The venerable Klaus is back in SF and we are so happy to have him.
Struggling to shake the cold that has dogged his stateside vacation, Klaus enjoyed the super SF summer weather this weekend by dashing through Dolores Park before joining me for a sunny afternoon at the Lookout, followed by a perfect day for a very crowded beer bust at the Eagle.
The Sisters always host a good time in Dolores Park every year, and I think this year was the best yet.
Sister Constance Craving and Wilson Hardcastle
And the crowd was impressive.
Dolores Park crowd
Panoramic view
Unfortunately, the large turnout also resulted in insane potty lines.
I packed the typical Wilson-hosts trunks of supplies and picked up Shilpa and Paul Day pretty early in the morning. We dropped PeeDee off to stake claim with quilts and then spent far too long procuring the buffet and the bar from Safeway before parking (appropriately enough) in East Jesus and lugging the two tons of materials to the park.
It was such a perfect Sunday in the park. Everyone was in bright spirits and bright clothes.
Picnic Bunnies
Yellow Family
Long-lost and ever-close friends seem to pop up like weeds, and there was so much clever I don't think I stopped smiling all day.
Mary (his real name) drinks his "Bloody Nazareth."
Ski chicks bonnet
PeeDee staked out a great plot, and by happy accident we were adjacent to many friends, including Michael, Suzan, Lizzie, Joanna and their crowd of Gym Bunnies,
which later included old friends Jimbo and Aaron.
Jim Myers and Aaron Rose
The weather could NOT have been nicer for the day. Sunny, clear skies, warm, dry and not too hot. SPF all around, and I was grateful to have a bonnet. While I did not win, Michael's Beach Blanket Babylon-esque Gym Bunny Bonnet did, and deservedly so.
Michael's Gym Bunny Bonnet was amazing. It took him over a month I'm told. And so worth it!
I hung out backstage a while as the Sisters were using the Rodeo's sound system for the event, and Skot Land was running the board.
Not yet recovered from D&H, RMJ and Klaus joined before Klaus' flight back to Copenhagen.
Backstage I ran into Loud Scott, and noted his depilatory chest pattern. He had a drag performance at a Rodeo benefit the night before and only cleaned where necessary.
He calls this pattern a "drag wax."
All things considered, it was a perfect Easter Sunday afternoon.
After a day of frolicking and dancing in the park, we packed the supplied back into Linda, sated ourselves at Fuzio's, met a crowd at the Look Out (where we tried to keep a very drunk guy in a Navy shirt from puking over the side onto the crowd below), sucked face at 440 (where I met TT and his mad skills), and finished, as is the usual with Shilpa and PeeDee, with dancing at Badlands.
And then collapsed in total exhaustion. That was a good day.
Not exactly an Easter post, but I finished the bonnet just in time to meet RMJ and Klaus out for Klaus' final night stateside. Appropriately enough, RMJ decided we should go drinking and dancing at Drunk and Horny at The Underground.
It was a great idea. The DJs were great, and the crowd was pretty fun too. Looking up at the DJ booth, I started thinking about how ubiquitous Apple tech has become in the music scene.
I remember the first time I saw a DJ with a laptop. That was very cutting edge, and of course, it was a Mac.
We had a ball. But having a ball is pretty easy when hanging out with RMJ and Klaus.
RMJ is the ultimate wing man— he can, and does, talk to anyone. Only one question remained at the end of the night.
Klaus is stateside for some science things in SoCal and Salt Lake City and arranged to fly in/out of SFO so he could see his old friends. I was thinking I hadn't seen him since RMJ and I dropped in on him and Jens in Copenhagen, but I forgot that Klaus did make an appearance last winter.
Special K arrived late Friday night, and while Shilpa and I arrange to be on hand on Polkestrasse to welcome him, he crashed and went straight to bed. But only after deciphering RMJ's code. RMJ received a could-not-refuse last minute invitation to dinner with fashion royalty, and knew he would likely miss Klaus' arrival on his doorstep. RMJ didn't just want to leave his Nob Hill flat unlocked with a note on the door. But how could he leave a note for Klaus that was obvious to him, but not an invitation or explanation to strangers of how to gain entrance and clean him out. I think RMJ came up with a fairly ingenious plan: he left the key under the mat, and left the note for Klaus in Danish (by way of a web-based translator).
We had bandied about ideas for entertaining Klaus while he was back, and one sentence clenched it. Saturday morning, RMJ and Klaus were having juice in the sunlight through the bay windows. Klaus said, "Wow. This is beautiful. I haven't seen the sun since July."
Since July.
Denmark has way long winters, and the summer sun was obscured early this year. (I never saw the sun during my stay in June.) This revelation put an end to RMJ's fantasy of relocating to Copenhagen.
