Category: After Dark

Random Updates

Just for today, I’m not going to rant or rave about much of anything! The only thing on the agenda is an update of what’s going on in my life at this point in time, in case anyone cares…

A few carefully lit fires — no pun intended — have started getting a bit of reaction out of my insurance company in relation to the pile of ashes which used to be my car. I’m expecting a settlement any day now. I think informing them that they’d be paying for a rental repalcement of my choosing until I have a check in hand may have helped a bit.

No job yet, but so far I’m pretty much convinced that giving Kinko’s the heave-ho was quite the right thing to do. Today was especially convincing; the yuppie slimebags were as annoying as usual. Yesterday I taught an Internet class at one of the outlying San Francisco stores. I was amazed at how different the neighborhood atmosphere was. People were actaully smiling and walking down the street at a normal pace. No one had the perpetually constipated look of the Financial Distrist corporate automatons. It was really nice. It’s a sad thing that so many people let work rule their lives to the point of making them such unbearable substitutes for human beings. Note to the Financial District crowd: take a Valium or at least take a break once in a while!

Side note: a rumor is floating about that Kinko’s is advertising on Pat Robertson’s Family Channel (formerly the Christian Broadcasting Network). I cannot confirm this rumor. Has anyone seen commercials on this highly offensive, rabidly anti-gay and pro-enforced childbirth network? If so, please let me know, and I’ll keep you informed of how my complaints are received.

Had dinner last night with my ex David at the new IHOP South of Market. It is, without question, the creepiest IHOP atmosphere I’ve ever seen. It’s in the basement of an old commercial building and is just too damned well-lit and pastel-tinted. It’s located next to Moscone Convention Center, but the crowd seems to be more “downtown drug dealer” than “conventioneer executive”, although one middle-class mother with teen-age son was inside and looked a little horrified when David and I began discussing watersports. Denny’s is scheduled to open a few doors down very soon. Should be fun to watch.

Ran into Ron, a guy I “went out” with a few times, at lunch today and found out that his band (which was one of two whose debuts I attended recently, the other being Lucifag) is fizzling. We did the “lost your number…give me a call” routine. I never know when that’s meant sincerely or not (sometimes I really DO mean it); we did have fun…

Speaking of bands, I’ll be seeing The Third Sex at Faster Pussycat tonight. It’ll be kinda cool seeing a band on the midwestern end of a tour and then at home on the same tour. Love them…they’re great. (Note: missed ’em…the show moved…found out too late…hate life…)

As for the weekend, I’m geeting back together with this guy named Rob who I recently met in a dark back corner somewhere. He’s terminally cute, fun, shares some of my perversions, and is a pretty danged OK kinda guy, despite being from L.A. He follows orders well, and he scores major points for suggesting — without prompting — Jack in the Box as a food stop on the way back to his apartment Sunday night. More points added for being suitably worshipful about Planet SOMA…I’ll work on pictures soon.

Mom and Dad’s anniversary yesterday. Forty-seven years. Scary. I somehow doubt I’ll have a relationship last quite that long.

Gotta run now…food calls.

Thanks for checking in…

Chicago

I wanted Chicago to be much more than it was. Maybe I didn’t spend enough quality time there and maybe it’s because we didn’t do sufficient planning, but Christopher and I were two fags in search of a scene and there just didn’t seem to be one. Driving and parking were a nightmare (yes…worse than in San Francisco) and it was 27 degrees one day, which is outside my California-moderated temperate zone. All the same, there were moments. And anything would seem exciting after driving across Wisconsin!

  

How could I not stay at this place? It was almost as much a symbol of good karma as the White Castle I encountered on the way into Minneapolis. And it was cheap! When we checked in, having OK’ed the two people/one bed arrangement, I offered ID. The nice lady at the deask responded “I’d ask other people for it, but I won’t ask you…if you know what I mean…” (Insert wink and nudge.) My theory was it was related to our inherent whiteness. Christopher’s guess was that she thought he was my whore and the fags would treat the room gently. Who knows? Big old console TV in the room which displayed “The Simpsons” in colors I didn’t know existed. I was appalled to find a station which plays not one, but TWO reruns of “Home Improvement” daily.

The closest thing to a scene we found and the reason our road trip was scheduled as it was. Picture a 50-year-old bowling alley which has never been remodeled. Add an all-ages show, put on by Homocore Chicago featuring the Third Sex (again) and Kaia. Great scene, great place. But they need to serve food (or maybe it was just that I hadn’t had my White Castle fix for the day…)

  

 

Christopher did the Art Institute. I took pictures of buildings.

Friday was good, although the “driving aimlessly” thing got a tad tedious, especially due to the fact that driving in Chicago is truly an obnoxious thing. Downtown Chicago rules, but we were never quite able to find the “cool neighborhood” (or at least not until it was too late.) Made it home in time for most of “The Simpsons”.

