maybe they should try Craig's List

Laura Croft, Charlie, and James Bond need a new place.

Bay swimmers' baleen

For my wacko friends who insist on swimming in the Bay, you may want to keep your mouth shut and every single pore closed.

Unless you want a snack.

southern by nature

One of the most hansome men I've met spent some time charming me yesterday... until the return of his boyfriend. As much of a stand-up guy as I am, I was this >< close to being Little Susie Homewrecker, perfectly willing to come between them. (Ahem.)

About the fourth time he came by my booth (I was volunteering for the Rodeo serving drinks at Dore Alley), he mentioned that he was waiting for it to get hot enough to take his shirt off (nevermind the sea of flesh parading by in the blazing sun). While his taking his shirt off whould have certainly made it hot enough for me, it was the way he said "off" that made me ask where he was from originally.

His answer of "New York" was almost enough to break the spell. Almost. As he complimented me on my southern charm.

But I suppose this New Yorker is as much of a Californian as I am, but a transplant to San Diego. It made me think of an e-mail I recently received from my friend Jennifer in Nashville, which spoke of a northern transplant concerned and complaining that their child was learning to talk with a southern accent. The response was this: "Just because your children were born in the South does not make them Southerners. If a cat had kittens in the oven, that wouldn't make them biscuits."

I never got a shot of him, but here are some of my co-cowboys working the booth:

to hair is human

But to make soy sauce out of it is just disgusting.

Overheard at the bar

Me: "That boy needs to learn some boundaries."
Kevin: "Yeah. The shock collar ain't doin' it."

Maybe at the the county fair

"You always hear about battered women, but they never deep fry them and serve them on a stick."

random Bush joke

Making the e-mail rounds today:

Donald Rumsfeld briefed the President this morning. He told Bush that three Brazilian soldiers had been killed in Iraq.

To everyone's amazement, all the colour ran from Bush's face, then he collapsed onto his desk, head in hands, visibly shaken, almost whimpering.

Finally, he composed himself and asked Rumsfeld, "Just exactly how many is a brazillion?"

PBS bedtime story-teller fired for a 30 second satirical adult clip seven years ago

PBS is clearly under the oppresive thumb of the New Puritans.

This is insane. Mark Morford reports in today's SF Chronicle:

What sort of people are we? What sort of warped and reckless and utterly silly value system do we suck on in this culture? Why are we so wildly, preternaturally terrified of all things sexual while at the same time drawn to it all like fat teenagers to French fries? ...

Yes indeed, before joining PBS (a full seven years before, mind you), Martinez apparently appeared in two harmless, 30-second satire videos called "Technical Virgin" in which she spoofs PSAs by joking about -- say it with me now -- sex and virginity. Gasp. And PBS found out about it. Because Martinez told them.

And of course, PBS, spineless as a jellyfish licked by Pat Robertson, immediately fired her. They claimed the dialogue in Martinez's humor videos somehow meant she wasn't a good role model for their fluffy kiddie show. A show, remember, that's designed for 3-year-olds. For creatures who can barely go to the bathroom by themselves, much less understand the meaning of an adult satiric video they will never ever see.

It is sadly appropriate that this happens now. Morford also brings the issue of gender to this insanity:

Plus, it must be said, Martinez is a woman. She's relatively young, attractive, alive. She's still a vibrant, sexual being. She is not a 60-year-old Mrs. Doubtfire type in spectacles and a shapeless housedress. And nothing scares media executives and right-wing religious types more than youngish women who are effortlessly unafraid of sex and sly humor. Just ask, you know, Eve.

And I must say he has a point:

Now might be a good moment to point out the dozens of adult actors (male, of course) who appear in countless kiddie movies and TV shows, most of whom have happily raunchy personal histories. Haven't George Carlin, Ringo Starr and Alec Baldwin all appeared in that sweet little choo-choo train show, "Thomas the Tank Engine"? What about Eddie Murphy, Robin Williams, Chris Rock? What of all the big (male) stars who appear on, provide voices for, even produce kiddie shows? Is it because they're famous? Because they're rich older men, whereas Martinez is a nonfamous youngish sexual female and is therefore an eternal danger to all mankind everywhere?

Read the whole rant. It is SO worth it.

Now these are activist judges

Just as the Washington supreme court had to do some serious reaching to justify the equal inclusion of gays and lesbians to the rights and obligations of marriage laws, the New York supreme court has rejected a lower court ruling and struck down gay marriage in that state by some seriously twisted illogical logic.

Get this, as reported by Deb Price at the Detroit Free Press: New York's top court rules gays can't marry because heterosexual unions are too unstable.

Take a minute to read that again. I'll wait.

She continues:

The bizarre -- but very true -- ruling on July 6 actually declared that lawmakers could rationally believe that because man-woman "relationships are all too often casual or temporary" they require a special "inducement in the form of marriage and its attendant benefits" for them to commit for the welfare of accidentally conceived children.

Despite the myth that gay couples are the unstable, irresponsible ones, the court weirdly concluded that because gay couples' children are wanted and planned -- not "a result of accident or impulse" -- those of us who're gay can legally be denied marriage licenses in New York state.

That's just crazy.

So basically, because heterosexual relationships are so unstable that the state needs to provide an incentive for them not to abadon unwanted children by providing some sort of benefit for sticking together. And that incentive is marriage rights. And if everyone has the right, it's no longer special or an incentive? And for the poor children who are born or adopted on purpose by gays and lesbians, then that just sucks for them. They have parents who love them and love each other. That should be enough.

No Honey, you have to wait for the other Mommy to get home and sign the permission form before you can have that surgery. And if Mommy1 dies, you'll have to leave Mommy2 and go live with the conservative fundamentalist grandparents in Backwater, Arkansas because they have all the rights to take you away from the only home you've known and love. And they'll piss on Mommy2's name whenever they can. And you better enjoy that cable tv and free thinkin' while you can because that there's just not allowed at their house.

The 4-2 majority added, "The legislature could find that unstable relationships between people of the opposite sex present a greater danger that children will be born into or grow up in unstable homes than is the case with same-sex couples, and thus that promoting stability in opposite-sex relationships will help children more." (Read the mind-twisting ruling at lambdalegal.org.)

Wow. And jurists who obey the letter and intent of that whole "equal protection under the law" thing are called "activist judges"? Can we get Fox news to endlessly repeat the new term "batshit crazy judges"? No?

Ah, hell.

She's totally going to have to take an extra shift at the Peach Pit

WTF? Out of an estate of $300 million, Aaron leaves Tori and her brother only one $1 million each.

Large Lance

I seem to have underestimated the popularity or celebrity of Lance Bass. I basically consider him a flash in the pan and just one of many boys in boy bands to be largely forgotten, if ever widely noticed.

And the whole "I'm gay!" thing on the cover of People seemed to be big coverage of a non-story. (Anyone else find the layout to have a strange similarity to Ellen's coming out issue? I suppose Lancey wasn't Time material. I don't suppose anyone who reads Time would know who he is. And let's face it, Time and People readership don't have a lot of cross-cover, except in the check-out line.)

But the response among the teen set has been huge. And with the exception of the poor brainwashed kids in Ruralsville, Redstate who misquote the Old Testament, the response has been extremely supportive. And some have even written to a variety of Web sites to say how much this has inspired them to either be more supportive of gay kids in their schools, or to come out themselves. MTV online has reported on the quantity and substance of the comments to their "You Tell Us" Web feature.

