they're using me to get to you...

Biting the hand that feeds me in today's See Spot Write...

i've finally found a cause...

The Brians had Melissa and I over for dinner last night and somehow, we discovered that you can listen to a police scanner online. Needless to say, my co-workers are about to hate me, because I'm going to be on this scanner thing 24/7.
But one cannot, I am horrified to report, listen to San Francisco police shit online.
With whom do I speak regarding this appalling and sad state of affairs? Who has a scanner or CB radio anymore? Not me. You know what I do have? A goddamn laptaop. And you know what I wanna do with it? Listen to the po po.
Don't my taxes pay for things like this kind of necessary transparency? This is San Francisco! Shouldn't our police force be equiped with the most up to date advances technology has to offer? Shouldn't I be able to be the 21st-century version of the old dude on the porch listening to the police scanner while widdling something handheld out of wood?
Can we get this on a ballot? I'll campaign the shit out of it, I swear. Until then, hello criminals of San Diego!

a priest, a rabbi and a blogger walk into rehab...

One week from today is my Soberversary! I can't believe it. A whole year off the sauce. A whole lifetime to go. Actually, I never let myself think about it that way, so lemme shut up. The only way to celebrate my Soberversary is really to make all of my friends and friends of friends come to a bar and drink with me. Luckily, Jon the mixologist is going to hook me up with some classy mocktails he's making just for the occasion so I won't be falling off the wagon.
I will, however, be telling a story.
I love telling stories around the dinner table and across the cocktail table. But standing in front of a bunch of people and telling the story of the absolute worst experience of my time in rehab scares the shit out of me. Last night, I practiced in front of Melissa and The Brians and even then, standing before my closest friends, I was shaking.
So, if you'll be joining us on Monday night, and I really hope you do, please be kind. I'll be sharing "Rehab Jesus" which is the day that the rehab shit hit the rehab fan. I really hope people think this tale of woe is funny, although after I told it to Mel and The Brians, they were all teary, rubbing my shoulders, "Awww Bethy" at me.
And they'd heard it before.
Jesus Christ.
I've been waiting a long time to share the juicy details of my 28 day adventure. So come hell or highballs, in front of 5 or 50, I'll spill. I can't get drunk anymore. I've got to get my kicks somewhere else. And a public performance of Rehab Jesus is pretty much the equivalent of base jumping as far as I'm concerned, so here goes!

he was looking for fireworks...

Twitter is aflutter with Gavin sightings!

Apparently, our Mayor went in some Community Center, took a stroll down Eddy and walked around Chinatown. I got an enthusiastic text from a friend who discovered just this. Interestingly, I just realized that my friend Twitter-searches 'Gavin Newsom,' but that's neither here nor there. 

Anyway, it's a gorgeous evening and God bless him, the man is wandering around the city he's supposed to be running. This is a good sign! Maybe he's reconnecting with the city by the bay, remembering why he fell in love with us in the first place and wondering why he ever tried to leave. 

Gavin's back to anonymously picking up litter and hooking his favorite hobo, Patches up with lattes and conversation. He's probably taking in the sights and smells (of Eddy Street and Chinatown, naturally) with his hands in his pockets and his head in the clouds. Because Gavin knows that we're better than Hawaii. We might not have their pristine beaches and slutty dances, but we've got so much more. 

Like voters. Who elected him to be here. 

Anyway, I'm delighted. And I'm happy for the Mayor that he's remembering his spirit and getting some fresh urban air. I, for one, welcome him back with open...arms. I'm only sorry our friends on Twitter didn't provide any info on Gavin's Saturday strolling ensemble...

word to your mother...

I've got to stay home some night at make sure this is actually showing up on KOFY. Kieran could just be fucking with me. But here's your Weekend What's Up. This week, watch me awkwardly make an early 90's R&B reference, boyee...

2LEGIT2QUIT, folks...

landslide...

Today's Culture Blog is UP! It's all about last night's shindig at Tosca and I hope you enjoy it...

josh and c.j. would end up together...

