Enjoying yourself?

Via BoingBoing, who credits R. Stevens of Dieselsweeties.



Just the other day I saw a t-shirt that read "When I want your opinion I'll remove the duct tape."

Date Rape Foiled

The second crime here is that it took two years from the time these smart and strong women foiled a drugging and potential rape to the time the court sentenced the guy.

Two years.

That's almost as scary.

Read the story of the bar patron and bartender who saw a guy slip his date a mickey (twice no less) and took action. from today's SF Chonricle.

Larry Kramer and the LA Times

Larry Kramer wrote an open letter to be published by the LA Times.

Scan the Wikipedia entry and get your context from Towleroad:

As a follow-up to his speech at New York's Gay & Lesbian Center and last week's Times Square ACT-UP Army protest, Larry Kramer writes an open letter to heterosexuals in today's L.A. Times, asking them why many stand silently as the hate parade goes by.

The letter was originally entitled "A Letter to America's Heterosexuals" which was changed by the LA Times to read "Why do straights hate gays?"

Adding insult to injury, and providing a case in point to Mr. Kramer's letter, the LA Times added an undermining subheading: "An aging 72-year-old gay man isn't hopeful about the future."

Larry Kramer is a significant gay political figure, founded ACT UP, forced the nation and its politicians to focus on AIDS, and is a notable author as well. Discounting him as "an aging 72-year-old-man" is insulting. (And one commentor on Towleroad noted that referring to him as "aging" is also asinine as everyone who is living is aging.)



My letter to the LA Times--

To Whom It May Concern:

Regarding Larry Kramer's "A Letter to America's Heterosexuals" (March 20, 2007), I do not understand why you felt the need to change the title to "Why do straights hate gays?" which does not accurately convey the message of the letter.

Furthermore, it is grossly offensive and reprehensible that you would take a significant and historic leader in the gay rights movement, and the man largely responsible for bringing attention to the AIDS crisis when it began, and trivialize him in your sub-title into "An aging 72-year-old gay man [who] isn't hopeful about the future."

If Rosa Parks sent an open letter about race relations, would you discount her opinion with the headline "A 93-year-old aging black woman is worried about white folk."?

I am usually a major supporter of the un-sung and underappreciated Copy Editor, but if this was a copy editing mistake, your editors need a history lesson, or at least need to be sent back to run fact-checking. If this was not merely a sloppy copy mistake, then this speaks to a much more sinister problem at the Times.

Why do you hate gays?

Sincerely,

Wilson Hardcastle

AP writer fails AP English

Davidson College has been all over the news today, including NPR's Morning Edition.

Google News has the headlines, and a link to "185 News Articles" on the subject, so there is lots of press.

What is annoying is that most news outlets are just either running the AP piece, or taking the AP piece and adding their own bits and pieces to it. Now this, in and of itself, is not that annoying. What is annoying is that the AP leads with Raleigh, NC-, and expounding articles have been adding "Davidson College, located in Raleigh, North Carolina..." to their copy.

Davidson College is, this should not be hard to grasp, located in the town of Davidson, North Carolina. As someone who has had to drive from Davidson to Raleigh, I can tell you that Raleigh is not even close.

The nearest major city is Charlotte. Even if the Raleigh bureau is where the AP writer is based, there is an AP office in Charlotte. Indicating Charlotte in the article heading would be forgivable as it is only about 30 miles/45 minutes away by Interstate. But Raleigh?

Elizabeth Dunbar, I am calling you out. Even in Raleigh, and your proximity to UNC and Duke, you should bloody well know where Davidson College is located.

NPR, not surprising, gets the story right:

Davidson College, a liberal arts school near Charlotte, N.C., is adjusting its need-based financial aid programs to eliminate student loans. Instead, the school plans to pump up its endowment and offer students who need financial help more grants and jobs.

IHOPping mad

Grandview, MO, IHOP ejects women for being lesbian.

While obese and in-bred crackers offered five syrups.

As reported on local Fox affiliate WDAF, members of a group of lesbians say they were asked to leave the International House of Pancakes (IHOP) in Grandview, Mo., after a complaint from another patron. According to the women, there were innocent kisses of greeting and affection exchanged, but nothing objectionable took place. Jackie Smith recounted what the general manager said: “...It’s just that we’ve had complaints, and it’s unacceptable. And as a family restaurant, we don’t accept that, and (we) don’t accept you. And she (Blair Funk) said ‘Maybe we should go.’ He said, ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave, and not return.’”

