Crazy Christmas Cookies

If you've ever wondered what a couple of four years will do with a batch of cookie dough, cutters, colored icing and sugars, wonder no more...

Sexy Is as Sexy Does...

Saw Tom Waits on Letterman last week and was blown away by the man’s energy. Last time I felt that from a musician on TV was a scrawny Bruce Springsteen on the Old Gray Whistle Test (BBC TV) circa ‘79. Don’t have video of that to show, but check out The Boss rehearsing for his Dancer in the Dark Video below. By this point, he’d built up a few muscles ~ still makes me melt.

As for Mr. Waits… just goes to show that smart and funny ~ with some rhythm thrown in ~ does equal sexy. Again, no current video, but see what I mean on this old Letterman clip below.

Bruce Springsteen ~ hot, hot hot!

Tom Waits on Letterman

I'm blogging

You just know that every blogger on the planet is going to post this! Sheer brilliance.

Sony Cyber-Shot

Now that I am finally the digital age with my new Sony Cyber-Shot ~ did I mention I love this camera? ~ I'm going to be a girl out of control... move over Henri (as in Cartier-Bresson). Here's the first of my sure-to-be gallery of rogues portraits...





Just to I don't have to repeat myself, ready my review of Alembic on Yelp ~ highly recommended. The 2004 Dashe Cellars Dry Creek Zinfandel is extremely yummy!

Slow Club

Just a snapshot taken with my new supercool Sony Cyber-shot while I was dining with Anthony at the Slow Club Thursday night. By now we were onto desserts and I ordered the gorgonzola colcelatte and Chateau Grillon Sauternes with raw star thistle honey and toasted walnuts ~ to die for, as was the rest of our dinner with the exception of the fried 'cardoons'. For those of of you who don't know what a cardoon is (and we seasoned gourmets had to ask, as did each of our neighboring diners) it's a member of the fibrous vegetable family a la artichoke. Well, the cardoons were a joke ~ utterly inedible and so rubbery we could stretch them like rubber bands. Anthony would never complain but, of course, I will so our darling waiter removed them from our bill... This is our darling waiter

You Make Me Feel Mighty Real

My friend is having a christening party for his son this coming Sunday and I'm the 'event coordinator'. We've gone back and forth on the need to have a canopy as a rain contingency ~ the problem being that they're very expensive to rent. In the end I found an affordable solution at REI and called to ensure that they had the item I needed in stock. When I was put on hold I was treated to this blast from the past. This is guaranteed to get you dancing!

Dancing in the discos in Scotland, I had no idea that Sylvester was a San Francisco phenomenom and that I'd land up living here in the thick of gay culture. Funny how life turns out:)

Halloween

A little background on Halloween:

The origin of Halloween dates back 2000 years ago to the Celtic celebration of the dead. A Celtic festival was held on November 1, the first day of the celtic New Year, honoring the Samhain, the Lord of the Dead. Celtic ritual believed that the souls of the dead returned on the evening before November 1. The celebration included burning sacrifices and costumes. These early events began as both a celebration of the harvest and an honoring of dead ancestors.

Halloween spread throughout Europe in the seventh century. It began with "All Hallows Eve," the "Night of the Dead." It is immediately followed by "All Souls Day," a christian holy day.

The first lighted fruit was really carved out of gourds and turnips. European custom also included carving scary faces into the gourds and placing embers inside to light them. This was believed to ward off evil spirits, especially spirits who roamed the streets and countryside during All Hallows Eve.

The Irish brought the tradition of carving turnips with them to America. They quickly discovered that pumpkins were bigger and easier to carve.

I can attest to that since, growing up in Scotland, we used to raid farmers' fields at night to find the biggest turnips, which then took hours to carve because they're rock solid. On Halloween, we'd don costumes and go door to door with our lanterns asking for "a penny for the Guy" ~ screw candy, we Scots went straight for the cash!

Here's my Halloween tune for the day.

Blast from the Past Song of the Day

Who knows why this song popped into my head today, except that it's totally cute and makes me smile. Unfortunately, you'll only be able to play it if you have iTunes, at least until I can reconfigure the format.

Some of you might even remember the album cover... from the 60s. Personally, I was still a twinkle in my dad's eye;)

Tilly and The Wall

If you didn't catch them on Letterman last week, here's a sample called Bad Education or check out their brilliant and bizarre web site.

The Departed

Leonardo DiCaprio stole the show in this tense stomach-twister. I was skeptical walking into the theater since I’d heard that the plot didn’t hold together and that, towards the end, Mr. Nicholson was a parody of himself eliciting laughter from the audience. It’s true, we did laugh, but I think it was a deliberate ploy on Scorsese’s part to relieve the gut wrenching tension, we were rooting for our guy DiCaprio that strongly. The rest of the cast was superb with flawless performances, especially from Martin Sheen and Mark Wahlberg. It will be interesting to see who gets the nominations come Oscar time. And for all you Leonardo fans, this pic comes courtesy of Warner Bros…. yum!

Shoes Shoes Shoes...

I watched a surprisingly good movie last night ~ In Her Shoes. Of course I shouldn't have been surprised since it was a Scott Free production with Curtis Hanson directing and featured lots of fabulous shoes!

Rent the DVD and be sure to watch the special feature about filming in an Assisted Care Facility for Active Seniors ~ super darling real seniors ~ maybe Florida wouldn't be so bad after all, though currently the retirement plan is Puerto Vallarta.

Then today, I received an email from Ms. Hattie, newly returned from a sojourn to Oklahoma, suggesting that In These Shoes? could be my theme song. Not that I'm close to being Imelda Marcos... much the pity;)

Marie Antoinette ~ Brava Sofia!

I’ve never been a fan of Sofia’s or, indeed, of Kirsten Dunst’s, but with Marie Antoinette, they’ve both hit a home run… and in such glamorous style!

With a total budget of $40 million, I can only imagine how much was spent on wardrobe… and every inch of Shantung silk was worth it, dammit! I won’t start on the shoes… drool.

I’d heard some rumblings prior to the movie about the choice of a contemporary soundtrack, but it worked. Actually, it worked brilliantly. In fact, instead of feeling immersed in stodgy, historical Versailles, I felt like I was hanging out with some rather daring-do people that would fit nicely into my own party circle ~ if only we could afford the fancy pad☺

The movie was utterly decadent from start to finish. The only question at the end (since we know our history) was how those women could indulge in all that champagne and cake and still retain miniature waists?

Tea Partay

Whoever thought of this is brilliant!

Snoop Dogg is in the House...

As in The Big House, one of San Francisco’s best kept secrets for staging a private party, and, boy, was it a party! Price + Price planned the party so, naturally, the décor was stunning, the food delicious, and the vibe super cool…

Snoop Dogg rocked the house and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ in his own inimitable style for the guest of honor who turned 50. I shot video with my phone camera but in deference to Snoop’s request, I won’t post it... just this pic instead:

Craig Ferguson Keeps It Real...

I was assiduously avoiding all things 9/11 when Craig blindsided me with his monologue bringing instant tears to my eyes. It took a fellow Scot to bring out the patriot in me. I won’t even attempt to give the gist of his monologue since I’d fail to do it justice and you can see/read it for yourself at http://www.cbs.com/latenight/latelate/comedy/

When he introduced Aaron Brown as his first guest, that infamous day and the days and weeks ensuing came rushing back. Somehow, I’d managed to forget just how depressed everyone was. What was both moving and inspiring was the story of Ralph Geidel, a New York Fire Fighter ~ a humbling reminder of what it takes to be a hero… makes me want to run away and help the starving and needy in less fortunate parts of the world. But, I’ll stay here instead and vow to finally get my butt in gear and do something locally.

On anther note entirely, I believe I’ve found my muse again… and his name is Craig. Doesn’t he look handsome in his funereal suit and tie?

Haven

Cynthia found it entertaining and engaging. I thought that Orlando Bloom must have needed a tax break and a vacation... that or he owed first-time feature director Frank Flowers. The film was shot in 2003 and has, from what I can gather, gone through the film festival circuit. The thing that bugged me most was the obvious attempt to be different simply for the sake of being different i.e. jerky, out-of-focus cinemaphotography and non-linear story line ~ with lots of exposition for the slow pokes in the audience. It opens next week. You decide.

Zihuatanejo Sunset

View from our hotel

In Search of a Muse...

Since I can't find one, I'll give you this brief update:

Zihuatanejo is a charmingly authentic fishing village unspoiled by hoards of tourists. It has beautiful beaches and enough restaurants, night life and shopping to keep it interesting. In fact I could have used another three days... which likely would have led to another three... and another and another.... As my good friend Skip said, "vacations suit me."

