So I met the master of the universe this weekend.

He was much shorter than I’d imagined. He was wearing a baseball cap and Birkenstocks. Cute guy. Talented with his mouth, too. In fact, he spent much more time on his knees than I expected of a deity.

I didn’t bring him home, partly because he was drunk, partly because I was afraid to have such a celebrity in my home, and partly because he wouldn’t offer any name other than “master of the universe”.

I think he was actually starting to believe it. One more beer and I might have too.

Five days until I hit the road. There’s an expanded itinerary with pictures now. Some of the pix may be a little old…

Y’know, there are few meals more perfect than a carnitas burrito from Pancho Villa at 16th and Mission. This is just a thought. Not a paid advertisement…

So I’m spending Friday evening watching Jaws and remembering the first time I saw it. I was about 11, and my Mom and Dad really didn’t want me to go, especially since we had a beach trip scheduled soon after. They should have been more worried about my growing fascination with long-haired boys in swim trunks than with my (non-existent) fear of sharks…

And they really grew to regret letting me go after I bought a copy of this really annoying novelty record called “Mister Jaws”. It was one of those things where a “reporter” asked questions which were answered by samples from then-popular songs. I drove them nuts listening to it over and over again. If pressed, I could probably still recite it from memory.

I hope I never get the urge to have kids.

The Blue Angels are here! Big fuckin’ deal…

Fleet Week pretty much means nothing more these days than a bunch of navy pilots seeing how low they can fly and how much noise they can make. Most residents are not amused. Except my roomie. He seems to have this strange miltary fetish…

Absolute essential reading du jour: the Guardian’s feature on how San Francisco is well on its way to becoming “America’s first fully gentrified city”. I’m impressed.

The series discusses pretty much everything I’ve been writing about lately, including my favorite, the “artist lofts” which force out actual artists. albeit with more journalistic flair and some actual statistics. And they ask the question I keep repeating over and over: why does no one in “progressive” San Francisco seem particularly concerned about this trend?

On a completely unrelated note, it’s always fun seeing one of my design babies go live. Need a web designer?

Anyone read much about Proposition 6, one of the strangest and flat-out silliest ballot initiatives in California in years? This one makes me wonder (again) about the purely Californian notion that any crackpot scheme can be put to statewide vote with a few signatures on a petition. Proposition 6 makes it a felony to sell horsemeat for human consumption.

What the fuck?

Mind you it’s still legal to butcher Mister Ed for dog food or whatever other purpose, so any “animal rights” arguments are completely moot. Dogs, apparently are smart enough to decide what they want to eat. Humans aren’t.

The whole issue would be too fucking silly to merit comment if we weren’t spending tax money to place it on the ballot. To hell with the myriad social and economic problems facing California! Let’s save the poor little horseys from those three or four Californians who want to eat them.

It hits me that I’ve been in San Francisco for six years as of this week. I’m not sure if that’s really cause for reflection or anything, but it makes an interesting side note, particularly given the fact that I’m thinking of leaving.

So the 1998 road trip countdown begins. I’ll be leaving ten days from today. I think. I really should be coming up with an intinerary soon. I crave White Castle.

Anybody got a suggestion on a good (and relatively cheap) camcorder repair shop in the Bay Area?