But these teen/former teen responses sorta scare me. For example:

"As an 'NSYNC fan for eight years — literally half my life — I was shocked when I heard the news, and I did cry. But even while I was crying, I knew I loved Lance all the same, just in a different way now. I support him completely, and as much as I admired him before, I respect him immeasurably now."

or

"It is a little jarring to see someone I had a major crush on when I was in junior high come out of the closet..."

Really? Did people actually have major crushes on Lance Bass?

Huh.

However, I am not alone in finding all of this hubbub funny. So far my favorite headline is from the British blog Heckler Spray: "Justin Timberlake Pleased About Gay Lance Bass".

As Helena says, "C'mon y'all, that's funny."

Heckler Spray writes:

All the former members of 'N Sync have issued statements praising the courage that Lance Bass has shown by telling the world that he was gay a full five years after anyone had even thought about buying an 'N Sync record. Well, we say 'all of 'N Sync', but only Justin Timberlake and Joey Fatone seem to have actually done it. There were other members of 'N Sync, right?

off hand

The wrist/hand pain is increasing, and I have an appointment with a doctor/nurse practioner next Tuesday. Posting will continue to be light as typing and mousing just hurts too much.

Thanks for indulging the rant yesterday. Silliness to resume today.

DADT clearly CRAP

Don't Ask, Don't Tell has been a complete failure by all accounts. And now I really think the leaders of the military and this administration like the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy because it's their version of "better to stay silent and be thought an idiot than to speak and prove them right" because the military is looking very, very stupid.

Number of service members dismissed under DADT: 11,000+. And 726 in 2005.
Cost to the pentagon: $369 million.
Number of gays recently discharged with "critical" abilities: 800.

For a military that can't replace its soldiers, has the lowest recruitment in history, and is considering activating retired reservists and bandies about a draft, it is ridiculous to spend time hunting down capable and critical soldiers eager to serve and boot them out because some guys might "feel weird" being around a fag or "showering with one."

Honestly, someone in congress has GOT to be thinking: "For fuck's sake!"

And today, the Army dismissed an Arab liguist not because he told he was gay or appeared gay, but the Army asked if he was gay (following, no joke, a question about participation in regional theater) because someone sent a threatening letter to Army leaders accusing the officer of being gay. Army representatives received an annonymous e-mail threatening to make trouble if they didn't act on his anonymous tip that someone in particular on the base was gay.

I'm calling the Army out on this one: you are cowards. If you are afraid of a jilted bar fag making trouble, you have no business leading men into battle. What the administration should have done is take the side of the soldier. He's a patriot serving his country. The annonymous e-mailer was a vile little cretin bent on causing trouble.

And I'll say it again, at the risk of having my blog/phone/life tapped: if you can't handle working with or serving with a man or a woman merely because he or she loves or pokes someone of the same gender in his or her off-time, you are a coward. Are American soldiers that afraid of "the gay?" If a solder has that level of fear and insecurity, if he or she can't deal with gay servicemen and women, he or she has no business being in the American military that puts a capital C in Courage.

And what happened today? "A decorated sergeant and Arabic language specialist was dismissed from the U.S. Army under the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy, though he says he never told his superiors he was gay and his accuser was never identified." (AP article)

Despite the flawed DADT policy, the Army violated its own DADT rules! And I'm sorry but I can't imagine any soldier would care in the least who the guy telling him "I've overheard some chatter that your location has been compromised and you need to evac immediately" is sleeping with. Hmmm... what might our soldiers be thinking? "I can get shot at, killed, maimed, blown up, lose my best friend, lose my batallion and I wish we had some reliable intel" versus "the guy who is able to tell me what the insurgents are saying is a freakin' fag--beat him up and get him out."

I think of my friend Prentiss in the Marines, in Takrit. I know he doesn't care that I'm gay. He wouldn't care if his platoon had any gay guys, and would be really grateful if someone listening into radio chatter or intercepting communications could freaking understand Arabic.

There's my rant. This is irresponsible and unpatriotic. And it should be considered UnAmerican. We should not fire any soldier willing to give his life and serve his country for being gay. And we certainly shouldn't be diminishing our troops, or putting the soldiers at risk, or wasting money better spent on body armor, by expelling capable and critically necessary patriots just for being gay.

Illogial, irrational, ignorant, and ill-conceived.

With an unfounded war with exhorbitant human and financial costs, and another "conflict" in Afganistan, gays in the military should be the least of the Pentagon's worries.

Again, only in San Francisco

Only in SF could there be a FOURTH annual "Paul Rubens Day." Not that this is City-sponsored, but that the City has such funky people that a group of citizens would commit time, effort, and resources to an annual 'garish costume and wholesome smut' all-day event

From the SF Chronicle's weekend event listsings: "Soothe your inner child with outlandish costumes, tequila drinking and dancing, burlesque, trivia contests, secret words, a kissing booth, and clips of Reubens' many movie roles ("Blow," "Batman Returns," etc.)."

From the Paul Rubens Day website:

"This year the PRD after-party includes zany performances, naughty burlesque, weirdo sounds and video sensations and clips form The Very Porn Paul Reubens was watching when he got arrested. And of course you are encouraged to try your hand at the annual costume and trivia contests, the Miss Yvonne Beauty Pageant, which are hosted by the surprise celebrity guest star!"

Oh yeah, the event starts at an outdoor cafe, moves to various attractions across the city, and ends up in an adult cinema space. And if you can believe it, this event is straight. Well, bent for sure, but predominately if not exclusively het. Just sayin'.

tunnel vision

Hey kids. I'm not Blogging as much this week as the carpal tunnel or tendonitis or whatever in my mouse hand is excrutiating and I am basically only willing to click or type as much as I absolutely have to. I'm making an appointment with Employee Health tomorrow.

Out of Sync

Didn't I just say something about coming out on the cover of People?

Lance Bass comes out on the cover of People magazine.
(There's a bad joke about "coming on People" in there somewhere but I just don't want to deal with it.)

I have already received e-mails that his public announcement was due to pressure from this blog. Oh the power!

I'll work on Israel now and get them to come out of Lebanon. Get Condi to send over Reichen. He's enough to attract anyone's attention.

Hezzbawhat?

Washington their hands of the issue

Washington State supreme court has ruled that marriage discrimination is not unconstitutional. Very, very disappointing.

And so very offensive. The explaination for the ruling seems not to rely on law, but bigotry and puritanic interference into people's lives.

From the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:

In a splintered decision, Justice Barbara Madsen wrote that the state's marriage law was enacted to "promote procreation and to encourage stable families."

"The legislature was entitled to believe that limiting marriage to opposite-sex couples furthers the State's legitimate interests in procreation and the well-being of children."

She wrote that the same-sex couples failed to prove that they had a fundamental right to marry, or that the state's 1998 Defense of Marriage Act was unconstitutional.

The 5-4 ruling -- signed by Chief Justice Gerry Alexander and Justice Charles Johnson -- also noted a hardship for same-sex couples, however, and suggested that the legislature "may want to re-examine the impact of the marriage laws on all citizens of this state."

Yeah, I'm sure when the state constitution and statutes were written, the legal recognition of marriage rights and obligations were designed "to promote procreation." Because in a time of no available birth control, it was difficult impregnate a woman without the promise that she would be a man's property and required to service him.

