bad month for book learnin'

I waited a while before commenting to allow myself to calm down a bit, but I still seethe whenever I consider the insidious actions of the Texas School Board. If they can't keep the state from forcing book learnin' on its children, they are going to make sure these books don't include actual history or any ideas counter to their own ignorance and conservative dogma. I have no patience for anyone's argument when their go-to comparison is the Nazis/Hitler; however, those of use who have read non-redacted history books are seeing some frightening similarities to policies of The Party in Germany circa 1938. If these "school" board members have proven anything, it is that the Christian Right is neither.

And that they use the word "education" ironically.

The handsome and talented Gate columnist Mark Morford rants pretty nicely on this.

Hot on the heels of the news that Texas will be providing only Books of Lies (I'm including lies of omission) to its students, comes word that Charlotte-Mecklenburg County (North Carolina) will be closing half of its branch libraries.

Because what rural NC really needs to help itself rise up is fewer books and less opportunity for community education and support.

el curryito

Shilpa is all in a lather that India is getting a Taco Bell. Now I do rely on Shilpa as my arbiter of both "good" Indian food and "food items that taste like they are made from molten lava," but we both have a weakness for Taco Bell as our comfort fast food of choice.

Shilpa masala'd herself over the India/Taco Bell news.

I do agree with her that putting a McDonald's in India, where they do not eat beef, was a ludicrous idea. I was mocking her spicy enthusiasm while she read aloud from the proposed menu, until she got to the words "potato paneer burrito" and I jumped right on that bandwagon. Or rickshaw. Or whatever it is that will take me to there.

Wilson: "Why can't we get an Indian Taco Bell here?"
Shilpa: "We have one. It's called Kasa."

See also.


Update: Shilpa is now gloating that Britain does not yet have a Taco Bell.

I don't know what to do with that so I'm giving it to you.

smoke and hot air

not to pop your balloon or anything, but this is pretty cool.

Grayson

for President. LOVE him.

looking good

I had a photo shoot Saturday morning with Troy to be the next poster boy for Sundance Saloon. It was a real treat and I have never felt so good about how I looked as in front of Troy's lens. If you need some headshots, some family shots, photos for your profile, or any professional photography needs please check out Troy Dean Photography. For City folk, his studio space is conveniently located on Noe Street between Duboce Park and Market Street.

By the way, I've seen a lot of his work and I don't think his website does his talents justice. Also, he's not nearly as stern looking as his self portrait. Troy's eyes and smile can disarm you faster than a taser.

Den of Thieves

Kevin and I have enjoyed being (Out with) ACT subscribers for several years now. It used to be for the theatrical and homo fun time, but with both of our schedules theses days we have appreciated the season tickets more for forcing quality time together onto our calendars.

Kevin is a subscriber to another house with his/our friend Kelly. Kelly couldn't make it last week so I was his plus-one to the SF Playhouse's preview of Den of Thieves.

I am going to have to become a subscriber to the SF Playhouse too. I hate to say this, but it sort of blows ACT out of the water. I've been reporting over and over that ACT shows tend to be hit or miss—if is a traveling show or something being worked for off/Broadway, it's amazing. If the fare is up to the house artistic director, it's painful, bordering on God awful. Terrible. Wretched. Punishment. What have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this.

The SF Playhouse is a MUCH smaller house and is basically community theater. Kevin has taken acting lessons here before and I saw recital or two in the lower theater. This theater space is tiny, not black box tiny but small for a full theatrical production. The effect is not cramped or unprofessional, rather intensely intimate with the actors and the action. And the acting quality I witnessed at the Den of Thieves preview was superb. It was still in previews and there were a few slow fits and comedic timing issues that could use some improvement, but overall the acting was stellar, the story engaging, and the sets and blocking impressive for such a small stage. Also of note is that the roles are expertly cast, with each actor fulfilling both the character and the physicality of their roles.

The Den of Thieves plays at the SF Playhouse though April 17 and is highly recommended for a dramatic yet cost-effective night out on the town. The SF Playhouse is on Mason street just above Union Square, between Sutter and Post. Nighttime parking is cheap at the Sutter/Stockton garage a block away, and it's an easy walk uphill from the Powell Street Station. The Playhouse sells sodas, snacks, beer and wine, which can be taken to your seat to be consumed, quietly of course, during the performance.

also last weekend

via Laughing Squid, a nice little video of the SF Urban Iditarod, which was back this year after SFPD determined it was a victim of its own success. Pah!

