The Angry Young Man

Some sick fucker from sunny Torrance, California unleashed this repulsive sculpture of Britney Spears pooping out her kid onto a bearskin rug. He dedicated it to the pro-life movement.

Get this -

Dedication of the life-sized statue celebrates the recent birth of Spears' baby boy, Sean, and applauds her decision of placing family before career. "A superstar at Britney's young age having a child is rare in today's celebrity culture. This dedication honors Britney for the rarity of her choice and bravery of her decision," said gallery co-director, Lincoln Capla. The dedication includes materials provided by Manhattan Right To Life Committee.

I hate people.

Speaking of hate, I don't know whether I should be completely annoyed with France or what. Let me get this straight, the people of France are completely ignorant of the concept of "at will employment." So, the slightest suggestion that French employees should be held accountable for their actions on the job by facing potential termination, sends a million of these fuckers into the streets. Granted, it doesn't take much to send a million Frenchmen into the streets in protest, but C'MAN! Can we say spoiled? Dude, I have to admit that I am completely jealous. Considering how neurotic and paranoid I am about being sacked, the thought of living in a country where I can never be fired AND I get free college education AND 6 weeks of vacation a year AND a 35 hour work week AND get to chain smoke, drink gallons of wine, eat tons of cheese, and say things like "pouf" and "alors" all the time is like the wet dream I've never had. It's not right, now is it? Plus, what's up with the English language banner? "We shall never surrender"? Isn't that like a crappy song by Air Supply or someone? I think they're trying to KILL Jacques Chirac, who got up and walked out of an EU summit meeting last week because two of his francophone ministers stood up and gave addresses in English. Now he has declared war on English. I think we should all feel a little bit sorry for France.

Has life on this planet always been so absurd?

Posted by admin at 11:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Well, the flatmate hunt has tentatively concluded with Elisabeth and I offering our room to a 28-year old France lady architect we met this morning. We initially made 10 appointments for Saturday, setting aside most of our day. Of those 10 people who said they’d be there, 3 showed up, one e-mailed to say she couldn’t find parking (and that’s not what she wanted to be doing all the time, so good luck with looking for a flatmate), and the remaining 5 – corn flake. The kind of person who makes an appointment, flakes, and fails to inform the people wasting their time waiting for them deserve nothing less than to be tied to the back of hummer by their ankles and dragged slowly down the interstate until their heads pop off. What’s even more stupid is to do it to people who have their e-mail addresses. Gee, maybe I’ll have no problem signing them all up for daily delivery of SCAT/GOLDEN SHOWERS PORN SPAM! Assholes.

Anyway, a quick run down of who we DID see –

Our first interviewee was a 36 year old graphic artist who currently lives in the East Bay. Not only did he show up on time, he e-mailed and called to confirm. As everyone knows, I greatly appreciate common courtesy and this guy gets a gold star. In person, he was fairly low-key. His interests include work and the gay softball team to which he belongs. Sounded fine to me, I was ready to offer him the room. Unfortunately, Elisabeth wasn’t entirely convinced that he had a personality. She and I debated his traits, or lack thereof, for quite some time, but were unable to agree. Prolly for the best, as the guy was a major hottie! Frisky as a colt and eager to please!

Our second interview was with a 30 year old violinist/office services clerk who showed up with his girlfriend. Uh oh, that killed him right there as Elisabeth made a rule – no straight men in the house. It’s a stupid rule, but she has her reasons. Anyway, had his heterosexuality not condemned him to banishment from Maison le Trou, his immediate request that we hide all alcohol from his sight definitely would have. He promptly revealed that he was a failed recovering alcoholic and that the reason he was looking for a place was because he’d just lapsed and his girlfriend was tossing him out into the cold and snow. I felt for the guy, particularly as he was literally shaking from the DT’s right their in our kitchen, but surely he’d be more comfortable living elsewhere, like, perhaps, Shick Shadel?

Later, after wasting time waiting for some flakes to show up, we saw our third candidate (who showed up 40 minutes late, by the way). He was a 33 year old unemployed artist who just moved to the City from the East Coast. He was looking for a job teaching art, though didn’t seem to know how to go about landing such a gig, had a dried snot drip on his upper lip, looked like a nervous rabbit, was clearly addicted to crystal meth, and left huge muddy footprints all over the new runners I bought for the hallway. Yeah, right.

At this point, Elisabeth and I desperately attacked the pool of unwanted roommate candidates in search of some more bodies. We found 3 candidates who seemed interesting and called them up to come round and meet us. They joined the three other interviewees we’d set up for Sunday.