It was sunny, clear, and warm. And for our sun-deprived friend, it was an easy decision: we packed the backs and were on the road to the Russian River by early afternoon.
It was a gorgeous drive and that was half the fun. We hadn't been able to reach the Triple-R all day and managed to get the last two rooms when we arrived. (My apnea/snoring has proven time and again I need to get my own room. Poor Klaus knows first hand.)
RMJ has been thinking of writing a story along the lines of six degrees three degrees, seeing how in our experience everyone knows everyone else, and six degrees is way to distant a separation.
Within thirty seconds of walking through the gate we had each seen two people we know. The rest of the weekend we just referred to them as half-degree connections.
We settled, ordered some roadies, and walked into "town." On the way up, we passed someone driving down the road in what can best be called a "contraption" which looked like a motorcycle in the front, but had the rear half of some sort of old Mazda for it's back end. Very odd. But then downtown, we encountered this:
"Twisted Toys" was painted on the front.
Not surprisingly, it was parked in front of a liquor store (see right). I say "a" liquor store and not "the" liquor store as in addition to the enormous Safeway across the street, there were three other liquor stores within a block. And there's not a whole lot of "town" downtown to begin with.
And what the hell is this for?
Is the lower horn some sort of opossum impaling device? Dunno. But creepy.
Another creepy bit "downtown," was the now, and who knows for how long, derelict public building. Well it looked public. Maybe it used to be a bank.
It was only slightly creepy, but what made me take note was the sign high up in a window. Oddly not at eye-level or at any sort of obvious location. It didn't just say "keep out,"
but added in magic marker it said: "or else!!!"
'k. Duly noted.
And then there's this. Add your own caption. Or addiction. Whatever.
We enjoyed our walk and window shopping (shops had closed minutes earlier).
There were other "attractions" around town, and clearly, I am easily distracted. New since my last visit, or perhaps I just never noticed, is the renovated foot bridge. From the bridge, we enjoyed a sipping the roadies, each other's company, and a California mountain sunset.
We also walked to the other end of "town" to check out the fate of the former Fife's, now Dawn's, resort. It's too bad the previous owner was such a petty, bitter man than he felt the need to salt the earth and poison the well when he was done with it. Or in the words of a local (when pressed for the local story), he "acted like a child who would rather break his toys than let anyone else play with them."
Dawn's was much more formal than I expected but I also couldn't recall being inside the main building when it was Fife's so I didn't have a basis for comparison. While very lovely in a dress-restaurant sort of way, it did strike me as a bit pretentious and stifling. But I understand that is the new target demographic. In the main room/bar area there was a marker board indicating the night's program was "Harmony Fusion." RMJ, Klaus and I stepped out onto the upper deck overlooking the pool and bungalows. The incoming parade of, shall we say, playfully ample and stern women, indicated to us that the gay bent of the former fife's wasn't gone, just inclined to the opposite gender. We being we (Klaus excluded), we engaged. I asked one woman, "Are you Harmony Fusion?"
"I thought it might be just one person. The sign inside made it sound like it was the name of the lounge singer tonight: Harmony Fusion. Two shows on Sunday. I think that's going to be my new drag name: Hi, I'm Harmony. Harmony Fusion." (Harmony Fusion chapter site)
When I checked with the Triple R on Friday afternoon, there were only three rooms left. We were lucky they had exactly what we needed when we checked in, and we secured the last two rooms. After we settled and disco-napped, we met poolside under the glow of the "No Vacancy" sign.
Klaus had gone out this morning and generously brought along some Veuve Clicquot for his hosts, which we enjoyed poolside by candlelight before setting off for dinner.
Vacations for me tend to be either heavily planned, or not at all. And for spontaneous trips like this, I love the absence of schedule. And I like being with like minds. We happily decided to wander down Main Street and dine wherever our fancy found.
Our fancy found the Main Street Station, and I'm glad it did. It was past nine so we were fortunate to be seated anywhere, and especially lucky to find a table here. The service was sporadic, and the delivery of the meal was slow, but the quality of the service when we received it and the quality of the meal were excellent. The owner had gone through Atkins in the past and had altered the menu to include more low-carb options, including Michelob Ultra beer and cauliflower au gratin as an optional alternative to mashed potatoes and gravy. I had the pot roast, which was amazing. It had been slow cooked for over eight hours, and it melted in the mouth (clearly, I had a moment with my meal). Even though I had been exceptionally strict with the South Beach Phase I all week, I invoked the vacation rule (diets do not apply), and ordered the Ghiradelli Chocolate Brownie a la Mode for dessert.
It was worth every last carb.
