The iPhone hype continues to rage out of control, as are stories about the hype. And waaaay too many stories on people offering their "wait for you in line" services for a fee.
But I am enjoying all the hubub. I am enjoying the energy of all this six-month, pent-up anticipation building to a total Applegasm.
I passed by the midtown Apple Store yesterday where people were already lined up for Friday's iPhone release. Some of them have been there since Monday. I'm trying to think of anything in the entire world worth waiting for five days in 90 degree weather. Maybe a winning lottery ticket. Suddenly I'm hoping for torrential thunderstorms. Maybe some hail. I am a terrible person.
I love XYZ but haven't seen him in quite some time. He checked in last night asking if I was going to make it to Princess Kennedy's birthday party at Trannyshack. (That would be a no. I have been exhausted and under the weather post-Pride and curled up with my pillow and a DVD.)
XYZ also had a date planned with someone who has been a crush person of interest for a little while.
The guy? Not just a choreographer, but a circus choreographer. XYZ tends to date only the handsomest/most physically fit of the species. And for this to be found in someone atypical, let's say a circus performer, is itself, rather typical.
His is the Cirque de so Gay.
Circus Abs chose a cozy, romantic French restaurant for the encounter, but never ordered any food. Several wines and no solids later, XYZ was beyond hungry, but Circus Abs was food averse. It seems he already had a protein shake (we're quoting here: "because it has fewer sugars than Muscle Milk").
I have impressed upon XYZ the appreciation of the novel sentence. (There are only so many ways to arrange the words in the English language, and one should really pay attention for the sentences or sentiments you've never heard before.) XYZ now tries to remember these for me later.
Last night's bon mots: "well, I should tell you, I am really working on my silks right now and I need to focus on more protein, less fat."
Poor XYZ went home ravenous to an empty cupboard with only a nearby pizza place as possible nourishment. (Sort of the opposite of Circus Abs' diet.)
At least XYZ got some acrobatic and contortionist entertainment before he went home.
I'm imagining the video: The Three Cock Ring Circus.
Pride weekend was, as always, busy, fun, and exhausting. With lots of surprises. I've got a thousand other things on my plate, so I'm telling this tale in pictures.
To be honest, I'm over the parade. Have been for years. I've done the early-watching thing, the watch from a party thing, the sleep through it thing, the march in it thing, the dance in it thing, and now I'm just happy volunteering for a group during.
My waning interest in the parade is matched by my growing enthusiasm for Pink Saturday. That's where the fun it.
We started off meeting up with Coco Flores, Jimbo Myers, Shilpa Patel, and Jeff Javits at the Metro. And had perfect window seats (unintentionally) for the Dyke March. That was a sight to see. And sometimes, as we do, mock.
The Dyke March lastd for hours it seems. Strong stock those dykes.
After that, we all crammed into a cab to head up to David and Sean's—Javits and Jimbo were proper invitees, and Coco, Shilpa and I were the plus one three.
Javits took me, Kevin, and Kelly last year, and we not only had a lovely time, but also totally fell in love with David and Sean. (Of course, back then I didn't know they were an "and" as I flirted shamelessly with Sean.) As always, David and Sean were wonderful and generous hosts.
Wilson Hardcastle and David O'Connor
Imagine my surprise as we crossed the threshold, and David greeting each of us, including Shilpa, by name. It seems that David is a total lurker and big fan of the blog.
David O'Connor and Shilpa Patel
I left a couple of my comical cards last year, and David checked out the web address. Since then, he has been checking the blog a couple of times a day. He's a total fan of the blog (so flattered) and a fan of Shilpa's. He knew everything about our bid'ness (asking about our recent exploits, auto theft, Shilpa's deal with her mother etc.). Much fun. So a huge I'm Just Sayin' shout out to Alert Reader David O'Connor!
There were other familiar faces, and lots of pink.
It was a perfect weekend for Pride, with a pink sunset to usher us into the Pink Saturday night.
Where I again played demented Easter Bunny, and met up with lots of friends.
Sean Ray and Wilson Hardcastle
While Pink Saturday was the highlight of the Pride weekend, here are a few comments on Pride Sunday—
I had signed up to volunteer at the boot check for the Sundance Saloon stage, and planned to spend the bulk of the day two-stepping in the sunshine. Something I really love about Pride. That, and how so many pretty little things are so brazenly cruising for cowboys. It's like being a candy story surrounded by kids.