Our first interview on Sunday was with France Lady. She was very nice, impressed with the room (the shocking, yet pleasing thing, is how almost all the interviewees liked the flat – my endless home improvement projects are paying off), and won big points with Elisabeth who saw in her free French lessons. Turns out she does some design work on airports and that we’re actually working on the same airport. Small world.

Later, on Sunday evening, we had three candidates come round at the same time. Two of them I liked immediately. Unfortunately, Elisabeth and I thought they were both way too young. The third candidate was this entitled acting JAP chick who took one look at the place and then made up this story about how she wasn’t really moving out of her place, she just wanted to stop by and let us know. Uh, yeah, which is why you checked the entire place out instead of just stopping at the front door and saying thanks, but no thanks. OK.

We also had a fourth candidate, some asshole who works for “an international distribution company” (prolly sells soap door to door) who called twice saying he’d be by and never bothered to show. Ptsch!

Anyway, France Lady was the clear choice. I emailed her and told her. We’ll see what she says.

Meanwhile, Redondo and Big Spender moved all of Redondo’s crap out of the flat this weekend. They left behind a pile of surprisingly conservative political books (none of which had ever been read – no big surprise there), some decrepit IKEA furniture, a TV and VCR, and all the gifts Elisabeth and I had ever bought him. Elisabeth and I picked through the pile and I’ll Freecycle the rest of the stuff this week. On the way out, Big Spender told me to stay in touch. Sure, that’s going to happen. If I ever see either one of them again, I’ll be totally floored. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you a bit more about my bizarre relationship with Redondo.

Surprisingly, I was a little sad to stand in his mostly empty room and realize that he’s really gone. Then I was thrilled, because now I get his room, which is way bigger than mine, and I have a whole week to paint over the hideous Fiesta granny apple green color he threw up on the walls. Who wants to help me paint?

Posted by admin at 02:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Right. I’m an avid supporter of Freecycle. Freecycle, for those who don’t know, is a forum where people can get rid of their old stuff by giving it away and get “new” stuff by picking up what’s been offered and hauling it off into the cold and dark. If you want something, you just post a “Wanted” message and wait for someone to give it to you. If you want something “Offered”, you e-mail the offeree and make arrangements to go fetch. Easy as pie! It’s a great service that reduces a tremendous amount of waste and helps to subvert the disgusting culture of consumption that most of the lemmings in this degraded country wallow in like big, fat pigs. Plus, it’s all free. No consideration allowed.

In Seattle, I got great stuff, totally free, off Freecycle. For example, I got a full set of Washington Reporters for just the cost of taking out my local Flexcar for an hour and driving up to north Seattle to fetch them. A new set of Washington Reporters will set you back thousands of American dollars. I got ‘em for free!

So, since joining the SF Freecycle board, I’ve noticed something quite striking that separates it from the Seattle board. Whereas in Seattle, the majority of the messages were “Offered” and “Taken”, in San Francisco, most of the messages are “Wanted.” Interesting. Plus, some of the “Wanted” items really stretch the bounds of reason and good taste. For example, the other day, I saw a “Wanted” message from some poor sucker seeking an iPod. Excuse me, but that’s totally unacceptable. You cannot endure the indignity that is the N-Judah in the morning, ears safely ensconced behind the blatantly conspicuous ear buds, superior smirk on your face as the iPodless riffraff glare at you in covetous disdain, with a Freecycled iPod! That’s cheating!

Anyway, why are there so few “Offered” posts in SF and so many “Wanted” posts? Oh, and don’t say it’s because the fine people of San Francisco kick their shit to the curb, too hipply indifferent to consider Freecycle. SF doesn’t hold a candle to the crap that people in Seattle toss away. There’s enough to fuel an army of dumpster divers up there, some of them surly. For example, one time I caught this dumb asshole digging through my garbage right after I’d taken my bag out. I told him to beat it and he had the gall to inform me that my property rights to my garbage were terminated when I tossed it in the bin! Talk about a complete misinterpretation of the ruling in California v. Greenwood! The cops can dig through my trash looking for evidence, but that doesn’t mean some scurrilous ragamuffin can do the same! He pissed me off. Instead of correcting his error, I dragged him out of the garbage can head first, beat him senseless, and left him for dead in the alleyway.

Anyway, I digress. Thoughts?

