and will attempt to jump 30 caskets into the open grave

Evil Knievel dead at 69, and ironically not by crashing into anything.

But I know someone who can take his place...

Although WTF with flip-up the prescription lenses in this photo?

drive through

Man, I can't believe Margaret McAllister, my pseudo-sister, came into town and didn't even call.

But she left her calling card.

SUV crashes into Vallejo house. Story.

I guess they didn't have it their way

News from Tennessee.

I'm from Nashville, this was Memphis, but whatever. Still WTF?

Headlined on YouTube as "When Transvestites Attack."



I have two questions/problems with this story:

1) What started the rumble? Drag Queens are fierce, but rarely attached unless provoked. Or, you know, really fucked up. I seriously doubt the McDonalds dudes are free of all culpability in the incident.

2) Were the assailants transvestites, drag queens, or transsexuals? Those three categories are significantly distinct, but are bandied about in the coverage as synonyms. Judging by the shoes and earrings left behind, and that they totally went to town on the fast-food boys who were disrespecting them, I'm guessing drag queens.

Snap.

easy money

I've always wanted to be a professional copy writer. But one that got paid well.

You may have been able to tell from some of my post titles, once upon my dream job was to be the guy who came up with the punny headlines for Entertainment Weekly.

Apparently, one can get paid a bank without actually being that clever at writing copy. The government of Scotland (land that I love) just paid 125 thousand pounds (which at today's exchange rate must be like a kazillion dollars) for a new national slogan to attract tourism.

And what did they get for their £125k?

"Welcome to Scotland."

Seriously.

I have got to get me a job as a government consultant.

Pink: She's not here for your entertainment

From Alert Reader Shilpa Patel:

India's 'pink' vigilante women
They wear pink saris and go after corrupt officials and boorish men with sticks and axes.
(BBC News, Banda)

We could use more of this stateside.

fall collection

One of the highlights of my recent trip to Nashville that I neglected to mention was that being in Tennessee in early November granted me a rare site for this San Francisco boy: autumn leaves.

Living in The City, I no longer get to see the leaves change. Even in Golden Gate Park, there are few deciduous trees. Palms are largely non-native to northern California, but most of the urban landscaping around the city features this tropical evergreen.

I wanted to snap a couple of nice shots before I left town, but the summer freeze/drought combination left little foliage to film in Nashville. One of the colorful bunches of leaves I found was caught in the windshield well of my father's car.


I call it the "Fall Collection."

In an unrelated story, elves sneak in and make shoes.

I LOVE this kind of thing.

There is a cool secret society of European urban explorers who excavate urban ruins, preserve architectural history, and host sometimes elaborate formal parties or movies in abandoned/forgotten historic spaces.

And, they take care of city treasures which their citizens have forgotten, or neglected. In secret.

Which of course, pisses off the politicians and the people who are supposed to be preserving these kinds of things. It saddens me that this is unsurprising.

The UnterGunther sneaked (snuck?) into the Pantheon in Paris (the national mausoleum for French luminaries such as Voltaire, Hugo and Marie Curie, and the site of Foucault's original pendulum experiment), set up a facade of packing crates, and over the course of a year meticulously repaired an ancient clock which the authorities had left to ruin.

One blogger reports:

Once inside, they hid behind a wall of fake crates, and set to work restoring the movement of a massive clock, not working since the 1960's, which they say had been neglected and left to rust into oblivion by the French government. The group enlisted a professional clockmaker, Jean-Baptiste Viot, to help on the project, which required fabricating several parts from scratch.

On October 10 2006, they presented the restored clock to Bernard Jeannot, curator of the Pantheon, who was expressed his profound thanks on behalf of a grateful nation. HAHA, kidding. He was horrified and launched a criminal investigation into the repair of the clock.

UnterGunther's stated motives for these clandestine restorations--besides restoring things, of course--is to highlight "the incapacity of the French National Heritage administration, Monum, to preserve the heritage it is in charge of." It's a message that takes on unfortunate resonance with reports that drunken revelers recently broke into the Musee d'Orsay and punched a hole in a Monet--and then escaped unmolested by museum guards or police.

Other coverage:

• The Times Online (UK): Underground ‘terrorists’ with a mission to save city’s neglected heritage
• The UnterGunther's own report, in English.

what's in a name?

There are so many things wrong with this story.

First, the town sounds like a good name for a queen at Trannyshack: SheBoygan. Although I think any true Trannyshack queen would change it to SheBoyGonads or some such.

The convicted sex offender in this story (proven to be innocent in this particular case by the way) is named Pheuk Kue.

You can't make this shit up.


