Rapunzel

You may have noticed I've been looking a little shaggy. First I ended up with blond hair (I went to get my hair cut shortly before my surgery so I wouldn't have to content with bed head. When I got the salon across the street-owned and operated by a friend of mine-the entire staff had gone blond for fun. They chided me into going blond too. I thought "Hey, I'll be out recovering for a month and no one at work will see me until it has grown out. This is a perfect time to dye my hair and yet retain professional credibility." And then the surgery was canceled at the last minute and I had to go to work with blond hair.)

I had another haircut before my trip to Nashville, but I still had blond tips for the trip (which I thought actually looked pretty cool, but that is a story for later ).

By this past weekend I was again overdue for a haircut and looking pretty disheveled. Friday evening Shilpa and worked to around 9:00 P.M., which is mental for a Friday night on a holiday weekend, but we are the ones holding this place together these days. Barney had invited us over for a drink and a bite much earlier, and he extended the invitation to chill at Club Jackson to late night as well. Shilpa and I stopped at south-beach-friendly Crepes on Cole (starting a trend of three meals in five days at C on C) and didn't arrive at Club Jackson until almost 10:30.

It was so nice just to sit and unwind with a cocktail, music, and conversation. Shilps and I stopped for mandarin/soda makings on the way, while Barney was well on his way through an entire bottle of silver Patron.

Late in the night, Barney, himself a bit follically-challenged, started in on my hair (as in criticizing it). I had planned to get a haircut the next day, and Barney offered to get his clippers and trim me up himself. Barney pushed for the total shorn/look, but I was adamant that I just wanted a short trim—he could clean me up but I did not want the full Robert-Michael either.

Barney assured me he would be gentle. Being cheap enough to want a free haircut, and annoyed enough with my shaggy edges, I took a seat.

Here is the Evil Barney preparing to trim my locks (okay, "locks" may be a bit generous):


That's not red-eye in the photo. That, my friends, is the shine of pure evil. (Well, deviously mischievous perhaps—somewhere between Dennis the Menace and The Bad Seed.) Note that I am already a bit distrusting and anxious about the experience. Also note that this is about one o'clock in the morning and after several cocktails.

The Mad Scientist prepares his subject.


Barber Barney starts his work. I look increasingly concerned. "That feels a little close on the sides there."


Apprehension escalates:


Best settle those nerves with more vodka:

Internal dialog: "Aw crap that feels way too close on the top..."


Scraped the top, now checking the chops:


The Master surveys his initial work. From this angle it looks like I am the Mad Scientist's grotesque creation, suspense building for the reveal.

A little more off here, I believe:


The Mad Scientist checks his work from the right...


...and the left...


One last touch. A signature perhaps...


He surveyed his dark work, and called it finished.

Viola!


And when the monster saw his reflection, he recoiled in terror from his own visage.

At first, I was not happy. To say the least. But on the upside,


I do look hot.

And I've got the noggin for it. The shaved head and big sideburns combo is wicked hot too. However great that might be for the bar, it not that great for the office. For the sake of professionalism, I have let my beard grow out (at the same rate as my head) and have clipped the sideburns flush.

Which is also hot, I've been told. Almost scary butch. I can deal with that.

Of course, I am noticing the cold a lot more now. And I'm never far from a hat.

My diet is totally working too. Now I just need to work out like a madman so I can go from less of Patrick Stewart to more like Jason Statham.

Google street view

Crazy. I heard that Google added a "street view" to its GoogleMaps, but I thought it would be some sort of CGI extrapolation. I've seen a version that extracts 3-D polygons of buildings around a location.

Nope. Actual 360-degree VR photos of streets and intersections. I can see my apartment building and front door from the Google map of my interseaction.

This feature is not available in all areas, and so far I've only seen it appear on maps of San Francisco and New York, but still--it's very, very cool.

Go waste some time and check it out.

Google Maps
Tour

Big queen, total Mary, cruising

The Queen Mary 2, largest and most luxurious ocean liner left port yesterday (NYC) on its first all-gay cruise. Shilpa and I saw the QM2 as it cruised under the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco Bay on Superbowl Sunday. Barney took this photo from his flat. It's size was astounding. It's larger than some cities.



I had a chance to go, and at a pretty big discount too, but I couldn't decide if I am really a cruise sort of person. Knowing Seattle Bill so well, a big guy in the cruise industry, he has sort of soured me on the idea. For him it is all work, work, work, so I can see why it holds little allure.

