Category: North Carolina

Randomly Friday

Random babbling on a Friday morning:

  • To the cute guy who kept glancing at me at Wendy’s on Pine Street yesterday: please contact me and tell me if you were interested in doing the nasty or just thought I was some kind of freak. Thanks. By the way, your jeans fit quite nicely…

Other random thoughts for a Friday morning:

  • They tore down the giant neon Canadian Club sign by the freeway a few blocks from my house. I didn’t hear a word about it until I read it had already been done in Scott Ostler’s column. San Francisco is now one step close to becoming Walnut Creek. I imagine the 17 Reasons sign on Mission Street is next.
  • Someone appears to have torched another live/work project under construction South of Market. Note to idiot: there are better ways to express your opposition. It doesn’t do much good to “save the neighborhood” if, in tyhe process, you risk burning out the very people you’re trying to save.
  • Thanks to Becky for this article on the virues on livermush (which is NOT the same as liver pudding, even though I do come from east of the Yadkin River)
  • A new selection in the “give me a fucking break” department.
  • Cry me a river. Goodbye, Julie London.
  • A site after my own heart.

It’s back to the Poseidon Adventure on AMC for me now. I may hop over to Boardboys too, where chapter three of my first published porn story premieres today. But I already know how both of them end, so I might just go for a walk instead…

Randomly Thursday

I feel a little dirty. I accidentally landed on Big Brother tonight while changing channels during a commercial. I saw about thirty seconds of it before I could get back to “King of the Hill”. Now I can no longer say (with a nice blend of smugness and haughtiness) that I missed all the stupid reality shows of the summer of 2000.

More stuff I could do without this week:

  • The current SF weather. It’s not all that terribly hot during the day (although it’s hotter than I like), but it’s also not cooling down at night like it should. I am not amused. I am also not sleeping.
  • The “Facts of Life” marathon on Nick-at-Nite.
  • Bad news about a friend I haven’t talked to in very many years.

Better news: my mom’s coming for a visit in a few weeks. I actually have room for her to stay here now, so I get a full-week visit. I probably won’t take her to the corner sex bar, but it should be fun anyway.

And now for an ethical question (gosh, aren’t we jumping around today?):

Supposing you used to have regular trysts with someone in a tearoom when you were in college. Supposing you had an awful lot of fun together on many occasions, even shared many of the same fetishes, and even made a little video together with your Fisher-Price camcorder. Even though you visited each other’s houses a couple of times, you didn’t officially know each other’s names. It was a tearoom thing, after all.

But supposing you (that would be me) really did know the guy’s name and just happened to do a Google search and find that he’s currently working as a college professor and thus has a very available email address. You’re sure it’s him (there’s a picture).

Do you contact him, offering to send him a copy of the video you promised him ten years ago and telling him you wouldn’t mind making another one the next time you happen to be in the same state?

What would Miss Manners say?

Commercial Archaeology

Thanks to Chuck in Columbia (who has some bitchin’ pictures on his site), I’ve now realized that I wasn’t smoking crack as a child and dreaming that Hardee’s restaurants used to look like this:

I’ve searched years for someone who remembered this particular design. There couldn’t have been many built because no one seems to remember them. Imagine my surprise when Chuck casually mentioned a “a pagoda-shaped Hardee’s” in Columbia. Of course, he had other things to say too, but this was a 20-year obsession.

My friends know my much-indulged hobby is commercial archaeology, or the unearthing of former chain-store prototypes, motels, fast food joints, etc. My supermarket fixation is only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve also been known to engage in such fascinating games as “find the former Sears” and “White Castle or White Tower”. Despite this fact, a few stout-hearted individuals are still willing to ride in a car with me.

The Hardee’s pagoda was one of the first warnings about my future hobby, way back when I was still in high school. Even then I’d ask people if they remembered that weird-looking Hardee’s on Battleground Avenue in Greensboro. I now know I wasn’t making it up. I am much relieved.