I could be perfectly happy spending the rest of my Halloweens with a gay man at a fancy joint. I don’t know if that means I’m doomed to spend the other 364 days a year letting my cats shit all over my home as I write West Wing fan fiction by hand, but if that’s the case, so be it. I had fun!
Before we hit Le Club, Brock came over to my house to get ready, bringing with him candy which we planned to pass out to the little children in my hood. I threw on a wig and a dress and painted Brock’s face for his “Deconstructed: Ghost.” We took an offensive amount of photos of ourselves and listened at the window for the pitter patter of tiny costumed feet. Each time Brock would hear a child, he’d race out the front door with a big bowl of candy. And every single time he did, the children would walk right past him. Brock was literally shoving candy in their faces and they rejected him.
Okay, the rejected us.
Those kids had no problem stopping next door, no problem hopping from house to house taking candy from everyone else. They simply had a problem with us. We ended up giving our candy to my neighbors who graciously accepted and implied that we were being rejected because the kids didn’t know us.
“Most people giving out candy on this block are old families that have been here for a long time.”
So basically, we’re snubbed by children on Halloween because we’re gentrifying the neighborhood. Fair enough, but it’s still free candy. We weren’t making (loud) razor blade jokes or anything. Don’t kids love candy? If yuppies were passing out free burrata on rustic bruscetta or salted caramel anything, I’d be all over it.
But Brock trying to give a 6-year old a Butterfinger? No thanks, enthusiastic man in a weird white outfit. We’ll pass…

BOO!

Happy Halloween! 

Have a safe and fabulous night, Zombies!

Love, 

Brock and Beth

i'll probably get in trouble again...

Ansel, my number one rehab gay, has presented me with the best soberversary idea anyone has ever imagined. If you recall, it almost 1 year ago I checked into treatment. I promise a big, revealing and reflective post on the actual date and you are all invited to by wildly inappropriate and irreverent Soberversary Party on Monday, November 16th. 

But it seems appropriate that Ansel and I celebrate somehow by ourselves. Ansel was 3 days ahead of me in our 28-day adventure and was, in fact, the first "patient" I met when I checked in, clutching a pillow and sobbing. 

Ansel was requesting his cigarettes from the nurse's station and in the interest of maintaining social graces under the most horrific of circumstances, the nurse attempted to introduce us. 

"Ansel, this is Beth S. She's checking into detox."

"Hey." He deadpanned. "It's not that bad."

He then grabbed his cigarettes and walked away. 

My mother forced a huge grin and screamed, "See? You already made a friend!"

That was our big introduction, me and Ansel. 

Now, almost a year later, the "It's not that bad" grunter has hatched a plan to celebrate our shared milestone. We're going on the Ultimate Family Overnight Adventure on the USS Hornet. Apparently, the Hornet, which I was last aboard so drunk that I got in trouble, is haunted! And there, amidst excited families and scared 5-year olds, will be Ansel and me, playing in the simulator, eating in the mess hall and sleeping in the sailors' bunks. 

Please, dear God, let there be a 'get to know you' game so some little shit in a USS Hornet hat can ask how we know each other...

rehab is for quitters...

OMG! Gavin dropped out of the race!
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!
I can't say I'm not disappointed. A whole year of fodder was just ripped from my hands. I'm a little sad and a little curious about what's next for the Mayor. Will he return to the private sector and give up the spotlight? Or will he run again?

Beats me, but he's promised the following, according to the Chron:
At a City Hall news conference dealing with the bay oil spill, Newsom was asked whether he would be in town this weekend. He said he would be, and that reporters "would have a political story Sunday." He did not elaborate.
I'm going to be pissed if it's something boring...

starting today...

