It often makes me sad that Catholicism is so anti-Christian but wields so much power in His name.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
bear with me
Wilson Hardcastle
Smarter than the average bear.
these are a few of my favorite things
So this is my new favorite thing now. Castro Gays, animated gifs on Tumblr.
These are killing me:
These are killing me:
When you find out he's from Oakland.:
When that couple takes home your crush:
When you find out they met on Grindr.
holler
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Out with ACT: Maple and Vine
The run of great shows at ACT continues with west coast premiere of Maple & Vine, which is an intersection in an old part of town just waiting for a collision. I love going into shows knowing as little as possible, and for this one I was particularly glad I did. On the surface, it's an interesting dramedy about leaving the distraction and distance and stress of modern life for a gated community in an unidentified land locked midwestern state where the year is always 1955. The stress that high-pressure careers, technology and urban living take on the human condition is left behind in pursuit of simplicity, which will hopefully lead to happiness.
This is rich material for social commentary as well as humor. We see the transition through the world of a high-powered couple in NYC who rarely have quality time together, are super-stressed at their jobs (plastic surgeon, publishing house editor), and are still reeling from a miscarriage. The first act includes asides from the couple who serve as ambassadors and even recruiters for the alternative lifestyle. I enjoyed these intercuts a lot, especially since I didn't know where they were going with this.
Wilson Hardcastle, Julia Coffey, Jamison Jones, Nelson Lee and Randy Taradash
I loved the show all the way around. A couple of my friends found it a little heavy handed with its point, but I have to disagree as I believe there were multiple and conflicting points to be made. The material here is rich for thought and discussion, which made for a lively intermission, but it wasn't just the play that was excellent—it was the entire production. The acting was again a stellar performance on the ACT stage, with the wonderfully dry Julia Coffey returning from her skilled turn in Once in a Lifetime (the show I was calling "High Waisted Fast Talkers!"). She seems made for early/mid 20th century period pieces. Her timing is perfect. It should not be a competition, but there are only so many roles for strong women on the stage, and Julia Coffey is giving Rene Augesen a run for her money. Maybe they should try a performance of All About Eve.
The acting in this show really was some of the best I've enjoyed, so much so you I didn't notice that what felt like a crowded New York and a busy little town were populated only by these five actors. There were other stars of this play besides the talent: the set design and the lighting. There's an argument to be made that, like special effects, good design should go unnoticed. But Ralph Funicello managed to create fully rallied scenes with only minimal ingredients. The New York City scrim was just unbelievable in its entirely believability, and the interiors both apartment and house required only two or three pieces, which glided effortlessly into place, to create the setting for the scenes. I was impressed how he was able to paint an entire scape with only a few gestures. Similarly well executed but often unsung was the lighting design by Russell H. Champa—both scenery and lighting were so well done as to be invisible and immersive. Additional applause to the ACT wig shop. That woman is just incredible.
But back to the show: fun and funny with unexpected (well, I saw the big one coming, but that's me) twists. How would you fare in 1955: no technology, overt racism, and severely defined gender roles. From one point of view, those are all good things. There are things you talk about and things you don't—and you know what they are. There is confidence in knowing what you are supposed to do, even it if it hard work—being the breadwinner at a factory or spending eight hours making chicken stock and having dinner on the table for when your loving husband gets home. The couple we follow down the road to Maple and Vine are a mixed race couple, and just after the internment camps of WWII, life in 1955 America is a little different for an "oriental." But even the challenges of adjusting to 1955 are seen as a good thing. Striving for "authenticity" together brings couples closer, and creates a shared bonding experience through the struggle. And then there is the issue of homosexuality. We don't talk about that. Which makes it much more exciting. There are things we talk about, and things we only talk about in innuendo. One of the ideas of the play is that some things have become too easy, and so they have lost being worthwhile.
Danny Bernardy and Kevin Koberle________________Darrin Martin and Matt Sudbury
Unfortunately, I have been too busy to write up my experiences and get this post up before the show closed on Saturday. They had hoped to be extended but the stage is reserved for something else. ACT's marketing was pretty clever for this one too, with some cleverly conceived post/e-cards.
A few more notes on the cast: with an ensemble of five they populate the stage with a great deal of talent. I've already said how much I love Julia Coffey and I look forward to what she does next, but I hope she stays with this production for its continued success. Leading Man Jamison Jones is a skilled man's man on stage as well, with the strong handsomeness that will take him far (curse his married heterosexuality!). As with almost all of the actors in this show, I was taken with how large they seem on stage, compared to how incredibly minuscule they seemed in person. Granted I'm pushing 6'3" and at 250 lbs., most of them could hide inside me for warmth like an unconscious Luke Skywalker in a dead tan-tan if entirely necessary. The diminutive Nelson Lee makes up for whatever inaccurately perceived shortcomings of height in his fluid ability to fill a role. I recognized him from his television work playing walk-ons in network fare from Law & Order: Criminal Intent to Covert Affairs. Jones too has an extensive television CV as well as his weightier stage work. Danny Bernardy rounds out the cast with flexibility and brazenness which is often a joy to watch. And he handles the balance of drama and comedy quite well. These were incredibly fun people to watch on stage and I was glad they joined the Out with ACT patrons after the show.
