such that this neither surprised me nor struck me as at all odd. And to which I readily agreed. This additional wardrobe accent was given the context that we were the among the (token) colorful gays invited the party, and we would be stepping up, as it were. I never mind a cape. Added bonus: afterwards we can go fight crime.

Saturday evening, we met for pre-drinks and wardrobe at Rich’s absolutely beautifully redesigned Italian villa overlooking Dolores Park and the City. If Dwell and Architectural Digest are "shelter porn," this home is a shelter orgasm.



Juan Carlos, his boyfriend, was in from Spain and rounded out the handsome, royal flush. Details of the party had been intentionally withheld from me (you know I love surprises), but we were each designated a royal title and foreign nation to represent (fictional or historic) and outfitted in robes borrowed from the wardrobe department. Eventually I became Lord Brown of Wildwood, Caledonia. I know that if I were from Caledonia I should have been kilted, but the title and location were in homage to Nashville royalty, and I have always just loved the sound of the name “Caledonia.” So while I was not in a kilt (good thing too as there were too many ill kilts at the party), I was be-robed and be-jeweled by Robert.

a very enthusiastic wardrobe department

Robert’s cobalt regal robe was stunning and suitable to his fictionally native Denmark. In a gold and black lamé animal stripe/wood grain, I felt less like King Arthur and more like Bea Arthur.

Ultimately, the gala affair was a birthday party at the Maritime Museum with an International/Royal Passport theme. I was impressed at how many people came in professional, albeit period, costumes. We, of course, garnered the attention we deserved for looking so fabulous.


Juan Carlos, Duco deSomething Spanish, found a woman who grew up as a small child in Spain and was wearing a vintage flamenco dress.


My favorite though was her stunning daughter. She is Filipino and her husband is Vietnamese, and they were married in Vietnam. How many women can look stunning and be completely appropriate wearing their wedding dress to a cocktail party?


Inappropriate? Hardly! And how many women get to wear it more than once? For the price of wedding dresses, they should get more than one outing.

The caped crusaders left for Martuni’s to meet up with Kevin and Shawn. The company was lovely if the vocals were not. We had an unspoken agreement not to explain the capes, and when queried responded as if this were perfectly appropriate formal attire for whatever we had been attending prior. Like I've learned: never explain. We had unwelcome company which was rather politely dispatched by Robert, even though the guy was not getting it. Finally he asked “Are you telling me to go away?” I bit my tongue not to respond, “No, that’s what he is very carefully trying not to say. But if that’s what it takes…” We also had the polite and charming attention of the older couple behind us, who reminded me in so, so many ways of my parents. The man was amused, supportive, and disengaged, while his wife could barely contain her enthusiasm, and repeatedly and with genuine enthusiasm told us how wonderful we looked. She clearly wished she had been part of the fun and had the occasion herself to wear dramatic capes.

Rich and Juan Carlos called it a night, and the rest of us were ready for a change of venue. Where else would we be appropriate in black ties in this town? Why the Powerhouse of course.

Actually, we wanted to go see Tony who was working a fundraiser there and to be supportive to the cause. We ditched the capes, ties, and undershirts but kept the rest of the formal wear. It was surprisingly well received. I suppose it is just another level of fetish drag, and the clientele was very attracted to it (note to self.)


I started to make a snide side comment to Kevin and Shawn about Robert after we made it upstairs to the back area and spotted Robert against the wall with someone. “Good Lord,” I said, “he’s already found someone to make out with…oh… That’s [Anonymous Public Figure].” They were just chatting and Robert introduced us again. We had met several times socially but never had had any significant conversation. I still had the “I’m going to kiss someone this weekend come hell or high water” attitude and ironically, I was the embarrassing friend later as I unabashedly made out with [Anonymous Public Figure].” I declined an overnight invitation but gave him my number. There was a message waiting for me by the time I got home.

Sunday update to follow.