Vegas Revisited

I really didn’t expect to be going back to Las Vegas anytime soon. The last trip was fun, but Vegas didn’t exactly rate among my favorite spots in the U.S. Enter one spiky-haired Minnesotan named Erik. Erik is not to be confused with any previously-mentioned Minnesotans within Planet SOMA. Erik convinced me that driving 500 miles into the desert to spend a weekend with someone I’d never met was a good idea. His subtle hints (over several months) as to how we might pass a good bit of our time were pretty enticing too.

Needless to say, I left town late. I made it to Bakersfield the first night. I slept (not much else to do there as I knew from a past visit). I woke up and drove through the increasingly hot Mojave Desert. 101 in Baker. But only 97 in Vegas. Aargh…

It’s always fun looking for someone you don’t really know in a crowded hotel lobby. Fortunately, Erik recognized me. We went to the room. There were naps. We ate. We made out. We hit a few bars. Repeat with a few variations for three days and you have the jist (jism?) of the trip. Don’t think for a moment, mind you, that this is a bad thing…

  

Of course, we didn’t spend ALL out time in the room. We took the Hoover Dam hardhat tour (where you get to keep the hardhat). There were the obligatory buffet moments. We also spent quality time in taxis with cynical drivers en route to and from bars. We hit Snicks, which was sleazy and empty, but remains one of my favorites from last year. We visited Angles, which has great chairs and too many well-coiffed customers. We snuck into (and out of) the Eagle in record time. And we were cruised by a cute boy in a striped shirt at Buffalo’s, but he somehow managed to activate both our freak sensors.

And then there was the Gipsy. my only “new” bar from this trip. Jeez, it sucked. This is the “beautiful people” bar. Translation: no one even remotely intersting to be seen, overpriced drinks, and really bad techodiscohouse drivel. A quick escape was called for, and my opinion of Vegas queer bars remains pretty damned low.

After lurking in bed until about 4 on Saturday (the original plan called for 6…or was it 7?), we hit the strip in search of rubber shirts and cute pirate boys at Treasure Island. Around this time, I discovered that I have become my father, patiently waiting outside mall stores. Malls scare me. Wayne Newton in a casino designed to resemble a mall (circa 1977) sacres me even more.

  

Best find of the weekend (aside from the realization that I CAN have sex with someone for five days in a row and not get bored with it) was pork chops and collard greens at the Motown Cafe in New York New York (the casino casino, not the city city). Other happy finds included gas which is about 35 cents per gallon cheaper than in San Francisco, the In and Out Burger, and (joy…rapture…) a supermarket which sells Count Chocula. I stocked up…

 

On Sunday, it was time to leave behind the room which housed several felonies and a view of the pink-domed Circus Circus Theme Park. Time to leave the cheap buffets, the prime rib, and the incredibly surreal world of the casinos. Time to leave the boy in the striped shirt, wherever he may have ended up. Time for a restful drive home. Or maybe not…

 

I never really considered Barstow, California a good place to buy tires until Sunday. It’s still not my first choice, but it seemed pretty damned convenient after realizing in the middle of the desert that my current had suddenly lost a good six-inch chunk of tread. Thank God for Wal-Mart. To hell with small-town Main Streets. When I needed cheap rubber, the corporate monster was there for me.

The overnight stop in Fresno proved uneventful. Seems we stumbled upon “Emperor/Empress Weekend” (read “bad drag”). I think Fresno works better for me when I’m there alone. On the other hand, Motel 6 sex can be fun…especially when the maid interrrupts just as you’re about to…ummm…

Now it’s back home for me. Anyone have a suggestion for the next adventure?

Yet Another Visit

Matthew offered to show me DC during the 1997 Planet SOMA US Tour, although I somehow never GOT to DC. We met during his last stay in the city. The catalyst for this trip was the Joni Mitchell show in San Jose Tuesday night (which also featured Van Morrison and some old nasal-sounding guy named Bob something). Matthew took me to the show. Matthew slept in my house. Matthew drank with me. Matthew went with me to see a friend play at Brain Wash. Matthew understood that I was completely beat by the time he arrived, and was not offended that I was being such a lethargic host. We LOVE Matthew.

Matthew is also allowed to visit again. And I promise to be more entertaining. Matthew is also seeking the perfect green-haired boy (other hair colors considered). If you are that boy, ask me for Matthew’s email address. It’s the least I can do.