One last cast note. I did not write about Once in a Lifetime as I saw it the night before I had to fly home for my father's ultimately final trip to the hospital. But it was an extensive and incredibly well produced show. Looking at the program for Maple & Vine, I noted that Nick Gabriel is an understudy for this show. I imagine for Danny Bernady as the guy has some seriously sharp comic chops. According to the notes, Nick Gabriel was in Scorched (again, another recent ACT fuck-yeah of a show with an incredibly minimal cast). I didn't really take note of his performance in Scorched as we were all a bit distracted by the Holy Shit which was the story line. But the program bio also tells me he was Miss Leighton in Once in a Lifetime. Miss Leighton was the 20s movie mogul's receptionist, played in drag, and stole the fucking show lock, stock and barrel. Oh Lord I hope he stays with this new play as it becomes a national success as I would love to see what he does with the role.
There are some truly clever lines in Maple & Vine, and the cast turn them adroitly. Even the careful dropping of a couple F bombs when you least expect them. Kevin and I were almost giddy after the first act. After getting our intermission cocktails and returning to our seats, I leaned over and said, "I am loving this show." To which he replied, "I know. I can't wait for it to go off the rails!"
The pins had been set up in Act I, and we knew the strike was coming in Act II.
We were not disappointed.
This is rich material for social commentary as well as humor. We see the transition through the world of a high-powered couple in NYC who rarely have quality time together, are super-stressed at their jobs (plastic surgeon, publishing house editor), and are still reeling from a miscarriage. The first act includes asides from the couple who serve as ambassadors and even recruiters for the alternative lifestyle. I enjoyed these intercuts a lot, especially since I didn't know where they were going with this.
Wilson Hardcastle, Julia Coffey, Jamison Jones, Nelson Lee and Randy Taradash
I loved the show all the way around. A couple of my friends found it a little heavy handed with its point, but I have to disagree as I believe there were multiple and conflicting points to be made. The material here is rich for thought and discussion, which made for a lively intermission, but it wasn't just the play that was excellent—it was the entire production. The acting was again a stellar performance on the ACT stage, with the wonderfully dry Julia Coffey returning from her skilled turn in Once in a Lifetime (the show I was calling "High Waisted Fast Talkers!"). She seems made for early/mid 20th century period pieces. Her timing is perfect. It should not be a competition, but there are only so many roles for strong women on the stage, and Julia Coffey is giving Rene Augesen a run for her money. Maybe they should try a performance of All About Eve.
The acting in this show really was some of the best I've enjoyed, so much so you I didn't notice that what felt like a crowded New York and a busy little town were populated only by these five actors. There were other stars of this play besides the talent: the set design and the lighting. There's an argument to be made that, like special effects, good design should go unnoticed. But Ralph Funicello managed to create fully rallied scenes with only minimal ingredients. The New York City scrim was just unbelievable in its entirely believability, and the interiors both apartment and house required only two or three pieces, which glided effortlessly into place, to create the setting for the scenes. I was impressed how he was able to paint an entire scape with only a few gestures. Similarly well executed but often unsung was the lighting design by Russell H. Champa—both scenery and lighting were so well done as to be invisible and immersive. Additional applause to the ACT wig shop. That woman is just incredible.
But back to the show: fun and funny with unexpected (well, I saw the big one coming, but that's me) twists. How would you fare in 1955: no technology, overt racism, and severely defined gender roles. From one point of view, those are all good things. There are things you talk about and things you don't—and you know what they are. There is confidence in knowing what you are supposed to do, even it if it hard work—being the breadwinner at a factory or spending eight hours making chicken stock and having dinner on the table for when your loving husband gets home. The couple we follow down the road to Maple and Vine are a mixed race couple, and just after the internment camps of WWII, life in 1955 America is a little different for an "oriental." But even the challenges of adjusting to 1955 are seen as a good thing. Striving for "authenticity" together brings couples closer, and creates a shared bonding experience through the struggle. And then there is the issue of homosexuality. We don't talk about that. Which makes it much more exciting. There are things we talk about, and things we only talk about in innuendo. One of the ideas of the play is that some things have become too easy, and so they have lost being worthwhile.
Danny Bernardy and Kevin Koberle________________Darrin Martin and Matt Sudbury
Unfortunately, I have been too busy to write up my experiences and get this post up before the show closed on Saturday. They had hoped to be extended but the stage is reserved for something else. ACT's marketing was pretty clever for this one too, with some cleverly conceived post/e-cards.
A few more notes on the cast: with an ensemble of five they populate the stage with a great deal of talent. I've already said how much I love Julia Coffey and I look forward to what she does next, but I hope she stays with this production for its continued success. Leading Man Jamison Jones is a skilled man's man on stage as well, with the strong handsomeness that will take him far (curse his married heterosexuality!). As with almost all of the actors in this show, I was taken with how large they seem on stage, compared to how incredibly minuscule they seemed in person. Granted I'm pushing 6'3" and at 250 lbs., most of them could hide inside me for warmth like an unconscious Luke Skywalker in a dead tan-tan if entirely necessary. The diminutive Nelson Lee makes up for whatever inaccurately perceived shortcomings of height in his fluid ability to fill a role. I recognized him from his television work playing walk-ons in network fare from Law & Order: Criminal Intent to Covert Affairs. Jones too has an extensive television CV as well as his weightier stage work. Danny Bernardy rounds out the cast with flexibility and brazenness which is often a joy to watch. And he handles the balance of drama and comedy quite well. These were incredibly fun people to watch on stage and I was glad they joined the Out with ACT patrons after the show.