I was, no surprise, late for my shift, but that was totally the fault of the N-Judah. It should not take over an hour to get from Cole Valley to Civic Center.
But I loved the people watching. For example: dude standing next to me, a 'mo tourist in town for Pride.
Yes, Mary, you're all butch and shit.
With your big bad bear self:
and tats.
and boots.
But you sort of ruin the whole straight/manly/I don't care about fashion queers look with the Prada shades.
You just one big beary label queen aren't you?
Again this year, the country stage was packed.
I was impatient throughout my shift as I could not wait to get out on the dance floor. Having checked other people's boots for two hours, I was ready to get mine out.
Small problem: in my rush to leave the house in the morning, and pack everything I could conceivably need for the day, I made a little oversight—
I packed two right boots from separate pairs. That suuucked. At least I still had a backup frozen roadie, which only slightly eased the pain of being stuck in sneakers all day.
I thought about going home to change, but considering the nightmare I had getting here in the first place, I decided just to walk around and enjoy this unbelievably gorgeous day.
There were some sights to see:
Yay for gays!
Yeah you are!
Awesome.
The well-balanced lesbian.
Who says gay values aren't family values?
And this last one is just WTF?
It's Gay Pride people, not fetish pride, or freak-show pride, or, you know Kiss pride.
Every couple of months, maybe twice a year, when I have decided (as usual) not to spend ten bucks on a cab but instead hike from the Castro to Noe and Duboce for the N to take me home, I find that some moron has driven his (or her) car into the Sunset Tunnel and lodged the vehicle onto the tracks.
Then I walk back to the Castro for that cab.
Sometimes I am surprised at how often this happens, but other times I can see how drunks/ tourists/ drunken tourists could make this mistake. However, whenever I have witnessed this the divers have since bolted, and the car is always some crappy old Chevy-something (and not likely a tourist's ride).
This is the first time I have seen a car stuck in the tunnel from my side (Cole Valley). And it is a Prius no less. However, judging by the way the car was facing when it was towed out of the tunnel by the train, it had to have entered from the Duboce Triangle side (aka the East Portal).
And the fine? Only $55. And parking on the sidewalk is now up to something like $150. But parking on the railroad tracks in a tunnel? $55. Weird.
and, well pear-ade. Any kind of ade really (lemonade, lime-aid). Nice mixers those.
I did not see much of the Pride parade this year as by the time an N with standing room showed up, it was going to be late for my shift at the Sundance Saloon country dance stage boot check booth.
Joe.My.God reports from the Mermaid Parade on Coney Island last week.
Imagine this at a Pride parade: and entire float/contingent of people who love dick. Signs reading: "We love Dick!" and "We Support Dick!"...
Overheard from the aforementioned Sean, during a conversation about a fab faux fur jacket, which turned to PETA/animal rights activists attacking people wearing fur and dousing them in red paint
"But they're hypocrites. The activists keep screaming that fake fur is just as good and 'just like' real fur. If good fake fur is indistinguishable from real fur, how did they know that the people they were attacking weren't wearing fakes?"
Welcome back to a beautiful, sunny, post-Pride Monday. It's a gorgeous day, and I hope to spend the evening uploading photos and sending out the shouts.
And hopefully I can get some Club Jackson pix to share from the other Irregulars. That shit was just crazy.
And yet, somehow, typical.
Love to all, and a special smootch and shout to Fan of the Blog David O'Connor and his loving (and quite lovely) husband Sean. Great guys and spectacular hosts. (I will offer a simple rule of thumb for pride weekend: gays = vodka. I'm just sayin'.)
I am begining to love these inspirational moments from Britain's Got Talent. The hilarious homo at the FAGAT's Guide posted this clip.
FAGAT writes: "All credit goes to nymag.com's Vulture blog for unearthing this clip from Britain's Got Talent. We'd be embarrassed that we teared up at the office before noon when we watched this, but we did shots before we left the house this morning - so we're a little bit past feeling judged."
I admit to a little mistiness around the eye area myself. (I did not do shots before leaving the house this morning, but there might be some lingering effects of last night.)
[watch the clip before continuing]
Read the comments over at the original post. Most are just cute, but some are just really funny.
From BigMouth:
You know, we just watched this video again with a straight girlfriend, and it became very clear that only gay people are so easily played like an emotional puppet by this scene. After all, our friend pointed out, it IS just a fag twirling a baton.