But still, an all gay transatlantic crossing on the world-famous Queen Mary 2 sounds pretty lush. Although based on all the gay cruise photos/stories I have seen/heard, they can be a bit too hedonistic and body fascist for me. (And talk of "terrorist target" notwithstanding.)

There is a large country/western contingent as well, and country dancing events several nights (Sundance Saloon members got an additional discount). And a formal dinner as well. I eat that shit up. Of course, I would have had to buy a steamer trunk and lug it. Oh, to have traveled with a valet.

I just got back from a week-long vacation, and I should really just save the money and the vacation time. It's a wiser move that I did not not go. And without a wing man or PLU, frankly it might not have been worth the time and expense.

So let's see what sort of adventures I can have here in the Bay this week. But remember, it's just an exhibition, not a competition; so please, no wagering.

Shout out to UK Jonathan

In case he's back home and tuning in, a shout out to the adorable Jonathan, a BA flight attendant in town for the holiday weekend with his coworker and possible boyfriend. I had one of my white-trashier hats on to keep my head warm, and it was passed around the bar for a bit Sunday night.


Jonathan, you wear it well. I hope y'all had a good time!
Stay tuned or check the personal site for links to full photo sets.

And another "Howdy" to his West London cw/bf.

my friend flickr

Flickr is down for an hour or two tonight for upgrades and such. On their notice page are some pretty astounding stats on the flickrverse:

• Our networking gear moves 12,000 photos a second -- at peak, that's 2,654,208,000 bits each second (8:20 PM)
• We set an all-time upload record yesterday: 2,070,075 photos in 24 hours! (8:40 PM)
• The Flickrverse has 8.5 million registered members (9:00 PM)

Impressive.

much better, thank you

Hey kids. Thanks for all of the get-well-wishes. I managed to find a few minutes on Friday to see a doctor about this months-long cough and weeks-long throat thing. Turns out I have bronchitis with complications. A handful of pills later and I am feeling miraculously better. I should have gone to the doctor weeks ago! I thought it was just a lingering cold. I'm here to testify to better living through chemistry.

Riding on the Metro

Law me I'm behind on the blogging. What with all the workin' and coughin' and carrying on. This weekend I finally finished tagging and uploading all the Nashville pics (unadorned and without commentary over at flickr), and I got a stack of 100+ pics from Shilpa just now.

So let the backblog begin.

A week ago Sunday (may 20) was the Bay to breakers. Shilpa et al ran it, and Barney, RMJ, and I talked about going down to Marlena's early to drink bloody marys and cheer on the specticle. But when early morning came we were all just pretty much "eh" and rolled over and went back to sleep. (And I still hadn't gotten rid of the sore throat and cough.)

I did get a rallying call from Coco to meet her and Jim at the Metro in the afternoon. Much soup and pharmaceuticals later, I was happy to be out in the sun seeing my friends. Hours of waiting for an N later, Shilpa joined too. And it was a lovely day for the Metro deck.



But other sights, not so lovely. We had to take a picture of this very tragic tourist/faglet.



Wow.

Let's take a moment for the denim culottes, and nano canine in his murse, then let's look closer.



And finish off the ensemble with the imitation Louis Vuitton visor, giant sunglasses, and enormous "jeweled" imitation Coco Chanel earrings. Yipes. This kid was trying way too hard. He was screaming "flamer" not only with his look, but with the agressive attitude and flaring arm/wrist jestures likely to put out an eye. He was with his gansta-wanna-be sistas who later starting throwing things off the balcony at people, and at one point nailing a girl in the head with a large lime wedge.

That's when I went to my buddy the manager and told him that they needed to go. The management reported they already had complaints. When one of the barbacks went to investigate, one of the baby-sistas went ballistic at Jim-- I'm guessing she thought he turned them in (we had warned them to stop throwing stuff more than once).

Jim, regardless of cocktail number=N, does not take bullshit from fronters, much less in a bar where we are considered regulars. Jim went off. Standing at 6'7", the bitch really should have known better than to try to throw down with Jim. Maybe she's just used to all fags being sissies like her friend with the micropooch. Dunno.

When I got back from the central bar, all I could see was Coco and Shilpa dragging Jim inside and away from the agressive girl, which was sort of like Liliputians dragging Gulliver away from a fight. She mouthed off again and he started going back. Shilpa got a shot of me holding him back.



Which was actually quite a struggle.



It's not nearly as violent a story as it seems, but it did make for a memorable afternoon. The losers were forcibly ejected by several members of the bar staff immediately thereafter. And they bought us a round of drinks.