One last cast note. I did not write about Once in a Lifetime as I saw it the night before I had to fly home for my father's ultimately final trip to the hospital. But it was an extensive and incredibly well produced show. Looking at the program for Maple & Vine, I noted that Nick Gabriel is an understudy for this show. I imagine for Danny Bernady as the guy has some seriously sharp comic chops. According to the notes, Nick Gabriel was in Scorched (again, another recent ACT fuck-yeah of a show with an incredibly minimal cast). I didn't really take note of his performance in Scorched as we were all a bit distracted by the Holy Shit which was the story line. But the program bio also tells me he was Miss Leighton in Once in a Lifetime. Miss Leighton was the 20s movie mogul's receptionist, played in drag, and stole the fucking show lock, stock and barrel. Oh Lord I hope he stays with this new play as it becomes a national success as I would love to see what he does with the role.
There are some truly clever lines in Maple & Vine, and the cast turn them adroitly. Even the careful dropping of a couple F bombs when you least expect them. Kevin and I were almost giddy after the first act. After getting our intermission cocktails and returning to our seats, I leaned over and said, "I am loving this show." To which he replied, "I know. I can't wait for it to go off the rails!"
The pins had been set up in Act I, and we knew the strike was coming in Act II.
We were not disappointed.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
reference decks
Today's Unshelved spoke to me in ways that should probably be discussed with a mental health professional. But I love it.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
and a very Happy Easter in Dolores Park, 2012
While Easter Sunday was not like those of my childhood, we had a lovely day in Dolores Park. The "events," even the Hunky Jesus Contest were entirely ancillary to the fashion and picnic love fest in Dolores Park. I particularly love that Suzan and Graig went all out with a Astroturf runway for Easter fashions, and large pink plastic thrones for their parents and relatives they brought to the park. Even the five-year old was in a white tux with turquoise accents. Despite the conservatives disdain for this very San Franciscan Easter Sunday, hosted by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, this truly is a family affair. Or as Suzan has coined, the San Framily.
I also got to spend some quality time with one of my all time favorite peeps (tee hee) Michael Smith. You really should click through his photoset. Here are some of my favorites of the photos he took on Sunday.
And of course,
Pure joy!
I also got to spend some quality time with one of my all time favorite peeps (tee hee) Michael Smith. You really should click through his photoset. Here are some of my favorites of the photos he took on Sunday.
And of course,
Pure joy!
Hey Easter Bunny, where'd you get those eggs?
Ainsley had a birthday afternoon cocktail party and dinner at their lovely place on Mare Island the Saturday before Easter. New to the patio was a chicken coop—Ainsley and Ing (and their babies too I suppose) are now chickeners! They have one coop in the garden for the two "pet" chickens, and another hutch for an enormous pet rabbit. Or perhaps Easter bunny.
There is a larger coop, it turns out, behind the art studio. That coop had about five chickens (I am only guessing that they were all hens), each a different breed and all beautiful to look at. Those chickens are not pets and do not have names. Other than "dinner." That sort of cracked me up. And evidence of such, tasty at that, was featured on the party buffet table.
Before After
On a related note, as seen in the studio, this is how they plan to catch the Ether Bunny:
There is a larger coop, it turns out, behind the art studio. That coop had about five chickens (I am only guessing that they were all hens), each a different breed and all beautiful to look at. Those chickens are not pets and do not have names. Other than "dinner." That sort of cracked me up. And evidence of such, tasty at that, was featured on the party buffet table.
Before After
On a related note, as seen in the studio, this is how they plan to catch the Ether Bunny:
more Easter love
While Papa John is conspicuously absent this Easter, for my faithful family this day the grave has lost its sting. Carolyn (Adjunct Sister) sent in this photo of Franna and Grace (adjunct niece) at church on Easter Sunday.
Love the Fran!
Love the Fran!
missing my original Easter Bunny
I posted this earlier, but this was the scene when I popped out to the Castro for a haircut last week:
I took this pic with my iPhone and edited while waiting for a chair with the new, very cool iPhoto app for iOS. I sent this pic to my Mom.
She wrote back earlier this week saying, "I love it! You look do much like Dad with that Bunny. - same smile, same humor..." I miss Dad a lot, and loved hearing that, but the reminder also brought everything back to the surface again. I really can't imagine how hard it is for Mom, who has never lived alone and has been in love with Dad since she was 19. For her, every day and every thing is a reminder of what is lost, and I don't think I could bear that.
Thinking of Dad on Easter I am reminded of my favorite Dad-at-Easter story. We got pretty awesome Easter back sets growing up. Nothing fancy or over the top, but stealthily placed baskets with some chocolates, plastic eggs—some filled with jelly beans and some filled with coins—and generally a small toy. Not Christmas, but springtime excitement and a morning surprise left by an equally magical benefactor.
And the Easter egg hunts—Dad was good at those, and the side yard was perfect for that. Mac always found the Golden Egg. Every friggin' year. I'm still a little frustrated at that.
As we grew older and into adults, there were younger kids for Papa John to hide eggs for, and he enthusiastically did so. Dad also had a separate "Easter egg hunt" for the young adults/grown ups: strategically placed mini bottles of booze. Love my Dad.
One year the weather on Easter Sunday was less a lesson on the resurrection and more a lesson on Noah's Arc. Dad creatively hid the eggs for the kids around the living room. And he hosted another hunt for the adults in the library (what other people might call a den). Both were much fun, but here's the thing: it's not like Dad had a map or a count of the liquor bottles.
