That Sex Site

Y’know, I think that maybe fifteen per cent of this site could be considered to be even vaguely sexuality-related. Yet in some circles Planet SOMA has the reputation of being this naughty site about nothing but sex clubs and backrooms and (non-existent) dirty pictures. I’m always listed with the “gay culture” sites, the “sexuality” sites or (inexplicably) the “leather/fetish” sites. I imagine many of the poor souls who stumble in here are quite disappointed to find it’s pretty damned tame around these parts lately.

For the record:

I don’t go to sex clubs and I haven’t in years. They’re listed here for informational purposes only. I rarely even go out to bars anymore, mainly because I’m sick of them.
There has been no street cruising scene South of Market in several years, thanks in large part to our new upscale residential population.
Yer humble host is teetering precariously on the brink of celibacy, due mostly to a general laziness and lack of interest. Yer humble host is quite comfortable with this situation, thanks.
Planet SOMA is now more about journals, road trips and miscellaneous urban culture than anything else. There may even be the occasional trip to the supermarket.
Planet SOMA is not now, nor was it ever, a leather site, a kiddie porn site, a site about dance clubs or the Castro, nor a site about the joys of gay culture.
If someone offered me the right job in the right place, I’d leave San Francisco as fast as you can say “Mocha Frappucino Latte”.

I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone, although I’m pretty sure that I have…

10 September 1999

So I was walking down Harrison Street Wednesday night. This yuppie wannabe drove up next to me and asked me where TGI Fridays was. I responded “I’m not sure. Sacramento? Maybe Walnut Creek?” He didn’t get it. I chuckled the rest of the way home, wishing I’d told him it was in an alley near the corner of 6th and Mission.

Yes, I’ve been working a lot this week, with things happening on just about all of my freelance sites at the same time (of course). And I’ll let you in on a little secret: I have an interview for an actual full-time job next week. No, I’m not saying where, but I will confess that San Francisco is the location. Details as they occur. I still haven’t decided for sure if I want a full-time job or if I want it to be here in San Francisco.

For now, I’m still planning the November road trip, and I now have invitations to Memphis, Mobile, New Orleans, Nashville, Washington, and Indianapolis. Color me grateful and excited. Anybody got a good idea for a 50th anniversary gift for Mom and Dad now?

I’m planning to give the site a little attention as soon as the crunch winds down. Bear with me. And send me all your stories and pictures for next month’s “official” premiere of Did You Bring Bottles.

I’m going to dinner now…

Planet Cincy?

I have seen the future and the future could very well be Cincinnati. Planet Cincy. Whaddaya think?

Upon looking at a map tonight while planning this year’s road trip from hell, I suddenly realized that this Ohio city might be the perfect place to relocate. It’s not a really objectionable sort of place. I imagine it’s pretty cheap. It’s appealing on many levels just because it’s the sort of place most people prefer to move away from rather than move to. Cincinatti was once the largest city in the midwest, and it’s been losing population steadily since 1950. I like that trend.

And best of all, it’s about a one day drive from alsmost everyplace I’d ever want to go, including Greensboro. I could visit Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh, Washington, New York, Atlanta, Saint Louis, and Kansas City on a regular basis. I could be home with Mom and Dad within nine hours.

And I could listen to Doctor Johnny Fever every morning on WKRP, right?

That said, this year’s road trip extravaganza is set to include New Orleans, someplace in the greater Cincinnati-Indianapolis area, and most definitely the Piggly Wiggly Museum in Memphis. Other suggestions will be accepted, but I’m not planning to do too many detours off the I-80 and I-10 paths. I’m also allowing a maximum of three weeks.

Off to the kitchen for leftovers now…

Searches and Labor Day

OK, extra special quality points to whoever sent me a detailed message sometime this month by entering it as queries on the search page. It came out a litte disjointed and out of order, but that added to the appeal. If you change your mind and try to find your Inner Boyfriend, please let me know…

And to anyone else who has the same idea now that I’ve mentioned it: it’s been done already…

I think this month’s best search would have to be a tossup between “big chokechain mambo pussies” (probably a joke) and “homosexual black metal ring” (probably not, alas). Also, my undying affection goes out to the hungry soul who searched for “pot roast”.

Lots of work for me this Labor Day weekend. Sites to be designed, sites to be redesigned, and more, all in a valiant attempt to maintain my upscale lifestyle in America’s most overpriced urban region. In other words, I’ve got Rice-a-Roni bills to pay.

And I’ve got to get ready for my annual “ridiculously long but that’s the way I like it” road trip, which will now have North Carolina as its midpoint, as I’ve decided to surprise my Mom and Dad on their 50th anniversary. Itinerary coming soon.

Murder

Photo courtesy Sarah

Someone I know in North Carolina was murdered recently. It’s a little disturbing to me for two reasons. The first stems from the fact that the victim was, frankly, not someone that I particularly liked. Thus, I’m not sure exactly which emotion is required at this point. The other is that this is the second time in as many years that a violent death has hit my circle of friends in Greensboro.

The newspapers aren’t mentioning it (yet) but it’s pretty apparent that either sex, drugs, or both were major factors. Sex and drugs go hand in hand for lots of my fellow sodomites in the south (and everywhere else). The “restless rednecks” stereotype is more apt than many would care to admit.

I worry about a lot of my friends back home, for whom obliterating reality seems to have become the only way of coping with life. The image becomes even sharper as most of the new friends I make have (like me) abandoned the whole recreational drug scene years ago, looking on it as a pastime more suited to high school and college than to everyday adult life.

It disturbs me when I go home and see friends for whom nothing ever really changes, except the current venue for partying or the currently fashionable party favors.

Granted, I don’t even smoke pot, I rarely drink more than a beer or two anymore, and sex has become (at best) a peripheral interest for me lately. I don’t think this makes me a superior human being. I’m not interested in being a crusader. I realize that I haven’t made such a tremendous success of my life either.

But I do worry. Especially when people start getting brutally murdered for no apparent reason other than for bringing home the wrong boy…