On 39 years of existence

Last week I celebrated my 39th birthday. Gathered with 12 of the most fabulous people ever for drinks (many) and dinner at Lime. Lime is a really bad name for a really hot location -- I read in a review somewhere that Lime is where Austin Powers would hang out if he were gay. Effective use of white fake fur, faux 70s vintage furniture, pexiglass, thumping music, strong/creative cocktails, yummy plates-for-sharing, yummier waiters (unfortunately not available for sharing), and most importantly, great lighting. There must be some sort of hip ironic thing going on with the name "Lime," as I can't find lime (the color nor the fruit) anywhere in the place. I'm probably just not cool enough to get it.

Anyway, the group was a wonderful amalgamation of friends, ranging from 20+ years to just a few weeks. As I looked around the table (through the haze of four coconut mojitos) I once again realized how lucky I am to have such an incredible network of creative, dependable, and most importantly, supportive people here in San Francisco. I miss my friends/family in Houston so much, but having people like this in my life here has made this transition so incredibly easy. Not to mention a hell of a lot of fun! Between Houston and San Francisco (could I have picked more vastly different environments?) I'll always feel like I have two homes -- and yearn for the day when I will have the money/freedom to travel more often between the two.

Turkey Day was spent with my new friend David and two of his friends. Previous to working in the theatre field, David spent time training as a chef, so he put together an incredible spread of culinary delights. His apartment has a beautiful sweeping view of the city. Just as we sat down to dinner, the sun was setting over the Bay. Definitely a very civilized way to celebrate Turkey Day.

Friday made it to see the brilliant new film Bobby, a fascinating new take on the events surrounding the death of Robert Kennedy. Cast of thousands, including a shockingly good Lindsey Lohan, a fabulously quaffed Demi Moore with the largest bouffant hair-do since Divine in Hairspray, and directed by Emilio Estevez. Who knew a washed up 80's icon had such amazing talent? After that it was cruising/carousing "Fag Friday" on the small but bumping dance floor at End Up.

Saturday evening my sister and brother-in-law arrived! I can't tell you how nice it is to have them here. Having driven all the way from Texas in my car (hooray! I have wheels again!) they were exhausted, so my friend JJ and I headed to Marlena's for what may very well go down as the worst, bitchiest drag show in drag show history. Then it was on to "Drunk & Horny" at SF Underground till the wee hours.

Sunday my little family and I joined the throngs to see Borat. I laughed so hard it made my stomach hurt. It's got all the grossness of a John Waters classic, but presented in the framework of a political satire. It's simply outrageous. Took the day off Monday to reprise my role as SF tour guide. We ended up going to the zoo, Cliff House, Palace of the Legion of Honor and then dinner at one of my favorite Chinese dives over near my old apartment on Potrero Hill. Returned to work Tuesday. My sister and her husband start their long journey back to Texas Thursday morning.

So, yet another milestone in the TX-CA transition is complete. It's been kind of surreal having a part of my family here with me the last few days. I miss them so much.

Before I sign off today, gotta offer a very special birthday thanks to my dear friend (and, evidently, diligent Philip blog-reader) Gil, in Houston. We've both been through some really rough times this last couple of years and I can't thank you enough for being my friend through it all. Whooda thunk that a messy night on the South Beach dance floor would lead to such an amazing friendship? I miss you, but know that I'm always here for you. Now get your ass on a plane to San Francisco!

I feel pretty

I feel pretty...
I feel pretty...
I feel pretty and witty, and...

Last night I had a revelation. With a very respectful nod to Sal Iacopelli (author of Love Sal, Letters from a Boy in the City - one of my favorite books ever)... Are you ready for this life-changing statement?

I am really, REALLY GAY.

My friend/roommate Mike and I had a similar revelation while having brunch in this same exact spot a few years ago, but last night I just felt, I don't know... gayer.