Speaking of Skip ~ pick up the September issue of San Francisco Magazine and turn to page 194 to see him looking totally hot and stylin'.

Then get ye' to the De Young to see the Cheech Marin exhibit of Chicano/a art. Allow plenty of time as there's tons to see ~ all fabulous. Also, the Gee Bend Quilts. Try going on a Friday evening when the foyer rocks with people dancing to live Cuban music and the Peach Sangria and Raspberry Margaritas are strong enough to warrant having only one!

Kitties, Death and Chi...

Friday, June 30th, at 6:30 pm, Christopher was pronounced ~ by a very sweet veterinarian ~ to be “at rest.” Very nicely put. I don’t know who was the bigger bag of blubber, me or Frank. Actually, I think I won the gold.

We retired with a bottle of plonk to Frank and Anthony’s apartment to dispose of Christopher’s accoutrements ~ nothing like cleaning out kitty litter after the kitty has departed this world... poor Frankie. Anthony took it all in stride. After all, if you want to be brutally real, he’d had to “put his mother down” in November. And, the day that Frank had made the decision (um, the appointment) Tilly had put his 95-year-old grandmother in her grave and responded to Frank’s tear-stained news with hilarious laughter. Still, Christopher was Frank’s companion for more than 18 years, so Anthony cooed sympathetically as best he knew how.

Naturally, we went out ~ Mi Linda Yucatan, the boy’s home away from home, received us warmly and promptly ponied up a pitcher of sangria. Frank only burst into sobs once over dinner and I’m not entirely sure it was caused by the cat. By the end of our meal, the restaurant had filled with cute gay couples… even more heartbreaking when you’re sick of being single.

In for a penny, we spent a pound ~ or two ~ at the Abbey Tavern, whose Sangria is very tasty, if I say so myself. Unfortunately, they were at the bottom of the barrel so we switched thereafter to French Martinis ~ not to be recommended, but being a Friday night wake, whatyagonnado?

Between bouts of pinball, Frank declared “I killed my cat.” At which point, I’d pat his back and nod to the bartender, “Yup, we’ll have another round.”

It will come as no surprise then, when I tell you that 3 in the morning found us gathered in the kitchen to watch Anthony sheer off Frank’s hair. After all what better time to make decisions about your looks than when your 'tired and emotional'. Not that with Anthony as a hairdresser Frank was ever in danger of having a f***ed-up do, and, if this blogger can get it together, I’ll post the video (but don’t hold your breath). As I write, my poor Mac is slogging away in the background compressing a 12-minute documentary for the Web. If only I could afford more RAM, but that’s another tale of woe.

Now Frankie is in Dublin, and tomorrow London, so hopefully the change is easing the pain. As for me, I’ve been giving my own cat extra attention, ‘cos who knows when the day will come and it will be my turn.

Meanwhile, the country celebrated Independence Day. Needless to say, San Francisco was shrouded in fog. With Frankie jetting his way across the pond, Anthony and his hot boyfriend, Robert, and I went to our friends, Nick and Lawrence’s, annual barbeque. Those two hotties live in the Excelsior where the sun shone upon us even as the afternoon wind kicked up. Gracious hosts always, we stuffed our faces with endless treats from the barbie accompanied by Lawrence’s trademark punch.

The boys and I were going to go dancing but got too comfy back at my place, where I had insisted we go so that I could put on black for the evening.

Instead, I introduced them to the flow of chi via my chi-machine and we watched Blade Trinity on DVD… such an elegant combo, don't ya think:-)

In Favor of Booty...

In response to the comment on the previous post... the fact is Frankie has an awesome butt.

Now, he may not appreciate me writing this, but (pardon the pun) since Frankie is a little down (okay, make that a lot) because he had to make the decision today to put his kitty of 18 years to sleep ~ and get this, make an appointment to do it (does that bring back memories of Soylent Green, or is that just showing my age?) ~ on Friday, I'm hoping that this will give him an ego boost.

So, Frankie and I were scoping out new apartments for him in my 'hood and, post-apartment fall-out (another story entirely), decided to get a bite to eat on Haight Street. Meandering our way to one of the few choices for decent food on Haight, we stopped in at Villains Vault where Frankie decided he needed new jeans.

Not that I'm being a critic, but Frankie likes to wear his jeans so that the waist band sits on his hip bones, or, in other words, the crotch is approaching his knees. This, IMHO, does not flaunt his ASSets. So, when the sales girl was pulling out pairs of jeans for him to try on, she had a rather dubious look on her face.

Over the next chunk of time (I wasn't really counting as my belly grumbled for food), I lounged in the conveniently placed chair while awaiting him to model each pair for me... and lo and behold, the sales girl had a new appreciation for what Frankie has to offer... yummy bootie!

About a dozen pairs later, although every pair fitted him to a T, we settled on the two styles we liked best... and then the true debate began. Just how much does one spend on a a pair of jeans these days?

We put the $325 pair on hold and settled on the $175 shoe-in... which he's been wearing... low-slung so that no-one would ever have a clue of the cute ass he's hiding.

Call me old fashioned. Or just call me a girl who appreciates a nice butt.

As for Frankie's kitty... a moment of silence please for a beloved pet at 5:15 pm this coming Friday, June 30th. RIP Christopher. You are very loved.

De Young Museum...

Feeling horribly guilty that I have not maintained this blog... In the meanwhile, here's a pretty picture from Frank and my trip to the De Young a number of weeks back... and, yes, that's Frank in the photo.

The Devil Wears Prada -- two enthusiastic thumbs up!

Saw it last night at a GenArt preview. Meryl is impeccable... Stanley Tucci is fabulous... Anne Hathaway is luminous... Emily Blunt is so perfectly bitchy... and the clothes... well, they're enough to make you want to be that size 0...

Wine Tasting in North Beach...

Darn if I didn't forget to mention yet another yummy discovery ~ we'll get to those in a minute ~ Coit Liquors has added a wine tasting area to their already fabulous store at 585 Columbus Avenue.

For a piddling $8, I tasted:
2003 Saint Roch Lirac, Rhone, France ($11.99/bottle)
2004 Can Blau, Spain ($16.50/bottle)
2002 McLean Farm Shiraz Reserve, Australia ($17.00/bottle)
2003 Columbia Crest Reserve Syrah, Washington ($19.99/bottle)
2004 Unti Grenache, Sonoma ($26.99/bottle)...

The Rhone was lovely and a good intro to the rest... with some food to accompany it, it would have done well. The Spanish had more texture and I liked it find upon tasting, but once I tasted the rest... mmm. The Auzzie was very smooth and silky. For best value, the Washington Syrah came out on tops. For absolute indulgence the Grenache (did I mention that I'm totally into Grenaches these days?) was the ultimate.

James, my tasting buddy, couldn't resist ordering a taste of 2002 Mario Perelli Minetti Cabernet Sauvignon ($18.99/bottle) ~ OMG!!! Run, not walk, RUN to buy this amazing wine at this incredibly cheap price. It's from a 96-year-old winemaker in Napa.

If I had the money, I'd be buying it by the case!

Vino, Art and Life...

Just when you think you've met the best bartender, dammit if along doesn't come another...

Enter Gabe from 111 Minna. He also curates the art collection... not sure which I hanker for most ~ one of his amazing margaritas or one of the fabulous pieces adorning his walls. Since I can afford a margarita and I already own so much art it's being displayed horizontally beneath my bed, I guess the decision is made. Besides, Anthony was there to save me from myself. Can't say I did him the same favor. He spent hundreds of $$$ on super cool t-shirts designed by Byron of Virgin Sixty-Nine. Check out Byron's designs here.

Moving on... Friday night I hooked up with Paula who is currently curating "Torments and Other Love Delicacies" at Melting Pot Gallery, 1340 Bryant.

I also met Mr. Brooklyn aka Renee Fressola, a fab artist, who will be having a show at the Melting Pot in August. Check out his work at www.renefressola.com.

Moving right along, I hooked up with the gang at what Frankie is calling our standard Friday night spot... i.e. the bar at Sushi Groove South where we love everybody there. A million Negori's later, we ambled down the street to DNA Lounge and swanked in ahead of the line to Bootie ~ wow!

Adrian and the Mysterious D have come a long way. While the music is still a mash-up, the people no longer are... Bootie is seriously mainstream and the place was jumping. Congratulations!

We danced our booties off until 3:00 am, at which point, I declared it time to go home... zzzzzz.