I maintain the marriage ≠ conception argument. Or even moreso with the options available today, marriage ≠ procreation.

And to put forth that Washington state marriage laws were enacted for any specific design is just preposterous—it's not like Washington state came up with the idea of marriage. They were just a newly-settled territory that had to adopt some laws because as settlers wanted to get married and were outside any recognized jurisdiction. It's not like "New! Marriage Laws!" was part of a public relations campaign by the Washington Territory Pro-Procreation Committee. (You too can populate the farthest part of the Louisianna Purchase!)

And discrimation for "the well being of children"?! Are you kidding me?! Don't you a-holes pay attention to anyone who actually knows something about that?

Wilson hears a who

Apparently, Deb has given birth to a Who.

Washington State of Matrimony- ruling tomorrow

While three major gay rights groups have just combined their resources to spend $250,000 on full-page newspaper ads to appear in 50 papers across the country declaring their determination to continue fighting for equal marriage rights for gay and lesbian Americans, the Washington State Supreme Court has reported that it will hand down its decision regarding the state's same-sex marriage ban.

KIRO reported, "...Attorneys defending the marriage law said the state has a rational reason for limiting marriage to heterosexual couples, because the state has an interest in regulating relationships that produce children."

My initial reaction to this report was WHAT? Okay, IF we, the people, grant the state the right to regulate relationships that produce children, what does that have to do with marriage contracts? It's the sex, not the marriage, that produces children. So if having children is not a legal requirement of marriage nor is being married a legal requirement to having children, WTF with this reasoning? The conservatives, and even I, would like all children to be born in loving relationships with the benefit of marriage, but we have no right to require it. And the law does not.

If THE STATE feels it needs to regulate procreation, that is very different than regulating marriage. What about people who chose to have children in a loving, committed, non-marriage state (e.g. Kurt Russel and Goldie Hawn)? What of the couple who wants to marry but have no kids? What about the Brady Bunch? From what I've heard, getting married reduces the chance of sex, and therefore conception.

If "THE STATE has an interest in regulating relationships that produce children," then it should be draconian on het-marriage contracts have no problem one way or the other with same-sex marriage.

Regardless, the decision is expected to be released tomorrow morning. Stay tuned.

Seattle Times

Maniacal DVD

The Animaniacs are released from the Water Tower and onto DVD today.

I can't recommend highly enough the antics of the Warner Brothers, Yakko and Wakko, and their sister Dot. Kid-funny? Certainly. Adult-funny? Absolutely.

For example--scene from the schoolhouse:
Teacher: Let's start with verbs. Yakko, can you conjugate?
Yakko: Me?! I've never even kissed a girl!

And the songs are new classics! Conjunction Junction is a major malfunction compared to the musical numbers, often educational, these kids come up with. Today's kids don't need to know where to get their adverbs (Lolly's), but need to be warned about eating junk food with all those chemicals.

I so wanted to move to Burbank and be a writer.

This one is a little ironic with its last line. Sadly, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

But as a San Franciscan, an animated number about California Earthquakes is pretty funny.



Typical educational ditty-all in 40 seconds with a grown-up gag thrown in:



And they even are self-depricating enough to mock their own genre. All afternoon kid shows are required to have some educational value and offer some moral example. So often at the end of the show (or maybe just as a time-filler) the Animaniacs would turn to "The Wheel of Morality:"



If you're good, I'll post the bit where Yakko sings the names of all the nations of the world in under three minutes. "United States, Canada, Mexixo, Panama..."

You might just pee your pants.

I have always been a fan of what my brother Mac called "the Boo! game." We would torture each other (well, he tortured me in many ways but I was was the primary participant in the Boo! game) by hiding behind doorways and corners if we sensed the other coming, then jumping out with a big "BOO!"

I stopped doing this the day I almost gave my father a heart-attack.

But it is my childish, brattish glee in the Boo! game that makes me love this product. AND I love it in the same way I love Gooey Louie and the Snot Shot--I love that someone thought it up, pitched it to a room full of people and convinced them it was a good idea, and tooled up a factory to make this thing.

Unless you have access to many, many toilets, this is sort of a one-time-use prank at home.

But still.

From the Prank Place comes: The Toilet Monster!


Perhaps he lives in the potties on Sesame Street. And his name is John.

Tampax tarpons

Hey kids. Big shout out to Cousin Barry this morning. She sent an e-mail responding to the tarpon/hammerhead shark video.

Over the Fourth of July weekend, they were in Boca Grande and she caught a 140 pound tarpon. She writes: "The captain of the boat would not let us pull the Tarpon into the boat because the Bull Sharks would do exactly what that Hammer Head shark did - pretty scary."

I would also like to give Barry props for doing this at night, not like those wussies in the video with all that direct sunlight. That, and none of five guys fishing with her hooked a thing. That Barry is one hell of a hooker. Wait, that came out wrong...

Barry rocks.

[photo: me and Barry before the Swan Ball, June 2006]

baited breath

I remember having to wait through the NBC affiliate's Bill Something the weatherman's BO-ring fishing show if I got up too early for Saturday Morning cartoons, way back when.

In this clip on YouTube, fishermen are about to reel in a tarpon when a 12 foot hammerhead attacks it. This is the most interesting fishing I've seen. Then again, to me there is a fine line between "fishing" and "standing next to the water with a stick."

But my thought on this is this: how stupid is the fisherman to so casually dangle himself over the water with two circling, ravaging sharks? Are hammerheads not dangerous to people? Whatever— sharks + big sharp pointy teeth + ripping apart a tarpon = me standing securely in the center of my tiny ass boat.

darwinism

As we were walking to lunch on Irving Street the other day, Shilpa remarked to me, "Ooh. I don't think she should be sitting on that window like that." The girl was cleearly poised to fall out of her third storey window. I just looked up at the foolish woman and said, "Darwinism." Those too stupid to live long enough to pass on their genes, won't.

And on that note, I love this headline to the Bent blog:

It's not that I think stupidity should be punishable by death. I just think we should take the warning labels off of everything and let the problem take care of itself.

Nature's air conditioning

It has been Africa hot here in SF for the past week. It's never like this. I forgot it was Summer for everyone else.

After another night of too-hot-too-sleep, it is nice to see the fog hovering to the west, just waiting to come in and cool us all off again.

Furr-er

Why one earth would someone make a website for cats that look like Hitler? (AKA Kitlers)

drivel

In the absense of fabulous stories or random rants, I'll be offering simple diversions today as I take breaks between projects.

Such as this: the cursor kite.

technical difficulties

Can't seem to get Blogger to respond today. More posts as I am able.

Moo!

This viral public service was launched a couple of weeks ago. I've really enjoyed the videos, and love their "person on the street" interviews. This has sparked a debate on one of the local Listservs, but on the whole I'm going to say "love it!"

Meet Norman. He's a normal dog. He was just born with a moo instead of a bark. But he is still a loveable puppy. And so am I. Why be hatin'?

born different

I'm calling "off sides"

because you are over the line.

Gay Marriage-- Protect the children!

The "protect the children" call is the last refuge of the wingnuts and theocrats who want to prevent gay marriage from being an equal-access legal contract. To me, this has always been a separation of church and state issue.

Despite study after study after study of reputable organizations, the insidious members of the Republican party (not all Republicans mind you, just the insidious ones) cling to the pseudo science saying that gay is a "lifestyle choice" and "endangers children."