Guess what?
Weekend What's Up is coming to TV!
I know. I know. This is all so exciting. But wait. It gets even more glamorous.
We're going to be on KOFY. Remember KOFY? Yeah, Channel 13! We're filming a 60-second version of the Weekend What's Up (in addition to the "web-exclusive" version) and it'll run Thursday-Saturday "at least once during our afternoon Springer/Wilkos block and once during our Scrubs/Star Trek block on weekdays/weeknights."
So all of you Steve Wilkos Show viewers? HI!
(This moment was made even better by the fact that the clip up on the Steve Wilkos Show website is entitled, "I Lock My Wife In A Closet.")
Weekend What's Up will also be on KOFY in the middle of the night, so if you have a job and aren't' home watching the commercials during Jerry Springer or Star Trek reruns, then please stay awake because I might or might not be taking you to commercial during Perry Mason.
Anyway, thanks to the folks at KOFY! We're so excited the Weekend What's Up is hitting the airwaves (during the Steve Wilkos Show) and I can't wait for the 1 in 843,491,293 chance of people that were mean to me in high school to stumble upon this.
And also, thanks Kieran and T-Rog for finally gettin' me on the boob tube...

boo!

Happy Halloween! Today's Culture Blog is UP!

a love letter to an inanimate object...

Dear Golden Gate Bridge,
Thank you for always being there for me. Thank you for being so gorgeous and so famous and so convenient for me. Thank you for never collapsing into the Bay or succumbing to terrorism. Thank you for your cables and your color. Thank you for not only being so much more attractive than your counterparts, but so much more reliable. You're like the opposite of people, what with your good looks and yet, great personality.
Thank you for never letting suicides get you down. Thank you for tolerating tourists who videotape you while hanging out the windows of their rental cars. Thank you for keeping your shit together when everyone else is losing theirs.
Thank you, Golden Gate Bridge, for being there for me throughout my entire life, for never letting me down, for getting me to school and to work every day. Thank you for your fast track lanes and charming gift shop. Thank you for your film and television appearances and your prominence in Sleep Train and Lexus commercials. Thank you, old friend, for the reassurance that when I hear a bridge breaks, I know it's not you.
Sure, you've been closed a few times. Like for really horrible car accidents or because Woody Harrelson wants to save a tree. But it's never your fault. Nothing is.
You, Golden Gate Bridge, are my favorite bridge. And I love you.
Most sincerely,
Beth Spotswood
*Photo taken an hour ago, on my breezy, Full House-esque commute...

shut up, jeff...

I have to live-blog the Flipping Out Season 3 Reunion. For the two people that care. 

10:02: I do not care about the business/real estate aspect of this show. Talk about Spirit!

10:03: Oh, the crazy clients!

10:04: I'm very love/hate about Andy Cohen. Jeff is NOT SINGLE?!?!?! WTF?!?!?! "This person doesn't want anything to do with the show." I wonder if it's a celebrity. And by that I mean, I hope it's a celebrity. Let's guess!

Oh, great question about lunch! Jeff IS always mean at lunch. "We have six people. And we have four brown salsas" is the name of my next blog. 

10:07: I still don't get what's so horrible about Jeff's former BFF, Ryan? Oh! We're now discussing bathroom breaks. Jeff announces when someone goes #2. It involves "rollover minutes" and is highly complex. Jeff seems nervous. 

10:09: Natalie Portman is on Top Chef tomorrow and there's a twist! What could the twist be? She's vegan. That's my guess. I would think to be that flawlessly beautiful, you must suffer horrifically. Hence, vegan. 

10:13: Jenni the "long-suffering assistant" is here! I like her a great deal. Andy likes her denim jumper. And Jeff's bringing up her divorce! This is getting awkward.

10:16: This is very uncomfortable. Housewives work better in the Reunion format. Oh, Jeff only hires attractive people. I like how someone wrote in and asked. Someone who's probably ugly. 

10:17: Deb's here! Much like Jeff, Deb is also my favorite employee at Jeff Lewis. 