For years afterwards we would find a random mini-bottle of bourbon or vodka squirreled away in an obscure part of the library. I was having people over one night and as we visited in the library, a guest put her hand between the sofa cushions and produced a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels. She looked first puzzled then seriously concerned. She thought one of my parents had been hiding liquor around the house, which I suppose was in fact true, but not in the way she suspected.
In hushed tones she asked, "Wilson...does your Dad have a drinking problem?"
Me, laughing, "Oh no...that's just from Easter."
It then occurred to me that my answer, while also true, must have sounded like a non-sequitur, leading her to think that perhaps I was the one with the problem.
I believe it was this day that I adopted my policy: Never explain.
Great is the mystery of our faith.
I took this pic with my iPhone and edited while waiting for a chair with the new, very cool iPhoto app for iOS. I sent this pic to my Mom.
She wrote back earlier this week saying, "I love it! You look do much like Dad with that Bunny. - same smile, same humor..." I miss Dad a lot, and loved hearing that, but the reminder also brought everything back to the surface again. I really can't imagine how hard it is for Mom, who has never lived alone and has been in love with Dad since she was 19. For her, every day and every thing is a reminder of what is lost, and I don't think I could bear that.
Thinking of Dad on Easter I am reminded of my favorite Dad-at-Easter story. We got pretty awesome Easter back sets growing up. Nothing fancy or over the top, but stealthily placed baskets with some chocolates, plastic eggs—some filled with jelly beans and some filled with coins—and generally a small toy. Not Christmas, but springtime excitement and a morning surprise left by an equally magical benefactor.
And the Easter egg hunts—Dad was good at those, and the side yard was perfect for that. Mac always found the Golden Egg. Every friggin' year. I'm still a little frustrated at that.
As we grew older and into adults, there were younger kids for Papa John to hide eggs for, and he enthusiastically did so. Dad also had a separate "Easter egg hunt" for the young adults/grown ups: strategically placed mini bottles of booze. Love my Dad.
For years afterwards we would find a random mini-bottle of bourbon or vodka squirreled away in an obscure part of the library. I was having people over one night and as we visited in the library, a guest put her hand between the sofa cushions and produced a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels. She looked first puzzled then seriously concerned. She thought one of my parents had been hiding liquor around the house, which I suppose was in fact true, but not in the way she suspected.
In hushed tones she asked, "Wilson...does your Dad have a drinking problem?"
Me, laughing, "Oh no...that's just from Easter."
It then occurred to me that my answer, while also true, must have sounded like a non-sequitur, leading her to think that perhaps I was the one with the problem.
I believe it was this day that I adopted my policy: Never explain.
Great is the mystery of our faith.
why I don't leave my SF Safe Zone anymore
Going downtown for a Davidson College alumni drink thing last night, I was struck by (1) hot hot the guys are leave work around six-thirty from jobs in the Financial District are and (2) I never seem to leave my SF Zone any more. I can't remember the last time I was in North Beach. And I am sure I have spent some ironic time in Fisherman's Wharf much more recently than I have been to the Marina. My Mission outings, generally for black-box theater or honky tonk fare, are targeted destinations— are as far away from the hipster blocks as I can make it. While I feel I have isolated myself a bit in this City that has So Much, I am comfortable spending my time in the Cole Valley, the Castro and South of Market. My version of "venturing out" from these places is for theater (and the occasional shopping or cocktail) on the seedier side of Union Square. I know these neighborhoods and they know me. I like that I can go for something known and yet be surprised. I know I can go out alone yet be surrounded by people who know my name Last weekend just stepping out for a haircut, I spent over half an hour at the corner of Castro and 18th visiting with and endless array of friends passing by.
Last night the alumni event was at Rickhouse on Kearny at Sutter. As I was walking up from the Montgomery Street station, my first thought was, "Why don't I come out here any more?" As I approached the bar, I thought, "Oh, that's right. Because I don't need to to douche." I wondered who chose their venue for an alumni function. There was a line to get in. Really? A line for a downtown bar just past happy hour on a Thursday? Other than overwhelming volume, underwhelming service and a pretentious price point, there was nothing really to recommend it. Maybe I'm just an old bear. The crowd was very Young Professionals. Guys who would have last decade been described as metrosexuals and college graduate girls hunting aggressively for professional boyfriends. If I were straight and in my early twenties I might have thought this was "the bomb" or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Maybe I was just a little bitter in my maturity when I noted that the guys were predominately very young, very fit, and generally handsome and all with full heads of hair.
I am also still off carbs and booze and my mood has been firmly ensconced in grumpy if not crotchety of late.
Rickhouse is the newest rough-hewn manifestation of the Trendy Whisky Bar. I loathe all things trendy, and the crowd was definitely trend-chasing (but not trendsetting), and full of people who by appearances drank whisky because it was the new cool thing to do. As someone who suckled on the teat of whisky long before it became The New Cosmo, I admittedly look down my nose at the bourbon-come-latelys with a bit of smugness and disdain.
I'm realizing now I am just sounding like a dick, or someone who will grow up to be a scheming caretaker ultimately foiled by a couple of meddling kids and their pesky dog. Put me back in a bear bar and give me a cocktail and a carbohydrate and I'll perk back up.
But deliver me from the douche.
On the bright side, I met a Davidson alumna in line I hadn't seen since the last one years ago, and inside I got to catch up with two good friends I hadn't seen perhaps since I left Davidson in 1993. Kristin lives in SF and I have only run into her once—as she ran by during Bay to Breakers. Molly is a mother of two (three?) now in Arlington and just happened to be out here and came to the event. Despite the voice and the crowd, we had a good catch up.