Most unexpected and most delightful was the live swing band. "Out of the Blue" were amazing musicians and thoroughly entertaining. The restaurant tacks a $5 cover for each person at your table, and it was well worth it. They crafted unique versions of some well-worn songs, standard and eclectic selections.
Sitting with my good friends, on vacation, with a good meal and good music and I was happier than a pig in mud.
Afterwards, as we do, we chatted up the band. We were also the only people left in the restaurant so there was no one else to talk to. Klaus got his picture took with an upright bass (so did RMJ).
I commented later that at the restaurant "RMJ got to stoke the bass," which when said aloud poolside with a bunch of lascivious queers takes on an entirely different meeting.
Even thought we intended to rage Saturday night, the karaoke was pretty tragic, the Rainbow Cattle Club empty, and the Long Islands sufficiently strong that we were all out by 12:15.
We had brunch at Pat's diner in the morning. And ever with a local theme, we had Korbel mimosas (Korbel is made just down the road).
And we made it to Kings and Queens, the vintage store RMJ had wanted to see Saturday but it was closed. RMJ found passable black leather jacket that could be minimally amended to have a cutting edge SoMa leather look.
Then, of course, there was the fur cape.
And, you know, golden sequined shoes.
Upon closer inspection I noticed that it was not truly a fur cape, but a real fur stole that some queen had stitched to a large fake fur square with a creepy/crappy lining. Anyone stroking the upper half would think it was all genuine fur. Kinda clever, poorly executed, and entirely tacky. But you know how we are with capes.
Klaus and I left empty handed.
We returned to the Trippe R motel/"resort" to regroup. (RMJ insisted on referring to it as the R-R-R for two reasons: (1) he likes to sound like a pirate; and (2) we all got jollies from other people's expressions and immediate corrections.
We're like that.
The day was beautiful and everything was in bloom.
We decided that the day was hot enough and the sun was bright enough to spend the rest of the day happily soaking up rays poolside.
So very, very nice.
As I've said, Klaus hadn't seen the sun since July, and it was snowing in Nashville. Poolside suited me just fine. And we were endlessly amused by my old friend David McCulloch (not the author, and "old" can be true in both senses),
and the little hottentot prancing about being pretty and playing hard-to-get with Mike.
This clinched the half-degree notion of the Gay Bay Area: the last time any of us were up at the Russian River/Guerneville we were with each other back in 2005. We took a break from the Grove to spend an afternoon poolside at Fife's. RMJ is thin and furry. Klaus is hairless and cur like the viking he is. I am of ample size and only took some comfort in the bearish company. Some pretty little twink in the pool gave us some attitude. I did the last thing he expected, which was to dive in clothed and dunk him. RMJ loves that story, and had recalled it when we first arrived.
So, the last time we were all up here we were together, poolside, in 2005, and yet:
same twink by the pool. RMJ has kept up with Arthur over the years and he's back in the Bay area, although I never got it clear if he moved back from SoCal back to Guerneville or found a place to live in the City. But still--three years later and same pool boy. But he was pretty, and sweet sweet, or perhaps just pretty sweet.
RMJ can, and usually does, talk to anyone and everyone. There were the messy, messy gaysians from the City we met at dinner. The trying-to-look-ghetto white guy was wearing Fire Island wear which got RMJ's attention. The conversation pretty much came to a halt after he identified his Fire Island status as restaurant dishwasher. (Aside to me: "Honey, we don't talk to staff.") That, and they were drunken messes who clearly did not know how to behave properly in a venue that wasn't a drug-ridden gay ghetto disco.
While that conversation came to a fairly abrupt halt, another RMJ excursion blossomed into a new friendship. We all noticed Adauto for two reasons: (1) he's a sexy little Italian man and (2) he was wearing some of the sexiest leather shoes we'd ever seen and they looked less than two days old.
And yes, we are that gay.
Adauto had just returned from Argentina where he had the shoes made. A South America/Argentina/ BA lover, this topic was custom made for a RMJ introduction and conversation.
However, he could not own up to his own pedigree and "International Affairs" ( as I refer to his proclivities) as he had firmly established an alternate identity earlier and could not escape it.
RMJ was "Brock," a pizza-maker in the Outer Richmond. Klaus was "Lars" from Norway, in the states marketing winter sporting apparel. I was merely "Willo," and my job was the court-appointed consultant to Abercrombe &Fitch to make sure their wares are age-appropriate and their staff and marketing reflective of diversity. I cited several people as being far, far to old for their A&F wardrobe selections. Speaking purely as a professional I assure you.
I sucked at the Game of Alter Ego and would frequently slip when introducing or calling out to Brock and/or Lars.