10:20: Zoila Chavez! In a new uniform! Jeff got her a new uniform so she matches the decor. I think Zoila just insulted Jenni and no one noticed. Also, Zoila's husband disappeared? What? This sounds like a Raul Julia movie! Zoila and Jeff have martinis and play games. Oh, how I miss drinking. I would be Jeff's maid just for this. Plus, that uniform is adorable. It's very spa-employee.

10:23: Oh, oh, oh! Ryan's coming.

10:25: I hate THIS commercial more than anything. 

10:28: Former lovers/partners/best friends Jeff and Ryan are face to face for the first time in 4 months. Does business always come between friends? I think Jeff misunderstands Google links. Or maybe I do. Anyway, I'm never going into business with Melissa. You know, I'm torn on Ryan. He seems smart and calm to me. I'd hire him in a heartbeat. I'd LOVE to have him redecorate this shithole. 

10:31: Ryan is so chiseled! Also, Jeff seems genuinely both sad and insane. 

10:32: By the way, these men are excellently dressed. Take notes, gents. 

10:34: Jeff is losing it. Ryan was a neuroscience major? This is very internet-complex. This argument is all about website routing and Google hits, which does not make for good reality television. The yelling, however, does. 

10:35: Anyone who watches this show knows full well Jeff and Ryan have separate businesses. No one would hire one or the other misunderstanding that, sponsored links or not. Am I retarded? "Professional identity theft?" "Defamation of character?" 

10:37: Sometimes I can't tell if Jeff is serious. I think he is. 

10:38: This fight is just sad. They seemed like real friends. I've lost real friends before and everytime I think about it, it always still makes me a little sad. Don't do it, Jeff and Ryan!

10:43: Is Ryan going to cry? Oh God, this is heartbreaking. Jeff is so mad about this website thing, he's officially ended their friendship. On national television. 

I think even our host, Andy is like, "Jeff, get a grip." This is nuts. Agree to disagree. 

10:46: Oh my god. This is making me so grateful for my friends. This is not a fun TV show. They are both talking about how horrible this friendship ending has been for both of them. Oh, this is tragic. I am taking this so hard. This fight is so real and so uncomfortable. I agree with Ryan on the technicalities, but poor Andy is stuck in the middle. The Real Housewives fight so much more ridiculously than this. 

10:49: What is a Mexican standoff?

10:50: "Okay.....okay......okay....." -Andy Cohen. 

Jeff is screaming/sipping a Frappuchino. 

10:51: I think Jeff might be a difficult artistic genius. He's crazy. But brilliant? Oh, Ryan's getting brutal. "I'm not on the payroll. I can walk away..." 

Jeff and Ryan just got up and Jeff walked into an office, said "Get me that paperwork" and closed the door. Commercial. Exhale. 

10:53: Sorry I dropped the Culture Blog last week, by the way. Day job is nuts. But tomorrow's will be up and I hope you like it. Also, I think this uncomfortable and sad Flipping Out Reunion is making me feel like taking care of relationships right now. Like my relationships with you. I hope this week makes up for last week!

10:56: We're back. Ryan's gone. Jenni's back. "That was tough."

10:57: Everyone is crying. Jeff wanted Ryan to come with a different approach. Oh God, Jeff crying. Me cringing. 

10:58: What does Zoila think of all this?

10:59: And now we're laughing. Oh, a reference to death! Spirit! 

God, a sad, awkward ending. Oh, Deb came back. A final, relieved giggle.

11:00: Please let Thursday's Real Housewives of Atlanta reunion be more insane and much less sad than tonight's. What a weird hour of television to live-blog. I was not expecting the pain and heartbreak. Ugh, what else is ON?

Oh! Joe's on! And here he is. Yay Joe! Joe's standing in the middle of the Bay Bridge right now. The shitty, closed, About to Fall into the Bay Bridge. Anyway, that's it for my live blogging/TV watching. Maybe we'll try it during Housewives? I need practice...

PS: Stay tuned to Channel 5, tho. Joe said they had to cover the Richmond gang rape today, so I think that's coming up. There are apparently 25 witnesses. What. the. fuck...

also, the halloween spirit store on van ness and post rules...