Now, the American Academy of Pediatrics has released a report finding that gay marriage is good for kids.

Now even PEDIATRICIANS are stating that gay marriage is good for kids. I ask Dr. Bill and his fellow demonizing panderers, please stop pushing hatred, bigotry, and theocracy as American Values.

The report appears in the July issue of Pediatrics, the journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics. See the report here. (PDF)

From the Gay and Lesbian Medical Association press release:

The 16-page report, which includes an exhaustive review of the growing body of medical literature on same-gender parenting, concludes that "Children of same-gender parents often experience economic, legal, and familial insecurity as a result of the absence of legal recognition of their bonds to nonbiological parents" and that "legal recognition of a [same-gender] spouse can increase the ability of adult couples to provide and care for one another and fosters a nurturing and secure environment for their children." The 2000 Census found that same-gender couples are raising children in 96 percent of all US counties.

The report, entitled "The Effects of Marriage, Civil Union and Domestic Partnership Laws on the Health and Well-Being of Children," appears in the July 2006 issue of Pediatrics, the scholarly journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics. The AAP, with 55,000 members, is the largest and most influential professional organization for pediatricians in the United States. The report was commissioned by the AAP's Board of Directors, which specifically approved its broad dissemination.

Ellen C. Perrin, MD, Director of Developmental-Behavioral Pediatrics and The Center for Children with Special Needs at The Floating Hospital for Children Tufts-New England Medical Center and one of the authors of the report, stated, "The scientific data overwhelmingly demonstrate that there is no relationship between parents' sexual orientation and any measure of children's emotional, psychosocial, and behavioral adjustment. We conclude that civil marriage is beneficial to children, regardless of the gender of the parents, because it strengthens families and helps foster financial and legal security, psychosocial stability, and an augmented sense of societal acceptance and support."

GLMA's Executive Director, Joel Ginsberg, stated, "This report confirms what all parents know: that it's love that makes a family. State and federal legislators who say they're trying to 'protect' children by sponsoring constitutional amendments to ban same-sex marriage are not just wrong, they are actively harming the health and well-being of all our children."

I'm sorry, did you say bucket seats?

Kim Catrall gets really good mileage out of this Nissan (New Zealand commercial).



42 MPG highway, 32 Sex in the City.

(Thanks to Nervous Breakdown)

The night the lights went out in Georgia

This came up yesterday. I found the clip on YouTube and thought I'd post it for the unitiated.



When they play this at the Midnight Sun, it's hilarious as 90% of the crowd joins the speech.

Blogging blogging

The Pew Intenet & American Life Project has just released a survey report on bloggers.

I think it is interesting that the old media (newspapers) is desperate to use new media (blogs) to write about blogs, written by people who, according to the study, read newspapers.

The San Francisco Chronicle's blogger blogs about it here.

The New York Time's blogger blogs about it here.

and the Washington Post put it on page D5 of today's edition.

Batman and Throbbin'

This is a very cool trailer for the non-existent film Grayson. Batman has fallen, and it's time for a grown up Dick Grayson, AKA Robin, to step up, and kick ass.

The trailer is very well made, and Dick is just plain hot (described elsewhere as "Woofy"). However, a scruffy masculine man in the old red Robin tights and garish yellow cape (really, yellow?) is kinda freaky. I thought they would have gone with the Nightwing costume.

But still. Exellent job for an amateur fan film (basically, they made this trailer in hopes that someone would make the movie). And quite extensive at five and a half minutes.




For comic fans, you can spy elements and plotlines from the comics, as well as a host of favorite characters. If you don't notice, he's married to Barbara, maiden name of Gordon, and formerly Batgirl. (Although in this movie she is not in a wheelchair-- where she has been since the Joker shot her through the spine. But it also looks like she might get shot in this movie.)

If you are what you eat

Then my brother Mac is taking in the nuts by the fistfull.

Saturday is my Dad's birthday. It's his 70th. It's a BIG DEAL. We had begun planning a big hoo ha, but scheduling became such a problem the big party was postponed, and Mom and Dad are spending the birthday weekend with good friends in the mountains of North Carolina.

Although we will be celebrating at a later date, we (the sons) wanted to send something to mark the actual occasion. But not one of us could come up with something sufficiently clever (like for his 65th). They drove off yesterday and we had nothing to send up with them, so Brother Mac ordered a gift basket to be delivered. There were several choices, but with his health, the booze basket, chocolate basket, and junk food basket were not viable options. So Mac sent the "fruit and flowers" basket, which they could all enjoy.

He called me this afternoon to let me know he sent the fruit and flowers basket from all of us (i.e. the three sons). He signed the card with this:

Happy Birthday Dad!
From two bananas and a real fruit.

VH1 liner

Shilpa and I went to Sit & Spin in the Castro last night to do our laundry and relax on the patio for the rare warm SF evening.

As we were finishing our folding, the giant television overhead was playing one of VH1’s “I Love the 70’s” endless repeats. At the break, VH1 ran an ad for another upcoming nostalgia special, this one focusing on child/teen stars of the 70’s and 80’s and their inevitable descent into sex, alcohol, and drugs.

The tongue-in-cheek ad ended ran with their usual deep-toned male voice-over, followed by a stock voice indicating the advertiser making it possible. The ending tag joke and the sponsor identification were in complete contrast.

I am sure that the closing tag did not say this exactly, but it certainly sounded along these lines. And with the sponsor identification following immediately on its heels, Shilpa and I, on opposite ends of the crowded Laundromat, burst into violent guffaws. I should say that while we thought this was hilarious, no one else in the room thought it was funny. Another shining example of why we get along so well.

VH1-liner:

“I Love the 70’s, Teen Celebrity Edition…Because child star drug addition is still funny...”
“Brought to you by Pampers.”

That'll do pig.

If you are not a regular reader of Pearls Before Swine, you really should be.

Competing against yourself

While I am not fit for a marathon, triathlon, or biathlon, there’s this other (SF-sponsored) a-thon in London that we have all been training for.

From the Guardian Unlimited (UK), and potentially NSFW (Not safe for work).



Update: Apparently, this just went down, as it were, in SF and I missed the chance to blog about it. It did not appear on any of my social calendars. Again, NSFW.

Post-lunch coma

"Sir, I believe we should postpone this run until the platoon is better rested."

Don't nobody worry 'bout me.

I'm all right.

Amy's Dad

Amy's parents are very gay friendly--evidenced by Amy's "gay uncles"--and we had both a hoot and a holler on Sunday.

Amy, while reading the post about the race over my shoulder, told me that he said he was afraid he would end up in the blog. So for any Googlers:

Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day. Pat Day.

There. That should do it.

Smoking Gunn

Still can't get enough of Tim Gunn.

Chicago Tribune Interview.

Love that voice (not that you can hear it reading a printed interview). Sort of a Timothy Dalton timbre, but stylish and smart. The gay doesn't hurt either.

Islands in the Bay, that is what we are

Two members of the department across the hall signed up for the Alcatraz Challenge, which was held yesterday morning. In this Challenge, contestants swing from Alcatraz to the East Beach at Crissy field, and then run seven miles to the base of the Golden Gate Bridge and back. About half or more of the nutcases who sign up for this only do the swim. And while it is indeed an impressive swim, from what I witnessed most contestants do not do this for the challenge or the competition, but just for the "I've swum from the rock" bragging rights. Which is all fine and dandy I suppose. There was plenty of eye candy, but most of the guys were very much "look at me--I'm hot-- don't you want me baby" sort of guys, not what I consider true competitive athletes. This hypothesis may or may not be substantiated by the observation that none of the cocky-swagger guys did the swim and run. The swimmers and runners--those guys looked like real athletes. And as a spectator, I can attest to their dedication and effort.

