2000

There’s a stereotype of the old-time neighborhood storekeeper, probably named Mr. Feeney, who ran the corner grocery store, watched out for all the kids on the block, disciplined them in the absence of their parents, and dispensed cheer and advice all around.

I guess such a fellow existed in some places, but my family must have lived in a different neighborhood at a different time. We were in the spacious suburbs of Greensboro NC, but oddly enough we did have a corner store right at the end of the block. It was a ratty little place called Mike’s Food Mart. Prior to being a dumpy corner store, it had been a dumpy house and then a dumpy antique store. Needless to say, my parents didn’t patronize the place.

I, on the other hand, patronized it pretty often, starting when I was about 14. I patronized it because I realized the slimy guy who ran it would sell me just about anything I wanted, no questions asked. This I discovered on Halloween night when my friends and I walked in, purchased four dozen eggs and two packs of cigarettes without any hassle at all. No ID check, no “why do you kids need all these eggs on Halloween night”, no nothing.

Over the next two years, I regularly bought cigarettes, beer, porn magazines, and more at Mike’s, always from the same slimy guy, who was always there and who never once questioned me. So much for the nice neighborhood grocer who looked out for the neighborhood kids. This guy was out to make a buck. Period.

Of course, I paid a premium. Cigarettes were 55 cents, a nickel more than at the 7-11 or the gas station at Zayre’s. Budweiser was three bucks a six-pack, compared with $2.25 at Winn-Dixie or Big Star (where I got carded about half the time). But it was worth the extra money to know that “Mike” would take care of me.

The dumpy little store finally closed about the time I graduated from high school, and it was then converted, ironically, into a dumpy little church. But I still remember it every time I visit my current corner store on Folsom Street in San Francisco. I think it’s owned by the same family…

Changes coming soon. I’ve registered a new domain name (no, I’m not saying what it is until the DNS records are confirmed nd showing up correctly) and I’ll be moving things around, remodeling, and just maybe even adding some new content. It won’t happen for a couple of weeks, though. You will be warned.

I don’t really have any exciting news or observations to present today. I finally got over the strange flu-ish thing I had. I’m still bummed about Troy, but I’m moving on. And I put together a site for a friend with a spare house he’s trying to sell, in case you have a spare million-plus bucks hanging around in your wallet. And my part-time job still sucks ass, in case you were wondering.

I feel a sex quest coming this weekend, if anyone feels inclined to assist. I felt one coming last weekend too, but there wasn’t really any interesting sex to be found. There rarely seems to be any interesting sex to be found South of Market anymore, unless I’m just missing something really obvious. I’m not sure what happened.

Actually, I’m quite sure what happened. I’m just surprised that it happened so fast.

Some of this month’s bizarre queries on the Planet SOMA search engine:

• malegaycumshotporn
• amatuer dick underwear
• 0893915491
• ass hair
• barbra streisand wax museum
• oh mr. grant
• macaroni penguins
• woman who likes bestiality
• gaybuttsexorgy
• gordin berish
• fast food and chorestriol

Time for lunch…

So I got this note from the Department of Parking and Traffic saying I had an old parking ticket to pay, dated 16 September 1996. The ticket was apparently placed on my former car about 12 hours before this happened. No wonder I never saw it and never paid it…

One of the biggest things I’d miss about living in a large urban area would be the ability to get around without a car. Even though I actually have one, I almost never drive it in the city. It’s just too much of a pain in the ass, given parking, traffic, and the alarming recent increase in the number of idiots on the streets. It’s usually easier just to walk most places I go, or sometimes to take a bus. My car is pretty much for trips to the supermarket and, more importantly, for trips OUT of the city.

Tonight, we took BART to Oakland for dinner, followed by a long walk. When I lived in Charlotte, we never took a train to Gastonia for dinner. In Greensboro, a fairly large city, I don’t think any of the bus routes even operate after about 6:00 at night. Tonight’s trip took maybe ten minutes longer than driving would have and the frustration level was almost non-existant.

I love having a car, but I also love not HAVING to have a car.