Via Dave Barry

Webvidence

Evidence to my theory that every idea now has its own Web page. If not site.

Cats that look like Hitler. Dot com.

To test the theory, I should get the Foxy Librarian to find a Web site of Cats that Look Like Eva Braun.

I suppose there would be a Web site for that, if anyone knew what Eva Braun looked like.

ArtRageous Wrap Up

It's time for some backblogging.

The ArtRageous weekend (November 9-12) was a lot of fun. Cynthia took on, once again, the enormous effort of organizing our Van Go, which she named The Whizz. Joining the Warner party were Mac and Emily, Mary Carolyn, and a wonderful last-minute addition: Ginger.

We had the only accessible coach, which gave us some extra sitting/standing room, and more importantly a bathroom. Although the signage was a bit confusing:


There was some discussion if this meant (1) no more than one person at a time (that being more of a conditioned response for club-goers); (2) men should sit when they pee (which really should have been illustrated differently if such is the case); or (3) Men from motion pictures from the 30s and 40s should not stand up. Really, who wears a hat like that any more? And as for the "do not put trash in the toilet" signage-- really? a tin can? I can imagine the apple core, and maybe the banana peel, but a hand-opened tin can and a bottle? Who's been riding this bus? Hobos?

And then there was the warning not to drink the Purell.

Okay, duly noted.

The flying monkey accessories did look great. Dragon/bat wings for the guys and black feathers for the girls.

Shots of Ginger and me have been featured in The Nashville Scene, Nfocus, Nashville's Out & About, and a couple of art magazines whose titles I don't recall.

It's nice to be pretty.


And on Emily, every time she pushed herself forward it looked like she was flapping.

Awesome.

I didn't get reimbursed for the sets (except by Mac & Em) and no one felt like taking theirs home, which ultimately was fine by me. Mark your calendars: January there will be a Flying Monkey Bar Crawl in SF.

And a side note about the loser fags also on our bus. They were so haughty and actively shunning the whole flying monkey idea. These mo's and their ho's were totally playing too cool for school, and acting like we were the square kids making them look bad. Their leader was making it clear that he was too cool to participate in the theme, and that I was some sort of nerd for getting into it.

True, I am a huge nerd, but nerd has been the new cool for some time now. And seriously, you're a fashion fag in Nashville—you may have a 30-inch waist and a full head of hair, but when it comes to cool, and especially party cool, don't try to throw down with me. When you can get press clippings from the Swan Ball and Dore Alley, then we'll talk. Hell, I even got press coverage for a party weekend in Tucson for heaven's sakes. Amateur.

But back to the wrap up.

Also on our bus was the fabulous Glinda the Good Witch, who, without platforms and crown already stands at six-foot-six. This was one tall witch (we're standing on a slope so I look taller).


At times, the bus was more fun than the galleries. And at the galleries, we spent a little more time socializing than shopping.

Ryan, Jeff, and friend

Off to see the Wizard.

However some of us were moved by the art.


And some of us more than others.


The low point of the evening was when our diver got lost and left us stranded for over half an hour on a street corner downtown, in the 32-degree cold, and anxiously late to the late party. Mac and I had to talk our way out of a public-drunkenness/open container issue with a partolman, but I think having a bus-load of charity do-gooders and a seven-foot Glinda giving photo ops helped.

And of course, the Late Party is where all the magic happens. Even though it got really messy really quickly, I got to catch up with many old friends including John Bridges, Josh "Sparkle" Johnson, DJ Ron (who was spinning of course), and hoards of others lost to the haze which was the Late Party.

Of particular note, another lovely and talented Keith (in addition to Hinkle). This one is the only man I've met with a name better than mine, which also sounds equally made up but is not.

Wilson and Keith

Keith used to live in Nashville (and used to date good friend Jon Glassmeyer) and moved to Chicago about seven years ago where he has established himself not only as a successful stage actor, but also a Concierge Supervisor. I have several important people in my life who are great concierges and I am putting together a piece on the concept of the concierge. I think I respect the concierge so much as they have made a profession out of basically being exceptionally good hosts. As a southern gentleman, I have to respect that.

We should totally be a couple if not just for the hypenate.
(Did I mention that for a small fee you too can see this cutie naked?)

Also on deck at the late party:

Michael, Jeff, Wilson, Jon (this year's Chair of the Host Committee), 
Heather, and Sinclair (newly promoted Managing Editor of Nfocus).

And the wonderful Mike Smith, also newly promoted to basically Publisher of the Nashville Scene.

