Posts, e-mails, and adventure reporting to continue soon. Friday night I was hit with the flu that seems to be knocking everyone and it put me down for the count the entire weekend. So far, it's milder than what's hit my colleagues, but enough to render me unconscious for a couple of days.
I've said before that I burn the candle at both ends, but it gives a lovely light.
But sometimes, when you burn the candle at both ends, you run out of wax.
On the mend. Back on deck tomorrow.
Then back in the ring: ACT on Wednesday, hopefully TT on Thursday, and a Vallejo Birthday adventure for Titties Verde on Saturday.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
not context, but pro-text
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Here are some recent text messages I've received that I haven't brought myself to delete.
-With my mom at a waffle café. I've now seen it all as far as American bad food: "a bacon cheddar waffled topped with cinnamon apples." Can you say "reefer"?
-What would your 5 minute San Francisco story be?
I had to clarify that one. A story about five specific minutes, or a story that takes only five minutes to tell. He was inquiring regarding the latter.
-I am seducing my date with a tennis match and champagne. That's why I asked him to wear gym shorts. I love this town.
From a gay friend, lamenting he can't be watching the Davidson game, and responding to my Wildcats-related texts:
-I am at a Church of Christ fish fry right now. :(
How the heck does that happen?
-Sweet mother of God! I blended scotch this afternoon! I'm drunk!
That was sent at 7:18 pm. A little early to be so scotched.
And this JUST in:
-Currently at the women's roller derby at the fairgrounds. Photos and story to follow.
How much do we love Cousin Barry?
Update!
Not ten seconds after I post this, does Barry send me this pic from her iPhone.
Love technology!
Here are some recent text messages I've received that I haven't brought myself to delete.-With my mom at a waffle café. I've now seen it all as far as American bad food: "a bacon cheddar waffled topped with cinnamon apples." Can you say "reefer"?
-What would your 5 minute San Francisco story be?
I had to clarify that one. A story about five specific minutes, or a story that takes only five minutes to tell. He was inquiring regarding the latter.
-I am seducing my date with a tennis match and champagne. That's why I asked him to wear gym shorts. I love this town.
From a gay friend, lamenting he can't be watching the Davidson game, and responding to my Wildcats-related texts:
-I am at a Church of Christ fish fry right now. :(
How the heck does that happen?
-Sweet mother of God! I blended scotch this afternoon! I'm drunk!
That was sent at 7:18 pm. A little early to be so scotched.
And this JUST in:
-Currently at the women's roller derby at the fairgrounds. Photos and story to follow.
How much do we love Cousin Barry?
Update!
Not ten seconds after I post this, does Barry send me this pic from her iPhone.
Davidson Wildcats in the Elite Eight!
OMFG that was an amazing game yesterday. The Wildcats came on strong and pushed all the way through.
But it wasn't just a good game, Davidson played like dancers on that court. Almost every move
was graceful, and amazing feats seemed effortless. And play after play looked like complex and well-rehearsed choreography.
And Stephan Curry is the lead in everyone's story of this tournament and is dangerously close to over-exposure, but DAMN the kid is magic. And despite all the press, he's stayed cool in all the interviews I've seen.
He tosses out long three-pointers like dropping a penny in a cup.
[video deleted]
And then there's this shit like the reverse-layup from under the rim. (note the sea of red Davidson shirts in the stands—they are not Wisconsin red)
[video deleted]
Are you freaking kidding me? At this point, I expected the Davidson fans in the crowd to start whistling Sweet Georgia Brown.
Now if we can only get past Kansas. Damn.
Update: Video clips were deleted as the Red Lasso clips are making browsers crash.
But it wasn't just a good game, Davidson played like dancers on that court. Almost every move
was graceful, and amazing feats seemed effortless. And play after play looked like complex and well-rehearsed choreography.
And Stephan Curry is the lead in everyone's story of this tournament and is dangerously close to over-exposure, but DAMN the kid is magic. And despite all the press, he's stayed cool in all the interviews I've seen.
He tosses out long three-pointers like dropping a penny in a cup.
[video deleted]
And then there's this shit like the reverse-layup from under the rim. (note the sea of red Davidson shirts in the stands—they are not Wisconsin red)
[video deleted]
Are you freaking kidding me? At this point, I expected the Davidson fans in the crowd to start whistling Sweet Georgia Brown.
Now if we can only get past Kansas. Damn.
Update: Video clips were deleted as the Red Lasso clips are making browsers crash.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Quixotic
The James has a history of very cool pitches he has made to Pixar to get them to hire him.
IM from a few moments ago:
Another reason to love The James.
IM from a few moments ago:
Another reason to love The James.
Cats out of the bag - Update
Okay, there's been a bit of a clusterfck, but there is now one official Cheer the Davidson Wildcats as They Tear Apart the Wisconsin Badgers party.
Jillians's at the Metreon
101 Fourth Street at Mission
Show up 3:00/3:15. Tip off at 4:10.
Two blocks south of the Powell Street station serving BART and Muni
Fourth & Mission parking garage across the street
Children welcome
Oh yeah. It's on.
Jillians's at the Metreon101 Fourth Street at Mission
Show up 3:00/3:15. Tip off at 4:10.
Two blocks south of the Powell Street station serving BART and Muni
Fourth & Mission parking garage across the street
Children welcome
Oh yeah. It's on.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
it means I like you a little
Now that the mix tape is dead, how do you show someone you like them?
You could try a classic note:
Or the Web-based 21st century version of the mix tape!
Muxtape!
You could try a classic note:
Do you like me? Check one.
[ ] yes [ ] no
Or the Web-based 21st century version of the mix tape!Muxtape!
Easter, part 2: egg decorating
Last week Kevin invited several of us over for dinner and dry run of his arbitration presentation. Kevin and Jorge (titled SF Leather Boy, former partner to Tony, and re-roommate to Kevin) had been invited to a very special Easter egg decorating party. Jorge described this party as off the hook and amazingly elaborate with. Knowing the lengths Kevin and I go to for party/set decorations and our occasional costuming, he knew this would be something I would love. However, only the hosts' A-list is invited, and to keep it so, and the number limited, the party is invitation only. This was fine by me as you know how much I appreciate a filter.
Kevin had to work during the party time, so Jorge suggested he "transfer" his present invitation to me and that I go with Jorge. Considering the build-up, I looked forward to the arts and craft show all week. Saturday was a busy, busy day, and I was glad to make it to the party. I planned to meet Jorge there, but he was so wiped out from his externship he decided not to go. As happy as I am in a party with a roomful of people I don't know, I am much less wiling to go to a party full of people I do not know and to which I was not invited. Not the worst of manners, but close.
But I was already in the neighborhood and I did want to see what the fuss was about, and surely, San Francisco being San Francisco and me being me, I would know someone inside.
I did not.
At least not initially. This was very much a bear event. A leather bear event. And a bit on the older, entrenched, utili-kilt-wearing, Uncle-Jesse-beard sporting big bear side. Feeling every bit the interloper, I have never been more grateful to have a belly and a beard. At least I could blend.
The house on the hill above the Castro was lovely, but as with many Victorians, there were no hallways and each room was small-- this did not make for any easy flow for a crowded party of big bears. ("This room is too small.")
The hosts were charming and welcomed me, and certainly did put out an impressive spread. I never made it as deep as the dining room, but they had two kegs on the patio out back (belly-to-belly bears and not navigable), and a beautiful buffet of Easter-egg looking Jello shots.
The host took the time to explain the flavors and contents every so often, and these were top-shelf, considerably complex, and entirely tasty treats.
They had maybe 50 dozen hard-boiled eggs, a dying table, and two tables of findings and trim and all sorts of items to apply to the eggs, including google-eyes, sequins, costumes, tiny props, and feathers. There were three hot glue guns.
dyeing table
findings and adornments
And seriously, how gay is that caption?
There were some impressive eggs.
And a display area.
FabreGay eggs
And this one that was a golden sun on one side,
and a silver moon on the other:
My creativity was a bit stymied this afternoon, but I did try to use a wax crayon to batik a Tennessee flag egg. It didn't work out so well. Reversing the blue and red fields worked out better, and I was fairly sure no one would notice the difference.
Not that there was judging. This crowd was well past any sort of judgment in their lives.
I was welcomed warmly into this festivity, and enjoyed meeting some new people. I loved this guy's shirt which was designed by one of his friends who sold them though his blog at Live Journal. I forgot the guy's name/site though.
Suitably, a lot of the day was a hot tranny mess.
And while there were no gym bunnies, there were big bunnies of both fur
and chocolate.
And the highlight of the day was running into the super sweet Max, whom I had met on Super Bowl Sunday at Lance's. He's an old friend of Gay Greg's.
I called it an afternoon early as I had to get home and get to crafting my bonnet before going out into Klaus' last night stateside.
Reading that sentence again, I see that this whole Easter story is getting way way with the gay.
And it's only getting pinker.
Kevin had to work during the party time, so Jorge suggested he "transfer" his present invitation to me and that I go with Jorge. Considering the build-up, I looked forward to the arts and craft show all week. Saturday was a busy, busy day, and I was glad to make it to the party. I planned to meet Jorge there, but he was so wiped out from his externship he decided not to go. As happy as I am in a party with a roomful of people I don't know, I am much less wiling to go to a party full of people I do not know and to which I was not invited. Not the worst of manners, but close.
But I was already in the neighborhood and I did want to see what the fuss was about, and surely, San Francisco being San Francisco and me being me, I would know someone inside.
I did not.
At least not initially. This was very much a bear event. A leather bear event. And a bit on the older, entrenched, utili-kilt-wearing, Uncle-Jesse-beard sporting big bear side. Feeling every bit the interloper, I have never been more grateful to have a belly and a beard. At least I could blend.
The house on the hill above the Castro was lovely, but as with many Victorians, there were no hallways and each room was small-- this did not make for any easy flow for a crowded party of big bears. ("This room is too small.")
The hosts were charming and welcomed me, and certainly did put out an impressive spread. I never made it as deep as the dining room, but they had two kegs on the patio out back (belly-to-belly bears and not navigable), and a beautiful buffet of Easter-egg looking Jello shots.
The host took the time to explain the flavors and contents every so often, and these were top-shelf, considerably complex, and entirely tasty treats.They had maybe 50 dozen hard-boiled eggs, a dying table, and two tables of findings and trim and all sorts of items to apply to the eggs, including google-eyes, sequins, costumes, tiny props, and feathers. There were three hot glue guns.
dyeing table
findings and adornments
hot glue, glitter and feather station
And seriously, how gay is that caption?
There were some impressive eggs.
And a display area.
FabreGay eggsAnd this one that was a golden sun on one side,
and a silver moon on the other:
My creativity was a bit stymied this afternoon, but I did try to use a wax crayon to batik a Tennessee flag egg. It didn't work out so well. Reversing the blue and red fields worked out better, and I was fairly sure no one would notice the difference.
Not that there was judging. This crowd was well past any sort of judgment in their lives.
I was welcomed warmly into this festivity, and enjoyed meeting some new people. I loved this guy's shirt which was designed by one of his friends who sold them though his blog at Live Journal. I forgot the guy's name/site though.
Suitably, a lot of the day was a hot tranny mess.And while there were no gym bunnies, there were big bunnies of both fur
and chocolate.
And the highlight of the day was running into the super sweet Max, whom I had met on Super Bowl Sunday at Lance's. He's an old friend of Gay Greg's.
