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1999

28 July 1999

Haven’t been doing much writing lately except on the journal side of the page. Look to your left under “recently added” and you’ll see what I mean. There hasn’t been anything really new and noteworthy there in almost three months (since I Want My Recession Back). I’m not sure if this means that I need inspiration or that I need to take a break.

As if I haven’t been taking a break already.

I guess it’s just that I’ve been really moody lately and I fear that if I write anything more than these easy journal entries (which have been coming pretty regularly), it might sound either whiny or more bitter than usual. Plus, I think my attention span has suffered tremendously as a result of the restlessness and general uneasiness about life I’m feeling lately.

Closely related is the fact that I need to get out of town very soon, whether for a vacation or permanently. I haven’t really been anywhere since Christmas, which is an exceedingly long time for me. The time just hasn’t seemed right, what with all this year’s changes at work and at home, etc.

Anyway, I’m going to try to write more, or, barring that, get rid of that damned “recently updated” section. I’m also going to try to stop sitting around the house doing nothing (but wondering why my “to do” pile keeps growing). Maybe the latter will have some impact on the former.

As it stands now, though, I’m making no promises that I’ll get better about answering the email

Naked Gay Sex Gallery Pictures

I will admit that a secondary motivation behind adding a search engine to my site six months or so back was the idea of checking out what people searched FOR. And it’s been a hoot, let me tell you. I have enough stuff now to steal Larry-bob’s concept from a couple of years back. The only difference is that his discussed ways people found him through external searches (like Yahoo). The following are searches people did from WITHIN Planet SOMA.

Of course, the sex-related stuff tops the list, both in frequency and level of humor. There are the standard searches for just plain “sex” (and just how stupid are people who search based on this one common word and believe they might actually find anything useful?). There are also searches for all those generic activities like “rimming”. “watersports”, “cbt”, “piss”, “scat”, and the ever-popular “anal fucking big cocks”.

Some of the searches are just plain baffling. Among my favorites:

  • “gothic people from Mobile, Alabama”
  • “truckerhawk”
  • “0893915491”
  • “hangman breath control strangle”
  • “hotels in alexsander city in alabama”
  • “A68JMT”
  • “knights templar”
  • “texas tombot”

And some, obviously come from people who wandered in via another search engine and just had no idea where they were. What else could explain “juicy pussies”, “motels near Sea World Ohio”, and “1997 ranger”, not to mention “roach clips” and “chainmail”.

There are also lots of lost souls seeking the dirty pictures (or “diety pictures” as one patron typed it) which haven’t existed here in a long time. Lots of searches on “pictures”, “sex pictures”, “nude pictures”, etc. And someone keeps searching for something called “gallaries” over and over again. I have no idea what these are. A lot of people also seem to be shooting (pardon the pun) for naked pictures of me, through a variety of search queries which wouldn’t work even if there were any naked pictures of me on the site.

It’s sort of funny realizing that most people have no idea how a search engine works. For example, a search for “nude pictures of the editor” would return nothing but pages which feature the words “nude”, “pictures”, “of”, “the”, and “editor”. But still people try, with queries like “where is Tiogia Street” (I have no idea, by the way…) as if Planet SOMA were a magic 8-ball or something. No wonder people complain that they can never find anything on the web.

The obvious typos are fun, like “abacadero street” (The Embarcadero?), “tear room” (tearoom?), and “carol dodies” (Carol Doda?). I’d really love to meet the Renaissance man who sought the “folsum street faire”. I was also fond of “sheamales”. I envision a very special fraternity of guys who frequent Shea Stadium on alternate Sundays. I liked “pia 39” too. Is that Pier 39 with a southern accent or a quest for a story about Pia Zadora’s birthday?

My friend Dave would like a word with those who searched for the “dorey alley fair” and the “dori alley fair” (inside joke…)

And, if any of the following people (none of whom I know from Adam’s house cat) are reading this, be forewarned that people are searching for your names on my site. I’m not sure why:

  • John Bollard
  • Angie Arrien
  • Kathy Valent
  • Ray Dragon
  • Dick Fritz
  • Rob Thorworth
  • Ira Glass
  • Brad Paul
  • Daryl Walker
  • Lisa Perazzo

But my favorite, I think, is the individual who wanted to find “ladyboy bars”. Brother (or Sister), please let me know when you succeed. I wanna check one of those out myself.

