The Weird and wacky world of Rideshare

White man in bright sunlight

 

I traveled up to the North Country to spend some time with the Lando Bear.  For the record, the trip is pretty arduous even though I don’t drive it. We have been dating for almost a year and a half and we have been lucky to have seen each other every weekend since we met with only a few exceptions.  It took a while for me to figure out how to travel from San Francisco to the Shasta County area- being a non-driver and all. In the beginning, I looked toward Greyhound for the most economical option.  Greyhound stops in every teensy tiny California Town on its way up North. It takes about nine hours.  I decided that was not really a good option for me to spend a majority of the weekend traveling on a not-so-clean bus with a bunch of people that looked like they had all just gotten out of jail. With my history with bad boys ….well it would complicate things. I strive to a more simple way of life these days…really I do.

By car, a trip to Anderson Ca from the Bay Area runs approximately a little over 3 hours.  You travel through the Sacramento Valley which features many versions of a long hot bug splattering stretch of road through the valley.  Eventually you hit a bunch of orchards of almost any fruit or nut you can imagine. In the spring –the blossoms are beautiful. Since Orlando owns a car he comes down to see me far more than I go up to see him. I feel a certain amount of guilt, but one long night on Shawn’s Rideshare cures me of all that. Shawn’s Rideshare is my salvation and my bête noire.

First off –Shawn is a good guy-a great guy actually. He has a folksy amiability that makes you trust him immediately.  He is polite and thorough, which I imagine comes from his military background. He seems to truly enjoy working with people and has a genuine curiosity about who you are what your life is like.  Shawn lives in Ashland Oregon with his wife and kids and works in here in Mountain View Monday through Friday. Most locals recognize the horror of that 8 to 10 hour commute but Shawn saw it as a business opportunity.  Shawn was specifically designed to do this drive, because he never seems to exhibit fatigue or for that matter appear to require sleep. (I envy that! I think of all the plays I could write and essays and  cookbooks !) On Friday evening  Shawn picks up all sorts of people from all sorts of economic backgrounds and lifestyles from all over the Bay Area and charges us a mere $45 to cart us up through the Capitol Corridor. (Not sure if that’s what it’s called when you DRIVE  it, but when you ride Amtrak  that’s what it is called.) Then on Sunday evening he does the whole thing in reverse from Ashland. His service is quite incredible and has been a Godsend to me when I first found it. He formed it because he recognized the need for such a service.  I also suspect that the enterprising lad found the commute a bit lonely until he hit upon this idea. Truly he struck gold because the demand for transport up north for us non-driving types far exceeds supply. I’ve told you about the hell of navigating via Greyhound but Amtrak is  a slightly less hellish way to do it. You take a scenic short train ride to Sacramento and then transfer to their bus service. The busses are clean and spacious. However you do deal with a long bus ride. The shortest I have ever done it train and bus is 5 and a half hours, but it can take 7 hours depending on which time you depart. Sometimes there is an hour wait in Sacramento. It’s near Old Sacto but you probably won’t have enough time to explore it by foot. I don’t hate it too much because most times I have the whole bus to myself for a couple hours. Most all the passengers get off it at Chico since most of them are Chico State students. That’s when I will lay down,  stretching my legs to the seats across the aisle without fear of blocking someone’s trip to the bathroom.  September can be a little rowdy with students on board but it gets mellower as the year progresses.  With exception of the roar of the bus engines, I find the trip somewhat relaxing. I doze, listen to books on CD, watch movies on a portable DVD player and try to write. Writing is far more difficult because of all the jostling about. I have to write in long hand on a spiral ringed notebook because I do not own a lap top. The dull roar of the engines sometimes comes through my earphones and that can annoy me. I looked into noise canceling head phones but those weren’t a sensible purchase for someone on a debt diet.   After doing this infrequent weekend commute, I have devised a method where I take Amtrak up in the afternoon and arrive early evening in Redding then travel back to the Bay Area on Sunday via Shawn’s Rideshare. This enables the Lando Bear and I to spend the maximum amount of time together.  This makes him very happy. I do enjoy making the Lando Bear happy. 

At one point I was doing Shawn’s Rideshare round trip. This did not maximize Lando/PA nuzzle time.  I would leave the Bay Area around 8:30 and arrive at Orlando’s at midnight. Unlike my hirsute honey, I require a strict 8 hours of zzzzzs. He and Shawn are cut from the same cloth when it comes to sleeping. I am old and doze off at 10PM. Orlando can party all night without the use of chemicals, sleep a few hours and bounce out of bed and do his grueling Power 90X work out. That concept is boggling to me.

  One of the greatest services Shawn offers is also one of the biggest reasons the trip can take a long time: his door-to-door pickups and drop offs. My primary complaint is that the rest of the passengers don’t realize that they are living in MY WORLD. I get a little grouchy when I remind myself of this at 1:45 AM while Shawn patiently navigates through the hills and tiny side streets of San Francisco to drop off the OTHER passengers. Usually I am at the end of the aforementioned drop offs and it is agonizing to be so near to my lovely cushion-topped extra thick mattress yet so far. Many times I am tempted to have him drop me off in downtown SF so I can catch a cab but hey – you do the math.  A simple cab ride from downtown to my house costs half of what Shawn charges to drive me for 3 hours from Orlando’s front door to mine. Yes I sit it out. I have a survival kit: A lusty historical fiction with an Irish Lass who makes a go of it in the 19^th Century Tea business. My handi wipes that smell of Lavender and Chamomile, The Wordy Shipmates on CD by Sarah Vowell, My ipod, My travel pillow, and my Hall’s mango flavored mouth moistening lozenges with twice the moistening power.  Last night was easy. The two young men I wedged between weren’t smelly or grossly obese.( I have had some smelly encounters on the Rideshare so I also pack some natural scented bergamot and lavender water to spray as needed. It greatly helped a trip where a young man had accidentally gotten dog poop on his sneaker at the previous rest stop.) Regardless of my current rideshare buddie’s good hygiene,  the three of us were not comfortable being so close to one another. Closing my eyes and having my head accidently loll onto one of their shoulders was not an option.  I sat there rigidly for the next few hours listening to a movie I had seen with Lando last month that was playing on the small drop down screen in the van. I couldn’t even really doze. I put on my headphones and still had to listen to the movie whether I wanted to or not, because it was so loud and the screen hung directly in front of my face. Still I count my blessings on this trip and remember a previous one where there was a hippie who reeked of cigarettes and whiskey . He and I and a tiny quiet young woman had to squeeze in together cheek by jowl in the furthest smallest back seat together which really wasn’t designed for 3 people. Lucky me-I got the middle seat. He shifted and wriggled, tossing his braids about and grumbled the whole 5.5 hours, and to complicate things Shawn was doing drop offs  to Chico, somewhere outside of Sacramento, Berkeley and San Rafael before arriving to San Francisco. At every drop off the Hippie would leap from the car and greedily suck down a cigarette. This little scent sensitive cub had to endure the human ashtray the whole ride. My survival kit helped me endure it –last night’s ride was a piece of cake compared to that ride. Shawn’s rideshare is not suitable for people who don’t like to risk anything and cannot tolerate being uncomfortable for 4 or 5 hours. I once rode to Anderson jammed next to a lady in her 50s who said out of the side of her mouth to me in a low but declarative voice, “I am never doing this again.”  Since the options are few and far between, I suck it up and try to just go along for the ride.