I was too ill for two-stepping, but was strong-armed into following the merry band to Badlands, as we are want to do on Sundays. Shilpa has two photosets of the afternoon/evening, but they are restricted from prying eyes (probably wise). But clearly, much fun.

couldn't possibly, I'm stuffed.

Kevin and I went to the A.C.T. performance of Blackbird (well produced but the content was seriously effed up) last Wednesday (clearly I have been too busy to post). Kevin keeps a digital list of new/hip late night dining spots for post-theater. We ended up at Nopa on Divis at Fulton. It was still busy and we expected to wait a while for our food.

While we were waiting for our drinks/meal (which was pricy but tasty, and meager of portion-- and, Lo, I had a carb.)-- the waiter presented us with an appetizer "on the house." This "taste," as it was put, was presented with fanfare and largess, as if we were to be impressed by the generosity of the house.

This, I kid you not, was their culinary gift to us:



Two peapods and bowl of salt.

Roadies

Ah. Little Drinkie has been corrupted taught well by Swami Drinkie. The skinny bitch had a Skinny Bitch roadie in her purse.


Can't blame her with the Muni wait and the drink prices at Alembic. That place certainly calls for "pre-drinking."

Shout out/Happy birthday

To the fabulous, diminuative, and fabulously dinminuative Amy Droptrou Houtrow.



Thumbs up to "the other Amy" too.

Oh yeah...

That's why I don't work in a library...

Bionic Woman

"Re-imagining" coming to NBC in the fall. They are hoping to have the same success as the award-winning revamp of Battlestar Galactica on Si-Fi. Clips online.

Previously: Oscar Goldman Sachs.

morning coffee*

*coffee: (n) The one who gets coughed upon.

Man, I am getting tired of being the main component in the Play-Doh Phlegm Factory.

by the way

Shilpa and I left work pushing seven, which is early for us these days. We managed a drink together before she skedaddled for book club and I hit Flore to tag and edit Nashville photos.

Couple of hours later and I'm still not done. Man I think I took too many pics. It's no wonder my hard drive is scarce for free space.

I think stories, photos, and observations will have to come piecemeal.

Man on Mars

The two episodes of Veronica Mars tonight were great. Really showed Veronica's stuff.

But as a finale? To the series? Are you freaking kidding me?

One of the great things about Buffy was the pathos and dramatic cruelty of the human condition which permeated the story.

But this just kinda sucked as an ending.

Not my most literate review I know. But it's past midnight, I just watched it, enjoyed a solid hour and fifty-five minutes, then just wish I had stopped then. If the story-line continued, I could handle the necessary conflict and obstacles.

But otherwise it's a crappy way to end the season. No celebration of three solid years of good work. And an ending without promise for Veronica or her father. I know that life sucks for all good heroes, but still. There is always underlying hope.

I'm just sayin'.

bad feelings gone

Love from Black-Eyed-Barry!

and no grinnin'

I did not see Kelly Stewart while I was home last week, but I do occasionally check in at his blog.

He recently ran into a woman who was overdressed for whatever and she explained she was going to court for her final hearing on her most recent divorce. She (over)shared her life experience with all sorts of bad boyfriends and bad husbands with the abusin' and the drinkin' and the cheatin' and what have you. She concluded by saying, "My picker's broken."

Meaning her ability to choose a quality partner is non-functioning— Her picker is broken.

I love that. Not in all my days, nor in Kelly's, in the South have we heard such a thing. Sure, no fewer than four country artists have recorded a version of "My Give a Damn's Busted." [iTMS] But "My Picker's Broken"? Man, someone had better snatch that up quick.

No pickin' and no grinnin'.

Poor thing.

(Bless her heart.)

whose line is it anyway?

I for one will rest easier now knowing that the the person who claims to have "invented" the electric slide line dance has stopped his abuse of the DMCA and is making the dance available under the Creative Commons license.

Actually, now I'm a bit worried. Now that this clearly obsessive personality is breaking from his constant cease-and-decist notification campaign to prevent the uses (and dare I say abuses) of the Electric Slide, he will have all sorts of free time to obsess on or pursue who knows what. That's really creeping me out.

Maybe he'll come up with the Electric Monkey Bars or Electric Sand Box.

I thought I was maudlin before...

...now I am just going to weep unabashedly.

The CW, in an attempt to make sure their entire lineup is only crap and nothing but, has not renewed Veronica Mars for next year.

Tonight the CW airs the series finale to Veronica Mars (TVw/oP).

There was an underground buzz of re-vamping the show into the future with VM at the FBI, which would be cool if she could still be sassy (I am now imaging her blond wittiness versus Hannibal Lector). But sadly, it seems such did not come to pass.

