Well, it looks like the restaurant space at Hayes and Laguna is re-leased. Let’s hope it makes a go of it!
I took this yesterday in the men’s room on the 7th floor of my office’s building.
Tonight is the Team Be-Cause Steering Committee meeting at 100 Van Ness, the AAA building.
Good times.
I scrubbed the Stairway Walk because of the mostly all-day heavy rain. This is quite the bummer, but we’ll do Nob Hill again next month as scheduled. Since that left me with nothing to do, I decided to laundry, and got pretty much caught up. I suppose I should do laundry naked so I don’t have to have dirty clothes right off the bat again!
Foggy City Dancers decided to add Advanced to their program offerings, and this next club night with Michael Levy on March 4th will have Mainstream, Plus, and Advanced level dancing. One of my visions for the club is to get it away from Mainstream altogether except as a means of getting to Plus. We’ll see if that makes sense or not.
Jason came over yesterday for a short visit. We sat in my newly reorganized bedroom on the futon couch I got last year from Freecycle. I decided that the futon was too old and beat up, and am going to replace the mattress as soon as I can afford it. The top of the line futon at IKEA is only $130, so it may be sooner than later. That’ll be nice.
Today, I have clients to see this evening, and possibly a gentleman caller during the day. I’ll let you know how that goes.
A good friend of mine says that when an A-Gay (meaning in this case, a gay with money) wants to discredit a non-A-Gay, they accuse them of stealing money from them.
Anyway, I was talking to someone on bear411 about how I hadn’t heard from someone who newly moved out here, and he told me that this new SF resident had gotten a credit card in his name and used it to move here from there, and that this newly moved person was no longer answering phone calls, emails, etc. And he went on and on about making sure I keep away from this guy, that I don’t want to have my reputation and credit ruined, and that I don’t want to introduce him to any of my friends, or the same might happen to them!
So, today, I just got a message from this alleged fraud, and what do I do? His accuser is definitely an A-Gay, but on the other hand, this guy kind of is, too. He’s a person I have known for quite a while in an online context, and has seemed to be consistent in his presentation of himself.
Now the final piece of the puzzle here is that these two are double-exes, meaning that they dated twice. So is this just an axe-grinding against his ex, or is it a real warning about a possible thief?
Frank “ednixon” Martin brought me this gummi candy hot dog that the band, “Meat Sluts,” was passing out to the audience at the parakeet lounge last night.
With the help of google maps and lots of historical references, I have been trying to draw out the original shoreline of San Francisco.
The tiny yellow square where the financial district is comprises the original 12-block area first surveyed by Jean Jacques Vigot back in 1838. Essentially, that was the town of Yerba Buena, created from the grant of the Spanish to Willam A. Richardson, an English ship captain. Clicking the image takes you to the google map I created.
The blue area represents the beginning of the landfill. Especially around the 1850-51 period in downtown San Francisco. I found more maps showing the extreme north of the peninsula, as well as further south, and I will update this when I have more time, but I started doing this when I was looking at the routes of my stairway walk tours, and wondering just where the original shoreline was.
I took a benadryl last night to make sure I didn’t wake up.
Around 06:30 I was in that alpha state of consciousness between sleep and being awake, and had this dream. I never remember my dreams, so I thought I’d write this one down:
I was standing with a group of people on the new bay bridge, which was suddenly directly north of the airport instead of its current location. We were all staring southward at the airport, watching the airplanes take off and land. A Southwest Airlines jet took off, looped around, looking like jerky computer animation, and then crashed back into the airport in a pixelated explosion. I calmly pulled out my iPhone and took a picture and posted it to LiveJournal and Facebook.
That was my dream. I woke up immediately after this dream and was somewhat disgusted with myself for not reacting more compassionately, although I remember a feeling of impending dread and then horror when the plane crashed. Perhaps I knew that I was too far away to be of any help, and could only observe.
Question: Do you remember your dreams?
I thought you could.
Yesterday I had three back-to-back clients. I’ve never done this before, and decided that except for the fact that I need to be able to change the table linens between clients and have a few minutes to breathe, this went well.
I had had a light breakfast: two pieces of toast, a cup of yogurt, and a small chunk of cheese, with a cup of coffee. When I got home, I had another cup of yogurt, then dashed out the door to see “Milk” with my Australian friends, Mike and Richard. And yes, I hadn’t seen it up until this point, so sue me; I’ve been busy.
Perhaps because I had only a few weeks ago watched “The Times of Harvey Milk” on hulu.com, the movie didn’t move me to tears the way many people have described. Yes, I think it’s a wonderful piece of film making, but I don’t think it’s going to win Best Picture this coming weekend. There were just too many weak spots in it. But I did enjoy it quite a bit.
When the movie was done, I said goodbye to Mike and Richard, and went and found Frank and Jim Billy, who were also in attendance at the theater. Frank and I dropped Jim Billy off at his place, then went to the Parakeet Loungue, but it was dead, so we headed to the Hole in the Wall, where the bartender introduced me to Zwack, a Hungarian liqueur with an herbal digestif sort of sense to it. It’s kind of like Jaegermeister, but the tongue is more open and there are citrus and cinnamon and anise and other herbs in it. It was delightful on the rocks, though, and I drank it with relish.
But it was last call, and Frank had found his friend, Jerome, sitting at the end of the bar with some other fellow, and we all exchanged pleasantries. As is Frank’s habit, he offered Jerome a ride back to his hotel. It turns out that Jerome is staying with a friend of his on Market Street, and did we all want to go to Orphan Andy’s for some breakfast? I went along, not planning on eating anything, but had a slice of pecan pie with vanilla ice cream. This was a bad idea.
