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.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
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'!
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'!
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
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!
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 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.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, April 07, 2006
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!
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!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
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.
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?
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?
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
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.
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!
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
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
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
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
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.
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.
Monday, March 27, 2006
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!
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!
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
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!
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!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, March 13, 2006
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?
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?
Saturday, March 11, 2006
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.
Friday, March 10, 2006
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?
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?
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