Rodeo Roadtrip

It was a big Country/Western birthday for me last weekend. Saturday evening, the Bay Area chapter of the GSGRA sponsored a beer-bust and private shopping trip to Western Warehouse in the South Bay. After an afternoon beer bust, the bus left The Metro around 7:00 for the drive to Milpitas, where Rodeo sponsor Western Warehouse would open after-hours for a night of private shopping, at a 20% discount, for the Rodeo shoppers. For the $15 ticket, the bus trip included snacks, beer, booze, croissant sandwiches, and hijinks.

Last year, the bus was crowded with Sundance Saloon folks (and I started the trend of pantless shopping, which was such a pleasure in several ways). This year the crowd was considerably smaller, and predominately leather queens. Go figure. There were 15-20 or so of us on the trip this year: about five rodeo guys, a western guy with his lesbian pair, me with my straight girls, and the leather guys.

Amy Day had been excited about making a trip to WW to get some boots and start country dancing again, and Shilpa, always ready for an adventure, signed up too.

And let me tell you, they were the Belles of the Bus in a big way. That Shilpa can sass along with the best of them, and drag queens, rodeo queens, and hard-core leather queens are tough bunch with which to hold your own. Amy had a fabulous time too and was not lacking for attention.

An unexpected pleasure of the road trip was the companionship of Ed, whom I have met many times but with whom I have had no real conversation. As I recall he is a former and may be the current titled “Mr. Bay Area Rodeo” (I don’t know what it is with us fags and titles—must be the pageantry.) Ed is also a singer and has sung along to a backing track at Sundance Saloon several times. He may have been a Star Search competitor at some point, but I might be confusing him with Matt Alber.

At any rate, he’s good people, and good company. And with him in the seat next to me, and Shilpa and Amy in the seat in front of me, we felt like a fun foursome.



Ed also let Shilpa try on his hat—and for a hat-wearer I must say that Ed has a nice head of hair.

She looked darlin’.



And we made her buy her own later that night.

The traumatic event on the bus was the Dorito Tumor. Okay, it wasn’t traumatic, but it was both disgusting and hilarious. While some of us savored the forbidden unnaturalness of the Chee-to, inside Ed’s bag of Doritos he found a congealed mass of Dorito topping just smaller than his fist.



This was the object of much fascination. Dissection was debated, and upon compression it ultimately exploded into a toxic orange crumble.

Ed, who was complimented on his tight Wranglers (the jean of choice for ranchers and rodeos), had the best line of the night:

“These are my cheap hotel jeans…no ball room.”



The banter on the bus was uproarious. Mix in a large bowl: road trip giddiness, Saturday night adventure, leather daddies, drag queens (out of drag), cowboys, cowgirls, an Indian, and lots of booze and beer—that's a recipe for a hollering good time. Everyone’s attitude was positive and the clever meter was running high. I began wishing for a note pad to blog the one liners. I have a few notes on cocktail napkins we picked up at a bathroom stop in the frighteningly rural Hayward gay bar where there was an Empress competition in progress. That just added to the surreal nature of the evening.

There were many great topics and quotable quips that night. Sadly, most of my notes were mental and soon forgotten. Lines which made it to cocktail napkins include:

* She looks great in that hat! She’s a cowgirl and an Indian!
* A bear doesn’t shit in the woods, but he might pee on somebody. (On Lazy Bear Weekend in the Russian River)
* I should be more specific. There’s a taxonomy of barflies.
* You’re a water sign and I’m a fire sign. We’d be such a bad match.
No we wouldn’t: fire + water = firewater! Woo hoo!

At one point during the ride, the boys started referring to Amy and Shilpa as Chips & Salsa (They’re detectives! Coming this fall to FOX.) It was so ironic that they started calling Shilpa “Chips” as she was recently sexually harassed at work by a doctor staring at her rack, as her arms were full of files and also bags of chips left over from a meeting, and he ultimately commented “oh, I wasn’t staring at the snacks, but nice chips.”

Some bus candids:









Shopping fun:













Amy Day and Shilpa both bought a pair of boots and a hat. And looked good doing it. Amy Day, western dancing enthusiast, also bought a cowgirl tank top and a belt with big buckle for dancing. So cute.