The late, late party turned out to be more of an ordeal. Come 1:30-ish, we headed to Play for the after party's after party. David Taylor, former Co-Chair of ArtRageous sponsor of this year's ArtRageous, granted all those with host badges free admission to the late night party at his dance/cabaret club Play. Ryan, who was on our bus and brought his own set of fez and wings, turned out (1) not to be straight as I originally thought, and (2) a lot of fun. We drove together to Play in Mom's car, but as usual I parked a block or two too soon. We talked in the car a little bit, but as it was well below freezing at this point, we decided we should park much, much closer.

At this point, Mom's car died.

Wouldn't even try to turn over.

It was now pushing 2:00, freezing, and I had few people I could call other than triple-A, which would have taken ages. Mac and Emily were joining us (in theory) but headed to a different bar and were not answering their phones. I called Keith, who had just pulled into his driveway way out in Bellevue (he had a soccer game at 8:00 the next morning). Saint that he is, he drove all the way back into town to give us a jump.

When he and Jonathan returned, it was a bit of a to do to block traffic and align his car such that it the jumper cables could reach from battery to battery. As I said, we were in Mom's Benz, which opens like a Rubic's cube and it took some figuring out to pop the hood. And then we couldn't find the battery.

After much searching, in the dark, in the freezing, with no street light, Jonathan finally spied a sign, in black letters in black plastic in the dark: "Battery located in trunk."

We aligned the car again, and opened the trunk lining, but still could not readily grasp where the contacts were. I tried the car again, just to be sure, and it started up just fine. Lord knows what was going on. I thanked Keith and Jonathan profusely for what turned out to be a fool's errand, but Ryan and I did not go into Play as I was afraid to turn the car off. I drove Ryan back to his car, where we were loathe to part company, but also could not turn off the car. We talked for pretty much as long as I had gas to get home then parted ways.

I was in bed around 4:30. And woke up at 7:30 with the world's worst hangover. By 10:00 I was beginning to grasp at lucidity, and worried about Mom, who took the car to church. I asked her about it when she got home. "Is your car all right?"

"Yes, but I did have to stop and get some gas...."

Welcome Patagonia!

Alert Reader Barney May has just finished a frozen frolic with the penguins in Punta Arenas.

And of course, staked his flag as the first IJS reader in Patagonia.

I'm sure he'll start a trend.

Happy Thanksgiving

We did not have the time to pull it together this year, but Kevin and I have been wanting to plan a combination of thematic bar crawls (a la Guerrilla Queer Bar) and Improv Everywhere.

Tonight we had hoped to put together a little strangeness that will have to wait until next year.

Six guys walk into a bar dressed like turkeys. Not big suits, although that would be funny,
just brown clothes with brown wings, maybe a weird cab with a comb, and a dangling neck thing.

They have to begin and end every sentence with "Gobble."

As in "Gobble I'd like a Red Hook gobble." or "Gobble where's the rest room gobble."

The turkeys hang out and have a drink.

They offer no explanation.

After their drink, they move on to another bar and repeat the process.

Ten minutes behind them to each bar, six guys enter dressed as pilgrims with muskets. Looking for turkeys.


Gobble. Go have fun on the long weekend. Gobble.

losing it

Okay, I've been flaky on my dates.

The last night I will have with one of my favorite people and bestest buddies Barney May will be tonight. We'll see other for a little bit tomorrow afternoon after Thanksgiving dinner, then he leaves at the break of dawn for South America. He'll be back in December for two days before going home for good to New Zealand. But I'll be back in Nashville during that stopover.

I thought we had more time.

I was wrong.

And tonight, I am going to be a complete wreck. I'm already tearing up typing this. Life without Barney is going to suck. And not in the good way.

I have never been good at goodbyes.

Marco has some of his photos from the Club Jackson farewell party up using the non-blog-friendly/non-Web-friendly Kodak photoshare site. My meager photos are up at flickr.

I will leave you with one highlight of the night, as it is so indicative of Club Jackson and my circle of friends: As a going away present, Kevin gave Barney crabs.


Feel the San Franciscan love.

A little Thanksgiving help

I will not be going home to Nashville for Thanksgiving as there is almost nothing I'd rather do less than deal with an airport over Thanksgiving.

But in the spirit of the holiday, some helpful tips:

• How to Sleep in an Airport
• How to Carve a Turkey Like a butcher (New York Times)
• How to Eat Less by Eating Earlier (also from the NYT)

I won't squeeze, in memoriam

As such a TV/pop culture/vintage actor guy, I felt like I should comment on the recent passing of Dick Wilson, the man who played Mr. Whipple in the Charmin ads, "Please don't squeeze the Charmin." I always imagined he ended up with Madge the Manicurist.

