Fabuous Harry, I love the feathers!

I am very blessed. When I invite people to a theme party, my friends freaking bring it.


Last night was so, so much fun, and thanks to all of you who made it that way.


Wow.

See the Flickr set.

Stories later. I'm off to another birthday dinner with Lance, Greg and Sam!

sk8r boi

Okay, the gay skate was awesome.

I had to laugh out loud when I realized I was having a skate birthday party. The last time I did that was in third grade with Frank Stafford.

And it was a good 110 degrees in there so the skating in the underwear was not so much a problem as a blessing. I was in typical baggy boxers and t-shirt. RMJ was appalled to be in his "budget" designer underpants, even though they displayed his "assets" quite prominently.

The staff at Rainbow Skate/Redwood City Roller Rink could not have been nicer. Cutie Brad greeted us at the door and gave me a free admission and skate rental for my birthday. Brad also made a birthday announcement to the skaters in their skivvies, giving me top billing over his own wedding announcement to the lovely and talented DJ Kim. Congratulations and an I'm Just Sayin' shout out to Brad and Kim.

Surprisingly, the first friendly face inside was a friend from country dancing, and there were several guys there I know from Sundance Saloon or just from being Out and about for 12 years.

A couple of points about roller skate parties at 38:

1. Thirty years later, my center of gravity has shifted upwards considerably. It's a much longer fall to bite it at 6'2" than it was at 4'2".
2. There is some sort of paradoxical irony in that alcohol is seems necessary for a gay underwear skating party, and yet also a necessary prohibition because balance and quick reflexes are necessary for skate survival.
3. In third grade, you don't care if you fall. Third-graders basically bounce. I was sure that if I fell I would break my wrist or something. It would most assuredly, at least, hurt like hell.
4. I successfully avoided a field test of point (3). However RMJ took some painful empirical data. (His ass is very sore today, "and not in the good way.")

I also regretted forgetting my camera, but I didn't even take in the iPhone for fear of shattering it when I busted my ass.

Skating on the four wheels is hard. Next time, and there will be a next time, I'm upgrading to the in-line skates.

When the gay underwear skate closed, and LORD it was hot in there, RMJ went in to the McDonald's across the street for a bite and an icy beverage. When we were ordereing at the counter, we saw the friends we were chatting up at the rink ordering at the window. They brought their drive-though order inside and joined us for a fun wind down.

Special shouts to the graceful and overly handsome dancing skating queens Dan and Alejandro.

................
Hope to see you boys tonight.

Extending the birthday tour, RMJ and I hit FratHouse at 440. En route, we saw a high homeless guy verbally harass and start a fight with a bunch of healthy and mostly muscled naked guys. One of the naked guys, well over 6' and solid, came ]this[ close to kicking the guy's ass. Stephen Yarbrough, whom we ran into on the street, correctly called it as a perfect YouTube moment.

Again, damn that I forgot the camera.

When I left an hour later to give Charlie a shout at Bandlands, the naked crew were still on the street, now being fawned over by straight girls. There were also next the omnipresent crazy beggar guy.


It struck me as odd that this sort of scene does not strike me, or any of the locals, as odd. The Castro can be crazy. I love this town. Where else can a couple of friends take a stroll on a rare warm summer night wearing nothing but flip flops and a cock ring? I'm not recommending it, nor am I similarly inclined. But I gotta celebrate a community that allows the option.

iDolatry

I don't know why this struck me as interesting or funny yesterday but it did.



A nun in full habit in the middle of the Apple Store auditorium, with MacBook Pro and iPhone out, tapping away.

Now THAT'S a birthday present

Excuse me. I have to step out for a minute...

Vodka spill staggers traffic on Highway 101

Via Alert Reader Coco.
(Co-Captain, Team Wilson)

"Ouch"

is not a safe word.

I'm just sayin'.

it's not about giving, it's about sharing

It's my birthday! Woo hoo. What am I doing at work? And working hard even?

I learned today (did I know already and just forgot?) that I share this birthday with Paul Rubens/Pee Wee Herman!

I'm happy to share. It's all about sharing.

I kid of course.

Gimme.

three words rarely seen in the same invitation

Oh sure, there's Project Runway tonight. And I loves me some PRINGO, but RMJ has extended a pre-birthday invitation.

RMJ and PD both stretch their birthday all-about-me's into a month. I should be able to enjoy a Labor Day weekend of all-about-me'ness.

