Favorite Forks and Regular Guys

I have a favorite fork. You underprivileged souls with nicely matching silverware sets might find that concept a little foreign. I understand. It would be quite difficult to have a favorite fork when all your forks look alike.

My silverware, though, is — well, let’s call it “eclectic”. It’s been acquired through trips to various thrift stores. None of it is particularly noteworthy, with the exception of one set, of which I have about three settings. All the pieces have little sputniks on them. I love little sputniks; I even have saucers with little sputniks.

I have a favorite spoon, too. It’s an ice cream parlor spoon, so it’s bigger than usual. It’s great for cereal. Do you have a favorite fork or a favorite spoon?

Do you think these regular guys do?

Interesting site that last one, huh? Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s great that they have a group dedicated to sports and “guy stuff”. But my god, could they use the word “masculine” a few more times? Sounds a little like a penis size contest to me, although they make it clear the group is not at all about sex.

I’m not into sports, and therefore I guess I’m not masculine. But that’s OK. It’s not something I really aspire to anyway. I think, though, that if I were forming a group of my fellow sodomites who were into sports, I’d refer to it as “a group of sodomites who are into sports”, rather than a group of “masculine men”. I guess all the sissy sports fans I’ve known wouldn’t be welcome.

Nor would I. And that’s OK too. Trust me on this one.

Non-masculine things I’ve done today:

  • Yelled “where’s my damned trivet” while cooking dinner.
  • Crossed my legs in the unmanly knee over knee fashion.
  • Admitted publicly (in front of, gasp, women and heterosexuals) that, until last night’s news, I didn’t even know that Tennessee HAD a pro football team.
  • Addressed two of my houseplants by name.
  • Discussed my silverware online.

No, I don’t fear “masculinity” because it’s “threatening”. I fear it because I have no earthly idea what it’s supposed to be (and I don’t particularly care).

Four Years of Planet SOMA

I was chain-smoking and developing a mild headache four years ago today, as I finished and uploaded the very first version of Planet SOMA. It was a simple little site and I had no idea that it would grow into such a life-altering monster.

Sentimental fool or just full of myself? You be the judge…

Unrelated to the anniversary:

I had the disturbing realization that I’ve now lived in California long enough that I’ve started silently correcting news reporters when they mispronounce place names. Not just San Francisco names, but statewide. Of course, I was named an “honorary native” by an actual one over six years ago. I’m not sure if any special privileges are associated with said honor.

Speaking of states I’ve lived in, I’m embarrassed to admit that South Carolina is one, although I only spent four months there. Come on people, give up the friggin’ rebel flag. If it’s such a goddamn symbol of “historical pride” or whatever, why did take the Civil Rights demonstrations of the 1960s to get it flown atop the state capitol?

It’s a symbol, all right, but it doesn’t have a damned thing to do with history. If it doesn’t come down soon, I want a refund of my state income tax from 1986, please. With interest.

That said, I’ll be spending the rest of the evening laboriously planning the next four years of Planet SOMA. Unless there’s something good on TV…

Bland, Slimy, and Annoying

Why is it that every time I see or hear the disposable sounds of the Grammy-nominated Backstreet Boys, I get this uncontrollable craving for a big ol’ mayonnaise and Velveeta sandwich on white bread? Has anyone else had this problem?

While I’m at it, does anyone else find this whole boy band thing to be a big insult to such classic boy bands as the Osmonds or New Kids on the Block? And has anyone else accidentally caught Joey McIntyre on one of his recent VH-1/MTV guest appearances and wondered at what a slimewad he seems to have become?

Speaking of slimewads, has anyone visited Cybersocket lately? I don’t recommend it; it’s a stupid publication with an ugly website. Even better, it features misleading descriptions of sites. Holy Titclamps, for example, is a “celebrity gossip” site while Planet SOMA is a big promoter of “queer culture”. I love the way that professional homosexuals try to re-work the universe to fit their narrow view thereof. If anything, my site’s function is to convince the world what a complete crock of shit the idea of “queer culture” is.

The above would be worth a brief chuckle if these assholes also didn’t keep spamming me (six messages yesterday) and telling me it wasn’t spam because I’d signed up for their “mailing list” Of course, this is bullshit, since the spam comes to specific addresses they harvested from my site and don’t use otherwise. It’s idiots like these who are responsible for the fact that I don’t have direct email links on the site anymore.