I’ve always heard bad things about the Chicago bar scene, but I didn’t dare believe them. Until this week. Five bars visited: the Manhole, Cell Block, Big Chicks, Berlin, and Cocktails. The first two seemed OK, if a bit mired in the 70’s leather/disco scene (in a non-endearing sort of way.) The Cell Block actually has a dress code for its back patio, a practice I thought (hoped?) had gone out of vogue about fifteen years ago. I also question their definition of “rock and roll”. Big Chicks seemed to have potential and reminded me a little of the Tunnel Bar (not the club) in NYC, but was pretty slow, perhaps due to location. Cocktails was too deplorable and preppy to consider except as a place to sit down and be warm. Berlin may have been the best of the bunch, but it was tremendously clubby and crowded and had no place to escape. I actively solicit suggestions for my next visit.

I hate to sound like I’m running down Chicago. Maybe we just needed the right “native guide”. I just sensed a really strange energy there (and I rarely use that term) and never quite felt comfortable anywhere. Next time?

Onward to Minnesota

Armed with knowlege gleaned from the Mary Tyler Moore Show and from Whip LeFever’s Walk on the Wild Side, I arrived in the home of Target Stores and Prince at about 8PM Friday night. American Airlines hadn’t fed me well at all and I was reassured by the first sight I saw on the road to Christopher’s house. Like a miraculous beacon, the White Castle called me from Lake Street. For those of you who don’t know, White Castle is the northern counterpart of Krystal in the south, serving 39-cent burgers which are basically an ounce of meat on a brown and serve roll. It’s an acquired taste. Anyway, I took this as a sign that this trip, which I’d had some reservations about taking, was gonna be just fine.

It was really great to see Christopher and Bil. Bil, who I went out with a few years ago, remains a good friend, and actually LEFT San Francisco, but is now forgiven. I took an immediate and intense liking to Christopher upon meeting him a few months ago in SF when he visited with Bil, and he offered me a temporary home. Together with a drum machine (temporary) and an occasional guest vocalist named Dawn, they form a queer metal band called Lucifag. Part of my trip’s timing stemmed from the fact that Lucifag was doing its first show while I was there.

I didn’t quite know what to expect, but they fucking ROCKED. One of the best and tightest sets I’ve seen in a while. And lest you ask, this is from my “former college radio music director” perspective, not my “friends with the band and infatuated with the guitar player” perspective. I think…

The show was Sunday night at District 202, a queer youth center, and was put on by Homocore Minneapolis. Also on the stage were Plain Jane, the Third Sex (love the Third Sex), and another band whose name I forget but they were pretty good too. The show was recommended in the Minnepolis’ City Pages and there was also press in the University of Minnesota Daily.

Later that night, I realized that I may be allergic to Minnesota, a condition which haunted me off and on throughout the trip.

Jeff Visits, Continued

The day started earlier than it should have and ended much later. The early afternoon saw David guiding Jeff through a last-minute shopping extravaganza in the Haight. There was also a trip to the very top of Buena Vista Park, where the views were great and the cruising was unconsommated. In the early evening came Macy’s and Union Square, so Jeff could exercise his credit cards (which were, of course, positively dusty from lack of use).

Dan drove the vacation boys to Twin Peaks about 11, and then dropped them in the vast mall known as the Castro. The evening’s bars included Badlands, the Phoenix, and the Detour (which was surprisingly entertaining). A quick cab ride led to Planet SOMA, Hole in the Wall, and My Place. Jeff picked up two strays, J’Tao and John, but lost them trying to crash the oh so trendy “Piss Party” on Ringold Alley. Bedtime came late. The morning, and Jeff’s airport shuttle, came really early.

Jeff has returned to Greensboro, David must return to work, and vacation season is over.

Jeff Visits, Continued

About 3:00, Jeff and David attempted to take a Market Street historic streetcar to the Castro, but settled for a bus. Jeff shopped while david whined about the complete sterilization and gentrification of the Castro. Beer at the Detour, dinner at Welcome Home (yumm…), then home for the Simpsons.

The evening progressed to the Stud for 80’s retro night (which actually was much more fun than David expected), then to the EndUp (which was as scary as David thought it would be) and back to Hole in the Wall and My Place. Quick beer at home and then off to the Power Exchange Main Station. David was most favorably impressed with the changes. Jeff was thrilled to have sex in a tent. David met a very cuddly 22-year-old tow truck driver from Sacramento. It was a late night.

