air pressure

Well, whatever that was, it was a bitch to shake. I've heard of several people coming down with nasty bugs these past weeks, and while this was intense fever and body aches, thankfully there were no nausea or other typical flu-related symptoms. And I did get a flu shot this year.

Whatever it was pumped up my temperature something serious, but when the thermometer read 114, I called a friend to bring me a new thermometer. It also made my airway contract, almost like the allergies/croop of my youth, and when a pneumonia formed, it really made it hard to breathe. It took me days to see a doctor, and only then because I resorted to a trip to the ER. Based on this experience with UCSF, and feedback from my friends, when open enrollment comes I'm switching to Kaiser.

I'm not at 100% but am feeling much better. Still can't workout or exert myself overmuch (or laugh) without a coughing fit. I've got a stack of topics to back blog and I'm finally lucid enough to get to the backlog of work so blogging, as it has since Dad died, is off the stove waiting to get warmed on the back burner.

One thought as I return to work with the cough and now sniffles—I went to the supply room for more tissues and noted the corporate packaging on the Kleenex. Is this graphic on the box entirely necessary? As if we don't know what to do with Kleenex. is the non-brand-name "facial tissue" so confusing consumers will be stymied? Either someone hosted a photo shoot to get good pics of a girl blowing her nose, or a stock photo company hosted a photo shoot to get a good pic of a girl blowing her nose. Either way, ew. And stupid.

All I can think of when I see this illustration is the common breakfast cereal caption "serving suggestion."

downtime

Hey. I'm down with the rocking pneumonia and the boogie boogie flu. My fever finally broke last night. But I'm still out and no posts for a while. Y'all go enjoy the amazing sunshine and February summer going on outside.

land sakes

While I have been considerably more of a homebody since Jan 2, I still haven't managed to carve out quality sitting still time. My "to read" stack is now going on a year old and is waist high. The James invited me up to the Land in Napa for an afternoon of quit contemplation, reading, and writing. I was happy to have some time alone with James and my own thoughts-- no phone, no internet, few distractions from the idyll.

Even though it has been a dangerously dry winter, there has been just enough rain to turn a bit of the trees and hillside green. The Spanish moss is thriving and enhances the otherworldly feel that is The Land.




As it turns out, instead of an all day along thing it turned out to be a late afternoon/ evening thing along with Circle R & Linx (our hosts) and Special K, the superlatively awesome girlfriend of The James. Not the original plan, but perhaps even a better one.  Also consider that Circle R built a fantastic (i.e. a thing of fantasy) tree house bar.

Seriously.


Love The Land.

And it's pretty amazing after the sun goes down too. It was so clear even the evening star shows up in a photo from my point-and-shoot.


I needed to make it back to the City for an nighttime event, but I stayed long enough to take in the...experience...that is Turtle Rock.

In my 15 years in SF, I have learned that if you are given advice you do not understand, just file it away and it will make sense later. The Bay Area is almost like the land of Faerie in Stardust—it's a patchwork of surreal places which abut each other in dramatic fashions and rarely overlap. Earlier in the day Linx told me, from experience, not to be tempted to pull the dollar bills down. Sure. Okay. Fine.

Oh.


The hallmark of Turtle creek is that they are the only social establishment for miles around. They have a mini, mini mart of sorts in the back, and essentials—like sunscreen, bug repellent, and condoms, for sale above the bar. And they serve two things: liquor and egg rolls. Really. Even the neon says so.


It's a family-owned-for-generations sort of place, and feels it. And due to its heritage, dominoes are a big deal too. I was impressed by the full bar. And the egg rolls, as foretold, are not to be missed.

Also available for purchase, novelty sex toys for only 50 cents in the bathroom. James and K took their chances on the "Collect All Six" option...


...and received what at first looked like a tiny novelty eraser, the kind you would find by the bag in Japantown, in the shape of a miniature vagina.


Ultimately we determined, and this is our best guess here, that it was a finger tip tickler.


Sexy.

forget me what

My older boss, in jest, while having trouble with a sentence and forgetting something simple: "Sorry. Early onset Alzheimer's."
Me: "It's not that early."

work it out to the right

Okay. Enough's enough. The kummerspeck got out of control and I've had to switch wardrobes with my brother, who spent last year losing 90 pounds while I gave 40 of them a good home.

I hit the wall. Enough stress. Enough wallowing. Back to business.

So two weeks ago I joined the JCC Fitness Center across the street form my new job. It's costing me five times what I paid for a 24 Hour Fatness membership, which I never used. And it's worth every penny.