Posted by admin at 09:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

I am trying really, really hard to avoid having to go to Chicago next week on business. I am required to travel as part of my job and under normal circumstances, I enjoy doing so. However, now is the worst possible time to be flying off to Illinois for busyness. It's also almost a given. We're struggling under deadline and our GIS guy in Chicago is both sick, awaiting the birth of his second child (his wife is due in like 5 minutes), and in desperate need of support. First, I have this housemate thing with which to contend. Can't split town without nailing someone down. Second, I can't really afford to buy a last minute plane ticket and pay for a week in a downtown Chicago hotel. Only officers in my company get expense accounts and us underlings are expected to pay our expenses out of pocket and await reimbursement. Normally, I'd have no problem with paying and waiting. However, bar exam fees are due on the 3rd and my savings and credit card will be maxed paying for that and the study books I need to prepare. Is this the universe's way of telling me that I should be avoiding the California bar exam? Well, screw you universe, I'm taking the damned exam! I explained the situation to my boss, fingers are crossed, winter coat is dug out and ready just in case. Everyone, light a candle...

Posted by admin at 06:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

As is evident from my posts, I spend a fair amount of time being somewhat annoyed with humanity. Most of this is due to the tremendous amount of hypocritical stupidity I’m forced to wade my way through just by being a citizen of the United States. However, a large part of this is also due to the complete collapse of basic civility as of late. People are fucking rude. Living in a city just compounds it. The bus drivers are surly, the bitches who work in retail are sullen, the streets are clogged with hipper than thou urban hipsters, tossing off attitude in all directions. Sometimes I’m good at ignoring all of it, other times it pisses me off and I make that very clear.

While the only solution to the general idiocy of the American people is a quick and efficient genocide, I can actually do something about the lack of courtesy with which I’m forced to deal. I can lead by example, no? So, after I received over 100 responses to the ad I placed for a roommate, I felt compelled to respond to each and every single person. Flatmate Elisabeth stated that she felt we were under no obligation to respond to these people. I completely disagree. I know that after I’ve written a paragraph or two, trying to sell myself to prospective employers or housemates, that a total lack of response really and truly pisses me off. Even an anonymous acknowledgment is better than being made to feel that the communication you extended has just vanished into the ether. Folks who don’t take the time to respond are fucking lazy and inconsiderate. This includes almost all Human Resources ladies. They should be soundly beaten about the head and then tossed screaming from river barges into the piranha infested waters of the Amazon. I refuse to be one of the assholes, at least in this regard. So, last night, after sitting down with Elisabeth and going through all the responses and narrowing them down to the folks we’re interested in, I wrote back to each and every person who responded to our ad and let them know, thumbs up, thumbs down. I felt like it was the right thing to do and after several of them wrote me back, thanking me for responding to them, while noting that most of the people they wrote to never bothered, I knew it was the right thing to do.

Posted by admin at 04:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I told this fellow no way and he turns around and attempts a Nigerian letter scam on me!

HI,
I got your reply and thanks for that, But i have a little problem which i think you can solve for me and my son,I have been trying to book for a room for my son for a while now which they are all saying that my son will have to come in person in other to secure the room, and it's not possible at the moment for my son is still in West Africa while i am on sea as a navy officer and i need to get some cash across to him for him to take his flight to the state and get some things in other even before coming down to united state.
The problem is that i have an associate who is going to pay for the funds in form of postal money order and total sum of $3800, so all what you have to do is that i will like him mail the payment to you and i will compensate you with $300 for your runing around for you to get the payment cash and deduct $300 for your self and get the excess funds wire to my son by western union money transfer for him to book for his flight down to united state and look for the room in person...
So, I will want you tro get back to me with your CONTACT DETAILS for the payment to proceed asap..
THANKS FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING..

Posted by admin at 07:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This is from "Daniel Fitzpatrick" danfitzpat@sbcglobal.net -

I might as well move in with my folks and live for free. There is a
reason it's called "shared" housing. No such thing as an "go-between"
landlord or whatever. This is probably the most arrogant posting I've
ever seen. Your cat probably wants to kill himself over your total
lack of modesty....and I thought cats were vain. And if you'd ever
tried to "smack me around" over burning anything I would double the
pressure onto your "high pressure" lives. Fucking snobs. And nice
lead-in with "420" rent....manipulative bastards.

Posted by admin at 07:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

$420 - Room For Rent in Upper Haight. (haight ashbury)
Reply to: eljonez@yahoo.com
Date: 2006-03-16, 10:41AM PST

The Place: The flat is a ground floor, three-bedroom on the Panhandle, nicknamed Maison le Trou. Common areas include the Edward Gorey memorial kitchen, pantry, soon to be no longer pirate-themed water closet and Nancy Spungen memorial bathroom. Oh, and the hallway that connects them all. To be honest, the flat is shabby and doesn’t get a lot of light, but ill-fated home improvement projects are constantly being embarked upon which may someday render the flat, if not chic, at least completely tasteless in the time honored Madonna Inn tradition. There is also storage space, bike parking, and in-building washer/dryer.