Urban Iditarod 2010 from Maubrowncow on Vimeo.

art history

the 70 Million video by Hold Your Horses.
Bee-Yoo-Tee -Ful.

70 Million by Hold Your Horses ! from L'Ogre on Vimeo.

and a brisk mourning in Nashville

I just learned that two wonderful Nashville luminaries have died. Master of commerce Big Jimmy Bradford (J. C. Bradford, Jr.) and the vivacious and inspirational Nancy Saturn, founder of the American Artisan and the American Artisan Festival. I grew up with the children of both of them and knew them well. It is so harsh to hear that Nancy finally succumbed to her battle with cancer, and I feel so much for her daughter Samantha who lost her father also far too soon. Love to you all.

From The Nashville Post: James C. Bradford Jr., whose family name symbolized Nashville's bygone era as the "Wall Street of the South," died of cancer this afternoon at his home. He was 76.

From The Tennessean: Nancy Saturn, a longtime key figure in Nashville's art community who founded American Artisan arts and crafts gallery and the annual American Artisan Festival in Centennial Park, died Tuesday from metastatic breast cancer. She was 67. Mrs. Saturn operated American Artisan for 38 years before closing the gallery on Harding Pike last year to focus on taking care of her ill husband and her own cancer. During that time she transformed what began as a small folk art shop into one of the top arts and crafts galleries in the country.

See also this post on Gilda's Gang.

busting the seams

Sunday night was the Academy Awards, which for SF means the Academy of Friends Oscar gala benefit. Always a good time, and an opportunity to see friends you might not have seen since last year's event. SF really does not, especially in the gay community, have enough formal functions. As husband Sean was out of town, blog favorite David O'Connor was kind enough to invite me as his escort. The three of us had a great time last year and we managed to wrangle more zest out of this year even without the heroes in spandex. Although we started out in black tie, by the end of the night and the deck of drink tickets, we were more in the realm of black out. I blame Coco. She's not truthfully responsible, professional enabler though she may be, but still. Blaming Coco.

I always want at least a little flair at these theme events, and I indulged the face paint as is now apparently my "thing." It's also always so hideously hot and humid in Fort Mason (it is almost always raining buckets for this event), so I painted a tux shirt with sparkle for when the jackets came off. This year, however, clear skies, strong winds, and a cold snap made the hangar quite comfortable and jackets remained donned until the final dance mess.

Supper happy fun times.

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David O was happy to find his old friend Brent, and also Jay Nicolas Sario of Project Runway Season 7:

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As the theme was "Behind the Seams" there were both backstage/behind the scenes attractions as well as fashion exhibits. There was a neat setup where you could insert yourself into any number of famous movie scenes using a green screen. David and I both chose the Ingrid Bergman side of the "Play it, Sam." scene from Casablanca.

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However, I was just happy because this prompted my new favorite photo of David O:


I'm thinking "Christmas Cards."

It was delightful to run into the charming Hilma again (together we are Wilma and Hilma),


And of course, the irascible Coco. If you're ever at a party and need to jump on the first shuttle downhill, Coco will be drivin'. Or flirting with the driver.


And we were full speed ahead. Coco calls this shot "subtle":


And we are nothing if not fashion forward.

Oh my Dear. Ma petite chou. Let me whisk you away from this place.
Maybe in the morning we shall shop for earrings...oh, apologies mademoiselle. A necklace then.

There, there Precious. Shhh....shhhhh.
Did the bad man touch you? It's alright.
We will be home together soon. shhhh.

The Facebook comments have been priceless.

Fab time. And big shout to David O!

Flickr set.

unintentional satire

Sometimes it scares me that someone can write something so over the top offensive that you are certain that it is satire but it's not. There's a name for this and I suppose now I'll have to look up—some sort of principle that any sufficiently dogmatic conservative treatise will be indistinguishable from its satire. Or maybe it was vice-versa. [Update: It's Poe's Law.]