Hamburger Square

The last seedy hotel in Hamburger Square closed this week.

Hamburger Square was the closest thing to a skid row that Greensboro, North Carolina ever had. It got its name from two cheap diners, Jim’s Lunch and the California Sandwich Shop, which faced off on opposite sides of Elm and McGee for decades. This was the part of town where the few local drifters and winos lived. Until I was about 25, it was the only place in Greensboro I’d ever been panhandled.

I was always sort of drawn to the area, even as a kid. I liked the buildings and the seediness and the newsstand (with adult bookstore in the back) where I bought comic books and my dad bought the Washington Post. I liked the scary-looking people on the sidewalks and the railroad tracks and the old A&P. We lived in the suburbs, but I always begged to come along for rides downtown. I always wanted to eat in one of those divey old diners too. I never got the chance. This may be a good thing.

My great grandfather (who died about 20 years before I was born) had operated one of the hotels in the 1930s. It was pretty much a brothel, as its residents were largely prostitutes. I imagine my rather austere great grandmother was not amused at the thought of living there, but that’s how things were back then

My mom lived there for a few years as a little girl too. She used to be just a little embarrassed by it, but I think it now gives her just a little pride. We managed to get inside once when I was about 16 (with permission) and I took some great pictures.

My great grandfather’s old hotel is now a restaurant. The other buildings in Hamburger Square are being renovated one by one as expensive apartments, retail spaces, and restaurants. In Greensboro, a city which has bulldozed a disturbing amount of its past, this is probably a good thing, if only because it saves some great buildings.

But I sure do miss what Hamburger Square used to be. And I still find myself looking for it in just about every city I visit.

Credit, Dinner, Etc.

Seems I have good credit again, judging from the numerous pre-approved triple-platinum credit card offers I’m receiving lately. I guess that’s a good thing…

I don’t use credit cards much anymore, having learned a relatively painful series of lessons about them in my early twenties. Of course, you know what they say about the 1980s: if you didn’t have credit card problems, you weren’t really there. Now I just hold a few low-limit ones for car rentals, etc., and try to pay cash whenever possible.

Trust me: it’s better this way.

Had dinner in Oakland last night with Matthew (who’s leaving): meat loaf, macaroni and cheese, and creamed spinach at the Red Tractor Cafe, followed by a quick beer at the Bay Area’s oldest continuously-operating queer bar, the White Horse.

Had I closed my eyes for a minute, I would have sworn I was in Greensboro at the Palms. The place was so very NOT San Francisco. To start with, there were girls and boys in the very same queer bar. Imagine that. And many of them were actually smiling and looking as if they were enjoying being there. There were no fashion victims, no chemical catastrophes, and no one was on a cell phone. It was great, if a bit perky for my tastes.

Of course, there was no one having sex in a back room either, but there are always tradeoffs, I guess.

Tonight? Baked chicken for dinner, followed by a little TV, and maybe later an attempt at sex in a back room (or maybe even at home). After that, I’ll try to get all the sleep I missed last night as I kep thinking “one more chapter and I’ll go to bed.”

A Drinking Life

I hardly ever drink anymore and I’m glad. I was never really what you’d call an alcoholic anyway, but I used to drink a lot and there were times when it was a bit problematic. So maybe “drinking problem” would have been the correct term.

The first time was on New Years Even 1979-80. There were disastrous results. All of 1980 was a little disastrous now that I think about it. I didn’t drink much after that until I started going to queer bars at 19.

When I was in my twenties, it was not unusual for me to drink a 12-pack over the course of a evening and then drive home from wherever I happened to be. I’d have beers before going out, beers while I was out, and more when I got home. At last call, the normal procedure was to get two or three beers to last through that “generous” half-hour North Carolina bars give you to finish up.