Other things I hate today, dammit:

  • All versions of Microsloth Word released after version 5.1 for Mac in 1992. It’s been downhill ever since for this increasingly bloated piece of crap which now does just about everything badly, except for word processing, which it barely seems to do at all.
  • A 15% price increase on Sausage McMuffins.
  • Radio stations with formats like “smooth jazz”, “new country”, and “the hits of the 70s and 80s with no rap, metal, or spontaneity”. OK, I made up the “spontaneity” part.
  • Those stupid “people do” Chevron commercials (still).

Links du jour:

Log Cabin Idiots

November’s “Idiot of the Month” award is proudly offered to Rich Tafel and his pals in the Log Cabin Republican Club. Granted, this team of faggots would be shoo-in candidates for idiots of the DECADE. But they’ve made particular asses of themselves this month by courting George W. Bush and then expressing shock that he wasn’t interested in their advances.

Imagine that: a Republican candidate for President wasn’t interested in meeting with a group of sell-out gay Republicans. What a surprise. When will Rich and his merry band of Aunt Marys ever realize that the Republicans they so idolize would be thrilled if these particular suitors disappeared from the face of the earth.

The Log Cabin types remind me of gay men who spend their entire lives chasing after totally unobtainable straight macho men. They’re absolutely nuts about individuals who (by and large) feel nothing but contempt for them. If they’re drunk enough, they might let a fag suck them off, but they’re never going to return the favor, and they’re certainly never going to take one home to meet Mom.

Same with the Republicans: they may take money and support as long as the fags don’t expect any acknowledgement or support. Bush, has indeed stated that, while not agreeing to meet with them, he WOULD accept a donation or endorsement from the Log Cabin Club, thus qualifying him for the “Hypocrite of the Month” award. The really frightening thing is that, as the Republican front-runner, Bush probably will ultimately receieve an endorsement.

Or maybe the Log Cabin Republicans can all join the Reform Party and bend over for Pat Buchanan in a back room at the convention. Hope they don’t plan on getting near the podium, though…

Gay Gay Gay Gay Gay

I’ll start by saying that I’ve grown to hate the word “gay”. I really don’t want to get into the semantics issue of “gay” vs. “queer” (or “invert” or “homphile” or whatever). My problem with “gay” is that it suggests an identity rather than a sexual orientation, and I ain’t buying into it.

I sleep with other men. I eat cereal. I drive a Toyota. I watch “The Simpsons”. I go to the grocery store. Big deal. These are things that I do. Taken together, they may speak volumes about my identity. Individually, however, they mean nothing much at all. I have nothing more (or less) in common with other men who sleep with men than I do with other men who drive Toyotas.

This is not to say that I have nothing at all in common with any of my fellow fudgepackers, or that I’m somehow “different” or “more unique” or “more developed”. It just means that my search for “community” is based more on shared interests than on shared sexual orientation. In other words, I’d rather spend an evening talking to someone who shares my love for urban theory and history or Krispy Kreme Doughnuts or roadside motels from the 1950s than with someone whose only common interest is a shared passion for sucking dick.

If someone I meet whose interests match mine happens to be straight or even (gasp) a woman, that’s just fine. If, on the other hand, he happens to be a man who likes to screw men, then we have one more thing in common. Cool, huh?

I guess what I mean is that some vague notion of “gay community” is not number one on my list of priorities in a place to visit or to live. Similarly, sexual orientation is not one of the top aspects in my choice of friends. Years ago, these things used to be very important to me, which is part of why I moved to San Francisco. I can sort of understand why they still might be important to some other people. But the older I get, the less I view the world in terms of sexuality.

I’m not talking about faux masculinity, nor am I saying that people shouldn’t “flaunt their sexuality”. I have no patience with closet cases nor with tight-assed macho men (whether they like men or women). I’m in favor of “flaunting”. I’m just not in favor of the notion that sexual orientation makes for any more of a “community” than does an aversion to pickles on hamburgers.

I’m not going to sit through a crappy movie rather than a good one just because the crappy movie happens to have a “positively portrayed gay character”. I’m not going to buy a CD by a band which sucks just because dicks are one of the things they suck. And I’m most assuredly not going to live in a pastel-colored neighborhood of overpriced boutiques and juice bars simply because it’s a “gay mecca”.

Nor, on the other hand, am I going to assume something is bad just because a fellow Sodomite was involved somehow. I don’t hate “gay people”. I do hate people who think being “gay” is the most important single aspect of their identity, because they become one-dimensional and boring.

Ultimately, though, if I had to choose between living in a town with 20 great gay bars and a huge gay ghetto or one with 20 great used bookstores and a few huge run-down neighborhoods, I’d choose the latter without blinking an eye.

Drive Me Crazy

Why has everyone in San Francisco suddenly forgotten how to drive?