Whiskey Town Lake

Lando does all the work

but he gets to play too

big cutie

Splash Lando Splash

Cutie Lando Bear

MMMMM Steak and Ice Cream

The Lando Bear has been feeling shorted lately because of the proliferation of his Bay Area trips. I think I manage to get up to his neck of the woods only once a month.  Heck we are both very tired of doing this trek. I can see that it’s not all that fun to sit in a car all by yourself for over 3 hours –sometimes longer due to loathsome traffic jams around the Sacramento area. What with the marriage storm whirling about us as we traverse each other’s personalities, and the strain of our arduous commutes,  we could both do with a lovely relaxing vacation….but that may not happen for a while yet. For now – we will appreciate those mini-vacations of a stroll through a fog ridden Golden Gate Park  and a lovely afternoon of kayaking and swimming in Whiskey Town Lake. Hopefully these little moments in time will solidify what’s already turning out to be a great relationship.

Tigga PLEASE !!! A night of a 1000 Show girls thanks to Peaches Christ

Saturday evening was a busy one for the Lando Bear and myself. We rushed down to the Castro to catch the Beerbust for the Intersection of the Arts at The Edge. Rodney Clay aka drag hostess with the mostest, “Rhoda” ran into us on Friday Night and told us about it as he hurriedly trying to deliver posters and then head home to make jello shots to sell at the Beer Bust. You see Rodney doesn’t only look like a pretty version of everyone’s Aunt or Cousin, he is also an accomplished playwright! Since I am the Bay Area Cub 2010 who supports all fundraising for all theaters, I felt it my duty to support them. I was also pleased to see that Rhoda was also hosting it with one of my Bearlesque Bears, Bo Hoshaw. As Lando and I dashed out to catch the Limo aka the 36 Teresita he asked why I wasn’t wearing my title vest. I said that I would rather be P.A. Cooley, local performer, then the Bay Area Cub tonight. I chose one of my favorite Graphic tees that was silver and black and a pair of washed-out faded jeans that I had inherited doing a One Act years ago. Rhoda mouthed a “Thank you” at me as we entered the Bar. We imbibed some Pabst Blue Ribbon and did a Jello shot and purchased raffle tickets. A quick shout out to all you people looking for a good place to host a fund raiser -I strongly suggest The Edge. Terry the Manager will definitely treat you right.
Alan Quismorio , artistic director of the Asian American Theater was also there because he kind of has his iron in several fires. Intersection of the Arts is one of his many fires. Alan and I had worked together in Ronnie Larson’s A Few Gay Men. (He played my wife, my Orthodox Jewish Wife, and mother of my four sons. Alan is a diminutive Filipino Man. Aint Theater Grand? ) We didn’t have time to see if we won anything on the raffle because we had to dash off to Peaches Christ at the Castro Theater for “ Night of a 1000 Showgirls.

Peaches Christ is a SF Drag Legend when it comes to Midnight Cult Films. This evening’s gala was at the Castro and I think she typically operated out of The Lumiere but earlier in July it was at The Bridge theater. She’s been doing this a long time and she is officially a big deal. She even has her own movie trailer where bats fly out of her kaslopuss.  It started many years ago- possibly almost 20-where she hosted a Midnight Rocky Horror flavored evening of cult movies. ( I tried to find the actual anecdotal history of it’s creation on her website but couldn’t locate that info.)

Note to Mom, you may wish to stop reading this.

Luckily for us my new friend Chuck Chou was saving a place in line for us for the show. I never had been to a Peaches Christ event and was wondering if tonight was going to be typical of what she did. Chuck knows his Peaches and is a big fan. This was a special event I was assured by him. I was a fan of the movie Show Girls and wondered if Orlando had ever seen it. Luckily he hadn’t seen it. For those of you who by chance were unfortunate enough to miss it –allow me to give you a quick summary. Nomi Malone (Saved by the Bell’s Elizabeth Berkley) is a shapely lovely tough chick who is hitching her way to Vegas to become a dancer. It has a bit of an All About Eve thing going on as we watch her rise to stardom, sleeping her way to the top-amongst other things. The film is downright appalling. It is so truly horrifying in its badness so that you will likely NOT forget it-ever! It has fallen the way of Mommie Dearest due to the terrifically over-the-top acting. For the queens who are faint of heart at the live female form be warned. There is an awful lot of Ms Berkley’s poontang on view. Just to give you a flavor of the type of film it was, here is a review from Roger Ebert
The film is not, in short, quite unredeemably bad, and despite its NC-17 rating, it isn't anywhere near as perverted as "Basic Instinct." The actors throw themselves into it with the abandon that material like this demands, and Verhoeven brings to it the same skill he once lavished on good movies, like "The Fourth Man" and "Total Recall." It's just that you can't believe a single second of it, and you do begin to wish that in his research for his next project, Eszterhas makes it his business to learn something about eroticism.Showgirls" is such a waste of a perfectly good NC-17 rating.
  
   So these big names made a bad but entertaining film. Many reviewers called upon Joe Esterhaz’s (screenplay) fear of women. They all have knives in nearly all his films and they usually enjoy a little Lesbo action. Nomi loves her switchblade and I am sure has had her fair share of fur pie. I was informed during the show that Show Girls was the last NC-17 rating ever given to a film. It was also (Ta DA) – the films 15th Anniversary. Peaches has been doing this party for 13 years. We were first treated by PC’s own film trailer where bats flew out between her legs and her eyes had an evil red glow. Then another trailer for a movie Peaches was in called All About Evil. It looked like a good scream. Then Peaches –all Show-girled-out came on stage with her fun dancers and did a number. Then her sidekick Mar-tiny joined her to perform some prerecorded-lip-synched scenes. The voices were of Peaches and Martiny. A joke was made earlier about Martiny actually rehearsing the bit. Apparently that was an uncommon occurance. Good thing she didn’t have lines to memorize. Martiny is the perfect foil for Peaches larger-than-life glam persona. After listening to Martiny’s pre-recorded listless, flat delivery and inability to do more than one body position, I began to wonder. Where had Peaches found this little…person? Martiny gave off the vibe that she had never worn drag or ever set foot on stage. I felt as if Peaches had plucked a heterosexual dweeby library employee and said “Hey, You want to spice up your nightlife?” Peaches gleefully poked fun at Martiny calling her the most tragic drag queen on earth. I thought “drag queen” was pushing it a bit.