Sometimes my friends and I would drive an hour and a half to Raleigh or Charlotte, drinking all the way in the car. We’d hit two or three bars and then drive home, maybe even having one or two more in the car on the way back. We never much thought anything about it. One night, a friend and I even drove to Myrtle Beach (a good 200 miles away) after last call, spent the day there, went out drinking that night, and drove home afterward for a grand total of 48 hours awake. It’s a miracle I made it to 30 alive and without a DUI.

It just seemed natural in those days to start drinking at 10 and continue as late as possible. I couldn’t imagine a party or a night out without lots of beer. I drank a lot at home too. I’d get drunk to make a tape or just get drunk to get drunk. Then I’d wake up the next morning and go to work, albeit with a bit of a headache.

Even into my thirties I could still pull a pretty serious drunk now and then, although living two blocks from my favorite bars at least kept me out of the car. There were the occasional weekends when my roomie and I would stay up all night and hit the Watering Hole or the End-up at 6AM. I spent many other weekends walking around drunk and in circles at sex clubs until I finally got bored with that.

The one day a year or two back, I realized I don’t drink much anymore. I haven’t really drunk at home in several years, and I can’t manage more than a couple of beers on my rare nights out either, unless I’m prepared to feel like I’m going to die the next morning. The thought of drinking and driving terrifies me.

In a way, I sort of miss it sometimes. But then I get my senses back, see how much weight I’ve lost and how much less stupid I act, and I get over it…

God Hates Web Designers

Krispy Kreme opens Tuesday night. I haven’t been quite this excited since I finally found fried okra in San Mateo a couple of months ago. Of course, several friends and I will be there tonight for some grand opening doughnuts. I thought about making this an officially-sanctioned Planet SOMA Non-event™, but I’m not sure exactly what time we’ll be there, so maybe not…

That said, maybe it IS time for another Planet SOMA Non-event™. The birthday thing was kind of fun, and I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Perhaps we could invade the Doggie Diner, or maybe the spacious and often-empty hoffbrau in Daly City. I’m thinking about Saturday 22 April as a potential date, using Jeff’s birthday’s an excuse. Of course, he’ll be in Greensboro at the time, but I think he’d want us to celebrate all the same. Thoughts welcome.

If you’re having trouble reading this, so am I…

We were speaking of inept web design a couple of days back. A case in point would be the piece of crap known as godhatesfags.com. You’d think these idiots would want as many people as possible to read their babbling, but badly-written stylesheets render much of the site illegible on a Mac at 832×624. I could only imagine it’s worse at a higher resolution. I guess ignorant wannabe Christians have a propensity toward ignorant wannabe web designers.

Maybe God hates screen fonts larger than 8-point too…

Time for The Brady Bunch. I’m not sure if it has God’s seal of approval or not, but at least you can read the credits.

Randomly Sunday

Only 16 days until Krispy Kreme arrives in the Bay Area. I went by the new store in Union City yeaterday and supervised the construction for a few minutes. The “hot doughnuts now” sign is expected to be lit on 21 March, signalling a new world of North Carolina sanity only 30 miles or so from San Francisco. Let’s hope this grand innovatrion eventully makes its way into the city as well.

If we could just come up ith a couple of K&W Cafeterias now, I think California might be infinitely more bearable.

Random thoughts:

  • One more “William Shattner Sings the Classic Rock Hits Badly” commercial for Priceline.com might drive me over the edge and cause me to throw my TV through the window of the yuppie slum across the street. There’s “camp” and there’s “just plain stupid”. These spots are dangerously close to the latter.
  • I’m actually voluntarily going to the Castro this afternoon. Seems there’s a bit of a demonstration against Prop 22, featuring actual bands and everything. Aside from supporting the cause, it should be fun to see how the fluffy Castro boys react to actual electric guitars in their rainbow-encrusted midst. It should also be nice to think back about a time when the Castro was a social and political center rather than just a shopping center.
  • I’m excited that I’ve finally eaten at the Granada Cafe on Mission , satisfying a five-year craving. Dan, Jamie, and I ventured in Friday night. Odd little place: the food was passble, the salad dressing was frightening, and the bar was inspiring. It helped, of course, that there was also a banquet for a large amply-proportioned family in varying degrees of booze-induced disarray. They were definitely a colorful bunch, noisy, but generally good-natured. My only complaint would be that, from the aroma in the bathroom, they had a little problem with aim.
  • Happy news of the weekend: I think jeans which actually FIT may be slowly coming back into style, at least among those of legal age. This is quite refreshing after a decade of wondering if guys had suddenly started being born without asses.