What prompted this rant in the first place, and brought to mind the scene last night, was this gem found via Uptown Almanac: Douchey and Hipster. The white boy rap about the young men who consider themselves SF Playahs, and the girls who love them.
This is why I keep it in The Zone.
Last night the alumni event was at Rickhouse on Kearny at Sutter. As I was walking up from the Montgomery Street station, my first thought was, "Why don't I come out here any more?" As I approached the bar, I thought, "Oh, that's right. Because I don't need to to douche." I wondered who chose their venue for an alumni function. There was a line to get in. Really? A line for a downtown bar just past happy hour on a Thursday? Other than overwhelming volume, underwhelming service and a pretentious price point, there was nothing really to recommend it. Maybe I'm just an old bear. The crowd was very Young Professionals. Guys who would have last decade been described as metrosexuals and college graduate girls hunting aggressively for professional boyfriends. If I were straight and in my early twenties I might have thought this was "the bomb" or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Maybe I was just a little bitter in my maturity when I noted that the guys were predominately very young, very fit, and generally handsome and all with full heads of hair.
I am also still off carbs and booze and my mood has been firmly ensconced in grumpy if not crotchety of late.
Rickhouse is the newest rough-hewn manifestation of the Trendy Whisky Bar. I loathe all things trendy, and the crowd was definitely trend-chasing (but not trendsetting), and full of people who by appearances drank whisky because it was the new cool thing to do. As someone who suckled on the teat of whisky long before it became The New Cosmo, I admittedly look down my nose at the bourbon-come-latelys with a bit of smugness and disdain.
I'm realizing now I am just sounding like a dick, or someone who will grow up to be a scheming caretaker ultimately foiled by a couple of meddling kids and their pesky dog. Put me back in a bear bar and give me a cocktail and a carbohydrate and I'll perk back up.
But deliver me from the douche.
On the bright side, I met a Davidson alumna in line I hadn't seen since the last one years ago, and inside I got to catch up with two good friends I hadn't seen perhaps since I left Davidson in 1993. Kristin lives in SF and I have only run into her once—as she ran by during Bay to Breakers. Molly is a mother of two (three?) now in Arlington and just happened to be out here and came to the event. Despite the voice and the crowd, we had a good catch up.
What prompted this rant in the first place, and brought to mind the scene last night, was this gem found via Uptown Almanac: Douchey and Hipster. The white boy rap about the young men who consider themselves SF Playahs, and the girls who love them.
This is why I keep it in The Zone.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Alumni family
I am off to a Davidson alumni mixer downtown. It just occurred to me that only yesterday I wrote of Hartley (whose father in law just passed) and Joe (whose father also just passed). T. Hartley III and IV, And Joe Jr. and III are all Davidson College Alumni. As are brother Mac and I.
Al, Carolyn's father (and T. Hartley IV's father-in-law) went to Penn, as did brother Jay.
No point really, other than we do seem to keep an academically related family too.
Al, Carolyn's father (and T. Hartley IV's father-in-law) went to Penn, as did brother Jay.
No point really, other than we do seem to keep an academically related family too.
occupational hazard
When we're socializing, my friend hates having to answer "So what do you do?" Which is kind of odd, I suppose, as I greatly respect his job and I think what he does is cool. But I also take his point.
Last night, he was sort of cornered by the question and he hemmed and hawed for a moment so I answered for him. Which he appreciated.
Questioner: "So what to you do in San Francisco?"
Friend: "errrr..."
Me, for friend: "Anal."
Last night, he was sort of cornered by the question and he hemmed and hawed for a moment so I answered for him. Which he appreciated.
Questioner: "So what to you do in San Francisco?"
Friend: "errrr..."
Me, for friend: "Anal."
meaty
I walked down the the grocery near work the other day to get one of their amazing sandwiches from the deli. The butcher/meat counter is extensive to say the least, and as I noticed the burly sexy butcher working behind the counter, I thought to myself, "I'd date him..."...and I immediately thought of my old friend Paul Schmidtberger, who once said, "Dating a butcher? That would be so Ann B. Davis."
this place is hopping
I love living in a town where on the Saturday before Easter, there is a giant Easter Bunny in the neighborhood business district. And he grabs your ass. And you recognize who is in the suit by his squeeze.
Sunshine inside and out.
Later, walking back from my haircut, I passed a family of five walking up Castro Street and spied the Easter Bunny about 20 yards behind. I said, "Look, you can get your picture taken with the Easter Bunny!" The kids went nuts, and the parents were equally excited. The Easter Bunny kindly got down to their level and posed for pictures and played with the kids. I was struck by the scene when Dad, cheering on his brood for the photos, said to them, "Wave your flags!"
The parents (a mom and dad) had bought each of the kids a rainbow flag at Cliff's. Festive and inclusive.
Love this town.
Sunshine inside and out.
Later, walking back from my haircut, I passed a family of five walking up Castro Street and spied the Easter Bunny about 20 yards behind. I said, "Look, you can get your picture taken with the Easter Bunny!" The kids went nuts, and the parents were equally excited. The Easter Bunny kindly got down to their level and posed for pictures and played with the kids. I was struck by the scene when Dad, cheering on his brood for the photos, said to them, "Wave your flags!"
The parents (a mom and dad) had bought each of the kids a rainbow flag at Cliff's. Festive and inclusive.
Love this town.
Especially when times are tough
People need the library.