See also.

Update.

I imagine the truth lies somewhere in-between. I wonder what the lesbians' first-hand account is like.

Madam, I'm Adam

Madame (with an e) is back, and there is a great serendipitous tribute/review by Richard Rothstein over at QueerSighted: Madame and Me.

Madame is on tour with her new show "Madame with an E" and will be in SF for Pride as well as a gig at the Plush Room.

I'm so going. And taking Kevin. She's just the sort of woman that Statler and Waldorf would be hot for.

So rarely is historical so hysterical.

From her MySpace page, under Interests: "men, drinking, entertaining, and entertaining men who have been drinking."

Wayland Flowers and Madame in an old movie clip on YouTube.

How many times do you have to ask

a question, before it becomes "frequent"?

In this case, I'm thinking twice would be far too many.

From the UK McDonald's site, and their interactive answers to "Frequently Asked Questions":

Why did your emplyees [sic] ejactulate [sic] into my grandmother's milkshake?




Via The Register.

TV going critical

I'm generally a fan of the SF Chonicle's television critic Tim Goodman.

Today he sort of rants on the Emmys, which actually could use a good rant.

But this is the gem of today's column:

Just when you thought the "Law & Order" thing was abating -- no. "Criminal Intent" has hired Tate Donovan to play a central figure in the whole diaper-wearing-crazy-astronaut story. That's fine and all, but isn't this just a wake-up call to movie-of-the-week producers to get off their backsides and dramatize this nutty story? One such movie has already fallen through. Come on, people. You're not trying hard enough. No matter how poorly you write this thing, a woman in diapers in a car racing to kill another female astronaut is guaranteed 10 million viewers even if you do it with mimes. Come ON!

Why can't they be sued

for false advertising?

"Fair and Balanced"? Hardly.

Just a few examples why bloggers refer to Fox news as Faux news.

I've gone so far as to delete the Fox news channel from my television settings.

Private Conversation

Overheard at dinner Friday night:

Titties Verde: "Well, I was a pincipal's kid, so I was outwardly well-behaved, but I got a lot of free drugs."

and

Titties Verde: "I have a huge crush on the janitor. He's rugged hot and when he came up to me it was like this because of the fake leg. But it's not one of the nice fake legs, just a pole shoved into the shoe. And he only only wears shorts— oh and cowboy boots, so the boot is wrapped with all this duct tape to the pipe."


And later at the Cinch:
RMJ: "You just missed her!"
Me: "Who?"
RMJ: "The midget transsexual hooker. She has a huge following."
Me: "Well I suppose it's nice to have something big."



Private Conversation, by Lyle Lovett
(launches iTunes)

Feeling lonely?

Like, I don't know, like you're the only gay eskimo in your tribe?

Wrap up before the next story

Just a quick wrap up on last night-- the event turned out to be not so much an exlcusive gay academic night, but rather it was the gay acdemic group partnering with something called "gay active" or whatnot who just planned for their members to attend en mass the social night at the Academy-- Third Thursdays, when the musuem is always open late with a DJ and a bar as a way to get more young and/or single people interested in the Academy.

So there was a good mix of people, but not as opening social as it could be as some groups were more closed than others, and mixing with the general (and straight) public reduced the impulse of many to speak to new people.

DJ and I were equally late to the meeting place so that worked out fine, but without the formal intent to meet new people, we only spoke to one or two new faces. We did meet a nice young alligator, named Steve, and his handler.

It just sort of cracks me up that there is an alligator named Steve.


And I was glad to be wearing the "just made of leather" boots.

DJ and I did not accost other cliques or talk to too many new people. Not only we were enjoying getting to know each other better, but too much of my time was taken with talking to, da da dum, ex-boyfriend.

I wondered what he was doing there as I know where he went to "college" and it was not UCB, UCSF, or an Ivy. I know I sound like a complete snob, but I recall he scratched his way through Cal State Chico. Not exactly known as one of the intellectual giants. It turns out he was just out with some straight friends who wanted to go for the Third Thursday social and wondered why there were so many gay people all of a sudden.

I don't think I have spoken to Will since we stopped going out three years ago (four?). I broke my "no one under 30" rule for him-- actually he may still be under 30. Oh good Lord. He still looks very good, and I was grateful to have the handsome JD on my arm for the encounter.