The Family

They buried my uncle today in Greensboro. Of course, I wasn’t there. I feel sort of bad, but there was no way I could go east right now. This is the third time I’ve had an aunt or uncle die since I’ve lived in California. I haven’t been able to go home for a single funeral. The time and cost factors are just too prohibitive when you live 3000 miles from home.

I fear it will be a more frequent occurrence in the next few years. Each time there’s a death among my parents’ siblings or their spouses, I think about the fact that my parents are getting on in years too. They won’t be around forever, and I don’t want my last memories of them to revolve around phone calls and one single visit home every year.

I’d like to get to know my parents again before it’s too late.

It’s not as if we’re estranged or anything, and it’s not as if I’m expecting them to die anytime soon. We get along well and we talk often. But we can only maintain a superficial relationship via long distance and email. I want to watch TV with my dad and go shopping with my mom. I want to listen to stories and to go out to dinner with them and even to indulge in the occasional hug.

I’ve spent most of my life running. Running from my hometown and running from all the attention I got as an only child. I often felt that I needed to get as far away from home as possible in order to live my own life on my own terms. And all my life, I’ve kept things from them fearing more that they’d worry than that they’d dispprove or lecture.

Except, of course, in high school, when I was doing lots of rally stupid things so they WOULD notice and stop thinking of me as their “perfect little boy”. But that’s another story entirely…

I don’t feel that urge to run anymore (at least not from my parents). I have my own life, and I think it’s less dependent on geography. I’m not really planning on moving back to my hometown. I just don’ t particularly like it there, for a number of reasons. But I am planning to move a whole lot closer and to do it fairly soon.

I think I can go home now.

Maybe that’s why I had such a great time in Fresno this weekend. Or maybe not. Anyway, the promised “more details” will be coming soon, as will some pictures from the “Mary and Rhoda” hot dog feast Sarah and I had last night…

Minneapolis and the Season

The lady from the credits on the Mary Tyler Moore Show just died. Not Mary, mind you, but the lady behind her on Nicollet Avenue when she threw her hat in the air. Why do I care? Because I have this strange connection to Minneapolis and because I’ve been on that very corner, taking pictures while someone who wasn’t Mary threw his hat too.

Minneapolis was my very first online road trip, over three years ago. I went back last year. It has even been suggested (on more than one occasion) that I should consider migrating. At times over the past few years, it has seemed like everyone I knew either lived in the Twin Cities or was from there.

But damn, does it get cold in the winter…

Speaking of strange connections, Bill tells me that North Carolina-based Krispy Kreme Doughnuts broke ground on its first Bay Area location today. It’s a good 30 miles away (in Union City) but this is a sign that there may yet be hope for this pretentious yuppie paradise. If I remember correctly, Krispy Kreme just serves plain old coffee and refers to its sizes as “large” and “small”.

First Chia sighting of the season: a commercial for the Chia Herb Garden on UPN44 airing as I type. When my ex-roomie moved out, he left me in possession of a couple of unused 1993 models. Do they keep? Would it have helped if I’d frozen them? Is there a Chia Pet website? I don’t feel like looking, but there has to be (there is).

By the way, UPN44 gets the above link as revenge against the other (unnamed) Bay Area station which didn’t give me a job a few months back and also stopped running “The Streets of San Francisco”. Damn them.

Lastly, having now rambled back toward the subject of TV, may I state how disoriented I’m going to feel tomorrow morning when all the cable channels change in San Francisco?

I’ll stop now.