The smoking reference for this part of the story? At the show, people were smoking pot all around me. This is illegal (although I do not necessarily agree that it should be). Even though I really cannot stand the smell of marijuana smoke, I did not complain. On the other hand, had I lit a (tobacco) cigarette in the same place, security would have been on my tail in no time flat. This bugs me a little…

More Visitors

 

Rae and Dawson don’t need my permission to return. They used to live here. Rae now lives in Portland. Dawson lives in a mystical far-away place called Redwood City; the distance explains why I never see him. Anyway, we all used to work together. OK…actually, to varying degrees, we STILL all work together.

We tried, as always with mixed success, to avoid talk of this loving company. We drank. We played with the juke box at Jack’s. We broke the law by smoking in Jack’s on 16th Street and by putting ashes in the ashtray which the bartender at Jack’s provided. So was SHE breaking the law too?

 

We ate dinner at Art’s. We didn’t smoke there. I believe that people should not smoke in restaurants. I do not share this belief about bars.

But I do love Rae and Dawson. And Rae doesn’t even smoke.

Visit from James

One of the benefits of living in San Francisco is that one’s geography tends to motivate friends to visit regularly. This is a good thing. Sometimes, when a lot of these visits happen at the same time, it’s also an exhausting thing. But still good. Got me?

 

James is a friend of a friend…neither individual being someone I’d ever met before. Two or three years ago, this would have sounded a little odd to me, but my biases against getting to know people in “text only” format first have slowly disappeared of late. James was introduced to me by my friend Andy in London. He was here for the non-standard San Francisco vacation (“screw the cable cars…I wanna see the giant icon sculptures at Apple”). I was more than willing to assist.

How could I not love someone who wanted to spend an afternoon with me and Sarah visiting a bigger-than-life manifestation of Clarus the Dogcow? And before your correct me, yes it IS spelled with a “u”, thanks.

Other highlights included burritos at Pancho Villa, hamli and okra at Massawa, really uninspiring pizza at Sbarro (on the obligatory mall visit), and a trip to Green Apple Books. Oh, and there was a bit of drinking. And a little civil disobedience as we ignored the law and smoked actual cigarettes in actual bars. This will become a running theme as you read on.

We like James very much. He is allowed to return.

My Sensors Weren’t Working

So one night I pick up this boy at Hole in the Wall. It’s last call, he’s cute as can be and he seems no more intoxicated than anyone else there. His look is a tad preppier than I usually like, but he’s got a vaguely unkempt mop on top of his head, which sort of makes up for the Gap boy look. Nothing about him sets off any alarms. We venture off into the night.

Back at my house, I realize he may be a bit drunker than I realized. He keeps telling me how much money he’s carrying. He keeps opening his wallet and showing me. And then he passes out on my bed, fully clothed, about five minutes after arrival. He snores so badly that I decide to sleep on the couch.

About 5:30 in the morning, I hear him moving. Next thing I know, he’s in the living room and on the couch with me. He snuggles up to me and without saying so much as a word, he begins…umm…orally coupulating me. Suddenly he looks up at me and asks me who I am and how he got here. I tell him. He goes back to “work”.

He looks up again, this time as if he’s about to cry.

“I’ve been treated really badly. I’ve had a bad night.”

I wonder at his memory of how bad the night was, especially since he’s not even sure where he is at present. I don’t mention it, though, because now he really IS crying. Seems his boyfriend threw him out last night for some unspecified reason. He starts sucking my dick again. Then he asks me if I’m a white supremacist. I tell him I’m not. He assures me he isn’t either. I’m strangely relieved.

For the next half hour, he alternates between sucking, crying, and plotting revenge against said boyfriend. At some point, I mention the money he’s carrying, and then he really gets freaked out. How did he get so much money? What did he do for it? He rememebers a restaurant. And maybe a hotel room, And maybe some cocaine.

Then he asks if I want to fuck him. To shoot him full of jism. I decline, only partly because he’s crying again and wondering where the money came from.

He’s very excited that I have cranberry juice in my refrigerator, even though he doesn’t drink any. By the way, where is he? Oh…only four blocks from home… He lives in an upsacle apartment building on Folsom. And he’s wearing Banana Republic underwear. He’s very proud of the Banana Republic underwear.