Five points:

1. Now that was some quality advertising. Remembered to this day, and remembered with the name of the product.
2. I totally remember him as the suffering drunk on Bewitched who would witness Samatha's witchcraft.
3. I am scared at the percentage of people I come across in an average day whom I expect have no clue who Mr. Whipple was.
   
4. JoeMyGod has the best/worst headline for this news: "Please Don't Squeeze the Coffin."
5. Yes, I said "Dick Wilson."
   

Can you imagine if I dated a Dick Wilson....

adding to the list

In addition to the painfully bad "let's do this thing," I'm also calling for ban against television characters saying "that's how I roll" or "this is how we roll." Pretty much no reference to rolling of any kind should be allowed.

And again, penalties double for its use in commercials.

scavenger hunt

I just got a desperate call for information from a friend on a scavenger hunt. As librarian and general trivia guy, I am often the phone-a-friend.

The answers you are looking for are:

• Numerical designation for the right fielder on a baseball scorecard: 9
• State quarter featuring a magnolia blossom: Mississippi (The Magnolia State)
• The July 1993 Israeli attack on Lebanon, which lasted a week and was code-named Project Accountability is locally known as: The Seven Day War

I have no idea for what they are scavenging.

please, please stop

From now on, no one on television, and Dear God especially not in commercials, is allowed to say dramatically "Let's do this." or the even more painful "Let's do this thing."

And please, don't say it in the office or before launching into any sporting activity.

It just smacks of some desperate need to sound like you're in charge. Its time has passed.

I'm reminded of Roger on American Dad when he warned, "Like every sit-com character said in the early 90s, and everyone in the mid-west through the rest of the 90s, don't go there."

I Spy

For the Friends of Barney and the Already Bored But Easily Amused, you can play a little Eye Spy with the Barney Farewell Collage in the post below (or here at Flickr).

Can you find:

• How many times Barney is smoking.
• How many times Barney is drinking.
• How many times beverages are featured.
• How many of Barney's expressions can be considered silly/psycho.
• How many times Barney is wearing a hat.
• How many individual hats Barney is wearing.
• How many shots are there of people wearing wigs, not including the drag queens.
• How many drag queens.
• Find the Pope.
• How many times Wilson is licking someone.

And a little neighborhood reminder/Polkstrasse version of Where's Waldo:

• Find the Polk and Larkin Tranny Hooker.

Enjoy the search.

Fare thee well Barney May

television writers are quite striking

No new scripted television? That's a good thing. Support the television writer's strike.

And for heaven's sake don't watch "unscripted television," otherwise known as "wretched, mind-killing, intelligence-devoid drek" "reality TV."

Here are the writers for The Daily Show, giving a Daily Show style presentation regarding why the writers are striking.



and another

red-eye'd five standing by

Hey kids. Smarm may resume next week. It's been the week from hell at work with nary a moment up for air, followed by evening obligations every night. Not to bitch or anything, but this week is taking everything I've got. I used to say "I may be burning the candle at both ends, but it gives a lovely light." But I'm now doing three times my usual workload and still have to manage my crazy life and I'm out of fuel to burn. No more tallow, and no more flames. Down to the wick, as it were.

I'll take small breaks to rest the brain between meetings, and will post commentary then (like now). If and when sanity resumes, I'll get back to smart-ass non-sequiturs, commentary, observations, local news, links to useful stuff, and genuinely offensive entertaining randomness.

Otherwise known as "stuff to waste your time." And mine. So when I have some time, I'll get back to wasting yours.

I'm taking tonight and tomorrow morning off. And by "off" I mean, "not attending to work/social obligations but spending the night and day working at home writing and designing for volunteer commitments."

Maybe they'll be a costume. That usually helps. But all the coffee will be whore-free.

assaulted nuts

From a conversation with RMJ about someone we know who violently alternates behavior between socially pretentious and batshit crazy—

RMJ: There he was at the benefit, managing the crowd perfectly with sublime protocol. And you know how I respect that. And he was so kind to me and offered to take me for champagne to celebrate my new position, and all I could think of was "Don't you remember the last time we met, and your violent, crazy episode? And all the crap you pulled on PAD? And Wilson? And the guy I had a date with the next night who knew who you were by only a sketch of your sketchy behavior?" That guy just has too many personalities for me to deal with.

Me: Maybe he doesn't know he's crazy? Next time he pulls that Jekyll and Hyde crap on me I'm going to have to ask him "Don't your personalities ever talk to each other?"

Mamma mia

DG had another strange encounter with his stranger mother. But this time the strangeness was unexpected. Priceless aside during the story:

"She was completely lucid, which kind of threw me..."

