Pride in San Francisco
Heading up to SF again tomorrow for Pride and other distractions. I've not missed a single pride in SF for 14 years. Most of my activities revolve around excessive alcohol consumption and consensual groping, and I tend not to remember much of the weekend. I can't imagine not being there. I can give you a full Pride Report upon my return next week, but here's how it usually goes... (for those of you who would like to preach to me about alcohol abuse - just stop here and go away now)

Pink Saturday/Dyke March:
Sometime in the afternoon I will meander over to a friends house near Dolores Park for BBQ and drinks. Lay on the grass, catch up with old friends, drink a few beers out of the keg. Around 4:00, the rugby team will show up. We will drink more and more beer until things get a little fuzzy. Around 6:30 we will all make the move out to the street, with a brief stop at the corner market for a 12 pack of Bud. After consuming 3 Buds via the traditional shotgun method ... I will have to really concentrate to keep track of my pack. Around 8:00, the Dyke March will start. The Dyke March, isn't really much of a march at first, it's more of a shuffle. Trying to get 50,000 dykes to move in an orderly fashion tends to be a slow process. Greenie or Marnie will yell for me to "Keep up MJ! Goddamnit! Gimme a fucking beer!" Listen for that if you are there - I bet you'll find me. Around 8:30, after shuffling a total distance of about half a block, I'll say fuck it - and convince everyone to make our way to a well known Margarita joint on Market Street to watch the march from there. Our group of 10 (plus the new puppies [adorable freshly shaven baby dykes] we will pick up along the way) will take over the front of the restaurant because we will scare everyone away. We will drink many margaritas. MJ will be drunk and in turn, will put more than her share of the bill on her Credit Card. The march doesn't go by because they've changed the route, or we just weren't paying attention. It's dark now. The party is just getting started in the Castro. We will weave our way to Castro and Market and "Make a plan to meet back here at 11:00 if we get separated!" which is of course what happens within 5 minutes. Here's the part I can never remember, but witnesses have told me about it. Somewhere around 11:30 or so, after I have lost every single person I know, and won't answer my cell phone because I can't hear it, or I've lost it, I will make my way to Subway and order a Meatball Sandwich, because it sounds so damn good right about now. Around 2:30AM I will miraculously show up at home (or wherever I am staying.) What happens between 11:30 and 2:30? I don't know, but I've never been arrested.

Pride Sunday:
If I've successfully held onto my cell phone, I will listen to the 23 voicemails, all of which are a version of "MJ, it's [blank] Where the hell are you? I last saw you go into Daddy's with that chick but now I can't find you!" (Hmmm -Yeah I kind of remember Daddy's, and I think her name was Sarah... ) I go into the kitchen and make myself a Bloody Mary. I will try and convince my wife and wonderful hostesses to come with me to the parade! They will refuse, because they have "Bloody Mary's, The Sunday Times and anyway, the Parade is on TV - No way!" I will walk to Glen Park BART. I will get on an empty BART Train. I will get off a jampacked smelly BART Train at Powell. I will find my pack at the usual spot, with a cooler of beer (if it's not been confiscated) and we will wait... and drink ... and wait ... and wait... until we hear the thunder of Dykes on Bikes. WooHoo! After having our beer confiscated by the police, we will take turns going into the bar behind us to "use the facilities" and to slam a beer. After watching the parade for 2 hours, we will meander up to Civic Center, get some grub and head for the Women's Stage. Again, here's the part I can never remember, but witnesses have told me about it. Around 2:00, feeling the effect of the night before, and the countless beers and Bloody Mary's, I tell myself I am too old for this shit and decide it would be best if I just went home. In the BART station, I will run into a group of people I've not seen in 5 years, and go party in the Castro with them until about 7:00. Fatigue will set in and I will cab it back to Glen Park and collapse on the couch and relay my many amusing adventures to the poor souls who missed it.

Every year - swear to God. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love Pride in SF.

I own 2 Jeep Cherokees. Don't ask me why.