I hated 24 Hour. The gay vibe was either predatory or disdainful, usually both. Working out next to actual porn stars and muscle queens I felt fatter and fatter and more and more worthless. A workout at the 24 Hour at Church and Market would leave me feeling worse about myself, not better. I'd gain weight from going to 24 Hour because it would depress me to the point I'd be inclined to a pint of Ben and Jerry's as self-medication.

Sure, there JCC Fitness Center is pricey, but it is worth it. The facility is superlatively clean, impeccably staffed, fully featured, and refreshingly spacious. And if there is any attitude, is generally imperceptible. I get to work out, shower without self-consciousness, and get a swim, jacuzzi, steam or sauna if I'd like without undercurrent. I'm loving working out, maybe for the first time.

As it is the Jewish Community Center, it is a fervently Jewish place. I started to feel a little antisemitic in that I was uncomfortable with the level of religion surrounding me, until I realized I would feel even more uncomfortable in a Baptist or any other fervently Christian space. It's not the Judiasm that makes me uncomfortable, it's any overt display of religion. Blame it on a lifetime of relgion-based gay bashing.  I suddenly felt more secure that it was a Jewish space, as American Christians these days are just a comfy chair away from the Spanish Inquisition.

I still do not have my routine down, however. And I need some more suitable workout shirts as I seem to have gotten too large for previous wardrobe (hence the working out). And in my haste to pack a bag in the morning, I tend to forget things. Wednesday I managed to make myself leave work at a decent hour, although late, and get to the locker room, carefully fold up the suit, change completely, and lock up before sitting down to put on my shoes.



Well....shit.

Not that this also is not without precedent. Mismatched shoes I would have endured. Two right feet? Not so much. At least I remembered a swimsuit. I could do laps without shoes. But still, Wilson, focus.

special fish

You snapper taco.



You brought her.

Being gay, I'd prefer to snapper burrito.



Filed under: Snicker, We are 12.

It's Valentine's season, and I'm not wearing any pants.

Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco fifty years ago, and the rest of us are still looking for our pants.

It was a festive, and not entirely single, Valentine's weekend in SF. About a dozen bars hosted a Castro-wide pajama party on Saturday night, billed as the First Annual Pajama Jam. You know me. I'm a party joiner. Hunter, my new buddy and bear bar wing man, was game. He was a bit worried though about dressing up. At first he was nervous about a pajama party, because he sleeps in the nude. I had to clarify that this wasn't a "come as you sleep" party—even though I did wear my actual sleep clothes (comfy!)—but rather "costume." This was advertised as a neighborhood slumber party.

Furthermore, there was some stress on Hunter's part that if we dressed up, and no one else did, we would look foolish. He asked, "What happens if we show up and we're the only ones in pajamas?"  My answer was simple, "Then we OWN it."  In my opinion, if we show up in a bar in our pajamas, that makes us the cool ones.  And empirical data backs me up on this.  It's not like this is without precedent.

Hunter was on board.  And even asked to include another new friend of his whom he met via Scruff.  The more the merrier, although sadly, he turned out to be NPLU and too timid to leave the house in PJs.  Sad face.

Parking on 18th, the Edge was our first stop, and we didn't get 15 feet before seeing friendly faces in the slumber gear.  My amazing body worker Alex was one of the first friends I saw in sleepwear.  On the corner with his friend Barrett, I tried to get another patron to take a photo, but there was a fairly steady parade of bedtime beauties walking by and it proved a challenge to get us all looking at the camera at the same time.


While our plan was for a Castro Crawl, we didn't make it to many bars. We started at the Edge, which was definitely a bar in the spirit of things. Love my gays. This one I did not know, but I loved his style. The pink foam curlers really made the bed set.



Hunter and Craig are a little shy, and we started out the night merely people watching and making commentary.  When a fuscia-haired mad woman in a fur cap made her way loudly through the bar with a young cuter behind her dressed in a white onesie in her wake, Craig said, "My God... would you look at that woman..."

To which I cried, "Wilma!"  Love the Wilma.  (Some folks also call me Wilma, and we are most certainly a party of two.)  Accompanying Wilma was the ridiculously adorable Kris, a visiting English lad who was most in theme in a Where the Wild Things footsie pajama set complete with hood and tail.  He made it himself, and brought along pastel fabric markers for people to comment on the fuzzy, fleecy fabric should they be so inclined.  Hunter and Greg thought he was in a bunny costume, and from then on he has affectionately been referred to as The Bunny.



The Bunny sensed an immediate intimacy with me and sought some personal advice fairly early on in our relationship.  "What do you know about cock rings?"  He had never worn one before, and someone had given him one for the night to, shall we say, help put his best foot forward.  He asked if I might check it out for him and being the kind and generous soul (yes, that's what I'm going with) that I am, I obliged.