Birthday Bash?

So in an effort to boost my sagging spirits, I’m thinking of having a public dinner gathering for my upcoming 35th birthday. No, this doesn’t mean free food and drinks all around. I’m a poor starving web guy, after all. What it means is that I would choose a suitably seedy dive, announce a time and place, and hope lots of complete strangers show up.

Of course, I’d have a few close friends there as backups. I’m no fool. I’m not about to risk spending the evening completely alone…

Is this idea (a) brilliant, (b) stupid, (c) incredibly self-obsessed, or (d) just plain pathetic? I’m not sure. Sarah likes it. Dan likes it too, but he’ll be out of town. Anyone interested? Gifts are neither required nor solicited…

Potential sites include Tad’s Steaks on Powell, Ye Old Pizza Joynt in Hayward, and the Doggie Diner on Sloat. The Pizza Joynt would be my first choice, but it’s a little remote. And unfortunately none of the above have smoker-friendly bars nearby (that I know of). A nearby bar, I feel, would be a nice touch.

Anyway, it’s just a thought. Nothing definite yet.

Birthday Season

Please add three years to the cake above for accuracy. And for those of you who are interested, my semi-public birthday gathering is now officially scheduled.

Seems birthday season is here. Tonight, I celebrated my ex-roomie’s birthday with 11 friends and acquaintances at El Trebol on 24th Street in the Mission. I almost hesitated to mention the name of the place, as it was also a Best of the Bay winner last week. While getting one of these awards last year didn’t ruin Planet SOMA, a restaurant is a far more fragile thing.

Great dinner. Great cake. And I get to go to sleep secure in the knowledge that Dan is (and will always be) eight days older than me.

Things I love this week:

  • Birthday presents from Duncan and Patric (one of them being the White Castle book, so scratch that from the list)
  • WKRP in Cincinatti
  • Bumblebee Tuna for 60 cents a can at Lucky
  • The fog
  • The new living room couch I’ll have this weekend. Finally.

6 August 1999

I guess it’s time to flip my office calendar over to August now. For six days, I’ve been looking at the mini-month in the corner rather than actually standing up and turning the page.

So it seems that, just as the nasty funk of the past month or so is starting to lift (maybe), I’m now coming down with a cold. Fine. I give up. I’m just going to sit in a corner with Irma and pout until the rainy season arrives. The hell with everything.

Don’t worry, though. I’ll still sneak out for Tuesday’s birthday non-event. But right now, all I want to do is go to bed, read my new White Castle book for a while, and then sleep for a very long time.

While I’m asleep, I will not think about the following:

  • My long-term financial, geographic, or mental status.
  • The fact that there will not be one single candidate worth considering in this year’s mayoral election and that we’ll therefore be stuck with Emperor Willie for four more years.
  • The diseased lung I looked at while working on (irony of ironies) an anti-smoking website last night.
  • Sex (or lack thereof).
  • The asshole next door who has this tendency to work on his ugly orange convertible right outside my office window at all hours of the day and night.
  • Ways to keep that miserable orange convertible from ever bothering me again.

Not in on the Joke

Did you ever get the feeling there was some sort of running gag and that YOU were the punchline? I’ve decided that’s how I feel in most social situations, particularly those involving he-faggots.

I know it’s not really true. I realize that most people at the average bar, party, or whatever don’t give a rat’s ass about me one way or the other. But I still feel that everyone’s looking at me or laughing at me or thinking “what a putz”. The feeling’s usally much more prevalent in queer bars, but it can happen anywhere.

Never having really been the sociable sort (despite some valiant charades), I think I’ve never become really comfortable with the idea that any group of people might actually want me to be a part of it. Of course, it all goes back to junior high and self-esteem issues (insert appropriate psychobabble here), but you’d think I might have gotten past it by now.

Of course, there are benefits. When Mr. Right shows up in a bar, I’m usually not surrounded by an impenetrable entourage. I’ve also managed to forge a certain appealing aloofness out of this particular neurosis. Or so I’ve convinced myself…

All the same, though, it might be nice to wander up to a group of acquaintances without feeling I was butting in and being barely tolerated. I also get the same feeling almost any time I have to call someone the phone, oddly enough. It’s a feeling I’ve been having weekly (or more) for almost twenty years now, and I think I’m ready to be rid of it.

