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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

I Just Don’t Understand

Even the blind can tell when there’s a gay street fair in the neighborhood. The crappy music assaults you from blocks away. Why is it that every single faggot event on the planet must occur to the accompaniment of techno, disco, house, or some variation? Does everything “gay” have to be made into a giant circuit party?

Judging from the above, you’d be assuming correctly if you guessed that I skipped the Dore Alley Fair today. The street was thumping a bit too much and I got scared. I thought about the first one I attended (in 1991, before I moved here) and how there were actual live bands. With guitars and everything. I stoppped about half a block short of this year’s.

Instead, I popped into the corner bar and had my way with this boy who had a Cocteau Twins tattoo on the back of his neck. Not a bad substitute, I thought.

Since it’s been a while since I’ve done this, here’s today’s list of things whose popularity I just don’t understand:

  • Hootie and the Blowfish
  • The Toyota RAV4
  • Rice cakes
  • George W. Bush
  • Huge lawns which require mowing
  • Nordstrom
  • The USA Network
  • The Family Circus

23 July 1999

Tom Ammiano for Mayor. He can be a little annoying. I have my doubts that he can win. But he’s the only one of the bunch I can bring myself to vote for, and it now seems pretty likely that he’ll be on the ballot. Seems my decision has been made.

So now it’s back to the normal everyday grind of life without a houseguest. I feel like I was a pretty lackluster host, just because I was so busy with so much other stuff while Scott was here. He got to see all the hot spots: Target in San Bruno, Denny’s on Mission, Burger King in Marin, and even my laundromat. Twice. I really know how to show someone a good time…

Yesterday’s special treat was the occurrence of not one, but two bomb threats in the building where I do my part-time job. Interesting way to spend a morning: standing on a sidewalk in the Financial District watching all the harried yuppies clutching their cell phones for dear life rather than simply enjoying an unplanned break.

My favorite moment: a very adorable boy visting from another country (I’m guessing France) who asked me very politely and sweetly “how long do your bomb threats usually last?”

Dore Alley Fair down the street this weekend. I haven’t decided if I care. My supsicion is that I don’t…

Sweatshirt Update

Quickie update for those worried about my favorite sweatshirt (see below): when I headed back to the laundromat this morning to see if they had a lost and found, I was surprised to find all my duds still sitting in the very dryer I’d put them in fourteen hours earlier. This demonstrates that (a) San Francisco really IS like a small town and (b) the folks at Brain Wash are not particularly attentive.

JFK Jr. Deathwatch, Day One

With all due respect to the deceased, enough with the perpetual John F. Kennedy Jr. reports! Correct me if I’m wrong, but it was his FATHER who was head of state. JFK Jr. was a magazine editor and a president’s son. That about covers it. Granted, it’s more than most of us will ever accomplish, but it hardly seems to merit a four-day, 24-hour deathwatch, does it? Is there nothing else going on in the world this week?

Sorry if that sounds nasty, but I had to get it off my chest. It was the lead story on the ENTERTAINMENT report on CNN a few minutes ago, for Christ’s sake.

Anyway (for those who have not yet begun composing the hate mail), it’s been an insane week. And it’s only Tuesday. In addition to playing tourguide to my friend Scott, I’ve been pretty much working my butt off. For a little relaxation tonight, I did laundry and managed to leave behind both my favorite sweatshirt and my favorite flannel. I fear I shan’t see them again…

But at least I’ve been eating well. Scott brought Count Chocula. I love count Chocula. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear…

Coming soon:

  • Pictures from the new Denny’s on Mission Street, which is hands down the strangest one I’ve ever visited.
  • Exciting new links.
  • I may actually answer some email.