For the sake of making a long story long, we'll call them "Old Faithful, Except for the Air Conditioning" (OFEFTAC) and "I thought Your Were a Good Buy, But Now I'm Not So Sure" (ITYWAGBBNINSS) for short.

I've been trying to sell OFEFTAC for a few months, because ITYWAGBBNINSS is newer and more luxurious, which is a ridiculous idea for a Jeep, but yeah, leather and all that. No takers. OFEFTAC runs great, is butch as hell, low miles, and she's an all around fucking great Jeep. But apparently, the economy, or this new thing call "Pre-Owned Certified" is keeping people from plunking down a big fat cashiers check with my name on it. Damn it.

Sit back and enjoy my multiple car owning tale of woe and feel free to share yours with the rest of the class.

Seeing as she's a little newer, a little smoother and has a big fat V8, we took ITYWAGBBNINSS up to SF a few weeks ago. It was great - the Grapevine was a piece of cake with that big fat momma under the hood. On the way home however, she suddenly decides to die on us. In front of our house. 10 feet short of the driveway. After running fine for 8 hours. Kaput. Nada. Hello?!

"Guess we'll have to WALK to the front door honey ... Hope you brought some water and a snack!"

At least we had OFEFTAC sitting there looking like The Jealous Wife in the driveway to get the Missus around while I was in FLA.

Upon my return from Orlando, actually within minutes of touchdown, because they don't serve food on airplanes anymore, I take OFEFTAC to an unnamed drive-thru fast food joint. She exacted her revenge for my neglect. PSSSTTTTFFFFTTT from under the hood. Sputter Sputter. Finally, she gets me and my combo-meal home, but no AC. Again. Fuck. (Backstory: We spent the last summer here on the Surface of the Sun without A/C because the estimate to fix it was four figures and I thought "It can't be that bad here without A/C." Wrong. I ended up getting it "fixed" in March for less than $200 - Great Deal - Wrong.)

Now I had 2 cars (apparently the American Household Average, yet it seems excessive to me) that required me to plunk down the damn MasterCard. See, no matter how cheap I may be, I will not fall into the White Trash Trap of letting a car just sit there rotting away in the driveway. Capital One LOVES me!

(I had a point here - what was it?)

Oh yeah ... so here's my point: Some of the funniest things in the whole world to me - swear to god, it cracks me up just to think about it - are the gestures and the noises people make when they go the mechanic. I stood there for 5 minutes trying to mimic OFEFTAC's bizarre steroidal fart noise in the drive thru much to the amusement my mechanic. The following day, I tried to explain to the same mechanic how ITYWAGBBNINSS choked and jerked before she gave up less than 10 feet from her destination. He asked me if I would repeat that again for Ronaldo (who whispered something in Spanish that I am sure translated to: "Make her do it again - that was really fucking funny!".) Ah, no. I think you heard me the first time - nice try. I'm an ass. Thank you. Here's the credit card.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, (which I doubt any of you will because most of you probably gave up on this post somewhere around "Upon my return from Orlando") is to tell me a funny story involving a mechanic (no Shev, it doesn't have to involve *actual repair work* on your vehicle!)

Anyone want to buy a Jeep? Or two?

Tip of the day: courtesy of the missus
When you go to buy bread in the grocery store, have you ever wondered which is the freshest, so you "squeeze" for freshness or softness.

Did you know that bread is delivered fresh to the stores five days a week?

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Each day has a different color twist tie. They are:
Monday - Blue
Tuesday - Green
Thursday - Red
Friday - White
Saturday - Yellow

So if today was Thursday, you would want red twist tie - not white which is Fridays (almost a week old)!

The colors go alphabetically by color Blue-Green-Red-White-Yellow, Monday thru Saturday. Very easy to remember. I thought this was interesting. I looked in the grocery store and the bread wrappers DO have different twist ties, and even the one with the plastic clips have different colors.

You learn something new everyday. Enjoy fresh bread when you buy bread with the right color on the day you are shopping.

