Wednesday, February 29, 2012

my name is andrew shepard, and i am the president of the united states...

Part 2 of my adventures at the California Republican Convention are up, and this time, Kate tags along to scream, "Out of context!" every time Newt Gingrich quotes Barack Obama. Also, I feel a little bad for trashing Calista Gingrich, but she probably doesn't know about the internet and will thus never read this.
It's all up now, on SFGate...


PS: I'll be on the 6 o'clock news tonight! (Unless something important happens) Tune into KPIX, Channel 5 at 6 for Mike Sugerman's report on the way chicks like, talk.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

treat yourself to true crime...

When I was on that juice cleanse, I had no way of treating myself. Part of being a bad person is constantly finding excuses to treat oneself, thus making nothing a treat but just regular life. Anyway, I ordered 12 used books on Amazon during my juice cleanse and let me tell you, what a treat!
I am currently reading Stalking Mary.
Get this: In 1965, a woman named Mary Stauffer taught a high school algebra class. One of her students was a kid named Ming Sen Shiue who, being a lonely and creepy teenage boy, developed an obsession with his math teacher. Also, she have him a B which really pissed him off. So Ming stalked Mary for 15 years (literally, followed her, watched her, trailed her in grocery stores and wrote sex fantasy stories about the two of them together) until one day he kidnapped her and her 8-year old daughter, who just happened to be with her. Ming also murdered a little boy who got in the way. Mary and her daughter NAMED BETH spent 7 weeks in Ming's closet.
I was telling my friend Garvin about this and his response was, "Whoa. Super crush."
Mary and Beth escaped, but I'm just over halfway through with "Stalking Mary" and several parts are driving me nuts.
First of all, Mary and her husband "Irv" were Christian missionaries who were about to leave to the Philippines for four years, along with their kids. Mary was a very devout Christian and used her faith to help her survive this horrible ordeal. A part of that ordeal was her constant rape by Ming. Obviously, Mary had no choice in this. Obviously. She suffered through the unimaginable with grace and composure. Ming, who had spent 15 years dreaming up these elaborate fantasies, wanted Mary to hug him and kiss him, like they were really in love. Mary would not do this because she would only hug and kiss her husband to whom she was bonded through matrimony, and said as much all the time to Ming. Angry, he responded by sticking a plastic bag over Beth's head. I get this may have been one of the few ways Mary could maintain some kind of physical boundary with this monster, but I also get the impression it was just as much about sinning as it was about her emotional survival.
Hug Ming, Mary!
Ming once came home to find that Mary and Beth, who were chained together when Ming was away, had managed to get out of the closet and into the hallway, where they could finally use a regular bathroom instead of THE BUCKET. Ming said, "I don't think you should leave the closet. What would you do if someone came to the door and heard you?" And Mary goes, "I would scream for help and say we've been kidnapped."
Lie to Ming, Mary!
Again, it's always easy to say, "If I were there..." but everyone knows that you always tell your kidnapper, "Nope, I'd never go to the police. I don't even really know what you look like or what your name is. I'd just go back home and say I was on vacation. Don't even worry about it." Then you run to the feds. Not Mary. Mary felt that lying was a sin.
I am not a terribly religious person, but the God I was taught about would be fine with lying under these circumstances.
I haven't even gotten to the part of the book yet where Ming attacks Mary with knife while she testifies in court.
Needless to say, this story is terrifying, and an amazing tale of intense courage and unimaginable faith. And it is a crazy read, mainly because Ming videotaped most of his interrogations of Mary and the transcripts are included. The part when Mary is like, "Wait, you were in my algebra class 15 years ago?" is pretty surreal. Also, lots of Ming's SUPER WEIRD x-rated fan fiction is included. He had a thing for white underwear and TV moms.
I recommend you read Stalking Mary because everyday you will wake up and think, "Gee, I really hope no one I kind of ignored 15 years ago is secretly stalking me..."

Monday, February 27, 2012

i'll have what she's having...

