New Year’s Eve

From all the streets blocked with big “no parking 3PM-4AM” signs. it looks like the cops are expecting last year’s non-existant riot to surface tonight South of Market. I can hardly wait. Really.

I don’t usually do much on New Year’s Eve. It’s one of my least favorite nights to go out, given my lack of patience with crowds, particularly crowds of severely drunk idiots. I haven’t decided what tonight’s plan will be. Depends on what’s on TV, I guess…

Anyway, hope you have a lovely new year. And if you’re drinking and driving tonight, I hope you realize what an idiot you are…

Queen of the Desert

Why does it always leave me in such a good mood when I catch Priscilla on TV by accident? I kind of want to go out and make it with an Australian drag queen now. While listening to Abba. Or “Take a Letter Maria”.

It’s also got me thinking about 1994 when I had a boyfriend who was neither Australian nor a drag queen. I’m having this very strange mental picture of the two of us flying up I-5 from LA at 4:00 in the morning, listening to Abba’s greatest hits really loud. It seems strangely comfortable now, but it didn’t at the time. I think I ws pissed about something, probably the fact that we were driving home from LA at 4AM.

But I don’t think I’d mind doing the same thing again right now, albeit maybe with a different companion…

Stuff to Do

I really should finish doing the Christmas dishes. And start mailing my Christmas cards. But I’ve got to finish the Bottles update (which keeps getting bigger and bigger) first. And watch a Simpsons re-run I’ve seen eight times already…


Thanks, alphabetically:

  • To Aunt Charlene for long distance galore.
  • To Aunt Norma for the game.
  • To Becky for the ornament (buy yours here).
  • To Dan for all kinds of meat-related ephemera.
  • To Dan (different one) for having Christmas dinner at his house this year.
  • To Debbie for the CD case.
  • To Duncan and Rick for this (and this, while I’m at it).
  • To Jamie for this.
  • To Kevin for the bizarre item which will be pictured later.
  • To Mark for these.
  • To Mom and Dad for the new monitor you didn’t know you were buying me.
  • To Steve for candy.
  • To Uncle Wesley for, well, money.

Lastly, thanks to all of you, for holding your tongues and not telling me how much you hate the current round of changes on the site(s) until after New Year’s.

Slumming Faggot Tourists

Biff is a “designer alternative”. He’s that fag who tries so desperately for an “alternative” look on a Neiman-Marcus budget. What’s with this obsession with working class and alternative types, and how does it make otherwise generic jockohomoclones spend such a fortune on cute, overpriced faux-scruffy clothing?

Look closely at Biff and you’ll see that the old worn-out baggy jeans were actually purchased last week at Abercrombie & Fitch for $85. The jacket which looks like it was pulled from the bottom of a bin at Goodwill was on sale for $195 at that “wild” Urban Outfitters; the small rips and stains were artfully created by a sweatshop worker in a Third World country which didn’t exist three years ago.

The white t-shirt, of course, is $20 Calvin Klein rather than $3 Hanes. Instead of spending $200 for a designer dress shirt at Macy’s, he went Bohemian and spent $250 for a designer dress shirt at some boutique on Haight Street or St. Mark’s Place. And the shoes. Oh my God! No cheap-ass army boots or less-cheap Docs for Biff; he shelled out a week’s pay for Kenneth Cole’s new line of alterna-boots.

Is it because buffed-up Biff wants to look a little less shallow? Or is it just because he thinks a romantic alternative look will get him laid more? Is he horrified by the smell (or the look or the location) of places where his role models actually shop? Or is he just so clueless that he doesn’t know that places other than the mall exist? He may want the look, but he’ll be damned if he wants to seem like he can’t afford better.

Sorry, Biff. You still just look like a Castro clone, despite the $500 you spent on that $50 outfit. And the fact that you spent so much on it calls attention to the sadder fact that you also THINK like a Castro clone.

Why do so many queers have such a problem doing anything right when it doesn’t fit neatly into either the “preppy pretty boy” or “leather daddy bear” categories? Take, for example, those rare moments when pornographers try to do videos about, say, skateboarders or metalheads. The skaters end up looking like someone’s neon wet dream, all decked out in orange lycra and sporting spiky platinum hairdos which weren’t even popular in 1985. And, of course, any character in a rock band ends up looking like some pitiful spandex drag queen, mainly because he’s usually nothing but a steroid clone in a wig anyhow.

They just don’t get it. Nor does the queer bar which has a “hardcore and alternative night” where the closest thing to rock and roll is some house diva’s remake of “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, or maybe a Pet Shop Boys song.

Slumming faggot tourists, all of them, looking into a world they’ll never understand because it’s not covered in The Advocate or Out. Amazed at how adventurous they are, and laughing at it once their fascination has passed. Just like the Americans who visit France and are highly amused to find that residents there speak (gasp) French.

Come to think of it, Biff’s also not really so far removed from your Uncle Bob — the one who always started using that exaggerated accent and making “Robert Foo Young” jokes with the waiter every time the family went out to a Chinese restaurant.