Anyway, I came across this link long ago and saved reading it for a lunch break. I got to it today. Oh Dear God. No pun intended. It's from a super-conservative Christianist website and written by a scary sort of troll judging by his photo. It is really a delicious rant with so much wrong with it that I wouldn't know where to begin tearing it apart, but I do know that doing so would be pointless. From the "it would be scary if it weren't so ridiculous" file, an honest treatise on how the television show The Golden Girls is singularly responsible for turning an entire generation of men into homos.

Oh my stars and garters.

And Betty White made muscle queens stupid.

Under the "you may also like" suggestions on this site is a link to his similar take on the apparent unholiness that is Glee. It's so effed up it reads as satire and is doubly funny for its unintentional humor. (He's upset that there is singing and dancing because it detracts from the plot. It's a musical for Heaven's sakes.)

My favorite lines:

• "the music numbers just drag down the plot of the show."
• "They’ve clearly been coached. The singing is just too finely polished. The dance numbers are too excruciatingly choreographed. No high school kids can put on these sorts of shows at the spur of a moment."
• "Disregarding any sense of fair play, the show does not offer any alternative to the gay lifestyle argument. There are no teens cured of their relentless and wild male sex desires, there are no moral figures on hand to give a comforting hand, there are no popular boys who say, 'I don’t want to hurt my family anymore and I love Jesus, so I am going to stop doing gay things with guys in the bathroom.'"

Don't worry, he brings it all back to The Golden Girls and that's why it is making you gay.

Seriously.

I am not making this up.

Oscar losers make us feel like winners

Skot Land the Shilpa had to bow out of last night's Brain Farts (theme: Oscar losers). And while my system was still recovering from the fun that was the Academy of Friends gala, I was happy to welcome childhood friend Jennifer Corbett —in town from NYC. No cloth napkins or tourist attractions for Jennifer, but rather some good local color. The color purple, actually, as Pollo was decked out in Harlem Globetrotters gear. And looking fierce as usual.

Jen and I are the type of folks who can pick up a conversation where we left off, which I think was in a downtown NYC Macy's Christmas 1994. Jennifer is both a hoot and a holler. She's also total PLU and got into the Brain Farts spirit in the blink of an eye. She's got a new local client so here's hoping we will see her back for more.

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Welcome Jen!

(She's also got some trivia props and we missed qualifying for the lightning round by one point.)

7x7 needs some gay friends

because they really don't "get" the Castro or the Castro bar scene (which are not the same thing, by the way). In the article "The Castro cocktail scene grows up," the author suggests that because gay bars on the strip don't major in "fancy" cocktails that require more than three ingredients and a muddle, they are somehow deficient or immature. I don't know if Camper English, the author of the article, is a boy or a girl, but it certainly reads like it was written by a girl and she should have had some fag read this over first. I am fairly certain the reader's response would have started with "Honey, [pause]" and gone from there. It's a pretty insulting take on the fact that now there are some higher-brow cocktail bars opening up in the 'Stro and 'Stro-adjacent streets (e.g. the previously mentioned lovely and spiritually talented Blackbird).

Honey, here's the thing. Most* of my straight friends cannot handle the cocktails in gay bars. The "gay pour" as it is known is twice the size and easily quadruple the alcohol as the standard fare in a "straight" bar. And you don't have to have a rack to get the bartenders' attention. We are serious about our boozing and can take any hetero macho man down like Marion in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

I can guarantee you most homos can order a "fancy" or sophisticated cocktail when they are out in a cocktail bar. My friend Kevin might as well have an advanced degree in mixology, imports his own ingredients and even has a travel case—complete with appropriate stemware— to properly serve himself or others when away from home. He often takes it even to other people's dinner parties, just in case.

Most of the bars in the Castro serve cocktails in a high ball (if we are going to call those that, larger than a highball, smaller than a pint glass) and serve up two for the price of one until eight or nine o'clock. We actually get a bit annoyed at the foppish who order anything that requires more than three ingredients (and one of those a piece of lime) or any additional shaking—there's a line of people waiting for their booze and their poor man's Manhattan isn't impressing anybody only taking up the bartender's time. In fact, the more simple the drink, the more butch the order—and in the twisted math that is same-sex man-on-man attraction—the hotter the guy. So typically gays in the Castro don't order nor seek to order the "fancy" drinks noted as conspicuously absent by the article.