Saturday saw Frankie and I at Crushpad's 3rd annual open house. What a fabulous concept ~ hook up with a bunch of friends, pitch in a few hundred bucks each, decide what wine you want to make and Crushpad practically does the rest ~ it's up to you how involved you want to be ~ a couple of years in oak barrels et voila, you have your very own wine label.

As if we weren't already verging on sozzled, we mosied on over to the Mix and met some extremely cute and fun people. I was very flattered to be hit on by the sweet and lovely Dana... didn't dare tell her that I was twice her age and then some!! As if it matters... as Dave likes to say, "it only means you've been renting your apartment longer than me." More to the point, I guess, we don't play on the same team... bit of a pity, really.

Next on the agenda was an art show at Red INK Studios, 1035 Market Street, featuring a cast of really diverse and amazing artists.

Thought the art was amazing, Frankie and I were wearing a little thin... more importantly, he wanted to put on a cute outfit for the rest of the night... whatever happened to dinner?!

Oh, that was a slice of cold leftover pizza chez Frankie and Anthony's while Frankie got cuter than he already was and Anthony touched up my make-up in between deliberations of what accessories to wear. "Oh, I think I'll just add the bling, bling Dior cube to the chain dangling off my Prada (or some such fancy designer) pants." One of these days, I swear I'll upgrade from my Gap jeans!

We skipped the friend's house party we were supposed to put in a face at and copped a cab on over to Pink for the "Summer Soul Sessions," where our friend, Shane, had a VIP booth reserved, which was very, very nice, indeed:-)

Fabulous crowd. Great music. Fun scene.

It only got better when a tall, dark and very handsome man asked whether I would like to dance. Well, that was an offer I couldn't refused.

It got better. He knew how to dance!

It actually got a lot better, but time is wearing on and I'm debating whether I'm going to put on my glad rags and go to Trannyshack for Madonna night...

I'll keep you posted;-)

The Best Bartender in L.A. ~ Jimmy Bradley

Now, lest Jimmy think that I’ve forsaken him for Craig… let me tell you about the best bartender in the State ~ and I can say that because San Francisco’s top bartender is on hiatus in Guatemala right now (Hi Thad… hurry home!!).

What’s a bartender for? Well, pouring you a drink is one thing, making suggestions as to what to drink is another, being patient while you deliberate is one more, making you feel beautiful and charming on top of it is the ultimate.

Point in case, last week I hooked up with Amy, on a rare trip into town, at the end of the workweek. I had driven in from Marin and noted that the holiday traffic was way backed up. Being a good pal, I called to let her know. We settled on meeting at Kezar in Cole Valley for one drink. By the time we walked in the bar, our spirits were high and she was contemplating staying in town for a gal’s night out. Now, here’s where a bartender can make or break the situation. Amy, in her charming, and usually winning, way announced “I hear you pour the best Margarita in town!” The bartender’s expression remained flat; in fact it was like we were bothering him. “Salt or no salt?” was his deadpan response. Not to be deterred, Amy came back with another cute rejoinder, but try as she did, she could not get that a**hole to crack a smile. Sure rained on our parade. We would have stayed but his company was too overwhelming.

Back to Jimmy… when Ms. D and I walked into Primitivo just two nights after our most recent visit, mostly because we simply couldn’t bear to stay away, he greeted us with an enthusiastic fist-clutching “Yes!” as if he’d been hoping all night that we’d show up. Now, that’s what makes people return time and again to their favorite haunts… being made to feel special. It doesn't matter that he has a girlfriend and we can't fantasize about him asking us out (well, we can, but what would be the point, especially when there's Craig who's single and, dare I say, more age appropriate), we're happy to bask in the glow of his boyish charm for the evening. Salut!

p.s. Primitivo is on Abbot Kinney ~ you can check out my quickie review on Yelp.

Craig Ferguson in San Francisco... Part III

Well, surely, with my man in town, you didn’t think you were getting away with just two posts about him, duh!

Last night, I put on my glad rags (i.e. a skirt) and met up with the Divine Ms. D, newly relocated from LA, for a bite to eat in North Beach. Originally planning to hit Rose Pistola’s we were both running too late to make the battle to their bar worthwhile.

Quick interjection, I was at the Sanchez Grotto where my friend Melodie and others park their booties on a daily basis to hammer out brilliant prose. Hers is due out this fall and titled “My Lost and Found Life” (see photo).

D and I landed up at Piazza Pellegrini on Columbus where we were delightfully surprised by the staff, including the darling owner, and the most delicious Italian food this side of Milan. But we were in a rush and had to bid a hasty farewell ~ baci to all ~ promising to return very soon.

I was bummed when we got to Cobb’s Comedy Club to discover that a line had already formed. Never mind, we got a pretty decent seat appointed to us by the very efficient, if not in fact Nazi-like staff. It was enough to make me declare that I would never return to Cobb’s again. What can I say, they were just trying to do their jobs… get everyone in place to buy their two drink minimum before the show started. Thankfully, the show was funny. Mike Capozzola hosted and Brian Malow warmed up for Craig. Before too long, tears were streaming down everyone’s faces.

Craig looked way more dapper than he had in his writer’s duds – all in black ~ I swear, he must have studied the San Francisco style ~ with his hair coiffed, he looked very handsome indeed. To be truthful, however, he wasn’t tickling my funny bone quite as much as I’d expected. And, naturally, I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut, so when he polled the audience on who was there from Canada, I spoke up and asked why he didn’t poll on who was there from Scotland. Give the man his due, he stopped to politely listen to me… and then moved on. Of course, I had to speak up again, as well as give him my card at the end of the show. At least I know at this point in time, Craig Ferguson knows I exist, which is enough until I get my boss on his show (fingers crossed).

Quick note to Craig ~ Dear Craig, If you read this when you next Google yourself, have a heart and support a fellow author and filmmaker trying to make a difference in the Indie world, pretty please. Signed your most devoted fan… xoxoxoxoxoxo

Craig Ferguson @ Edinburgh Castle… Part II

Craig signed my book, well, actually, his book, for which I paid. He even had a conversation with me. Either he’s very good at what he does ~ you know, interviewing/responding to inane people ~ or he’s actually for real. Now, here’s my theory… he’s Scottish and the Scots are the most stoic fools on the planet. They’ll cut off their noses to spite their faces faster than a highlander approaching a sheep’s zipper (think about it). So, I think he’s real. Looking into his eyes and shaking his hand, hearing him say, “Thanks darlin’” was real enough to send me out the door on a puff of Pheromone. Five minutes later, I’ve been asked out to the movies and dinner by two strangers independent of each other ~ all the while I’m on the phone deliberating with Mr. ? over the logistics of hooking up for a drink ~ and the strangers both look hot. Uh. I gave them my number.

And then, Mr. ? looked hot. Nice hug, in fact. Ten minutes later, I commented that I missed my favorite bartender, Deb. He said, “you know Deb?”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re in my old stomping grounds, from this time last year when I was at film school having the time of my life, to find that Deb and her gooooooorgeous man, Brodus (sp?) have taken over the old SubLounge, given it a fab face lift and renamed themselves Retox (how cool is that?). I love this town. Meanwhile, Mr. ?, who has asked that his moniker be upgraded to Loki, had very Roman hands… kiss, kiss, bye bye.

I made it home in time to hear Craig’s monologue, and it made me happy to think that he was sleeping a mere three miles away from me. Maybe someday the distance will be shorter… sigh.

Craig Ferguson @ Edinburgh Castle...

I walked into my apartment at 7:30 pm fearing the worst. I managed to defer the full-body slam onto my bed in utter despair over missing the opportunity of a lifetime to my grossly over-rated adult façade, sufficiently enough to google “Craig Ferguson.” A couple of swift clicks later ~ after all I’d been down this road before ~ I was at the page where I’d first read that Craig was coming to San Francisco. Ah ha! Not an idiot. The reason I didn’t know the hour at which he would be appearing at Edinburgh Castle was because the pub didn’t know either. I called the pub fully prepared for a long and challenging wait. I was surprised. Though there was noise in the background the bar tender was willing enough to engage. When I repeated the question, his answer gave me an even better surprise ~ “Craig will be on at 8.” Woo-hoo!

