Category: Personal

When the World Saw My Weenie

 

So I was going to babble on about how annoying I find the term “wellness” and about the new Sony Metreon complex in my neighborhood. Feel free to read what I’d completed so far.

But that was before. Before the world saw my weenie.

Those damned folks at Nightcharm. They were so nice. They interviewed me. They reviewed my site. They even put me on the cover. And then they turned around and a published a still photo from a personal home video that Pamela Anderson, Tommy Lee, Brett Michaels, Dr. Laura Schlesinger, and I made in 1994.

It had been such a special and private moment between the five of us. Brett sang “Talk Dirty to Me”. Dr. Laura was behaving in a strangely non-bigoted fashion. Tommy was tied up so he couldn’t hit anyone. And the stories Pam told about those lifeguards!

And now, Nightcharm has ruined it all for me. I may never listen to Poison or watch “Baywatch” again. I may cry.

Is anyone buying this? I didn’t think so. Oh well. I stand exposed…

It’s kind of fun, actually…

The Great Smoke-free Experiment of 1999

I gave up smoking for fourteen hours today and lived to tell about it.

I’m not sure what possessed me. I’ve been thinking about it for several weeks. So I let myself run out of cigarettes last night. I then managed to get through most of the morning without one. I held out until about 11:30.

It was quite unpleasant, although not quite as bad as I might have expected. I may try it again some time. Maybe I’ll attempt an entire day soon.

I’ve been smoking for over twenty years. I started in junior high, where it caused some problems. Smoking was legal at high schools in Greensboro back then, and that’s where I got really hooked. I’ve never been particularly apologetic about smoking, although I’ve generally tried to be considerate about it. I draw the line, though, in my own home or car, or in bars.

I also draw the line here at Planet SOMA. I’d like to think that if I were to quit smoking, I’d never become a self-righteous asshole like this guy who had the audacity to tell me not to feature pictures of myself smoking on the site.

Anyway, given my chemically-deprived state last night, I didn’t answer much email (I know…I promised…I’m sorry…) I’m not making any promises about tonight either. I also have not added my rally pictures. I may not do so. I fear the time has passed. All the same, feel free to browse the SF Weekly’s admission of responsibility…

Visit Soon

My car is now legal again. I was a little tardy in taking care of my smog check and registration. Please don’t ask me how tardy. All the same, I can once again drive without fear of persecution (or prosecution) now that, as they say, the check in the mail. Not that I really stopped driving anyway. I just stopped driving near cops.

At least there’s now an event which has displaced the final episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine as the most exciting moment of my week. If you think that’s sad, you should ask me about the runners-up.

Next week will be better. My friend Duncan from North Carolina will be visiting. One of the benefits (and trust me…there aren’t many…) of living in a business and convention destination is that sometimes your friends get to visit and they don’t even have to pay for it.

Duncan and I work well together. We used to do things like leaving the house headed for fast food places down the block and winding up 90 miles away in a cafeteria in another state. This was a fairly regular thing and never seemed too unusual. No telling where we’ll end up while he’s here. I haven’t been to Fresno lately…

The way I’m doing things lately, I may WALK there…

Note to Duncan: you need not feel compelled to go to Fresno…

Note to self: shut up and go to sleep…

East to West

Sunburned again. And it seemed so damned overcast when I started. I went on another one of those urban mega-hikes on Monday afternoon. This time, I accomplished something I’d never done before: I crossed the entire width of the city, from the bay to the ocean, on foot.

I didn’t really plan it this way. I just started walking. And I kept walking and walking. Past Union Square and the Civic Center and onward through the Western Addition projects. I crossed Divisadero, where the honey-baked ham store sits across the street from the Jewish mortuary. I wandered past the old Sears store at Geary and Masonic and into the Richmond District.

By the time I hit Green Apple Books at 6th and Clement, I knew I wasn’t going to stop until I hit the Pacific. And I didn’t. I finally came to rest atop a hill amidst the ruins of Adolph Sutro’s mansion overlooking the sea.

Then I got on a bus and came home. I’ve spent the rest of the evening recovering.