Last night was another Out With A.C.T. night, and Kevin and I were in form again.
I don't have much time so here are the highlights:
GREAT performance. Nancy Dussault owned the play, but the young redheaded suitor often stole it. It was Molière's The Imaginary Invalid, as adapted by Constance Cogdon. Very funny.
Kevin did not find it quite as amusing as I did, and found it at times to campy, at one point going so far as to call it a farce. I pointed out that this IS farce. This is were farce comes from. Molère basically invented, and if not invented then cemented, the genre. It's supposed to be camp. This was new at the time— we are talking about 16th century France.
But that's not the point and I have to rush.
We loved Nancy Dussault (and you may know here from her many stage and screen appearances, but she is famous for her role as the mother on Too Close for Comfort. She was kind enough to join the Out-ers after the show. She was so sweet (and amazing in her role).
And she was all interested in blogs but had never seen one. So I gave her my card and now she gets to be on one.
Love you.
Also high on our praise list is Promotions Manager Randy Taradash. Randy is always a superlative host, and Kevin and I have enjoyed getting to know him over the seasons. He ushered us behind the scenes for a little tour and we may have a venue for Kevin's 40th.
Randy has also undergone some serious measures for weight loss. I thought I was doing well on the South Beach Diet (I'm three notches in on my belts now), but Randy has lost 150 pounds over the past several months. Wow.
And looking good, Randy.
Also shout to Randy's friend, and now ours, Jason. (tasty morsel)
I just got my hair cut over lunch today, and since Luis split, I need a new barber. And with the new shorn look, I need a daddy/bear sort of barber who knows how to cut short, trim beards, and make them both look hot.
I found it in Danny over at Joe's Barber Shop at the top of the Castro on the 19th end.
And I love their logo. I have always been a fan of clever designs, especially those that can tie the endeavor of the subject into the design of the name.
Here's their logo:
Why is it cropped like that? Because this is their tag line:
I bought a t-shirt, from Joe himself actually, because it reads "My barber can beat up your stylist."
The very loveable Cousin Barry sent me a copy of this month's Nfocus magaine from Nashville. It's been a long, busy morning and the UPS guy just delivered it to my desk and it has made my day.
I know I still have not gotten around to writing down all the tales from the Nashville trip, but one of the highlights was meeting the sweet Sinclair Kelly, who also happens to be an Associate Editor and Photographer for the magazine.
Sinclair covered the Hunt Ball for the magazine, and as she spent a lot of time with the Hardastle family that night (because we are the super-happy-fun-time people), we were featured in the coverage.
You may recall the whote "dyed my hair blond thinking it would grow out during surgery recovery and no one would see it but then teh surgery was canceled " bit. I had a haircut before going home, but that just left me with blond tips, which in no way pleased my mother.
The week before the "Oh God! Oh God! Dear God stop the burning!" heat wave in Nashville, it was like seven degrees. On Easter. It was crazy, and all the flora got severly frost-burned. And all the new recently tender-green growth was frozen to a light brown.
When I got off the plane and my mother grimaced, paused, sighed heavily, touched my hair and said, "Well... you look like the boxwoods."
I, of course, thought she was crazy. And you know, my mother being crazy wasn't exactly a news flash. Until I got home and saw this:
That night at Tribe I got some comments on the hair and I mentioned what my mother had said. Jon Glassmeyer did a spit take he laughed so hard. Gotta hand it to Fran-- she gave me the best line of the week. Even though I had originally had no idea what she was talking about, every one in Nashville knew exactly what she meant.
I told the story at the Hunt Ball and it became a pull quote in the feature. I have gotten more e-mails on this than you would believe.
The photos from the Hunt Ball are great (but not on the Nfocus Web site). And it's so nice to be featured/remembered in the social pages even though I am so far removed.
Gotta keep that face fresh in the scene you know.
So--
Love to Sinclair for being such fun and throwing my story out there; and Love to Barry for sending me a copy!
[on Country Music celebrity and "hunk" Darryl Worely]
"Isn't he the gay one?"
"No, the one with the gay rumors is Ty Herndon, but he's actually dated some friends of mine. Darryl Worely now has hippie-long hair, and just posed for Playgirl. He was so hot in the Tennessee River Run video, when he had shorter hair and hair on his chest. Now he has Fabio hair and clipped his body hair. And his ass was huge, not that I am one to talk..."