OSCAR BULLET POINT RECAP:
  • I hope Angelina's leg falls off.
  • Meryl Streep's dress was too big, but I liked it anyway.
  • I hate Natalie Portman because all men love her. I wish I didn't, but I do. Also, Max wisely pointed out that she looked like a strawberry.
  • That was the most boring 'In Memoriam' ever. Didn't more people die? They showed like, four people.
  • The daughter from The Descendants needs to get over herself. First of all, her name is Shailene. Second of all, when asked if she was excited at all of the buzz around the movie, she was kind of over it and said she has a lot of other things going on, so not really. Shailene pulled A Dreyfuss.
  • Ryan Seacrest is a very hard worker. I thought he handled Borat dumping dust all over him very well. I would've freaked out.
  • The jazz music in the balcony was dumb. I like that they tried something new, but that was DUMB.
  • The quip of the night goes to Max (he was on a roll!) When George Clooney's former-wrestler girlfriend tweeted from her front row seat, Max said, "It's called ringside, Stacy."
  • I love Octavia Spencer, but she needed to pull it together with that speech.
  • Bridesmaids should have won for Best Screenplay. I based my whole night around that happening AND IT DIDN'T.
  • Why does Bradley Cooper have a moustache? Is it because of The Artist?
  • I thought Billy Crystal did a fine job, but I think that's because I'm getting really old.
  • The Tom Hanks-Colonel Sanders comparisons on Twitter hit the nail on the head. No facial hair, unless it's adorable (see: Jason Sudeikis.)
  • The Dumb and Dumber 2.0 thing from Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis was awesome, and a big hit with our crowd.
  • I started to make fun of the Cirque de Soleil thing, but then everyone started yelling at me because they are very sophisticated and artsy and liked it.
Also, thanks so much to Brittney for co-hosting Oscar viewing with me, and to Kate, Alex, Emilie, Max, Christina, Matt and Prakash for coming over and bringing really amazing snacks. Is dip not the best? I love dips.

watching republicans eat...

It was such a bizarre experience, it'll take two posts to cover all the crazy. On today's Culture Blog, Matt and I crash the opening night banquet of the California Republican Convention, held this past weekend at the airport Hyatt. Tim Tebow art, Playmates and Jesus, all up now on SFGate...

Thursday, February 23, 2012

i'm having bikram quinoa with gwyneth later...

11:02am: I did today's Culture Blog a little Bridget Jones style. Which reminds me, it's time to rewatch Bridget Jones, right? I saw that movie 4 times IN THE THEATER. Anyway, my 3 day juice cleanse! Up now, on SFGate...

Sunday, February 19, 2012

as long as he/she went to heaven...

I'm up in Bodega Bay spending some quality time with my very good friends, Brian and Brian.
On the way back from lunch yesterday, the Brians spotted some signs.
"Estate Sale."

When the Brians argued over when to stop, before or after lunch, I thought they were kidding. Nope. They stop at estate sales.


The toilet seat thing had some masking tape on it that said, "FREE." I wasn't able to capture that AND the tennis balls. I made a call.

Once we got home and looked through the photos, the Brians and I were laughing. $1350 for a stuffed animal. Haha. This was obviously mis-tagged. But then, Brian pointed out, "Even $13.50 is ridiculous for this!"
Everything else in the house, literally, was like, a dollar. Why, you guys, is the monkey $13?

For example, all the stuff on this bed was $0.50. At this point, in this bedroom, Brian D. walked outside and waited for us to finish. He was DONE.


These two (on the left) were taking photos of themselves outside. It was so interesting to me that such a dark, drab 'estate sale' home could sit in such a beautiful area. There are lots of homes in Bodega Bay that kinda suck; they're dusty and sad and have saloon doors in the kitchen, like the house today.
The Brians' home here isn't like that at all. It's big and weird, but open. It has appliances that have 14 different pasta settings. (We had bucatini tonight.) The Brians managed to find a funky house that they could fix up and slowly evolve into a warm, snuggly, sprawling beach house. As opposed to today's 'estate sale' house, which proclaimed on masking tape, "Pillow cases: 50 cents."
Brian D. stood outside muttering, "Let's go. This is gross."
"Oh!" I said. "I need pillow cases."
Brian L. looked at me and deadpanned, "This is dead people's stuff."
I stared back at him. So?
He screamed it, "I will call your mother and say, 'Joanne, Beth is about to spend two quarters on the pillow cases of a dead person.'"
Brian looked at me as if my mother would run to Restoration Hardware, throw her credit card at the staff and scream "Pillow cases! My daughter needs pillow cases!"
But Brian doesn't know.
I am my mother's daughter. My mother is my grandmother's daughter. And a 50 cent pillow case is a 50 cent pillow case. Even if someone died on it...