Tad’s Steak House

By Sarah Grove

This review originally appeared on schismatic.com.

Tad's

I love Tad’s. When I know that I’ll be meeting David, Dan, and Brad at Tad’s after work for a $10 steak dinner, I look forward to it all day. I’ll park the car at home and then scurry on down to Union Square on foot, all the way dodging the Financial District automatons heading home to the Marina.

I see the guys outside on the sidewalk in front of Tad’s, dragging on cigarettes, because even at Tad’s, you can’t smoke inside. The fog is rolling in and the tourists dressed in shorts stand in the middle of the sidewalk, maps unfurled, debating on whether they should hop into Tad’s or hit the trendy, white-wine sipping Kuleto’s up the street to take shelter from San Francisco’s cold summer nights.

Tad’s screams “Old San Francisco for the Locals.” The menu is a simple, large white poster with black lettering hanging in the front window (next to the rotisserie) and again right inside the doorway. Steaks, chicken, hamburger steak, grilled cheese, grilled ham & cheese, eggs and toast and omelettes for breakfast.

Tad's
The view from the ordering line. i love it.

Tad's
A good cut of steak and all the steak sauces and condiments you could ask for.

Grab your gray tray with the “Tad’s Steaks” personalization, and don’t forget your silverware and napkin. We always order the steak special for $8.95. Add a soda and the whole shebang comes to $10.41 including 8.5% tax. You have to wait in line while your food’s being cooked and your salad and drinks assembled, which gives you ample time to hang out and chat up the cooks and assistant managers. You just might hear about what Mayor Willie Brown or the local celebs are up to. These white-coated fellows behind the counter are good people. The owner and his managers have been running the place for over 40 years.

By now you’ve noticed the blue walls and orange-and-black velvet wallpaper. Tad’s is not a seen-and-be-seen trendy place. It’s where unpretentious people come to eat unpretentious food in a very human surrounding. Look around, and the people at the adjacent tables are enjoying their food, talking, laughing, and looking very happy to be there.

Give a little, and you will get much in return. On our last visit, when we had learned that Tad’s was not going to be sold and “updated” (horrors), as had been rumored, we ended up talking with Tad’s owner for some time, just catching him to chat as he strolled through the dining room, leaning on his cane. We told him how happy we were to hear that Tad’s was going to stay just the way it is, and he gave us a carafe of red wine in appreciation. The wine’s from a jug, but who cares? We drank in the spirit of fun and happiness and sharing a little bit of San Francisco which in these days of gentrification seems to be gone forever.

After our T-bone, huge baked potato with lots of butter, a hefty slice of garlic toast, and salad (eat the chickpeas and deal with it) — all of which are included in the Tad’s Steak Special — we go back for Boston Cream pie. Or maybe lemon meringue. We really don’t want to leave, even though we’ll be full until past breakfast time. Tad’s just makes us feel happy. There’s good, inexpensive food, quickly fixed how you want it, with no snooty waiters, high prices, or bad service to ruin your evening.

And no Beautiful People screeching into their cell phones and teetering on high heels. I tuck into my pie, pull my sweatshirt closer around me, and continue my conversation with my companions, making connections after a hard day’s work. Later we’ll all venture home in the fog, heading in different directions, but our confab at Tad’s has been a most wonderful capper to that routine day at the office.

Tad’s Steak House, 120 Powell Street, San Francisco CA, 415-982-1718

The Tad’s Photo Gallery: cook at work, david mulling the angels, that wallpaper, and anticipation at the silverware rack:

Tad's

Tad's

Tad's

Tad's

Tad's

9 August 1999


Four or five stories above the crest of Nob Hill. Photo credit Sarah.

My mom has email.

Somehow I knew this day would come, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for it. This must be sort of how it felt for her when I learned to drive. OK, maybe not quite that extreme. Of course, the big and pressing question is how she’ll deal with this site when she lands here. It’s not like I do drugs or deal in kiddie porn or anything, but the self-revelation (and the language) might be a bit much. All in all, though, Mom’s pretty sane. I think she’ll deal.