He determines that he needs to go home. He asks if I want to cum before he leaves. I “deserve” it since I’ve been so nice and didn’t rob him and all. He offers me some of his money; after all, he doen’t know where it came from anyway…

Finally he leaves and I get to sleep, secure in the knowledge that he probably couldn’t ever find his way back to my house. I resolve never again to pick up anyone at last call, or at least not until I figure out what the hell is wrong with my usually trustworthy freak sensors…

The Mailbag

As the creator of a large and fairly popular web site, I get a lot of mail….this is an unavoidable fact. Most of it is kind and complimentary and polite. Much of it is even interesting. Some of it is flat-out rude and filled with personal attacks. I am prepared for this. I express opinions. This is my right. People don’t always agree. This is THEIR right.

Sometimes, people are just plain nasty. An obsession with money will do that:

Jealousy can be an evil thing…Why don’t you start thinking a little… Maybe if you had the brains or wits to be a businessman, you could have an office overlooking the city as well. But since you don’t, you’ll just have to rot away in your apartment and complain about those yuppies who have probably worked their asses off to be where they are.

Kind of cute, isn’t it, that he assumes I WANT a sterile window office where I too can shit on all the little people who worked THEIR asses off to put me there. You can read the full text of this asshole’s rantings (including his assertion that he isn’t a racist) in the Loftomania Feedback section.

For monetary obsession, though, this snail mail takes the cake. Equifax, the large and efficient credit bureau and collection agency sent me a demand for payment. Seems I have a delinquent account at a local emergency care center, which has been referred to them for collection. It is imperative that I pay immediately or face fuher action.

The amount in question? Sixteen cents.

Is it any wonder people no longer have much faith in the American health care industry? Or that I’m starting to lose faith in my fellow man?

Sometimes there are people (as oppposed to corporations like Equifax) who clearly just DON’T GET IT. Case in point:

I hate to say this but this site was the worst Ive seen for state fairs. It did not mention the two most important facts: when the fair was, the article only mentioned sometime in August maybe, or how to get there. Also the pictures were horrible. it leads someone to think that the fair is attended by only bald white males. as im sure it does not.

Im sorry to say but I will not be visiting that site again. I hope no state funds were used in making this travesty, if it were Id be ashamed to be a citizen of California. Please next time if your doing this again to do some homework on your website and make it pleasing to all who might visit it.

Now let me get this straight. This guy is worried that I might get STATE FUNDS to write Planet SOMA? I wish. Obviously, he found the State Fair boy-watching article on a search engine and couldn’t understand that I do not now — nor have I ever — maintained the official California State Fair web site.

Hehe…”state funds”…that one still cracks me up…

Once in a while I get mail complaining about my “negative attitude”. As if a negative attitude was somehow bad:

I found your site to be unnecessarily negative about the area. Why do you live here if you hate it so badly? I think it’s nice and am happy that I’ve “taken the plunge”. I don’t mean to be harsh, but am just concerned that you may give people the wrong impression of SF and the bay area. Please reconsider some of the things that you say in your site, as there’s always a nicer way to put things.

Maybe I should just put a “San Francisco: Love it or leave it” sticker on my car too. I HATE this attitude. I sometimes point out weaknesses of the Bay Area; thus I apparently don’t deserve to live here. Give me a break! I point out problems BECAUSE I love it here. Why is it that New Yorkers get to bitch about their city all the time without having their “loyalty” questioned?

Besides, I ain’t the fucking Chamber of Commerce… Nor am I Bob Damron, provider of la-de-da always positive cookie cutter reviews. Apparently, this rubbed a reader of my bar reviews the wrong way:

The sad queen who wrote this article obviously can’t get her dick sucked anywhere and is mad at the world. Bitch bitch bitch. You wasted my time with the pointless and no too clever catty remarks. Hire a journalist.

I offered “Miss Thing” (seemed appropriate given the lingo of the message) a refund for all the money “she” spent visiting the site. Said refund was never claimed…

On Being a Hermit

I’m not sure at exactly what point that I decided that being a hermit was not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve never made friends really easily, although I have made some very good and close friends over the years. I’ve just never been tremendously social; sometimes it just seems much more of a burden than it’s worth.