Saturday, February 18, 2012

or maybe not checking it at all...

I am spending this weekend in Bodega Bay at the Brians' beach house, watching Brian D. test his new dim sum recipes and watching Popeye the elderly pug go even more blind.
It's pretty fun.
In the midst of our lunch at some very fancy Bodega Bay Golf and Country Club, I excused myself to the ladies room.
Politely, I inquired as to the facilities. "There's a unisex bathroom on the middle floor," The polo-shirted waitress advised. "And then down two floors, there are men's and women's rooms."
This was a Sea Ranch-esque clubhouse, a lodge amidst a golf course sitting in the bluffs of the Pacific Ocean. Each floor was really half a floor, and each landing had huge, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the ocean. Waves crashed in the background.
It was all very picturesque.
I spotted the unisex bathroom and, futzing with my purse, opened the door.
The unisex bathroom was one of those big, handicapped-accessible rooms. There, sitting on the toilet was (celebrity equivalent) Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. He was in a red polo shirt, khakis and, no joke, sitting on the toilet.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry. My fault!" I screamed, looking right at him.
"No, no." He said. "That's okay."
He sat there. We both looked at each other. For like, 5 seconds. He was just sitting, his khakis halfway down his thighs.
Smiling.
"I'm really sorry." I said, door still open, still looking at him.
Like he was sitting by the fire, reading a book, Carlton replied, "That's okay. No problem."
I closed the door and ran downstairs.
As soon as I was done, I raced up the stairwell t0 tell the Brians. Suddenly walking up the stairs with me was Carlton.
"Hi." I said. "I'm so so sorry! (uncomfortable laugh)."
"That is okay!" He smiled, wanting to talk. "It's a good thing you didn't use that restroom. The lock doesn't work."
No kidding.
He kept looking at me, he kept starting sentences, he wanted to chat.
The whole thing freaked me out. I had just walked in on this guy taking a shit.
Cutting him off, I smiled. "Have a great day!"
I got back to the table. "We have to go, we have to go, we have to go."
The Brians looked up at me from their fish tacos. "What? Okay. Why?"
"I walked... I walked in on someone going number two."
"WHO?!?!" They screamed this.
Carlton stood there, in the doorway of the Bodega Bay Golf and Country Club.
I hissed it under my breath. "That guy. There."
The Brians saw him watching us, nodded, and ushered me out. Carlton left at the same time we did, getting into a BMW and pulling up towards us.
Brian L. grabbed my arm.
"Goodbye." Carlton said right to me, eye to eye.
In unison, Brian and I said, "Goodbye."
And with that he drove off, probably to go home and lock his bathroom door.
Checking to twice...

Friday, February 17, 2012

i'm cast myself as the wacky neighbor...

As per yesterday's post, this morning I made my first iMovie. I am INDESCRIBABLY amazed at my own genius. Or the genius of this incredibly easy computer program. Either really...

Thursday, February 16, 2012

also, stand by for my endless series of trailers...

Eve and I met at the Apple Store at 8am this morning to take an Introduction to iMovie class. We share both an interest in making movies with all of the free software that comes with our Macs, and an interest in the weird experience a class at the Apple store was sure to be.

The service at Apple Stores is ridiculously wonderful. You might pay double for a laptop, but they make you feel so good about yourself! And also, you can take all kinds of free classes. Apple probably offers free cooking classes and Italian lessons ...just because.

I got there early because my juice cleanse officially ended last night and I woke up to eat a gluten-free vegan muffin at 6am. While waiting, I grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to the Apple Store to find Eve being turned away from the front door.