I was having dinner at Harvey's on Castro, a gay restaurant named after a gay icon (Harvey Milk). The cafe sits on 18th and Castro, arguably the gayest intersection in the gay neighborhood in the gayest of gay cities, San Francisco. I had prime seating at the corner window table, the best possible place to cruise other gay men walking by. I was drinking a "Bloody Maria Callas" a deadly strong Bloody Mary concoction named after the operatic icon (opera, gay, hello?) while reading the Bay Area Reporter, a local gay newspaper. At some point in the last few years, Harvey's got rid of all the gay memorablia on their walls and now has rather mundane art. We used to call Harvey's "The Gay Hard Rock Cafe."

Christina Aguilera (a gay diva if there ever was one) was pounding from the speakers.

I live in a gay neighborhood, most of my friends are gay, I shop at a gay grocery store, get my hair cut at a gay barbershop, work out at a gay gym, get massages at a gay spa, eat in gay restaurants, read gay books and magazines, buy toothpaste at "Gay Walgreen's" (across the street from the aforementioned gay cafe Harvey's), support gay politicians and gay causes, and of course socialize in gay bars.

My favorite sports are figure skating and gymnastics. I choreographed flag routines for a living for the better part of 20 years. I'm counting the days till Dreamgirls-the movie comes out. One word: Gay!

I write for a gay travel magazine, and when I do travel, it's usually to go to gay pride events, gay restaurants and gay clubs. I usually "stay" in gay hotels in gay neighborhoods. (In gay-speak "stay" = "shower, change outfits and occasionally nap between gay circuit parties"). My entire family knows I'm gay. Hell, anyone I come into contact with knows I'm gay.

I had lunch with my dear friend Trina, who lives in the Castro and has more gay boyfriends than I do. My sister is visiting soon - she introduced me to my first gay person in the mid-70s and a slew of fabulous drag queens in the 80's. Her favorite spot in this city is AsiaSF, where Asian transsexual waitresses perform for primarily gay customers. I'm cutting out of work early today to hit happy hour at a gay bar, and tomorrow I'm going to a gay bowling event. My gay agenda on Sunday may include a trip out to Mill Valley to visit with my friends Ryan and Shannon (both gay).

Good Lord that's a lot of gaity. As Rosanne Barr once said to her gay boss (as hilariously portrayed by Martin Mull), "You couldn't be any gayer if your name was Gay Gayerson."

The kindness of strangers

Although we're still getting the occasional sunny/cool day, evening weather has turned mostly foggy and chilly. Perfect weather to hole up in the fabulous Castro Theatre, which is now in the midst of a Tennessee Williams series. I've seen "Streetcar Named Desire" and "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," and were it not for my completely nonexistant discretionary income (payday is tomorrow) I would probably go back again tonight for "Suddenly Last Summer." Seeing these films on the big screen is just amazing, and I can't decide who was hotter in their heyday, Marlon Brando or Paul Newman.

Brando absolutely drips with raw animal sexuality in Streetcar. There's one scene I just can't get out of my mind... he's sitting at the kitchen table in a sweaty "wife-beater" (literally), eating a steak with his bare hands and guzzling beer, which runs down his chin and onto his perfectly muscled chest. He's listening to Blanche go on and on about something, and all of a sudden he just explodes. His entire body is shaking and he's throwing dishes, breaking furniture and screaming like a caveman. GOD it's SO HOT!

On the other hand, Paul Newman is the quiet, brooding sexpot. That incredible body, the perfect hair, those amazing, piercing blue eyes! It's easy to see why Liz Taylor tears off her clothes and throws herself at him like the desperate, needy nymphomaniac that she is. La Liz was clearly at the top of her game in this film; Maggie's vibrant, explosive sexuality is the perfect ying to Brick's thoughtful, vaguely metrosexual yang.

And of course every good queen knows that every Tennessee Williams' story has a not so subtle homoerotic undertone... A tone that's amplified one hundred-fold when seen in the Castro. All those campy one-liners and hot, sweaty men... When Liz walks in on a stripped-down Paul putting on that perfectly starched white shirt -- the only time you actually get a full-on view of those incredible abs -- you could literally hear the gasps!

My favorite line in the movie... someone asks the doctor for a pill to make the pain disappear, and Big Mama says "Sometimes I wish I had a pill to make people disappear."