After so much booze, and shopping, the boys were getting a little peckish. One guy walked across the strip mall to In-N-Out Burger. He placed his order, paid, then got tired of waiting and walked back without getting his meal.

Eric took a poll and the bus drove the 50 yards to the Taco Bell for munchies. Photo of eager drunk cowboys headed for a taco fix:



Photo of denied taco-seekers turned away from the Taco Bell which only had the drive-though open.



Ultimately we returned to The Metro just before midnight. We were immediately repulsed by the bar as it had exploded into a crowd of super-cheesy bridge and tunnel/marina kids. Very strange. We were debating our next move—some were headed to Daddy’s/440, some home, and there was discussion of Marlena’s. The Mr. S guy whose name escapes me said he was headed home, if his truck would start:

Eric: “If your truck will start?”
Mr. S: “I left the lights on...”
Me: “That is so Belinda Carlisle.”

It is no surprise that Shilpa and I are so close; because we clearly share some synapses. She laughed immediately. I didn’t really care that/if no one else got it. Those who know me know that I often quip references just to amuse myself. (I do crack myself up.) If the audience gets it, so much the better, and they'll earn points from me.

Amy Day was exhausted and took the N-Judah home. Shilpa and I, night owls as we are, were eager to join Eric (our host and Rodeo leader) and his partner Frank (aka Miss Trout) at Marlena’s. The late show was ending just as we arrived, but we stayed until closing and had greyhounds and lots of fun conversation. Eric and Frank are regulars so we were sort of established by association. Shilpa and Frank got to know each other pretty well--



As for me: I bought two pairs of boots, two hats, three shirts, boot cream, and a boot remover. I passed the dollar mark to get the 30% to 40% discount, but the person checking me out only gave me 20%. She told me that the incremental discounting was last year so I acquiesced. It was still a nice discount, and I could justify buying the red version of the durable, fancy, shiny, sparkly black sting ray (made from) boots I bought last year and have loved. Later on the bus, Eric told me that I was supposed to get the greater discount and should have consulted him as he made the deal with the manager. Another $50 to $60 would have been saved, but still I got good deals. Eh.

I so dig the sting rays, and the new square-toed weathered brown ones, but I must admit I have gone a little Imelda with the boots.

And Sunday night? Amy and Shilpa joined me for lessons and dancing at Sundance Saloon, where they got to show off their new boots and hats. Again they were the center of attention, and made a big deal out of my birthday which got me lots of attention. Which, of course, I loved too. Prrrr.

Teaser

I didn't get a chance to post about the road trip nor about the birthday tonight. But I have been working on the photos—and I still haven't seen Shilpa's set yet. Apparently she has 210 of them.

But this pic may sum up both the driving and the drinking:


Happy birthday to me...

There are 10 kinds of people in the world.

Those who understand binary and those who don't.

think geek.

Come all without, Come all within,

You ain't seen nothing like The Mighty Quinn.

Well you have really-- it's that can't-be-named falling brick game. And the best Mac game/time sucker. FreeCell belongs to Windows, Quinn to the Mac.

(and for those on whom the reference is lost)

Librarians overdue

For the respect they deserve for the stands they take.

Props from The Nation: Librarians at the Gates.
By Joseph Huff-Hannon.

Courage, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. And in an era of increasing controls on the gathering and dissemination of information, many Americans are unaware of the courageous stands librarians take every day.

The day-to-day challenges librarians face are inherent in the job description: defending access to controversial or banned books, staving off budget cuts, and creating and expanding programs to draw more citizens into one of the few remaining genuinely public commons in American life. While the ethic of secrecy often prevails in the gathering and dissemination of corporate and governmental information, the work of a librarian is imbued with just the opposite. Be it in the capacity of archivist, reference librarian or information technology professional, a common thread is the profession's dogged commitment to safeguarding books, research and information to make knowledge more widespread, not less.

In the past few years this dedication has become more important than ever. With the federal government ever more intent on spying on its own citizens, and on classifying, concealing and manipulating larger swaths of information and intelligence, librarians and library custodians are on the front lines protecting freedom of inquiry and our right to privacy. And where right-wing groups, both local and national, have campaigned for censorship, librarians have also stepped up to the plate to defend minority points of view in their collections. Anecdotes there are aplenty, too many to document here. The following are but a few profiles of courageous individuals in the field who exemplify the democratic values and the independent spirit of the profession.