Good heavens am I glad I did.  Someone gave him a thick gauge black disposable rubber ring whose diameter was such that I was surprised his bits and pieces hadn't already shriveled up and fallen off from band ligation.  I quickly said, "Oh dear.  That has got to come off.  No wonder you're in pain.  Let's go next door and get you a proper one."  I had to take a moment for how much I love this town:  I'm at a neighborhood party, celebrating in theme and costume, enjoying friends, invited to inspect a cutie's cuties, and was going to pop next door to the greeting card, gift and adult toy store, owned by a rodeo friend, to shop for a steel cock ring with as much nonchalance and neighborly charm as borrowing a cup of sugar.  The Bunny was a guest in SF after all, and being an (im)proper host is just good manners.

The ring shopping was, as you might imagine, a bit surreal.  But entirely amusing. He needed to try on a couple of sizes, and he took my advice as to style and substance. He also asked for my assistance in the fitting and it was all rather clinical and matter-of-fact, as if he were merely trying on a shirt at Macy's. I half expected him to ask me if that cock ring made him look fat. (Well, yes—but in the good way.)  At one point I had to pick up something he dropped and I found myself down on one knee and offering him a ring.

This was all so... so sudden...

And it was at this moment that Hunter and Craig came in looking for us.

Where the Wild Things Are indeed.

Appropriately girded, I returned The Bunny to Wilma and rejoined Hunter and Craig. The Bunny and I were to enjoy each other's company repeatedly along the crawl, although even the Engergizer can get over-served. Hunter, Craig and I closed down 440, coming full circle by hanging out with Alex and Barrett with whom we started the adventure. And shout to Barrett for party jammin' my Pajama Jam.

Sunday morning I enjoyed a pre-Warren Helman memorial Bluegrass Brunch at the Hotel Utah with Mike Anderson and Misispi Mike (LOVE to Gilly). The rave review of the new menu, new chef, and Rocking Robert will be posted next.

Sunday night completed the Valentine's-themed weekend with Sundance Saloon's annual Sweethearts Ball and underwear party: "Boots, Bras and Briefs."



It's Valentine's. I'm single. And I am not wearing any pants.

Oh San Francisco, won't you be mine?

for Christ's sake...

I think it would be awesome to watch Obama hold a press conference and tell the Catholic Church to STFU on birth control and gays until they stop raping kids.

Story: Catholic Priest Allegedly Told Child He Was Raping That ‘This Is What God’s Love Feels Like’

the one without the vampire pompadour, humpy werewolf, and terrible actress

I have been greedily consuming the extra shreds of daylight we've been getting as we flee from the solstice towards the vernal equinox. I love that the days are getting longer, and I can leave the house in daylight and sometimes come home before dark as well.

These early February evenings with clear skies and blazing sunsets have made for some spectacular twilights.



And I am glad I am getting in the habit of taking my good camera with me whenever I can.

Fancy was my maiden name

A couple weeks back (yes, I am still behind in blogging. I'm coming out of it.  Gimme a break.) Sundance Saloon hosted another theme night.  This time it was another installment of White Trash night.  Which is funny because it's a country bar so western wear really isn't a costume but simply "wear."  Although this year the Sundance Saloon PTB didn't call it "White Trash Night."  Gossip around the bar was that some people objected to the term and found the expression "white trash" pejorative.  So this year it was called "Double Wide."  Holy fucking shit.  If the point was to not be insulting or prejudicial, this is even worse as white trash may live in trailers but not all who live in trailers are white trash.  And white trash likely cannot afford the luxurious spaciousness of a double wide.

Regardless, as a Hardcastle and a San Franciscan, it was yet another costume party for which I could simply dress out of my closet.






Sundance seems to be having more and more theme nights, but they are fun.  Betty loves a theme. And this time it was catered—with some seriously tasty brisket, cornbread, beans, four cheese ziti and other treats, including a disgusting but reportedly tasty desert served in a litter box with crumbles made to look like kitty litter and lots of hidden tootsie rolls.

I do feel that I have to take a moment to celebrate Raj. He's pretty balls out and owns his multiple cross-dressing wardrobe changes. He goes through several, all seemingly different, every Sunday. This Sunday was a wonderfully trashy non-exception. And when it was all done and he was exhausted, he changed into yet another and final number for the evening—a nightgown and bed jacket.


It was at that point (and now ongoing) that I started calling him Fancy.

Happy Valentine's Day

Oh how romantic! What did I have planned for tonight?