Why do I do this? Mainly, because I can. Having a walkable city is one of the biggest benefits associated with living in San Francisco, even for a diehard road tripper like myself. Long-distance walks allow you to see things you don’t notice from a car or a bus. Seemingly dull areas develop unexpected nuances and textures.

I recommend it, even though eight miles may be a bit much. Maybe it was jut frustration from not getting laid this weekend…

Come Join the People of AARP

I’ve been invited to join the AARP.

This is pretty amazing, considering that (a) the minimum age for membership is 50, and (b) the AARP were early pioneers in the use of invasive, privacy-compromising monster databases, and thus they should realize that I’m not even CLOSE to 50.

I’m torn. Should I lie about my age and send in my eight bucks, so I can get all those fabulous discounts at places like EconoLodge and Denny’s and Wal-Mart? Or should I just hang on to my invitation for fifteen years until I’m really eligible?

In an effort to stave off senility for a few hours, I took a really long walk on Sunday. When I say “long walk”, I mean a five or six mile mega-hike around the city, from China Basin to Chinatown, from the Financial District to Union Square. A couple of realizations in the process:

  • The Financial District is boring just about any day of the week and provides an unpleasant lull to any stroll.
  • A disturbing number of German tourists eat at the Burger King at Powell and Market.
  • An encouraging number of skateboarders still ignore the “no skateboarding” signs along the Embarcadero.
  • It’s damned difficult to find a Coke on certain streets in Chinatown.
  • A mildly sunburned scalp is a very unpleasant thing.

More exciting missives to come, I’m sure…

21 May 1999

My onions have sprouted.

I don’t know whether to be horrified or excited. It seemed to happen overnight. I bought a bag of onions, left them on the counter for a couple of days, and then, this morning, there were these green things shooting out the top. That’s what I get for keeping them out in the fertile ground my kitchen seems to have become.

Can I still use them? Or should I just plant them?

So all kinds of invites have arrived from people to hang out with in Seattle, assuming I can get off my butt and plan a trip there soon. Maybe around the 4th of July would be good: I’ve been informed that it ALWAYS rains then.

About this rain thing: long-timers know that I’m not really happy unless I get a couple of rainy (or at least overcast) days a week. The problem with San Francisco (and most of California) is that it just doesn’t rain AT ALL between roughly April and October. So by mid-May, I already miss it.

Soaking up sunshine is not among my favorite pastimes. Getting a tan? You gotta be kidding. Strangely enough, though, I have always fantasized about owning a convertible. Not just any convertible, but a 1966 Corvair convertible.

Completely unrelated: number one on the pop charts this week in 1966 was “Monday, Monday” by the Mamas and the Papas…

18 May 1999

Aaahh, Tuesday. Thanks to a lack of new and exciting sweeps programming on Fox, I get an extra primetime episode of The Simpsons, bringing the daily total to four. Heaven…

Sick…

So after threatening to get sick for a couple of weeks, I finally went ahead and did it this past weekend. It’s pretty much over now; I’ve arrived at the phlegm-purging phase now. Sorry if that was a little more detail than you were looking for.

Suffice to say I’m going through kleenex at an alarming rate. And lest there be trademark issues over the use of the term “kleenex”, let me make it clear that I am in fact using that particular product (Kleenex Cold Care with Lotion, to be specific) and not some other brand. This is not a paid testimonial.

Road…

This week I’m re-reading both “On the Road” by Jack Kerouac (in the bathroom) and “Mad Monks on the Road” by the Monks (in the bedroom). I sense a theme developing here. I haven’t spent any time out of the Bay Area since Christmas. I haven’t done a major road trip since last year’s second annual US Tour.

I need to be on the road. Soon.

I’m not talking about a huge road trip here; I prefer to do those in the fall. But Portland and Seattle are coming to mind. It’s been a couple of years. And my spies tell me it’s still raining in Portland. Yes, that’s a plus…

Link…

Link du jour, which might already have been a link du jour, is Nightcharm. It’s sort of a thinking man’s porn site. After all I really DID read “Playboy” for the articles when I was a kid. It’s not as if cared about the pictures…

On 1984

Fifteen years ago today was the day I realized I was falling hard. So began my first really big and heartbreaking case of unrequited love. The whole thing seems pretty trivial in retrospect, but at the time, I was a complete and total wreck. The three or four of you faithful readers who were there at the time will probably not dispute this.