I called it an afternoon early as I had to get home and get to crafting my bonnet before going out into Klaus' last night stateside.
Reading that sentence again, I see that this whole Easter story is getting way way with the gay.
And it's only getting pinker.
Easter, part 1: prop shopping
So, as you may recall, at TBOC's 80's night Michael convinced me to step up my game and compete with his Gym Bunny design at the Easter Bonnet Contest. We bantered about Bunny theme ideas and I threw out Bunny Bread (too geographically limited), Bunny Raitt (too eclectic), My Bunny Lies Over the Ocean (not enough of anything), Bunny and Clyde (considered a good one), and perhaps inspired by the 80s soundtrack settled on and celebrated the final Bunny Tyler and Total Eclipse of the Heart Hat.
Bunny and Clyde will be next year.
As you may have noticed, it was a busy and exhausting week for I'm Just Sayin', and I had to carve out time Friday night to go shopping for a hat form and construction materials. My crafty playmates were all otherwise occupied, so I set out alone and tried hitting places in the Castro like Cliff's before torturing myself with a drive to the nearest craft store in Colma. Surprisingly, Cliff's had very little to offer, but Walgreen's renewed my love for the chain. I found some cheap adornments, but not nearly what I needed.
It was a beautiful sunny evening after work and I was faced with the idea of shopping alone on what would usually be an adventure, and driving to Colma, I was easily swayed to join some familiar bar flies for just one happy hour drink before making my way.
After refreshment, I managed to reach Kevin, and informed him I would be kidnapping him for a roadie road trip to Joanne's Fabric and Crafts. Gotta love that Kevin. He turned his mood on a dime, concocted some fairly elaborate Singapore Slings, and was ready for a little IJS style adventure.
Joanne's was, surprisingly, worthless. Except for the super hot blond euro-looking guy waiting in line who provided us with visual entertainment as we queried the wearied staff. They recommended we try Michael's in Palo Alto. The Emeryville one is closer, even considering we'd have to cross the Bay, and Kevin had enough pep that he just piped up "road trip!" and we got back on the Interstate.
We had the good sense to call ahead and found out they also did not have hat forms and the like, so we flipped back and poured cocktails to endure the super-cheesy Serramonte Mall and it's high-end anchor stores: Mervyn's and Target. ("Oooooh." I hear you sigh.) I thought that surely one of those places would have a cheap hat I could adapt to my purposes. The Mervyn's Excursion was just sad. The staff was not knowledgeable of much of anything, including spoken English. Target however, was a treasure trove if one knew how to look at something and see it as something else.
I found big floppy hats with the women's accessories. As I was trying on the hats, Kevin's phone rang. It was his father.
Now I am a huge fan of Herman Koberle. Love him. Although aside from the his other son's funeral, our interactions have always been either by e-mail or on a mobile phone amidst some outlandish silliness that Kevin and I have gotten into. So of course he calls when I am trying on large women's hats, in Target, with a cocktail, preparing for an arts & crafts Easter bonnet contest hosted by leather queens dressed in drag as nuns on an otherwise high holy day.
I'm just sayin'.
Kevin is always grateful when I'm with him when his dad calls. "If I'm with you then he knows I'm not getting into trouble."
I'm not sure that the opposite isn't true.
Herman asked that I take a picture of me modeling the hats. So just for you Herman, here is the pic of the pretty:
Unfortunately the staff at Target was also ignorant of their own products.
If I was going to go all Beach Blanket Babylon on the hat, I would need the brim to support props.
Asking the woman in charge of the stationery section:
"Do you have any foam core?"
"What?"
"Foam core. Or foam board. It's like poster board, but thick and sturdy?"
"No, we don't have anything like that."
I turn around, see it and take two paces. "Here it is." (Under a sign reading "Foam Board") "For future reference, this is what foam board looks like."
Asking theguy boy staffing the toy section.
"Where are the Barrel of Monkeys?"
"What?"
"Barrel of Monkeys. Little plastic barrel? Filled with plastic monkeys whose arms are like hooks?"
"We don't carry those."
"I've seen them here. They've been making them since the 50's."
"Oh, they don't make them any more."
"Can I ask someone who works in toys. They might know."
"I'm the guy who works toys."
"Uuuh, yeah... Is there anyone older I could talk to?"
(At this point it was like being on the phone asking a clueless child "Is your mother home?")
"No."
Middle-aged female shopper walking by: "Try two aisles over with the toddler toys. I think they're over there."
"Thank you."
And there they were. Except the barrel is no longer brown but green, and the monkeys are no longer red, but the same bright green plastic. No matter, it would do nicely. Kevin and I did go out of the way to find the toy guy and point out "For future reference, this is a Barrel of Monkeys. A barrel. Filled with monkeys. As much fun as."
I'm just sayin'.
Bunny and Clyde will be next year.
As you may have noticed, it was a busy and exhausting week for I'm Just Sayin', and I had to carve out time Friday night to go shopping for a hat form and construction materials. My crafty playmates were all otherwise occupied, so I set out alone and tried hitting places in the Castro like Cliff's before torturing myself with a drive to the nearest craft store in Colma. Surprisingly, Cliff's had very little to offer, but Walgreen's renewed my love for the chain. I found some cheap adornments, but not nearly what I needed.
It was a beautiful sunny evening after work and I was faced with the idea of shopping alone on what would usually be an adventure, and driving to Colma, I was easily swayed to join some familiar bar flies for just one happy hour drink before making my way.
After refreshment, I managed to reach Kevin, and informed him I would be kidnapping him for a roadie road trip to Joanne's Fabric and Crafts. Gotta love that Kevin. He turned his mood on a dime, concocted some fairly elaborate Singapore Slings, and was ready for a little IJS style adventure.
Joanne's was, surprisingly, worthless. Except for the super hot blond euro-looking guy waiting in line who provided us with visual entertainment as we queried the wearied staff. They recommended we try Michael's in Palo Alto. The Emeryville one is closer, even considering we'd have to cross the Bay, and Kevin had enough pep that he just piped up "road trip!" and we got back on the Interstate.
We had the good sense to call ahead and found out they also did not have hat forms and the like, so we flipped back and poured cocktails to endure the super-cheesy Serramonte Mall and it's high-end anchor stores: Mervyn's and Target. ("Oooooh." I hear you sigh.) I thought that surely one of those places would have a cheap hat I could adapt to my purposes. The Mervyn's Excursion was just sad. The staff was not knowledgeable of much of anything, including spoken English. Target however, was a treasure trove if one knew how to look at something and see it as something else.
I found big floppy hats with the women's accessories. As I was trying on the hats, Kevin's phone rang. It was his father.
Now I am a huge fan of Herman Koberle. Love him. Although aside from the his other son's funeral, our interactions have always been either by e-mail or on a mobile phone amidst some outlandish silliness that Kevin and I have gotten into. So of course he calls when I am trying on large women's hats, in Target, with a cocktail, preparing for an arts & crafts Easter bonnet contest hosted by leather queens dressed in drag as nuns on an otherwise high holy day.
I'm just sayin'.
Kevin is always grateful when I'm with him when his dad calls. "If I'm with you then he knows I'm not getting into trouble."
I'm not sure that the opposite isn't true.
Herman asked that I take a picture of me modeling the hats. So just for you Herman, here is the pic of the pretty:
Unfortunately the staff at Target was also ignorant of their own products.
If I was going to go all Beach Blanket Babylon on the hat, I would need the brim to support props.
Asking the woman in charge of the stationery section:
"Do you have any foam core?"
"What?"
"Foam core. Or foam board. It's like poster board, but thick and sturdy?"
"No, we don't have anything like that."
I turn around, see it and take two paces. "Here it is." (Under a sign reading "Foam Board") "For future reference, this is what foam board looks like."
Asking the
"Where are the Barrel of Monkeys?"
"What?"
"Barrel of Monkeys. Little plastic barrel? Filled with plastic monkeys whose arms are like hooks?"
"We don't carry those."
"I've seen them here. They've been making them since the 50's."
"Oh, they don't make them any more."
"Can I ask someone who works in toys. They might know."
"I'm the guy who works toys."
"Uuuh, yeah... Is there anyone older I could talk to?"
(At this point it was like being on the phone asking a clueless child "Is your mother home?")
"No."
Middle-aged female shopper walking by: "Try two aisles over with the toddler toys. I think they're over there."
"Thank you."
And there they were. Except the barrel is no longer brown but green, and the monkeys are no longer red, but the same bright green plastic. No matter, it would do nicely. Kevin and I did go out of the way to find the toy guy and point out "For future reference, this is a Barrel of Monkeys. A barrel. Filled with monkeys. As much fun as."
I'm just sayin'.
just a reminder
a quote from someone's signature line, articulating gracefully what I have been trying to convey to my conservative and/or Republican friends/parents/southerners:
I would rather someone be wrapped in the Constitution burning the flag than wrapped in the flag burning the Constitution.
...............................— James Colorado
I would rather someone be wrapped in the Constitution burning the flag than wrapped in the flag burning the Constitution.
...............................— James Colorado
things are tough all over
This IM from Will via James (you remember James, the guy with the pubes website).
Will is one of the coolest people I kind of know. He's wicked, wicked smart, and has national security responsibilities and, as I recall, a helipad just in case of national emergency.
This is what is vexing him at the moment:
Love it.
Either I'll design it (you know, in all my free time), or he can check Threadless. (Use my sidebar link and I'll earn points.)
Will is one of the coolest people I kind of know. He's wicked, wicked smart, and has national security responsibilities and, as I recall, a helipad just in case of national emergency.
This is what is vexing him at the moment:
Love it.
Either I'll design it (you know, in all my free time), or he can check Threadless. (Use my sidebar link and I'll earn points.)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Cats out of the bag
Duncan Frazer and I are trying to get the Bay Area Davidsonians together to watch the game on Friday.We're planning to meet at Fourth Street Bar & Deli at 4th and Mission downtown across from the Metreon. It may not be the fanciest sports bar in town, but it may be one of the largest, and it is certainly the most convenient: It's only two blocks from BART and Muni, and there's the giant Mission/Metreon/Convention/Westfield Shopping Center parking structure catty cornered.
Game time is 4:10. Ger there by 3:00 at the latest to stake space.
Good thing I have Friday off. Only in California does a large employer not give any time off for Good Friday or Easter- no love for Baby Jesus- but does so for Cesar Chavez. Strikes me as odd but appropriate.
Update: Duncan thinks the venue is too small. He thinks 50 to 60 Davidson alumni will show up. I am not that optimistic (the last time Davidson went to the dance only ten of us showed up to watch downtown). We're considering Jillian's now.
bass ackwards
At times do you feel like the world runs backwards?
Rocketboom Presents Forward Through Backwards Time:
Rocketboom Presents Forward Through Backwards Time:
More BYOBW
Laughing Squid has some really high quality pics and notes from Bring Your Own Big Wheel.
If it is ever not on Easter Sunday, we are so there.
If it is ever not on Easter Sunday, we are so there.
A Davidson Man
may need no introduction, but he does enjoy the press clippings.
Update: As of Tuesday, Davidson is still very much in the news:
-Another story at ESPN (this one by a Davidson alumna): Where exactly is Davidson? In the Sweet 16, that's where
* The St. Petersburg Times/TampaBay.com (Where brother and fellow alumnus Mac is right now) has my favorite piece yet: Davidson took long road to sudden fame
-New York Daily News: Davidson goes Wild for its upstart 'Cats as well this sidebar on Coach McKillop
And of course all of the local North Carolina papers are all over it. Theabout the quality of used toilet paper local rag The Charlotte Observer, which has always been noted for lack of actual journalism or integrity, and has historically taken any and every opportunity to smear nearby Davidson College and all of its "fancy book learnin'," has finally started covering Davidson's recent success. Their slant? Wildcats suddenly media darlings. Bitter much? I imagine the word "tarnation" was used in their newsroom when respected media started publishing positive things about the Cats.