Oddly, we had to enter from some weird side door, where security had us waiting in a backroom hallway. All of the 500 people who cheerfully work there arrived for the day, excusing themselves past us. Finally, the woman who was in front of me at Starbucks walked in and was like, "You're customers?!? Why are you waiting? Come with me! I'm so sorry! Oh my God! You both are so attractive and funny! How mature of you to take an 8am class on bettering your understanding of your investment in technology!"

Or something like that.

We walked through the Apple Store where staff was cleaning up with big smiles on their faces, wearing snappy t-shirts that proclaimed, "Cleaning Crew" on the back. Upstairs, we sat in the lovely red velvet theater chairs, joining the class which had just begun. The only other classmate was an elderly man who was apparently a teacher, and wanted to learn iMovie so he could teach it to kids. Maybe even inner city kids who will go on to become great American filmmakers.

The Apple Store is like utopia. Steve Jobs' version of heaven is probably an Apple Store, just with him just hanging out, nodding approvingly. Mini-Jake Gyllenhaal taught us all about how to get started on iMovie while downstairs, it sounded like the staff was getting their pep talk for the day. Every 10 minutes or so, they'd break into applause.

I noticed that Mini-Jake was wearing a royal blue fleece with a little Mac logo embroidered on it. I want one of those. I want a pep talk. I want to be in a fantastic mood all fucking day long. I want to know all the fun little tools that come with my MacBook Pro. This morning, I learned how to make movie trailers OF MY OWN MOVIES! With credits and music and voiceovers.

You don't even need a Mac to take these classes. Anyone can take them. You just register online and they never checked us in anyway. You should take a class just to bask in the ridiculous glory of the Apple Store, which feels like getting a massage ON YOUR FEELINGS...

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

crashing the miss chinatown coronation ball...

Today's Culture Blog attends the Miss Chinatown USA Coronation Ball. Yep, you heard right. The Miss Chinatown Coronation Ball. Needless to say, my escort for this occasion was Brock.
Ball it up, over at SFGate:

Monday, February 13, 2012

i could go for some burger juice right about now...

And so begins my 3-day juice cleanse. This was delivered to my door at 7:30 this morning, and this is all I get until tomorrow. 15 minutes ago, I decided this wasn't so bad. Currently, I'm starting to reconsider. I keep instinctively looking around for a bagel.


I'm going to post this experience on the Culture Blog, because torturing oneself with a juice fast is now part of the cultural lexicon. Thank you Gwyneth Paltrow...

Sunday, February 12, 2012

it's not right, but it's okay...

Brock was over yesterday helping me get ready for Melissa's birthday party, which as per her request, was a little dinner soiree. As Brock was lighting every single votive and candle this side of Pier 1, he suddenly screamed. Running towards me, he shoved his phone in my face and announced breathlessly, "Whitney! Dead!"
All breaking news is on Twitter first, and AP announced it right away. I think Whitney was pronounced dead at 3:55 and we knew by 5. Having Brock in my house and lighting candles because because he deemed it "appropriate under the circumstances" was sadly amusing. Brock's reaction to a diva's passing is wonderfully diva-esque. "I need you to download her entire oeuvre."
Brock texted Melissa, "Whitney Houston just died. But tonight is all about you."
We put on every Whitney song ever, made a sign for the guests arriving at the front door and went about our party.

During dinner, Brock jokingly took a moment and asked everyone to share a personal memory of how Whitney Houston impacted their life. "Max, let's start with you."