The shirtless swaggering guys had that Marina asshole air about them, but I will say their torsos tended to merit the arrogance.

But I digress.

Way too early Sunday morning (after hitting the sack at 4:30 after the night at Club Jackson), I joined Shilpa on the 43-Masonic to MUNI down to the Marina, where we waited on Amy H. and Zo to meet us and walk to the shore. It was a brisk morning in SF. And while it was beautifully sunny overhead, the Golden Gate was still mired in freezing fog. I can’t imagine how effing cold the Bay must have been for the swimmers.


We looked for the families of our participating friends Amy Day and Terrance, but to no avail. After the transition from swim to run, we settled ourselves on the footbridge to cheer on the runners.


Did I mention- essential for early morning cheering on the beach: mimosas and bloody marys. Breakfast of those cheering on the champions.

As a smaller (i.e. not a marathon) race, there were no lines of cheering supporters. We were it, and generally much appreciated. Occasionally, during slow stretches, Shilpa and I would break out into a round of “Brr! It’s cold in here!...”

The race was not the tightest we’ve seen, and the course was not that well marked, so often it was difficult to tell the racers from people just out for a morning jog. We started waiting until we saw the whites of their ID tags before cheering. For those who did not know there was a biathlon in progress, they were like, “WTF with the drinking losers yelling at passer-bys at 9:00 on Sunday morning?”

Granted, the more slap happy we got, the more inventive our cheers. We went from simple “Woo woo” and “Way to go”s to more “WOO! Good run! Almost there!... [sotto voce] call me.” And occasionally, also sotto voce, “nice ass!”

Amy H., the physician among us, would diagnose the runners as they went by with any number of physical, muscular, or skeletal ailments which affected their running form. At one point she said, “See how he twists his [Latin whatever] slightly as he [medical term]. He has an inflamed wiggerbagigger and [insert roughly 18 words I don’t understand here].”

Me: “Really?”

Amy H. “Well that, or he’s just a bad runner.”

The Day’s were glad to see us, if not merely for the fact we were the walking breakfast beverage cart. And of course we were happy to find them, if not that they brought the brunch to go with the beverages.

WAY TO GO AMY AND TERRANCE!!


Well done! And thanks for introducing disgusting terms/ideas like “bay beard” into my lexicon (green algae clinging en mass to the light fur on your face). Ew. Y’all are crazy. Cool, but crazy. Now go take a hot bath and a thousand antibiotics.


By the way, today I made a comment to Terrance that it was amazing how all the creepy stuff in the Bay water seems to act just like hair mousse. He told me one of his kids asked, "Daddy, did someone do you hair after the race?"

Your neon lights will shine

Last Thursday evening I joined Jeff, Dean, and Wilma in Dolores Park for 'Movies in the Park'-- Which sounds all offical and well-funded but is reeally just three people who produce and pay for it because they think it's fun. Which it is.

And this was one of those rare perfect SF nights when it was actually warm. The crowd took notice of the deep, dark, bank of fog rolling just north of us against the voilet twilight and felt very grateful.

Last week's movie was Caddyshack. Perfect for this crowd. The organizers showed trailers for the two movies vying for the next screening: Grease and Xanadu. The crowd went wild. Of course, it's a win-win for any ONJ fan. In the end, it was clear the ONJ+ELO fans would have their way, as Xanadu was the clear crowd favorite.

And this morning, I read this (thanks to Nervous Breakdown).


(Full disclosure: I have the VHS, DVD, and CD Soundtrack to Xanadu. I've been an embarassed fan since I saw it and taped it from the ABC Sunday Night Movie in 1981. Every time I watch it I cringe at how bad it is, and I love it even more. Gene Kelly is just amazing, and sad heart-throb-wanna-be Michael Beck has no sense of timing/acting. Poor Gene Kelly to find himself in the middle of this disco/roller-skating opera...)

I keep mis-hearing things

Those voices in my head have really got to keep it down.

Danger lurks at Club Jackson

Friday night Lance and I went to Club Jackson for a little homemade dinner and a casual evening in with just a few friends (mixed company-boys, girls, gays, straights). By 3:00 in the morning, it was clear the 'quiet night in" plan had been wrecklesly abandoned. If it's not a party until something gets broke, it was a party around midninght.

Early in the evening I asked for a pad to take notes for the blog. Without backstory or context, here are some of my overheards:

"If you are too drunk to get the cheese on your cracker, you're in trouble."
-
"I don't want kids."
"Wait 'til you hit 30. You'll want kids."
"I want kids. Specifically, I want that 22-year-old kid in the Abercrombie & Fitch ad."
-
"I'm thinking of having some sort of topless knitting contest party. You only have so much time to knit something to cover yourself. Then there is the challenge of knitting something large enough to cover yourself in the time provided, but not with such an open weave that you can see the nipples or poke through."
"I can imagine being the proctor of this test. At the end of the time I'd have to say, 'needles down.'"
-
"Wilson, you always have to cross that line."
"You know why I'm always over the line? On my side of the line: there's a bar."
-
"What happened to my bra? I had it on earlier."
-
"Did you know that Lynda Carter did porn before Wonder Woman? She did! I swear! My dad had the beta!"
-
"How did I show up with pork chops and salad fixings and end up out of my pants?"
-
"Whose bracelet is this?" She asks as applying it to her wrist.
"Uh, Honey? That's a snap-on cock ring."
-

And one really too inappropriate for blogging quote in the comments. Not my fault if you're offended.

How many ways to say Fabulous?

I mentioned earlier that Barney's little cousin is appearing as the lead in a New Zealand movie debuting in the states soon: "50 Ways to Say Fabulous".

Here is the promotional shot of his cousin Andrew from the movie:

Ah, cute little Kiwi boy.

Now, let's compare Andy and Barney side-by-side:

Wow.

Who has more ways to say "fabulous"? Well, Andy appears to have 50, but he also has a team of writers and a film crew. Clearly, our Barney has many ways to say fabulous all on his own. And often with a fabulous hat:


But do not be fooled! Bella Barney has his moments of unfabulousness too:


Perhaps he is even more fabulous for the flaws. I dunno. I just love that I have a blog and can pull this kind of shit on him.

Silver foxes

I'm over Anderson (well, mostly). The new silver hottie is Tim Gunn (bio). I think it is the snazzy specs and deep voice that do it for me. (snazzy specs not pictured)

That and "Get it done People."

Check out the series of "What Would Tim Gunn Do?" posts over at Nervous Breakdown.

New answer

If you were an animal, "what animal would you be?"

The Niki Nanka!


[Also from Barney.]

Bass-o-matic

I really am completely indifferent to Lance Bass. It's not like I know the guy, or was ever a big fan. But I'm going to post a note about him anyway.

Lance Bass was a member of the boy band N-Sync. Gay rumors have been attached to him forever. Whatever. Good for him. He's bestest buddies with Kathy Griffin, which just adds to his obvious gay factor, compounded by gay hair, gay fashion, doe eyes, and flawless "I'm only 26 years old" skin. But for me, I don't care if he's gay or not. Still on whatever.