RMJ has invited me, and one presumes my car, to Rainbow Skate in Menlo Park.

I's the last Wednesday of the month. That means it's Gay Underwear Roller Skating!

I guess that's four words. I tend to think of "roller skating" as a single idea. Or a hyphenate.

But still. That's an invitation.

I checked out the web site. And then clicked to the photos. Two things:

(1) They're kind of tragic.
and
(2) I could identify three people I know personally.

Keep on Truckin'

Update to the Feathers and Fringe night tomorrow night:

It is not only Bar AIDS, but it is Truck's usual "Poser" night. There will be a red carpet, photo ops, and limo/car service to and from the Castro every 15 to 20 minutes.

you can't get there from here

I have been a regular Southwest passenger for the 12-plus years I've lived in SF because they are the only ones with a non-stop from anywhere in the Bay Area to Nashville. And even that is out of Oakland. I always wondered why they did not have more than one non-stop as for over a decade, every flight I've taken OAK to BNA or back has been overbooked.

I only participate in credit cards and programs that earn me flight credits on Southwest, so I can make it home for Christmas at reasonable rate. This past year, Southwest has really screwed participants in their Rapid Rewards programs, becoming the sort of red-taped, overly-restrictive, and inflexible "benefits" program they used to mock.

Now, adding injury to insult, Southwest has canceled the Nashville/Oakland flight (among others). From Sacramento to San Jose, there are no direct routes to Nashville anymore.

As if air travel wasn't annoying enough.

Rest in Peace Del Martin

I have been impressed that some national news outlets have covered Del Martin's passing. I'm not holding my breath for NBC, who wouldn't even cover the spectacular personal story, record-breaking gold medal win and fantastic upset (in Men's diving) by the only out gay (male) Olympian Matthew Mitchum.

I was particularly touched by this press release from Mayor Gavin Newsom:

Today, San Francisco lost a local and national leader, Del Martin.

For over half a century, Del Martin, along with her loving spouse, Phyllis Lyon, served as an activist for women’s rights and the LGBT community. The marriage of Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon on June 16, 2008, marked an historic milestone on our country’s road to true freedom and equality. Del laid the groundwork for all those who want a life of dignity, and we are forever in her debt. The greatest way we can honor the life work of Del Martin, is to continue to fight and never give up, until we have achieved equality for all.

Our deepest sympathies go out to Del’s family, her spouse, Phyllis, her daughter, Kendra, and all those who mourn the loss of this great and pioneering woman.

As a mark of respect for Del Martin, I have ordered the flags at City Hall and the LGBT Pride Flag on Market and Castro Streets to be flown at half-staff from now until sunset, on Thursday, August 28, 2008.

remember, when jumping

(or being pushed) from a moving car, it's (1) tuck, and (2) roll.

I'm just sayin'.

boa constrictors

See you Thursday at Truck.



Links to Bar AIDS, the Stop AIDS Project, and Truck.

to all of those guys who came up to me on Sunday

and told me how much they love my shirt and that they love Gone With the Wind...


Get a Clue.

And I'll be waiting for you in the conservatory, with a lead pipe.

Sunday brunch

is for gossip.

fancy pants

I finally got me some RoMo time this weekend. Between our two travel schedules, there has been no super happy RoMo HoMo times in over a month (not since SubLime). I was going through withdrawal.

The loosey-goosey time-indeterminate that is the Spanish/Latin scheduling and lack of protocol proved too much for RoMo and he had to cut loose from the lovely Latinos in order to successfully work in three commitments with a hopeful SoMa finale. Which was lucky for me as it meant I could get in some quality socializing with RMJ. I traded my plan for the Trannyshack Kiss Off (which I was sad to miss) for another theme.

RMJ and I had a social engagement in the Castro and regrouped at Twin Peaks before the next stop, a annual Fancy Pants party in Potrero Hill with the AoF crowd. Now, RMJ knows that being invited to a fancy pants party last minute is not so much a challenge for me. It's not so much trouble to find fancy pants in my closet, as it is to choose the most suitable pair.

Now I can bring it to a fancy pants party. The trick is wearing a pair that translates appropriately to pre-parties, post-parties, and a late night leather tour of Folsom Street. I chose the blue jeans with blue glitter embroidery I made for this year's Post Holiday Blues Party.