Max looked at Brock like he was nuts, so Melissa began. When she was in 4th Grade, she auditioned for her school's talent show (Georgia's Got Talent, apparently) with a Whitney song. And then in high school, she really wanted to get into this traveling singing group, so she auditioned again with Whitney. Both times she got in. Naturally.
In the background of all of this, of course, is Whitney. All of a sudden, the dance remix of "Your Love Is My Love" came on and I realized it.
"Oh, you guys." I said. "I actually have a way Whitney impacted my life."
I was going to college in Philadelphia and spending the weekend at my friend Amy's parents' house on the outskirts of Allentown, PA. I had just turned 21 and Amy was my badass friend, who have pink streaks in her hair and tattoos. I, on the other hand, wore lots of Old Navy. Her friends in Allentown were older and homosexual and they invited us to join them at a gay bar.
I had never been to a gay bar before, and thus, while hailing from San Francisco, my first gay bar experience was in Allentown. It was a slightly dumpier yet bigger version of Badlands, if you will, with lots of flashing lights and a huge, packed dance floor in the middle.
Amy had long since disappeared somewhere, so I stood on the fringes for a while, talking to the other loser in our group, an gay man in his 40's who just didn't want to be there. I had no idea if I wanted to be there or not. I just didn't really know what to do.
After a couple of drinks, someone sassy in a tank top came over and screamed, "Girl, let's get you out there!"
I think I was wearing a brown barn coat and tapered jeans. I just didn't know what I was doing at all. But all of that was about to change.
At gay bars, as I'm sure you know, everyone just dances. You don't really dance with anyone in particular, you dance with everyone. And at this gay bar, they had placed mirrors along the wall at the ceiling, which were tilted towards the dance floor. So there I stood in the middle of the dance floor at a gay bar in Allentown, Pennsylvania. And I started to dance, surrounded by enthusiastic dancers who would occasionally grind up against me. It began to get fun, and I started dancing. Like, really dancing. I was in Allentown, for chrissakes. Fuck it.
As White Houston's dance version of "Your Love Is My Love" was blaring, lights were flashing everywhere, beams of color shot out over the crowd and I looked up.
I could see myself in the mirrors at the top of the wall. It looked like a fucking video. I was beaming at myself in a sea of hundreds of gay men, my arms were in the air, my hair was flying and I could see the whole scene from above.
That was my introduction of a homosexual watering hole. And I pretty much never looked back.

Up next at our birthday party/wake, Wilson started playing us scenes from Whitney's reality show, and the time she told Diane Sawyer that she's too rich to do crack because "Crack is whack."
Which obviously, under the circumstances, it is.

Tonight's Grammy Awards just got way more interesting. Every single red carpet interview must mention her, and every acceptance speech obviously will. Will people still wear gowns, or will it be like the post-9/11 Emmys when everyone wore business suits? I have no idea, but I'll be tuning into CBS at 8pm.
RIP Whitney...

Tuesday, February 07, 2012

the tv-movie of a lifetime...

I like things designed a very specific target of people. The Lifetime Channel for Women does this best. Or maybe that's just what I watch the most because I'm their target demographic. Lifetime, after all, does partner their advertisements (sometimes) with Fancy Feast CAT food.

Anyway, after I finished my viewing of BBC's Sherlock Season Two (I know, are you DYING?), I watched "Chance of a Lifetime." Basically this movie is like "Last Holiday" only from the 1991 and for elderly people. Betty White starts as Evelyn, a workaholic widow in Cleveland (take a second right there) who is the fast paced CEO of a (wait for it) drapery company. Her disapproving best friend is Elaine Stritch and her son Daryl, who is the cool guy at the drapery company, is played by Ed Begley Jr. Evelyn finds out she has six months to live from her doctor, Amos, who is the guy that plays the doctor on Murder She Wrote.

That is not all! Finally, ask yourself who is officially regarded as the sexiest and most suave old man of 1991?

Yes. Leslie Nielsen plays the Mexican-vacation love interest, Lloyd.

Do you not love this highly specific casting? This is like Oceans 11 for people who are so old, they think I am talking about the original.

Needless to say, Evelyn (in an 80's business suit) casually talks to her husband's grave while trimming the flowers she's planted there. And because she thinks she's going to die, Evelyn tells her dead husband's grave, "Ready or not, here I come."

(This is when I decided to commit to watching the whole thing.)
Highlights include Fred, the sleazy guy from church calling up Evelyn and asking "for a date." She declines and when he says, "Oh, off the market, eh? I sure do hate to miss a good thing! Well, if anything changes DEAR, you give ole' Fred a call."

Cue big eye roll from Evelyn. She's off to spend her last days cutting loose south of the border.

