Way Out West Side Story

I've been reading The Story of a Marriage in part due to my long standing fascination with San Francisco's western districts, many of which could pass not only for Pasadena or Palo Alto but even Kansas City or Omaha.

So it was nice to discover the Western Neighborhoods Project, with a healthy cadre of stories, photos and links. It's not quite equal to my beloved Bowery Boys, but then neither is the subject matter. Speaking of which, the B-Boys posted a tellingly well-informed post on Julius, that other historic Manhattan bar that pre-dates the Stonewall Inn by a century or so. My memories of it were never terribly quaint. Usually some bridge and tunnel troll would converge and immediately grab my crotch and ask if I had plans.

Further Signs of the Apocalypse

As both Salty Miss Jill and Bryce Digdug have shown us in recent posts, signs of the bacon apocalypse keep showing themselves. And just a few doors down at Carrer 63 Muntaner -- just a few doors down from my home at Hotel in Dante -- I discovered the apparently popular Bacon Bear Bar. And, in case you weren't aware, Bearcelona has become a quite popular event. I think I would have liked it more when it was Punto BCN, and you could go there "early" as in before 3 a.m. While the fur quotient in Catalonia is high, the chub factor is pretty low. So I think I might actually enjoy the event better than the local fetish fairs. All the same, my slight experience with el ambiente in Barcelona was at a pleasant neighborhood bar called La Chapelle with a sweet bartender and international crowd. A woman from London sat there with her seven-year-old son on her lap who was transfixed by Some Like It Hot playing on the screen with the sound off and English subtitles.

Toasting Melba and m00nchild

Some weeks, wasted hours of blog searches yield nothing but absolute crap, especially on the "LGBT" front, and especially when it comes to this particular group in SF. (Sample quotes from blogs discovered: "Here I am with my boyfriend and a porn star at the Castro Street Fair. Woof. Woof." "Here we are with all those hot, hot 425 pound bears at Hairison Street Fair. Aren't big boys just too caliente?" "Here was are at the La-Z-Bear Weekend in fabulously rustic Guerneville." My reaction: "Egads, no, give me back my chopsticks so I can poke my eyes out now!")

But this week I was pleased to come in contact with one super cool local who operates the sweetly sinister, viciously vivacious blog Lunacy's Child. Besides being cute as a button (I say that a lot, don't I?), he deliciously lays out everything in a way that's caustic but not completely jaded. His observations about gay life in SF are spot on, and he seems to find light at the end of the often hopeless tunnel called being gay in San Francisco. It can be a wretched little flower in this berg by the Bay, but sometimes in all its alienating friendliness comes a sweet, swift kick of hope.

On top of that, Lunacy's Child also has an great DJ site called m00nchild (zeros not Os) with some really great mixes. I'd given up on "dance music" eons ago, especially the soulless crap that I hear coming out of so many bars or pathetic HiNRG internet or air wave stations. His stuff has a great 1977-1979 vibe, giving a sense of a time that was not his and does not exactly embody what it really was but is still a wonderful place to make dreams of. I've been listening to his stuff all day, feeling a little more bounce in my step, twirling around the JunkPlex and thinking "Wow, I'd love to live in a city that had this kind of music. Oh, wow, I do."

And anyone under 40 that digs Melba Moore in her prime is pretty cool in my book. Glad I came across this child of lunacy and the moon, and I look forward to reading more of his blurbs.

Twitchy, Bitchy -- and Manic

"Partly Jane Fonda and partly Jane Fonda!" Oh, JunkThief, what are you talking about, I've heard many a youngster ask. Well, back in 1971, my grammy took me to see this musical (complete with the Oh Calcutta! bare assed reference edited out of the CBS broadcast). Grammy P just loved the show and said she felt it embodied a world where I would one day reside and thrive. I pleaded to have her take me to THAT bar for a Shirley Temple, but she drew the line there. I did make it there eventually "It's just too groovy to believe!"

And you know what, Grammy P, I agree that it's dull to be too sane. Thank you for opening that first window all those years ago.