And for fellow Davidson alumni, this might amuse you.
This post is an update to this one.
Update: As of Tuesday, Davidson is still very much in the news:-Another story at ESPN (this one by a Davidson alumna): Where exactly is Davidson? In the Sweet 16, that's where
* The St. Petersburg Times/TampaBay.com (Where brother and fellow alumnus Mac is right now) has my favorite piece yet: Davidson took long road to sudden fame
-New York Daily News: Davidson goes Wild for its upstart 'Cats as well this sidebar on Coach McKillop
And of course all of the local North Carolina papers are all over it. The
And for fellow Davidson alumni, this might amuse you.
This post is an update to this one.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Easter egg hunt
These treats aren't hidden, just pending.
Photos are up at flickr, and highlights and commentary to be posted here tomorrow.
Bonus points for anyone who can identify my hat theme/title. You can't have been there or already know, and no peeking at the Flickr notes. Look carefully, several of the clues are there.
Photos are up at flickr, and highlights and commentary to be posted here tomorrow.
Bonus points for anyone who can identify my hat theme/title. You can't have been there or already know, and no peeking at the Flickr notes. Look carefully, several of the clues are there.
Big Wheels keep on turning
Proud Mary got nuthin' on BYOBW.
While we were out enjoying the crazy Easter in Dolores Park, Bring Your Own Big Wheel was a big success in its new location. Good friend Kiwi Lance bought a new home over on Vermont Street last year, and just two blocks down Vermont Street gives Lombard a run for its money as the "crookedest street in the world."
As the Lombard Street residents hate anything public or civic or fun that happens on their block, they threatened all sorts of actions against BYOBW, and so they moved to the isolated, equally crooked, and inequally iconically San Franciscan Vermont Street for yesterday's fete. (I understand NIMBY-ism, but c'mon, if you buy a house on the tourist attraction/landmark curvy block of Lombard Street, you know full bloody well what you're getting into. Be a good San Franciscan and good citizen and play in the street already.)
Lots of other footage on YouTube too.
While we were out enjoying the crazy Easter in Dolores Park, Bring Your Own Big Wheel was a big success in its new location. Good friend Kiwi Lance bought a new home over on Vermont Street last year, and just two blocks down Vermont Street gives Lombard a run for its money as the "crookedest street in the world."
Lots of other footage on YouTube too.
ongoing banter
These e-mails just keep getting better. Different perspectives on the day/day after. I heart my friends.
- we really need to start our own business and enjoy the flex time we need ... maybe just work on Tuesdays & Wednesdays?
> and i obviously thought i could cook a frozen pizza on the kitchen floor... because that was there this morning too.
+ the next worse thing about hanging out indoors and working right now is when asked the generic water cooler question "How was your weekend?" I can't bust out with joy and say how AWESOME the day & town is! How do you begin to translate the wickedly decadence & diversity in the Park?!?!
- we really need to start our own business and enjoy the flex time we need ... maybe just work on Tuesdays & Wednesdays?
> and i obviously thought i could cook a frozen pizza on the kitchen floor... because that was there this morning too.
+ the next worse thing about hanging out indoors and working right now is when asked the generic water cooler question "How was your weekend?" I can't bust out with joy and say how AWESOME the day & town is! How do you begin to translate the wickedly decadence & diversity in the Park?!?!
runner up
this also just in.
> i think i tried cooking up a pasta meal last nite .. i don't remember.
> i did wake up with burnt tortellini stuck to a blackened pot.
I know it makes us look so bad, but these e-mails are getting increasingly hilarious. And I'm thinking "burnt tortellini" is going to have to become a new euphemism for something.
> i think i tried cooking up a pasta meal last nite .. i don't remember.
> i did wake up with burnt tortellini stuck to a blackened pot.
I know it makes us look so bad, but these e-mails are getting increasingly hilarious. And I'm thinking "burnt tortellini" is going to have to become a new euphemism for something.
you've got mail
Everyone is debriefing over e-mail tales of yesterday's big day of big fun in the sun.
Best line in my inbox so far:
>probably not appropriate to write on a work computer, but is anyone else still drunk?
Best line in my inbox so far:
>probably not appropriate to write on a work computer, but is anyone else still drunk?
Easter Monday
If they offer Good Friday off, I'm moving my vacation day to the following Monday .
RMJ summed it up in an e-mail this morning:
Photos and frolic stories to come.
RMJ summed it up in an e-mail this morning:
Subj: Holidays in this town
San Francisco holidays
(and/or day after needed for recovery to schedule on the work vacation calendar)
Academy of Friends/Oscar Monday
Pride Monday
Folsom Monday
and now ..
Easter Monday
wowza
gorgeous sun + signature Shilpa-Wilson bar & hospitality on wheels + bonnets & hunky jesus-s all around = criminal-ly good time
Photos and frolic stories to come.
Hell Yeah I Did!
Sports headline on the web version of today's San Francisco Chronicle:
Of Course You Picked Davidson
The shocker over Georgetown was just one of many in a thrilling NCAA Tourney weekend fraught with madness.
Yeah I did pick Davidson. In fact, even RMJ (Georgetown alumnus) thought Davidson would win. We so wanted to watch the game, but were amid the mass (pun intended) at the Irreverent Easter in Dolores Park all day yesterday. We kept up by mobile devices as best we could.
The last time RMJ and I had a hometown sports grudge match, it didn't go so well for me. (One freaking yard. I'm still upset.)
From the SF Gate story:
High praise continues in The LA Times, the Associate Press, and a big spread in The New York Times.
Photo credit: Viv Bernstein for the NYT.
Not to mention the Sporting Life, Newsday, another article in the Chronicle, Fox Sports, USA Today, The Sports Network, ESPN, the Washington Post, and Canada's National Post.
(Basically what I am saying is: Suck it Bill Bainbridge.)
The Davidson Wildcats are in the Sweet Sixteen. Their next game is this Friday at 4:10, when Davidson takes on Wisconsin.
Go Cats Go!
Update: As of Tuesday, Davidson is still very much in the news:
-Another story at ESPN (this one by a Davidson Alumna): Where exactly is Davidson? In the Sweet 16, that's where
* The St. Petersburg Times/TampaBay.com (Where brother and fellow alumnus Mac is right now) has my favorite piece yet: Davidson took long road to sudden fame
-New York Daily News: Davidson goes Wild for its upstart 'Cats as well this sidebar on Coach McKillop
And of course all of the local North Carolina papers are all over it. Theabout the quality of used toilet paper local rag The Charlotte Observer, which has always been noted for lack of actual journalism or integrity, and has historically taken any and every opportunity to smear nearby Davidson College and all of its "fancy book learnin'," has finally started covering Davidson's recent success. Their slant? Wildcats suddenly media darlings. Bitter much? I imagine the word "tarnation" was used in their newsroom when respected media started publishing positive things about the Cats.
And for fellow Davidson alumni, this might amuse you.
Update: Will Johnston can suck it too.
Of Course You Picked Davidson
The shocker over Georgetown was just one of many in a thrilling NCAA Tourney weekend fraught with madness.
Yeah I did pick Davidson. In fact, even RMJ (Georgetown alumnus) thought Davidson would win. We so wanted to watch the game, but were amid the mass (pun intended) at the Irreverent Easter in Dolores Park all day yesterday. We kept up by mobile devices as best we could.
The last time RMJ and I had a hometown sports grudge match, it didn't go so well for me. (One freaking yard. I'm still upset.)
From the SF Gate story:
-- Top Human Interest Story, Part II: Davidson's Stephen Curry has been the best player in the tournament, scoring 55 of his 70 tournament points in the second half of upsets of Gonzaga and Georgetown. Most everyone knows by now Curry got no recruiting interest from Atlantic Coast Conference schools even though he grew up in Charlotte, N.C. Even Virginia Tech, where his father, former NBA guard Dell Curry, went to school, wanted Stephen to walk on for a year before getting a scholarship. So Curry picked Davidson over Winthrop, and started his college career by committing 13 turnovers in his first game.
Now he has one of the softest shots you'll ever see.
"He'd shoot from 22 feet and his ball was like he shot it from 5," Gonzaga forward David Pendergraft said.
High praise continues in The LA Times, the Associate Press, and a big spread in The New York Times.
Photo credit: Viv Bernstein for the NYT.Not to mention the Sporting Life, Newsday, another article in the Chronicle, Fox Sports, USA Today, The Sports Network, ESPN, the Washington Post, and Canada's National Post.
(Basically what I am saying is: Suck it Bill Bainbridge.)
The Davidson Wildcats are in the Sweet Sixteen. Their next game is this Friday at 4:10, when Davidson takes on Wisconsin.
Go Cats Go!
Update: As of Tuesday, Davidson is still very much in the news:
-Another story at ESPN (this one by a Davidson Alumna): Where exactly is Davidson? In the Sweet 16, that's where
* The St. Petersburg Times/TampaBay.com (Where brother and fellow alumnus Mac is right now) has my favorite piece yet: Davidson took long road to sudden fame
-New York Daily News: Davidson goes Wild for its upstart 'Cats as well this sidebar on Coach McKillop
And of course all of the local North Carolina papers are all over it. The
And for fellow Davidson alumni, this might amuse you.
Update: Will Johnston can suck it too.
Friday, March 21, 2008
quotes for the day
I love Michael Smith in so many ways for so many reasons. And it's nice to have a super hot friend who knows you have no sexual interest in him. He's hot, just not my kinda hot (as I am fond of saying, I purr for fur). And I am not even in the same hemisphere as his type, so no love lost there either.
I e-mailed Michael about the bunny/bonnet thing we talked about Monday night.
One reason why I love knowing Michael, is that I get e-mails that include the following phrases (emphasis added):
By the way, Michael doesn't fool around with crafting the headpieces. For one party we had to come as a Greek god or mythological creature.
He came as the God of Parking (to which all San Franciscans promptly prayed).
I e-mailed Michael about the bunny/bonnet thing we talked about Monday night.
One reason why I love knowing Michael, is that I get e-mails that include the following phrases (emphasis added):
The bonnet is coming along nicely. I still have a lot of work to do on it but its great working on a creative project that I don't need many rounds of approval like at work. When in doubt - add more glitter!and
Thanks for the link to the photos. Yeah that was a crazy night. You should go when the drinks are 80 cents as the boys are WASTED then and prime for the picking. Maybe a little too young and not furry enough for you, but sometimes you want chicken!
By the way, Michael doesn't fool around with crafting the headpieces. For one party we had to come as a Greek god or mythological creature.
He came as the God of Parking (to which all San Franciscans promptly prayed).
Good Friday
Hey y'all. Have a good Good Friday and a happy Easter!
Happenings of interest this weekend:
Saturday:
Bootie SF a the DNA Lounge (375 Eleventh Street), 9:00 to after hours. $12 ($8 before 10:00)
Bootie pretty much initiated the whole Mashup movement. From the promo for this weekend: "This Saturday, Bootie is taking it back to the "old school," as we present a rare San Francisco appearance by DJ P, the true mastermind behind the seminal 2000 mix CD, Uneasy Listening, Volume 1, a record often credited with helping to pioneer the mashup "sound." Yup, it's "Turntablist Night" at Bootie!"