While we were enjoying our Mandarin and sodas in the window of Twin Peaks and watching the costumed throng of theater goers headed to the Castro Theater for the Sing-a-long Little Mermaid, we spied to handsome gents in ridiculous plaid golf pants. We were reasonably sure we would see them later at the same function. if not, God bless them.

Now, the hosts for Fancy Pants are lovely, kind gents. The crowd was very AoF and RMJ and I stopped running in that circle a few years ago. I can't knock anyone in particular (well, I can but won't), and I hesitate to comment here at all, its just that that particular social circle has always seemed to me to be too false, to preoccupied with social climbing/ standing/ status/ or money.

I mean, I came from high society. I can socialize and socialite like riding a bike (hell, the society page asked me to be a hat judge at the races this year). But there is something around the AoF events though that seems rather forced. There is a strong background murmur of uneasy superiority, and an arrogance masking an underlying insecurity. Too often that artificial smugness manifests itself in an exclusivity based on body-fascism. And being more "bear" than "body," I just find the pretension unmerited and unpleasant.

They are all, almost universally, very nice to look at. Someone once told me when I moved here that "muscle queens rarely date outside their own species," and the attention span at these function reflects that attitude at times. At one point, one guy actually said to me, "you're not hot enough for me to be talking to" and brushed past.

I appreciate honesty and am secure enough in my own merits that it didn't really bother me, but for fuck's sake, that was such a loser thing to say. And unfortunately I felt as if he had merely verbalized what a lot of the other plastics were thinking.

Okay, for not wanting to talk about that I seem to have rambled. Suffice it to say, as much as I love socializing, socialites, and hot, wealthy guys in tight clothes-- I am not always excited to receive such an invitation. That, and there is often too many drugs for my taste. When we saw this sign outside:


We thought, "no kidding."

That having been said, this party featured both the unpleasantly plastic and the wonderfully friendly, and RMJ and I wisely spent out time with the latter.

Our hosts were, as always, the life of the party and exceptionally gracious.


Wes referred to his pants pattern as "glamouflage." Awesome.

We also happened to meet the cute boys who had fancy-pants pranced before the Twin Peaks window about an hour before.


And our fancy pants:


(You'll have to click to embiggen to see my glitter designs.)

I had had a coffee/lunch date that afternoon with Oklahoma J. I was the one who asked him out, but after a couple of phone calls it was clear this would not advance to a romantic relationship. I of course kept the date though, as to do otherwise would not have been gentlemanly. I prefer tempered honesty and a strong non-verbal to game play and machination.

I think it would be unkind to enumerate the disparities here, so I'll just highlight these points of my view: (1) it's not a good idea to talk about marriage, rings, and buying a house together before the first date; (2) I need someone who not only enjoys parties and urban adventure, but can hold their own in a room full of people they don't know; (3) offensive drag can be performance art when done right; don't knock it, (4) there is too much adventure to be enjoyed in the City to spend endless hours in online role-playing fantasy games, and (5) coffee and vodka are staples.

The nail in the coffin was the question: "What's Project Runway?"

RMJ and I spent some time talking about dating and relationships and reasons why don't do much of either. For me, it came down to this: if I'm going to date someone, they are going to have to get the joke.

And they'll understand what that sentence means. (RMJ knows. Kevin knows. Shilpa knows. It's a get it or don't thing that can't be explained.)

I say all of this because Don totally gets the joke. That's him on the left.


I don't date much; I'm too busy and otherwise engaged with life already. But I asked Don out. RMJ and I had another party to get to and a deadline for arrival, so I had to be a bit forward about it. Hopefully I was still charming even on an aggressive schedule. He has my card, and hopefully is checking up on me— which will likely include reading this.

So there.

Call me.

Now, on to the next stop:

The next stop was at 7th and Market: Mr. Smith's for a private birthday party. I will say Mr. Smith's is a very cool space. The door guy kept the crowd to a manageable shoulder to shoulder without it being too dense. The Victorian lounge space was a warm mix of vintage and modern with high ceilings and a loft, as well as a underground club space. The crowd was very young 20s straights, predominately white and predominately pretty. But very young, and most of the guys wore the same uniform of stripped dress shirts, or over-embroidered button-downs, strategically untucked.

RMJ and I had our non-verbals honed and navigated this appearance and disappearance with aplomb. It's so nice to have close friends with a shared shorthand, be it code words or shared glance.