The room: Available April 1st. A medium-sized room with decent-sized closet. Roughly 12 by 15 feet. Carpet is thrashed, but was painted only last summer. Gets medium light.

The Current Occupants: One man (queer), one woman (breeder), one cat (asexual). The man and woman are both over educated, well traveled, and highly articulate. Unfortunately the cat was never able to finish her education. Our interests include history, theory, sociology, literature, film, opera, politics, conversation, drag and spectacle for its own sake. Drugs of choice: alcohol and chocolate. We enjoy people who are intellectually curious, creative, open to all kinds of experience; in a word, bohemian but responsible. We are tidy, but not compulsive. This means we wash our dishes when we use them but we utilize no chore wheel or other forms of torture.

The Prospective Housemate: Someone reasonably quiet, reasonably tidy, able to resolve disputes in a mature and amicable manner, considerate to other household members. Both of us have high-pressure jobs and want our home life to be peaceful. Must be gay/drag friendly. Would appreciate someone with a nice sense of whimsy and a firm grasp on the ridiculous. WARNING: a high maintenance person will not be happy here.

The lowdown: Rent is $420 a month. Deposit is last months rent – total move-in $840. Utilities – PG&E about $20 a month, land line, about $30 a month - PG&E is mandatory, land line is optional. We also have a wireless network and cable in house, both of which you can enjoy for an extra $10 and $13 a month, respectively. Though one of us is an on-again/off-again smoker, there is no smoking of any kind allowed in the flat. Absolutely no drugs. If you want to plunge into a K-hole while out and about on the town, that’s your own business. Do it at Maison le Trou and we’ll smack you around. Same goes for use of patchouli oil. Cat ok.

Curious? Contact Chris - eljonez@yahoo.com. Tell us a bit about yourself, your interests, background, etc. We’ll be setting up appointments to meet with folks next week. Happy house hunting.

Cole St at Oak St google map yahoo map

* yes -- cats are OK - purrr
* no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

142455736

Posted by admin at 10:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

We've be on the run
Driving in the sun
Looking out for number one
California, here we come
Right back where we started from

Well, hustlers grab your guns
The shadow weighs a ton
Driving down the 101
California, here we come
Right back where we started from

California
Here we come

On the stereo
Listen as we go
Nothing's gonna stop me now
California, here we come
Right back where we started from

Peddle to the floor
Thinking of you more
Gotta get us to the show
California, here we come
Right back where we started from

California
Here we come

California
California
Here we come
Ohhh

California
California
Here we come

California
California
Here we come

California
California
Here we come

California
California
Here we come

Phantom Planet
2002

Posted by admin at 01:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

California uber alles
California above all others

I'm your governor pete wilson ya know
The baddest governor to ever grab the mike and go boom!
Gimme a budget - watch me hack it
Gimme a beat and I'll show you how to jack it
I give the rich a giant tax loophole
I leave the poor livin' in a poophole
At a time when aids in a crisis
I cut health care and I raise prices
Sales tax, snack tax, excise tax
Information attack with a newspaper tax
Hit the pocket books of working families
Increase tuition at the universities
One day I'll command all'a you
Even your kids are gonna pray to me in school
Soon I'm gonna be the president
You might remember the last one this state sent
California uber alles california above all others
I'm so proud to know the "great communicator"
Wanna be known as the "great incarcerator"
I'll blow environmentalists away
And i'll be the fuhrer some day
I'll keep cuttin' public education
Even though we rank 45th in the nation
I've got a plan for the minorities
Send 'em to the California youth authorities
From San Francisco urban elementary
To pelican bay state penitentiary
There they can work for the master race
And always wear a happy face
Close your eyes, it can't happen here
Big brother in a squad car's comin' near
Come enjoy the surf and sun
Keep California number one!