Two things I love: mashups and 80s tunes. So there's also this:
Big 80s Throwdown at the Endup (Sixth at Harrison), free before 1:00.
Sunday:
If you're not going to church or a special brunch, everyone elkse is going to be at the
Irreverent Easter hosted by The Sisters. Not for the faithful. It runs from 11:00 AM to 4:00 PM. Bonnet contest at 1:00, Boylesque show at 2:00 hunky Jesus contest at 3:20 (judges Sister Edith Myflesh and Sister Barbi Mitzvah), and all sorts of egg hunts and bunnies and such.
Happenings of interest this weekend:
Saturday:
Bootie SF a the DNA Lounge (375 Eleventh Street), 9:00 to after hours. $12 ($8 before 10:00)
Bootie pretty much initiated the whole Mashup movement. From the promo for this weekend: "This Saturday, Bootie is taking it back to the "old school," as we present a rare San Francisco appearance by DJ P, the true mastermind behind the seminal 2000 mix CD, Uneasy Listening, Volume 1, a record often credited with helping to pioneer the mashup "sound." Yup, it's "Turntablist Night" at Bootie!"
Two things I love: mashups and 80s tunes. So there's also this:
Big 80s Throwdown at the Endup (Sixth at Harrison), free before 1:00.
Sunday:
If you're not going to church or a special brunch, everyone elkse is going to be at the
Irreverent Easter hosted by The Sisters. Not for the faithful. It runs from 11:00 AM to 4:00 PM. Bonnet contest at 1:00, Boylesque show at 2:00 hunky Jesus contest at 3:20 (judges Sister Edith Myflesh and Sister Barbi Mitzvah), and all sorts of egg hunts and bunnies and such.
Go Cats!
The Davidson Wildcats are currently taking on Gonzaga. I have been in a meeting since 9:00 and am headed into another one and can't watch, but the NCAA web site has the Cats down by ten in the second quarter. C'mon CATS! Pull it out!If Davidson wins today, and Georgetown wins, they'll play each other in the next round, and there will be a Wilson/RMJ showdown!
Update: 11:25 left in the 2nd, Davidson down by seven.
Update: 7:17 left, Davidson up by one.
GO CATS!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!
Yeah they did! Davidson 82 Gonzaga 76 final! I got the see the last two minutes of the game online. (LOVE the NCAA web site!)
I was jumping in my office and stepped out the door to get a freaking what what and there is no joy on the hall. Can I get a Y chromosome please!? No? grumble grumble. only women on this floor....
Thursday, March 20, 2008
what the?
Hey. It's Thursday? How did it get to be Thursday? I've got a full day tomorrow then it's the weekend again and this week has just breezed by.
But I suppose it's easy to lose track of time when you treat Monday night like the new Friday.
RMJ left me a voice message early Tuesday to recap. It ended with "Boy, how do we follow up with a Monday?"
Monday was Klaus' last night in SF, and of course, Saint Patrick's Day (I was wearing the bright green, but not all of it). I so needed a green beer in the afternoon, but stayed late to get more work done. PeeDee was up for some happy hour so I arranged to join him, but wound up just watching him and Hunter snarf pasta at the Sausage Factory (Really? People still go there?).
After that, we finally got to the happy. But the sun had set and the beer wasn't green (but it was Guinness) and the hour wasn't qualified as happy but it was intensely entertaining.
Hunter is always a ball of energy, and having him and PeeDee together is like having a private show. Add an 80s soundtrack and it's ON. We hit the Bar's Monday/Eighties night and had a blast. And met up with a bevy of random buddies including Jason (shout) and his crew and Michael (big shout) and his. RMJ & Klaus joined after their dinner and the night became just a silly bucket of happy for me.
Michael and I shared plans for the weekend, and his included a bunny-themed costume event (You know how we are with costumes). He and his fit friends are backing up Susan Revah (The Original Fag Hag) as Gym Bunnies. Michael is creating a huge bonnet with supplements and a bunny injecting steroids. I ran through a list of possible costumes for me (gym bunny obviously being out), and settled on Bunny Tyler and a Total Eclipse of the Heart thing. I might wear this shirt again with bunny bits.
As a note-to-self to ask Michael about the bunny details, I left a mark on my hand.
Soon everyone wanted a bunny.
And got one. Uniball micros don't work too well on sweaty skin. Next time I'll bring a Sharpie.
Later, RMJ twisted my arm to go to the 440 Underwear Party next door. Among us all, Klaus is a freaking underwear model, but he decided to crash and prepare for his flight. Apparently there's only so much trouble that boy can get into. Three days is his limit. How so appropriately Easter-ish.
And as much as I would like to say about the Underwear Party is as much as I can't even consider blogging about it. But man do I feel pretty this week.
I did save a cocktail napkin on which I jotted a couple of lines from The Bar---
RMJ, on noticing a large influx of young, annoying, and very tacky bar patrons:
"Oh look, BART is still running..."
Me, expressing the hots for a librarian:
"I so want to explore his vertical file, if you know what I mean."
Flickr set.
But I suppose it's easy to lose track of time when you treat Monday night like the new Friday.
RMJ left me a voice message early Tuesday to recap. It ended with "Boy, how do we follow up with a Monday?"
Monday was Klaus' last night in SF, and of course, Saint Patrick's Day (I was wearing the bright green, but not all of it). I so needed a green beer in the afternoon, but stayed late to get more work done. PeeDee was up for some happy hour so I arranged to join him, but wound up just watching him and Hunter snarf pasta at the Sausage Factory (Really? People still go there?).
After that, we finally got to the happy. But the sun had set and the beer wasn't green (but it was Guinness) and the hour wasn't qualified as happy but it was intensely entertaining.
Hunter is always a ball of energy, and having him and PeeDee together is like having a private show. Add an 80s soundtrack and it's ON. We hit the Bar's Monday/Eighties night and had a blast. And met up with a bevy of random buddies including Jason (shout) and his crew and Michael (big shout) and his. RMJ & Klaus joined after their dinner and the night became just a silly bucket of happy for me.
Michael and I shared plans for the weekend, and his included a bunny-themed costume event (You know how we are with costumes). He and his fit friends are backing up Susan Revah (The Original Fag Hag) as Gym Bunnies. Michael is creating a huge bonnet with supplements and a bunny injecting steroids. I ran through a list of possible costumes for me (gym bunny obviously being out), and settled on Bunny Tyler and a Total Eclipse of the Heart thing. I might wear this shirt again with bunny bits.
As a note-to-self to ask Michael about the bunny details, I left a mark on my hand.
Soon everyone wanted a bunny.
And got one. Uniball micros don't work too well on sweaty skin. Next time I'll bring a Sharpie.
Later, RMJ twisted my arm to go to the 440 Underwear Party next door. Among us all, Klaus is a freaking underwear model, but he decided to crash and prepare for his flight. Apparently there's only so much trouble that boy can get into. Three days is his limit. How so appropriately Easter-ish.
And as much as I would like to say about the Underwear Party is as much as I can't even consider blogging about it. But man do I feel pretty this week.
I did save a cocktail napkin on which I jotted a couple of lines from The Bar---
RMJ, on noticing a large influx of young, annoying, and very tacky bar patrons:
"Oh look, BART is still running..."
Me, expressing the hots for a librarian:
"I so want to explore his vertical file, if you know what I mean."
Flickr set.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
BYOBW
You and I may have missed the Brides of March, but if you don't have plans for next Sunday (I do), you can make it to the Bring Your Own Big Wheel event. (Warning: site link launches annoying audio.) Clean and quiet details at Laughing Squid.
Last year was so popular they have been banned from Lombard Street. Which was such a perfect SF thing. A victim of its own success.
Last year was so popular they have been banned from Lombard Street. Which was such a perfect SF thing. A victim of its own success.
Missed it by [that] much.
This was a weekend of almost-made-it’s.
I really wanted to make it to the Brides of March on Saturday, but none of my usual nuts were available to join. Shilpa and I planned to hit the shops last minute on Friday night. I was going to just get a big satin number from Ross and wear a sign reading “Always a Bridesmaid.” But alas, Thursday night Shilpa and I raged a bit after Sundance and by the time 5five o'clock came on Friday, we were just too pooped to make a wedding dress shopping adventure. We both crashed and took naps for about 45 minutes when we stopped at my place just to drop off our bags.
But let’s take a little moment for Thursday night.
I’ve been managing some others issues this week, and made a commitment to Sundance on Thursday to be there for Hot Tony. Originally I started to care for Hot Tony because Tony is so very much with the Hot. Now I’m just more of a care taker. But the ongoing revelations about the pretty/crazy ones is another story I’ll have to write later. Suffice it to say I closed down Sundance on Thursday and wanted to go out. I called Shilpa to see if she was itching for entertainment. If she stayed home, I’d join boys at 440. If she wanted to go out, we’d hit Badlands.
We hit the Badlands and I have never seen that many straight girls in the bar before. Very much WTF. Random Guy started a conversation with us as we were ordering drinks, and it was soon clear he had done so merely to introduce his straight guy friend to a straight girl in the gay bar.
Long story short: Several hours later there was a role reversal as I sat by the door waiting while she made out in the bar. And major props to Shilpa for nabbing a hot 25 year-old triathlete. In a gay bar. And yet surrounded by straight girls. Whatever.
Thursday was a ball. But come Friday after work, we were done. After our naps, we managed to hit the all the vintage/second hand stores on Haight. Only one store had wedding dresses, and even those were meager pickings. We were clearly very last minute for the Bridges of March shopping, and still only semi-conscious and were not going to be able to make it the supper happy fun time that we had planned it to be. Prepping for the Brides event became less fun and more work so we just bailed on the idea all together and vowed to make a big deal of it next year and have a craft party with a dozen folks well in advance. Too bad the Club Jackson Wardrobe Craft Room is no more.
Fortunately for us Skot Land had some time to kill before meeting his BF at 10:00 and wanted to make a plan for dinner and/or entertainment. Shilpa and I managed to rally and wound up having an awesome night in the Mission with Skot Land. He’s a bundle of energy that fed us all night long.
Kissy Kissy Boy Toy (with the “washboard abs and soft hands”) from Badlands was texting Shilpa every few moments while we were at dinner. She was fairly coy, but Skot soon became her Cyrano and some clever T9 dialog later, KKBT was invited to join us after dinner at Martuni’s. KKBT texted back that he would just have to put on his make up and he’d be right there.
Now we love Martuni’s. It’s always fun and always a mixed crowd. And the piano bar is a good mix of classic and tragic and rarely disappoints. But for some strange reason, the piano player wasn’t playing the piano Friday night, but just playing crappy karaoke tunes through his iPod and had a disco globe spinning on the copper-topped piano. There appeared to be two large (and straight) birthday parties (mid-twenties) going on, and the karaoke was a bit too Marina for our tastes. But entertaining nonetheless.
By our second round, KKBT appeared and seemed a but nonplussed about having to be in another gay bar.
Now while Martuni’s is certainly gay, I would not call it a “gay bar.” And, for some reason, KKBT thought it was a drag bar. Hence his “put on my makeup” comment. Only rarely have I seen a drag queen or a tranny in Martuni’s, and never such a critical mass as to ever convey that this was a drag bar or a drag scene. I was hard pressed to even think of a drag bar in this town. Divas, I think, qualifies as a drag/tranny bar, but I also think that closed down.