My new facebook friend Drag make-up artist, Cousin Wonderlette made an appearance in a dance number as her ghastly vision of a Showgirl. I couldn’t see if she had done the inbred Hillbilly girl look she favors on her face since I was so high up in the balcony, but her body suit was great. A nude suit complete with a vagina that looked like it was on the verge of becoming a prolapsed uterus. She had a tiny tiny tiny little gold skirt that didn’t do a damn thing to cover those protuberant vaginal lips. During the Nomi Look alike contest –Modest Super Star Heklina pointed out she had a little problem down there. By the way the winner of the Nomi -Look alike contest was a bio girl. Heklina and the other judge Lady Bear iced the astonished girls nipples (as was done in the movie) right there on stage! Hey she shoulda known what she was getting herself into. I thought Heklina was gonna catch hell from the trannys for choosing a real girl as the winner but she diffused them with a cool version of “Get over it.”
So this event was billed as the Night of 1000 Showgirls and we had a lot of show girls -and Peaches introduced every SINGLE one of them. I am not sure exactly how many we had but I would say she had about 75. Bambi Lake who is a local SF legend for reasons I have forgotten appeared as one of the lap dancers. She had a little problem with knowing when to exit. She also had a little problem with appearing to know where the hell she was. This was from Peach’s website.
“And whether we like it or not, legendary local icon Bambi Lake showed up and got onstage, gave lap-dances, and exposed us all to her rack. In true Bambi form she left the event in a rage, demanding I pay her for said unsolicited services, cussing Heklina out for no reason, and then blowing kisses and waving goodbye from a cab. It was a night to remember!”
I can’t wait to see Lady Bear’s video footage of that! As I saw all the lap dancers on stage I said to Orlando and Chuck that I wanted “Tigga Please” to me my Lapdancer. It was a man dressed in a Tigger Costume -if Tigger lived in inner Harlem. I was way up in the Balcony so my chances were pretty slim that “Tigga” would be giving me a lap dance...well I was wrong. Tigga nearly killed himself going over the edge of the balcony rubbing his plushy orange butt in my face! I was more than delighted.

Martiny with Peaches

Icing the winners nipples

Nomi's Revenge Nail

Tigga Please gives me the business

HELP There's a Tigger in my face

Bambi Lake

After all that Hullaballo we settled down to the earnest watching of Show Girls. A Quieter than usual crowd but there were a few humorous lines shouted out. I recognized Leigh Crow's melodius Tenor from time to time. Orlando was astonished and horrified and greatly amused. The writing was dreadful. The acting horrendously surreal. All in all Fun Night at 5 hours long -and Peaches...if you ever need a judge for “Heathers” -Call me. I was without a doubt - the meanest Heather in my high school.

An actor gets new skin

Beauty Cub strikes again. Recently I completely dismayed the Lando bear as I calmly tried to tell him that I simply must spend money I don’t have. There could be a healthy argument made that I was even spending it on something I don’t need but I can assure you that angle would fall on my deaf ears. All this Cub modeling has been doing a number on me preaching self acceptance to the “would be” Bears out there. I had been getting a few face bookers beginning to ask what was going on. Recently my status would blurt about eating less and considering a little scalpel work. In all seriousness I wasn’t really interested in going under the knife to improve my appearance but I was considering "lasering" my skin to perfection. All these improvements seemed antithetical to my “be yourself be beautiful” sermon.  Wasn’t I out there posing in barely there bear wear to make a statement that having a pot belly is a beautiful thing? Well yes …but I also feel that if you are genuinely unhappy with how you look then you SHOULD do something about it-provided SOMETHING can be done about it. For example-I had gone back on South Beach Last month because some of my favorite pants were no longer beginning to fit. Skinny is something you will never hear as an adjective to describe P.A. Cooley, but hey, clothing is expensive and I didn’t want to adjust my entire wardrobe to accommodate my expanded 37 inch waist. I had to get it back to at least to a 34. After a slightly difficult 2 weeks the weight seemed to melt off and voila! My pants fit again.

Me and Dad

Now what has been bothering me is the sudden tan splotches and light brown speckles that were appearing more on more on my face. I would take a look at all these photos that the photographer had shot and go “what the hell is that?” I’d run to the mirror to confirm what I’d seen. It’s as if a cup of dark tea had been spattered on my face. Most disturbing were these two tan circles appearing between my eye brows. I don’t think I would’ve minded all this marking if it took on a leopard design that kind of wove up from my neck to my forehead like a cool character from Star Trek but no. It didn’t look cool. It didn’t look flattering. They resembled the liver spots that dotted my father’s face. He is over 80 for crying out loud, so did it really start this young??-40 years earlier? Really God?  You mean to tell me dear Lord up above that I am not going to be a cuddly little old white man in an off-white cable knit cardigan smelling of a nice woodsy cologne that all the young gay male nurses in the home love to hug and keep in clean diapers? Instead I’ll be this speckled toad sitting in a ratty run down old house in Vermont with my two goddam brothers- untouched and unloved because I am so unpleasant to look at? Really God??

Orlando reminded me drily that while my father doesn’t wear cologne, nor is he hugged by Gay Male nurses, a lot of people hold him in high regard despite his be-speckled face. He actually still has a great deal of charm and good looks. I don’t mind resembling my father all that much. It seems to have served him well through out the years but I have a vision of my dotage and it DOESN’T INVOLVE ME HAVING AGE SPOTS AND SUN DAMAGED SKIN. Dad drives a tractor all day and we all wonder if he remembers to wear a hat. It’s doubtful given what I am seeing on our Skype conversations these days. My eldest brother, Danny is also “blessed” with this extreme Caucasian skin. He is a college professor, but spends many sunny days outside at the U Mass Orchards looking at apples for …little brown spots. Huh? How bout them apples?  Both of them have had cancerous spots removed. Not too long ago I had heard that my brother had his whole face burned off to avoid any further skin cancer occurrences. Perhaps I exaggerate a bit because he looked fine the last time I saw him. Maybe it was just the outer layer of skin he had burned off.  In fact, My over 50-something Cooley brother looked pretty darned good. Very few wrinkles and speckle free!  My other brother Peter has some stray American Indian blood genetics in him and doesn’t have skin vs sun issues that we boys of proper English descent have. ( It’s okay – we love him anyway.)  So judging from big brother Danny’s experience, I figured if MY Doctor would simply say there was some skin cancer on me then I could have the whole thing paid off on my Insurance. I am very sad to report that he wouldn’t agree to do that. (Some nonsense about it being fraud.) So instead my little procedure is considered “cosmetic” which translates to costing money. Money I shouldn’t be spending if I have put myself on a debt diet…you see? Imagine the Lando bear’s face crumpling in frustration as I exhibit yet another similar characteristic of his ex of 11 years. The love of Gourmet food was the first sign that made him nervous. My fascination with Christmas tree ornaments almost put him over the edge. My mismanagement of funds has him pulling out the few remaining hairs on his adorable head. Hey – if I can learn this weird new thing where I have to keep my apartment tidy, I can learn how to get my debt in order. (And for the record folks…there’s a very good chance that YOUR debt is waaayyyyy worse than mine. I compare with random strangers on the bus all the time.) 

See the speckles? See them?

So I arrive at Kaiser with the new credit card in hand and met two nurses who were very kind. I lifted my chin and said with as much dignity as I could muster and said that I model frequently for other photographic artists but the pay wasn’t that great so try not to charge me an arm and a leg just to get rid of a few liver spots ok? They looked at each other blankly for a second and then the older one said, “Well we could try something more aggressive?” I was intrigued and terrified at the same time.

IPL(Intense Pulsed Light) technology improves the appearance of photo-aged skin, removes age spots (sun-induced freckles), most benign brown pigments, and redness caused by broken capillaries through a process called photo-rejuvenation for face and body. The process is ideal for patients with active lifestyles because the procedure requires no downtime and has a low risk of side effects. IPL systems work on the same principles as lasers  in that light energy is absorbed into particular target cells with colour (chromophores) in the skin. The light energy is converted to heat energy, which causes damage to the specific target area. IPL systems are different to lasers in that they deliver many wavelengths (or colours) in each pulse of light instead of just one wavelength. Most IPL systems use filters to refine the energy output for the treatment of certain areas. This enhances penetration without using excessive energy levels and enables targetting of specific chromophores (these are skin components that absorb light).