Just wrong

I'm going to have to add a new tag for the blog: just wrong.

Like that time when Shilpa set herself up for a disparaging punchline and I said, "You walked into that one like a battered wife into a door."

Overheard last night:

"I like my battered women with ketchup."

grindstone

at this rate, I won't have any nose left.

inconvenience store

I'm rushing through the shop downstairs to get a large coffee. Nothing fancy, just a Tully's drip, black. (I take my coffee black and bitter, like my soul.)

I have my $1.50 in my hand before I pour the cup, and prepared to make the usual efficient circle through the small space: dollar-fifty at hand, pour the cup, snap the lip, and drop the cash two feet later at the counter with me raising my cup saying "large coffee" and the counter girl smiling, taking my cash, and and saying "thank you" or "see you later."

I was pleased to see the place was nearly empty, with one sole customer approaching the counter. She intercepted me as I was breezing up to the counter, and dropped her bottled beverages on the counter in front of my out-stretched hand. The counter girl gave me an apologetic smile, shrugged as if to say "Some people. Well, it will only be a moment." and scanned her purchases.

"That will be $4.43."

At which point the woman pulled a large plastic bag of change out of her purse, and began counting out four dollars and forty-three cents, one coin at a time.

Seriously, I thought that kind of thing only happened on bad television.

I am dangerously under-caffeinated.

Fly my pretties!

The ArtRageous weekend was a blast. And the flying monkeys looked awesome.

I've already been sent links to our photos in online publications, and have been told we'll be appearing in several magazines covering the event as well. Props for props.

Photos are up on flickr and my nifty new Mac Web Gallery.

No big narratives to relate. Well, one great, exhausting, exciting, appealing, and appalling story— but I'm so not sharing that one here. Commentary to follow, and in the meantime:

THANK YOU to
• CYNTHIA for organizing and hosting our VanGo bus (the Whizz).
• MAC & EMILY, JOE & CYNTHIA, GINGER, MARY CAROLYN, and RYAN & FRIEND for stepping up and being flying monkeys.
• GLENDA for freaking bringing it and being the best seven-foot good witch ever.

CONGRATULATIONS to
• MICHAEL R on his new real estate career, but I hope he keeps making music. Sony was foolish to drop Pinmonkey.
• SINCLAIR on her promotion to Managing Editor of Nfocus.
• MIKE S. on his promotion to Publisher for the Nashville Scene and Nfocus. (Or Associate Publisher of City Press, or whatever the actual formal title is.)

and a

SHOUT OUT to
• RYAN M. for being such a highlight to my weekend. And if you're reading this, you've been checking me out.

That's fine by me.

smart conclusion

or in some cases, men.

Cool research

UCSF doctors make teen with sunken chest more attractive.

Sundance Stompede 2007

It's been a few weeks but I had some time on the place to hack together shots from the Sundance Stompede weekend.

Much fun.

Back in BNA

I have arrived safely in Nashville, and as much as I really need a nap, I am scurrying to get to dinner with the family at the Club, then to the ArtRageous Pre-Party at Tribe. I need the nap. I'm in that sleep-deprivation cranky-pants setting. I'm hoping my patience and party stance return soon. The shower will help.

As much as I wish I could blog these trips, I never can. That Hardcastle Law of Blogging—the more material you have to write about, the less you write because you are spending all your time doing the things that would be fun to write about.

I did manage to spend time on the plane finally putting together pics and clips from the Sundance Stompede a few weeks back. I'll give it its own post in a sec and let the video upload while I jump in the shower.

Y'all have a good weekend.

(Yes, I am back in Tennessee and the accent is coming OUT.)

Also good for parking in SF

Joe.My.God comments on the imminent release of the Smart Car.

Designed by Mercedes, it seems the perfect vehicle for Manhattan, but I'm not sure I'd want to be on the highway in it. I'm also sure it will be about ten minutes before somebody puts a big wind-up key on the top.

Oil tanker hits Bay Bridge, 58,000 gallon spill

Beaches closed, marine life next.

Nasty.

In the words of Kathy Griffin

Southwest Airlines can suck it.

I'm so frustrated. And clearly fuming. Customer service my ass.

for Film Fans this weekend

Another thing I won't be able to get to this weekend because I'll be calling for Dorothy's surrender.

But SF'ers should take note.