Whatever, Martuni’s is certainly not. Hell, this is one of the few places people go for late night in black tie.
KKBT was also a little over-compensating to express his straightness, which I decided to find cute. He was kindly interested in me, and Skot, and our relationship (friends, Skot has a BF), and how we met (rodeo).
That we met via the Rodeo completely threw him. Skot is the President this of the Bay Area Chapter this year. I tried to explain the rodeo and that it is part of a national circuit and is a pretty big deal for gays and cowboys and how I personally avoid anything that might result in a spinal cord injury (one to a family is quite enough) but that I like chute dogging yadda yadda yadda. When I said that Bay Area Rodeo is just a chapter of the GSGRA (Golden State Gay Rodeo Association) and a member of the IGRA (International Gay Rodeo Association), he says ”Ohhhh,” as if he finally understood. “So it’s a gay rodeo. Have you ever been to a real rodeo?”
That I found offensive.
“It is a real rodeo. But I’ve been to other ones too... Hey, we wrestle bulls to the ground. How butch do you need me to be?”
I started to tell him that gays aren’t always welcome at the “straight” rodeos, and that’s why there’s a gay one, only to be corrected by Skot who explained that while that was what he originally thought too, the gay rodeo circuit sprang out of fundraising events and is a charitable activity, not a pride or protest thing.
Ultimately, I gave Skot a ride home and we let the cute little kids fend for themselves.
Saturday
Okay, so while I really wanted to participate in the Brides of March, I just knew it wasn’t going to happen. I did consider dressing in formal wear, with my fancy new hat, and showing up to take photos. After a morning after breakfast and bloody marys with Shilps at Harvey’s (we eat there far, far too often), and chatting with all the gays out in the sunny Castro, I spent most of the day trying, and failing, to install new blinds in my apartment.
A good time missed. [See Laughing Squid's post] But next year we’ll bring it.
I had been looking forward to tonight’s Bearracuda all week and was going to need a disco nap. Tonight’s event promised one of my favorite DJs, a bunch of new friends I’ve met through Jorge, free massages, a show, and my favorite Trannyshack performers.
Hot Tony’s computer died and I agreed to meet him at the Apple store at 6:00 to help him buy a new one. He dropped the coin for a 17” MacBook Pro and a iPod Nano. We went back to his place near Buena Vista Park and I tried to set him up as best I could. Unfortunately by the time I got to a good stopping place, it was almost 11:00. I had hope to make Bearracuda by 10:00. I had to walk home and then thought I should have something in my stomach. I sautéed a little South Beachy black bean bit and promptly fell asleep over my plate. I had so been looking forward to the party, but was just to beat to have any fun. As much as I wanted to go look for trouble, I didn’t think I could get showered, changed, and parked there before 12:30, and wouldn’t have the energy to make new friends when I got there. Dejected, I bailed and crawled into bed.
Another party missed. Bah.
At 3:45 in the morning, I got a couple of text from friends telling me how much fun it was and why wasn’t I there. If I had known they were there, I totally would have rallied. But I was grateful for the nine hours of sleep I got instead.
Sunday
Jimmy James and I got another quality day together, mostly just milling about super sunny Noe Valley, eating lunch at Savor,
and taking silly headshots while waiting for our food.
And shoe/weight shopping at the Sports Authority.
Question: Do you call them "sneakers" or "tennis shoes"?
Klaus returned to Nob Hill and invited us to meet him and some of his other friends atThe Glass Coffin Twin Peaks at 4:30.
This was the day of repeated just-missed-them’s.
I was determined to work in a mani-pedi, if only for the foot massage (I have done myself serious abuse with all the urban hiking and high-impact dancing). I went into the place downstairs at quarter of four and thought I had plenty of time, but during the pedicure there was some sort of commotion (I don’t know what as they were only talking in Viet Namese) and I was told she’d be right back. I didn’t get out of there until well after 5:00. RMJ texted they were now at the Lookout. I changed into Sundance wear so I could go straight to afterwards, and then dove over to the Castro.
It was a gorgeous day, and everyone was out. And apparently in their cars. I spent 45 minutes parking, and nearly lost my mind. I finally parked at Church and Market and walking up.
RMJ is very good about being present with his friends. If the phone rings during dinner, he doesn’t answer it. I have always respected that, until it comes time to track him down. Come Monday morning, RMJ had about 15 to 20 texts and several voice mails from me trying to figure out where they had gone. I missed them at the Lookout, but found Steve Wilson and a very flirty friend of his visiting from L.A. Perhaps that last bit is redundant. I enjoyed a drink with them, then found Paul Day, Fred, Robert Benda and Scott Hunt on the balcony. PeeDee told me I must have just missed RMJ and Klaus, and that they were headed to Moby’s. After finishing my drink, and corralling Steve and Flirty who wanted to come with me, I made it to Moby’s, where I ran into Eric and Dino who told me I just missed RMJ and Klaus who just left to go find some dinner. Or go to Badlands. So I checked out Badlands and couldn’t find them. I checked in all the restaurants around the corner and Badlands again and couldn’t find them. I had been texting RMJ every few minutes the entire time hoping he would feel his phone vibrate). While checking restaurants in the other direction, RMJ texted they were in Badlands. I did ultimately find them, but by now it was 8:00 and I was due at Sundance.
After Sundance I got a call from Coco to come back to Badlands, but I was no longer in the mood for fun. In fact I was rather pissed off.
For as much fun as it is Sundance Saloon meets in seriously crappy part of town. I feel much safer in the Tenderloin. Space 550 is down off Bayshore near the Hunters Point area. Personal safety is sometimes an issue, and car windows are regularly smashed and anything liftable is stolen. I’ve had my windows smashed and bags stolen too. On Thursdays, they have gotten to the point of blocking off certain streets from patrons as it is just too dangerous to park there during the week. Management has been requesting additional police patrols and has had to hire their own security.
The place is hardly easily accessible by Muni (the 24 Divisidon’t stops several blocks away, but it is a 45 minute to an hour’s ride back to the Castro from there), so everyone drives. You have to make a choice between easy parking and personal/property safety. We get creative with the parking. I generally get there around 8:00-ish and there are few safe places (i.e. well lit, not next to a crack den etc.) left. I sometimes park with half my car in a crosswalk across the parking lot near a curb cut.
This is not a pedestrian area, and no one is just walking in this neighborhood at night. Much less are they wheeling about in a wheelchair. With a wheel chair in the family, I am more sensitive than most when it comes to accessible issues. I don’t consider this one of them. Especially when the choice strictly legal parking versus personal safety.
So imagine how utter offended I was to come out of Sundance to a $275 parking ticket.
We can’t get police patrols for crime and safety, but they will dole out parking tickets. At least it wasn’t a DPT ticket, but one written by the SFPD. Which is even more offensive. This is a high-crime area. We the patrons and me personally have been victimized on this street. But the cops are going to take the time to cite crosswalk-infringing parking violation at night in a pedestrian-deserted area?
Honestly, I do not believe I would have gotten a ticket if I drove a beater and not a Beamer.
I haven’t decided if I am going to fight it or not. I think I have a decent argument with the safety first/lack of patrols issue. And it might be that the SFPD officer would have to show up in court over this, which they often fail to do, as it is not a DPT ticket.
Man. $275. That is a lot for a parking ticket. Especially since I have been saving for auto repairs and that is not what I want to spend my money on. Grrr.
But now that the weekend is recapped, I can move on to Monday (i.e. last night).
(I really do write these more for me as journal than for you as an audience, so apologies if I’ve bored you with the nothing-really-happened-this-weekend narrative. On the other hand, if you have been amused, you’re welcome.)
I really wanted to make it to the Brides of March on Saturday, but none of my usual nuts were available to join. Shilpa and I planned to hit the shops last minute on Friday night. I was going to just get a big satin number from Ross and wear a sign reading “Always a Bridesmaid.” But alas, Thursday night Shilpa and I raged a bit after Sundance and by the time 5five o'clock came on Friday, we were just too pooped to make a wedding dress shopping adventure. We both crashed and took naps for about 45 minutes when we stopped at my place just to drop off our bags.
But let’s take a little moment for Thursday night.
I’ve been managing some others issues this week, and made a commitment to Sundance on Thursday to be there for Hot Tony. Originally I started to care for Hot Tony because Tony is so very much with the Hot. Now I’m just more of a care taker. But the ongoing revelations about the pretty/crazy ones is another story I’ll have to write later. Suffice it to say I closed down Sundance on Thursday and wanted to go out. I called Shilpa to see if she was itching for entertainment. If she stayed home, I’d join boys at 440. If she wanted to go out, we’d hit Badlands.
We hit the Badlands and I have never seen that many straight girls in the bar before. Very much WTF. Random Guy started a conversation with us as we were ordering drinks, and it was soon clear he had done so merely to introduce his straight guy friend to a straight girl in the gay bar.
Long story short: Several hours later there was a role reversal as I sat by the door waiting while she made out in the bar. And major props to Shilpa for nabbing a hot 25 year-old triathlete. In a gay bar. And yet surrounded by straight girls. Whatever.
Thursday was a ball. But come Friday after work, we were done. After our naps, we managed to hit the all the vintage/second hand stores on Haight. Only one store had wedding dresses, and even those were meager pickings. We were clearly very last minute for the Bridges of March shopping, and still only semi-conscious and were not going to be able to make it the supper happy fun time that we had planned it to be. Prepping for the Brides event became less fun and more work so we just bailed on the idea all together and vowed to make a big deal of it next year and have a craft party with a dozen folks well in advance. Too bad the Club Jackson Wardrobe Craft Room is no more.
Fortunately for us Skot Land had some time to kill before meeting his BF at 10:00 and wanted to make a plan for dinner and/or entertainment. Shilpa and I managed to rally and wound up having an awesome night in the Mission with Skot Land. He’s a bundle of energy that fed us all night long.
Kissy Kissy Boy Toy (with the “washboard abs and soft hands”) from Badlands was texting Shilpa every few moments while we were at dinner. She was fairly coy, but Skot soon became her Cyrano and some clever T9 dialog later, KKBT was invited to join us after dinner at Martuni’s. KKBT texted back that he would just have to put on his make up and he’d be right there.
Now we love Martuni’s. It’s always fun and always a mixed crowd. And the piano bar is a good mix of classic and tragic and rarely disappoints. But for some strange reason, the piano player wasn’t playing the piano Friday night, but just playing crappy karaoke tunes through his iPod and had a disco globe spinning on the copper-topped piano. There appeared to be two large (and straight) birthday parties (mid-twenties) going on, and the karaoke was a bit too Marina for our tastes. But entertaining nonetheless.
By our second round, KKBT appeared and seemed a but nonplussed about having to be in another gay bar.
Now while Martuni’s is certainly gay, I would not call it a “gay bar.” And, for some reason, KKBT thought it was a drag bar. Hence his “put on my makeup” comment. Only rarely have I seen a drag queen or a tranny in Martuni’s, and never such a critical mass as to ever convey that this was a drag bar or a drag scene. I was hard pressed to even think of a drag bar in this town. Divas, I think, qualifies as a drag/tranny bar, but I also think that closed down.
Whatever, Martuni’s is certainly not. Hell, this is one of the few places people go for late night in black tie.
KKBT was also a little over-compensating to express his straightness, which I decided to find cute. He was kindly interested in me, and Skot, and our relationship (friends, Skot has a BF), and how we met (rodeo).