By now it was closing in on one o'clock, and we wrapped up the evening with a Folsom crawl. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to wardrobe for three City events, one themed, and South of Market? God I'm good.) After several stops we stayed at Chaps. We took the space with the fewest people and made the most fun.

Highlights:

• Me to Andrew, out of drag, trying desperately to pick up a solid daddy, "Excuse me, aren't you Tiger Lily?" Tiger and I work together at Rodeo events and booze booths.
• Tober Brandt, muscled porn star who has gone over the top with the ink and the horns and the hair and firmly ensconced in the land of WTF as our barback.
• Meeting the diminutive professional flogger (i.e. that's his occupation.)
• Watching the professional flogger get worked over with his own flog by the "expert" bartender.
• Snatch, fresh from her show at Marlena's, defining fierce.
• Crosswalk exchange: RMJ to tall, muscled, leather man in the middle of the street hailing a cab, "Where are you off to handsome?" "Home. I have to eat and go to bed." Judging by his glassy eyes, forming that sentence was a Herculean effort. Then calling out his shorter buddy, who was feigning modesty and hanging out at Powerhouse wearing a sweatshirt. "But this unzips..." RMJ demonstrates revealing nothing underneath. Shyly he responded "Yeah, okay, this comes off...."
  
• Getting molested and bitten on the street corner by said hottie with the zip off sweatshirt who was jonesing for me as a "big guy" (That certainly erased any bad taste left over from the muscled disdain I felt at the earlier party.)
  
• The professional flogger trying to rip off RMJ's investment couture shirt that seemed to be made from mosquito wings, gossamer, and hope; and RMJ crying out: "Delicate fabric! Delicate fabric!"
• Running into Mickey D. on the sidewalk, the FedEx guy I had a crush on back in 1997.
  
• The professional flogger inviting us to join him after the bar closed at the MACK Folsom Prison Sex Club, where he had to go to work. Invitation politely given and politely declined. I know my limits.
  

Home by 3:00, happy, sated, and sober. It was a good night.

orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Will has been collection bits of Orange.

As in safety orange. His wet suit is orange. The Pig III Champion shirt was orange. And he is fascinated but the loud "safety" orange thing.

He loved the pic of the UT orange beer and wants a case.

So now whenever I see orange colored stuff, I think of will.

I took these photos with my iPhone when we were out Thursday night after Sundance.

I feel for the poor students who huddle in croups around the city wearing corporate costumes and team-shilling products. They know they have crappy jobs. But I am also annoyed by them.

But the Dell adversing band were wearing orange hoodies so I took a photo.


I was stopped by one of the "Get a more powerful PC guys" and unintentionally responded to the pitch with a bit of snark.

"Do you need a more powerful PC?"
"I have a more powerful PC. It's called a 'Mac.'"

Then I felt like a dick because he backpedaled into the whole "it's not really about the computer but saving lives in Africa. Have you heard of the (RED) campaign?"

Of course I had, but then he tried pushing the Dell (RED) computers and I disengaged. I had cowboys to meet at 440.

In front of 440 the Stop AIDS coach was there and volunteers were taking surveys, offering advice, and offering free STD testing on the spot. Leading this healthy band was my favorite leather boy and kink consultant Jorge.



Will would get a kick out of Jorge. Not only was he wearing a bright orange hunting parka, he had a mohawk to match.

Ode to the Copy Editor

And internal letter at the Washington Post, extolling the importance of copy editors.

No surprise: it's well written.

And worth reading.

All's fair in love and wharf

At the rodeo, Skot Land heard about the night that Shilpa and I bailed on an unfun party in the South Bay and entertained ourselves by pouring whore's coffees and touring Fisherman's Wharf and making scenes in front of tourists.

He wanted in.

So we scheduled a Fisherman's Wharf night with Skot last Friday. His partner David was able to join us at the last minute.

Being a work day, we got a late start in the evening and didn't head out until around 8:30. We also needed a "running start" (what we call pre-drinking) before hitting the docks. Conjuring a cool joint between SoMa and Fisherman's Wharf, I thought of Ginger's Trois, which I had heard had once again re-opened.

I loved Ginger's Trois. But now it has been reborn as just "Ginger's" and has none of the character of the original. Gone are the mismatched design themes, which can best be described as the Dark Disco episode of The Love Boat, guest starring Tom of Finland.