Note I say "in the Castro." Gays drinks of choice often tend to be contextually appropriate. Camper, bless her heart, has completely missed it that the Castro strip of bars are basically sports bars. The fine restaurants in the area such as Catch, Eureka and 2223 all have bars with proper "mixologists" and patrons ordering items requiring bitters and a muddle—something overlooked in the article. We know what bitters are (Honey, please) even in the Castro.

Personally the most insulting implication in the article is that the only "fancy" drink gays might order is an appletini. Seriously? Appletinis is what young girls in the midwest order when they think they are being sophisticated. I do not know a single gay man who has ordered an appletini in the past decade. I think many may have tried one once when apple was the first in the then-new trend of flavor-infused vodkas. But no self-respecting fag or alcoholic would order one today, especially in the Castro. While I like to think of myself as setting this particular trend, the more popular slightly-above-basic mixed drink today is an Absolut Mandarin and Soda. I cringe when I hear "appletini." It just screams bridge and tunnel. It is much more five-and-dime than within the seven-by-seven.

Here's the final point Camper and 7x7 need to clue in to: bar-bars (not the restaurant-bars) in the Castro are sports bars. You would never order a sidecar or an aviator in a sports bar, nor would that be expected.

We're just cheering on a different set of games.

See also: competing for gold in the men's downhill.

*Clearly exclusive of Shilpa and Coco; Co-Captains, Team Wilson.

ACT: The Caucasian Chalk Circle

ACT house performances tend to be hit or miss, either exciting or snoozers. I don't really know what to make of this one. It is yet another eastern European high-concept drama, but this one is a post WWII communist take on a play within a play of a 15th century story with all-familiar elements.

I don't really know what to make of this one, but I liked it.

It is also one of the few, if only, plays that I read up on prior to viewing, so while the set up and setting were a bit confusing, I had some clue as to what was going on. Basically, if you read up on it before going or not, just go along with it and you'll be glad you did.

I appreciate and applaud the director's deliberate choice to have no announcements and no rising of the curtain, just the gradual appearances of actors on the stage and the story commencing. What does not come across, save for the one gesture of handing an apparent newcomer (the soldier) a script page, is that the entire performance is supposed to be a sort of play within a play. None of the people particularly look like their characters. And judging by conversations at intermission and the reception, I was one of the few that was happy to have a soiled pillow as the stand in for the baby/child. Personally, and especially for a show such as this where the audience has to project much into the experience, I would much rather have a blank pillow than a plastic doll. Honestly, the doll would have been distracting. A plastic doll is clearly and harshly not a real baby. But in the realm of pretend, a pillow could be.

A co-worker asked me today what I thought about it, and if I thought he would like it. My short answer is this: If you are a theater person, you'll dig it. Just run with it and you'll have a good time. But the actors are trying to take you someplace foreign with them and you have to agree to take the trip.

If you are not so much a "theater" person, you too will enjoy the show, but you have to be willing to let go.

Helpful hint to getting the context: Think of a community of people huddled in Bosnia or some place under frequent shelling. They are putting on a play with no costumes and minimal whatever-is-at-hand props. And they are putting on this play for you come Hell or high water and even though shells occasionally knock over part of their stage and building. They are performing this play for you, the act itself being a commentary on the war raging outside their precarious walls. The soldier who dives into the room for shelter during the opening is handed a page and he partakes in the play, appropriately enough as "the solder."

I did speak to several people after the show who didn't much care for the play. But no one could criticize the acting, which truly made this performance. The acting was superb. René Augesen only gets better and better with each role and I am afraid that stellar performances are going to become too old hat for her and she might move on to other things. I just hope she works on her personal shyness and stays behind to mingle with the Out with ACT receptions one night. Tony Fusco is also his usual tremendous self and lilts from character to character with an easy grace. The problem with these two (René and Tony) is that by delivering such consistently good performances we will expect nothing less from them ever again. Jack "Big Daddy" Wills retains his general Big Daddy comportment, but as such is perfectly cast in his role(s) for this production. ACT company regular Gregory Wallace can always be counted upon for a comedic flare, and does not disappoint in both dramatic and comic-relief turns in this performance. New to the ACT stage are, well I hate to say "leads" as it is such an ensemble production but they are the central characters, are the amazing Omozé Idehenre who hits it out of the theater with this performance, and the young and adorable Nick Childress who shows his ACT MFA chops in the role of "the soldier."