A couple of weeks ago I was enjoying the camp that was network televisoins Game Show Marathon where stars celebrities competed as contestants on game shows from the 70s. Match Game, which I loved as a kid came on, with Lance Bass and Kathy Najimy as contestants. The panel was beautifully reconstructed with modern equivalents, and the returning Betty White. I watched some of this on the phone with my television-trivia-boyfriend Seattle Bill. When Lance Bass rolled around the contestant stand, he looked really, really "stylish." And by that I mean "gay." Bill asked, "Has Lance come out yet?"

This is just as illustration. Everyone knows, he's not telling, and it's only news in the "entertainment news" world, which is not "news" but entertainment. Again, Lance Bass is nowhere on my radar and I have paid zero attention.

Until today.

Gay bloggers are all about P-town the past couple of weeks, with the big July 4 onslaught just winding down. And all of them have been posting about seeing Lance Bass and his alleged boyfriend Reichen Lehmkuhl in town for the Big Gay Weekend and out at the gay bars ("gay bar" in P-town is redundant). Reichen, of "Amazing Race" and a bazillion posters and pin-up calendars, has been openly gay since he bid for celebrity. Lance has not. Reports say that Lance wore a ball cap out, and the conclusion has been that he was "hiding." Yeah, clever disguise that. I don't think of going to the A-House with Reichen as hiding. I imagine as a unavowed gay celebrity he was just wearing a hat to keep a low profile. There is a difference between being in a secret undisclosed location, and just not wanting to be mobbed by a bunch of drunk tourist fags in a bar when you are on vacation with your boyfriend.

I'm all "live and let live" on this one. I'm not down on Lance for not being more openly gay, I'm just jealous he's got an unbelievably steaming hot boyfriend with abs of downy blond furry steel.

Frankly, I think coming to the biggest gay gathering that is not a circuit party and hanging out with a hot date is being out. Way out. Pink-neon-sign out. I half-heartedly thought that this was a much classier way of saying, "Yeah, I'm gay. So?" than doing so on Larry King/Barbara Walters/cover of People or the Advocate. It makes being gay just another aspect of you that people know about, not any big deal. (I'm allergic to strawberries! Let's hold a press conference!)

But then I read this by Kevin Naff in the Washington (DC) Blade (emphasis added):

With this more public quasi-outing, Bass joins a growing list of openly closeted celebrities and politicians who play transparently coy games with their sexual orientation. Bass, CNN’s Anderson Cooper, Fox News’ Shepard Smith, actress Jodie Foster, singer Ricky Martin, Congressman David Dreier (R-Calif.), actor Sean Hayes, and too many more to mention are doing a disservice to their fellow gays by choosing the security of the closet over the integrity of living an honest life.
...
These public figures need not march in a parade and trumpet their sexual orientation. But all those listed above have been asked directly about their sexual orientation and, rather than give an honest answer, choose to obfuscate, perpetuating the damaging myth that there is something shameful or wrong about being gay.

I say yay for Bass for living openly, and having a hot boyfriend and a funny gal pal. Good on you for taking a fun vacation in gay ol' P-town on super-gay July 4 weekend.

But Kevin Naff has a point. It's not living openly if you lie or obfuscate about it when directly asked. You are who you are. Be all you can be. Step up, say "I am," then walk away and go do whatever it is you want to do. And as a public figure, you may set the stage for others, famous or not, to do the same.

Bible Blog

This is interesting. David Plotz over at Slate is reading the Bible from page one, and blogging about it. It's not so much Cliff's Notes, but more Reader's Digest meets Siskel & Ebert. It is quite insightful, and really highlights how conservatives/creationists areinconsistent, hypocritacal, and often ignorant of what "it says so in the Bible." (I should point out that he is not highlighting hypocrisy, he's just recapping scripture. The hypocrisy is self-evident.)

Along with synopsis and commentary, there are some funny lines. He's a witty writer all around.

My favorite line from the Genesis commentary: "You can call this 'original sin,' but maybe it's just lax parenting."

He's up to Leviticus now. It's amazing how the "conservatives" love this book for the dozen or so anti-gay words, but ignore everythig else.

Speedwagon

Someone brought in some imitation Oreos. They look like Oreos, but are some Newman's Own organic Oreo-like cookie. Fake Oreos.

Would they be Fauxreos?





(But they are organic, so they are better faux you.)

Follow the lizard

The insurance quotes I got for the new Beemer sent me into a panic. I mean, obviously, my rates would go up over the '96 Saturn, but I didn't expect it to double. My quoted annual from AAA, with discounts, came to $1,660. E-surance was worse. Traveler's, my current company, wouldn't call me back(?).

Fifteen minutes on the phone with Geico: $581/6 months or $1,162/year. Nice. (That's almost a 30% savings.)

That, and my sales person Vicky was incredibly charming--and in a call center in Tucson and loves the video.

Or would you like to swing on a star?

So my buddy Barney was on a phone interview last week. (I know you seem to be hearing a lot about this bloke recently. dunno why. because he's funny I suppose. To answer Barry's and Ginger's and others' question, we are not dating. Just good 'mates'. He's a Kiwi you know.)

Anyhoo, Barney, Dr. Scientist Guy, was on a teleconference job interview with a lab in Singapore last week. He and all the scientists on the other end were talking science and laughing it up and getting along fine. Conferenced in from another location was a woman from HR, who clearly couldn't keep up. At one point she asserted herself with her interview questions, but seemed to be reading from some schlocky 1980s/90s 'interview questions' handbook. After all sorts of discussions of protocols and biochemically designing new molecular drugs for prion disease, she breaks in with, "If you were an animal, what animal would you be?"

Barney was stunned. As, apparently, were the other scientists in Singapore as he could here them stiffling their laughter on the other end.

"A capybara."
The other end erupted in laughter and kept on. He also said that you could hear the HR woman cover the receiver and ask her coworkers, "What's a capyrbara?!"
She never did admit to not knowing what it was.

I will admit to not knowing. (But that's the kind of guy I am.) The capybara is the largest animal in the rodent family. And it's just an odd and esoteric sort of thing to say. It was just silly really, clearly communicating the silliness of her question. I love that he is so smart and so quick-witted as to both dismiss the question and yet impress his audience at the same time.

Later that day at the Metro we were rehashing our conversation with some other friends. Barney had said "Capybara," which made me want to say, if asked in an interview, "El Chupacabra," which is basically the central american version of Bigfoot (speaking of, why don't we hear about Bigfoot anymore?).

I thought that if I were being serious, I would probably say something cheesy like, "I would be an octopus because I do so much I feel like I have eight hands, and I can fit myself into any situation I need to." But I would probably follow up with, "and I tend to ink myself when startled."

When pressed for a reason as to why he would be a capybara, he said, "because they like to lounge around in water, and they eat with their family unit."

Then I offered, "I would be a monkey, because I like to fling poo."
To which another added, "and they masterbate like mad in front of crowds of children and aghast parents."


Or would you rather be a fish?


................................................
All the monkeys aren't in the zoo.
Every day you meet quite a few.
So you see it's all up to you.
You could be better than you are.
You could be swingin' on a star.

Adult shopping tip

Dildos should not be bought second hand.