My Favorite Martian

Ever since our summer intern of 2005, Kristen Bell, got me to tune in, I have been in love with Veronica Mars. (Veronica Mars is played by another and equally lovely Kristen Bell.)

Veronica is the modern Nancy Drew, with more Buffy attitude and darker mysteries (let's see, she's been druggged, raped, locked in a box and set on fire, had to expose a pedophile in power, and reveal a mass-murdering teen too close to home).

High school is harder in SoCal.

While the show survived the merger of the WB with UPN into the CW, its future remains murky.

While the show is rife with typical hardbodies and 20-something pop speak, there's plenty of clever to carry it to mature audiences. (I considered giving my parents the DVDs. They love TV mysteries.) My favorite throw-away gag (which I'm sure was lost on the target demographic): When going undercover at a rival high school, Veronica poses as Betty, new transfer from Riverdale. She even complains about the principal, Mr. Weatherbee.

Go Cats!

Davidson put on one hell of a show yesterday against Maryland during the early rounds of March Madness.

There's lots of ink on this game, but I particularly love this article from the Hamilaton Spectator (from Ontario, Canada, no less!).

Reading the article this morning, in which Davidson is cast as David (appropriately enough) and Maryland as Goliath, the battle reads much like the 300: a tiny group proves to be a force against an enormous foe. Not only do the Maryland players stand almost a head higher than Davidson's, the writer also points out the disparity in campus numbers: "For one day, the little guy (in this case, Davidson, student population: 1,700) has a chance to play the game of their life and maybe slay a giant (as in Maryland, student population: 35,000)."

Then again, he also might think we're rubes-- he focuses a bit much on the fact that the band had a cowbell. (Um, perhaps you missed that issue of Time profiling Davidson; it was the cover story with the headline "Who Needs Harvard?").

Little Davidson College's battle with powerhouse Maryland ends in defeat
By Scott Radley
The Hamilton Spectator
Mar 16, 2007

Tiny Davidson College -- tiny both in numbers and overall team stature -- had begun its warm-ups yesterday when its opponents from Maryland swaggered out onto the floor in a cocky jog. Accompanied by some rather ominous music from their pep band and dressed all in black, they cut a rather imposing figure. Worse, every one of them looked about a head taller than their soon-to-be opponents. Three heads taller than one of Davidson's guards whose shorts nearly reached his ankles.

"They're not scared," a Davidson fan sitting in the school's student section optimistically insisted to a buddy as their heroes' layups suddenly appeared a little distracted.

Wishful thinking or not, it was a perfect snapshot of what March Madness is all about. For one day, the little guy (in this case, Davidson, student population: 1,700) has a chance to play the game of their life and maybe slay a giant (as in Maryland, student population: 35,000).

...

The combination of one bench's fear of losing combined with the other bench feeling like it has nothing to lose tends to level the playing field. Like it did yesterday.

Davidson came out on fire and quickly put Maryland on its heels. A few long three-pointers, a few defensive stops and suddenly, the smaller guys were playing bigger than they are and the bigger guys were shrinking.

It was Hoosiers. For real.

No, the tournament isn't perfect. There's stuff about it that drives you nuts. The organizers' overzealous insistence on calling the players -- a fair number who will never graduate -- "student athletes." Same with the NCAA's pious tsk-tsking of gambling even as countless office pools across North America have turned this tournament into a giant money-maker for it by capturing the attention of even those who think Gonzaga is a type of cheese and Virginia Commonwealth is an insurance company.

But then you see the passion of players who aren't making millions of dollars to play hard and you listen to the enthusiasm of their completely-decked-out-in-school-colours fans -- who come up with some of the most hilarious chants in sports -- and you realize you can look past that other stuff.

If all else fails, you notice that despite being a long way from their home in North Carolina, Davidson's band even brought along its cowbell player for the game.

C'mon, who couldn't love an event that has room for cowbell? More to the point, who couldn't root for a school like that?

Few people, as it turns out. By the second half, every one of the 18,000-plus in the arena not wearing Maryland gear was pulling for the huge underdogs. And being rewarded for their efforts.

The long shots led most of the way. They were up by one midway through the second half and trailed by just three with just over two minutes to go.

"We went toe-to-toe with arguably one of the best teams in (one of the best conferences)," said Davidson coach Bob McKillop.

But a few missed shots forced them to foul to stop the clock. That allowed Maryland to sink a bunch of free throws as time wound down and escape with an uneasy 82-70 victory.