Yeah. Kinda effed up. And therefore, lots of fun.

It's a little too square now. It's trying to be cool in an black walled, warm lights and light jazz sort of way. And way too straight.

But the bar is well stocked and the bartender tonight was young and overdosed on the pretty.

(It's not that great a shot, but trust me. Hot otter.)

I was beginning to regret bringing my crew here, I have an urban alternative reputation to uphold, when the next crew entered with flair: a birthday party of fun gay men in their 40s and 50s decked out as Pimps and Hos, complete with bearded, muscled, furry men in drag, spandex, 70s afros, and thank God feathers.

Nothing sells a 70's ho drag costume like spandex trimmed with feathers.

I'm just sayin'.

I tried to take a surreptitious photo through the mirror at the bar...

But later, of course, we became friends.

These guys were much fun. I sorted of bonded with Billy, the boy on the right below, who was marvelously entertaining.

His friend in the black dress was very proud of his outfit even though he looked like a pirate (Which I was strictly forbidden to mention above a whisper.). Her name was "Celestial Seasons." I renamed her "Incestual Seasons" which somehow seemed more apt.

When we left, Billy was in the bathroom. As I said goodbye to the pimps and hos, I said, "Tell Billy I said 'Don't be a hero!'"

Woosh. Right over their heads.

Some final words on leaving the new Ginger's: It's not finished yet, and a non-random sample has found that the patrons aren't fans of the new look. The back areas is smaller, and they've walled over one of the bathrooms. The bathroom that is there is unfinished. It has a paper towel dispenser, but the industrial roll of towels is sitting atop it. There is no wastebasket, so the floor is littered with rough-torn towels. And the floor isn't covered yet-- it's just plywood.

With loose features. That did add a festive feel to the under construction bathroom.

The door didn't latch properly either. So I snapped this pic of the fit an furry bartender for a special friend of mine.

You know who you are.

Shilpa made the good point that we were probably too late to have a good tourist night. Last time we started late afternoon/early evening on a Saturday. Nine o'clock on a Friday was a bit late to go to the Wharf because the tourists "will be going to bed. They have a big day tomorrow! Coit Tower by 7:30, Alcatraz reservations. They'll be tucking in soon."

It was true, but the time we got to the Wharf most of the shops had closed and the tourist crowd had thinned considerably. However, the remaining population did not disappoint, and we had ample samples of pretty farm boys to ogle, tacky couples to mock, tragic, haggard chain smokers to cringe at, 80's/eurofashions to amuse, and closet cases to eye f'ck as they held hands with their girlfriends.

And Shilpa looked good shaking what her mama gave her. We were happy if not warm strollers with our whore's coffees. Skot and David bought San Francisco tourist hoodies-- popular with the visitors who do not expect it to be 55 degrees in California in August.

There weren't that many photo opportunities, except for the obvious and silly. And Shilpa has several from our foraging in the Rainforest Cafe. I'll link to her photos when she uploads them.

There was this kid of a street artist with a baby mohawk.

Sadly, it looked more like a skid mark.

As long as we were playing cheesy tourists, we thought the most appropriate place to get a bite to eat and watch some of the Olympics would be: Hooters.


Shilpa but those bitches to shame.

And way to go Matthew Mitcham!! That was awesome to see.

The best part of the night was the finale: We ended up at the Cinch on Polk Street. It was a Playboy Bunny-themed night (not sure what was the tie-in), and the hostess was talented.

The first number we walked in on though, was beyond tragic and into scary and shameful.

She was just old, hairy, not made up, and had no act. It was basically a man in a corset and panties lip-syncing to a bad ballad. He had some sort of panty hose under his panties, but the top of which was below the hip line and it just kept pulling it crotch down lower and lower. Her act could not be over soon enough.

But a few numbers later, we were rewarded for our patience. I did not get her name, but her act was FIERCE.

She was hilarious. She lip synced to a recording of herself singing her own version of Oleta Adams' Get Here If You Can. Enjoying a late night a good performance drag at the Cinch brought on deep pangs of missing Barney. I didn't think to record the number until the second verse, but I managed to get a couple of minutes of the song.

Audio is very much NSFW.



That pretty much capped the night, and we did not seek to improve the evening for fear of disappointment...other than hot, fresh donuts at Bob's.

suffering the suffrage

Are you effing kidding me? Debra the Democrat? Have you seen this ad? I won't link to the YouTube version here because I don't want the ad to have any more hits.