When I first moved here, I was amazed at how smoothly traffic flowed in San Francisco. Sure, it was congested and there was too much of it even then, btu people coped with it well. Dan and I used to discuss it regularly. It was as if everyone had agreed to make the best of an impossible situation and made a conscious decision to behave in a civilized manner.

Seems they’ve given up on these lofty goals. It’s as if the booming economy, high rents, and corporate phallic symbols downtown have finally given drivers that New York state of mind. Here in the capitol of mellow touchy-feeliness, driving has become the only acceptable outlet for expressing one’s inner asshole.

And boy are there some expressive individuals out there! There is a special place in hell reserved for those of you who do the following:

  • Pull out in front of me while babbling in a cell phone and them get pissed off (or laugh) when I hit the horn.
  • Cut in front of me and then come to a dead stop.
  • Ride my ass at any time, but especially when I’m already going five miles above the speed limit.
  • Slam on your breaks mid-block in order to make a left turn from the right lane. Keep in mind that you’re only a block away from someplace to turn around, asshole.
  • Pass on the right while driving down the 280 even when (a) I’m doing 80 and (b) there’s plenty of space to pass on the left, where you’re SUPPOSED to do it.
  • Park your 20-foot tall urban assault vehicle right at a corner obstructing all views of oncoming traffic.
  • Blow your horn while in gridlocked traffic. Just who the fuck do you think you are? Moses parting the Red Sea? What effect do you think you’re having? Were you born an idiot?
  • Assume that left turns on red must be illegal here simply because they have no one-way streets back in Armpit, Iowa or wherever the hell you moved here from.
  • Try to find your way back to the freeway to Walnut Creek after having two beers too many at Julie’s or your favorite fratboy bar the Marina (or the Castro).
  • Think that being able to afford that BMW (or Lexus or Mercedes) makes up for your lack of driving skills.

A few warning signs pointing to the potential of bad drivers ahead:

  • Folsom Street on Saturday night. I don’t know where these idiots come from (I’m guessing Contra Costa and Marin) but I wish they’d go back.
  • Cabs. They will invariably drive both aggressively and badly. Given a similar job, I might behave the same way.
  • Limos. Sort of like cabs, but they’re bigger and more likely to get in the way. They’re also usually full of drunk idiots making repeated stupid requests of the driver.
  • Volvos. Another given. Almost without fail, Volvo drivers are indecisive and prone to occasional bouts of complete idiocy.
  • Bumper stickers. The more “statements”, the worse the driver. One exception, oddly enough, seems to be stickers promoting bands.
  • Any car costing more than about $50,000. Anyone self-obsessed enough to spend this much on a car is unlikely to be particularly civic-minded behind the wheel. Call this a generalization. I don’t care.
  • Teenage males. Without question, the worst drivers on the road, especially those 30-year-old teenagers in overpriced cars.

Glad to get that off my chest. I’ll wait until next week before taking on car alarms again…

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.

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.

Avoiding Pride

For a few minutes this morning, I seriously thought about making signs and marching in the “people with labels” parade. Some possibilities I considered:

  • Proud of Our Internalized Homophobia
  • Acronym Power!
  • Transgendered Lesbian Caregivers To Supportive Straight People Living With Bad Credit

I figured I could find at least one or two people to march with. Maybe it’s best I skipped the whole thing, though. As originally planned, I didn’t even go to the damned parade and I still managed to be annoyed by it on three separate occasions this weekend.

On Saturday, I was at the library doing a bit of research for an upcoming project. My cubbyhole was apparently directly above “Thumping Disco-schlock Stage #3”. Concentration was not enhanced.

On Sunday, I had to change plans twice, the first casualty being some errands in the ‘burbs requiring my car. I was afraid to leave the house, fearing I’d probably have to park in Oakland when I returned. Apparently, the parade route has changed and my neighborhood has become the unoffical parking lot for all the idiots who were too stupid to walk or take transit to the parade.

So I decided to walk back to the library instead. It was closed, due to the very self-same parade. I muttered and bitched as I walked through the outskirts of the “festivities” and the several hundred thousand proud gay men (all of whom seemed to have purchased identical white tank tops for the occasion) and set out on one of my long walks instead.

All in all, not a bad day. My hike took me through the Tenderloin, the Western Addition, the Haight, and the Mission. I took great pictures. I remembered my sunblock this time. I even sweated a little. And I only got panhandled six times in four-plus hours.

Exosphere is today’s “link du jour”. You gotta love a site where the first sentence reads “This site has typos. Deal.”