And it's National Library Week. If you haven't checked out (get it) your local library recently, you may have missed the transformation—libraries are not just books, but media catalogs, information access centers, research professionals, and community centers with learning programs for every age, with focuses on adult education for job seeking, career advancement and personal development as well as fostering and feeding a love of learning for everyone.
And they are particular busy during tax season. Libraries don't provide tax advice, but they are experts in guiding you to the best resources address your needs.
Have a question? Ask a librarian.
I'm enjoying the irony that one of my favorite comments during National Library Week is from PC Mag:
And it's National Library Week. If you haven't checked out (get it) your local library recently, you may have missed the transformation—libraries are not just books, but media catalogs, information access centers, research professionals, and community centers with learning programs for every age, with focuses on adult education for job seeking, career advancement and personal development as well as fostering and feeding a love of learning for everyone.
And they are particular busy during tax season. Libraries don't provide tax advice, but they are experts in guiding you to the best resources address your needs.
Have a question? Ask a librarian.
I'm enjoying the irony that one of my favorite comments during National Library Week is from PC Mag:
Any four-year-old will tell you that a library is a building that lends books, but the real purpose of a library is to amass and disseminate knowledge. So, even if printed matter were to disappear, libraries would still be a cultural necessity.For my locals, take a moment to explore the redesigned website of the San Francisco Public Library, then visit a branch—they have nearly finished their ambitious project of physically renovating every branch. There's one near you.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
take it off.
I went to lunch with some fiends/coworkers to Ella's recently and the view brought to mind an increasing trend I find increasingly annoying. Men who wear (hipster) hats indoors.
A gentleman wears a hat. A gentleman also takes it off indoors. The rule for elevators is to keep it on as it is considered a conveyance and an extension of the hallway. Hats are worn while traveling (e.g. on the train or bus, or in a car) and in hallways but are removed once in an office, home or interior destination.
A hat is never worn by men indoors and never, ever while seated in a restaurant.
A hat may be practical and it should be fashionable. Wearing a hat indoors, in a bar, or while dining makes it costume. I'm all for costume but this is unintentional costume and a major fail. Wearing a fedora indoors does not make one look sophisticated, but quite the opposite.
The younger the person is the more annoyed I become. There is a certain smugness to their "I'm cool!" fashion statement but all I can hear their outfit saying to me is "I'm an idiot!"
Kids these days.
A gentleman wears a hat. A gentleman also takes it off indoors. The rule for elevators is to keep it on as it is considered a conveyance and an extension of the hallway. Hats are worn while traveling (e.g. on the train or bus, or in a car) and in hallways but are removed once in an office, home or interior destination.
A hat is never worn by men indoors and never, ever while seated in a restaurant.
A hat may be practical and it should be fashionable. Wearing a hat indoors, in a bar, or while dining makes it costume. I'm all for costume but this is unintentional costume and a major fail. Wearing a fedora indoors does not make one look sophisticated, but quite the opposite.
The younger the person is the more annoyed I become. There is a certain smugness to their "I'm cool!" fashion statement but all I can hear their outfit saying to me is "I'm an idiot!"
Kids these days.
obitulist
I haven't told my mother but I am still procrastinating on the condolence thank-you notes. It's easier to not deal when I am removed from Nashville and don't dwell on it. But every time I go to write a letter of appreciation for the kindness shown to me during the period of my father's death, I sort of lose it. Today, as I have been thinking about my Dad, and the loss of Joe's and Carolyn's, I realize what a season of grief it has been. In the past six months, my family has lost:
Dad
Bill (my sister-in-law Emily's father)
Mr. Calvin (adjunct brother Joe's father)
Mr. Griffin (adjunct sister-in-law Carolyn's father)
Betty Brown (Hardcastle-adjacent Susannah's mother)
and most recently, Miss Patty (great, great aunt to us all)
All this and I am off carbs, sugar, and booze (collectively called "the coping mechanisms"). It's enough to make a grown man cry.
and farewell to the fathers
My family has always been a loving, welcoming bunch. As Jay noted in his homily to Dad, "...somehow the other children wanted you as their dad too...Dad, you and mom ran a household that welcomed our friends as much as your own children. We just seemed to collect other kids. Margaret, Jonathan, Susannah, Billy, Bill, two Pauls, Carrington, EJ, Robin, Hartley, Joe, Sloan, Scott, and anyone who lived on Sheppard Place, to name a few."
Among these close ties, I have two biological brothers, an adjunct brother, an adjunct brother and sister-in-law, and a pseudo sister. I refer to Margaret as my pseudo sister as she and I were raised pretty much next door to one another and are close as I imagine I would be had I a biological sister. You've met Margaret.
Joe (3), aka Jody, was brother Jay's best friend growing up and was annexed by the Hardcastles in high school around the time his parents were divorcing. I could not love Joe more if he were my own blood. It was Joe who, being too close to Dad to call him Mister Hardcastle and too respectful to call him John, coined the appellation Papa John—the name of reverence and affection my father carried proudly and too soon unto the grave. Joe now lives in Birmingham with his family.
Also brought into the fold was T. Hartley (4) whose father was our pastor growing up and one of Dad's closest friends. Hartley married Carolyn, and through much effort produced Grace. With their parents absent, Mom and Dad became the "Designated Parents" and when Grace came along, Papa John and Franna joyfully became doting grandparents to one more.
This week two of my acquired siblings have lost their fathers too, and I would like to pay my respects:
Joseph Hiram Calvin, Jr.