That we met via the Rodeo completely threw him. Skot is the President this of the Bay Area Chapter this year. I tried to explain the rodeo and that it is part of a national circuit and is a pretty big deal for gays and cowboys and how I personally avoid anything that might result in a spinal cord injury (one to a family is quite enough) but that I like chute dogging yadda yadda yadda. When I said that Bay Area Rodeo is just a chapter of the GSGRA (Golden State Gay Rodeo Association) and a member of the IGRA (International Gay Rodeo Association), he says ”Ohhhh,” as if he finally understood. “So it’s a gay rodeo. Have you ever been to a real rodeo?”
That I found offensive.
“It is a real rodeo. But I’ve been to other ones too... Hey, we wrestle bulls to the ground. How butch do you need me to be?”
I started to tell him that gays aren’t always welcome at the “straight” rodeos, and that’s why there’s a gay one, only to be corrected by Skot who explained that while that was what he originally thought too, the gay rodeo circuit sprang out of fundraising events and is a charitable activity, not a pride or protest thing.
Ultimately, I gave Skot a ride home and we let the cute little kids fend for themselves.
Saturday
Okay, so while I really wanted to participate in the Brides of March, I just knew it wasn’t going to happen. I did consider dressing in formal wear, with my fancy new hat, and showing up to take photos. After a morning after breakfast and bloody marys with Shilps at Harvey’s (we eat there far, far too often), and chatting with all the gays out in the sunny Castro, I spent most of the day trying, and failing, to install new blinds in my apartment.
A good time missed. [See Laughing Squid's post] But next year we’ll bring it.
I had been looking forward to tonight’s Bearracuda all week and was going to need a disco nap. Tonight’s event promised one of my favorite DJs, a bunch of new friends I’ve met through Jorge, free massages, a show, and my favorite Trannyshack performers.
Hot Tony’s computer died and I agreed to meet him at the Apple store at 6:00 to help him buy a new one. He dropped the coin for a 17” MacBook Pro and a iPod Nano. We went back to his place near Buena Vista Park and I tried to set him up as best I could. Unfortunately by the time I got to a good stopping place, it was almost 11:00. I had hope to make Bearracuda by 10:00. I had to walk home and then thought I should have something in my stomach. I sautéed a little South Beachy black bean bit and promptly fell asleep over my plate. I had so been looking forward to the party, but was just to beat to have any fun. As much as I wanted to go look for trouble, I didn’t think I could get showered, changed, and parked there before 12:30, and wouldn’t have the energy to make new friends when I got there. Dejected, I bailed and crawled into bed.
Another party missed. Bah.
At 3:45 in the morning, I got a couple of text from friends telling me how much fun it was and why wasn’t I there. If I had known they were there, I totally would have rallied. But I was grateful for the nine hours of sleep I got instead.
Sunday
Jimmy James and I got another quality day together, mostly just milling about super sunny Noe Valley, eating lunch at Savor,
and taking silly headshots while waiting for our food.
And shoe/weight shopping at the Sports Authority.
Question: Do you call them "sneakers" or "tennis shoes"?
Klaus returned to Nob Hill and invited us to meet him and some of his other friends at
This was the day of repeated just-missed-them’s.
I was determined to work in a mani-pedi, if only for the foot massage (I have done myself serious abuse with all the urban hiking and high-impact dancing). I went into the place downstairs at quarter of four and thought I had plenty of time, but during the pedicure there was some sort of commotion (I don’t know what as they were only talking in Viet Namese) and I was told she’d be right back. I didn’t get out of there until well after 5:00. RMJ texted they were now at the Lookout. I changed into Sundance wear so I could go straight to afterwards, and then dove over to the Castro.
It was a gorgeous day, and everyone was out. And apparently in their cars. I spent 45 minutes parking, and nearly lost my mind. I finally parked at Church and Market and walking up.
RMJ is very good about being present with his friends. If the phone rings during dinner, he doesn’t answer it. I have always respected that, until it comes time to track him down. Come Monday morning, RMJ had about 15 to 20 texts and several voice mails from me trying to figure out where they had gone. I missed them at the Lookout, but found Steve Wilson and a very flirty friend of his visiting from L.A. Perhaps that last bit is redundant. I enjoyed a drink with them, then found Paul Day, Fred, Robert Benda and Scott Hunt on the balcony. PeeDee told me I must have just missed RMJ and Klaus, and that they were headed to Moby’s. After finishing my drink, and corralling Steve and Flirty who wanted to come with me, I made it to Moby’s, where I ran into Eric and Dino who told me I just missed RMJ and Klaus who just left to go find some dinner. Or go to Badlands. So I checked out Badlands and couldn’t find them. I checked in all the restaurants around the corner and Badlands again and couldn’t find them. I had been texting RMJ every few minutes the entire time hoping he would feel his phone vibrate). While checking restaurants in the other direction, RMJ texted they were in Badlands. I did ultimately find them, but by now it was 8:00 and I was due at Sundance.
After Sundance I got a call from Coco to come back to Badlands, but I was no longer in the mood for fun. In fact I was rather pissed off.
For as much fun as it is Sundance Saloon meets in seriously crappy part of town. I feel much safer in the Tenderloin. Space 550 is down off Bayshore near the Hunters Point area. Personal safety is sometimes an issue, and car windows are regularly smashed and anything liftable is stolen. I’ve had my windows smashed and bags stolen too. On Thursdays, they have gotten to the point of blocking off certain streets from patrons as it is just too dangerous to park there during the week. Management has been requesting additional police patrols and has had to hire their own security.
The place is hardly easily accessible by Muni (the 24 Divisidon’t stops several blocks away, but it is a 45 minute to an hour’s ride back to the Castro from there), so everyone drives. You have to make a choice between easy parking and personal/property safety. We get creative with the parking. I generally get there around 8:00-ish and there are few safe places (i.e. well lit, not next to a crack den etc.) left. I sometimes park with half my car in a crosswalk across the parking lot near a curb cut.
This is not a pedestrian area, and no one is just walking in this neighborhood at night. Much less are they wheeling about in a wheelchair. With a wheel chair in the family, I am more sensitive than most when it comes to accessible issues. I don’t consider this one of them. Especially when the choice strictly legal parking versus personal safety.
So imagine how utter offended I was to come out of Sundance to a $275 parking ticket.
We can’t get police patrols for crime and safety, but they will dole out parking tickets. At least it wasn’t a DPT ticket, but one written by the SFPD. Which is even more offensive. This is a high-crime area. We the patrons and me personally have been victimized on this street. But the cops are going to take the time to cite crosswalk-infringing parking violation at night in a pedestrian-deserted area?
Honestly, I do not believe I would have gotten a ticket if I drove a beater and not a Beamer.
I haven’t decided if I am going to fight it or not. I think I have a decent argument with the safety first/lack of patrols issue. And it might be that the SFPD officer would have to show up in court over this, which they often fail to do, as it is not a DPT ticket.
Man. $275. That is a lot for a parking ticket. Especially since I have been saving for auto repairs and that is not what I want to spend my money on. Grrr.
But now that the weekend is recapped, I can move on to Monday (i.e. last night).
(I really do write these more for me as journal than for you as an audience, so apologies if I’ve bored you with the nothing-really-happened-this-weekend narrative. On the other hand, if you have been amused, you’re welcome.)
Sex-for-Gas Offer Ends in Stabbing
As it so often does.
Your Tuesday dose of crazy, from Alert Reader Keith Hinkle.
Sex-For-Gas Offer Ends In Stabbing
Woman Pulls Out Scissors; Victim Attacked, Deputies Say
MESA, Ariz. -- An east Valley woman who bartered sex for gas money ended up stabbing her victim while partially severing her finger, Maricopa County sheriff's deputies said.
Read on.
And can we take a moment for the photo? This is the woman.
Nice.
Your Tuesday dose of crazy, from Alert Reader Keith Hinkle.
Sex-For-Gas Offer Ends In Stabbing
Woman Pulls Out Scissors; Victim Attacked, Deputies Say
MESA, Ariz. -- An east Valley woman who bartered sex for gas money ended up stabbing her victim while partially severing her finger, Maricopa County sheriff's deputies said.
Read on.
And can we take a moment for the photo? This is the woman.Nice.
fetching
I don't know why I found this so amusing. Maybe just because the wiener dog seems so happy.
the death of a word
"Fierce" is officially dead.
Although all weekend, my friends could not stop repeating the phrase: "hot tranny mess."
You know who you are.
And this is why everything is now a hot tranny mess:
Although all weekend, my friends could not stop repeating the phrase: "hot tranny mess."
You know who you are.
And this is why everything is now a hot tranny mess:
Friday, March 14, 2008
Pockets!
It looks like Catherine Tate will be the companion on the next season of Doctor Who.
She was hilarious in the 2006 Christmas special "The Runaway Bride." More comedy surely to ensue.
"Why did you say 'miss'? Do I look single?"
She was hilarious in the 2006 Christmas special "The Runaway Bride." More comedy surely to ensue.
"Why did you say 'miss'? Do I look single?"
Thursday, March 13, 2008
This just in
I can't believe it. I've got plenty of thoughts on what's going on with Hot Tony (new character likely to recur in the blog).
He's going through all sorts of tough shit right now and I'm just doing my best to keep his head out of the oven.
Text from Hot Tony moments ago:
Who actually does that kind of shit.
(profanity to stop now)
He's going through all sorts of tough shit right now and I'm just doing my best to keep his head out of the oven.
Text from Hot Tony moments ago:
Brandon dumped me by a TEXT MESSAGE!Wow--Hot Tony is so better off without Brandon. I never met the guy, but clearly he's a Lou-ZERH. And not a man.
Who actually does that kind of shit.
(profanity to stop now)
russian around
Klaus is stateside for some science things in SoCal and Salt Lake City and arranged to fly in/out of SFO so he could see his old friends. I was thinking I hadn't seen him since RMJ and I dropped in on him and Jens in Copenhagen, but I forgot that Klaus did make an appearance last winter.
Special K arrived late Friday night, and while Shilpa and I arrange to be on hand on Polkestrasse to welcome him, he crashed and went straight to bed. But only after deciphering RMJ's code. RMJ received a could-not-refuse last minute invitation to dinner with fashion royalty, and knew he would likely miss Klaus' arrival on his doorstep. RMJ didn't just want to leave his Nob Hill flat unlocked with a note on the door. But how could he leave a note for Klaus that was obvious to him, but not an invitation or explanation to strangers of how to gain entrance and clean him out. I think RMJ came up with a fairly ingenious plan: he left the key under the mat, and left the note for Klaus in Danish (by way of a web-based translator).
We had bandied about ideas for entertaining Klaus while he was back, and one sentence clenched it. Saturday morning, RMJ and Klaus were having juice in the sunlight through the bay windows. Klaus said, "Wow. This is beautiful. I haven't seen the sun since July."
Since July.
Denmark has way long winters, and the summer sun was obscured early this year. (I never saw the sun during my stay in June.) This revelation put an end to RMJ's fantasy of relocating to Copenhagen.
It was sunny, clear, and warm. And for our sun-deprived friend, it was an easy decision: we packed the backs and were on the road to the Russian River by early afternoon.
It was a gorgeous drive and that was half the fun. We hadn't been able to reach the Triple-R all day and managed to get the last two rooms when we arrived. (My apnea/snoring has proven time and again I need to get my own room. Poor Klaus knows first hand.)