Fastest shower make-up change of clothes and up-do you’ve ever seen in your life later I’m out the door. In fact, I am standing, newly purchased book and Corona in hand, a mere twelve feet from the mic at which Craig will appear… any minute now. Which he did. Looking very un-CBS-like… kind of, actually, like a writer. His notoriously unruly hair looking like, shit, like he didn’t even try. The shirt untucked ~ had he spent an afternoon in a café assimilating San Francisco’s unkempt vogue? Or was he possibly hiding something that his usual single-breasted jacket (one button always undone) camouflaged to render him swavey and deboner? Who cares? He is incredibly thoughtful, smart, and insightful, and, heck, let’s not overlook the more important fact… he’s fucking hi-fucking (his word) -larious.

I am so proud of my wee Scots lad… although Craig likes to report that he’s not so wee in certain areas, if you know what I mean. Mmh! I wonder why he feels compelled to mention something like that? Inquiring minds want to know☺

Happy Birthday to TV's Craig Ferguson!

... XOXOXOX

Craig Ferguson

How could I forget to mention?!!

The love of my life, none other that the fabulous TV's Craig Ferguson, is coming to town... wild applause amidst whooping cheers of joy!

He's going to be at Edinburgh Castle:

Thursday, June 1: Time TBD
Edinburgh Castle in SF
950 Geary Street
San Francisco, CA
(415) 885-4074

And doing three nights of stand-up at Cobb's, June 2nd, 3rd, and 4th.

I already have my tix. Do you?

Postscript...

Just checked my horoscope for tomorrow ~ eerily on the nose ~ had to share...

You're particularly prone to romantic flights of fancy, with Neptune in your love zone. Neptune actually first moved in here in 1998 - thinking back, can you see at all that you became a lot more idealistic about romance around then? Did you start to feel you would have a better chance to recognise a soulmate? Or perhaps you started on a merry-go-round of attracting more shady lovers? (Shady people are the downside of Neptune, while soulmates are the up…) Neptune's active today - those flights of fantasy are extra possible. Enjoy them if you can, but be careful if you smell a rat!

The link for your own daily planetary prediction is on the right... or if you prefer click here.

Over and out.

Ambiguous Labeling...

Missed what’s come to be my weekly blog entry because after class last night I met up with a ? for drinks. What’s the question mark? You know, everybody likes to label people… hi, this is my “husband,” ~ that’s a favorite once you snag one; or, hi, this is my “best friend,” ~ a favorite introduction of Mr. A's (who from now on will be known as Anthony, since we ~ the royal we ~ are now naming names), to whom I always throw an upshot eyebrow, (turns out, after much apologetic explaining, I’m one of three ‘best’ girlfriends, we never got ‘round to counting the boys); or how about, hi, this is my “partner” ~ to which I usually ask, “oh, what business are you in?” Duh, this is San Francisco… So back to my ? of last night…

We met last August at Carlos’ going away party ~ which is another story ~ Carlos drove halfway to New York and did a U-turn. So, Mr. ? and I hit it off and went on a couple of ‘dates’. What constitutes a date? Well, usually drinks and dinner are involved, leading to something more intimate, though not necessarily all in one fell swoop. However, on our third encounter he announces, admittedly abashedly, he has a ‘girlfriend’. Now, what’s a girlfriend, especially when you’re seeing another woman? In this case it was one being phased out; Mr. ? just didn’t have the heart to be the one to do the phasing since she was on her way out of the country, permanently. Since playing second fiddle isn’t one of my talents, we left it at that.

Advance three months and I get a surprise call to meet for drinks, which didn’t transpire because he got held up at work and was leaving for Iceland the next day. Advance four more months and now we’re playing the ‘let’s get together’ game ~ schedule, cancel, reschedule, cancel, schedule again… which brings us to Kezar, my (or in this case ‘our’) local watering hole, last night. Three stiff martinis later, he’s on my couch giving me a foot rub while trying to convince me that I really would enjoy a man sleeping with me. Wrong. I like my bed to myself… which may explain why I’m single.

So Mr. question mark ~ was never a ‘boyfriend’, but definitely potentially more than a ‘friend’. Does that make him a former ‘flame’? I like that… infers there was something smoldering that never ignited. Or does a flame mean it was already lit ~ a torch, albeit a small one, already burning ~ that simply fizzled out?

Ooh, now my system informs me that Marvelous Matt just sent an email… let’s see what he has to say.

“Booty call?”

Now, that’s a label I like ~ do we know how to say "boy toy"!

In Absentia ~ Mia Culpa ~ MI III and more...

Well, I’ve been very absent, which seems to be my theme tune for this blog these days.

To catch up…

My new favorite restaurant is Sushi Groove South… having been there a few times in the same amount of weeks, most recently on Cinco de Mayo, when it was just Frankie and I putting in an appearance. Never mind it was only the two of us… a table was found immediately and we were treated like royalty by the entire staff and Teddy, our new favorite major domo, who spoiled us with treats. Kampai!

Before that we had seen MI III. Kudos to Michelle Monaghan… though I don’t know her personally, she’s within the extended family network. If you’re a Pro on Imdb.com, you’ll know that she’s ‘Numero Uno’ on their Star Meter. And, isn’t she fabulous? Word is that she’s not only lovely on the screen, but fabulous in person. And, hey, now that she's been Tom Cruise's on-screen wife, you know she's headed for the big time. Wasn't that what made Renee?

Later, much later, that night you would have caught us at Marlena’s cavorting with some of our favorite drag queens. I shot it all (well, not exactly 'all') with my new cell phone, so no promises, but a video is on its way to this very blog.

Let's see... What else?

On another ‘Fun Day with Frankie’, we aimlessly wandered the new De Young Museum. Maybe it’s because we were aimless (thanks to our Margarita lunch at Tommy’s) the collection struck us as being rather haphazard. On the ground floor, lots of modern stuff, while on the upper level, a mixture of furniture and last century American Art mixed in with native masks… Oh, well, the architecture is to be admired, for sure. And don't be like us... to late upon arrival to miss the 'scenic tower'.. you know, the one that blights the landscape from the exterior.

On a completely different subject… this is single in San Francisco after all… One of the best movies I’ve seen in a long time, albeit over six hours long ~ The Best of Youth ~ hey, it’s great for studying Italian. A film that takes you throughout Italy as it tracks a family through generations. The film won ‘Un Certain Regard’ award at the 2003 Cannes Film Festival and a slew of others at various other festivals. It’s actually available on Netflix, which alone will tell you something. I give it three thumbs up, okay two thumbs and a toe… go rent it!

Speaking of Festivals, The Damnedest, Finest Ruins will be in one festival that I know of for sure. Mark your calendars for the Wine Country Film Festival, July 28th, in Napa... please!

My friend Marie has turned me on to a new skin care line, Arbonne, and I love their Gelee Transforming Lift as well as their eye cream. Marie will be repping their products, so if you want in on the ‘in’ drop me a line and I’ll put you in touch.

Scary movie recommendation ~ High Tension. It’s a French flick (which you can watch dubbed in English). It’s slightly bizarre in its lack of explanation, but it will make you double lock your door, I guarantee… and possibly think twice before taking off to a remote location with your new best friend! Oops, didn’t I learn that lesson when I went to New York back in February? (see previous blog)

Okay, so we're somewhat caught up...

A personal detail that enquiring minds might be asking... Boy Toy is seriously in absentia... seems the Gods over at Lucas keep him on the road... "What good is a toy when you can't play with it?" is what I want to know!

Speaking of toys, or more like games... I am so loving playing the Da Vinci Code Quest... only two days to go and hopefully I'll make the 10,0000 (that's right, TEN THOUSAND) finalists and be eligible to crack the final code and win that first-class trip for four to Europe. Phew! That will take care of my impending birthday angst!

Da Vinci Code

Between work and socializing I’ve been too busy to maintain this blog, but not too busy to play the Da Vinci Code Quest on Google. I swear it’s addictive -- I’ve solved 17 clues to date and now I have to wait for more puzzles to appear.

Hoping to win four first-class tickets to Rome!! Now, that’s an incentive to study the Italian I’ve been taking classes for but not boning up on in between our weekly gathering.

Speaking of puzzles, the formerly Bodacious Ms. B will now go by her given name of Amy. More names to come...

San Francisco -- Where the World is your Oyster...

So, Monday night, I’m sitting in class at City College when a demure lady intervenes offering free tix to an event at Herbst Theater… something vague… opera, drums, Butoh. It sounded like a collection of various world artists to my ears. I instantly think of my cabaret pal, the talented Ms. H, and stick my hand up. How bad could it be?

I’m here to tell you… it was ‘interesting’, but definitely not something I would pay $30 to see and thankfully didn’t. I think we got the gist after two loooong songs and absconded to higher grounds, i.e Ms. H’s pal Ben’s pad on top of Twin Peaks.