There is an official McCain ad featuring a female Hillary democrat who is now campaigning for McCain because Hillary didn't get the party nomination.

The Hillary Hold Outs have gone from annoying to pissing me off. And I blame Hillary, and Bill, for egging them on. The footage coming out of her stops is appalling. She still wants people to write her in at the convention. She can't let it go. She claims on the record to have thrown her support behind Obama, but in private she still claims that she should be the candidate. Even in public speeches ostensibly to support the party and the candidate, she still refers to Obama as "my opponent."

Yeah, that's supportive.

And the group "Hillary Now" plans to protest their own convention. How is that helping the party or the nation?

I have never been more glad to be gay. At the risk of sounding misogynistic, I am so happy I never have to date or marry a woman. The remaining Hillary supporters are nothing more than a mob of jilted women who are still upset they didn't get their way. Let it go already.

A writer at Salon had an interesting take on it--basically they (the Hillary Hold Outs) are still clinging--basically still carrying on the argument long after the issue has been decided and the other side has lost interest, and yes I am making a marital comparison here--because these women feel that they have not been given enough attention, feel that they have not been properly heard, and feel like they have not been sufficiently understood.

And by now, guess what. We don't care. And I may be opening a huge can of worms here, but it's so annoying. You, the Hillary Hold Outs, have lost any credibility and respect and no one should pay any attention to you. When you were reasonable, maybe. Now you just sound like a bunch of chicks no man would want to date.

For a Hillary Democrat to support McCain is illogical, irrational, and blatantly against stated values and self-interest.

It's just jilted and bitter. And they should be ignored.

Of course, their feeling ignored is what got their panties in a wad in the first place.

end rant.

social networking

Enough is enough. Friendster, Connexion, MySpace, FaceBook, etc.

I'm not creating a profile for another social networking site.

Except maybe SitOnMyFaceBook, which I cannot believe does not exist yet.

cake walk

I'm turning 38 next week.

I don't know what I want to do for my birthday. The day of, we'll do something for Bar AIDS, but for me I dunno.

I do want a cake.

Mmmm...caaaaake.

I've always been a bigger fan of the cake than of the icing, and it seems that every year cakes are more icing-centric than cake-focused. I was worried that the cake we ordered to celebrate Dad's birthday at the lake would kill him. We carted it from a specialty bakery in Nashville and it sort of shifted in transit. I sculpted some if it back together, but the icing was so "old fashioned" it seemed to be made from lard or shortening--I couldn't get it to wash off my hands it was so greasy. That cake was a heart attack with food coloring.

Of course, everyone loved it. I just ate the cake.

And when it comes to taking the cake, as it were, there is nothing better than Cake Wrecks.

My favorite theme: people who can "read" English but do not "understand" English.


That, and the misuse of "quotes."

The baby cakes are just creepy.

So take note: Me likey cake. Me not so likey icing. Me likey chocolate. Me not so likey cakes made to look like newborns.

next?

Oh, the dangers of the "next blog" button.

From Alert Reader Shilpa Patel:

I was on your blog this am. And decided to hit "next blog"

Wow.

http://tamangparkas.blogspot.com/

Click through at your own risk. ARSP and I were fascinated.

W. T. F.

It's called "Love me."

Is he desperate for love? Is it love from him? (But that would imply a comma.) Why does he never smile?


Love the fresco. Love the sandals. I will love you.

It seems to be a lot of posts of airbrushed images he thinks are "beautiful," but are creepy gifs made for "thanks for the add" sort of comments to MySpace.

Like this one:


I was amazed there was an artist's logo watermark at the top. Someone wants to take blame credit for this?

What's more, there's the additional watermark of the warehouse host site commentcherry.com.

That shit is just wrong. This must be nirvana for the millions of MySpace lonely strangers calling each other "friends."

In an independent vote, ARSP and I both thought this was the best one.


Actually, what I wrote was, "This 1 is my fave 4 it."

Thanks for the add.

tip of the hat, wag of the finger

Text message from Margaret, currently on vacation:

I am in a London pub pondering circumcision. Any thoughts?

My reply: Cut c*k tastes better.

I think it's best to be honest and open about questions like this. Victorian or puritanical postures are not helpful in these conversations. And I totally stole my answer from Dan Savage's book The Kid. Where I use the comment as an argument in favor, Dan worked the reasoning into an argument against.