I was definitely well-trained for hermitdom (is that a word?) as a child. I didn’t have many friends and I learned early on how to spend time alone, whether I was watching TV, or drawing pictures of buildings and designing houses and stores and making maps of imaginary cities, or reading. It very often bothered me to be disturbed by the reality of having to talk to people and especially to have to explain what I was drawing or reading or watching. All the same, I felt lonely a lot of the time, although I wasn’t bothered enough to do anything much about it.

I guess I learned a few social skills by the time I hit high school. When I entered college and found myself thrust into an environment of people I actually liked and with whom I had things in common, I bloomed into something of a social butterfly. I even got so “social” at one point that I stopped going to class and suddenly found that I can’t even in college anymore. But even then I still spent a good deal of time alone, sometimes by choice and sometimes not.

The real test came the first time I moved away from my hometown. I learned a lot about spending time alone then, even though I really tried to meet people. I still believed at that point that there was something inherently wrong with being alone, especially in places like bars, restaurants, and movie theatres. Apparently, the social skills I’d acquired in college weren’t serving me too well without my support group. I was depressed. But I was also learning a lot about myself. All in all, it doesn’t seem so bad in retrospect.

I did finally meet a whole new circle of friends, even in “soulless” Charlotte. These were some of the most bizarre friends of my entire life, making some of my unusual San Francisco acquaintances seem positively boring in comparison. I’m still in touch with some of the saner members of this crowd.

My first few years in San Francisco were an intense “social” period for me. I surprised myself with my capacity for meeting interesting people. And for picking up fun sex toys in bars and sex clubs. Funny thing was, though, that most of the people I met faded away pretty quickly. Except for my roomie of almost six years, I don’t much talk to (or even see) most of my crowd from the first years I spent here.

There also never seemed to be that one really close friend that I called every day, had dinner with on a regular basis, went to movies with, etc. This was really odd for me, as I’d usually had a friend like that even in my bleakest periods.

All the same, it seems I was always running around doing SOMETHING those first few years here: going to parties, hanging around in the Mission or Lower Haight or (gasp) even the Castro. I had a boyfriend for a relatively long period of time. After I finished with him, I had several “fuck buddies” I played around with between one-night stands. I hit a point where it was hard for me to go anywhere without running into someone I knew, which always seemed to me something that wasn’t supposed to happen in “the big city”.

It was at this point when I started doing Planet SOMA. Things have been going downhill ever since. I don’t think it has anything really to do with the web site, although email has made it easier for me to avoid face to face contact. I’m actually spending less time in front of the computer lately.

But I’ve noticed that it’s increasingly rare that I actually leave the house and do things. When I bother to go out drinking at all, it’s pretty much ALWAYS in the neighborhood. I’m not exploring the rest of the city anymore. It’s rare that I see people I know when I go out. I haven’t picked up anyone in months. I used to cover a lot of ground and see a lot of people and places. Now I read a lot of books. I watch too many “Star Trek” reruns.

Many people have given up on me. I almost never have phone messages, probably because I’m so bad about calling back and arranging meetings. I’m hesitant about making social commitments. For a couple of weeks earlier this year, I rarely left the house at all other than to go to work or Safeway. Thanks to my friend Sarah, I do drag myself out on the occasional Saturday afternoon bookstore/thrift store/burger excursion.

So what’s the story here? Am I just getting old? Are the habits learned in childhood coming back to take over my life? Have I just become a bitter old curmudgeon who is too impatient with the world which surrounds me to be an active participant therein? Or is it just a phase?

I’m not really moping or depressed or anything like that. I just don’t seem to have the energy or the inclination to DO much lately. Should I be worried about this or should I just bask in the joys of being a hermit? I’m not really sure.

Stupid Rude People

Today’s excuse for being irritable, cynical, and negative (HA…as if I needed one…) is related to the fact that I was awakened at 7:30AM by construction workers on my roof, banging around and scraping away at the wall of the next building. Did they care that it was very early on a weekend morning? Did they even bother to ask permission from the owners of my building to be up there? Of course not, because simply being considerate seems not to be something of value in the America of the 90’s.