[I found this on a note scrawled to self from a while back. I remember saying this to someone late one night in a bar and thinking, "this should really fall under the heading of 'self-evident'." Although to be fair I think this stemmed from the topic of what creepy people will take out of trash cans on the street at night, and that was one of the items missing the next day after cleaning out someone's apartment.]

Two to go down.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure that's beam down, Kevin."

I was just joking. Just putting it out there that there is a 40th Anniversary of Star Trek (but it's only the 5th Annual?) Star Trek Convention, in Vegas. It's the Trek+Vegas factor I thought was fun.

Kevin, clearly always one up for some f'ed up fun promptly e-mailed me back. It's hilarious. But you need a little background to get it.

See, there's a whole bunch of Star Trek fans who consider themselves the crew of the Federation Starship "USS Intangible"--an imaginary starship with real crew members, ranks, regulations, orders, etc. These fans live the lifestyle.

Every so often, an "away team" from the USS Intangible will "beam down" to an inhabited planet and "explore their ancient or primitive culture." That is to say, a bunch of geeks in Star Trek costume go to a renaissance fair. The away team members have their uniforms and their backstories: name, rank, biography, species, etc. They never break character, and the renaissance fair folks never break character either. I don't know if the renaisance people are annoyed with them or not. Do they hate them, or do they indulge the fantasy, supporting them in their shared love of immersive imagined worlds? Dunno.

So here's the hilarious part: Kevin wants to road trip to Vegas. And go to the Trek convention dressed in Renaissance costumes.

God that cracks me up.

Especially from someone who looks awesome as Seven Of Nine.

Good Carma

Sunday “morning” I dragged my tired but out of bed and into a beautiful Sunday on the Bay. I met Barney at the Embarcadero in time for the noon ferry to Sausalito. It was sunny wand warm in the City, icy and foggy on the Bay, and sunny and warm in Sausalito. The Golden Gate was entirely invisible.

Deb met us at the dock, feeling very much like the new mother waiting for Daddy at the pier with little Roman zonked out in the stroller. We strolled along the waterfront and stopped in the park long enough for me to change from jeans to shorts. Living in SF I am not shy about dropping trou in public. I am hoping the locals didn’t mind. I didn’t care about the tourists. I consider them interlopers. I am local color.

Deb and I had planned this day as an opportunity to spend a beautiful day together, and for me to buy her car.

A couple of weeks ago, Deb finally accepted that she would have to get a mommy mobile. Roman and Zola (enormous black lab) could not easily share the back seat of the Beemer. Deb sent out an e-mail asking if her friends knew anyone who might be interested in buying it. The Beemer was way out of my desired price range, but I knew the car well, knew Deb had taken anal-retentive good care of it, and knew it was a good deal. But more than that, I thought I should by it because it just made cosmic sense. One of my best friends needs to sell her car at the same time I need to buy one. Take the sign. Don’t question it. Be appreciative. And just ride the gift horse.

I told her I was interested. I really wanted a convertible though. I shopped around online for a long time, visited a couple of dealers, and conferred with friends. I am not a “car guy.” I hate dealers. I shiver just typing about it. I don’t like car research and I don’t get into it like my brother Mac or my friend David Britt. I just want a reliable car at a reasonable price. The opportunity with Deb just seemed so right. And a gift from Heaven. No muss, no fuss, no stress, no strain.

The exclamation point to the “this is a sign dumbass—just buy Deb’s car!” feeling was made by the Ford dealers at Dolores and Market. Major with the creepy! And AGGRESSIVE. And so stereotypical annoying and pushy and sleezy that I almost laughed at them. Things like shaking my hand but then not letting go. Pushing me aggressively towards something I have adamantly declared I didn’t want. I almost asked “Does this actually work on other people?” But then they started tag-teaming me with cheesy lines and high-pressure sales tactics and I realized that many people must get caught like deer in the headlights and just capitulate to get them to back off. It got to the point that I actually wanted to shout “Stop it!” Except they outnumbered me and I really didn’t even feel safe in there any more. They were like hyenas circling their prey.

But I digress. I went to Sausalito to spend the day with Deb and buy her car. Once she knew I was interested, she asked if I was flexible with the timing as she had not decided on a mommy mobile just yet. She bought a Honda SUV last week, so this was a good time to pick up her old car.

We had a lovely day in Sausalito. We took lunch at a nice café on the water, enjoyed the sunshine and the random Sting/Russian cover song from the Albanian guitar player working the patio. (He was hunky, pretty, and pretty cheesy. Which we found quite entertaining.)

It occurred to me that it must seem strange to other people that I came to Sausalito to buy a car I have never even driven. So I drove it. Loved it. Heck, I have been driven in it enough. In fact I was the first passenger the day that Deb bought it.

It’s a 2001 BMW 325i, fully loaded, leather, silver exterior, well-maintained, and just passed 60k miles. As a bestest-buddy Deb gave me a great deal (but fair to her too). It needs its 60k “Inspection II” service, a new windshield wiper fluid pump, and a dent pulled from between the grills, that will run almost $1,000 so she knocked that off the price. She had meant to have it detailed before I claimed it, but there wasn’t time. She did however clean it to almost immaculate perfection.

And she hid $5 in the glove box for the bridge toll back as a ‘welcome to the car’ gift.

I’m going to take it back to her official BMW guy in Sausalito for the service, as he only charges $400, instead of $750 charged by the two pretentious BMW places in the City. I would like to use Cole Garage as it is just around the corner, but they won’t even give me an estimate. So one day next week I will drive up to Sausalito and work out of Deb’s home office. The body work I can get done across the street from my apartment—if I choose to do so at all. The dent is so minor I couldn’t see it even though she told me it was there. She had to point it out for me to notice. Once I have the maintenance done, I’ll have it detailed and the inside shampooed/steam cleaned for that new car feeling.

While I did get a great deal, I have been cringing at the added expense of registration, change in title, required smog check, and oh dear God the sales tax. I paid a third down and need to come up with the rest. Now that I have the title in my name, I'll get a car loan, or probably a line of credit at a lower rate. Or just pay her a montly amount for a year as she's cool with that.

Next: new insurance.

One down, two to go.

I love the car. And I’m thinking of naming it Linda. After Debbie Sue Linda, one of my pet names for Deborah (originally from a MadTV sketch).

And yes, I am well aware that driving a BMW now makes me yuppie scum. I believe I have sufficiently mitigated that by my nights at the Powerhouse, Trannsyshack, and Midnight Mass.

I am not suggesting it.

I'm just sayin'.

The 40th Anniversary.

Clearly, resistance is futile.

"This is my happening and it freaks me out!"

Time for a little shout out to the friends from Midnight Mass.

So "holla."

Saturday night Kevin and I took Little Brandon to his first Midnight Mass. This weekend was Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. We were worried it wasn't going to be a good night because when we got there the line was relatively short and tame. However, we landed in line next to the grown-up goth-ish Melissa (holla) who, drinking from a paper bag, knew what Midnight Mass is all about. That was evidenced by the drinking out of the paper bag. We got into an animated discussion over who wrote Valley of the Dolls vs. Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, which resulted in my calling Lance to look it up online because, having just left Lance and Barney at the Dolores Park watching Kath & Kim, we knew he was awake.