California uber alles
California above all others

Now it's 1992
Knock knock at your front door, hey guess who?
It's the suede-denim secret police
They've come to your house for your long-haired niece
Gonna take her off to a camp
'Cause she's been accused of growing hemp
Don't you worry it's only a shower
And now for your clothes here's a pretty flower
Gonna die on malathion gas
The serpent's already been hatched
People starvin' and livin' in the streets
Because they tried to mess with me President Pete

California uber alles
California above all others

Spearhead
1992

Posted by admin at 01:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am Governor Jerry Brown
My aura smiles
And never frowns
Soon I will be president ...
Carter power will soon go away
I will be Fuhrer one day
I will command all of you
Your kids will meditate in school
California uber alles
Uber alles California
Zen fascists will control you
100% natural
You will jog for the master race
And always wear the happy face
Close your eyes, can't happen here
Big Bro' on white horse is near
The hippies won't come back you say
Mellow out or you will pay
California uber alles
Uber alles California
Now it is 1984
Knock knock at your front door
It's the suede/denim secret police
They have come for your uncool neice
Come quietly to the camp
You'd look nice as a drawstring lamp
Don't you worry, it's only a shower
For your clothes here's a pretty flower...
Die on organic poison gas
Serpent's egg's already hatched
You will creak, you little clown
When you mess with President Brown
California uber alles
Uber alles California

The Dead Kennedys
1980

Posted by admin at 01:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

California here I come,
Right back where I started from,
Where bowers of flowers bloom in the sun,
Each morning at dawning
Birdies sing an' ev'rything:
A sun-kiss'd miss said, "don't be late,"
That's why I can hardly wait,
Open up that golden gate,
California here I come

Al Jolson, B. Sylva, Joe Meyer
1924

Posted by admin at 01:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Know that to the right hand of the Indies was an island called California, very near to the region of the Terrestrial Paradise, which was populated by black women, without there being any men among them, that almost like the Amazons was their style of living. These were of vigorous bodies and The Warrior Queen Calafia.strong and ardent hearts and of great strength; the island itself the strongest in steep rocks and great boulders that is found in the world; their arms were all of gold, and also the harnesses of the wild beasts on which, after having tamed them, they rode; that in all the island there was no other metal whatsoever. They dwelt in caves very well hewn; they had many ships in which they went out to other parts to make their forays, and the men they seized they took with them, giving them their deaths, as you will further hear. And some times when they had peace with their adversaries, they intermixed with all security one with another, and there were carnal unions from which many of them came out pregnant, and if they gave birth to a female they kept her, and if they gave birth to a male, then he was killed...

"There ruled on that island of California, a queen great of body, very beautiful for her race, at a flourishing age, desirous in her thoughts of achieving great things, valiant in strength, cunning in her brave heart, more than any other who had ruled that kingdom before her...Queen Calafia."

— Las Sergas de Esplandián, (novela de caballería)

by García Ordóñez de Montalvo.
Published 1510, C.E.

Posted by admin at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

My nephew's dead, who won for me such realms!
Against me then the Saxon will rebel,
Hungar, Bulgar, and many hostile men,
Romain, Puillain, all those are in Palerne,
And in Africa, and those in California;
– Song of Roland, Verse CCIX (i.e. 209; lines 2920–2924), 11th century, C.E.

Posted by admin at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I love it! I finally have an identity!

Posted by admin at 07:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Right. I'm pretty sure that chewing nicotine gum all week and then breaking down and buying cigarets to smoke on Friday evening does not constitute quitting smoking.

Posted by admin at 12:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

And they all thought I was crazy building that enormous Queen Amidala toy collection...

Respecks to Kengi fo the word up, yo!

Posted by admin at 07:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Last night, the House of Representatives voted to abolish state food safety label laws. You know, the labels on food that warn you that they contain ingredients that will ultimately kill you. Here's who voted by the way. Being a Californian, where those laws are at their strictest, I'm pretty pissed off. Here's the logic behind this move -

"There is no reason nor is there any excuse to allow regulatory inconsistency to drive up costs and keep some consumers in the dark on matters that may affect their health," said Rep. Phil Gingrey, R-Ga.

So, instead, we'll keep ALL consumers in the dark by forcing the citizens of civilized states like California to lower themselves to the knuckledragging, mouth breathing level of, say, North Dakota. Um, yeah, that's logic. Clearly it's a plot to turn every American into a planet with hair.

I find it terribly ironic, if not at all surprising, that a party that seems to be so pro-federalism is willing to back right away from those principles when their corporate overlords order them to. Food labeling too expensive? Gee, how about the health care costs associated with a lifetime of eating toxic waste filled processed food sludge? How are consumers in a free market supposed to make informed decisions about the products they buy when you refuse them the right to even know what’s in them? Hah?! Completely unbelievable.

Posted by admin at 07:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Ah, the ethical and moral quandaries that arise out of living with other human beings.

As reported in our last episode, one of my house mates at Maison le Trou, Redondo, has decided to vacate our lovely home and move in with his boyfriend of 4 months, Big Spender (BS for short). My other flatmate, Elisabeth, and I have been expecting this for sometime as the minute Redondo met BS, they latched onto one another like a couple love sick barnacles and we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of either since. Anyway, come April, he’s out of here.