David Turns 32

The second of the historic west coast blackouts of 1996 occurred today, rendering grocery shopping difficult, transit unpleasant, and driving damn near impossible. The non-functional ATMs were a special added blessing. Planet Hollywood had power, although the food took so long I think it was cooked over an open butane lighter (but loved that Cap’n Crunch chicken…)

The birthday bash was…well…low-key. Let’s just say there’s lotsa beer and munchies left. That’s what David gets for planning a party at 5AM on Friday and sucking dick in an alley when he should’ve been out inviting. Jeff managed a little fun at My Place while smoking unknown subsatnces which made him dizzy. Derik was not at all pleased with the country music at the Lone Star (nor was David). After five minutes and one beer, Jeff had had enough too.

Derik and David went home (Derik being a wee tad fatigued) while Jeff trudged to Blow Buddies again: “more peering than action, but the peering was good!”. Extra points to the completely hairless boy in the jail cell (at Blow Buddies, not a real jail like where Jeff spent David’s 29th birthday).

David, being a discreet sort, will reveal no further details of his evening…

Jeff Visits, Part 2

Sleeping continued on until 1PM or so, at which time Jeff was introduced to the joys of real Mexican food in the Mission. A little thrift shopping followed, and then there was Baskin Robbins, a drive through the hills, and a trip to one severely foggy Ocean Beach. Dan and Jeff went to dinner at Tad’s Steaks while David stayed home and wrote HTML. David had arranged a late date in an alley at 2AM (it was well worth the wait). Jeff hit the local bars, occsionally bumping into David and the date. After a couple of beers at home, Jeff hit Blow Buddies (final score 12 encounters) and David planned a last-minute birthday bash.

Jeff Visits, Part 1

  

For my 32nd bithday weekend, I was treated to a visit by one of my best friends on the planet, Jeff Rainey from Greensboro.

Jeff showed up at a little after 2PM, on the only USAir flight in history ever to arrive early. There was shopping and boy-watching in Union Square, followed by afternoon nap time. The evening was filled with David’s excursion to the laundromat (Mr. Excitement strikes again!). Then off to the bars of Planet SOMA, where Jeff was introduced to all of David’s freak friends, and was treated to a bit of anonymous oral sex in the back of My Place. In the end, Jeff slept, and David and Tony didn’t (much).

Rules to cruise by

Queers from all over the world visit San Francisco to experience a place where they can be (if only temporarily) honest and open about their sexuality. I remember being really thrilled the first time I walked through the Castro and saw the parade of fags, holding hands, kissing in public, in short, “flaunting” their sexulaity in ways that heterosexuals do and take for granted every single day.

There’s sort of an art to living in — or visiting — San Francisco to reach one’s maximum queer potential. There’s a place for everyone here; non-conformity is the norm, so you most likely will meet someone who shared your interests in some way, no matter how offbeat.

A few rules to live by:

In San Francisco, as in other major cities, there is a distinction between gay bars and gay clubs. Bars generally do not charge a cover and do not permit dancing. Clubs charge ridiculous covers, and outrageous drink prices, but if you wanna dance, you cope.

There are a few specific gay neighborhoods. South of Market (a/k/a Planet SOMA) may be the most diverse in terms of bar/club crowds. It’s definitely my favorite; I rarely venture anywhere else. The Castro has become more of a commercialized retail strip in recent years, a sort of Gay Dineyland (picture “Main Street USA”) aimed at tourists, but it’s worth a brief visit. Polk Street is definitely interesting if a bit scary on occasion.

Just because people are gay doesn’t mean they’re nice. Sorry, but it’s true. San Francisco is a big city and the gay population has its share of freaks. BE CAREFUL! There is a major substance abuse problem here (specifically that means speed and variants) which make some people downright mean and untrustworthy. Cruising can be dangerous: know your surroundings and remember that bringing a friend along is safer and can lead to interesting group gropes.

Safer sex is your responsibility. Many people here avoid it these days, whether it’s due to a sense of hopelessness or (more likely) the subsatnce abuse problems mentioned above. INSIST ON IT! It is estimated that upto half (or more) of all gay men in San Francisco are HIV-positive. Remember your odds (and don’t add to the poz population).

Drinking and driving is a really STUPID thing to do here, especially given the fact that you’re only about six bucks from anywhere by cab or twenty minutes on foot.

Yuppie career networking is frowned upon in pickup bars. Your job is not your life. Take a break from it when you go out.

In sex clubs and other places, NO MEANS NO. Be aggressive, but do not be pushy or continue pursuing a trick which just ain’t gonna happen.

The service areas in bars are for people buying drinks, not for socializing. Blocking them will get you a hard shove in most South of Market bars.

Bars have to stop serving and kick you out at 2AM; do not give the staff a hard time. The sidewalk in front will be more interesting than staying inside anyway.

[Recreated from my earliest surviving site archive.]

Folsom Street: The Miracle Mile

But I thought Wilshire Blvd. in Beverly Hills was the “Miracle Mile”…

Well, dream on. If that’s your cup of tea then you’re probably from L.A. anyway and you should probably be lurking in the Castro. For those of us in the know, it’s all about Folsom Street. It was originally nicknamed “the Miracle Mile” in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s due to the number of gay bars, bathhouses, and convenient alleys in the area from about Fifth Street to about Fourteenth Street.