How does she book her trip to Mexico? Through the very shady sounding, "A-1 Travel."

As this is a made-for-TV movie streamed on Netflix, there are built-in commercial-break blackouts, which make me feel like I'm skipping commercials.

In Mexico, Evelyn talks to a framed photo of her (hot) dead husband. I decided is intended to imply that while Evelyn might get a little hand-holdy with Lloyd, she's not a slut.

Evelyn does solo senior calisthenics in the hotel pool (wearing clip on earrings and a kerchief in her hair) and goes to the hotel restaurant to blow her diet on a cheeseburger. In Mexico. But this works (amazingly enough) because Lloyd blows off some Dutch tramp in a bikini and stroll over to Evelyn where he proceeds to ask her on a date. He is attracted to her joie de vivre, you see.

I missed most of the romantic date at the Mexican (thank you, Lloyd) restaurant because I was hiding underneath a blanket.Evelyn's got a real bee in her bonnet because she thinks Lloyd is a player, but since she's going to die anyway, she says "what the hell?" when Lloyd asks her to go sailing the next day.

Then they go for a sexual tension-packed bike-ride on Day 3, culminating in a dinner where Lloyd tells the restaurant it's Evelyn's birthday. It's not Evelyn's birthday. (This once happened to me on a date!) He gives her a lace scarf and they dance, eventually incorporating the scarf into a very awkward, old folks sex dance. Evelyn and Lloyd start making out on the dancefloor.

The next scene is Evelyn waking up in Lloyd'd bed, a bed which has parrots painted on it.

I noted here that Lloyd was topless but Evelyn was wearing a men's pajama top. She got dressed right after sex! Evelyn, I love that about you!

Lo and behold, the doctor (again, Amos from Murder She Wrote) gets a "fax from Europe" and it turns out, Evelyn's not dying after all. She immediately packs her bags and without saying goodbye to Lloyd, who in the interim has procured a bouquet of red roses, and hops a plane back to the drapery company in Cleveland.

Lloyd will not be deterred, doing my favorite thing that only occurs in movies, showing up unannounced to declare his undying love. As long as any movie has someone showing up outside an office building or waiting on a stoop unexpectedly to say, "I am in love with you, and I won't take no for an answer even though I am hot and rich!", I am on board. My secret expectation that this will one day happen to me is the main reason I put mascara on everyday.

But Evelyn, busy with a drapery meeting with four Japanese businessmen, is none too pleased to find Lloyd. She pushes him into a janitor's closet and tells him to get lost. Making this movie 100% perfect is the includion of Evelyn's gay assistant opening the door and saying, "I thought I was the only one in the closet. (whispering to Evelyn) He's gorgeous!"

Evelyn, convinced that Lloyd only likes the 'probably-dying Evelyn', lies to Lloyd and says she's dating creepy Fred, thus forcing herself to sit through dinner with Fred (the boss from Being John Malkovitch), who gets cheese on his chin. What a dolt! That would never happen to Lloyd. Lloyd is spying on them from the bar, sees Evelyn dab off the cheese, and decides to go see Evelyn's son Daryl and talk it all out.

I felt like this was another nod to the old lady viewers who might be worried that Evelyn is kinda whorey. Don't worry, ladies. Daryl loves Lloyd!

So naturally, Daryl talks his mom into flying to Chicago (!!! I want to fly to Chicago!!!) to surprise Lloyd, and when he's driving her to the airport, they swing by the cemetary to check in with the dead husband.

Lloyd, meanwhile, is on a date with a short chick whom he does not like. Personally, I very much appreciated that the diminutive height of Lloyd's blind date being a deal-breaker. Evelyn then appears in Lloyd's bangin' downtown office, she lists all of the shit that is wrong with her, and Lloyd is naturally fine with all of this. He's laid back! He doesn't own a watch!

The grand finale is a final geniatric make-out scene. Then credits in an italicized font.

In closing, I was having lunch with my friend Tom yesterday who said, "Your life is so fabulous right now." Then I went home and watched "Chance of a Lifetime" until midnight, and it's pretty much been the highlight of my week...