IPL therapy is considered a non-ablative (meaning not sandpapering your skin)  resurfacing technique, which means that it targets the lower layers of skin (dermis) without affecting the top layers of skin (epidermis). The results are not as dramatic as ablative resurfacing where both the dermis and epidermis are injured to produce a much more noticeable overall outcome. Yet I wanted a noticeable outcome so the ladies came up with a more INTENSIVE version. You understand? We are damaging the damaged cells deep down further to allow them to heal. –and baby…it hurts. It stings. It feels like tiny pins being PUNCHED into the skin very quickly. The older nurse gave me squeeze balls to squeeze. Yeah…they didn’t really help. Eventually I convinced the younger nurse to wait every 6 stings so it wasn’t quite so fucking awful. Actually….it was her idea. The older nurse’s duty was to distract me from the horrible ordeal by talking to me about my inane life.  Blah Blah My love of older people and when will my partner find a job here in the bay area etc etc etc They didn’t warn me about that scent. One doesn’t forget the smell of burning flesh.

After the pin stabs and bright flashes of light then came the funny cool sprays. They younger nurse seemed to be in charge of the pulses while the older one monitored the laser. It was explained to me that within a few days I would get these coffee grounds on my face. Coffee grounds? “You mean burned skin” I asked? “No!” the younger nurse exclaimed, “ It’s new cells under the older ones. Eventually it will slough off. I spoke in a serious tone and repeated in a statement. “You mean burned skin” –she didn’t answer.   I forgot to mention that I wore these funny stick-on sun glasses but the funny sprays required additional sunglasses over the ones that they placed on me. Then a cream was applied that was cortisone for pain relief and a strong sunblock. That was it. After a significant charge on my credit card I was done. I kept thinking about the Ipad I wanted and maybe a new camera lense but no I opted for clear skin. My face felt …burnt. I panicked as I typically do when I spend money I don’t have and rushed across the street to a Kentucky Fried Chicken to nibble on a few wings to settle my nerves…I would be okay. This was the right thing to do. I would feel better about myself. Really I would. The tea stains would be significantly lightened and I would just have to do this again in four little weeks.

Its a Drag

Heklina

Me and Pollo Del Mar

The weekend was full one and Orlando came down from the Desert/Forest of Anderson for a second week in a row because of a commitment I made to Pollo Del Mar to be a judge for the Miss San Francisco Gold Rush Contest held at The Triple Crown this past Saturday. Pollo and I met last year through mutual friends after her performance as Rose in The Golden Girls at Lazy Bear last year. We have been chatting briefly on Facebook nearly every week since then. If you have never met Pollo- you should. As some of you know, I only like nice Drag Queens. Pollo definitely qualifies as a nice lady. She is a Grande Duchess on the of the Grand Ducal Council of San Francisco and along with another Grand Duchess, Landa Lakes, they produced/hosted the contest. Pollo also writes a column for the Bay Times. Maybe if I work real hard on this blog I can grow up into a columnist someday. She quipped about me being the only guy at the Judges table but rethought that and correctly lumped me in with the assortment of queens there. I wholeheartedly agreed.

Me and the Ladies Judges table

Roma waves to her fans

I was in very good company with the judges. A little weary from the night before but none-the-less larger-than-life Heklina is local Drag Queen Legend who put Trannyshack on the National Map-as one of THE SF nightclubs to be at. She’s been doing it for years and still works just as hard out there promoting the bejesus out of Trannyshack as well as her own constantly growing celebrity. ( Thanks for the slice of Pizza Heckles) Sister Roma from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence arrived in her impeccable brightly colored garb. Roma has also made a name for herself as a columnist and writes for Gloss Magazine. She is Art Director for Hot House entertainment. Another interesting fact is that Roma’s involvement with The Sisters goes as far back as 1987. She is an aficionado of all things in porn circles….or so I am told. There was some banter about Heklina giving her head but I had too many Skyys at the time to recall what was said. Also serving as judge was the Bodacious Bay Area Court Lady Cranberry (a faux Drag queen btw) who has hosted many East Bay events. Lady Cranberry and I know each other from our quiet respectful day jobs, but it had been a while and I had fun with asking her if she remembered me. She eventually remembered much to my relief because honey…P.A.does NOT want to be forgettable. I have a co-worker who was insane about a show Lady C hosted in the East Bay, so I have an idea she is pretty darned good at what she does. I also made a new friend at the judges table, Miss GAPA Feroshe Beyonsoy. I guess she is Blasian but I couldn’t tell. Make up ya know. Good company all and funny ladies. I expected funny commentary but who the hell had time to comment with all the scoring we had to do! We were handed an intimidating packet to rate the contestants. The TEN contestants were just introducing themselves but Ms Beyonsoy and I figured we were supposed to be scoring right away, so we began jotting down numbers on The Creative Dress segment. We were wrong. I kept glancing over and Roma and Heklina wondering why they weren’t writing anything down. I felt like a kid cheating on a test! In the end Ms Beyonsoy and I ended up scribbling out some of our numbers and putting in the new ones related to the Creative Dress Segment. In my case –I didn’t change them too much. Last January and November ,when I held my little contest for Bearlesque – I didn’t create a score card and basically asked the judges to confer and pick a winner. It was obvious from the get go that the MISS SFGR contest would require such elaborate scoring cuz these girls were all very good. I wondered if someone would go back there and grab a calculator and sum them up. It seemed like quite a bunch of numbers to tally and compare. I was very interested in the process in the event that I wanted to run a pageant someday.

The WINNER Rotissary

Miss P

Creative Dress involved just that. Sure there was the occasional evening gown but the ladies picked outfits directly related to their personas. Memorable ones were LayBelline in her pregnancy, and Rotissary Ethnicity Jackson Houston Ross’ gown of KFC buckets with a big greasy belly that she casually swiped a drumstick across from time to time as she chatted with the audience. An extremely large round drag queen named Miss P wore a horrifying but memorable nighty where the tampon neglected to work. I was at once fascinated and disgusted…. She made everyone wail in horror when she yanked a reddened tampon out and licked it sensuously. I laughed very hard. If it’s inappropriate I will love it. There were some contestants who had quite the vociferous fan base there. I was deafened by Anyanka Emerson’s group stationed directly behind me. Anyanka was interesting and pretty in a sort of chaotic way but she wasn’t as tightly focused as most of the other girls. I thought that Anyanka was the Ar-teeste of the group. Her name wasn’t funny and she didn’t necessarily go for the jokes. Still she had something that compelled you to watch her. She was the only drag artist who sang with her own voice. I figured –give her time-if she can whip a group like that up into a frenzy then I imagine the drag scene will be seeing more of her. I was developing a little crush on LayBelline and I spent a lot of time wondering what she looked like out of face…I raced home to confirm on facebook that there was indeed a cute boy under all that drag.