My initial reaction was to take up his share of the rent, turn his room into my bedroom and my room into an office/living area. I can afford it, so why the hell not? Then, it was pointed out to me that if I can afford to pay for two rooms in Maison le Trou, I can surely pay for my own apartment – perhaps one that is less moldy and decrepit. The thing about my current flat is that it’s dank and run down. The floors are rotting out and on occasion we’re forced to vanquish the pervasive odor of mildew by burning scented oils from the Body Shop. However, it’s in a great location and it’s dirt cheap. That’s saying a lot for San Francisco, where greedy slumlords lurk on every street corner, ready to rent you bedbug infested spider pits for thousands of American dollars a month.

I’ve made attempts to fix the place up. For example, I painted the bathroom. Before, it was a dank hole in the wall, the paint peeling from the walls in great leprous sheets. Now, well, it looks like the restroom at CBGB, and still manages to be an improvement. I was thinking of hanging a Mao sized portrait of Nancy Spungen on the wall to help complete the look. Basically, it’s hopeless. The only thing that’ll improve the place is a machine gun,. A can of gasoline, and a torch.

So, after talking to Bill, I decided to move out come May 1, and get my own place deep in the heart of the Tenderloin. Now, I’m not so sure. I spoke with Elisabeth last night and it was clear that she is somewhat distressed by the current shift in our apartment’s dynamic. Thing is, she’s lived here for 15 years. She can’t afford to leave the place as rents have skyrocketed since that time and her salary has not kept pace. At the time she moved in, the lease was held by this dirty filthy hippie named Eddie the Hippie. Keep in mind that Eddie the Hippie moved out of here over 4 years ago and pays no rent. Now, the lease reverted to month to month before Elisabeth arrived. The building has changed owners over the years and no one knows to whom this apartment has been leased. Eddie the Hippie seems to think that he’s still the master tenant. He still has keys to the place and gets some of his mail here. He came in last summer, saw me here, and freaked out that Elisabeth and Redondo had rented my room without consulting him. Seems he had cooked up some scam to overcharge folks for rent so he could pocket the money. I’m telling you, this guy is the scum of the earth. He tried to kick me out and move in some useless dirtbag drug dealer. Elisabeth stood up to him and he backed down. Still, he feels like this is his place and until someone can come along and say otherwise, there’s not a whole lot we can do about it beyond confronting the bastard, calling the cops to have him removed, avoiding him in public, etc. I told Elisabeth that the fact that she’s been paying the rent for the last 4 years represents a contract in lieu of the actual lease – in consideration for the flat, she hands over her American dollars. Whatever agreement Eddie had with the landlord ceased to be legitimate when he moved out/stopped paying the rent. No consideration, no deal. He’s seriously mistaken if he thinks we’re subletting from him. I also told Elisabeth that she needs to contact the landlord, get a copy of the lease, change the locks, sign a new lease if necessary, and get rid of this idiotic Eddie the Hippie once and for all. I’m dubious that Elisabeth will do any of this, she’s that afraid of rocking the boat. She’s also afraid of what Eddie the Hippie will do. Apparently the guy is a raging alcoholic/drug addict with a violent streak. Sweet.

I feel obligated to stay until this situation has been resolved. I like Elisabeth and I don’t want to leave her high and dry. I guess the best course of action is to find a new flatmate to replace Redondo and then wait a couple months to find a replacement for myself. I’m not exactly eager to fork out twice my monthly rent for more space in this dank hole of a hovel. At the same time, I’m concerned about how difficult it may be to attract quality humans to move in here. What to do?

Posted by admin at 07:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

What better way to wish in one’s 35th birthday than by imbibing pathetically weak, yet delightfully tacky, pseudo-Polynesian drinks cursed with monikers like “The Bora Bora Horror” at the infamous Tonga Room at the Fairmont Hotel? 35 years old, man. I’m 40% of my way through this life and I still have yet to conquer the world and force all you mother fuckers to do my bidding. Curses.

On Saturday, Bill and I took a mini-break to Mendocino. We drove up the 101 to 128 and meandered our way through the Anderson Valley, stopping at several of the wineries along the way. Should be Valley of the German Ladies, by the way, as every winery we stopped at was staffed by a no-nonsense milchfrau, eager to sell us wine. Bill labeled them collectively as Ilke, Queen of Sudden Oak Death, in commemoration of the blight that appears to have taken out most of the valley’s majestic oak trees. I just wondered how so many German ladies managed to find their way to someplace as remote as the Anderson Valley.