Now I will have to content myself with virtually stalking the enough-to-make-a-gay-man-stray Kristen Bell.

Here's a 2005 review of the early Veronica Mars from Salon.com: Mars Attacks!

Spoiler Warning!

Now in 100% cotton.

Alert Slayer

Alert Reader and Vampire Humper Hunter Paul Day sent in this lovely diversion to brighten my, and your, day.

The Ultimate IMDb FAQ: Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

productive cough

I've always hated that expression. I understand it, but still, hawking up buckets of phlegm does not seem such a productive use of my time.

I seem to have log the sore throat and sinus/ear pressure and downgraded to a simple yet really annoying runny eyes/sneezy/coughy/snotty head cold. I'm sure this does not amuse you much, but people keep checking in re: lack of posting. The sun is out and I would really rather be out playing. It's Gay Day at Great America this Friday, but as much as I love mo's, rides, and rides on mo's, I think I'll pass. I have better ways to spent $50 sober than waiting in lines.

And the entertainment value of Taylor Dayne is largely nostalgic and campy. Tell it to my heart and all of that.

And I don't know what the deal is with my emotional state this week. I think I've got some sort of physical correlation going on. Maybe because my eyes are all teary and my head is clogged I am feeling emotionally teary as well. The blue produce tears and now my tears are producing the blues. I suppose this also comes on the heels of a very fun vacation and I am sort of falling sharply off the high.

That I am am having that mid-life comparison freak out of "what have I really done with my life" seeing so many of my friends in Nashville with dream houses and husbands and professional accomplishments and then I return to my little studio in the City, sans significant other, and think that all I have really done professionally in the past year is a lot of really high quality, but grand-scheme unimportant, work.

And I helped slay a dragon.

Which is really something to be proud of and something really good for the world, but not something that I am really at liberty to talk about. (Hence the metaphor. And close friends know exactly what I am talking about.)

So this week I have been pretty mopey, which I think is a good think as I need it to balance out the highs.

Of course, it could just be all the cold meds.

I really need to get on starting/finishing that novel...

More musings later.

World of Whorecraft

Andrew Sullivan's blog is usually all political and serious all the time (basiaclly often interesting diatribes on true conservatism.)

Except, it seems, for a moment today.

One of his readers submitted this: "Given that we've had a World of Warcraft post and a Right Said Fred post all within the past day --- well, 26 hours --- I figure that it's an appropriate time to subject you to this:"



I have never played World of Warcraft, but I know that it is insanely popular.

An I believe that this, this is just genuius. But I do hope between playing video games, and making video game music videos, that this person gets out of the house and into the sunshine once in a while.

down in the mouth

And not in the good way. I have been sick with a cold and sore throat for almost a week now. So when I haven't been cranking at work, I have been curled up with soup and a box of kleenex. So no posts. I still need to edit and tag about 100 more photos from the Nashville week.

But really, the entire vacation can be summed up with "Lordy it was hot."

This week: ACT's "Blackbird" on Wednesday with Kevin. Thursday birthday for DropTrou. Friday, hopefully, Gay Day at Great America, and Saturday I just want to take a nap.

See also

May 20 was the Bay to Breakers race, and I was still under the weather. But I did rally long enough to enjoy the afternoon and early evening with my peeps. I finally got around to blogging about it a week or so later.

DeYoung as you feel.

I can't seem to shake the virus thing and it's laid me out. I took a sick day today and stayed in bed all day to let my body rest and hopefully get this nastiness out of my system. I didn't get up until 5:00, when Barney called from down the road. I forgot that we had made plans with RMJ and Shilpa and meeting at the Kezar Studio (my place) to take an early evening at the DeYoung. There is a Vivian Westwood exhibit and some Maori dancers tonight. And all month long, Bank of America is covering the admission to many local museums for all of its card-holders. Shilpa is both a member of the DeYoung and a BofA card-holder, so she scored us four free tickets.

We ascended the tower for the sunset, descended to the lower level to see the fashions, then everyone set out for their late-night escapades in the City, while I had a cup of tea and happily went to sleep early.

Just because you are not feeling good, doesn't mean you can't look good.


(Shilpa is noticeably absent from this shot as she was the one who took it.)

Catch a wave (organ)

Here's a third and final call to vote for James' group novel, which I've written about before.

From the Jamez:

Today is the last day of voting at Gather.com for this nutty contest, so I figured I'd send one last email to drum up a vote or two. We're lagging a bit, so if any of you have an opportunity in the next few hours to hop on and drop a quick vote, we'd be most appreciative! I'm thinking they'll close voting in and around mid-afternoon. At this point, I'm not even adverse to request as many 10 votes as we can get. There are a few entries I can't stand the thought of lagging behind. ho-ho.