New Readers

So gang, I'd like to welcome to the Philip Tribal blog-fold my dear friends Ryan and Shannon. I met Ryan through Craigslist when I first moved to San Francisco in 1997. No it was not a hook-up. At the time, CL was still relatively underground and was little more than an online classified ad source. To the best of my memory, CL wasn't yet used for dates and hook-ups.

I'd moved out here with a couple of Pottery Barn rugs that I needed to sell. I posted them on CL, Ryan and his then-girlfriend answered my ad and came over to take a look. I guess they figured out I was gay immediately. Don't know what gave me away... perhaps the Broadway musical posters?

Anyway, they casually mentioned that they were both bisexual. Being fresh off the bus from Houston, I acted as though it were no big deal, but truth be told, they were the first couple I'd ever met who were so open about their sexuality. But I liked them both immediately and before too long we were hanging out on a regular basis. We've had some great times over the years.

Shortly after I left San Francisco in 2001, Ryan also left to attend law school in San Diego, where he met the fabulously gorgeous Shannon, a fellow law student. At the time her hair was almost completely shaven and a friend noted that she looked like a younger, hotter Sinead O'Conner.

A few years ago WGI World Championships were in San Diego, and Ryan and Shannon were treated to a real taste of what sort of trouble me and my guard friends can be. Frankly, he saved my ass. Me and the posse went out clubbing that Saturday night. Having made a very hasty exit from the club at approximately 6:30 am, then speeding directly to the airport (with a cadre of VERY messy, pissed-off queens), I soon realized that not only did I not have my shit together on any level, I was not going to make my flight. And the next seat open wasn't till the following day.

Surrounded by hordes of screaming high school girls and deep in the throes of post-party confusion, I eeked out a desperation call on my dying cell phone to Ryan, who was in the middle of studying for the bar exam. He generously offered to bring me back to the hotel, where I met back up w/ fellow party-hack Mike Voves. (Now THERE'S a true piece of work). Voves and I spent most of the day swilling Bloody Mary's, before going in together on a hotel room for the evening. Ryan and Shannon picked us back up later, took us out for dinner and brought us to an art opening at UCSD. By that point Mike and I were still going from the previous evening, our eyes looked like road maps, and our social skills were, shall we say, a bit stunted. Although Ryan and Shannon later told me we pulled it off, I was completely paranoid that night. I don't think we spoke two words the entire evening, and I wondered for many months what sort of impression I'd given Shannon, and if I'd finally pushed the boundaries of friendship too far.

Not long after, Ryan and Shannon got married, completed law school and moved back to SF. We stayed in touch and when I moved back to SF in July, the first thing I saw when I walked into my new home was a beautiful orchid and a lovely card from them, saying how happy they were that I was back. I'm happy to be back too, and these two fabulous people are a big reason why.

Plus they are giving me a tv this week.

Weekend update

Very nice mix of work/play this weekend. Friday went to dinner at Nirvana with a great new friend of mine. We drank too much, ate too much, then ended up watching a really interesting "making of" documentary about the original cast recording of Stephen Sondheim's "Company" back in the early 70's. Could we be any gayer, you ask? We sang along with most of it, so, the answer would be most definitely NO. The highlight of the film is a totally wasted Elaine Stritch going into an alcoholic meltdown while trying to belt out her signature tune, "Ladies Who Lunch." Also worth noting, Beth Howland (aka "Vera" on the groundbreaking 70's sitcom, "Alice") appeared in this production.

Saturday did laundry till mid-afternoon, then worked out at my new gym, 24 Hour Fitness on Market/Church. I guess I'm officially a Castro Queen. I'm not a "Castro Clone" yet -- my hair is gel-less, I've got a couple of shirts with sleeves in my closet, and I can still point out a couple of guys on the dance floor I haven't [yet] slept with. Joined a couple of friends for a round or two at "Drunk & Horny" at SF Underground in the evening. The music gets a bit too vintage 70s/80s for my taste, but it's consistently a really fun crowd.

