Halloween leftovers

I forgot I had saved these little Halloween treats: 

Sure, some may find this a little offensive, but I think it mocks the trendy of the Occupy movement more than anything else.  Frankly I think it is clever.  And subtle.  And funny in a dark way.

This second photo is priceless to me.  My cousin Clark, who lives in Berlin, his young son wanted to do a mashup costume this year and he came up with this himself:  Darth the Pooh.

When questioned regarding his costume choice, the lad looked up at his father and deadpanned: "Do not underestimate the power of the dark side of the honey."

Win.

Happy Halloween: Trick or Treat

Kevin is a showman. See also: Sparkle. He had just moved into the new house on Shotwell but did it up proper last Halloween for the neighbors and kiddies. Inspired by his enthusiasm, the neighborhood tried to get more formally organized this year and sent out letters to all the residents asking them to decorate if they could and be home for the itty bitty trick-or-treaters who would be meeting at the fire station at 5:45, have a mini parade, and then trick or treat until 7:00.

Not to be outdone of course, Kevin brought it again.

He told me he didn't really want to spend a lot of money, so he looked around the decorations and accessories he had, was inspired by the tiki torches, and dove into a "witch doctor" theme. he sent me some preliminary pics:




I was invited to come participate, entertain and hand out treats and I was unreasonably excited to be included in the fun. I bought fur trim and bones and such for my costume, had khaki and brown jungle safari clothes to mangle, and designed a wooden tribal mask for my face.

When I arrived, however, I discovered that with the description of "witch doctor" I was picturing a scene along the lines of "Dr. Livingston, I presume," whereas Kevin was going for bayou voodoo witch doctor.

And looked pretty great doing it.






I kept the bones and mask, but switched to the spider shirt, and tied the fur and bone to my waist.


The neighbors were impressed, and loved it to say the least. Debolina and I overheard several parents talking about the house, "Did you see..." and discussing what they want to do next year. It now appears to be quite "on."

The kids were many and all about five or under. And unbelievably adorable. And while some were really excited about "the house with the fire and the skeleton man," others would cringe at the sidewalk and were too afraid to walk up and ask for candy. Which was also fun.

I was surprised at the number of Luke Skywalkers. So young!


And this kid as an aquarium (he was overtired and getting fussy), and this kids dressed as a tree, and his mother was the three hugger. Adorbs.


Most of the teenagers and potential adult trouble were still distracted by the Giants parade-related activities. And it started to drizzle, which helped keep things a bit calm.

The parents were into it too, and it made it for a very happy Halloween. (And no Castro Crazy!)

Happy Halloween! Sundance Saloon

After the day down the coast I got a disco nap before I made my costume for the Sundance Saloon costume ball. That's always a fun party, but it's difficult to make a costume that is comfortable to dance in, can sweat in, and can exchange the undershirts as they gets too sweaty. Usually the dancing fever also means that face paint it out. This year I thought I'd just have an accent I could wipe off and reapply as necessary. I'm still taking it east on the knees and foot since Stompede, so I only sweat through two shirts this time. Again, not really an "I'm going as such-and-such" costume as just Halloween dress-up. Still "costume" though.


Liam and friends brought it as usual, with a classic:


And the fun people all participated.








Is that a genie in my pocket or am I just happy to see you?


Ah, Johan. He was a genie in a bottle, and I wanted to rub him the right way. Which, incidentally, would be granting one wish.

Bonus: Sundance arranged for a big screen to show Game Four in the bar.


Watching the game was such a nail biter, and I am so glad I was there to witness the final pitch.

Holy Halloween. The streets were insane trying to get home though, as I had to traverse the length of Cesar Chavez. Stupid, stupid girls running in the darkened streets in the mist wearing all black into very fast six lanes of traffic dodging construction. While waving a broom. She almost got killed, and I would have been first in line for the witness stand defending the poor motorist who smacked these stupid people throwing themselves into traffic because the Giants won. Almost as stupid as the rioting and setting shit on fire to celebrate civic pride. Friends were movie uploading from the Castro, which was merely revelrous with the most vandalism being toilet paper from the muni wires. Friends have posted some great shots of the celebration, but by the time I got there the streets had cleared so I headed home.


Around 4:30 a.m. though, another crew tore through the Castro, clearly not locals, and smashed windows to stores, clinics, and the LGBT History Museum. I hate stupid people.

But love the Giants! Between the team and the holiday, I have had to ration the orange and black!


I love this town for fans though. The non bridge-and-tunnel riot set. The view of the City at night as you crest over Twin Peaks is a sight to see: City Hall and most of the downtown buildings have changed their exterior lighting to all orange. As is the beacon atop the TransAmerica Pyramid. Nice.

And then there was this:


I'll keeping singing the song: I love this town.

Happy Halloween! Drag Saturday

This weekend was jam packed of pre-Halloween goodness. I spent Saturday night in my favorite Halloween tradition: celebrating Drag Saturday at Twin Peaks Tavern at Castro and Market (see 2011). As we do, we get there as early as we can, set up a table, and watch the parade through the window, and drink with out be sties, usually in group-drag ensemble. I haven't done drag since the Rodeo Drag-A-Thon, but always come up with a Saturday-specific costume and celebrate my friends who completely bring it. Much love and constant air kisses to Michael Smith. He may deny it, but I think he is the ring leader/creative director of the this particularly flawless rabble.

I still haven't quite recovered myself as 100% into the super happy fun times, and sort of phoned in my Saturday costume this year. As usual, I don;t care for actual "I'm going as such-and-such" costumery, rather I just play an elevated level of "dress up." It 's costume, but not usually character. See "conflict of interest."

This Saturday I pulled out a black shirt I had wired up with several dozen tiny white LEDs and wired up some black jeans to match. With the bare tree across my face, I was a starry night in the woods.


Or rather, I said "I am the woods at night. That can be very scary."

As a big fan, I thought the gaggle of Phyllis Dilers was a nice tribute.


Of course, my friends were glamawesome as usual. This year, they were The Cougars."


Michael's expression is priceless.


Loves my courgars.


And they love me.


Rawr.

As did the paparazzi.


Halloween note: I don't care how twinky or hot you are, nearly naked is not a costume. Sure, some of these guys were ridiculous hot wearing a thong, but it wasn't a costume. It was the desperate teenage girl wearing Slutty Nurse/Slutty Cat/Slutty Girl. Also, we can tell what is an effort at Halloween and what is Leftovers from Burning Man.

However, there was other Halloween hotness.


And Tom, in a variation on his teen In-N-Out uniform, was definitely hanging a little out.


HUGE shout out to MJ. He is a serious comic book geek, and has total comicon hard-ons for Aquaman and Dazzler. No relation. MJ rocked Dazzler.




The eye makeup was spot freaking on.


Other honorable mentions of the night: early 80s nostalgia, with Labyrinth and The Never Ending Story representing.




and The Fantastic Four:


This cracked me up so much as there were just three of them...because you can't see the Invisible Woman!

aye, aye Captain

I was thinking of puns for Halloween costumes as I feel asleep last night, and I have no idea why these two things came to me:

Finding Emo:



Or better yet, Tickle Me Emo:

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?

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.