It makes a fellow proud to be a soldier.

Overheard last night

"Next week I am going to start researching [intense subject]. Because I plan to quit drinking and I'll have all this free time."

This was overheard on the way to the bar.

There is no "I" in team.

But there is "M" and "E."

Complete B of A Holes

So a guy wants to sells his mountain bikes. He goes to Craig's list and deals with someone in Canada for a couple of weeks, and ultimately sells the bikes. Before sending them, he receives a business check on a Bank of America account for more than the agreed amount ("for shipping and his trouble").

Slightly suspicious, he takes the check to the Bank to verify the account is real, and that there are funds to cover the amount. The teller assures him this is the case, so he cashes the check.

Or rather, he tries to. Instead, the B of A branch managers call the cops, they manhandle and cuff him in the branch (no mirandizing, btw), haul him to the police station, strip search him, take his clothes, keep him for four to five hours before he can call his parents, and lock him overnight in a cramped cell built for one with four other people, including violent offenders and drug dealers. There is one john in the corner with someone passed against it. And one bed. He curls up on the filthy floor.

Finally, after his Dad pays the $4,500 bond of the $45,000 bail to get him out the next day, all charges are dismissed by finding of fact-- basically the district attorney said he did nothing wrong and Bank of America reported a "suspected crime" not a real one.

Beyond the repeated huliliation, dehumanization, and suffering this young man edured, the 48 hours also cost this retail clerk $14,000 to clear his name.

All because he suspected a check may have been fraudulent, checked with the bank, who checked on the check, told him it was legit when it was in fact fraudulent, and called for the police and reported a crime to have him arrested him as part of the fraud, which he clearly was not.

This guy has been seriously abused, and as for the $14 grand, he thinks B of A should pay for their mistake. I am inclined to agree with him.

But a 2004 Supreme Court which removes all protections to this victim: "the court ruled that all reports to the police are absolutely privileged. In other words, no liability can be connected to telling police of a suspected crime, whether real or not."

B of A is saying it only "suspected" a crime, not they did any real checking or asked the guy. And the police way over-reacted. Where was the whole "innocent until proven guilty" thing. By all reports, he was hauled away and incarcerated, then there was an investigation, which apparently took all of five minutes when they got around to it the next day, to show it was completely baseless.

And B of A? What are they saying to this poor customer they humilates, abused, and incarcerated.

Basically it ssems they are saying, "We are not paying you for the trouble we caused. And by the way, fuck off."

Because of the 2004 ruling, B of A has no legal liability in the case and warned the customer that "litigation would not prove financially beneficial" to him.

SF Chronicle story here.

What was the old slogan? Worth changing banks for...

Death Race SF

Update from this morning's SFGate.

And this:

Throughout the chaos, only one thing seemed clear: The driver was on a hunt. A hunt for humans.

It's a bit melodramatic, but so was the terrifying killing spree.

Death Race 2006

Suddenly, Death Race 2000 isn't all that funny anymore.

SUV Hit-And-Run Rampage On SF Streets:
Up to 14 hit; man killed earlier
(SF Chronicle/SFGate)

I may be burning the candle at both ends,

But it gives a lovely light.

Birthday math

Hey kids.

I've gotten a few comments about the lack of postings today. I am looking forward to the Gay Rodeo Shopping Roadtrip narrative feature straight girls and serious leather queens. I need to edit some of the photos first and will upload them to Flickr. I inadvertently set the quality on the digital camera to "super fine" so the file sizes are enormous.

And of course, there is the birthday party. It was a small, intimate gathering of good friends, and of course any exclusion or absense should not be construed as an indicate that certain non-participants are not good friends. It was just a small dinner party.

Which of course by midnight had devolved into dancing on furniture.

I have a few "aww/cute" photos from earlier in the evening, and then a hundred messy ones from late night as the cameras got passed around and the party population halved.

I may have time to transfer these to the laptop and upload them here sometime tommorow evening.

I know your breath is bated.