Our first stop was at the Scharffenberger Winery, where we tasted some sparkling wines and a decent zinfandel. Bill and I had been engaged in a debate in the car about the proper pronunciation of the word Gewürztraminer. Bill pronounces it GewürztramEEner, whereas I learned from a wine collecting former co-worker that it’s pronounced GewürztrAHminer. I urged Bill to ask the German lady, who gladly informed us that the pronunciation is in fact GewürztrAHmEEner, a happy medium between the two. In gratitude for this correction, Bill bought a bottle of sparkling wine, I picked up some zinfandel.

Our next stop was the Brutacao winery. There the German lady, a delightful bohemian type with bright red dyed eyebrows, did a great job of roping us in with evenly handed measures of a very wide variety of wines. She also enthralled us with tales of her former life in SF, how her plants flourished back when she moved from the Haight to the Mission, and how she and her partner bought a dog when they moved to Mendocino five years earlier. She even joined us in a glass of wine. Man, she was good, and I unloaded more American dollars on a bottle of pinot noir.

Next we arrived at the Navarro winery. To be honest, I wasn’t bowled over by any of the wines we had tasted. The zinfandel and pinot noir I had bought were good, but not stunning. This changed at Navarro, where I fell over dead for two very good, very complex Rieslings. Resigned to building a collection, I forked out even more American dollars and bought a couple bottles. They were so good, I had to have them.

At this point, Bill and I agreed that we should stop visiting wineries before we spent all our American dollars on wine and before I drove us off the road in a drunken stupor. Still, the minute we came upon the Roederer Estate, Bill said, “Ooh! Ooh!” and insisted that we make a stop. Alas, the German lady there was not pleased to see us, so we made her pour every champagne they had, then we grabbed some bottles and smashed them on the ground, laughed “ha ha” and ran out, got into the car and drove away really fast. Not really. Bill bought a bottle of sparkling wine.

Grand total – seven bottles of wine in the trunk of the car.

We reached the coast around 5:00 in the p.m., and after discovering the notorious Fool’s Rush Inn of “Tales of the City” fame, finally arrived in Mendocino. What’s to say about Mendocino? It’s really a village. It’s also delightful, quaint, and charming. I want to buy a complex of 19th century buildings and move there right this minute.

We stayed at the Mendocino Hotel, which is a charming complex located along Main Street. After being fed the spiel by the over eager young man at the front desk, we retired to our room – king sized bed, fireplace, a warm boyfriend, seven bottles of wine, what more could one ask for?

We dropped off our luggage and took a walk around the village. We trekked out to the headlands and looked at the sea, visited the local bookstore – a real bookstore – and then made our way to 955 Ukiah for dinner. Dinner was excellent, both food and particularly the service. Later, we retired to our room, where we laid by the fireplace, discussing the issues of the day, me carefully sipping the wine we bought while Bill threw back 3 or 4 bottles. It was the perfect birthday.

The next day, after brunch in the hotel restaurant, we headed back to the City. Considering the copious rainfall, we made excellent time. When we reached Santa Rosa, I received a message from my flatmate Redondo, informing me that he’s moving in with his boyfriend of 4 months. Gee, didn’t see that coming. Anyway, discussed my living situation options with Bill and have decided that I’ll be moving out myself in May. Time to live alone again…

On a more solemn note, on Friday evening, Sister Woman Bridey informed me that a distant acquaintance of mine, Valerie Simpson, killed herself last week. Valerie was not really a friend of mine, rather the friend of a former friend. She and I only hung out as part of a group about half a dozen times, generally when I was home from college during Christmas break or on similar occasions. All the same, I liked her and often asked after her when I spoke with my former friend on the telephone. I knew that the last few years had been difficult for her. I was shocked by the news, as I am whenever I hear about the death of one of my contemporaries. It gives me pause to stop and be thankful for the love and support that I do have. Anyway, here’s a little Death Cab for Cutie for you, Valerie. Safe journey home.

Posted by admin at 12:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I do believe that I am the only fag in the entire Bay Area who doesn't really give a shit that "Brokeback Mountain" didn't win the Academy Award for Best Picture. People are dropping dead in the streets, and these ninnys are weeping over this nonsense.

"I think that's an absolute horror," said Brad Bruner, who is a leader in the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association. "It's an outright sign of homophobia in our country. ('Crash') won no awards before this. It makes me sick."

Aw, shut the fuck up! It makes me sick that anyone would describe this film's loss of the Best Picture award as "homophobic." What rubbish. I haven't seen "Crash", but I have seen "Brokeback Mountain" and while it's a good movie with some beautiful cinematography, it's not so fantastic that it should automatically be handed a god damned Academy Award. The distorted sense of entitlement exemplified above really sends my mind reeling. What a retard.