From the Birmingham News/AL.com:
Al Griffin, Jr.
From the Atlanta Journal Constitution:
Among these close ties, I have two biological brothers, an adjunct brother, an adjunct brother and sister-in-law, and a pseudo sister. I refer to Margaret as my pseudo sister as she and I were raised pretty much next door to one another and are close as I imagine I would be had I a biological sister. You've met Margaret.
Joe (3), aka Jody, was brother Jay's best friend growing up and was annexed by the Hardcastles in high school around the time his parents were divorcing. I could not love Joe more if he were my own blood. It was Joe who, being too close to Dad to call him Mister Hardcastle and too respectful to call him John, coined the appellation Papa John—the name of reverence and affection my father carried proudly and too soon unto the grave. Joe now lives in Birmingham with his family.
Also brought into the fold was T. Hartley (4) whose father was our pastor growing up and one of Dad's closest friends. Hartley married Carolyn, and through much effort produced Grace. With their parents absent, Mom and Dad became the "Designated Parents" and when Grace came along, Papa John and Franna joyfully became doting grandparents to one more.
This week two of my acquired siblings have lost their fathers too, and I would like to pay my respects:
Joseph Hiram Calvin, Jr.
From the Birmingham News/AL.com:
CALVIN, JR., JOSEPH HIRAM Joe Calvin died on April 3, 2012; he was born in Decatur, Alabama June 2, 1918, the son of Joseph Hiram Calvin and Bernice Jackson Calvin. He was educated in the Decatur City Schools and graduated high school from the McCallie School in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Joe graduated from Davidson College where he was president of the Kappa Alpha fraternity. He attended Harvard Law School for two years before serving in the army, from which he retired as a captain in 1946. Joe received his Juris Doctor from the University of Alabama and practiced law in Decatur for nearly fifty years. During this time Joe served as President of the Morgan County Bar Association, President of the Decatur Kiwanis Club, was a long time member of the Board of Compass Bank, Chairman of the Decatur School Board and was elected to represent Morgan and Lawrence Counties in the Alabama State Senate. He was named most effective Alabama senator. Joe was a lifelong member of the First Presbyterian Church in Decatur until moving to Birmingham in 2000. He was a deacon and elder and taught Sunday school for many years. He is thought of by all as the perfect gentleman. Joe is survived by his wife Juliet Given Calvin, and his son Joseph Calvin III, wife Jennifer Calvin and four grandchildren; Kalli Calvin, Elizabeth Calvin, Joseph Calvin IV and Virginia Calvin. Joe is survived by Juliet Calvin's sons Finis St. John IV, wife Gaynor Lee St. John, and William Given St. John, wife Elizabeth Gentry St. John. He is also survived by her grandsons Finis St. John, wife Virginia Givhan St. John and great granddaughter Mary Juliet; and John Jefferson St. John. He was predeceased by Juliet's granddaughter Emily Parker St. John. The family will have a private graveside service at the Decatur City Cemetery on April 4, 2012.
Al Griffin, Jr.
From the Atlanta Journal Constitution:
GRIFFIN, Albert, Jr. ALBERT GRIFFIN, JR. Albert Griffin, Jr., 77, of Atlanta and Flowery Branch, GA died peacefully on March 15, 2012. Al was born on March 10, 1935, in Philadelphia, PA, to Albert and Mabel Hilsman Griffin. He was a 1953 graduate of Druid Hills High School and a 1957 graduate of The University of Pennsylvania where he received a degree in Political Science from The Wharton School and was a member of Sigma Nu fraternity. He received a graduate degree from The Stonier Graduate School of Banking at Rutgers University where he wrote his thesis on the financing of professional sports teams. Al's entire 40-plus year banking career was spent at SunTrust. For years, he ran the bank's college recruiting and management training programs. He loved following the careers of those he had identified and taught, many of whom became leaders in the bank. In the late 70's, he transitioned to the bank's investment department where he enjoyed working with individuals who became clients and friends until his retirement. Al was a member of Ansley Golf Club and First Presbyterian Church where he served three terms as elder, twice chaired the church's long range planning committee and was a member of the stewardship committee. Al was instrumental in the formation of First Presbyterian's Broadcast Ministry, twice traveled with a group from the church to Kenya and was a devoted member of the Tuesday morning men's Bible Study at the church for more than 15 years. He also served on the boards of Young Life Northwest Atlanta, the Atlanta Chapter of Habitat for Humanity and The Ravina Club.
Al was preceded in death by his parents and his first wife Carol Gregory Griffin. He is survived by his wife of 28 years Martha Dickinson Griffin, sister Mabel Griffin Kichline and her husband Pat, and brother-in-law Bruce M. Gregory, all of Atlanta. He is also survived by daughter Carolyn Griffin Hall and her husband Hartley of Nashville, TN, and sons Richard H. Lindeman and his wife Charlotte of Lookout Mountain, TN, Kenneth L. Lindeman and his wife Margaret of Gastonia, NC, Peter B. Lindeman and his wife Celeste of Atlanta, and Henry V. Lindeman, II and his wife Amy of Memphis, TN. Also nephew James M. Crawford, Jr. and his wife Tracy of Woodside, CA, and niece Laurie Crawford Tolbert and her husband Tom of Lexington Kentucky. Al is survived by 11 grandchildren: Grace Griffin Hall, Richard, Ashley and Charlie Lindeman, Emily and Annie Lindeman; Claire, Bryson and Frank Lindeman, Henry and Russell Lindeman, and seven great-nieces and nephews: Kaylynn and Alyssa Crawford and Griffin, Jackson, Rachel, Benjamin and Bonnie Tolbert, all of whom brought him great joy over the past two decades. A celebration of a life well lived will be held on Sunday, March 18, 2012, at two o'clock at First Presbyterian Church Atlanta followed by a reception in Fifield Hall. In lieu of flowers, memorial gifts may be made to First Presbyterian Church, 1328 Peachtree Street, NE, Atlanta, GA 30309; The Westminster Schools, 1424 W. Paces Ferry Road, NW, Atlanta, GA 30327.