Hey, upsets don't happen all the time.

But they could. And that's what makes March Madness so special.

Photo credit: Mike Cassese / Reuters

On 300 (the movie)

I don't know what the critics where whining about, or what the reviewer over at AfterElton was smoking, but 300 was great, and not remotely homophobic. (Yes the homosexuality of the Spartan soldier was absent, but it was not necessary to the story either.)

Homoerotic? Damn those are some torsos. There were one or two (or more) scenes where one is jarred out of the story by the array of such super-heroic physiques posing around one another wearing nothing but black speedos and red capes. Superman would have gotten his ass kicked by the Spartans.


The story was simple, but great. The visuals were stunning, and the acting on spot. Epics, especially classical empire epics, tend to go a little long and be a bit slow in places. I was thoroughly engaged and entertained throughout the picture. The B-story, politics back home, was also short and simple, but very well done. You will forget Helen Mirren. Now this is a queen.


[Queen Gorgo is given two of the most powerful lines in the movie. The first is taken directly from the classical text. When the Persian messenger is aghast that the King asks his wife for her opinon, he asks, "You permit your women to speak?" The queen replies that "only Spartan women give birth to real men." Some have interpreted this to mean that only men with the self-confidence to accept women as equals were men at all. I understand more as a respect these women, it is only the strong women of Sparta who can create such strong men. "Strength" of these women referring to the emotional and the rational as well as the physical.]

I had read about the gore and the blood and the violence, and as I generally hate gratuitous violence a la Death Wish or Kill Bill, I was apprehensive. Sure, it's a bloody war movie with squishy penetrations of spears into chests, dismemberments, beheadings, and gallons of what CSI referrs to as spatter and cast off, but none of this was gratuitous. In fact, it was rather artful, like a battlefield ballet.

The impression of the gore may have been tempered by the audience empathizing and rooting for the underdogs doing the killing, defending themselves and their homeland from invaders. The impression of graphic violence was also more like graphic-novel violence--it was artful, visually constucted, and sepia washed.

For a movie which held for me only mild interest, I had a great time.

Of course, we also saw it in IMAX, which was awesome (apologies for sounding like a sixth-grader, but seriously, the 300 IMAX experience was, in fact, totally awesome.).

For a film lover (and aspiring film archivist) I haven't been going to the movies lately. Either it's the film fare available, or the fare for attending. Going to the movies is getting to be a bigger a bigger hassle (time, parking, theater space) and the cost of parking, $10 admission, second mortgage for a snack and a soda makes it more expensive than a nice night out with dinner and a show. And I've been opting for nicer nights and concerts over more expensive mediocre movies.

last night I thought I should start seeing movies only in IMAX. It is such a superior experience (although if you have to pee it is a huge deal), and while it costs 50% more than a standard movie ticket, paying $15 for IMAX over the $10 for a regular movie, the cost differential doesn't seem so bad for the added value.

If only they'd show more previews before the IMAX shows (the only show whatever IMAX preview they have available). I love previews.

But if they start charging $15, and showing commercials, then they will have gone too far.


Last word: Many critics are trying to make this story a modern allegory. Iran is all pissed because they think it is about US versus them. Others try to make it about Iraq. Or the Bush administration.

They are all full of crap. Just enjoy the story. Some of the dialog is taken directly from the classical account.

Colbert satired this tendency recently. You'll have to fast-forward to about three-quarters of the way through his report on the A-Pop-Calypse. Movies is the fourth horseman.
(video expires April 14)

Acamania

I am on the invitation list for an event tonight: an LGBT networking/social for Academics/Alumni at the Academy of Sciences. A “Gay Academics at the Academy” sort of thing. I had not committed to Jenny’s friend's big opening (art) tonight and was rather in the mood for (1) networking (I could use a new job), (2) well-educated gay guys(I could use a new job date, and (3) the Academy of Sciences. I haven’t been since they moved from their nearby site in Golden Gate Park to the new digs on Howard Street in SOMA.

Instead of going with my close friends (who are also on this list but unavailable), I invited JD, who is on the same list and works across the street from my office, as my companion/wingman. I know JD from Sundance, and increasingly enjoy his company. When we first met, he was rather flirty and I lapped up the attention like a dog. But JD can also be a bit intimidating as he is excruciatingly handsome, and has a timbre to his voice that couls soothe any savage breast. He is also on the wagon, and I have learned that in practical terms I cannot have an ongoing romantic relationship with someone in recovery. I fully support their recovery, but too much of the fabric of my life involves social drinking and it just never works out with someone who does/can not. The hardest drug I ever do is Jack Daniels, so I feel okay with my level of alcohol (ab)use. And I’m Southern for goodness sakes.