I don't know what prompted this pondering. Maybe Margaret's being hit on by some local blokes and curious about the whole thing as the American boys I imagine in her experience would tended to have been and most Britons are not.

Maybe it's something else. I don't know what kind of pub she is in.

Mac and Emily had to have the do or don't discussion when Leland was born. We've all been general fans of the circumcision, but when they learned that circumcision also lowers the rate of STD, HIV, and other infections, that clenched the deal.

I know some people love foreskin, and some not so much. And some people have serious, adamant opinions on the topic. The zealous, in my experience, tend to fall in the "don't mutilate," anti-circumcision camp.

Any thoughts? Anyone feel like commenting on the topic for Marge?

Best Buck in the Bay 2008

And now for the video compilation from the Rodeo weekend. It has three parts so feel free to skip ahead.



As usual, a high-quality version in multiple sizes is online in the gallery (some of these boys really need to be seen in a better resolution than YouTube!). As are photos from the pool party and Saturday and Sunday at the grounds. See also Flickr sets Gay Rodeo 2008, pool party, and Buckin' Ball.

vacation slideshows

are much more entertaining since Apple come out with iMovie.

I'm sure the copyright police at YouTube will flag this video for using these songs. We'll see how long it stays up. Fun times:

Update (12/05/08): The copyright cops at YouTube have in fact blocked the video. Usually if you use a song or clip and their software picks it up, they just notify you that someone else has the copyright, and that they're now going to run ads with the playing page. This time they blocked it all together.

I think this falls under fair use but whatever.

As of now, the better-quality Quicktime version is still up in the gallery.

Let's see if Blogger can handle it:

the real estate market really sucks

so much so that it tore through time and space and a micro-gravity singularity, or small wormhole, formed in this Texas house and sucked it inside out and through.


Brilliant art installation by Dan Havel and Dean Ruck. Via IO9 and David Airy.

yea, though I walk through the valley

Tonight at the Castro Theater: Valley of the Dolls!

I'll be playing PRINGO tonight else I would have gathered another crowd. A couple of years ago I got 10 to 12 folks together for a weekend matinee. Seeing Valley of the Dolls at the Castro Theatre was HILARIOUS. For fags, this show is a comedy. Like Mommie Dearest.

That, and I stopped at the Castro Walgreens earlier and filled a dozen or so pill bottles with tic-tacs. We shared them around the theater and kept popping "dolls." People were freaked out.

Or asked for some.

Only after getting a few in their hands did some think to ask, "What are these?" before popping them.

So much fun.

siesta fiesta

From Alert Reader Barney May:

Taking it well past the Napmosphere, some Spanish (Barcelona) hotels are offering four star napping.

For a mere EUR 75, you get a four-star room, and access to the spa, gym, rooftop pool, and other amenities from 1:00 to 5:00 PM.

If the dollar weren't worthless, this would be worth it!

And I know some boys who would, shall we say, maximize this opportunity.

and in local news...

I forgot that while we were at the lake, brother Jay drove out one morning to check out the fishing guide scene and get coffee and a morning paper.

We were surprised that the very rural area could support a local daily. We all enjoyed reading "the paper." Personally, I was troubled by the graphic design. And the font choices were all over the place. Let me share with you the "news" of the day:

As I mentioned before, the Tennessee Riven Run began while we were there. That's a big deal for these parts and is rightly featured above the fold.

The "news" from there on is more meager.

A story from a guy remembering his grief when Roy Rogers died, ten years ago. And take a moment to check out those frames from, say, forty years ago at best.

This is what some in the biz call "a slow news day."

"Wow, the crime rate in this city is off the scale..."

This I just found creepy. MUST. WORSHIP. MUST. WORSHIP. This is the heading for TWO PAGES of church listings. In nine-point type. There were no non-Christian faiths listed.

This belongs in a news paper?

I wanted to take out an ad reading "Suck it Jesus."

But seriously: Slow. News. Day.

Um...what? Nothing says "summer" like sandwiches? Here I am thinking summer is all about warm weather, kids being out of school, swimming, vacations, long sunny days and hot summer nights.

Nope. summer is about sandwiches. Because, you know, you can't even get a PB&J after Labor Day.

There was a crossword, but no sodoku. That foreign numbers business just reeks of the communism.