farewell Miss Patty
Miss Patty, and her sister Jane, were close friends and classmates of my grandmother. They lived next door to each other and across the street from my grandmother—where Mom grew up—over on Forest Park Avenue. They were wonderful women who played with and cared for mom when she was growing up. Miss Patty was very active in her church and cared for the three-year olds for the past 60 years, and played with us when we were growing up too. My brothers and I considered Miss Patty and Miss Jane "the aunts." Miss Patty was a close friend to FOUR GENERATIONS of my family and was just all around awesome. She passed away this week at 96. She was a pioneer of women's athletics and physical education, and was still coaching tennis almost to the end. Again, at ninety-freakin-six.
She was always Miss Patty. She was Miss Patty when Mom was a little girl, and so she struck me as some sort of external figure. It never occurred to me that she was mortal. I love that my mother—herself a woman with three grandchildren including one in college and sometimes called "Miss Fran"—until recently still had a mentor in her life she would refer to with the respected elder title of "Miss."
Thinking of Miss Patty makes me feel the heat and humidity of a southern summer and the smell of grass while chasing fireflies in her front yard.
She is survived by her sister Jane, and a legion of women—young and mature—who consider her a mentor and heroine.
By the way, Miss Jane still water skis. At 94. LOVE these women.
From the Tennessean: Harpeth Hall's Patty Chadwell blazed trail for girls' physical education
My brothers and I have received some notes asking how we knew Miss Patty. I had forgotten that most of my female friends knew her and respected her as the tennis and PE coach at Harpeth Hall (the girls' prep school) for, well, ever. Brother Jay writes, "She and her sister were really good friends and neighbors to my grandparents on Forest Park. They lived next door to each other and across the street from my grandmother and grandfathers 1 and 2. My grandparents had a crew over there like Sheppard place does. So the three of us grew up going over there when we were little and fondly remember homemade ice cream parties, Halloween, and Christmas Caroling (one of them played the accordion)."
Man, I still remember that ice cream. And Christmases over there. And my first memories of trick-or-treating.
She was always Miss Patty. She was Miss Patty when Mom was a little girl, and so she struck me as some sort of external figure. It never occurred to me that she was mortal. I love that my mother—herself a woman with three grandchildren including one in college and sometimes called "Miss Fran"—until recently still had a mentor in her life she would refer to with the respected elder title of "Miss."
She is survived by her sister Jane, and a legion of women—young and mature—who consider her a mentor and heroine.
By the way, Miss Jane still water skis. At 94. LOVE these women.
From the Tennessean: Harpeth Hall's Patty Chadwell blazed trail for girls' physical education
My brothers and I have received some notes asking how we knew Miss Patty. I had forgotten that most of my female friends knew her and respected her as the tennis and PE coach at Harpeth Hall (the girls' prep school) for, well, ever. Brother Jay writes, "She and her sister were really good friends and neighbors to my grandparents on Forest Park. They lived next door to each other and across the street from my grandmother and grandfathers 1 and 2. My grandparents had a crew over there like Sheppard place does. So the three of us grew up going over there when we were little and fondly remember homemade ice cream parties, Halloween, and Christmas Caroling (one of them played the accordion)."
Man, I still remember that ice cream. And Christmases over there. And my first memories of trick-or-treating.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
vincent van flamingo
Tonight is another Out with ACT night, and it reminded me to post this. Leaving the last show and walking to my car parked over in freaking Chinatown, Kevin and I had passed one of the my favorite art galleries on the strip. I don't think I would every buy anything in there, and it's not really a place for art criticism, but they always have interesting, well done peeves in the windows. We always stop and to appreciate and discuss. This new painting in the window caught my eye:
Because this is the sign of the flea-bit, super-kitch hotel Kevin booked us into on our Mystery Date to Tucson so many years ago.
Very cool.
The place was hanging on by a thread, catering mostly to transients and students in desperate need of cheap, temporary housing. Kevin could not tell that from the marketing materials. What was evident was that the hotel was super campy fun with neon astro turf and an individual and specific western movie theme to many of the rooms. It turned out to be less than clean (sort of like a used petri dish) and in a state of decay. So much so that one of our number ditched for the Hilton. The rest of us appreciated the "charm," dead birds in the brackish brown swimming pool and all. We are those kind of people.
Because this is the sign of the flea-bit, super-kitch hotel Kevin booked us into on our Mystery Date to Tucson so many years ago.
The place was hanging on by a thread, catering mostly to transients and students in desperate need of cheap, temporary housing. Kevin could not tell that from the marketing materials. What was evident was that the hotel was super campy fun with neon astro turf and an individual and specific western movie theme to many of the rooms. It turned out to be less than clean (sort of like a used petri dish) and in a state of decay. So much so that one of our number ditched for the Hilton. The rest of us appreciated the "charm," dead birds in the brackish brown swimming pool and all. We are those kind of people.
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