Played a great round of golf yesterday with my buddy Leah. Having not played in a while, and seeing as it was about 110º, I was sure that I would be 30 over and at least 5 balls short. When all was said and done, we both shot a good game and had a blast. I only lost 2 balls; one in the water #5 and one on #6 tee to the #9 fairway "FORE!"

I still think I can make the tour in '03.

Beers with the gang at mi casa afterwards. A nice summer evening with ice cold Corona's and the Missus' soon to be world famous "Sweet Revenge" salsa (Damn that was some good stuff honey!) Popped in my newest CD - The Nancy Atlas Project: Swagger as seen on ABC's The Hamptons. Good tunes! The girl can rock.

I was going to award this the "Too Much Time On Your Hands" trophy, but upon further investigation, I was totally fascinated by the guilty voyeuristic pleasure I got out of poking around his house. Special Recognition (and maybe some sort of prize) to the first person who finds his porn.

The Official "Too Much Time On Your Hands" Award goes to:
"Building a Life-size Millennium Falcon"

The truth behind the Trading Spaces Ceiling Fan Controversy You all knew about this right?

Intelligent Robot? Smart to escape, not so smart trying to cross the street.

Nineaem.com While beautiful to look at, from a usability standpoint, it made me tear my hair out. Issue 2 is a little better.

Gay Wedding Etiquette

1) On the day of a gay wedding, it's bad luck for the two grooms to see each other at the gym.

2) Superstition suggests that for good luck the couple should have: something bold, something flirty, something trashy, something dirty.

3) It's customary at gay and lesbian nuptials for the parents to have an open bar during the ceremony.

4) Gay wedding tradition dictates that both grooms refrain from eating wedding cake because it's all carbohydrates.

5) It's considered bad luck for either of the grooms to have dated the priest.

6) During the first dance, it's considered unlucky to use glow sticks, flags, whistles or hand held lasers.

7) For good luck at the union of a drag queen, the bouquet is always thrown in the face of a hated rival.

8) The father of the Bottom pays for everything.

via The Missus

take the which one of the trading spaces cast are you? quiz!
link via: angel

Here's an oldie but a goodie. Cat-Scan.com. They stopped updating a while back but cruise the archives for some great scans. Dont forget to check out the hate mail section too.

While Cat-Scan.com shows what creative non-professionals can do, some people should not have access to the tools of professionals.

Rage. Michael and Justin have a comicbook? QaF marketing has No Limits.
Thanks, but I'll stick to DTWOF and Hothead.

Email Clip of the Day:
"You called the large stuffed whale 'Moby Dick' and the little stuffed whale 'Midget Dick,'" she said to my brother.

I burst out laughing. I couldn't stay seated I was laughing so hard.

My brother's face fell. "No, No, I didn't call him that!" he shouted over my gales of laughter. "I called him 'Little Whaley'!!"

My parents didn't get it.

"No, it was 'Midget Dick,'" my mom replied calmly.

"Did you ... did you play with him in the bathtub?" I asked, tears rolling down my face and barely able to speak.

Florida: A State that Sinks

While in Orlando I witnessed (on TV) an interesting geological phenomenon. This only confirms my belief that Florida will slowly, or suddenly, sink into the ocean and only the tip of the Magic Kingdom Castle will be visible, on a clear day, from Georgia.

Aside from my brother and his family, who I ADORE, I have but one question to those of you from the Sunshine State: Why in your right mind would you choose to live in such a mold ridden, stinking, sinking pit of a state? People think I am crazy for living here in the desert. But in the desert, we don't have to power wash our roof every year because of the mildew build up. We can actually breath when we go outside. We don't have alligators eating our children. We don't have torrential rains and hurricanes. We don't live in fear that any moment now, the earth may open up and swallow us whole! (okay - so there is the whole earthquake thing, and yes - technically, the earth could open up and swallow us, but that's not my point!) Here in the desert, we are more of an "Adult Resort Destination" and I like it that way. We don't have obese tourists and their hordes of screaming offspring on our inbound flights.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to tell people how to raise their children, because I really have no clue. And yes, I have been changed by the birth of my niece. I no longer look at the parents of small children with that "Can't you check them with the rest of your luggage, so that I can enjoy my Mile High Martini in some semblance peace and quiet?" kind of way. I look at the children and their parents with a certain degree of sympathy now. BUT - they must actively try and control their children in public places! Ignoring them at home may be fine and dandy, but for gods sake, at least try to do SOMETHING to calm them on a plane. Don't just sit there and pretend that my ears aren't bleeding from the precious child's blood curdling screams. Give them a cracker or something! Good God.