RMJ has been thinking of writing a story along the lines of six degrees three degrees, seeing how in our experience everyone knows everyone else, and six degrees is way to distant a separation.
Within thirty seconds of walking through the gate we had each seen two people we know. The rest of the weekend we just referred to them as half-degree connections.
We settled, ordered some roadies, and walked into "town." On the way up, we passed someone driving down the road in what can best be called a "contraption" which looked like a motorcycle in the front, but had the rear half of some sort of old Mazda for it's back end. Very odd. But then downtown, we encountered this:
"Twisted Toys" was painted on the front.
Not surprisingly, it was parked in front of a liquor store (see right). I say "a" liquor store and not "the" liquor store as in addition to the enormous Safeway across the street, there were three other liquor stores within a block. And there's not a whole lot of "town" downtown to begin with.
And what the hell is this for?
Is the lower horn some sort of opossum impaling device? Dunno. But creepy.
Another creepy bit "downtown," was the now, and who knows for how long, derelict public building. Well it looked public. Maybe it used to be a bank.
It was only slightly creepy, but what made me take note was the sign high up in a window. Oddly not at eye-level or at any sort of obvious location. It didn't just say "keep out,"
but added in magic marker it said: "or else!!!"
'k. Duly noted.
And then there's this.
Add your own caption. Or addiction. Whatever.
We enjoyed our walk and window shopping (shops had closed minutes earlier).
There were other "attractions" around town, and clearly, I am easily distracted.
New since my last visit, or perhaps I just never noticed, is the renovated foot bridge. From the bridge, we enjoyed a sipping the roadies, each other's company, and a California mountain sunset.
We also walked to the other end of "town" to check out the fate of the former Fife's, now Dawn's, resort. It's too bad the previous owner was such a petty, bitter man than he felt the need to salt the earth and poison the well when he was done with it. Or in the words of a local (when pressed for the local story), he "acted like a child who would rather break his toys than let anyone else play with them."
Dawn's was much more formal than I expected but I also couldn't recall being inside the main building when it was Fife's so I didn't have a basis for comparison. While very lovely in a dress-restaurant sort of way, it did strike me as a bit pretentious and stifling. But I understand that is the new target demographic. In the main room/bar area there was a marker board indicating the night's program was "Harmony Fusion." RMJ, Klaus and I stepped out onto the upper deck overlooking the pool and bungalows. The incoming parade of, shall we say, playfully ample and stern women, indicated to us that the gay bent of the former fife's wasn't gone, just inclined to the opposite gender. We being we (Klaus excluded), we engaged. I asked one woman, "Are you Harmony Fusion?"
"We are!"
"So you're a group?"
"We're a Sweet Adelines."
"I thought it might be just one person. The sign inside made it sound like it was the name of the lounge singer tonight: Harmony Fusion. Two shows on Sunday. I think that's going to be my new drag name: Hi, I'm Harmony. Harmony Fusion." (Harmony Fusion chapter site)
When I checked with the Triple R on Friday afternoon, there were only three rooms left. We were lucky they had exactly what we needed when we checked in, and we secured the last two rooms. After we settled and disco-napped, we met poolside under the glow of the "No Vacancy" sign.
Klaus had gone out this morning and generously brought along some Veuve Clicquot for his hosts, which we enjoyed poolside by candlelight before setting off for dinner.
Vacations for me tend to be either heavily planned, or not at all. And for spontaneous trips like this, I love the absence of schedule. And I like being with like minds. We happily decided to wander down Main Street and dine wherever our fancy found.
Our fancy found the Main Street Station, and I'm glad it did. It was past nine so we were fortunate to be seated anywhere, and especially lucky to find a table here. The service was sporadic, and the delivery of the meal was slow, but the quality of the service when we received it and the quality of the meal were excellent. The owner had gone through Atkins in the past and had altered the menu to include more low-carb options, including Michelob Ultra beer and cauliflower au gratin as an optional alternative to mashed potatoes and gravy. I had the pot roast, which was amazing. It had been slow cooked for over eight hours, and it melted in the mouth (clearly, I had a moment with my meal). Even though I had been exceptionally strict with the South Beach Phase I all week, I invoked the vacation rule (diets do not apply), and ordered the Ghiradelli Chocolate Brownie a la Mode for dessert.
It was worth every last carb.
Most unexpected and most delightful was the live swing band. "Out of the Blue" were amazing musicians and thoroughly entertaining. The restaurant tacks a $5 cover for each person at your table, and it was well worth it. They crafted unique versions of some well-worn songs, standard and eclectic selections.
Sitting with my good friends, on vacation, with a good meal and good music and I was happier than a pig in mud.
Afterwards, as we do, we chatted up the band. We were also the only people left in the restaurant so there was no one else to talk to. Klaus got his picture took with an upright bass (so did RMJ).
I commented later that at the restaurant "RMJ got to stoke the bass," which when said aloud poolside with a bunch of lascivious queers takes on an entirely different meeting.
Even thought we intended to rage Saturday night, the karaoke was pretty tragic, the Rainbow Cattle Club empty, and the Long Islands sufficiently strong that we were all out by 12:15.
We had brunch at Pat's diner in the morning. And ever with a local theme, we had Korbel mimosas (Korbel is made just down the road).
And we made it to Kings and Queens, the vintage store RMJ had wanted to see Saturday but it was closed. RMJ found passable black leather jacket that could be minimally amended to have a cutting edge SoMa leather look.
Then, of course, there was the fur cape.
And, you know, golden sequined shoes.
Upon closer inspection I noticed that it was not truly a fur cape, but a real fur stole that some queen had stitched to a large fake fur square with a creepy/crappy lining. Anyone stroking the upper half would think it was all genuine fur. Kinda clever, poorly executed, and entirely tacky. But you know how we are with capes.
Klaus and I left empty handed.
We returned to the Trippe R motel/"resort" to regroup. (RMJ insisted on referring to it as the R-R-R for two reasons: (1) he likes to sound like a pirate; and (2) we all got jollies from other people's expressions and immediate corrections.
We're like that.
The day was beautiful and everything was in bloom.
We decided that the day was hot enough and the sun was bright enough to spend the rest of the day happily soaking up rays poolside.
So very, very nice.
As I've said, Klaus hadn't seen the sun since July, and it was snowing in Nashville. Poolside suited me just fine. And we were endlessly amused by my old friend David McCulloch (not the author, and "old" can be true in both senses),
his randy and incredibly beefy bf Mike,
and the little hottentot prancing about being pretty and playing hard-to-get with Mike.
This clinched the half-degree notion of the Gay Bay Area: the last time any of us were up at the Russian River/Guerneville we were with each other back in 2005. We took a break from the Grove to spend an afternoon poolside at Fife's. RMJ is thin and furry. Klaus is hairless and cur like the viking he is. I am of ample size and only took some comfort in the bearish company. Some pretty little twink in the pool gave us some attitude. I did the last thing he expected, which was to dive in clothed and dunk him. RMJ loves that story, and had recalled it when we first arrived.
So, the last time we were all up here we were together, poolside, in 2005, and yet:
same twink by the pool. RMJ has kept up with Arthur over the years and he's back in the Bay area, although I never got it clear if he moved back from SoCal back to Guerneville or found a place to live in the City. But still--three years later and same pool boy. But he was pretty, and sweet sweet, or perhaps just pretty sweet.
RMJ can, and usually does, talk to anyone and everyone. There were the messy, messy gaysians from the City we met at dinner. The trying-to-look-ghetto white guy was wearing Fire Island wear which got RMJ's attention. The conversation pretty much came to a halt after he identified his Fire Island status as restaurant dishwasher. (Aside to me: "Honey, we don't talk to staff.") That, and they were drunken messes who clearly did not know how to behave properly in a venue that wasn't a drug-ridden gay ghetto disco.
While that conversation came to a fairly abrupt halt, another RMJ excursion blossomed into a new friendship. We all noticed Adauto for two reasons: (1) he's a sexy little Italian man and (2) he was wearing some of the sexiest leather shoes we'd ever seen and they looked less than two days old.
And yes, we are that gay.
Adauto had just returned from Argentina where he had the shoes made. A South America/Argentina/ BA lover, this topic was custom made for a RMJ introduction and conversation.
However, he could not own up to his own pedigree and "International Affairs" ( as I refer to his proclivities) as he had firmly established an alternate identity earlier and could not escape it.
RMJ was "Brock," a pizza-maker in the Outer Richmond. Klaus was "Lars" from Norway, in the states marketing winter sporting apparel. I was merely "Willo," and my job was the court-appointed consultant to Abercrombe &Fitch to make sure their wares are age-appropriate and their staff and marketing reflective of diversity. I cited several people as being far, far to old for their A&F wardrobe selections. Speaking purely as a professional I assure you.
I sucked at the Game of Alter Ego and would frequently slip when introducing or calling out to Brock and/or Lars.
Regardless, theboys men who had, ostensibly, come into Guerneville just to go to the Safeway but lounged with us by the pool all day became our new favorite people. It turns out that Richard works for the same outfit I do (not A&F but IRL) and we know some of the same people. Richard also has owned his place in Occidental for over 20 years and rarely uses it, and we gave him good excuses to open it up more often.
Brock, Richard (aka Marilyn) and Adauto
After the sunset it was time to go home. RMJ suggested we drop off their stuff at his place and then we go directly to Sundance Sallon. RMJ goes from time to time just to watch me in my element and always has a good time. He thought it would be a fun something new and very non-Denmark for Klaus.
On the ride home, I was looking forward to stopping at the antique Tasty Freeze, this one called Foster's Freeze, in some tiny, tiny town on 116. RMJ and Klaus got strawberry shakes and flirted with the teenage boy behind the counter. I was very happy and nostalgic with just a classic soft-serve.
I did have to pop in the potty before continuing the drive home, and was surprised to see an antique BORAX soap dispenser, clearly an original fixture.
Even more surprising, it actually dispensed old, granulated soap powder.
I didn't know they even still made soap power for antique dispensers. It was a total time warp feeling for me (and obviously I thought it notable as I took pictures. Is that just me?)
After a night of two-stepping--RMJ took to the floor once or twice and Klaus did not, but not for lack of invitation--we picked up Shilpa from the N at Duboce Park and hit the Badlands.
As usual, as asinine as the place is, it was a great deal of fun. Post-Sundance Sundays usually are, and Badlands time with Shilpa and RMJ always are.
What I had never seen before though, was the ever-demur Klaus getting his groove on:
Awwwwwsome.
Shilpa was getting no lack of hassle on the dance floor ("Why do gay guys think they can just grab at all my parts?!") and Klaus was herKnight Viking in Shining Armor.
And now for a couple of shout outs:
First, a big Hey Hey to Lance and Rey!
Some lovin' to Jason.
And last, but never ever least, the tall and trim and always so kind hotness that is Matt.
Get your ass on the dance floor.
And that, finally, was the end of the long weekend of fun.
You know, after Sparky's...
[flickr set]
Special K arrived late Friday night, and while Shilpa and I arrange to be on hand on Polkestrasse to welcome him, he crashed and went straight to bed. But only after deciphering RMJ's code. RMJ received a could-not-refuse last minute invitation to dinner with fashion royalty, and knew he would likely miss Klaus' arrival on his doorstep. RMJ didn't just want to leave his Nob Hill flat unlocked with a note on the door. But how could he leave a note for Klaus that was obvious to him, but not an invitation or explanation to strangers of how to gain entrance and clean him out. I think RMJ came up with a fairly ingenious plan: he left the key under the mat, and left the note for Klaus in Danish (by way of a web-based translator).