Monday, February 06, 2012

and also, what is IN those pants...

There is a brief part I omitted from today's Tourist Trapped at the ballet. Alice and I needed to wait in line to pick up our tickets at Will Call. The Will Call line is also the Purchase Tickets line and the broad behind us was having none of it. So she starts berating the elderly Usher who was just trying to be helpful. Also, he looked exactly like Carson on Downton Abbey.
"Why do we have to wait in the ticket line if we're just going to Will Call? I mean, really. This is ridiculous. There should be two lines. Don't you think it's unfair that I'm just picking up tickets and some of these people are going to buy tickets?"
She went on and on and the line moved swiftly forward. So much to Alice's horror, I turned around and said, "I bet if you give him a hard enough time, they will change the entire ticket protocol at the Opera House right now."
I was hoping she'd have some moment of reflection and noticeably feel bad, but that didn't really happen. Instead I just made everyone even more uncomfortable. But then I fell in love with a firefighter tending to an old dude. That and more, including thoughts on the actual performance are up now, on SFGate...

Thursday, February 02, 2012

not at flour + water, of all sacred places...

Big Chris took me (and Brittney) to flour + water for my birthday, where we sat at the communal table next to two broads having dinner. Suddenly, they were being very flirty with my burrito buddy, Big C.
Before I could yell, "Have at him, ladies. He pees with the door open" one of them pulled out her cell phone and started showing him (and begrudgingly Brittney and me) wacky Facebook photos of internet memes. We're talking surprised kitten stuff. It was all very 2004.
Again, fine. Whatever. I was being nice. Chris loves to regale people with the ONE time I got jealous, like 7,000 years ago. But this was not one of those times.
It wasn't until they displayed one Facebook wall photo in particular that I became a total, blatant, leave-us-alone bitch.
The photo was of a little Asian boy. And across his forehead were the letters, "HERRO."
Big Chris, who is half-Asian, politely laughed. He doesn't give a shit. And Brittney, who was the farthest away, couldn't really even see. But I did not politely laugh. I said, "I never thought I'd see someone show a stranger a racist photo at flour + water!"
One of the women said, "It's okay, I'm half Korean!"
Be that as it may, it's not okay. In private, I say dumb stuff to Chris all the time. When Chris calls my phone, a photo of the Far East Restaurant pops up. And he refers to all of my problems as "white lady shit." Between friends, we all probably say politically incorrect nonsense all the time, and quite frankly, I LOVE it.
But I'm not nudging strangers next to me, flashing some STUPID and offensive photo of a KID and being all, "Hey, check this out. Real funny stuff."
Since I'm such a big buzzhill, those broads paid their bill and left, managing to flash Chris a look that basically said, "That chick you're with is super uptight."
Big Chris was thrilled. "Oh my God, you are so jealous right now."
Please.
Anyway, I'll probably be a lot less 'jealous' when those 'ladies' are charged with a hate crime...

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

i asked my mom to send me photos of me in sf...

People often ask me if I am ever offended by comments on my blog posts and usually my answer is no. There is something far worse than a nasty comment, and that is NO comment.
But there is one comment that always gets under my skin.
"Beth is probably a 23-year old transplant from Michigan." -510native4life
While yes, I am 23 years old, I was born in San Francisco. It doesn't bother me when I'm called dumb, or a shitty writer, or even the painful "pretenshus." But saying that I am obviously not from San Francisco and therefore not allowed to express an opinion about something in San Francisco is basically a challenge to a duel in my book.
Why is that? How San Franciscan does one need to be before they can fucking relax in this town and enjoy it? What makes a real native?
So instead of challenging an anonymous commenter to a duel, I called up some San Franciscans and asked them. You know, like the Mayor.
Also chiming in are talented sons of famous San Franciscans, Jon Moscone and Christopher Caen, my cousins Kate and Ryan, Supervisor David Campos, Commissioner Anna Conda, the hilarious Eve Batey, die-hard San Franciscan Kate Horton (who was born in Hawaii?!?) and of course Brock ...who managed to use the word "suck."
Will they kill me in the comments today? God, I hope so. As long as they call me a fucking native.