Teaser: Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Liquour.

Five unexpected words, I know.

While gifts were not expected they were appreciated. And it may be telling that of three gifts, two were bottles of booze and one was a set of coasters.

I guess every party needs a theme.

I am noting quite clearly this birthday that my recovery time has increased dramatically. It has been a long, tiring day here at work, and I am bowing out of another party tonight to recuperate with another event which should be much lower liver impact. Birthday algebra for this virgo has proven that 36 ≠ 26.

Q.E.D.

Photos and posts to continue when I am no longer occupied with doing fabulous things to blog about! Maybe Thursday?

Happy Birthday to me...

It has been another trying day here at work but I am about to leave for a faboo birthday dinner hosted by the lovely Shilpa.

Some birthday thoughts before I go:

1) When people have asked what I want for my birthday, I've saying "a portrait to go in the attic."

2) and why is it when you're old enough to really appreciate a good spanking , they no longer give you birthday spankings?

Here's to 36. Ugh. I may be pushing 40, but I have to remember that's better than pulling it.

Gay Rodeo Western Shopping Road Trip

Stories to tell. But off to bed now. Tales to here and photos to Flickr soon.



Much, much fun.

Birthday Blahs

I'm not feeling very 'birthday bonanza' this year. Mac's 40th was just last weekend, and I had been focusing on that. And Dad's 70th, which was in July, but we never had the big hoo haa as planned. I managed a quick hit-and-run trip to Nashville last weekend to surprise Mac for his fabulous Mac-eoke birthday karaoke extravaganza, then turned around and got back on a plane Sunday afternoon. (Photoset up on Flickr.)


My birthday is Monday, and I didn't give it any thought until Mom asked me about it on the way to the airport. I used to love August, because that's my birthday month. Maybe it's just that I can't believe the summer is over already. I need a vacation. A real one. More than just a day or two. I really loved my two week jaunt across Europe last August, and wish I could spend a week in Glasgow before Labor Day. Jan and Cat have moved into a single flat together. Remo renovated a place nearby. And Remo and Car have bought the corner pub and are renovating that.

Oh to spend a month working on and in a Glaswegian gay-friendly bar. So much more fun than my day job here. It was called the Western. I threatened to come over, redesign it myself, and call it the Southern.

But alas, here I remain.

I have been trying not to do the "another birthday going by personal inventory." I have skimmed the surface of that lake and really don't feel like diving in. I am heavier than I have ever been, and balder, and am still single. I quit my job in 2002 and went to grad school to pursue a dream, but have not gained footing on the road to fulfillment. I was about to erase all debt except for the minor student loans, but now bought a car and am back to paying monthly debt service instead of saving. I do not own a home.

Okay, I need to stop this as it is unfun blogging and is rapidly approaching wallowing self-pity. It could just be that I am in a mood because it has been a long end to a long week.

There are, of course, many upsides. And I just launched iTunes and am feeling merrier already. The random play started up with bluegrass (Rolling in My Sweet Baby's Arms) and as Steve Martin pointed out, it is impossible to be depressed with a banjo.

Shilpa (back from Africa and bless her heart) also cornered me this week about the birthday. I had made zero plans, so she decided to host a night for me this Monday. Mondays are not usually good party nights, but it is the actual birthday. So food and friends it will be at her place on the 28th. We've got a small but deeply loving and immensely entertaining crowd gathering.

She also pressed me as to my "ideal birthday party if you could do anything." I have decided what that is: a weekend in a big house in the Russian River with the crazy friends and lots of eating, drinking, and games. Kevin, Barney, and Shilpa are all for it. I'm thinking maybe 10-12 of us now. Suitable houses abound, and they are actually reasonably priced. Off-season doesn't begin until October 1, and that's when the weather starts to turn. September here is still summer.

Unfortunately, scheduling has become the big obstacle. This weekend was out of the question as we had already planned the super-fun Gay Rodeo Private Shopping Road Trip night for tomorrow. (Last year I unwittingly started a trend of wandering pantless while trying on clothes off the racks. I seem to have a thing about pantless.) So that will be a ball.