We could agree (after the embarrassing moment when I confused Suzanne Pleshette with Jacqueline Suzanne) on the bit of trivia that roger Ebert wrote the screenplay for Beyond, but I vaguely remembered the audience going "oooh" at the Castro Theater at the end of Valley of the Dolls when it said "written by Roger Ebert". According to the imdb, I was wrong. But the memory was so nagging that I doubted the imdb. However, after reading Ebert's scathing review, I no longer consider his authorship.

There was a lovely young couple in line behind us as well (okay, 30s young). We could tell by their naiveté that they were virgins. But we welcomed them and introduced them to the scene. I will say that Midnight Mass is officially a victim of its own success. Too many lookie-loos and local tourists, and not enough freaks. Honey, this is supposed to be Trannyshack's night out. This is home to mother/daughter mud wrestling before Mommie Dearest and Drag Queen Roller Derby before 80s dreck. Alcohol and pot smoking are encouraged. So what is with the boring bridge-and-tunnel/ shirts-with-collars set?

Lucky for us, these two may have looked like white bread newbies, but they were really lost Midnight Mass souls who had finally found their way home.

I started to explain the whole Midnight Mass theology: "Welcome to Midnight Mass. It's about getting drunk or high, and commentary."
"Oh," She said, looking sheepish to her date, then slightly embarrassed to be saying it, and ultimately disappointed: "I could have brought the high..."
"You didn't being any drinks?"
The boyfriend this time, "Don't they have drinks inside?"
"No. They have what we call 'mixers.'"

Melissa raised her paper bag in illustration.

Bear in mind, the paper bag was the most subtle consumption on display. Which is kinda the deal. I showed them my flask (the much beloved Davidson Pocket Policy my fraternity sold in college to make money) and explained that one drinks beer in line, and many people smoke or have a cookie/brownie beforehand, and then you take in your drinks for the show. The only rule is they can't see it. Willful suspension of disbelief—if they don't see it, we don't have it, everyone is good. But people are lighting up bowls inside for goodness sakes. We're not talking the height of stealth.

When we arrived, Kevin dropped us off and then went looking for parking, Brandon went to hold a spot in line, and I went to the window to get our pre-paid tickets. I was in line behind Matt, one of Kevin's exes, and AKA Rentecha. He, who continued his two year streak of always looking at me as if I were vaguely familiar and not as if we have met 60 or 70 times, and his date were "with the band." I.e., on the lost of comps. Which from what I could see was quite long. Brandon was a late addition and I had not ordered a ticket for him. So while Brandon was getting his ticket, I was alone in line for a while with Melissa, the newbies, and another couple who did not want to actively engage but were clearly enthralled by our conversation. I advised Boyfriend to go across the street and get libation for the show. Later he returned and I checked on his purchase.

“Did you get your drinks?”
“Yeah, I got a bottle of anchor steam.”
“A bottle of beer? Amateurs.”

When Brandon came back I made my own trip across the street.

That mini-mart must do amazing business on Midnight Mass nights. I went in to get a couple of tall boys for our wait in line. While inside, I ran into Mr. Moses, whom Kevin and I met in line last year for Peaches’ Playhouse/Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. He was in a great Pee Wee costume, and we all got along like the Midnight Mass devotees we are. He later sent me a Frienster invite, which is how I found him here.

So while I was getting ready to check out with my three tall cans and an additional flask-sized bottle of vodka for Boyfiend/Girlfriend, in strolled Mr. Moses and his companion on a similar quest.

“Mr. Moses!”
“Wilson! My God,” he said shaking my hand and taking my arm, “it’s been exactly one season.” And so it had. It was nice to see him again. And nice to be remembered. His hair is handsomely longer and he was suitably attired in a period/alternative jacket, and he had some good lines for me but as I had never seen the film before they were lost on me.

When I got back to the line, Brandon and Kevin were very excited to get their MGD treats. I gave the bottle of vodka to Boyfriend, telling him that “Beer is what you drink in line. And you can have booze during the show.”
He replied, “Smirnoff?”
“You’re going to be mixing it with Sprite and popcorn. I’m not going to get you Kettel One….And for God’s sakes-- a stranger buys you a bottle of vodka and you complain about the brand?”
“Point taken. Thank you.”

There were so many people on the comp list that even through we were near the front of the line, the theater was nearly full when we entered. The usual seats for Statler and Waldorf were already taken. Kevin and Brandon went searching for good seats and I went for mixers. I love that the cool concessioners don’t blink when you ask for a soda, half full, but with lots of ice. They know their crowd. I imagine they know it well as they have to clean up the mess the messy leave behind.

As it turns out, we got seats next to Boyfriend/Girlfriend and in front of Moses and a bunch of other displaced Trannyshack/Midnight Mass regulars. Which was a blast. Unfortunately, we were in front of two MM virgins and ‘serious movie goers here for the actors’ Q&A’ who were serious downers. And not in the alternative underground way.

They shushed us. Let me repeat that: They shushed us. It’s freakin’ MIDNIGHT MASS. Where Mystery Science Theater 3000 meets the Rocky Horror Picture Show! On acid. It’s about edge and tragic and fierce and kitsch and camp and being altered and yelling witty comments at the screen. When you have a trashy movie preceded by a bunch of drag queens on roller skates beating the crap out of each other in the final wig-snatch competition, it is not the Whitebread Film Festival. They complained a lot.

We did try to keep it down, but we really just pulled it back from a 12 to about a 9 on the MM scale. We kept saying, “It’s Midnight Mass” as if that should be sufficient explanation. And it should have been. But in hindsight they have no idea what that means so it made no sense to them. The gallery behind us was making commentary all though the film, and there were pockets of laughter all across the theater of others doing the same. Occasionally, really good quips get shouted so the entire crowd can hear it, and are welcome and laughed at.

Riff & Raff hated us. And I was sorry that they weren’t having the filmic experience they wanted, but this was not the venue they thought it was, and not the place for serious screening. (What serious screening starts at 1:30 in the morning? With people smoking bowls in the theater?)

At one point they tried to reason that “It’s only you who are talking!” (oblivious to the rest of the crowd across the theater enjoying a similar experience).
“It’s not just us.”
“Well, you and your friends”
True, it was us and 15 of our friends in the little section behind them, but what they couldn’t grasp is that we met these people in line. And the others are just other regulars, and so in that sense we were all friends—but it’s not like I had ever seen any of these people in daylight.

The Q&A was at times interesting, and mostly interesting for the reunion part of it, and historical perspective. But all in all, really boring compared to the usual sort of pre-show (who can compete with mud wresting or a wig snatch?). The movie too was cool in its fucked-up-ness, but also pretty lame. Of course, it’s not like I was paying such rapt attention that I remember all of it. It was the camp aspect of it that was awesome. And the whacked out ending. Yow.

With a lovely dinner of beer, vodka, and popcorn, my tummy was not all that happy by the time I got to bed at quarter past four in the morning. Kevin was a saint for driving. Of course, poor lil’ ol’ me couldn’t without a car. I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. And by that I mean stranger people.




And of course, hitting the sack at 4:15 A.M. did not make me the freshest flower in the vase for the trip to Sausalito on Sunday morning. More on that later.

Bubbles! BUBBLES!!

Pop, pop, pop. POP POP POP POP!

Digital bubble wrap.

Even with sound. Listen carefully if you select a fresh sheet. I love her, and the heavy-breathed "moooore."

Thanks to Terrence for passing this on.

Forwarded from Barney

From Pamplona:



That's what I call a bum steer.