Of course, as usual there was plenty of off-stage drama at the reception afterward.

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Lots of love to hosts Randy, Darren, Christie, and Max, and to new Out with ACTers but old friends David and Sean.

And shouts to Rob Forni (his serious new beard) and his beau Steven for charming midnight dinner company post-reception at the Globe. And I should say the production at the Globe was superb as always.

coffee buzz

I love coffee. Lots of it. Black. I used to say "I like my coffee like I like my men: cream, two sugars." Because it sounds like a joke, but really isn't, and therefore is. These days I just say I take my coffee dark and bitter, like my soul. Regardless, I've had a long love affair with the bean and have had to cut back to half-caff most of the time. Well, at home. At work it's still high octane all day long. Probably unhealthy. But then again, every couple of months some new "study" touts the benefits of coffee. Else failing news/magazines are dredging the same stories up again and again for eyeballs because nobody buys print media anymore.

Whatever.

My point is I love coffee, but feel this sort of rage every time I have to order a drink at Starbucks with their made-up portion names. I have been annoyed by this for years. Almost anything consumable and sold comes in three sizes. These sizes may not be consistent from place to place, but they are always consistent in their relative sizes to each other. It's always a combination of small, medium and large. Goldilocks could order with no problem. What genius decided that a tall cup of coffee was a smallest size? That's not tall, that's small. Just ask 1970's Steve Martin.

And so I will always love Paul Rudd for not only his casual super-sexiness, but also for this scene from Role Models. In fact this clip was enough to make me go see the movie.



Even today, I refuse to conform to the Starbucks pretentiousness and when forced to order from the chain, I will only order in sizes small, medium, or large.

Is this rant from too much coffee today, or not enough? Don't care. I'm getting another cup.

Trader Joe's to the Castro hits a live wire

According to CurbedSF , which references the more substantial article in the Examiner, the planned "walking grocery store" version of Trader Joe's set to enter the largely vacant space at Market and Noe is being stymied by RadioShack.

The best thing about Curbed's coverage is the description of RadioShack as "the batteries-and-speaker-wire purveyor."

It seems that even though the other two remaining businesses in the retail space (the dry cleaners and card shop, the rest formerly occupied by Tower records) have agreed to move, and even though RadioShack also had agreed to move (in writing no less), now they're balking at relocating either upstairs or across the street.

Seriously? It's not like RadioShack does a lot of spontaneous "just walking by" business. One tends to go into RadioShack only if they need something RadioShack-related, e.g. small AV accessories, batteries, or cables. Or you know, conversations employees who have no knowledge of radios, shacks, electronic minutia, or of any of the bits they sell. At least the folks who work at the Castro location are nice.

Anyway, it is always frustrating to see progress stymied by a lone holdout for undisclosed purposes. Although I fear the parking/traffic that is to come from the new TJ's.

Hello, Veronaphone.

Remember Ophelia's Sassy Gay Friend? Remember how I wondered what would have happened if Romeo or Juliet had a Sassy Gay Friend?

Wonder no more.



I have never heard "stupid bitch" used as such an honestly affectionate term of endearment. I sense a new trend coming.

I'm feeling so fat today

that I'm worried someone is going to ask me "Where's Jake?"

now this IS a treat

From Pedigree, super slow motion footage of dogs catching treats:



And let's be honest. There have been men who have made us feel this way too.

Hardcastle hears a Who

This past week I saw two guys who looked just like David Tennant's Doctor Who. For your reference, this is Tennant as The Doctor:

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Almost a week ago we saw this guy at Q Bar who was skinny and floppy-haired enough to remind me of David Tennant/Doctor Who:

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But after the Pink Party, I saw this boy at Harvey's. This sexy guy was in town for a convention of some sort and out to see the Castro with three girls from the conference. Only one of the them, the girl from England, spoke English. He was not immediately familiar with the Doctor Who reference, but the girls were and all went into squeals when I mentioned it.

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He was game enough to have his photo taken, but a bit aback by being accosted by a big 'mo in Gaytown.


He was right to have been wary. I was clearly attempting to become the companion to this Doctor Otter with a foreign tongue.

Flickr set.