Mahlae

I should mention that there was a mind blowing performance at the beginning by guest artist Mahlae. I felt like I had finally got to see that Janet Jackson Concert I always missed. As Pollo said, that girl set the bar for the evening. Roma leaned over and confirmed that all the contestants should aspire to be that good. Her energy and look were fiercely hypnotizing. Did you ever notice that boys in high heels move more deftly than (bio) girls in high heels? That thought struck me as I saw her whip her long legs about at light speed. I was absolutely entertained by every contestant. The choice for winner was NOT going to be easy. It’s been a while since I went to a drag show and I think Drag shows must’ve improved because all of these girls had amazing numbers with back up dancers and really awe inspiring moves. Rotissary E. J H R was our Queen for the night. She sobbed appropriately as her big pink eyelashes fluttered about. They had a little trouble getting that crown on there but she held on to it.
Pollo and Landa made a good team and I was so impressed as Pollo handled everything with so much ease and wit. If you don’t know about the Castro Country Club –you should. This is a place where the gals and guys with substance abuse issues of any sort can go get help and make new friends and form a healthier support systems. I raise my glass to them..oops. I was impressed with how easily Pollo handled one little question answer session with a contestant. It was a multiple choice question. If you had a choice between a romantic evening date on the beach, or an exciting cruise on the Italian Riviera, or a night with a rock star –which would you choose? Of course I wrote the verbose question and Pollo teased me for it. “Hey I’m a writer now!”, I yelled . She nodded at me and turned to the contestant who answered that she would choose the Rock Star because she could party with the rest of them and stay out all night long and dance and sing and she did Tina and..-wait!? What was that? Heklina and Roma and I glanced at each other in surprise. Pollo let the contestant calmly finish the question and gently asked, “ Could you elaborate on what you meant by doing Tina? “ The contestant looked at Pollo in surprise and said, “Well Turner of course” Big sighs and laughs from the crowd. I wondered how Pollo knew that and wondered if that was somehow rehearsed? How could it be since the question was randomly drawn from a basket? When I was making Lunch for Orlando the next day he told me that he knew that the contestant meant Tina Turner and not the drug. I turned away from him so he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. Right! This from the guy who watched Basket ball all the time. How the hell could he know that when he barely knew who Julie Newmar was?
So Rotissary Ethnicity Jackson Houston-Ross took the title that night, proving that above all, people like to laugh. You go Girl!

Pink Saturday in Peril

 

Pink Saturday is held on the night of the Dyke March before the big San Francisco Pride celebration. I never found the year Pink Saturday began, but it apparently originated in the early 1970s right along with the Parade. It was a big Gay Castro Block party back in the day. Now it has morphed into a different event marred with violence and mob mentality behavior. For the last few years, yours truly has noticed that the BIG GAY neighborhood party becomes ground zero for thousands of open-minded poorly behaved heterosexual adolescents to drink in the streets. They run up and hug us and slur how glad they are that we are Gay.  Some homosexuals and dykes, (who live outside of San Francisco) are mistaken and think that it is a party for Gays and Lesbians.  This year’s Pink Saturday convened and the intoxicated tweens and teens invaded en masse very early in the evening. They came in a giant swirl, like a crazed current in the ocean to ogle and party their brains out. Mature, Zaftig  male nudists didn’t disappoint the kids and gave them a show as they strutted down the streets being hugged and shrieked at. I observed this as I tensely waited in a very long line into the Castro movie theater.  Orlando and I had bought tickets to the movie Bear City, one of the Frameline GLBT offerings, this year. I was looking forward to the film but I remembered the last two Pink Saturdays and was regretting the location. Other than the enjoyable Dyke March, I had lost interest in Pink Saturday. However I noticed that Orlando seemed to be looking forward to it so I told him and my best gal pal Drew that we could participate in the festivities.

The  Dyke March by the way  has always been on Pink Saturday - the only time every lesbian in the city can be seen at one time.  Usually they are tough to find in large groups. In other parts of the world it’s different.  I remember in Vermont, you can find them in communes in the Northeast Kingdom and they would occasionally come out in the Spring to procreate with drunk heterosexual men to repopulate the commune. In San Francisco they are a lot harder to find. Being a Gay boy and getting into one of their parties is really a badge of honor for me but I was a pretty hardcore dyke-tyke back in the mid 90s so I knew how to wrangle it. You gotta be careful though. The angry looking baby dykes with the Justin Bieber haircuts can be real hazardous with their skewed sense of reality. They have terrible mood swings and rarely understand anything that’s being said to them and perceive almost all forms of communication as a threat. Try to avoid them at all costs.

As Orlando and I stood in line I marveled at all the straight little boys and girls screaming and dancing in the streets. Was this what we all wanted? I can’t imagine this is what we had in mind. Once Pink Saturdays were teeming with Lesbians and Gays all hugging and drinking and singing. I have fond memories of climbing a telephone pole on 18^th and Market and singing Madonna’s “Celebration” at the top of my lungs while leaning down and playing tonsil hockey with a Nubian God freshly plucked from the throng below. ( I liked chocolate a lot.)  Another  Pink Saturday I remember doing the Macarena with roughly 200 other homosexuals. Those were the days. 

Eventually we got into the movie theater and I was in full Bay Area Cub mode. I was decked out in my vest and leather hat. It was wonderful to see the entire Castro theater filled with Bears and Cubs of all sizes and ages.  I waved to Bearlesque co-stars and BOSF members and settled in to watch the movie. The movie wasn’t perfect but knowing just how hard it is to put something like that together, I tried not to be too critical. Still I felt myself get irritated. It niggled me that the cute child like cub claimed to like big heavy hairy guys but ended up with a svelte muscle Daddy at the end. Another problem was that the heaviest character, an older movie/show queen , who was considering lap band weight reduction to lose weight and make him more desirable in the job market. He had a VERY hot Latin chaser boyfriend ( –no problem there…hehehe I assure you. ) However, his hot Latin boyfriend didn’t want him to get the lap band operation because he claimed the operation wasn’t necessary because it was onlyfor people whose weight issues affected their health. This bugged me for a number of reasons. Clearly the guy had some health issues due to his age and knee pain. It also sent the message that the Hot Latin loved him primarily for his size and not who he was.  Seems like an old Bear message that we don’t need to perpetuate. It’s kind of a reverse acceptance thing and comes off like Bears should be punished for making healthy choices. I’d hazard a guess that the character (relax.. NOT the actor) would’ve benefitted from the surgery. It certainly would’ve been a more interesting story if he HAD gone through the surgery and the Hot Latin guy came back to him regardless.  All in all there were some very funny moments and regardless of my bitchings, I would advise that you rent it. Much of it was enjoyable.  It did generate a lot of discussion and I turned to Drew and told him the issues I had with it-eager to dissect it. Drew’s eyes flew wide and hands went flat in the air. “Hey!” he indignantly huffed, “Don’t Blame me! It wasn’t my idea that you saw this!”  Oh boy…Here we go. The very thing I feared. Drew was in a highly sensitized state due to the end of festival funk. I somehow thought this would be different this year given his cheeriness of late.  I resisted the urge to clip him upside the head to avoid Armageddon. I shut my mouth and we started to head out the theater in into the melee.