Whew - got that out of my system.

Now, how fucking wonderful is room service? I love it. I'll gladly pay $24.95 for a burger and beer to have it delivered to my room on a tray while I watch the $11.00 "The Royal Tenenbaums" on Spectravision. It's the little things.

Here's a tip though, when returning to your room at 12:30am from the lobby bar, DO NOT DRINK AND DIAL! Take it from me, if you have even a slight buzz going, you may overlook the 55% surcharge they add to already inflated long distance charges and decide to call your wife direct and talk to her for over an hour only to discover upon check-out that the aforementioned phone call is going to cost you $121.73!! Kind makes the $24 burger look like a bargain...

June 11, 2002 - AJK 4 hours old

The FishWrap is on temporary leave until next week due to the birth of the most beautiful creature in the entire world. Yes, there are moments in life that are so much more important than this silly web page. This is one of them.

She's beautiful. I am in love.

I want to take this moment - at the peak of the Eclipse - to mention that I love this planet - this solor system fucking rocks! The light outside is so eerie... I love it! Sorry you East Coasters are missing it!

A bag of mixed feelings - to go please: I've had such a blast in SF. But just being here has sent my brain spinning. Moving away from my HOME of 14 years, the life that I created for myself, was one of the hardest things I've done. It's just not the same down south. And coming back here this time, is very different from my previous visits. It hit me harder than I thought it would. Someone asked me what I missed most about living in SF. That's easy. My friends are here. Friends that I have a *history* with. I have new friends in my new community and they are great - fantastic. I'm sure we will know each other forever kinda friends, but it's new. It feels fragile, like it could all disappear tomorrow. My oldest friends, my family, my clan - it's all right here in SF. We went to Wild Side last night just for the hell of it ... to play some pool and watch some soccer (not a big soccer fan, but an incredible game last night no?) Just hanging with my best buds, pounding a few beers, laughing - really laughing, from the gut, totally sated with the company of my comrades. It was good. I felt like I was home.

Tomorrow I'm off to Florida (see Fridays post.) I just talked to my Mom and apparently, I'm invited to join everyone in THE DELIVERY ROOM. Uh... How do you respectfully decline an invitation like that? I'm not sure I really need to see the whole process. I was kind of hoping for that nice, clean, swaddled, have a cigar kind of introduction to my niece.

If I'm not permanently scarred, I'll post on Wednesday and let ya know how it went.

It's a beautiful day in San Francisco. Fucking gorgeous. I have to keep reminding myself that this is a rare occurance and it's OKAY that we moved away. Can I get through a post without using the word fuck? I guess not.

So welcome to the new visitors and thanks to those of you pointing surfers this way. Tip-o-the hat to Crazy Tracy (and she calls me whacked? me thinks she needs to up the dosage) and The Urchin.

As soon as the Giants kick the Yankees ASS (currently 3-3 bottom of the 3rd) I'm off to enjoy the sun and the city, and force myself to remember that we did the right thing (rinse, repeat as needed.)

I know what you're saying... the timestamp on this post CAN'T be right! Yes, I am up at the crack of ... whatever ... it's early. I'm going to be living out of a suitcase for the next, oh 10 days or so. Which means that if Marriott can live up to their promise of A Room That Works, I'll be posting from the road. First up to San Frantastic for a little business (and little pleasure [wink]) then it's off to the land of giant mouse ears and oppressive humidity to welcome the next generation of my family.