Ben is a transplant from Mississippi, so we had a nice chat about catastrophes such as hurricanes, tsunamis and earthquakes, and his soon-to-be-released CD, which I'm sure won't be a catastrophe. The munchies, I mean hunger, kicked in and Ms. H and I headed to my stomping grounds in Cole Valley and the very dependable Kezar Bar whose kitchen stays open late.

Well, at least we aimed to be cultural… and I suppose we succeed ~ Polynesian cocktails at Trader Vics, Japanese Opera, Mississippi Delta, and historic San Francisco.

By the way, Ms. H will be appearing in the World Premiere Showcase of Viva Concha! Rose of the Presidio at the Victorian Theater, May 5-7. Check it out.

Out and 'Bout on the Town

There was a time when I used to see Jerry aka Jerusha, “the Last Single Girl in the World,” a lot, but that was when I was in advertising and she owned a store selling spiritual goods… in other words, a couple of lives ago.

Now I learn she’s written “The Single Girl’s Manifesta” for the woman who wants to have it all without having to tie the knot. Well, duh! Why didn’t I think of that? I need to get out more...

Jerusha’s appearing at the W next Thursday night… The W informs me that space is limited, so if you want to get in the door, better rsvp now.

By the way, MAPP is this Saturday, where you’ll find me out trolling the Mission with Mr. A... that's what I call 'getting out'!

As the World Goes Round...

Move over Marvelous Michael and make way for Magnificent Matt… well, this blog isn’t called sassy and single for no good reason!

So, I was propositioned online as to whether I might like a boy toy. No beating around the bush, no BS, just this is what I'm about. What do you say?

Heck, I ‘like’ toys and I *love* my boys ~ so a boy who’s also a toy and a real pretty one at that… well, a girl just has to check it out. And check it out I did.

Magnificent Matt is a name well earned. He comes fully loaded, equipped with all his own boy toys, you know, all the techno gadgets ~ surround sound, projector screen, wireless on-demand tunes, movies, or… well, use your own imagination (we did!) ~ at the drop of a hat. Did I say hat? I meant… I digress. He's totally chill, has the sexiest voice ever, knows how to treat a lady... what’s not to like? Thank heaven for truth in advertising ~ finally!

On the other hand, Mr. A was stood up two Saturday nights in a row by some moron. Sorry, Dud (pun intended), I don’t care how cute your Mulatto, cello playing, disadvantaged child teaching ass is… you might as well have loser tattooed on it. And, don’t worry, Mr. A agrees. In fact, I inadvertently injected him with a doze of my own sass and he called the loser ~ okay, his name is Mario ~ and told him exactly what he thought… Bravo!

Meanwhile, Frankie has been tearing up the town (oh, it’s a little, okay a lot, more private than that) with a cute tenor… must make for melodic harmonies;-) ;-)

Ms. D is in town from LA and bemoaning the standstill of her own long distance love affair. It seems Mr. Chatty Kathy likes to call her on the phone all the time and then take time off with no warning. That’s not how it works, loser. You can’t possibly hope to make her your wife by playing Houdini and I’m her girlfriend to tell her so! Besides, before making wedding plans, how about making a plane reservation so that you can actually meet? Just a thought.

Can’t blame my girlfriend for indulging in a little fantasy ~ everybody needs a little titillation ~ it’s what keeps the world going round… that, and a few greenbacks don’t hurt. Which brings me to the sore point of my poor little street-beat Miata… but I’ll save that for another day.

Happy Centennial!

Quakes, Shakes and Flakes...

The whirlwind continues... We had the premiere of our film last Thursday night at the Jarvis Conservatory in Napa, hosted by our Executive Producers Debra and Paul Johnson.

The Conservatory was a former winery transformed by William Jarvis and several million dollars into the stunning theater it is now and features opera on the first Saturday of every month for an incredibly low $15.

The Johnsons did everything first class… candles and bouquets of gorgeous flowers everywhere, hors d’oeuvres and crab cocktails in abundance, as were delicious wines from their winery Astrale e Terra. My favorite was the Arcturus 2001… an amazing Bordeaux blend.

Disappointing, however, was that our film, which was scheduled to show on the big outdoor screens on Market Street during this morning’s pre-dawn centennial commemorative didn’t. This may be politically incorrect for me to say, but since when did I care about flakes, I mean, politicians? The Mayor vetoed the film because he wanted to keep things upbeat with no scenes of destruction… which kind of is the point of the film. Back in '06 the politicos conspired to downplay the death and destruction caused by the earthquake because they didn’t want to scare off investors… hence the death toll was officially in the hundreds instead of the true thousands… and the historians are still counting. Gavin was awfully cute with handful of survivors who made it to the dais, wasn't he though? And aren’t our police chief, fire chief, and emergency services chief fabulous? All women, in case you didn’t notice.

So, here's the clip from our film that you should have seen... You can buy the DVD on Amazon.

The Damnedest, Finest Ruins

We premiered our film last night to a select group invited to celebrate the birthday of Mr. John Casey in his historic Fire Station atop Russian Hill… very apropos, very lovely evening. The film was well received, which shouldn’t be a surprise… and we’re looking forward to Thursday when we’re having an invitation-only premiere at the Jarvis Conservatory in Napa, which promises to be a swell do…

Meanwhile, National Geographic is having a premiere this evening for their documentary on the 1906 earthquake, red carpet rolled out for the VIP reception… to which we’re also looking forward, but I don’t imagine there’ll be too many fancy gowns in this weather… where are my wellie boots?

Speaking of clowns, I mean gowns, no actually…

There is finally a site that I’ve wanted to create forever… truedater.com. Just think, before you commit to that go-see and stress out about your hair, make-up, clothes, wax, pedicure, manicure… you name it, hopefully, not all at once, and if so, I hope it’s for more than a cup of coffee, even then you have my sympathy… you can input a man’s handle and check out whether he’s a “true dater”… or not, as the case may be. The site is new and so, obviously, doesn’t cover the gamut of who’s out there, so, it’s up to us to maintain gender solidarity and show those men… and apparently, there’s a lot of them… that we’re tired of their games (which I imagine will spark a new game -- spot the dater's new handle). Not that it’s all about being mean… if you meet someone you like, but is simply not a match for you, then post that too. But, before you do, might want to check that you’re who you say you are!!!

You know what they say about people in glass houses throwing stones… could lead to ruin, though they may be damned fine ones.

La Plastic Stone...

Have you seen Sharon in Basic Instinct 2? I guess there’s nothing like a block-bomb to show off your newly designed tits! Heck, I don’t know if it’s because I’m envious but all that plastique – wow! She must have really wanted to get back at old Phil. Now the papers say she wants to be a rock star… or make that a stone star… maybe it’s just a stoner. Did you see her on Letterman recently… the once intelligent woman who took Hollywood by storm did nothing but giggle at the camera.

To shake off the imagery, I snuck into Failure to Launch. I’ve always liked Matthew McConaughey’s boyish charm. In this flick Matthew, who’ll be 37 this year, is pitted against Sarah Jessica Parker, 41, as his love interest. It’s clear these two have not indulged in any surgery and look all the more real for it. However, Zooey Deschanel was the scene stealer in this cute, predictable romantic comedy where thankfully Kathy Bates did not remove her clothes… instead leaving that to Terry Bradshaw, who for the record will turn 56 in September.

Okay, so sometimes we prefer our nudity to look pretty… go Shar!

The Path to Hell...

If you haven’t caught my drift before… is paved with good intentions.

Hence when the delightful Ms. D announced she was visiting from La-La-Land, I offered the notion of a trip to Saturday’s Farmers’ Market with a plan to cook for ‘the boys’, envisioning a fun, casual day with a gal pal and a night with my two favorite men.

Lovely plan.

Ms. D asked whether she could invite her gay brother, a worthy potential partner for either of the boys. I said, of course.” Now we were five and I don’t like odd numbers around my dinner table.

Mr. A said, “Dinner would be lovely. Have you thought about inviting the supreme Ms. S?”

No problem. Left Ms. S a voicemail. All the better, in fact. Ms. S is going to Paris. Ms. D used to live in Paris. I love Paris… French food for dinner. Menu settled.

This conversation occurred while I was with Marvelous Michael. Of course, he was invited to join us. Back to the odd number. Aaah… I’d been thinking that Ms. S might perchance like the divine Mr. D. No problem.

Quick phone call to Mr. D and he was on board. What a lovely thing to look forward to… a dinner party for eight chez moi.