We had bandied about ideas for entertaining Klaus while he was back, and one sentence clenched it. Saturday morning, RMJ and Klaus were having juice in the sunlight through the bay windows. Klaus said, "Wow. This is beautiful. I haven't seen the sun since July."
Since July.
Denmark has way long winters, and the summer sun was obscured early this year. (I never saw the sun during my stay in June.) This revelation put an end to RMJ's fantasy of relocating to Copenhagen.
It was sunny, clear, and warm. And for our sun-deprived friend, it was an easy decision: we packed the backs and were on the road to the Russian River by early afternoon.
It was a gorgeous drive and that was half the fun. We hadn't been able to reach the Triple-R all day and managed to get the last two rooms when we arrived. (My apnea/snoring has proven time and again I need to get my own room. Poor Klaus knows first hand.)
RMJ has been thinking of writing a story along the lines of six degrees three degrees, seeing how in our experience everyone knows everyone else, and six degrees is way to distant a separation.
Within thirty seconds of walking through the gate we had each seen two people we know. The rest of the weekend we just referred to them as half-degree connections.
We settled, ordered some roadies, and walked into "town." On the way up, we passed someone driving down the road in what can best be called a "contraption" which looked like a motorcycle in the front, but had the rear half of some sort of old Mazda for it's back end. Very odd. But then downtown, we encountered this:
"Twisted Toys" was painted on the front.
Not surprisingly, it was parked in front of a liquor store (see right). I say "a" liquor store and not "the" liquor store as in addition to the enormous Safeway across the street, there were three other liquor stores within a block. And there's not a whole lot of "town" downtown to begin with.
And what the hell is this for?
Is the lower horn some sort of opossum impaling device? Dunno. But creepy.
Another creepy bit "downtown," was the now, and who knows for how long, derelict public building. Well it looked public. Maybe it used to be a bank.
It was only slightly creepy, but what made me take note was the sign high up in a window. Oddly not at eye-level or at any sort of obvious location. It didn't just say "keep out,"but added in magic marker it said: "or else!!!"'k. Duly noted.
And then there's this.
Add your own caption. Or addiction. Whatever.We enjoyed our walk and window shopping (shops had closed minutes earlier).
There were other "attractions" around town, and clearly, I am easily distracted.
New since my last visit, or perhaps I just never noticed, is the renovated foot bridge. From the bridge, we enjoyed a sipping the roadies, each other's company, and a California mountain sunset.
We also walked to the other end of "town" to check out the fate of the former Fife's, now Dawn's, resort. It's too bad the previous owner was such a petty, bitter man than he felt the need to salt the earth and poison the well when he was done with it. Or in the words of a local (when pressed for the local story), he "acted like a child who would rather break his toys than let anyone else play with them."Dawn's was much more formal than I expected but I also couldn't recall being inside the main building when it was Fife's so I didn't have a basis for comparison. While very lovely in a dress-restaurant sort of way, it did strike me as a bit pretentious and stifling. But I understand that is the new target demographic. In the main room/bar area there was a marker board indicating the night's program was "Harmony Fusion." RMJ, Klaus and I stepped out onto the upper deck overlooking the pool and bungalows. The incoming parade of, shall we say, playfully ample and stern women, indicated to us that the gay bent of the former fife's wasn't gone, just inclined to the opposite gender. We being we (Klaus excluded), we engaged. I asked one woman, "Are you Harmony Fusion?"
"We are!"
"So you're a group?"
"We're a Sweet Adelines."
"I thought it might be just one person. The sign inside made it sound like it was the name of the lounge singer tonight: Harmony Fusion. Two shows on Sunday. I think that's going to be my new drag name: Hi, I'm Harmony. Harmony Fusion." (Harmony Fusion chapter site)
When I checked with the Triple R on Friday afternoon, there were only three rooms left. We were lucky they had exactly what we needed when we checked in, and we secured the last two rooms. After we settled and disco-napped, we met poolside under the glow of the "No Vacancy" sign.
Klaus had gone out this morning and generously brought along some Veuve Clicquot for his hosts, which we enjoyed poolside by candlelight before setting off for dinner.
Vacations for me tend to be either heavily planned, or not at all. And for spontaneous trips like this, I love the absence of schedule. And I like being with like minds. We happily decided to wander down Main Street and dine wherever our fancy found.Our fancy found the Main Street Station, and I'm glad it did. It was past nine so we were fortunate to be seated anywhere, and especially lucky to find a table here. The service was sporadic, and the delivery of the meal was slow, but the quality of the service when we received it and the quality of the meal were excellent. The owner had gone through Atkins in the past and had altered the menu to include more low-carb options, including Michelob Ultra beer and cauliflower au gratin as an optional alternative to mashed potatoes and gravy. I had the pot roast, which was amazing. It had been slow cooked for over eight hours, and it melted in the mouth (clearly, I had a moment with my meal). Even though I had been exceptionally strict with the South Beach Phase I all week, I invoked the vacation rule (diets do not apply), and ordered the Ghiradelli Chocolate Brownie a la Mode for dessert.
It was worth every last carb.
Most unexpected and most delightful was the live swing band. "Out of the Blue" were amazing musicians and thoroughly entertaining. The restaurant tacks a $5 cover for each person at your table, and it was well worth it. They crafted unique versions of some well-worn songs, standard and eclectic selections.
Sitting with my good friends, on vacation, with a good meal and good music and I was happier than a pig in mud.
Afterwards, as we do, we chatted up the band. We were also the only people left in the restaurant so there was no one else to talk to. Klaus got his picture took with an upright bass (so did RMJ).
I commented later that at the restaurant "RMJ got to stoke the bass," which when said aloud poolside with a bunch of lascivious queers takes on an entirely different meeting.Even thought we intended to rage Saturday night, the karaoke was pretty tragic, the Rainbow Cattle Club empty, and the Long Islands sufficiently strong that we were all out by 12:15.
We had brunch at Pat's diner in the morning. And ever with a local theme, we had Korbel mimosas (Korbel is made just down the road).
And we made it to Kings and Queens, the vintage store RMJ had wanted to see Saturday but it was closed. RMJ found passable black leather jacket that could be minimally amended to have a cutting edge SoMa leather look.
Then, of course, there was the fur cape.
And, you know, golden sequined shoes.
Upon closer inspection I noticed that it was not truly a fur cape, but a real fur stole that some queen had stitched to a large fake fur square with a creepy/crappy lining. Anyone stroking the upper half would think it was all genuine fur. Kinda clever, poorly executed, and entirely tacky. But you know how we are with capes.
Klaus and I left empty handed.
We returned to the Trippe R motel/"resort" to regroup. (RMJ insisted on referring to it as the R-R-R for two reasons: (1) he likes to sound like a pirate; and (2) we all got jollies from other people's expressions and immediate corrections.
We're like that.
The day was beautiful and everything was in bloom.
We decided that the day was hot enough and the sun was bright enough to spend the rest of the day happily soaking up rays poolside.
So very, very nice.As I've said, Klaus hadn't seen the sun since July, and it was snowing in Nashville. Poolside suited me just fine. And we were endlessly amused by my old friend David McCulloch (not the author, and "old" can be true in both senses),
his randy and incredibly beefy bf Mike,
and the little hottentot prancing about being pretty and playing hard-to-get with Mike.
This clinched the half-degree notion of the Gay Bay Area: the last time any of us were up at the Russian River/Guerneville we were with each other back in 2005. We took a break from the Grove to spend an afternoon poolside at Fife's. RMJ is thin and furry. Klaus is hairless and cur like the viking he is. I am of ample size and only took some comfort in the bearish company. Some pretty little twink in the pool gave us some attitude. I did the last thing he expected, which was to dive in clothed and dunk him. RMJ loves that story, and had recalled it when we first arrived.So, the last time we were all up here we were together, poolside, in 2005, and yet:
same twink by the pool. RMJ has kept up with Arthur over the years and he's back in the Bay area, although I never got it clear if he moved back from SoCal back to Guerneville or found a place to live in the City. But still--three years later and same pool boy. But he was pretty, and sweet sweet, or perhaps just pretty sweet.
RMJ can, and usually does, talk to anyone and everyone. There were the messy, messy gaysians from the City we met at dinner. The trying-to-look-ghetto white guy was wearing Fire Island wear which got RMJ's attention. The conversation pretty much came to a halt after he identified his Fire Island status as restaurant dishwasher. (Aside to me: "Honey, we don't talk to staff.") That, and they were drunken messes who clearly did not know how to behave properly in a venue that wasn't a drug-ridden gay ghetto disco.
While that conversation came to a fairly abrupt halt, another RMJ excursion blossomed into a new friendship. We all noticed Adauto for two reasons: (1) he's a sexy little Italian man and (2) he was wearing some of the sexiest leather shoes we'd ever seen and they looked less than two days old.
And yes, we are that gay.
Adauto had just returned from Argentina where he had the shoes made. A South America/Argentina/ BA lover, this topic was custom made for a RMJ introduction and conversation.
However, he could not own up to his own pedigree and "International Affairs" ( as I refer to his proclivities) as he had firmly established an alternate identity earlier and could not escape it.
RMJ was "Brock," a pizza-maker in the Outer Richmond. Klaus was "Lars" from Norway, in the states marketing winter sporting apparel. I was merely "Willo," and my job was the court-appointed consultant to Abercrombe &Fitch to make sure their wares are age-appropriate and their staff and marketing reflective of diversity. I cited several people as being far, far to old for their A&F wardrobe selections. Speaking purely as a professional I assure you.
I sucked at the Game of Alter Ego and would frequently slip when introducing or calling out to Brock and/or Lars.
Regardless, the
Brock, Richard (aka Marilyn) and AdautoAfter the sunset it was time to go home. RMJ suggested we drop off their stuff at his place and then we go directly to Sundance Sallon. RMJ goes from time to time just to watch me in my element and always has a good time. He thought it would be a fun something new and very non-Denmark for Klaus.
On the ride home, I was looking forward to stopping at the antique Tasty Freeze, this one called Foster's Freeze, in some tiny, tiny town on 116. RMJ and Klaus got strawberry shakes and flirted with the teenage boy behind the counter. I was very happy and nostalgic with just a classic soft-serve.
I did have to pop in the potty before continuing the drive home, and was surprised to see an antique BORAX soap dispenser, clearly an original fixture.
Even more surprising, it actually dispensed old, granulated soap powder.
I didn't know they even still made soap power for antique dispensers. It was a total time warp feeling for me (and obviously I thought it notable as I took pictures. Is that just me?)After a night of two-stepping--RMJ took to the floor once or twice and Klaus did not, but not for lack of invitation--we picked up Shilpa from the N at Duboce Park and hit the Badlands.
As usual, as asinine as the place is, it was a great deal of fun. Post-Sundance Sundays usually are, and Badlands time with Shilpa and RMJ always are.
What I had never seen before though, was the ever-demur Klaus getting his groove on:
Awwwwwsome.Shilpa was getting no lack of hassle on the dance floor ("Why do gay guys think they can just grab at all my parts?!") and Klaus was her
And now for a couple of shout outs:
First, a big Hey Hey to Lance and Rey!
Some lovin' to Jason.
And last, but never ever least, the tall and trim and always so kind hotness that is Matt. Get your ass on the dance floor.
And that, finally, was the end of the long weekend of fun.
You know, after Sparky's...
[flickr set]
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