Even though my brother and I made a pact that the family tree would stop with us (really, it should - for the sake of all humanity, it should stop. right. here.) he's gone and done it. My niece is scheduled to be born on Tuesday morning. That kinda freaks me out, that she's scheduled. Just like the phone company, she's got a 4 hour window; "Uh, yeah she should be here sometime between 8-12!"

Okay, so I was induced too (kicking and screaming I might add - and trying to get back in ever since ... bada boom - ching! Thank you, I'm here all week!) But scheduling a birth just seems strange. "Um, could you do it Thursday instead, Tuesday's a little iffy for me, I'm pretty booked up." I can't help but think that we're missing out on the whole "Surprise!" aspect. They know when she'll be born. Obviously they know she's a she. She already has a name. Having never experienced the wonder of child birth firsthand (but I've watched it on TLC,) knowing all this stuff ahead of time is probably a good thing. The kid is HUGE - think 9.5 lbs. Thank god for drugs. Which reminds me, we haven't gotten them a gift yet. What brand of vodka do babies prefer? [thanks steve!]

My mom is slightly stressed out, but she and Joe will be there too. We know how to rally the goddamn troops! My brothers girlfriend (I think they got married and didn't tell anyone, but I can't be sure) already has a 6 year old girl, so he's prepared for being a Daddy, and she's obviously got the whole Mom thing down, I'm just not prepared for the inevitable "Auntie Em" role.

To top it off, I found my first gray hair yesterday. Fuck.

Here's a great site for DVD lovers: DVD Easter Eggs.

Speaking of DVDs, I watched Mulholland Dr. last night. Some people highly recommended it. I don't usually review movies here but here's my take on David Lynch's recent effort:

Huh? Wait, what WAS that? Uh... right. What the fuck? Okay, whatever.

For more detailed anaysis please see: Mulholland Dr.

I want one! SwearBear!

For some hilarious shorts, check out CivicLiveIt.com and click on "e-clips". There's one that is no longer there, but I saved it a while back and have uploaded it for your viewing pleasure. Note the woman in black who is oblivious to what is going on around her. Office Boredom

Do any of you stalkers lurkers have any idea how fucking hard I worked to get comments up on this site? It's been a week and nothing but silence. Sometimes I wonder why I even try... I know you're out there... Talk to me dammit.

My friend Mopsa hates it when people bitch about the weather. In honor of her and our first 110º day ...

You know it's summer in the desert when:

-- Someone wearing oven mitts while driving is clever
-- Your car overheats in the driveway
-- A swamp cooler is not a happy hour cocktail
-- Vehicles with open windows automatically have the right of way
-- You discover that it only takes two fingers to drive your car
-- The pool is warmer than you are
-- You can make sun tea instantly
-- People with black cars or who have black upholstery must be from out-of-state or nuts
-- The best parking place is determined by shade instead of by distance
-- You can finish a Big Gulp in 5 minutes and go back for seconds
-- The water from the cold water tap is the same temperature as the hot one
-- You burn your hand opening the car door
-- Less than 30 SPF is a joke and you wear it just to go into the Circle K
-- "But its a dry heat" is received with as much enthusiasm as "but she's got a great personality"

More power to your elbow!

For this and more "Engrish" fun, check out the Syberpunk.com collection. Or Google for Engrish.

Interesting story of the Moscow Underground: "The underworld is not all rubbish, rats, and dampness. Some accommodations are well equipped--with radio, television, and heat. People cook food and bring up children. In the morning, breadwinners leave their homes through manholes to make a living." via boing boing

Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails: Their Mission? "To continue the 150 year American tradition of dangerous women calling themselves Ladies and getting together in groups, clubs, and societies to work undercover while they chipped away at the patriarchy."

Time Wasters and Other Distractions:

I usually save the best for last, but I wouldn't want any of you to miss this - a classic: The Herd of Star Wars Nerds link via mopsa

Southpark Studio

Dan vs. The Bank

The Doughboy

Avocado Memories

Attrition.org Image Gallery

Digital Sushi

More CrankYankers

Sundance Online Films

Email Clip of the Day: "But I can't believe she could even hear the ruckus through all that hair." in reference to: Local celebrity lands in hot water for chucking produce at workers making a ruckus outside her bed room window.