Then Ms. S called to say that she was in fact leaving for Paris this Friday. Damn.

A quick call to Mr. D. “Invite Beastie (ugly name, beautiful woman) to join us.” Okay. Breathe again.

Marvelous Mike didn’t show for our supposed date. Darn.

Mr. D called to ask whether it would screw up the plan if he invited his brother Pat instead of Beastie, explaining that his bro, while technically not a refugee since he was already planning to leave New Orleans, was still in fact a refugee because he hadn’t packed his belongings when the hurricane hit... and besides, he owed him a phone call. What am I to say? “Of course, he can come.”

So, six men, two women… it’ll still work.

Except that, as of this minute, Marvelous Michael, soon to be know as the former MM still hasn't explained his alien abduction, so we’re five men and two women…

Anyone free for dinner Saturday night? I’m a great cook!

p.s. I noticed that I'm developing bags under my eyes throughout all this.. could that be why Marvelous Mike has chosen alien abduction over my great cooking? Inquiring minds want to know.

There's Sex in the City and then there's...

Sex in San Francisco.

Now, while I may think that of the four characters, Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda, I most resemble Samantha, the fact is that I’m simply not her. Maybe if I lived in Manhattan where gorgeous men are in abundance, as the show pertains there to be, the fact is I live in San Francisco where things are well, different.

Witness the amount of single gorgeous gals and guys I know, and of whom I hear, that struggle in this city to get, not just laid, but make any kind of connection at all. So, it comes as a surprise when I hear of great ‘connections’ between people (men and men, women and women, women and men, what's the difference?) that never amount to anything beyond one date.

Is it because we’re all too afraid of settling? Or does having that one great date lead us to believe that it’s only a sign of better things to come… right around the corner… which leads us to forget that in fact that great date really was a great date and you’re a fool for letting it go?

Not that I’m in danger of becoming Carrie either. Just asking a question. Can anybody answer?

On the Path to Hell with Good, Good, Good Vibrations

A tid-bit from GenArt Pulse got me thinking… that when it comes to a first date, you’re damned if you do. And… you’re damned if you don’t.

Therefore, to ensure a good time on that path to hell, let’s take control and keep a handy-dandy vibrating cock ring on, well, on hand.

Maybe I’ve been too up to my eyes in vibrations of another nature aka earthquakes, so I decided to do a little research and see what other goodies are out there to aid in our delight.

First on the list, the vibrating condom available at Vibrating Condom, which looks like a cock ring to me and since it says that it can be used with any condom, I assume you have to have a condom in addition to the gadget. At $7.95 a pop, its selling point is that “the female partner is completely satisfied without much effort from the man.” Okay.

There’s a better photo and explanation at Condom Mania. I guess the cleaner imagery justifies the $1 price increase… just so you know. Also on Condom Mania, a wide variety of vibrating rings with names like Berrylicious, Ring of Fire, Sinful Butterfly, Heart On, and not to be missed... Safari.

Into the bath where -- anyone who knows me knows, I spend hours at a time every chance I get -- it looks to me like every gal should own a waterproof personal massager disguised as a rubber duck in bondage aka “I Rub My Duckie Massager!” And, it looks like I’ll be spending a loooot more time in the bath.

Undercover Condoms features six vibrating condom rings… okay, so I get it now, it’s not the actual condom that vibrates… ranging from $4.95 to $9.95. Of note, they all seem to last 20 minutes with the exception of MeritJoy, the least expensive, which lasts up to 40 and is also adjustable for those lucky “above average size.”

Over at Good Vibrations, they offer similar products one of which has a, naturally, San Francisco twist, i.e. made of leather… I think I’ll stick with the rubber animals;-)

Well, that’s all for now folks… If my boss reads this he’ll wonder when exactly it was I had time to do all this research.

Et Voila...

Just like that with no change in settings, we're back in action.

Which makes up for being bummed last night... no, not because the dude didn't call... but because CBS in its wisdom has changed the Amazing Race to Wednesdays... mmh, I guess the Evidence must be giving them a run for their money. Oh well, it'll give me something to hurry home to after Italian class with the gals tonight.

I promise, now that this blogging bug-a-boo is fixed, I'll get back to more interesting story-telling... guess that means I better get my ass out there and create some!

Tedious Blogging...

Okay. It didn’t post. Now I’m sending it by email... Oh, a blogger’s work is never done.

Tedious blogging...

I was testing the possibility of posting this blog on my own web site, played with the ftp settings, decided it wasn't worth the hassle, and now I can't get back to normal publishing... boohoo:-(

I tested the ability to post via email. It works. That is if you don't mind your apostrophes being 1s and your elipses being a foreign oversized S. I do.

So, this is a test to see whether this will post.

I will say, whatever fun there is in being able to post instant messages to the world disappears when you have to spend this much time getting the damned thing to work:-0

Who needs a man when we have...

The Amazing Race! Woo hoo.

I completely forgot that it was on tonight... I hope the teams are continuing in Sicily... which I *love*.

And, there's a chance I might get to work on a doc about the 1908 earthquake in Sicily... fingers crossed XOXO

Another one bites the dust...

You just never know… a guy can seem like the most sincere person on the planet and even fool your friends, all the while making plans with you not just for the next date, but for months to come…. mmh! I guess that should have been the tip off. Nobody gets that enthusiastic on a first date and when they do… buyer beware. Oh well, it was a fun fantasy for a minute there… and it was a fun night!

I’m talking about the guy I went out with on Saturday... thought we had a date tonight, but here it is closing in on 6 o’clock and not a peep. Next!

V for Vendetta – see it at the iMax – it’s worth the extra five bucks. Frankie and I did after tea at Samovar and pre cocktails with Cockateilia at LJs… which led to hooking up with Mr. A at Deco for Amateur Strip night. No, no, Mr. A wasn’t stripping and he surely wouldn’t be an ‘amateur’. I’m talking about gay boys taking their clothes off and prancing around in their undies… hilarious fun.

A Day at the Mall...

It’s looking like this blog has turned into a weekly endeavor, mostly because I’ve turned into a hermit… all work and no play. What can I say?

The week whizzes by and before I know it, it’s Friday… time to catch up with a couple of friends, sleep and what was that thing I used to do? Oh, yeah, exercise. So, Friday found me at an author’s event hosted by Tamim Ansary who heads up the longest running writers’ workshop in the city, held at the Meridian Gallery on Sutter Street every Tuesday night. Since I used to call myself a writer (yeah, those days are gone too) I like to support others in their endeavors. As it turned out, someone stepped on my purse and broke my spectacles in two; my fault, I suppose they should have been in a case.

Hence Saturday was spent at the mall first waiting to get an appointment to have my eyes tested, then killing more time while the lenses were cut, etc. All in all, more time than I’ve ever spent in a mall my entire life. As it turns out, Stonestown isn’t that bad a place… try on a few pairs of shoes, check out the lingerie at Nordstroms, discover that I’ve been wearing the wrong size bras my entire life, more shoes, sale at Banana Republic, then the Limited… ah, great bargains to be found there. So, the writers’ workshop only cost me $700, such a deal.

To compensate, I took myself out to dinner with Ms. R and Mr. A… the Slow Club, which on Saturday night was moving kinda’ slowly. A couple of cocktails waiting for a table, a glass of wine with dinner… chalk up another $100.

Ms. R has discipline and went home. Mr. A and I – not so much -- we took ourselves down to Aunt Charlie’s in the ‘Loin, to see some of our favorite Divas do their thing. We were in luck, Vicki Marlane was hostessing… gotta’ love a gal who’s still putting it out there when she’s, well, I shouldn’t divulge a lady’s age, but wow!

I called it quits after the show… after handing out dollar bills, I was more than done for the weekend.

And there you have it... back to earthquakes!

Bad Food = Good Service; Good Food = Bad Service... a San Francisco quandary

It’s been too long since I last wrote… something to do with working long days, busy nights and feeling vaguely disgruntled… Okay, so, St. Pattie’s day was a bust. Had a night out with the girls and had shitty cocktails served to us in Harry’s Bar on Fillmore Street followed by the worst food I’ve ever seen a restaurant serve at the Fillmore Grill. I spoke up in my usual no-nonsense way and the burger that I could have soled a shoe with was replaced with something edible along with an apology from the owner by way of a carafe of wine. It, however, did not help the other gals who ate their food while quietly grumbling. I have to say it’s the first time that the Fillmore Grill was not impeccable in every way… good food at realistic prices with courteous staff.