The link to Chapter Three of The Wave Organ (wherein a suicide note is broadcast...).

And also, the general link listing all ten contestants and info on the contest.

You will have to sign in to your account again if you still have it, or create one using an email address (takes no time, is quite easy and I'm happy to say produces virtually no spam whatsoever) and you vote, as well as leave a comment.

Thanks again for your time. All of you have been very supportive during this whole weird experience and we certainly wouldn't have made it to round three with you. I hope you're all having a very nice day indeed.

Cheers,
James

Blackbarry

Shout out to Cousin Barry, whom unfortunately I did not get to see while I was home last week. She just switched from PC to an iMac and is loving it.

We exchanged e-mails earlier today, and she is eagerly anticipating Nashville photos and posts as are the rest of you.

Tonight I had planned to take Barney and RMJ to Santa Cruz tonight for a little vollyball action, rollercoasters, and a sunset, but I woke up with a sore throat and feel that I need to go back to bed as soon as work is done (if work were ever done).

Barry's doing well—other than a tennis ball to the face today. I am afraid she'll look like a battered wife tomorrow.

This is not a video of her, but you get the idea.



Love to Barry.

Overheard at work - 24

"Thanks for being the sort of friend whom I discuss tampons with."

How heartwarming. Hate to interrupt. About this agenda...

flickr addict

For Shilpa, because she is a little pathological with the photo taking:

Old math

Here's a random piece of prose, found randomly, which I think is one of the best personal views of math (geometry) education ever written. It's a postcard of a piece (short, simple, personal), but interesting and well said. Take 3.14159 moments of your morning to take a read.

You won't even have to carry the one.

The Pythaogrean Secret

HB-RMJ

A big "Happy Birthday!" to Robert Michael tomorrow. And while I unsusscessfully tried to pick up a blond and handsome seven-foot Englishman (that's you Giles) for me him last night, I am sure I can find something equally atttractive and imported.

Like a bottle of silver tequila.

In honor of your aging Robert, I am posting some photos from Frauenfelder's Flickr photoset. Attening a function at his child's school, he saw on display various preschoolers' responses to the question:



Priceless, and a little scary.





And sweet in a weird way:



(Notice that the teacher transcribed the description of the dead kitten first as "spooky kitty" and corrected to "pooky kitty." I'm thinking that a dead kitty is a spooky kitty. I'm just sayin.

Investing in Oscar Goldman Sachs

Also from the Sunday Mail (UK):

Ex-EastEnders star Michelle Ryan set for massive success as Bionic Woman

I am a comic book fan, sci-fi, fan, television savant, and basically a huge nerd. How is this the first time I'm hearing about a new Bionic Woman? Without the late great John Houseman, who will be the evil creator of the FemBots?

OMG, they ctrl-alt-del'ed Kenny

I spent a lot of time on various computers while I was home, offering advice and instruction to family and friends.

I love these.

Not tonight Dear, I have a beak-ache.

I can always rely on the BBC for thoughtful, important news reporting.

The Daily Mail, however, not with the so much.

However, I do admire their restaint while reporting on a recent study involving foul sex acts chicken mating habits and using the formal "cockerel" to refer to the male bird in their headline, instead of the usually truncated term.

Sex in the morning stops a passionate cockerel's feathers flying at night

Birds tired of their partners pestering them for nookie at night offer them sex in the morning, according to a new study. Hens would rather succumb to the amorous advances of cockerels in the morning than try and fight them off after a long day pecking at corn.

Gentle Ben my ass.

Since I mentioned the San Francisco Fog in the previous post, I would like to give a big shout out to the newest predominately-gay rugby football club: The Nashville Grizzlies!

bad fog vs comfy fog

I have spent the last hour and a half merely going through the virtual reams of e-mail I received while I was away and I need some serious caffeine to break through the back-to-work fog.

However, I am perfectly content looking out my window into near-zero visibility and the San Francisco Fog (the mist, not the team). It's freezing up here today. Blessed, blessed cool fog.

Tales and regales from the Week in Nashville will be doled out this week. But the short version of the story: It was fun, but oppressively, depressively hot. With jungle humidity.

Oy it was hot.

Wow.

Really.

I think I will go get a coffee now and wallow in the cool, homecoming fog...

More teasers

Off to the races. Last night was a blast, but oh so hot and humid. I think we all soaked through our dinner clothes...