Regardless, the boys men who had, ostensibly, come into Guerneville just to go to the Safeway but lounged with us by the pool all day became our new favorite people. It turns out that Richard works for the same outfit I do (not A&F but IRL) and we know some of the same people. Richard also has owned his place in Occidental for over 20 years and rarely uses it, and we gave him good excuses to open it up more often.
Brock, Richard (aka Marilyn) and Adauto
After the sunset it was time to go home. RMJ suggested we drop off their stuff at his place and then we go directly to Sundance Sallon. RMJ goes from time to time just to watch me in my element and always has a good time. He thought it would be a fun something new and very non-Denmark for Klaus.
On the ride home, I was looking forward to stopping at the antique Tasty Freeze, this one called Foster's Freeze, in some tiny, tiny town on 116. RMJ and Klaus got strawberry shakes and flirted with the teenage boy behind the counter. I was very happy and nostalgic with just a classic soft-serve.
I did have to pop in the potty before continuing the drive home, and was surprised to see an antique BORAX soap dispenser, clearly an original fixture.
Even more surprising, it actually dispensed old, granulated soap powder.
I didn't know they even still made soap power for antique dispensers. It was a total time warp feeling for me (and obviously I thought it notable as I took pictures. Is that just me?)
After a night of two-stepping--RMJ took to the floor once or twice and Klaus did not, but not for lack of invitation--we picked up Shilpa from the N at Duboce Park and hit the Badlands.
As usual, as asinine as the place is, it was a great deal of fun. Post-Sundance Sundays usually are, and Badlands time with Shilpa and RMJ always are.
What I had never seen before though, was the ever-demur Klaus getting his groove on:
Awwwwwsome.
Shilpa was getting no lack of hassle on the dance floor ("Why do gay guys think they can just grab at all my parts?!") and Klaus was her Knight Viking in Shining Armor.
And now for a couple of shout outs:
First, a big Hey Hey to Lance and Rey!
Some lovin' to Jason.
And last, but never ever least, the tall and trim and always so kind hotness that is Matt.
Sister Constance Craving and Wilson Hardcastle
Dolores Park crowd
Picnic Bunnies
Yellow Family
Mary (his real name) drinks his "Bloody Nazareth."
Ski chicks bonnet
Jim Myers and Aaron Rose
Michael's Gym Bunny Bonnet was amazing. It took him over a month I'm told. And so worth it!
He calls this pattern a "drag wax."
RMJ is the ultimate wing man— he can, and does, talk to anyone. Only one question remained at the end of the night.
It was only slightly creepy, but what made me take note was the sign high up in a window. Oddly not at eye-level or at any sort of obvious location. It didn't just say "keep out,"
but added in magic marker it said: "or else!!!"
Add your own caption. Or addiction. Whatever.
There were other "attractions" around town, and clearly, I am easily distracted.
New since my last visit, or perhaps I just never noticed, is the renovated foot bridge. From the bridge, we enjoyed a sipping the roadies, each other's company, and a California mountain sunset.
We also walked to the other end of "town" to check out the fate of the former Fife's, now Dawn's, resort. It's too bad the previous owner was such a petty, bitter man than he felt the need to salt the earth and poison the well when he was done with it. Or in the words of a local (when pressed for the local story), he "acted like a child who would rather break his toys than let anyone else play with them."
Klaus had gone out this morning and generously brought along some Veuve Clicquot for his hosts, which we enjoyed poolside by candlelight before setting off for dinner.
Vacations for me tend to be either heavily planned, or not at all. And for spontaneous trips like this, I love the absence of schedule. And I like being with like minds. We happily decided to wander down Main Street and dine wherever our fancy found.
I commented later that at the restaurant "RMJ got to stoke the bass," which when said aloud poolside with a bunch of lascivious queers takes on an entirely different meeting.
And, you know, golden sequined shoes.
We decided that the day was hot enough and the sun was bright enough to spend the rest of the day happily soaking up rays poolside.
So very, very nice.
This clinched the half-degree notion of the Gay Bay Area: the last time any of us were up at the Russian River/Guerneville we were with each other back in 2005. We took a break from the Grove to spend an afternoon poolside at Fife's. RMJ is thin and furry. Klaus is hairless and cur like the viking he is. I am of ample size and only took some comfort in the bearish company. Some pretty little twink in the pool gave us some attitude. I did the last thing he expected, which was to dive in clothed and dunk him. RMJ loves that story, and had recalled it when we first arrived.
Brock, Richard (aka Marilyn) and Adauto
I didn't know they even still made soap power for antique dispensers. It was a total time warp feeling for me (and obviously I thought it notable as I took pictures. Is that just me?)
Awwwwwsome.
First, a big Hey Hey to Lance and Rey!
Some lovin' to Jason.
And last, but never ever least, the tall and trim and always so kind hotness that is Matt. 