From the San Francisco Film Society newsletter:

SF INTERNATIONAL ANIMATION FESTIVAL:
NOVEMBER 8-11
The best animation from around the world

The 2nd annual San Francisco International Animation Festival begins this Thursday at Landmark's Embarcadero Center Cinema with Leslie Iwerks' documentary The Pixar Story, and Iwerks along with several Pixar animators will be in attendance. Remember that tickets to The Pixar Story also include our Opening Night reception at Gallery One (just below the Cinema). The rest of the program ranges from Play it by Eye, a series of music videos; to Best of Annecy 2007, a collection of the best shorts from the best animation festival in Europe; to Film Noir, a dark and sexy narrative feature (co-director D. Jud Jones is expected to be in attendance). Pictured is Claude Coutier's Maker's Dozen short Sleeping Betty, and we expect the filmmaker to be in attendance.

FILM NOIR
A United States premiere

It's universally understood that you're in a pinch if you wake up beneath the Hollywood sign next to a dead cop. Things are a bit more dicey if you also have amnesia. As you piece together your identity and find out that you're a sadistic bastard wanted by good and bad guys alike, you know you're in for some serious trouble. This is our hero's predicament, and the question of just how he will find himself forms the premise of Film Noir, which will make its United States premiere at the Animation Festival on November 9 at 9 pm (it plays again on November 10 at 6:30 pm). Co-director D. Jud Jones will be in attendance at both screenings. Much of the film was worked on here in the Bay Area, including sound recording at Keller Studios in Sausalito (Mark Keller is the lead voice), and many of the local actors and musicians will be in attendance also. (For mature audiences).

you flickr

you brought her.

What can you do with flickr? A lot.

continue the research

A bunch of my ArtRageous cohort has stepped up and we're going to swarm the galleries as flying monkeys.

I bought 16 sets of fezzes and black wings from Aardvark last week, as no one got their act together to order their own online. This means that not only am I footing the bill for these, but I have to schlep them all from San Francisco to Nashville, via the hassle of Oakland airport no less.

Some people have already offered to reimburse me; it is, after all, only fifteen bucks per set. I'd be happy to recoup some of the $240 expense (I have been spending money the past two months as if I had it), but I also realized I'd be fine eating the cost and keeping the accessories.

It might be handy to have a dozen sets of flying monkey garb readily available.

Because that's just the kind of life I lead.

When I realized that, it surprised me, cracked me up, and then left me a little concerned.

I considered just shoving them all in a big under-bed plastic bin and keeping them around "just in case." But now I'm thinking I need to produce a Flying Monkey Bar Crawl. Every time we leave one venue for another, I can cry: "Fly My Pretties! FLY!"

my favorite blog line of the day

Cowboy Chachi loves you best.


Link provided by Goof Off Alert Reader Paul Day.

Yes it's Eighties Night

Oh what a night.


We had a "we're only staying out for one hour" deal for going out again last night. You can guess how well that plan worked out. Eighties night (alternative and B-sides) at The Bar last night, with 80-cent cocktails and 20-something patrons. Lots of fun. Welcomed Alert Reader Paul Day back from Japan, and showed Keith and RMJ a good time.

But it was Shilpa's camera that took the thousand shots last night, so you'll have to wait for another montage...

But I would certainly would be here

and making my own children's book for my family and friends.

Seriously, how much do I love this town?

Mob of Waldo's: Where's Waldo puzzle re-enactment.
(FaceBook profile)
This Sunday, November 11, Market Street at the Embarcadero/Ferry Building

If I were in town this weekend

would I go to this?

Probably, if not just to learn some new phrases. And blog about them. I try to keep it clean most of the time, uttering lots of "Oh my stars!" and "My word." That is to say, in the instances when I am not muttering in exasperation, "Oh for fuck's sake."

Eh, so much for the clean mouth.

The Swearing Festival II, A Celebration of Profanity
Edinburgh Castle, this Saturday, November 10.

I forgot about it yesterday.

So much for remembering, remembering the fifth of November.

Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

election day

SF is voting on a myriad of items today, including an almost unopposed mayoral race. Well, there are 12 candidates for Mayor, but it is basically Newsom (whom I support, if not only in hopes that he lets his hair down again), and a bunch of fringe candidates. This being SF, by "fringe," I mean, "including a naked guy, an unattractive male exotic dancer (think Dog the Racist Bounty Hunter), and a guy in chicken suit."

As long as we're talking politics, and all of Fox and CNN orgasming on themselves that they get to denigrate and fear-monger "San Francisco Values" for the right wing, perhaps I should link to this site: Republican Sex Offenders: Exposing the Hypocrisy of Republican "Family Values." It's pretty vile, but I suppose that's because it's true.

"San Francisco Values" indeed. Like love and respect? Some of my fellow citizens may love leather and have a sex-positive attitude, but at least it is honest, clean, and with consenting adults. And without cheating on a spouse, money changing hands, extortion, abuse of authority, or inside a public bathroom. The Republican party could seriously use some San Franciscan Values if it wants to claim any moral high ground.