Saturday turned out no better… Rachael’s art reception was stunning… interesting people, good food and music, and I’m sorry that Mr. A and I left. But, we had a ressie at Limon, where I’d eaten once before and to which Mr. A was very excited to be going. Wrong. They offered us a seat by the door and since I’d requested one upstairs, we chose to wait another twenty minutes to be seated. It was another twenty-five before our waiter took our order. Need I say, another twenty before the appetizers appeared. The empanadas, ceviche and tuna tartare were delicious. However, by 10:30 when our entrees had not arrived and we’d waded our way through another pitcher of sangria, well… who was hungry? We asked to speak to the manager. The “substitute manager” arrived and was rude and unapologetic, pointing out that we had not ordered our meal until 9:15 pm. Duh! Mr. A intercepted, pointing out that the table of eight to our right had been seated, served and had since eaten and departed. The establishment’s compromise was to take the price of the pitcher of sangria we’d been drinking while waiting for our food to arrive (too much ice and fruit for my taste, by the way) off the bill. Needless to say, Limon is off my list.

Movies: Where the Truth Lies… started off interesting. Kevin Bacon and Colin Firth in unusual and interesting roles, but, my, the story was all over the place and hard to follow. Still, I’d say watch it, if you've got time to kill. On the other hand, Head On, a German film, directed by Fatih Akin and starring Birol Unel and Sibel Kekilli (as if you'd know who they were; I didn't) as immigrant Germans who live and work in the port town of Hamburg, is brilliant. Dark, brooding, realistic, yet hopeful.

So, maybe that’s me these days… dark, brooding, too realistic… yet, strangely, hopeful!

The Big One...

Uh, what day is this? Is April over yet? Oh, course not… There’s just so much hoopla working up to the centennial of the Big One that I feel like I’ve already been there, done that. Well, here’s hoping, indeed, we all get through it without a re-enactment of. My Lord...

Though I subscribe to San Francisco Magazine, sometimes it simply doesn’t reach my mailbox, hence I missed James’ article last year about the horrors of a ‘quake the scale of 1906 hitting us today… not that I didn’t have the facts from when I helped him write the novel, but, fact is, I’m as guilty as the next person of complacency.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… I ‘used’ to have an earthquake kit. I still keep a few cans of food in my cupboard. I do still have a portable radio. Batteries? They’re around somewhere. Or, maybe not. Water in gallon containers… a few to be safe? Uh. Nope. Got the bottles, just haven’t made it down my three flights, out the front door to my super next door where I can refill for 35 cents a gallon. Kitty food? I'm sure there'll be lots of mice running around the ruins.

What I learned today from Harris Bostic, Director of the Bay Area Chapter of the Red Cross, is that the number one thing we should all have is an agreed-upon meeting place with our family and friends. As I told him, when I was first an ex-pat here with my geophysicist other half, we had a place we agreed to meet should the necessity arrive. But, since I’m other-half-less, haven’t thought about it…

In 1989, I was sitting in the St. Francis Hotel, having just finished a meeting with my macho architect colleague, a cool beer about to touch my lips, the ball game about to start, when the table began to shake. “No matter,” I thought, “a second from now it’ll all be over.” It wasn’t. As all the tourists rushed outdoors (silly people) he and I shared a look and I still maintain that he was under the table before I was. Back in our seats, it wasn’t until the TV went black that we realized, “uh, oh.”

The seriousness of the situation still didn’t hit us, even when we discovered block after city block without electricity. And so, on we went to what was supposed to be my friend Jim Heron’s big art debut at Limn Gallery. Got there to discover that the reception was cancelled. As we made our way gingerly through non-functioning traffic lights, it was then we saw the flames on the other side of the hill in the Marina i.e. the direction in which he and I both lived. When I made my way home to not-quite-the-Marina, but Cow Hollow, I discovered my apartment in tact. But from my third-floor view I could only stare in horror at the flames in the distance.

Let me tell you folks, 1989 was nothing to what we’re facing compared to a temblor the scale of 1906. So, read James’ article on San Francisco Magazine’s Web site, then do yourself a favor and pop over to the American Red Cross and get prepared.

This is not an if. It’s a when.

Rachael Stoppello Opening Reception...

For once I trucked all the way out to City College prepared for the starvation attack that usually hits me halfway through class only to have my teacher send us all home because she wasn’t feeling well… which is pretty much like having free time – woo hoo!

A chance to throw out the trash, pick up papers and discover that card I’ve been looking for about an opening reception this coming Saturday. Mr. A and I met these lovely ladies at Mecca (which I’m going to have to add to my list of restaurants on the sidebar ‘cos it looks like we’re going to be regulars), the sweet Holly Lynne and her artist girlfriend Rachael Stoppello. Rachel’s having a show at Muse Art Gallery, 615 Alabama @ 18th, at 5:00 onwards on March 18th… so stop on by to check out her ‘Cycles of Life’.

Now, where did I put that tax form?

The Weinsteins have done IT again... Bravo!

And the contenders for next year’s Oscars are already lining up… Johnny Depp and Samantha Morton set the stage on fire in The Libertine. Malkovich is equally brilliant, but that goes without saying. I saw him on stage in London back in the nineties in 'Burn This' and, though I was in the balcony, could feel the power of his raw charisma.

Mecca and Pink (to make the boys wink) ;-)

Our intentions were good. Aren’t they always? It was supposed to be a hair-do, art reception, a light bite and one cocktail then home to bed. Early. Yeah, well, that was before it was 8:30 and Mr. A was just finishing my hair… worth the 3-hour effort!

Change of plan led us to Mecca… and, no, we’re not changing our religion. I do mean Mecca on Market, which is under new ownership that has revitalized the atmosphere and where you can see Mr. A as he spins his own brand of dance this coming Sunday 4-8 pm. And if you don’t make it for the music, be reminded that they have happy hour from 5-7 pm with $1 oysters and all drinks are $6!

Thursday nights are Ladies’ Night… and the place was swimming with a gorgeous bevy of gals… not that that’s where my own interests lie. We quickly got a spot at the bar where our new favorite bartender Steve took excellent care of us… with a friendly help from Eddie. Our ‘light bite’ was grilled shrimp ceviche served with mango salsa and tuber chips; crawfish spring rolls served with a tomato corn tartare, which Mr. A described as, “crisp, fresh, perfectly cooked… stunning.” Me, I had my hands full of Mecca French Fries… hey, you can take the girl out of Scotland, but you can’t take Scotland out of the girl... I love my French fries and these are top notch. Maybe one day I’ll write up the top ten French fries in San Francisco. Not to be outdone by the Windsor Valley fois gras with Anjou pear, spiked pumpkin puree and porto gastrique. But, I’m just getting started.

Mr. A had a belini; I had a bloody belini… sheer frozen deliciousness. However, sticking to my one cocktail rule (surely, you don’t think red wine counts?) I then moved to wine. When I couldn’t decide between the Taz Pinot Noir, Santa Barbara County, 2003, and the Havens Merlot, Napa Valley, 2001, Mr. A suggested I have a half glass of each. Steve promptly obliged with, ahem, two ‘half’ glasses.

All, nicely followed up with a Rosenblum Late Harvest Viognier.

Sounds like a perfect night, no? But, it didn’t end there… moseyed on over to Amber to meet Mr. A’s new friend Gary, a fancy Maiden Lane ‘hair colorist’, who’ll soon be hosting Monday night bingo at Otis, a private club owned by my friend Damon. But, I digress… Amber was jumping, from what I could see through the smoke-friendly bar. Gary and I hit it off instantly, so much so that he wanted to find me a date and suggested we jump ship to Pink. Great! Strictly for a half-hour, of course.

Mr. A got behind the wheel of my Miata while Gary and I got to know each other even better on the passenger seat. Needless to say, we got rock star parking right out front. Pink used to be Liquid, where I used to dance my tush off with my good friend John Zane (wherever you are) during the heady dot-com days. It’s been glammed up and extended so that it’s less of a sweat box. Olivier the owner greeted us at the door and immediately provided shots of the house drink, which would have been rude to decline, then Gary pulled me onto a table to dance…

See what I mean about best intentions?

Red Carpet Style...

Well, Inside Edition over-ruled me and voted Keira Knightley as their Number 1 Best-Dressed… mmh. At least we both agree on worst dressed… probably isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind but the woman herself… Helena Bonham Carter. What on earth was she thinking? Besides that the dress was too short, white shoes, and that hair do – your everyday drag queen is better put together! We can all take her misguided style as a guide on “how to add 10 years to your look.”