Why is it that people seem completely oblivious to the fact that there are other people on the road with them, in line behind them, trying to park on the same street as them, and attempting to walk on the sidewalk where they’re clustered? What’s with these assholes who think nothing of coming to a dead stop in a moving traffic lane while they try to figure out which way to go? Where do these idiots who hold up a line of twenty people asking inane questions about the menu in fast food places come from? And who told these stupid self-obsessed yuppies that it was OK to talk on the phone and drive a car at the same time?

OK…enough. Parents just don’t teach their kids to be considerate anymore (might damage Junior’s “self-esteem”) and pushiness is considered a valuable trait in the business world. I should know this by now. And it isn’t likely to change.

Randomly Thursday

Random notes:

  • Never realized before that a lot of episodes of “Bewitched” from the final season (1972) were almost verbatim remakes of episodes from the first season (1964). Were they just out of ideas? Or did they figure the old black and white shows would never be shown again? Strange, but kudos to the fine folks at Nick at Nite for helpng to point this out…
  • Why is it that spring cleaning at work is so much faster than spring cleaning at home? It just seems so much easier to throw away old stuff that doesn’t really belong to you…
  • At the ripe old age of 33, I’ve finally realized that people sleep much better if they don’t keep drinking Coke until 15 minutes before bedtime. Brain surgery is next for me, no doubt…
  • Overly-senistive department: an Oakland man has claimed harrasment due to his arresting officer singing “The Pina Collada Song” while he was in custody. He claims racism. I’ll admit it’s bland, stupid, and repetitive, but racist???
  • Miracle: for three straight days, I’ve managed to answer all my email within 24 hours. And get one spamming website shut down in the process…
  • Isn’t porn just more fun if no one’s home and you can turn up the volume and hear every “you like my big cock dontcha” in stereo sound?
  • Isn’t cereal much less fun when you realize (after you start pouring) that you’re just about out of milk? Oops…make that completely out…
  • Amusing Wednesdays at McDonald’s: hamburgers are 29¢. Fries are $1.50. Cokes are $1.25. All hail the triumph of the side dish…
  • The SF Bay Guardian is crying “censorship” over some ads removed from SF Muni buses last month. The ads feature the Guardian’s editor and a caption stating “They’re all crooks in City Hall and I want them exposed.” I’d almost be tempted to suggest the removal of the ads constituted proof of this fact, or at least of the fact that City Hall has no sense of humor…
  • Joke courtesy of Larry-bob: What do you call two men holding hands in the Castro? Tourists.
  • When you call tech support, how does that recorded voice arrive at such estimates as “your call will be answered in one hour and twenty-three minutes”? (Yes…this was an actual call and an actual estimate…)
  • Is anyone as pissed off as I am that Pacific Bell has added the option of three-way calling to all phone lines at a per-use fee of 75¢? And that it’s VERY easy to invoke this feature accidentally, say with modem auto-redials, beacuse you don’t have to dial a special tone? If you’re not amused either, call them (1-800-310-BELL) and have it removed from your line. And tell them why you’re doing it and how tempting it will be to use another local service provider when that option becomes available soon…

Two Years of Planet SOMA

Who woulda thunk it? I’m (a) typing my second anniversary “editorial” and (b) so busy these past two weeks or so that I almost missed it? I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started this thing. I was just going to throw up a simple couple of vanity pages with some info about the City, a few dirty pictures, an abbreviated life story, etc. I thought it might get me some interesting email and might even get me laid on occasion.

I was right on both scores (especially the email part), but Planet SOMA turned out to have a little more profound effect than planned. To start with, there are now over 300 pages here. The dirty pictures and sex club info have become the part of the site I care least about and am teetering on the verge of retiring.

And almost a quarter of a million visits to the front page. Jeez…

In the process, I’ve met many interesting people (both in person and in text format), gone some very interesting places, and seen some…ummm…very interesting things. Planet SOMA has been featured on other web sites, in print, and even on a Canadian radio station. I even took the site “on the road” last summer all around the country.

It’s been fun, and thanks to all who have offered support and criticism/commentary, as well as places to sleep and guided tours on the road, not to mention the occasional dinner and cheap sex.

Oh, and the freelance stuff which has come in as a result has been a nice side benefit too, even thought it’s kept me away a good bit lately.

(NOTE: The actual start date of Planet SOMA was 13 January 1996. 2 March was celebrated as the anniversary for the first few years because of some milestone I’ve since forgotten, maybe the addition of the hot counter.)