Stop, hey, what's that sound?

Everybody look what's going down.

Just now, there was a bizarre noise outside my office window. It was pulsing, and growing louder, and sounded totally like the Tardis materializing.

You Who? Doctor?

Guess who's back in town?

.

Man, I'm exhausted.

(if the blogger video doesn't load, there is also a YouTube version)

playing dress up

A lot of people over here dressed up for Halloween. I managed to go through three costumes over the weekend and just dressed out of my closet, but I'm that kind of guy.

I don't think it's the gay thing, I think it's having a fucking fabulous family whose father routinely dressed up like James Robertson, whose mother never through the odd wardrobe item away "because it might make for a good costume," who had an entire section of the attic
devoted to costumes and props, and who had a show-stealing, hat-collecting, overly-animated, beyond hilarious, show-queen, often-dressing-up son. And that's the straight one.

So really, there should be no surprise that I have had to add costume as a blog tag.

I am enjoying the post-Halloween costume postings around the Web. Via Etsy, these are some of my favorites. For me to approve of a Halloween costume, it has to either be especially cleaver or marvelously self-constructed. Generally, I only score points for clever, but these kids' costumes get extra credit for too-damned-cute points.



I've seen many adult-versions of the boy from Where the Wild Things Are, but this one pulls it off best, maybe because he is age-appropriate.


Generally, I think dressing up pets is just cruel, but this totally cracked my shit up.

I'll get to my own Halloween recap soon, but in the meantime, this is my favorite costume story this week.

I don't know what to say

except that the diaper part made me think of Kevin.

This is a blogger's account of some nastiness, but pretty funny nastiness, seen out his window in D.C.

NSFW, so read at your own risk.

From Knee Deep in Mud: Crack is Whack.

Blog Roundup

Slow moving today after way too much last night. The Cinch was fun, then weird, then messy, then home. No stories from me today, but here's some choice comments from blogs I read:

From the Foxy Librarian: All the Porn that's Fit to Print

-Hello, I need a publisher’s contact information. For a magazine.
-No problem. What is the name of the magazine?
-It’s a…uh…an adult magazine. Is that O.K.?
-“Go ahead,” I replied using the weary, flat affect of one who’s heard it all, a tone I’ve been really cultivating lately.
-Mandate. One word, I think.

I turned to Ulrich’s, the venerable, authoritative reference source of bibliographic and publisher information for periodicals. I wasn’t sure if Ulrich’s indexed smut, but I was quite curious to find out, since I really wasn’t eager to see what a Google search would turn up.

-“I found two, one published by the United Church of Canada and the other by Mandate Publications LTD. I have a hunch it’s the latter.”

I had to say that I like the authoritative quality of that title, and the humorous pun for which that genre of magazine is often known. I saw that Ulrich’s categorized Mandate under the subject heading “Men’s Interest.” I wondered what other publications had that subject heading. The journals ranged from fashion and lifestyle, like Vogue Homme and Cigar Aficiando, to erotica to the hardcore, to the deviant - some really sick shit. Oh, I had my fun browsing the list of titles the rest of the afternoon.

Read the rest.

From Joe.My.God: Walker/Don't Walker

I usually only get approached by hookers when I'm in the vicinity of fancy midtown hotels, where well-dressed young women will smile as if you're an old friend and say brightly, "Hey, you havin' a good night?" Maybe they think I look like an expense account-toting bidnizman, but I usually say flatly, "I live here" and they go on their way.

Last night I was waiting to cross the street near Times Square, when two very young girls sidled up to me. One of them said, "Wassup, you lookin' for a date?" I shook my head and turned my attention back to the traffic signal. She tried again. "You wanna party with us?" Without looking at them, I said forcefully, "NO!" Not liking my 'tude, she barked, "Damn. Why you gotta be that?" I said, "Well, for starters, you're underage and you're female." The second one pulled her friend away and said, "Ooh, she just mad cuz she too old for Splash."

Damn. Why they gotta be like that?

And there is still lots being said about GOP Washing State Senator Richard Curtis who is claiming he was a victim of extortion because he (the senator) wouldn't pay a hustler the $1,000 he promised if, after the male hooker did him, the hustler would allow the senator to bareback him, which he did, and then the senator didn't pay. The huslter and general ne'er do well took the senator's wallet when the senator refused to pay, called him up and said you have to pay or I might tell your wife. The the senator called the police and they arrested the hustler for blackmail. Oh yeah, the republican senator likes to get nailed while wearing women's clothes and stockings, has lots of kink fetishes, and trolls adult bookstores and gets on his knees in the stalls.