Okay all you Trading Spaces fans (we all know what you were doing Memorial Day Weekend.) Do you remember Hildi's "Orange Episode" where she wanted to dye the carpet orange and her team REFUSED to comply and thus the design was compromised? Rumor has it that Hildi e-mailed Todd Dominey and told him it was exactly what she had in mind and THANK YOU! Personally - I agree with Hildi. It's looks great. In other TS news - here's a review site that's sure to fill all your TS needs and then some.

Speaking of orange ... You may find this terribly boring but I found it fascinating and will file it under the "It's a small small world" category:

I was at the grocery store the other day trying to fulfill a request from the missus for "something different" in the beverage dept. Standing the soda (that would be "pop" for you Midwesterners) aisle, I was shocked to stumbled upon a new package design for part of the Shasta line. As some of you know, I worked at Michael Osborne Design and the first client I was assigned to was National Beverage for a complete overhaul of the entire Shasta line, all 270 SKUs, my primary contribution being the bar line (tonic, ginger ale et al.) 2 years of work. I still get a kick when I'm at someone's house and they're serving MY tonic.

It turns out that this new Shasta "retro look" is a short term promotion/collectors edition in response to the discovery of what they refer to as "Miracle Art." So I went to the url on the can and here's where the story gets weird - for me at least. This "Miracle Art" was discovered on the side of the David Hewes Building at 995 Market St. after a strong wind storm came through and removed half of the billboard on the side of the building.

995 Market St houses the offices of my former company Gay.com and in the photos on the Shasta site, you can see my office window on the corner. In fact, I used to stand right there on the roof several times a day smoking (against the rules - but so are a lot of things in this world) surveying my domain - San Francisco. It was a great view, but there were moments when I was tempted to jump. (Okay, not really, but you get the idea.)

So here I sit, far far away from my old life in SF ... Shasta Orange Soda can in hand ... Looking at the past 10 years of my work life.

According to the Shasta site, there was some miscommunication with building management and the "Miracle Art" has been whitewashed over ... Much like we tend to do with our pasts.

Friday Night Report: Nothing to report. I did nothing. It was nice.

Saturday Night Report: ModCom cocktails at Jonathan and Trinas fabulously restored Ship of the Desert, then off to Atlas (the new old Muriels) where we were quickly catapulted into the frightening underworld of Straight Nightlife.

Okay, I'll admit it, I did suggest that we do something different, for once we should go someplace we would usually avoid. I was wrong, okay? Horribly, horribly wrong. I've not seen that many unattracive overweight straight girls poured into black sleeveless spandex since... well, last month in Las Vegas. And they were all huddled in a pack on one side of the dance floor, just as they were 4 years ago at their senior prom (probably the happiest memory they have) ... waiting ... for what? The other gender pickin's were mighty slim (wrong word, thin, no - hopeless - yeah, that's it, hopeless.)

Take for example, my ex-husband Frank. Not really my ex-husband (as if!), but Michael and I amused ourselves for 1/2 an hour pretending that this guy across the bar was my ex-husband - c'mon I had to do something to save the evening! "Frank" was clad in a baseball cap, safari shirt, elastowaist-sansabelt Dockers, and running shoes. At one point, I had to remind him of the restraining order "500 feet FRANK!" and that if I saw him near the trailer again tonight, I was gonna call Randy to come over and KICK HIS ASS! While this amused us to no end, "Frank" of course, had no idea that I was actually talking about him, he thought I was really talking about my ex-husband. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer - but probably the cream of the crop in the eyes of the Spandex Club across the dance floor. It was then that I noticed that they were all looking at me with that "You fucking bitch! I saw him first!" look that scared the hell out of us, so we fled to the safety of the Icon Lounge down the street. The only difference between Atlas and Icon was the music ... and they had better looking hookers.

The road goes on forever, and the party never ends. R. E. Keen