The rest of September’s weekends are pretty full. The first weekend is for Kevin’s birthday surprises, the second weekend is the Rodeo and Shawn’s birthday BBQ, the third and last full weekend is the Folsom Street Fair, where Kevin and I hope to podcast (we gave up on the booth idea as it was cost-prohibitive). So that pushed us to October. The first weekend in October is the Castro Street Fair (featuring a great outdoor Sundance Saloon dancing stage), which overlaps with the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival I love. The second weekend in October is the Sundance Stompede, which I can’t miss. I love the weekend full of dancing as much as the cowboy imports (as you can see in the image on this page).

Kevin’s presence at the Russian River weekend is a requirement, but he works three weekends out of the month so this throws a bit of a wrench into the works.

But for all of this scheduling and planning and by all appearances a jam-packed (“I like jam!”) social calendar, it is now Friday night and I have no plans other that to meet up with RMJ and Barney at an undetermined time and place later in the Castro after everyone has finished their first-round of evening obligations.

It’s ten past six and I am waiting for Shilpa to finish up with some work. Then we are getting cocktails and manicures.

Not so bad for a Friday I suppose.

Kevin is getting over the flu and headed to see a 70mm screening of Titanic at the Castro Theater. I don’t think I’ll go because I don’t want to catch whatever it is he had. That, and I’d have to watch Titanic.

Samuel L. Jackson should avoid Mumbai

The sequel: Indians on a Plane!

From the Times of India.

To which an Indian coworker said, "That is so my mother!"

Nerd fight!!!

From BBC News:
A fierce backlash has begun against the decision by astronomers to strip Pluto of its status as a planet.

Update: Smart-asses like me get in on the action. From CafePress:

It reads like it's from The Onion

But it's not.

Earlier this week the International Astronomical Union voted to strip Pluto of its formal status as a "planet" in this solar system.

Pluto has responded with a lawsuit.

And for those of you who haven't heard of The Onion, it is America's Finest News Source.

Marooned on Loser Island!

Population: you.

Love to Shilpa.

Table talk.

Having a hard time broaching that difficult topic at the breakfast or dinner table? Can't quite bring yourself to initiate that awkward or painful conversation?

Well fret no more! The good people over at Heinz have offered to do the talking for you with customizable ketchup bottles. At MyHeinz.com you can orer pre-made or personalized messages to appear on your ketchup bottles.

Oh sure, their samples all say things like "Congratulations", "Happy Anniversary", and "Get Well Soon," but honestly, how crappy a congratulations or anniversary present is a bottle of ketchup? And I'm sure he'll recover from that bypass much more quickly with a load of ketchup on his fries. Clearly, this ingenious service is to bring to the table that which you would rather not do yourself.

Whether you're serving tater tots,



hot dogs,



flank steak,



leaving out a cold dinner because he was "working late" again,



or for spicing up those frozen leftovers,



this ketchup can say what you're afraid to.




The condiment for when the condom breaks.

Overheard from an epidemiologist

I think there's something to it.
"It's hard to get a placebo effect from a cat."

Very Cool Country

My Fave-O-Rite band 77 El Deora got a nice little multi-media coverage in the Chronicle from their show last Sunday at Thee Parkside, which I was so sorry to miss.


Check it out here.

Now I lay me down to sleep...

Pajamas for Jesus.

Holy shit you not.



Frankly, I'm surprised they put "truth" right across little Jonny's nads and little Mary Magdalene's hoo-ha. The last thing conservative Christians teach about human sexuality is the truth.

"Chastity" or "Honesty" might have been better choices. Associating honesty with what one does downstairs might make for healthier choices later in life.



Found via Pam's House Blend.

And the cow says...

Well, it depends.

In Canada, it may say "Moo-eh?"
Or in Georgia it may "Mooooah."

Sent in by alert reader/researcher Barney May, the New Zealand Herald is reporting that cows moo with an accent.

Of course, some of those who moo are just born different.

wardrobe change

I need to change clothes. Don't worry though...it won't take but just a second.



I bet most guys wish the women in their lives could change clothes this quickly.

TOO MUCH FREE TIME

One might think as the CEO of iMatix, Pieter Hintjens wouldn't have the time to so actively campiagn hardware manufactures to eliminate the 'Caps Lock' key from keyboards.