More about the weekend soon (as Sarah has the first crack at posting certain pictures of certain celebrities), but here are the highlights:

I spent Friday afternoon doing recreational web browsing, which is something I almost never do anymore. In the process, I found current pictures of one of my high school lust victims as well as re-connecting with an old friend from college. I also ran across names of members of my family on someone’s geneaology page. That was a little creepy. And no, I’m not giving you the addresses. So there.

Saturday afternoon brought a Star Trek convention (more about that later) and a strange case of lust, which I’m still at loss to explain so I won’t right now. Thus I ventured out to the neighborhood watering holes Saturday night, which proved as much of a mistake as going out on Saturday night ever is.

Now it’s Sunday. I’m watching something really stupid on the Disney Channel. It’s time for bed. More babbling of substance, along with accompanying pictures, coming soon.

Thoughts on Reaching Age 35

 

So it seems I’m now 35 years old. It’s supposed to be a very good year for blue-blooded girls of independent means. But I’m still chasing after blue-haired boys of questionable means. That’s OK. I’m comfortable with the fact that Frank Sinatra might not approve of my life.

Thoughts on the day:

  • I can now run for president, which is a nice irony on the 25th anniversary of Nixon’s resignation.
  • I think I’ve jumped into a new Nielsen demographic. I’m now only allowed to watch CBS.
  • I’ve now lived half the life the Bible guarantees. I’m not sure if this is a money-back guarantee. If I live longer than 70 years, do I have to pay more?
  • The only two famous people who share my birthday are Rosanna Arquette (5 years older) and Herbert Hoover (35 years deader). No major truths can be gained from this fact.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing anyone who dares show up tonight. And thanks for all the good wishes, etc.

The Birthday Bash

Interesting idea, huh? I turn 35, have dinner at a classy dive on Powell Street, and invite all comers. It’s the sort of thing which could be either truly creepy or tons of fun. Of course, the fact that it was both self-obsessed and self-indulgent rather goes without saying.

I really didn’t think many people would show up. It was windy and foggy. It was a Tuesday. It was scheduled for a great but little-known restaurant on a block few locals ever visit. But people came! Thirteen to be precise, four of whom I’d never even met before. It was pretty damned cool and not creepy at all.

As I waited out front with Sarah, in an effort to make sure my blood’s nicotine level was in the acceptable range, people showed up one by one, and we all waited patiently in line for din-din, since (of course) there was a long line at Tad’s for the first time in recent memory.

We pretty much gravitated to the exclusive upper room, where one feels much more intimately connected to the red velvet wallpaper, as most of the downstairs tables were taken. It’s just different upstairs: no naked cherub light fixtures nor serving line noise. It’s also hotter than hell.

Sarah and Brad were there, as were Grant, Barry, and Trixie. Mark and Eugene and David, Spike and Becky and Jamie (who managed to find her way here even without email) all joined in the carnivorous delight. Tim dropped in to say hello. And at the and of the table sat the keeper of my favorite website, who I dared not photograph.

The grand total: four domain names, ten boys, three girls, three Okies, two reformed Southern Californians, five reformed Southerners (depending on how you count), four reformed Midwesterners (depending on how you count), and lots of random chick peas on the vinyl tablecloth.

And I got presents. I wasn’t supposed to get presents. I’m not complaining. Not when I have Count Chocula handed to me with a bow on it. Nor will I complain about festive and colorful iced tea glasses with cool fruit ice cube thingies (which probably have a better name) nor even the Elmo alarm clock which now wakes me with teh theme from Sesame Street. Nope…no complaints at all…

After dinner, the remaining eleven of us made the leisurely stroll down Geary to David’s Deli for dessert. The hostess (no doubt sensing what was afoot) emptied the Celebrity Room of old people before seating us there. Everyone sang to me and requested a speech. Everyone soon realized that I’m much better with a keyboard than a mouth.

I drank coffee. David’s is one of the few places I do this, mainly beacuse when you order coffee here, they don’t ask “what kind?”. This choice of caffeine at 10PM would later haunt me.

After desert, five brave souls remained for the walk to Hole in the Wall at Eighth and Folsom, where I was kept out way past my bedtime. This would explain why it took me two days to post these pictures.

All I can say is thanks. It was great. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. People talked and mingled and everything, more so it seemed than even at most “traditional” parties. And not a single business card was exchanged.

There will be a repeat performance. The Tonga Room comes to mind. It should at least be photogenic…