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☺