More later, the Divine Mr. D just got back from New Orleans and I do believe I’m first on his dance card… off to dinner at the cozy Blue Jay Café on Divis.

The Oscars Redux

So Brokeback didn’t sweep as I’d wished, but then I knew it wouldn’t. Everything else was as equally predictable…

John Stewart was witty, urbane and, who could fail to notice, HOT! Among my highlights was his joke on Scientology. Bodacious Ms. B, with whom I watched the show, thought that was the reason John Travolta looked positively peeved when he came on to present.

The ladies were seriously lacking in bling, except for Keira Knightley, way over-decked for her age. The look overall was neutral and natural… the winners being Uma, Reece and Ziyi Zhang… in my humble opinion. I hate to admit that the dress I coveted was worn by Jennifer Anniston, who’s not my favorite.

The most memorable part of the evening? Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin… clearly professionals at their art.

Oh, and let’s not forget the indomitable Dolly Parton… even though she’s had a bazillion surgeries… she looked fabulous. Less fabulous? What’s up with Hilary Swank? Poor girl… you could see her ribs!

Faux pas of the night surely was the failure to let Robert Moresco say his thank you’s… boo!

So I lost $25 in our pool, because I voted for Paul Giamatti to upset George Clooney… but kudos to George… have always been a fan of the man! He’s right up there in my new list… Stewart, Ferguson and Clooney…

'Quake Country...

Is it Friday, already?

Okay… since I’ve started working with James Dalessandro on the production of “The Damndest, Finest Ruins,” a feature-length documentary on the 1906 earthquake and fire, I’ve barely had a minute to think of anything other than, well… earthquakes and disaster! Speaking of…

We’ve had a couple of minor rumbles in the past week and last night there was one particular burst of thunder that sent my kitty running for cover. When he wouldn’t come out from beneath the Afghani rug in my hallway, I was paranoid about going to sleep, lest there be a major quake in the night… You know, that thing about animals having paranormal senses. Not to worry, I was soothed to sleep by the dulcet tones of my favorite Scotsman and awoke this morning to find everything in tact. Phew!

Wanted to mention Bruce Willis’ appearance on Letterman earlier this week… gotta’ love the guy for his sense of humor and lack of vanity. If you didn’t see it, he came out looking like the left side of his face had been splattered with buckshot, which brings me to this particular little tidbit sent to me by the delightful Katie D… for all your Johnny Cash fans this one’s for you!

The Amazing Race

Don’t you just love the Amazing Race?

I know I do.

I wanted to be on the show since the first season when CT sent me an email announcing that they were holding auditions in San Francisco (she being insightful enough to recognize it was right up my alley!). I promptly downloaded the application and was halfway through completing the application when I discovered that it was only open to people with U.S. passports… boo! I have a European passport that allows me entrance to numerous countries and has just as much – dare I say, more? – pull. But, I understand the producers’ point of view, and imagine it’s a legal affair.

The one question I’ve entertained throughout the seasons is who would be my perfect running mate. Recently, it came down to deciding between Mr. A and Frankie. I discovered a couple of weeks ago that Frankie has had the same fascination… and the same question.

We were in Mr. A and Frankie’s kitchen when the subject came up. We deliberated over each other’s talents and foibles. Mr. A is undoubtedly charming and intelligent and able to cut to the chase, but we questioned his affection for what we call, “shiny objects,” be they actual shiny objects in store windows or passing pretty people. To answer the question Frankie posed the question: “given the choice to hike down a ravine or bungee jump over a bridge, what would you do?”

Mr. A was all over the hike, while Frankie and I had no doubts about bungee jumping, and I said that knowing my innate fear of heights. That pretty much settled the debate.

Not that there have not been instances in past seasons when the ability to shop has been an advantage. Do you remember when the teams were in South Africa and had to purchase a list of items in a local market, which were then delivered to a local orphanage? Mr. A would have been the man for the job, but, seriously, when time is an issue…. ?

Being both born under the sign of Leo, Frankie and I have been known to butt heads on occasion, but we’re also proven collaborators… as is Frankie and Mr. A, and me and Mr. A… TMI for this post. However, I have been in several ‘crises’ with Frankie, who has come through as the ‘man who saved the day’, the epitome of grace under pressure.

Our pluses: Frankie is fluent in Spanish, the third most spoken language on Earth. He’s a seasoned traveler and familiar with airports, quick-change travel plans and, let’s not discount, red carpet concierge services. He’s a designer by trade with a quick eye and equally fast mind.

I sell myself professionally as a creative problem solver who is resourceful and intuitive. It doesn’t hurt that I speak a smattering of several languages, have traveled the globe and can turn my charm on for a dime. I was also trained, at the outset of my career, in the offices of BP Pet Dev, Aberdeen, Scotland, by former SAS agents to CYA. I know how to read instructions, read them again, and make sure I understand the drill. It’s what makes me the ‘gal with the eagle eye’, an absolute necessity in following the directions in the Amazing Race.

In tonight’s race, Frankie and I would have been way ahead of the curve. We would have immediately chosen “rotor over motor.” With Frankie’s discerning eye for graphics, he would have immediately identified the heliport to land on; I would have been all over the logistics. I am, perhaps more than anything, an efficiency expert.

So, I guess I had better get onto that U.S. Citizen application that I was planning to submit a couple of years back… after all it’s only a mere four-hundred bucks and a slam-dunk test that separates me from being able to vote in the next presidential election… but, moreover, being the winner of the next Amazing Race!

Mummies in Tutus... Oh My!

I would say, "only in San Francisco," but there is in fact a royal court in every major city in America…

Last Saturday night the San Francisco Imperial Council crowned a new emperor and empress at its 41st coronation ceremony at the San Francisco Gift Center. It was a gay affair, with the theme “Hot Egyptian Nights,” featuring a 30-foot tall Egyptian temple center stage where the reigning royalty held court.

For those not in the know (myself included until Saturday), the Imperial Court was founded in 1965 by Jose Sarria, the Absolute Empress I and Widow Norton, who began his drag performance career in the 1930s and became the first gay man to have a street named after him. But since, I assume, you're not here for a history lesson click here if you want to learn more... which I recommend.

The evening began with me trying, at the last minute, to create an Egyptian themed outfit out of nothing... "Just wear lots of gold," Frankie advised. Yes, well, that would be easy if I had 'lots of gold'. I settled on jeans in high heels and fabulous accessories, which, turned out, was more than adequate since my hairdo stole the show. Yes, even among all those fabulous wigs!

The reason for our attendance was to see our fabulous friend Empress XXXI Cockatielia’s performance to celebrate her 10 year anniversary as Empress... if you can't already tell, it was a 'fabulous' evening all round.

From the minute we walked in the door, there was so much bling we practically needed sunglasses. And, as Mr. A pointed it, "that's not dime-store crap those bitches are wearing. Those crowns and tiaras cost thousands of dollars."

Then there were the gowns... Academy Award's red carpet, who needs it? Donna Sachet was in her perennial red looking simply, well, fabulous... and if I'd been prepared with a notebook, I would be able to recount all the other sumptuous gowns and their wearers... not to mention the costumes custom-made to fit the night's theme. It was all I could do to keep my jaw from hanging agape.

Empress Cockatielia entered stage left -- or is it right? -- flanked by her courtiers of drum beating boys while a stream of exotic girls entered from the other direction to arrive on stage in a whirl of layered silk. Cockatielia sang a song specially written for her for the night. She sang it with powerful emotion and the crowd lapped up every minute, bursting into cheers when she danced, Madonna-style, in rhythm with her entourage. Her standing ovation was the crowning moment of a spectacular evening... which brings me to the title of this piece. (For a close-up of Cokatielia click here and choose "Hula"; she's image 4238.)

The final performance of the evening featured mummies, aka people wrapped in bandages, and sporting a rainbow of tutus... which was when Mr. A uttered, "Mummies in tutus... oh my!"

We then made our way to the Deco Lounge on Larkin in the Tenderloin for the after party. Mr. Houston at the piano announced to the audience as I entered, "we have a movie star in our presence!" Looking around, I then realized it was me he was talking about... not that I look like Jennifer Anniston even on a good day, but it sure was flattering for about a heart beat... like I said, it was the hair.

Cockatielia was now dressed as a statuesque blonde in a simply, fabulous gown... I swear, I'm coming back as a drag queen in my next life... or maybe I was one in my previous, which is why I just adore these men who, despite their lack of natural attributes (my boobs are always applauded, by the way), know what true glamor is and know how to work it.

It may have been my first coronation, but I doubt it will be my last.