Oh. "No events." Well shit.

the Internet must love me

because it sent me this:

SF loves me back

Ah. The love of my life will be showing his affection at noon.




To celebrate and commemorate the 50th anniversary of the song, the entire city, and every radio statin, will be playing Tony Bennett's I Left My Heart in San Francisco at noon.

I heart SF.

toyfriends

He's a serial monogamist. He's never single for long, and the relationships burn intensely, hot, and bright—but not long.

"I think I just met my new boyfriend."
"Or as I like to call them, 'Next.'"



And yet, I wish I could be brave like that.

with the holidays hanging over you

Some of the office decor has yet to come down. Someone hung some hand-made decorations above people's cubes.

I call this: The Gingerbread Man of Domocles.

unfortunately, this is also SF

I've had my car broken into twice while out, three times at home, and stolen once off the street in a good neighborhood.

I understand why this person felt the need for a sign.

As seen from the work shuttle on the way home:

am I blue?

Wow, I am really behind in the posting.  I guess my self-imposed exile from socializing extended to blogging as well.  How is it with less going out, I still have less free-time at home.  Well, I guess I'm taking care of internal housekeeping instead.

I have been laying low, and while feeling socially isolated, I was told that my "staying home" is still more than most other people's "going out."  There are some invitations you I just cannot wisely refuse.  I have enjoyed some quality time at intimate dinners with friends I see less than annually, and it has been wonderful to have such dedicated time with dedicated people.  There are those evenings, and other can't miss events such as Out with ACT, Sundance Saloon (although I am only at half time these days), and of course, the early awaited return of MC's amazing Post Holiday Blues party.  This year's theme (within a theme) was Up, Up and Away!

And it is far and away one of my favorite house parties.  Efforts by host and participants are extensive and celebrated, and one of the reasons I adore SF.







This is SF.

diversify

Demographically speaking, I consider myself "a person of colorful."

opportunity lost

From last night's crossword:

The correct answer to the clue "most happy-go-lucky" was indeed "gayest." Really. "Most happy-go-lucky..." there are so many better clues! Like dressing up as Wonder Woman as a small boy...(wait, that was me.)

bajorative terms

Yes, I am this nerdy. This so cracks me up.



Shout out to the absent Reindeer Jim and his fun SciFi Fridays.

Happy birthday to Mutha Chucka

Keep on Chuckin'!

only cold on the inside

Sunday brunch on a January morning, at the Beach/Park Chalet.



While I say miss the seasons, and particularly that I miss snow, I think that many be more in theory than in practice.

Nice.

platters

Oh hey, here's a couple of crates of vintage vinyl by the DJ/sound table. That looks like a great place to set my burger and fries and to swipe sloppily at my ketchup and mustard.

Yikes!

this will be covered on the test later

Oh, and while you're at it, DFTBA.



Disregard the whole "point-nine-repeating = 1" thing. While practically, yes, mathematically, no. Point-nine-repeating approaches one. You can't say how much less it is than one, as it is infinitesimally smaller than one. It's like Moses and the Promised Land, it may get close, but it will never get there.

Or it's like the Orewellian dogma math joke.

extensive research on conservative:liberal::fear:exploration

Pretty interesting and expanding body of research here: evidence-based observations of behavior and perception. Why is political conservatism so related to being fear-centric and restrictive?

Want to Understand Republicans? First Understand Evolution

As the new research suggests, conservatism is largely a defensive ideology -- and therefore, much more appealing to people who go through life sensitive and highly attuned to aversive or threatening aspects of their environments. By contrast, liberalism can be thought of as an exploratory ideology -- much more appealing to people who go through life trying things out and seeking the new.

Now if only they would hide themselves away instead of trying to lock us explorers in the basement.

New Spider-Man trailer

As much as I loved the first of Rami's Spider-Man movies, I may have loved them more for being about Spider-Man and not as much as being great movies.

The new vision looks pretty damn awesome amazing. Although J.K. Simmons owns J. Jonah, and always will.

9th Circuit Rules Prop 8 Unconstitutional, again!

Unfortunately, the stay remains in place, which means we have the right to equal access to marriage laws, but cannot exercise them as appeals are expected.

So now we wait for an appeal for an en band hearing of the 9th Circuit, which is expected to uphold the ruling (that Prop 8 is unconstitutional). Then we'll have to wait for the 2012-2013 session of the US Supreme Court for a ruling form that body, because we all know that is where this is headed.

I have been enjoying the legal analysis of Ari Ezra Waldman over at Towleroad. His analysis will be up there once he reads and responds to the ruling.

UPDATE! From the ruling:

Here's the whole thing:

10-16696 #398_Decision