Regardless, I decided not to pursue a romantic relationship with JD, and we continue to be friends. (Not to mention that dating in the Sundance pool is just generally a very bad idea.) But still, Lordy he’s handsome. It is often difficult for me (ME!) to carry on a conversation with him as sometimes his looks just render me speechless (and that’s saying something for those who know me). Of course, for the first several months that I knew him I never saw him without a hat or with a shirt.

When I found out he worked across the street I stopped by his office one day, but assumed I had the wrong room as I didn’t recognize him without the hat and in professional attire. Now I often see him after work and he’s in his motorcycle garb. Man, I thought he was hot before. (For such a quiet, modest guy, he has plenty of attention at Sundance. A few months back he pierced his nipples. While some guys get into that sort of thing, on him it was just gilding the lily. And for me had the opposite effect. I’m just saying.)

Anyway, we are going to this thing tonight together. Not as a date-together, but a friends-together and part of his new initiative to “go out more and do new things.” I told you he is the quiet type. I wondered why he was still single and it seems he really doesn’t go out much. While his social skills are fine, his socializing skills are not. The function tonight is from 6:00 to 8:00, and he asked if I wanted to see a movie (300) afterwards at 8:05. Now generally at social events, especially gay events where the point is to socialize, the hope or the aim is to meet new people. When participating in (not just attending) such an event, one should plan to carry the socializing past the stated hour—I don’t know if the place will be closing its doors at 8:00, but one should at least allow, if not plan for, the possibility of meeting a new person or new people and carrying the introduction into an after event of dinner or drinks. If you are planning to socialize, it might be nice to have an out if you are not having a good time, but I would not avidse you to commit to having to leave early and be forced to cut short any fun times or relationships you might be sowing. To me this seems counter-productive. (As I type this I am thinking of RMJ who I know understands this protocol so well.)

Not wanting to be the frsit to a party, DJ also doesn’t want to get there until 6:30 or 7:00. But he mentioned that 300 has been selling out so we should get to the theater 30 to 40 minutes early—which leaves, what?—a half hour to have fun in the museum and chat people up?

Now you all know I have a, shall we say, “fluid” relationship with time. (Okay, I’m always late. Not like Mac Hardcastle late. More like Fran Hardcastle late. Add the Hardcastle social timing—well, Dad and Jay are atomic punctual—to Southern late, and then to gay late, and I just operate in another time zone. Deal with it.) Southern gentleman/socialite I am, I know that one does not want to be on time for a party that starts at 7:00 and say ends at 11:00, but functions that are downtown and 6:00-8:00 are clearly “after-work” functions and arriving on-time is not considered a social faux pas, but rather convenient and maximizing the potential for fun and games in such a narrow window.

So I’ve got to split now to make myself pretty. I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been and am not feeling particularly handsome these days, so I’ll need to put in a little extra effort tonight as I will be cavorting with “Dear God in Heaven” handsome at my side. But socializing is something I can do, and these are skills I am happy to impart to my newly-outgoing friend. He can train me in the bod, and I can train him at the mod.

Just call us the Face and Grace.

Or perhaps, Gym and Tonic.

Three Hundred

I'm going to see 300 tonight (more on that later).

Originally I was mildly interested. Then a little off-put.

But it promoises to be, at the very least, enteraining and visually stunning.

Or in the words of my now-favorite description of the movie: Homer erotic.





This just in from Joe.My.God: "Last night I saw the movie 300, which I found gorgeously photographed, populated by innumerable beautiful men, and really, really, really awful."

Lorem Ipsum

I remember when I first came across Lorem Ipsum text on the back of a comic book. I receognized some of the words as Latin and took it to my Latin teacher, who said it translated into jibberish and that he couldn't understand it either.

Only later when I became a typesetter and graphic designer, did I learn that Lorem Ipsum (and the accompanying text) was the standard for placeholder text. Some people are still confused (one Blogger posted an image from Home Depot where it seems they think Lorem Ipsum is Spanish).

What I didn't know until I came across this site, is that Lorem Ipsum is almost as old as typography itself. It has been the industry standard for sample type since the 1500s.