Yesterday had lunch with a friend, then went to see "The Departed" at the new SF shopping center. It was pretty good, but I got a little bored with all the very Scorsese-esque bloody shootings.

Finished up the weekend with the absolutely riveting documentary about the Jonestown/People's Temple mass suicide at the Lumiere (the artsiest of all the art film houses in the city). This is an incredible film and a MUST for anyone interested in religion and politics, particularly here in the Bay Area. I knew Jim Jones had his church here, but what I didn't realize was how influential he was in local government. He was the head of the SF city housing commission and, some say, because of his large, obedient following/voting bloc, a major reason why George Moscone got elected as mayor. He was very much in bed with Willie Brown, Harvey Milk, Jerry Brown, Art Agnos, Walter Mondale and he had a lunch meeting with Roslynn Carter! The vintage sound and video in this film is nothing short of haunting. I am ALL about inappropriate, tasteless jokes. But I can assure you, I will never throw around the phrase "drank the kool-aid" in a joking way again. Just came across a very interesting site with more details about Jones' time in SF.

I think perhaps the most frightening element of this film is its ability to remind us of the sheer gullability of human beings. This latest scandal involving yet another evangical nutcase, fleecing thousands of dim-witted inbreds for billions, is the perfect example. These dumb-asses are already coming to his defense! Here's what kills me... this dude admits he bought crystal meth from the hooker (who, btw, isn't so bad looking), but he claims he didn't have sex with him! WTF? He'd rather have us believe he's buying crack but NOT having sex with men? What is wrong with these people?

Thoughts from a Castro Halloween Survivor

Well, I'm glad I got my Halloween celebrating done over last Saturday night, because, as reported in every major US metropolitan newspaper and on national TV, Halloween in the Castro this past Tuesday was nothing short of a disaster, culminating in the shooting of nine people. Miraculously nobody was killed, but the whole experience has left our neighborhood with a collective bad taste in its mouth.

Over the last five years, what was once a incredibly fun celebration of all things weird and wonderful in San Francisco has turned into little more than a breeding ground for suburban thugs and the skanks who love them. It's awful. Of course politicians and citizen groups have been arguing about this for months, predicting something really bad would happen. Three years ago there were stabbings. But until you've actually seen it with your own eyes, it's hard to imagine how terribly frightening this so-called street party has become.

My friends I wandered down to Market Street early in the evening, and it was quickly obvious that this is NOT our crowd. They say less than 20% of the attendees (somewhere in the 200K I heard) were actually from the city, and NOBODY is in costume. Those who do dress up take their lives in their hands, as these hordes of low-life, scum-sucking, gangbangers see anyone in costume as a potential target. The atmosphere was so ominous and scary, it actually felt like a powder keg which could explode at any moment. There were tons of policemen everywhere, but their efforts to screen people at the gates were clearly ineffective. We were there for maybe 15 minutes before fleeing for our lives. Thank God. The shootings happened about 1 1/2 hours later, only a few feet from where we had been standing.

The events of this past Tuesday are shocking on so many levels, but perhaps mostly because, as reported in today's Chronicle, there is still talk of the "party" happening again next year! What the hell? A lot of politicians - and even a few idiotic Castro residents - think that if they cancel it, people will come anyway so they might as well set it up, police it and try to keep them entertained. Bullshit! My friend Ryan brought up a really good point. I think city officials would be taking FAR greater measures if these punks were descending on the Marina or Pacific Heights! These people are NOT coming in to dance and party. They're coming into OUR neighborhood to trash the streets and businesses, and terrorize gay people.

Gavin Newsome has been so in touch w/ the GLBT community during his tenure, I can only hope that he will listen again and do something about this terrible situation. I say take a lesson from cities dealing with the aftermath of natural disasters. Enforce a mandatory curfew starting at 6 pm. Force businesses to close, and have every street and side-alley in the Castro manned with police in riot gear. The time for studies and meetings is over. This city hosts so many incredible, well-run large scale events with no trouble whatsoever. Pink Saturday, Pride, Folsom Fair, Love Parade, and protests of every shape and variety. There is absolutely no reason why they can't get this one under control.