There was a  mini-rave going on just outside the door. Oblivious and scantily clad 20 somethings wriggled to a deafening beat. Drew and Orlando and I tried to stay together by grabbing a section of each other’s coats. When we came through Drew clapped his hands like a happy little girl and said enthusiastically, “ Hooray! I just went to my first rave!”  I was relieved to see that his mood had improved but mine was souring by the minute. The street was wall to wall youth. I couldn’t see a middle-aged guy to save my life that is except the old fat naked guys reveling that they could walk among all these teenagers and not get arrested. Hell they were virtually celebrities! Finding a place to have a drink or two was impossible. The bars were sensibly seeing a huge cash opportunity and were providing tiny 4 oz drinks in plastic cups for 5 and 6 dollars. There was no room to hang out in any of them. It occurred to me that the Bar that was once called The Men’s Room near the 7/11 on 18^th could sometimes net a drink in an actual glass and it’s actual price. We marched off squeezing through the kids down 18^th street. We managed to squeeze in but there was constant pushing and shoving. Drew gamely strode in seemingly unaffected by the crowds. What the hell was going on? Drew hated crowds almost as much as I did. He will fairly glow with irritation if a straight couple started making out in a Gay Bar and he was being calm. We could barely hear each other as we chatted about small subjects. Drew’s eyes kept scanning the horizon not looking at us that much. Orlando was uncharacteristically tolerant of all the shoving going on around him. He looked vaguely irritated but seemed to be letting it slide. I was getting cruised to death by a guy I had met on line about 2 years ago. He was more than a little lit and couldn’t grasp my eye signals that “I WASN’T AVAILABLE …at least not at THAT moment” Then with some sudden flash of realization that it dawned on me he was GAY!!! There was another Gay man out here in this melee with us! Still…it would’ve complicated things if I gestured for him to come over, given my unfriendly mood so I kept clear of him. After a bit we found a seat at the bar which was miraculous. A pretty blonde Co-ed and her boyfriend elbowed their way next to Orlando and she cheerfully and drunkenly extended her salutations to Orlando. I watched with apprehension wondering what he would do. “Gimme High Five!” she cheered at him! Kind of like asking your dog to Gimme your Paw. Orlando offered her a pinky looking away at her and whatever common sense she had kicked in and she curbed herself  from pressing for more . She tried to satisfy herself with merely bumping her hand against his pinky. Smart move Girly ! She muttered to her boyfriend, “ Well at least he gave me his pinky..” Drew once again scanned an unseen horizon not catching what had happened. What the HELL was he looking for?  I was not having fun. We couldn’t hear each other. I didn’t want make friends with a sorority girl. I didn’t want to spend $35 to catch a buzz. I wanted to go home. I looked balefully at Drew and Orlando. Drew was “sipping” his drink and held out his drink with a faux imperious look indicating he was not finished. I mentally groused about how long it would take to get home given that cabs would be impossible around here and the public transportation would be a nightmare. Drew was infuriating me with his casual attitude. Orlando was doing this laid back air as well that was rankling me. Both of them had immersed themselves in an environment that neither of them particularly liked and it was annoyingly bewildering to me. My Pink Saturday was gone. Who were all these children and why were they here? I wanted to kick each little drunken brat as we headed back up to 18th and Castro. Drew informed us he was going to stay out a little longer. I was Aghast! “What the hell for?”  I yipped. He looked at me like I had asked why the sun sets at night. “Because…Its Pink Saturday.” I wanted to scream at him. Why the hell was he so content to hang out at this East LA  high school dance for Christ sake? Couldn’t he see that there wasn’t a homosexual for miles? After listening to Orlando belly ache about all the little girls who inhabit the Bar back in Redding why wasn’t he bitching about the teenybopper parade shrieking by us every 15 seconds??? The Lando Bear is at maximum contentment when surrounded by big furry masculine men by the 100s-not teenaged girls!  I felt my blood pressure rise. Couldn’t they see? Pink Saturday was DEAD! I stopped them and said, “You two are BOTH Hypocrites!!!” Both of their large eyes and large mouths flew open in a rather simultaneously comic fashion so that I briefly forgot my rage. I am not sure why I was in such a swivet but it could be that it was in the air. Just a few minutes ago around the corner from us this event occurred.

(6/27) — 19:34 PDT — SAN FRANCISCO — “A late night shooting in San Francisco’s Castro District during the city’s “Pink Saturday” celebration claimed the life of a 19-year-old man and left two others with non-life threatening injuries, police said.The dead man was identified Sunday morning as Stephen Powell, according to the San Francisco Medical Examiner’s Office. Two other victims, a male and a female, were struck by gunfire in the legs and are expected to survive their injuries. Authorities did not release their names.Witnesses who attended Pink Saturday celebrations in the Castro District described a scene of bedlam after the shooting. Police officers who raced to the sounds of the gunfire encountered a large crowd, some of whom began throwing bottles and other objects after the shooting.“I saw a massive wave of cops with their guns drawn coming to our area,” said Eric Gonzales, who said he was 25 feet away from the shooting suspect. “Then people started screaming and running away so I went back to the ground thinking ‘oh my god this is real.’”The gunman was arrested by police at the scene. The pistol he used was recovered as evidence.Authorities do not believe that the shooting was a hate crime or a random act of violence.”

Ray Tilton

And in other parts of the neighborhood –Ray Tilton-a former San Francisco Leather title holder, was allegedly (I have to say that but trust me he was beaten) by 3 or 4 young GAY men!!! What the hell is happening here? Gay Kids beating up Older Gay Adults??? I will interview Ray about this after the trial and proceedings but Ray has begun Red Saturday in response to the intrusive violence that has struck the Castro. I hope to assist him with his campaign. It’s not just during Pride weekend folks. We see this New Year’s Eve and Halloween too. Stupid Kids with Guns. Getting home was a nightmare as suspected. We had to sneak by a police barrier to board the Muni. They were doing crowd control and forcing everyone out of the Castro. My last vision of Pink Saturday was a dazed and confused teenaged boy standing in front of a slowly advancing police car. His friends pointed and laughed at him.

I propose we Queens move. All Gays everywhere in San Francisco. We have turned the Castro into a popular hang out –now let’s leave and create a NEW Mecca…hmmm I wonder if we can make Kansas City chic?

As a footnote…Orlando and Drew and I like heterosexual women just fine. We are not sexist or heterophobic. Hell -I have been working for straight women for years and apparently Drew has a few that are close friends –But the kids with guns are not welcome in our world and we will not tolerate any violence towards Gays and Lesbians. Imagine what might happen if Orlando and I strolled into the Hard Rock Café and started making out? What would the Good ole Boys do?

Mr. Cranky Pants goes to Pride

The face of Gay Pride today

Heterosexual Teenyboppers reign over Pride -step aside Drag Queens

I'll just have a snack

As the end of June arrives, a proliferation of Rainbow flags start coming up on Market Street here in San Francisco.  Gay Pride had arrived in Bagdad by the Bay. Since 1969 in a bar in New York called Stonewall, when a scrappy bunch of Drag queens and hustlers and a handful of everyday queens told the NYPD to fuck off and stop raiding our bars, we celebrate our Gay Pride on the last weekend in June in various places all across the US and beyond. Since San Francisco is the Mecca we definitely have a standard to uphold. We do Pride up real big. I have done everything that one CAN do for Pride. I have marched, sang, waved from cars and floats, danced, volunteered, poured drinks, drank drinks,  sported rainbow wear, performed and attended just about every event there is. Pride (as the weekend is called now), can be ALOT of fun.