Quickie version of the story: he was a friend who MIGHT have wanted to be more than a friend but, if so, he was unable to admit it. And I didn’t help the situation much with my own lack of honesty about my own feelings. And after many months of this drama, we actually got drunk and slept together. That was the beginning of the end.

Lest this sound like some cheesey “coming out” story, it’s not. We were both quite “out” at the time, thank you.

I have never been such a mess in my entire life. I couldn’t think of anything else. I let my entire life go to hell. I cried my eyes out weekly, and sometimes daily. I made my friends crazy with my depression and most of them never even knew what was causing it. I dropped out of school. I nearly dropped out of life, although not in a suicidal sort of way.

I often wonder if I EVER completely recovered from this one.

Since 1984, I’ve never let myself become so obsessed with anyone (although I have gotten moderately obsessed once or twice). This is probably a good thing, but I sometimes wonder if maybe I didn’t go a little too far in the opposite direction. I came out of it all perhaps a little less loving and giving and a little more selfish, particularly with respect to relationships.

Obviously I can’t blame every “negative” apsect of my life on this one failed romance. I was 19 years old; everything is a crisis by definition at at that age. But I did learn some frightening truths about myself from it. And this one coupling has affected every subsequent one at least in some ways.

1984 has some mighty tall and lingering shadows for me. All in all, I don’t much miss it…

The Best Way to Cure a Cold

Imagine you’re getting a cold. What are you going to do? Take the wimpy way out and stay in bed drinking lots of fluids? Or go on a boat in the middle of San Francisco Bay on a cold, wet, windy, foggy day?

Yer humble host chose the latter option. Does this qualify for me for the “tourguide of the year” award? Or should I just write an Idiot Factor column about myself? Oh well. Erik got good views of the bridge (from the underside) and I got good greens at Kelly’s. Plus it was my idea so I have only myself to blame.

So anyway, now I’m tired, I have a scratchy throat, and I’m turning my attention to Mother’s Day and other exciting May events, even though I can’t really think of any exciting May events right off hand.

Tomorrow, I may start catching up on the email, editorialize about efforts to reopen bathhouses in San Francisco, and maybe even name some of the plants. But tonight I’m going to watch cartoons and go to bed.

Sunday Nights

I hate Sunday nights.

Since I have to be up on at a reasonable hour on Monday mornings, I have to go to sleep at a reasonable hour on Sunday nights. And, of course, the minute I turn off the lights and try to go to sleep, I find myself wide awake and worrying. Worrying about everything I should have been dealing with during the day. Worrying about everything in my life which bothers me.

And there’s a lot bothering me…

I’m worried that I’m merely coasting along in life, not accomplishing much of anything on a personal or a professional level. I’m worried that I live in a pretty expensive apartment (by the standards of most of the country) in an outrageously expensive city and that I’m just one step ahead of the bills. I’m worried that I don’t seem to be doing much about this situation.

I’m worried that my parents are getting older and that their only son lives three thousand miles away and only sees them once a year or so. I’m worried that my relationship with my mom or my dad could end unexpectedly with one phone call in the middle of the night.

I’m worried that my bad habits may catch up with me soon. I’m worried about becoming a big fat slob. I’m worried that I don’t go out or hang out with friends like I used to, and that lately I can’t even manage the simple task of anwering email messages from people who went to the effort to compliment my site or whatever.

I’m worried that I function just fine on a day-to-day basis, but that the weeks pile up and I realize I haven’t really DONE much of anything. I haven’t found a purpose or a vocation in life. I haven’t bought new furniture for the apartment. I haven’t started than book I’m going to write nor that new program I’m going to learn. I haven’t fixed the sideview mirror of my car nor made those two phone calls to old friends I need to make. Et cetera.

I’ll wake up on Monday morning (in about six hours to be specific) and I’ll feel fine, if a bit sleepy. And the whole cycle will start over. Before I know it, another week will have passed.

And I’ll still hate Sunday nights. Sorry if this was a bit of a downer.