Besides, if you're going to be pissed about anything, be pissed about Felicity Huffman losing out to Reese Witherspoon. I mean, what was THAT?

Posted by admin at 08:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Just when you think life can't get any more ridiculous, the news media reports that ol' Fred Phelps and his congregation of inbred, hair-topped planetoids from the Westboro Baptist Church in lovely Topeka, Kansas, have decided to start picketing the funerals of soldiers killed in Iraq as a way to push their message that "God Hates Fags." See, they argue that soldiers are being killed because America supports fags and their god hates fags, therefore, their god is punishing America by killing members of an armed forces to which fags aren't even allowed to belong. Well, gee, there's logic. Apparently Phelp's fat, Wal-Mart shopper looking daughter is an attorney. Her bar membership should be totally revoked for the amazing lack of reasoning skills evidenced in this latest Phelpsian stunt. I mean, if their god is so great, why doesn't he just skip the soldiers and kill off the fags directly? Oh, I guess that's what AIDS was for. Hrmmm. Didn't work. Plus, this fag can tell Rev. Phelps that while America may do many things with fags, supporting them is not one of them. Duh!

Anyway, several state legislatures have decided to enact laws banning protests at funerals in reaction to Phelps & Co. Bad move. You don't stop people like Phelps by passing laws to muzzle their speech. You stop people like Phelps by simply ignoring them. I'm sure Freddy popped a two inch woody in his toughskins when he found out that his message was being taken seriously enough to warrant a law banning it. Isn't it terribly ironic that our soldiers supposedly died fighting for the freedoms that make Amurrica such a great country only for their government to turn right around and limit one of the very things they died fighting for? Why, that kind of logic is remarkably similar to the logic employed by the fine parishioners at the Westboro Baptist Church.

Square-Staters, I'll never understand them.

Posted by admin at 07:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This morning's Matier and Ross reported that Mayor Gavin Gruesome Newsom recently flew down to LA to hook up with some tacky TV actress to whom he was introduced by local political crackpot/backstabber, Angela Alioto, at some society lady wedding last month or whenever. Seems La Alioto, who, as you will remember, sold out Matt Gonzalez during the last mayoral race in exchange for the dubious honor of being named "Vice Mayor" or “Homeless Tsarina” or whatever (a position which must involve being locked away in seclusion as ol' Angela has barely been seen or heard from since she committed political suicide by ditching Gonzalez for Gruesome Newsom), thought the actress, Mila la Milos or whoever, would be a great stand-in for Gavin’s forever-soon-to-be ex-wife-for-life, Kimberly Guilfoyle. The two women are almost identical. Anyway, Angela forgot to check out La Milos' background, as it turns out she's not just a member of the creepy mind control/UFO cult, The Church of Scientology, but she managed to drag Gavin's ass to some photo-op dinner for an anti-psychiatry “human rights” front org that’s run by the cult. I doubt it took much convincing, as judging from the regular photos in rags like 7X7, Newsom spends more time seeking out black tie events and beating up on cable car operators than he does actually running the City. I digress. Angela should have checked out this woman's background prior to playing matchmaker. Of course, considering what a tolerant bunch we are here in the City of St. Francis, the fact that the Mayor's new squeeze belongs to the most litigious religious cult in the United States is totally irrelevant. I guess now we can have the Republican National Convention in SF after all!

This situation reminds me of the time the Moonies threw a dinner in D.C. and the entire Minnesota congressional delegation decided to attend, not knowing that Reverend Moon planned to have himself crowned as Jesus Christ, Part II, that evening. Funny thing, as a student at the University of Minnesota, I helped develop a cult awareness education plan that I pitched to the college with no success. “Free speech,” they cried. Well, considering that there’s no free speech issue anywhere to be seen in educating farm kids about the dangerous mind control groups lurking in their midst, I politely disagree. Anyway, I’m almost positive that a fair number of interns for the congressional delegation from Minnesota are also graduates of the University of Minnesota, so imagine what a benefit my program would have been to the interns who arranged for their reps and senators to hang out with Moonie baby, eh. They could have politely declined the invite to the Reverend Moon coronation, secure in their knowledge that the group is bad news, instead of watching their bosses stand around like a bunch of slack jawed morons as Reverend Moon stapled himself to the nearest tree in a desperate attempt to re-enact the crucifixion. Nice.

See? If everyone would just do as I tell you to, you’d all be much happier, plus, added bonus, safer from cults! Duh!

Posted by admin at 07:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)