 My boyfriend, Orlando, lives in an area of California that can barely support the business of one Gay bar. There will be no Gay Pride parade in Redding Ca...ever.  I, on the other hand live in this section of the state where everything is Gay 24/7. He accuses me of living in a bubble. Perhaps he is right, and maybe I do take my life here in San Francisco for granted. I can assure you that the preservation techniques that I learned growing up in Vermont are very well intact. It’s doesn’t ring true to me to say I was in the closet, when it seemed everyone around me knew about my sexual orientation before I was really knew myself. I got tired of hearing people say, “ I know.” when I screwed up the courage to say I was Gay. I am cautious or chicken shit depending on my geography. If I take a trip to Millbrae I am unlikely to hold my boyfriend’s hand as we stroll through the nearby Target. Yet despite my internalized homophobia kicking in when I am in a rural place, I informed Orlando that it would be fine if he wanted me to come up to Redding that weekend instead of him driving down to see me. I am a tad burnt out on San Francisco Pride and was perfectly fine missing it. Orlando wasn’t too keen on that, so I decided to make the best of it and stick around town and find some fun things to do. Surely it would be different this year since I was the Bay Area Cub 2010! (In retrospect, I should’ve been out there singing and dancing on the stages and riding in a specially designed cubmobile in the parade- but I didn’t think that far ahead.) There were going to be plenty of Bear events that Orlando and I could attend.

The usual Pink Saturday Crowd-The Blonde was the leader of the pack

I didn’t pack a LOT in to the weekend but we managed to hit some highlights. Friday was our standard meet Drew for cocktails in the Castro. Normally Drew would meet us, but she was in the throes of her Frameline GLBT film fest fix. To say Drew likes film is like saying the Niagra Falls is a cute little waterfall or the Grand Canyon is a crack in the earth. She is voracious in her love for film. She is a virtual Gay and Lesbian film omnivore who consumes the crappy films right along with the good films. She refers to them as “programs” given her penchant using the correct verbiage of whatever milieu she is in. I used to think she was merely being high minded and uppity -but no-that’s just our Drew. I have learned through the years to give her a wide berth during the conclusion of the Film Festival. Her habit after watching roughly 40 or so films-oops programs, (and for the record-she is a he), was her mood turning on a dime and the evening would go rapidly south for anyone within a 5 foot radius of her.  I have tried to analyze this. A lot of it didn’t make sense to me since (s)he had told me that watching 5 films in one day was his (ok Ok we will stick with the male pronouns) idea of nirvana. It could be that attending the whole festival all by yourself could be a bit lonely, since many of us could only catch one film with him during the whole 11 day run. It could be dealing with the crowds-who knows? I just knew I had to always wear a pair of shoes specially designed to walk on egg shells on the remaining weekend of the festival. This year I felt I should really tread lightly. In addition to his hardcore film watching Drew had to deal with a hip problem that had been plagueing him for months now. He is taking steps to get it fixed, but that is a ways off- and for now he limps about alternating grimaces and winces of pain. Drew and I deal with personal discomfort completely differently and how he is dealing with his hip issues have been a source of tension between us. If I had my way she would be doped up on painkillers and take a 7 month sick leave, but she is a good new england girl and is ridiculously responsible and thinks things through...really through....and it takes a while. So I battened down the hatches, because given his painful hip and his usual film festival funk I was sure to get some kind of upbraiding from him. Maybe Orlando could stand in front of me while she  (oops she’s a girl again) inevitably shrieked away at me?  However - Maybe this year would be different. After all -Drew was IN one of the films at the festival! Baby Jane?-a Dragalicious send up of “Whatever happened to Baby Jane?” featured him in a small by memorable role as Jane and Blanche’s father. As it all turned out -I didn’t need to worry about Drew...

48 Hour Film Blog part 2

So I thought I was ready but as evidenced by my harried start to the day –I was woefully unprepared to head out the door for my 8:30AM Call time. As the sun rose on the chilly Saturday morning, I noted my lack of preparation. My South Beach lunch was not packed and my costume selections for Maurice to choose were not finalized. Various pieces of black and white clothing were strewn in an already cluttered studio. To make matters worse, I was feeling gloomy because it was the first Saturday morning that I had woken up alone in months. The Lando Bear was up North doing a volunteer gig for disabled adults. It was a good thing I had the 48 hour film to distract me. To bring you up to speed on this we were shooting the film as a piece of graphic art-comic book style. The set was a Green Screen and the “scenes” were being drawn upstairs from the studio where we were shooting. The studio was a very cool set up in the Mission. Remember when I told you that producing one of these films can indeed be costly? Our fearless leader Maurice, appeared to be renting it for this ambitious project. I don’t even want to hazard a guess at how much that cost but I had hoped that he had gotten a special discount. There was a chance that filming could run over and then the cost for the studio zipped up considerably. This was my third 48 hour film with Maurice. Jim Shelton, who typically starred in these films, had reduced his screen time to one or two lines and took on the role of a producer-aka –the guy who gets stuff done. Jim is a sexy little het bear. He's got a Kevin Smith thing going. He played my Dad in the Bunny film and last year I played the villain to his hero. In this one, we wouldn’t even interact on screen. It felt odd but I felt he would make a good producer. He is also the film’s main writer. This meant that once he and Maurice got the three elements and the film’s genre they would hunker down back at Maurice’s and write our movie. Sometimes if they were lucky – they’d finish the script before we had to be at the set. Regardless – they would probably have a relatively sleepless night.


I sipped my morning tea reading the script they had labored on. Typically Maurice would e-mail everyone the script in the morning when they wake up. Our Genre was Dark Comedy, but the further I read the more it came off more like a Romantic Comedy, with the comedy part being kinda thin. There were no coffins, no specters of death, no jokes about cancer or incest or all the other taboo subjects. I was a bit bewildered because it didn’t fit my understanding of Dark Comedy -but hey what do I know? –I never paid attention in Dramaturgy class. I was gladdened to see that I was first in the story and then apprehensive that there were so many other characters. I was happy that I would be first, because that meant I would get the best shots. It's true! Usually Maurice filmed in order of the story. Since we had such a strict time limit and the day lingered on, the remaining takes would be done only once or sometimes even cut! If all my shots were being done in the morning than I could  look forward to the luxury of being asked if I wanted to re-do any takes. The fact that there were more characters in the story meant our shoot could run late into the night. I hoped that I could slip out by dinner time and go home and become one with my couch and TV later.

I arrived and greeted all my friends who I hadn’t mostly seen since last year. Rachel, the make up goddess –who made my skin look so flawless on the set of last year’s film-was on deck to do this creative black and white make up. She and ( her sister? cousin ? girl with the same last name) Heather had worked on last year’s film as an actress. Both of these women are the sort of girls I could spend a lot of time with. Both have excellent senses of humor and are just simply a delight. Rachel’s work on my make up was astounding. I think it took about an hour and 15 minutes- I can’t really recall. I sent photos to Orlando and Drew via cell phone and they both were astounded at how 2D I actually looked.

Rachel and I

Heather and I

As with any film making, “hurry up and wait” is what actors do the most. If you ever get cast in a film, be sure to have a good book with you and maybe bring your knitting project. Happily, I was correct in assuming I would be first in the shooting schedule. Heather was the lead and played a Bar owner with a penchant for fixing broken hearts and missed connections. I played a scoundrel who was on his way to a blind date and slipped on a plate (remember?) that was carelessly put on the stairs of the brownstone I lived in. I am not sure what my injury was, but it significantly delayed me from meeting my date and I was pouring my heart out to this bartender/owner over a shot of whiskey. It didn't go terribly smoothly for me.