This area was the center of San Francisco’s leather community then, and lots of people thought the area was downright dangerous. Fortunately, a good number of confirmed Castro types still do.

Planet SOMA has changed a lot since those days. There’s still a large leather presence here, but there is also a collection of nightspots amazing in their diversity. There’s a token heterosexual enclave on Eleventh Street, despite the presence of V/SF, the newest queer club on the block. There’s also a plethora of tecno-rave-tweaker clubs east of Seventh Street including the legendary EndUp (where Michael Tolliver won the jockey shorts contest in “Tales of the City”). Remember that club kids rarely breed out of species (if at all, given the effect of speed on the erectile system) so cruise at your own risk.

Best of all, there’s my own “Miracle Mile” which centers on the intersection of Folsom and Eighth. What can I say…I’m a bar boy, not a klub kid.

From here, you can continue studying bars or visit my cool list of sleazy sex zones.

South of Market Bar Guide (Early 1996)

Hole in the Wall Saloon (Eighth at Folsom)
Still rockin’; do not count on hearing house or techno here (thank God!). As one who was there opening night in 1994, I can honestly say it ain’t the same uncrowded little bar it once was. My love affair with the place is more off and on lately. I keep walking in on weekend nights and saying to myself “It’s happened…this bar has become the Detour” (albeit with better music). But the music is still the best.

Crowd ranges from young trendoid hipster tweakers to older bikers to career alcoholics to the occasional frightened sweater queen cowering in a corner. Unfortunately, the “look at how fabulously trendy I am” types, who really don’t get the concept are getting too prevalent. It’s a sad thing. For two years I’ve raved about this being the best bar in the city, and it still pretty much is. Recommended: weeknights and Sunday afternoon/early evening.

Opens at 6AM on weekends (including, of course, Friday and Monday).

My Place (Folsom near Eighth)
Given the crowd problems noted above, My Place is once again becoming a watering hole of choice. This spot used to be the Ramrod many years back. From what I hear, it’s not much different, despite a couple of fires and a variety of shutdowns based on what tends to go on in the back corners at times.

An absolute sleaze pit; you WILL be accosted at the urinal. Dark, cruisy, usually rotten music, and sometimes smelly. Emphasis here is on cheap sex. I LOVE IT! Sometimes the back “patio” is open. Crowd skews old, but there are usually some youngsters looking for action too. Cheap beer on Sunday nights. Look for a re-creation of the famous Chuck Arnett mural from the Tool Box, as well as an original Boot Camp sign.

Full moon parties allow you to drink cheap when the lunar cycle is right.

The Eagle (Twelfth at Harrison)
Why do leather bars insist on playing retread disco that sucked to begin with? The Eagle is popular on Saturday nights, has a well-known Sunday beer bust, and is (I guess) an institution. I hate and avoid it.

The Stud (Harrison at Ninth)
The Stud keeps trying to re-invent itself. I’m not really up on whether or not it’s succeeded on this last round. It doesn’t look like a steak house inside anymore. They still have that “preppies from the suburbs” beer bust on Wednesday nights. A recent Sunday “retro 80’s” night had a pretty large and decorative (if a little too well-scrubbed) crowd. I hear Thursdays (“White Trash”) are trying to reinvent the queer punk free for all they once were (during “Junk”). They may succeed, but I’m starting not to care. The Stud’s original location was on Folsom St.; the Arena preceded the Stud at Ninth and Folsom.

PowerHouse (Folsom between Ninth and Tenth)
OK, my honest opinion: what a tremendous waste of perhaps the best bar space on Folsom Street. More or less a leather bar, but it doesn’t quite seem to have found its niche yet. Rolling Rock is $2.75 (I’m appalled). Music: bleachhh. On Thursday, this is the spot for SissyBar, which has promise, but is suffering from a slightly schizophrenic music mix and too many pretentious “look at how pierced and trendy I am” types. I’m not a big fan, although I’ve had interesting nights there. The space is has housed many bars in the past, including the No-name, Cow Palace, and the Brig.

The Lone Star (Harrison between Ninth and Tenth)
Emphasis: bears and rock and roll. This was the first bar I entered the first time I visited San Francisco way back in those tumultuous early 1990’s, and I was amazed! Incidentally, this bar was also the site of the conception of Hole in the Wall Saloon mentioned above. Excellent patio. Good place.

The Rawhide (Seventh near Folsom)
Country music. Line dancing. This is what I moved to San Francisco to get away from. Lots of flags and mounted animal heads and stabs at “on your sleeve” patriotism. I met a cool English guy there once; we started talking because we were both bored and scared. We left.

[Recreated from my earliest surviving site archive.]