WHATEVER.

Fakes on a plane.

While I laughed out loud at the personalized voice mails from Sammy Jackson himself urging me to go see Snakes on a Plane (thanks Kev), I think I'll pass.

But I do love hearing SLJ rant about it.

But the fact that these snakes don't exist and real snakes don't act like that would just bug me too much. And, you know, the whole "it's stupid" thing.

SF Gate review: 'Snakes on a Plane' is as phony as a python with fangs. It's still fun, though.

Not to say this movie, even before it opened, is without its fans.

Peckish for a little parietal lobe?

How did I miss this?!

Zombies invaded San Francisco this weekend!

Good thing I was unavailable as my sweet, sweet brain would have attracked them to me like Whitney Houson to that bag of "powered sugar."



From Laughing Squid: Zombies Invade San Francisco!

Man I love this town!!

Favorite comment from the Laughing Squid coverage: "The first photo is exactly as I feel when I leave the Mutal Washington branch office in the photo."

And gotta love this: Zombie shopping in the Apple Store.



I'm surprised Apple hasn't welcomed this as a marketing image. "Where do zombies go for the best brains? The Apple Store's Genius Bar of course." Seriously, the Genius Bar sounds like a great zombie restaurant.

All photos by Scott Beale / Laughing Squid.

MacD turns 40! Happy Birthday!

Today is my brother Mac's fortieth birthday!

Woo hoo!

And...wow.

It got me thinking... I remember our Dad's 40th. And I am the youngest of the three Hardcastle boys. Dad just turned 70 last month, so he was just 30 when he and Mom had Mac, their second child. I was looking at a photo of Mac and me at my 30th, and even though it was only five (well, almost six) years ago I was considerably slimmer with more hair. And looked like a baby. I still feel there are times I can't take care of myself and Dad had a big house, career, and three kids by the time he was the age I am now.

I will be 36 in a couple of weeks, so I must have been five years old when Dad turned 40. I remember there was a big party at the house we had moved into just a year earlier. I remember that day fairly clearly as I was sent across the street to the Warner's house where their youngest, Mary Laird, was babysitting me during the party (as long as we are on the subject of birthdays, ML and I have the same one, just seven years apart).

After we came in from playing outside, Mary Laird asked me to close the door behind me. It was a wooden door with about a dozen glass panes, and I put my arm through one of them. She rushed me across the street (my house) to see her Dad, a doctor. I thought it was fine and didn't start crying until I saw the blood. Then I was screaming bloody murder for, according to reports, six hours or so. They washed me up and checked me out in the kitchen and Dr. Warner decided I needed stiches. Of course, the house was full of people for Dad's 40th birthday party. It's odd sensation for me to realize while typing this that ML must have only been 12 years old, the same age as my little neice.

We live on a dead-end street with a tightly-knit group of families. Most of the parents have known each other since childhood and they all moved to be near other on this very special street. The four families each have three children, at roughly the sames ages, so we all grew up together very closely. In many ways. Collectively, we affectionately refer to each other as the "street people."

So as little 5-year-old Wilson lay screaming and bleeding, Joe McAlliser got his station wagon from up the street, Beth Harwell held me, and Dr. Warner made the necessary medical arrangements. I screamed the entire car ride over to Baptist Hospital (where Dr. Warner works to this day, although now he is the Chief of Neurology).

So Beth, one of my mothers, and Joe, one of my fathers, carried me into the ER.

A wailing-child accompanied version of "Who's on first?" ensued.

"What is your name?"
"Beth Harwell."
"Beth Harwell...What is the child's name?"
"Wilson Hardcastle"
"Wilson Harwell...okay. What is the nature of the...'
"Hardcastle"
"Hardcastle?"
"Hardcastle."
"Okay, Mrs. Hardcastle, what is..."
"Mrs. Harwell. Beth Harwell."
"I thought you said Hardcastle..."

After enough confusion he turned to Joe.
"So, Mr. Harwell. Or Hardcastle?"
"McAlliser."
"I don't understand."
"I'm just the driver."
"Let's start this again."

This went on for far too long and in hindsight I am glad this wasn't the guy stiching me up.

The examined me, took me to the ER, and gave me a local and four stiches. I am told I never stoped wailing. I believe it.