I got home around 03:00 and stripped off my clothes and went to bed. About an hour later, I was wakened with horrible acid reflux and an overwhelming urge to use the bathroom. It’s weird, because my stomach wasn’t full, and I hadn’t eaten very much at all during the day, so this uncomfortably full sensation was a bit of a mystery to me. Nevertheless, every fifteen or twenty minutes for the rest of the night, I was madly climbing down my loft bed’s ladder and dashing into the bathroom. These symptoms went on throughout the entire day, so I was careful about what I ate and kept drinking water to maintain hydration.
Somewhere around 18:00 tonight, my stomach finally stopped with the hyperactivity, and I ate some bean and rice burritos. My guts don’t seem to be churning like a skulling team across the lake, and I’m just feeling tired and ready for bed.
This is my least favorite type of illness. Ick.
It all started on Wednesday when I had that delightful gentleman birthday present. There’s something about having tons and tons of eye contact during the sex acts that brings forth a level of energy exchange and intimacy that so many men are afraid to do.
Well, Thursday started off with a couple’s massage followed by a trip down to the host hotel to say hello to people checking in and what-not. I didn’t register this year owing to economic factors, and I didn’t want to be an utter lobby lizard, so I limited my socializing to this one visit on Thursday night.
Later that night, I had a brief conversation with Jason. I am finding more and more that my heart is healing and will be able to move on romantically in my life.
Friday I had more work to do, with another couple’s massage, then came home and rested, because I had another batch of massage to do on Saturday.
But when Saturday came, I woke up with a fever and body aches. Drat it all. So I rescheduled the massages that I could, and cancelled the ones I couldn’t reschedule, and stayed in and rested.
Later that evening, I felt better, but decided to stay in and keep up my energy. Sunday was another work day, and I felt fine throughout my sessions, and was able to go out and get some supper with Frank. Not long after, though, I decided to conserve my energy and he dropped me back home and I played WoW with some buddies.
Monday, I didn’t work, and just lounged around the house until around 18:00, when I made an appearance at the Lone Star Saloon for the IBR farewell party. It was a lively crowd, and not long after have a couple of hits of some pot (thanks, Jon!) and ordering my cocktail – a Root Beer and Jack (a very tasty combination, by the way), I attracted the eyes of this beautiful couple from Australia, and we were all cuddled up and thinking of find a more private location when the lead singer of Bearforce One walked up to me and started saying things like “Oh, I see you’re making the acquaintance of my future boyfriend,” referring to me. And “I’m a supermodel! You can do much better than these guys.” As if insulting my taste in men is going to want to make me want him. Now granted, he’s much more attractive in person than in those ridiculous videos they make, but really.
So, when we toodled off drunkenly for the third time, I suggested that we leave. They said that they had plans for dinner with their traveling companion, I mentioned that I hadn’t eaten yet, and the next I know, the four of us are taxiing to the Castro for Thai Food.
Dinner was a raucous affair, with lots of jokes and talk about language difference and foodstuffs. After dinner, their traveling companion wanted to go back to the Lone Star, and they were staying just around the corner, so we all traipsed back to 9th and Harrison and big him farewell, and the three of us went to make ourselves more comfortable.
And what an enjoyable experience that turned out to be. We spent a very relaxed evening together, and somewhere around 00:50 I said goodnight. Wandered in to the Lone Star to see if Frank was around, but there were only three people in there, so I started to walk to where he had parked his car on 10th Street, but it was gone from there, too, and I decided that the 20 minute walk couldn’t be so bad, and if I walked quickly I could be spared a downpour.
As an aside, last week, two hours before this latest batch of storms settled over us, I was walking home from the Castro and noticing the cloudless sky, sang an improvised rain chant. It was sort of a mash-up between the Byzantine psalmist, Melodius, and Duke Ellington. So you may all offer your thanks for the wet to me! Hopefully I can stop it before it gets out of control!
I spied Frank’s car parked in front of the Hole in the Wall, and wandered in there, but he was nowhere to be found. Telephoning him lead to immediate voicemail, so his phone was dead or turned off. After a brief conversation with a friendly acquaintance, I decided the best thing to do was just walk or cab home, and that’s what i set out to do.
Starting toward 9th Street, this tall and handsome black man said hello in that cruisy way. Not that I would have picked up some utter stranger in the street, and especially since I had just finished with my delightful encounter with the two Australian gentlemen, yet I decided to talk to him for a few minutes and see why he was out on the streets.
Turns out he was a cocaine dealer waiting to meet a customer. So while he was waiting, I probed him with more questions. He lives down near the ballpark, and didn’t want to be out too much later since he had to be at work the next morning. He pulled out a tiny ziploc bag about three-quarters of an inch square filled with a finely ground white powder. Why he wanted to show me, I don’t know, but maybe he thought he’d make a sale? As if.
His customer was just across the street, so he excused himself, and went to conduct his transaction, then came right back and asked me if I wanted to get together with him sometime. I laughed a pleased laugh, and said that I thought that he was very handsome, but that I must decline such an invitation. He handed me a card with what I presume is his phone number and asked me to call him if I changed my mind. Weird.
Just then a taxi approached, and I hailed it and was soon climbing the stairs to UGH’s front door, stripped off my clothes, and feel into a gentle, restful sleep.
Frank approves of his fish sandwich: a part of our quest for the best fast food fish.
The rankings so far:
Del taco’s amazing crispy fish tacos
Wendy’s tasty Premium Fish Filet sandwich
Burger King’s Big Fish sandwich
McDonald’s Filet-o-Fish sandwich
Jack-in-the-box’s Fish-n-chips