And it is, in fact, Latin--after a fashion. Here's the detective work which reveals its origin:

Contrary to popular belief, Lorem Ipsum is not simply random text. It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Richard McClintock, a Latin professor at Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia, looked up one of the more obscure Latin words, consectetur, from a Lorem Ipsum passage, and going through the cites of the word in classical literature, discovered the undoubtable source. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum" (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book is a treatise on the theory of ethics, very popular during the Renaissance. The first line of Lorem Ipsum, "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..", comes from a line in section 1.10.32.

The standard chunk of Lorem Ipsum is is taken from what is basically a treatise on pleasure and pain. Check out the transalations at lipsum.com.

Wait, I've got something in my ides.

Oh, it's my brother's birthday!



Happy birthday Jay!

Saturday of Beaches and Boots

As BR549 once sang, it was one long Saturday night. Saturday was chock-full of fun, and as such completely exhausting.

Dr. May rallied the troops to make the most of the sunshine and warm weather by taking a roadtrip North through Olema to one of the many beaches in the Point Reyes National Seashore.

Friday night ended unexpectedly early as the two-for-one's at Bandlands happy hour left me, shall we say, "peaking" a bit early. Thank God I went to bed early on Friday as Barney rallied us to get a move on at 9:00 Saturday morning. I picked up Shilpa, Lance (and George), and then Barney before meeting up with David Britt in Marin and caravan-ing up the coast together-- Shilpa, Barney and I in Linda and Lance & George with David in his new (and yet another) Miata Mazda MX5.

There was a bit of lane confusion in San Anselmo and we found ourselves making a series of repetitive turns around a single intersection, and were suprosed to be stopped at a light behind this atrocity:


An enormous earth-destroying Ford SUV in "liberal" Marin County with the bumper stickers: "[Peace Symbol]: Footprint of the American Chicken" and "ACLU [with the C replaced by a hammer and sickle]: Enemy of the State." As they are so proud of these opinions as to plaster them to their SUV, I feel no need to redact the license plate.

I was so appalled that I felt the need to take a picture. The car next to us clearly agreed with our dismay, and thought that it was hilarious that we took a photo.

--- My brief rant on this: ---

The ACLU is an organization whose sole purpose is to defend the Bill of Rights and the Constitution of the United States of America. How on earth can this be the enemy of the state—it is seeking to preserve the rights and ideals of a state against those who might attack it, even those within its government. As an organization protecting the constitution, it is necessarily patriotic. How conservative "patriots" can denigrate the ACLU without dissonance is beyond me.

And as for the other sticker, I find equating peace with weakness also ironic. War and violence are always easier than peace and resolution. Striving for peace has always required more courage than a rush to war. For me, the painful irony/cognitive dissonance in this stance is that it is often voiced by conservative/evangelical Christians. Rallying for war in the name of the Prince of Peace is not the sign of a sound mind, nor soul.

--- End of rant. ---

It was, actually, a perfect day for a drive. It was just beautiful weather with sunny skies and moderate temps.


(That's David ahead of us.)

We stopped in Olema where Sir Francis Drake finally ends and picked up some sandwiches and sodas. Barney generously treated the chauffeur to lunch and had brought several bottles of a New Zealand white for the caravan.

We finally made our way to Limatour, which required a small walk (maybe 200 yards) to the beach.

Now, originally the group thought we were headed to Tomales Bay and the Oyster farms and restaurants there, so arriving at a wide expanse of sand was a bit unexpected. Barney, instigator and planner, was the only one who knew where we were going and so was the most appropriately attired. In dress sandals and a skirt, Shilpa was much more dressed for cute than casual, and was justifiably concerned about sitting lounging in the sand. (Sand having a way of getting into nooks and [ahem] crannies.)

And of course, being me, I was prepared for such a contingency and was able to pull out beach blankets, towels, and extra waters from the trunk, as well as a sun hat for Shilpa.

It was a lovely day for relaxing on the sand and enjoying the surf:

Scenic.

Us.

Barney.

Lance and George posing for a Friendster/Match.com photo.

Shilpa and Wilson.

Sandals abandoned to the dunes.
(For some reason I just really liked this image.)

An exiled George tied to a post.

In addition to the other items I keep in the trunk "just in case," I had a kite, which was much, much enjoyed (even if it did get that song stuck in my head for the better part of an hour).

Actually, it was just Lance and I who got into the kite flying. The others just raised their glasses and mocked from a distance. But we finally got it airborne.