Emily and Mac flew out to SF and hosted a big ta do for me on my 30th birthday. It kills me I won't be back home for Mac's 40th. Emily has planned a big party for Mac at their house on Saturday. Mac is a showman, and often with a microphone, so she has planned a large kareoke party. Or as I am calling it "Mac-eoke and Cheese."

Hopefully, his 40th will end in less bloodshed.

My gift is my song, and this one's for you...

Be vewy vewy quiet, we're hunting apartments

I meantioned earlier about MyApartmentMap.com which tied Craig's list housing posting to Google maps with limited success.

HousingMaps has done this as well, and with seemingly better results. However both services are powered by Craig's List and Google (with no official affiliation) and cannot account for the fuzzy nature of most of Craig's List apartment locations. Within a CL post, one can click on the given location to see a Google map, but more often than not the post does not contain enough specific information for Google Maps to plot the site without asking, "Did you mean..." first. Such postings do not appear on either apartment-mapping site.

But still, kinda cool, and kinda useful.

Jeep for sale

Kevin is selling is brother's Jeep. He was kind enough to lend it to me after the Saturn was stolen. It's a good ride.

Here's the Craig's list post if anyone is interested:

1993 Jeep Wrangler, hard top, 110k

Reply to: sale-195170447@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-08-16, 9:17PM

Very clean green, hard top Jeep. Never been in any accidents. Never been serious off roading, just the occasional dirt road. Runs great, lots of fun. The gas tank is empty when the gauge shows 1/8 tank (tripometer works). Rear door doesn't lock and would require a locksmith to fix- otherwise no big deal. Totally rocking car!

showing this saturday and sunday 11a-3p
Kevin
415-533-5124

Ivy covered halls of Davidson

Well, the ivy was on the outside. And not on all the buildings.

Even though it is located in North Carolina, Davidson College is now considered an Ivy League School.

Of course, some of us already knew that--Princeton being the "Davidson of the North" and all.

Update: Davidson as the new ivy is also the Time magazine cover story.

Go Wildcats!

Dating, history

I once had an ex give me the evil eye and cold shoulder for over two years because once, late night in a bar, I quipped that he "had more baggage than the Oakland airport."

Now we all have our own set of emotional baggage-- some of it matching, some of it designer, and some terribly battered. And frankly it's to be expected for people to bring their respective baggage on first dates and into relationships. I just have a rule that any emotional baggage you bring on a date with me must be able to fit in the overhead compartment.

Of course, losing one's emotional baggage may or may not be healthy.

Losing actual baggage--now that the a-hole terrorists have it made so you pretty much have to check everything--is certainly not mentally healthy.

It's a "nightmare."

If this keeps up we'll be back to taking the stage.

BBC News:
10,000 bags misplaced at airports
'Nightmare' of lost luggage

The really Quaking Quakers

There not just Friends. They're Friends With Benefits.

Can you imagine? (Yes, yes I know you can.)

I'm sure the RQQ would become the fastest growing religion in America. And you just KNOW they'd be much cooler than those religious extremists Christian conservatives.

Working it for the Weekend

I'm ready for another weekend!

Last Saturday was one of those perfect days. I got up early and had a coffee and went over to Kevin's place to plan our day. Saturday night was Midnight Mass: Death Race 2000! And of course, we were going to be appropriately attired. We spent too many hours finding and searching junkyards for a steering wheel. What we won't do for props.

Apparently, insurance policies in SF preclude customers from actually going on the lot (as opposed to 'pick your part' junkyards in the East Bay) and these guys wanted over $50 for a steering wheel, which was more than we wanted to pay for a throw-away prop. We decided we would just get a foam ring from a craft store and wrap it in electrical or tennis-racket tape.

We then went to a uniform store in SoMa and tried on various coveralls, ultimately finding limited success. The very helpful woman there was able to pick out sizes that mostly fit us, but Kevin's needed major taking-in in the waist, and mine needed the ass reduced something major. So we called Barney and made an appointment to drop in at Club Jackson after lunch, and bring him some beer for our alterations.