I was NOT happy with my work. For years I have always had this problem where my hands have always shook a little on stage due to adrenaline but it was getting worse as I got older. I noticed that my hands shake a great deal when I perform now. When I am on stage it is so bad that I can barely hold a prop martini. In this scene it was only a shot glass -but damn if I could aim it steadily at my mouth. I found if I took herbal solutions to calm me –then the shaking would stop without sacrificing the high energy I would need to perform. Getting drugged threw my timing. Unfortunately I had neglected to take my little herbal remedy, called Calms Forte, and I was shaking like a leaf in the breeze under the hot camera lights. Heather kept reaching over to daub at the black paint that was beginning to drip out of my beard because the hot lights were melting my makeup. To compound matters, I kept flubbing THE line that was one of the elements in the script. The line was “You are not going to believe what happened” and I kept contracting it saying, “You’re not gonna believe what happened” My last bit of frustration was my acting. I kind of sucked. When I portray a heterosexual , (which aint often), I try for making all my mannerisms and voice inflections neutral. Sorry to say but it’s true. Straight men aren’t very good at expressing themselves, but we gay guys can say volumes with our eyes and when you punctuate it with the flick of the wrist then we REALLY make our point. So not only was I neutralizing, I was also doing a robotic style to accommodate the cartoon vision. It was slow going- strike a neutral pose, say the line, another pose, next line – hold still for the remaining three lines-AND you have to remember what you did for all close ups and far away shots so that they match when you edit them all together! If I jut my chin out for one line in the close up –I had better do it in the full body shot. I wailed out loud how difficult this was. –There was no way I could make any of it believable. I really had a problem with making my words sound natural and conversational. Some of the writing was not what I call “real talk” When I work with a script and a line feels clumsy coming out of my mouth, I say that it’s not “real talk”. The line may be grammatically correct but it isn’t natural to the way I speak. I had a couple of those that really were beginning to rankle me.



One of the big perks was the on set eye candy. I always found it interesting that Maurice was a Gay man living in San Francisco but his primary social network seems to comprise primarily of straight people.( Where on earth did he find them all?) They are all lovely straight people by the way, and I have become friends with a few. I have never been one of those Gay guys who fantasize about “turning” a straight man but that particular day it was hard not to stray to that dark place. All gentlemen working on this film were pretty damned cute. I have always thought our perfectionist camera man (named Eriq pronounced Ereek), with his irresponsibly sexy hair was adorable. There was also Erik, the big Viking looking bear who is terribly squeezable. ( I am sure if I bought him enough beer …well you know the old saying.) These boys were all smokin! There was the hot geeky, quietly intense lighting guy, and a couple of the Abercrombie and Fitch looking production assistants! Luckily for Heather she was just recently single and angling for some fresh rebound attention. I thought this would be a perfect pool for her to take a dip in, but unfortunately all of these guys were serious about completing this film. They may have been straight and they may have been focusing on the film but more than a few of these boys were  flirty…or was I just suffering from lack of Lando time and thinking that they were flirty…? Hmmm Now I was beginning to understand why Maurice hung around these guys.

I was unlucky in leaving early. Eriq and Maurice were beginning to squabble a bit. Nothing serious-just the typical Director vs the Camera man stuff. Art aint easy right? Ultimately it didn’t matter because they both want the shot to look perfect, but the newbies on the set who weren’t used to it began to look like scared rabbits. Maurice was thinking of me and respecting my time and was trying to get all my shots in, so I could go home. I bet if I wasn’t wearing this make up I could have opened my eyes big and blue and charmed Eriq into to letting me go, but he was logically looking at the amount of time we had left and how the lights would need to be changed to do the shot. If we consolidated all the shots that were used in one specific lighting, then they might finish filming  in time. Damn …I thought Eriq loved me. Guess he loves film making more. Maurice saw his point and I had to wait until the end to do a final shot of me slipping on the plate. The good news is that I could get out of this makeup that was beginning to really make my face itch. I felt bad for Heather though- she stayed in hair and makeup until the bitter end.

I spent some time reading and chatting with the artists Richard and Goran, as they sketched out the backgrounds in the now hot and airless studio. Richard quickly sketched out a sign saying SWEATSHOP and posted it on the table they were working at. My makeup was soaking into my skin but I had a couple more shots to do in makeup so I couldn't take it off quite then. I lay on the couch and dozed until they called me. Rachel touched me up before the remaining shots of me leaving the house. I ran to go wash my face immediately when we were done. In my zeal to have my skin breathe, I scrubbed with vigor and the black hair spray in my goatee spattered all over the beautiful faux white marble bathroom. Damn- I spent about 45 minutes cleaning up after cleaning up. Luckily there was a bottle of 409 under the sink. I came out of the bathroom and felt the relief of air on my face. If my nose tickled I could joyfully scratch it with abandon.

I waited and watched the rest of the actors shoot their scenes. Theresa was an actress who had a whisky soaked voice that she deftly changed to a squeaky Valley Girl soprano. Viking Erik was struggling with this ridiculously long line of techno babble, because he played some sort of software engineer. He was given the speech that morning. I knew there was no way in hell I would've been off book on those crazy words.  He got very frustrated  but Maurice felt that they could cobble together something on the parts of it that went fluidly for him. Erik and I had more than one telepathic moment. Earlier he had caught me checking out a production assistant’s ass and gave me a devilish smile. Now he glanced over at me agonized at his block on the lines. I shot him a “it’s okay” look but I knew he would beat himself up over it later. It didn’t help matters that we were nearing the end of the shoot. There weren’t really any options to reshoot anything. We were running into overtime and Eriq and Maurice were scrambling to finish. Eriq had this sort of resigned look as Maurice reviewed the last three shots.

As we soldiered on, the actress who played my paramour, (Sherrie) didn’t seem like she was weathering the long day easily. I fed her some Chicken I had in my lunch box and she seemed to recover.  Later on, when we were sitting on the couch watching the remaining the lights get changed,  she began to cough –as if she was choking. Sherrie was in the middle of texting someone on her Blackberry. Our production manager Becky asked her if she was alright and she continued to cough and splutter with this strangled bewildered expression on her face.  She kept right on texting with this look on her face wondering what was causing this choking fit. I couldn’t figure out if she was incapable of speaking or that the text she was sending was too urgent to stop writing. She never looked up from her Blackberry. I had to stifle the impulse to laugh. Finally she gasped that she was ok –still looking at the Blackberry mind you. Becky and I glanced at each other and hoped that Sherrie survived this film. I looked her square in the eye and asked, "Are you falling apart? She looked right back at me and said, "yes" with a grave tone. 

Finally we wrapped and I gathered all my bags and costumes. I was torn. I didn’t want to be alone tonight but I was watching the budget and didn’t want to drink away my grocery money. I am getting used to not drinking but that night I probably couldve sucked down a coupla Vodka Gibsons. I also hate long good byes, but I said good bye to a few folks.  I walked out and one of the super cute PAs (productions assistants-confusing eh?) said something to me. It was some innocuous comment and it took all my power to not reach over and give him a little peck on the cheek good bye..

The next step was for Maurice to start editing it and inserting the back grounds in the green screen. Unfortunately he had a computer glitch that prevented him from completing the film with in the 48 hours…Don’t feel bad. He’s a pretty resourceful guy. I am sure we will all see this masterpiece someday – just not at the 48 hour film festival. Here's a cool test pic of me at the bar with Heather.