The senator has a long record of virulent anti-gay politics and votes against any protections or civil rights for gays and lesbians.

Astoundingly, none of the mainstream press is talking about the hypocrisy, or the rash of married-straight-republican-gay-sex scandals and the whole topic that repression and demonizing of same-sex relationships is what forces people to act out in such destructive ways.

Pretty much, the mainstream media just stops at "gay sex." Just after they make it all filthy and effed up.

This is all happening on Dan Savage's turf, and his blog Slog has some excellent coverage. Also of the whole sex-restop police sting that nabbed 20 guys doing it/trying to do it with other dudes in a highway rest stop.

All of the men self-identify as straight and conservative.

All of the men are married.

Except for the priest.

I am not making this up.

On the Republican State Senator Curtis and his male prostitute story:

Dan Savage

For the latest on not-gay GOP state rep Richard Curtis, click here—and, believe me, the click is more than worth your while. Lingerie, cell phone pictures, anal sex, casinos, and more!

UPDATE: Aaaaaaaaaargh! There’s even more! Rope! Stethoscopes! Barebacking! More, more, MORE!

As if the details about anti-gay Washington State Rep. Richard (R-La Center) and his tryst with a male escort in Spokane, Washington, weren’t sordid enough, I spent the last hour wading through the 15 page police report. Holy crap! Curtis, hoping to keep this whole thing quiet, called the police himself. And when the police asked him what happened, Curtis told them everything.

It goes on with details. It would be hilarious if it weren't true, and if this guy hadn't dedicated his professional life to beating down the gays. Dan sums up the story nicely:

Holy crap. My God. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What. A. Mess.

Active political blogger Pam Spaulding may have said it best. Her conclusion is being quoted by many bloggers (including me):

OK. I'm living a relatively plain jane lesbian existence simply asking for my civil rights while closet cases like Curtis get all sorts of kinks on while railing against openly LGBT citizens. It makes me sick.

And I like this guy's take on the coverage and the scandal:

I'm souring a bit on these stories.

First of all:

Please, each of you ... Think of your own sex life. Especially my gay readers. If you really had to write it all out, partner by partner, episode by episode, blow by blow ... How sordid would it actually seem? I have a feeling that even those among us with a rather tame romantic history would find their own lives to appear quite debauched if reported in the same breathless manner as news stories that are coming out about Washington state representative Curtis.

I do not care whether he likes to wear women's "panties" or cavort with male "escorts," as long as the encounters are non-violent, consensual and do not impinge on the rights of a third party.

What I care about is the hypocrisy.

Once again, as we've seen over and over, we have a self-proclaimed "Conservative" using his position of power to make gay people's lives miserable, while at the same time secretly using us for his own sexual gratification.

The problem is that this story -- as perceived by the public -- is not about hypocrisy.

The general public will understand this story as one about the intrinsic sordidness of the lives of gay people.

News reports about Curtis say nothing about his voting record or his standing as a "social Conservative." They are just about cross-dressing, male prostitutes, anal sex and blackmail.

He also has a comment on The New York Times story I cited earlier regarding the vanishing gayborhoods.

Perhaps some of my straight readers can tell me ...

What is the instinct that drives straight, white people -- the powerful mainstream -- to invade minority enclaves and seize them, despite the fact that there might be better places to live nearby that aren't already taken?

Straight people need to move in to mostly gay neighborhoods.

What drives you?

Neither Chelsea nor the Castro are known for the quality of their housing stock. Or access to high culture. Or food culture. Or schools. Or really anything, except for gayness.

Yet, you must live there. You are driven with this weird passion. Doesn't that seem kind of strange to you?

I have no desire to move anywhere near where you live.

Not really. Why would I?

Check out how upset people were when a so-called "Leather Fair" was held recently in Greenwich Village, New York's historic gay neighborhood. "The children! The children!" people screamed about the fair, which was held on Weehawken St. Weehawken St. is basically an alley that runs behind The Dugout bar on Christopher St. one block over from the highway, next to an adult bookstore.

The only "children" to walk along Weehawken St. in recent decades are transgendered teenagers making their way from giving blowjobs on Christopher St. pier to the PATH station down the block.

I do not understand you people.

I have the same attitude to those who decry the festish fairs (Folsom, Dore, etc.). If you're offended by it, don't go. Same way I feel about the censorship of books and television. If you don't want to see it, don't watch. The television has a channel changer, and an off switch.

But seriously, for a good time go check out the Foxy Librarian.
(pun intended)