After we found our mechanics' coveralls, we went to the profesional theatrical make-up place at Mission and 9th—because Kevin wanted to put a SF spin on our race team and do a red-skull "Day of the Dead" thing. I didn't really get the idea, but I am game for any adventure and supported the plan.

This makeup is really, really good and so much better than other crap I have dealth with at Halloween. We also took note of their other dramatic accroutrements, which were way gross.



The vileness of the chunky faux vomit was matched only by the fabulousness of the spray glitter.

Oh my.

We took lunch at Harvey's in the Castro and enjoyed the view, then chilled with Dr. Barney over at Club Jackson for the afternoon.



I took Kevin back to Daly City and we each got about a 15-minute disco nap before Kevin came back to my place to prep.

We were TEAM MAD MAX FACTOR, which I thought was genius for Death Race 2000 meets Peaches Christ. I wrote our names on the back of our uniforms in red tape (purchased for an insane eight bucks at Mendel's, where we bought the fabric for our racing scarves). This took for freakin' ever to write:



so it really sucked when getting out of the car, it just looked like this:



Pretty much in the first 15 minutes, what was left had transfered to the backs of our theater seats.

I am so broke and such a miser, but I didn't bat an eye on shelling out (and this is just my half) $50 for coveralls, $30 for makeup, $20 for misc crafts, and $30 for tickets. It was reminiscent of last year's extenisve costuming and props for Mommy Dearest. Clearly I am penny-wise and Midnight Mass-foolish.

And Kevin sprung for a steering wheel cover we fouind at Kragen's, which came with a plastic steering wheel to hold its shape. With the label blacked-out with a Sharpie, it was perfect.

And I must say, we looked awesome.








We were also the pre-show pre-show. The crowd was very straight, a little staid, and we were the only ones dressed with flair. So we took it upon ourselves to be entertaining. Or put another way, we let our freak flag fly.

While waiting for the pre-show to start, I would do laps racing up and down the aisles. I would shift, accelerate, and make little "vroom" noises while I did loops in alternating directions. For one lap, I left my soda/cocktail with Mr. Moses in the orchestra and after I mimed a drive-though order to the tragedy/comedy masks up front, he took my cash and handed me the drink. For the last lap, I broke down in the handicapped section, and Kevin, heretofore unseen by the audience, came down with his toolbox and repaired me. We returned to our seats just as the lights dimmed.

It reads kinda lame looking at it typed now, but trust me, the crowd loved us.

And Peaches was pleased with the effort.

Xanadu's and Don't's

The movie in the park last night was excellent. Kate and I merged our crowds and had a really fun group. And with Xanadu as the show, it was a really silly/retro crowd who knows what is so bad is good.

Joining us was the always changing Stephen Handorf and the always über-sexy Dean. Prrr. Neither of those two had seen the movie before. I must say, the value in Xanadu is in the fuzzy-nostalgia-affliations. Because Lord, it is just not a good movie.

But I love it.

Poor Dean was just agape at how awful it was. He even texted a buddy, "This is the worse movie ever." His buddy replied, "Yes, but in the best way."

Amen.

The crowd around us was hilarious too. I got a little too loud as I forgot it was not Midnight Mass.



Susan and Kate


Jeff and Dean

Afterwards as I was driving the boys and girls home, we passed Kevin and Shawn on the street. They had seen a movie at the Castro theater and were on their way to 440 (previously known as Daddy's) after dinner. The boys joined them and I took the girls home.

I found parking and rejoined the boys at 440—WHERE NIPPLEBALM WAS THE GO-GO DANCER! I don't remember if I blogged that story or not, but Kevin and I met Nipplebalm (our derogatory version of his real name) at Day of the Dead just after Kevin's brother passed away. I had just made Kev some calling cards, including one that read "in search of Bombay Dreams." Nipplebalm called him a "curry queen." Super short version: Nipplebalm sort of stole Kevin's heart, stomped on it, and was a dick. Oh yeah, he was also in a porn movie called Arabesque—where all the guys were supposed to be arab, but in truth were all Indian or Italian or latino. Whatever.

Anyway, it was hilarious for us that Kev was there with his hot partner, and loser Nipplebalm was on the bar shaking his ass in tiny black briefs for singles.

Just a great cap to an evening of "dancing."