And once it caught the coastal currents, it really soared:

(This is a detail- in the original photo the kite is a tiny speck.)

We were cheered on by an older lesbian couple a few dunes away. Notice how few people are on the beach. In this vast openess, while trying to recover from a downdraft, Lance managed to run over and knock down this woman who had come to compliment the kite flying effort. This was hilarious, and this photo was taken moments after they untangled themselves up off the sand.

Ultimately, we could see the marine layer making its way south and inland towards us. After about an hour of "who can best estimate the time of fogfall" the temperature dropped about 20 degrees and we broke camp. I had put a limit on the day, asking to be back in the City by 4:30 for another event. We packed up around 3:30 and I knew we would be late. Tonight was the spring Rodeo Private Shopping Night. The pre-party, country kareoke at the Mint, started at 4:00. The bus was scheduled to leave at 8:00 sharp.

It was a long day in the sun, and a terribly long ride back to SF. And as the driver, I was the only one who didn't nap along the way.

After dropping everyone off at their respective abodes around 6ish, I managed a few minutes to chill and to take a 15-minute disco nap before showering, making the bus playlists (I had been asked to provide music for the ride), and rushing over to Duboce and Market to find parking.

The disco nap was essential. I was completely knackered from the day. I would have certainly crashed without a nap, but if I slept any longer than 20 minutes I would never have gotten up at all. Having touched the dreamspace, I felt refreshed, and as darkness fell in the interim, it felt like I was waking to another day. It felt as if that morning felt were a week ago.

I made it to the Mint around 7:30 and met up with the GSGRA Chapter President Doug and Shopping Night coordinator Scott (whose public name is Skot Land). Last time there were fairly few participants. This time Skot managed to pre-sell over 40 seats. When I arrived, they had just been informed by the bus company that the big bus had broken down and the company would be sending two small buses instead--that was much less fun than one large party barge, but it worked out all right. The entire experience, while not as surreal with the previous trip, was much much fun.

Party bus.

Cruise Director Skot Land

Other Scott, aka Loud Scott, returning to our row modeling chips and beer.

BJ and Bill


And inappropriate touching is always fun on a party bus.

This trip I tried to curb my spending--I really don't need any more western wear, and I'm already Imelda with the boots. But they were offering deals and everything at a 25% discount. The last two times I spent more money that I cared to on pair of stingray boots, but I have enjoyed them so much I have never regretted the purchases (you'll never regret spending a little more for good quality). And if I were ever to buy a pair of unusual and expensive boots (an "exotic"), I had best do so during such a sale.

Some of the "exotics."

Last fall, there was a rainbow of options and during the bus ride I thought, "maybe I'll get a brightly colored pair this time." It's amazing how beer facilitates commerce. Here's a pic from the fall trip:

The colors were much more limited this time down, but I tend to favor green in my wardrobe and started considering the lime-sherbert pair. Someone chuckled and said, "But you'll never find anything to wear with those."

Oh, please.

Like I don't have two pair of pants and two shirts in my closet that are basically this color. I think I responded with something gay like, "Don't underestimate my ability to accesorize."

Sure enough, only two racks over was a shirt exactly that color. I held them up together and someone snaped my picture. Garnering attention, Doug rushed over and provided me with a matching, rhinestone-studded belt.

You can imagine the entire ensemble:

Alas, I did not spent the $300-plus on the green ostrich boots. (How often has anyone heard that sentence?)

I did, however, get a couple of bold shirts (and one a similar bold green) and some short-sleeved country shirts for dancing.

And a pair of boots.

With the deal they gave me, and my great experience with my previously possibly exhorbitant purchases, I decided it was a wise, wise thing to purchase the pair of black and white lizard skins. VERY snazzy. And I they will look awesome at the formal events or El Deora shows (when they return from their European tour).

Skot, a handsome but very tiny fellow, made off with the most remarkable purchase: a belt buckle the size of his face:


He wore it out to Sunday dancing to much attention.

Skot: "It's five and a half by seven inches. I measured it."
Me, gratutitously: "Oh... the belt buckle."
Davey: "That's not seven inches."
Skot: "It is. I measured it with a tape measure."
Davey: [Reaches in and measures the width by stretching his thumb to pinky finger. He pulls back, looks the spread fingers, and ponders.] "Wow. I'm feeling much better about myself now."
Me: "But the buckle doesn't have to be measured from its bottom edge to be that big."