This weekend, my adorable brother took me to his work Halloween Party, which you can see our little video of RIGHT HERE. I was impressed with the caution thrown to the politically correct wind in the costume department. Geishas, Injuns, "Spanish lady"...I know some people who's heads would have exploded at the sight of someone dressed as a Native American for Halloween. Even I did a double take. "Shit, is that chick an Indian? I think that's supposed to be offensive."

Anyway, the costumes at this shindig were incredible. And if they weren't elaborate, they were definitely clever. One of my brother's co-workers was wearing a knit hat, blazer, skinny jeans, Buddy Holly glasses, Converse and a t-shirt that said "Socialist."

"Oh, you're a socialist? Topical."

He rolled his eyes, in character. "Actually, I'm a hipster. But (sigh) whatever."

I saw a really great Joan Holloway and a flawless Melanie Daniels from The Birds. I was a little regretful I didn't go with classy yet sexy 60's femme fatale and instead, went as Aileen Wuornos. 

No one really got who I was, even in my full, built-in elastic waistband, DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS jumpsuit, until I mentioned the movie Monster. Towards the end of the evening, my brother went off to get more drinks and ended up running into some friends, thus leaving me standing by myself in an orange DOC jumpsuit with a bunch of strangers. Suddenly, a fabulous British man with gorgeous man-arms and flowing hair came up to me as I ate macaroni and cheese out of a plastic cup and said, "Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Aileen Wuornos."

"Oh!" He laughed. "You're the man-hating lesbian serial killer!"

Finally!

Sir, I love you. 

But that was the end of that and I just stood there feeling very masculine. Finally my brother arrived to rescue me and we had a lovely time until he dropped me off at home. I decided to stay in and not change. 

Had anyone peeped through my living room window on Saturday night, they would've seen me sitting in my DOC jumpsuit and blonde wig watching The Canterville Ghost and loving every second of it...

*Photo credit: Brock Keeling, who saved this photo as "Beth is a Monster." On an unrelated note, I cannot WAIT for 40 Going on 28's recap of Mad Men. TWIST!

i'm nothing if not a problem solver...

In this morning's M&R column, Ross and Andy point out that former San Francisco Mayor Art Agnos was totally snubbed from the big 20th Anniversary Earthquake festivities, which weren't that fabulous anyway. Normally, I'd be all over tragic event commemoration, especially one I survived, but the "Big Rumble" events didn't seem that dicey. I need a video montage of death and destruction set to poignant music at a black tie gala. Don't you?

Anyway, I guess Art's so ticked off he wasn't invited to any Big Ruble "put a first aid kit and bottled water in your basement and forget about it" activities that he gave a quote to the Chronicle saying he doesn't know why he wasn't included. 

I wish everytime I wasn't invited to something I feel I should have MC'd, it would be news. Didn't the New Kids on the Block host a cruise? What the fuck, NKOTB? Where was I? 

As for Art, Mayoral spokesperson Nate Ballard said chill. "It was just an oversight. No slight intended." Noticeably absent was an apology, but I can't imagine one was necessary. Weren't all of the Big Rumble events desperately open to the public? 

We're all invited, Art! Relax!

I guess Art suspects that the current administration isn't a fan because he supported Matt Gonzalez for Mayor in 1943 or whenever the hell that race was. First of all, if Matt Gonzalez had been elected Mayor of San Francisco, there'd be no "Big Rumble" events anyway, because:

1. The name "Big Rumble" is offensive in it's implication that tragic earthquakes are fun. 

2. Much of the destruction of the Loma Prieta Earthquake took place in the Marina District, which would by this time in the Gonzalez Administration, no longer be within the city limits of San Francisco and now be part of Marin. 

3. Earthquakes are probably our fault anyway for not composting. 

But you guys. Let's not ignore the elephant in the room. I'm appalled Nate didn't bring it up! I mean, it's the first thing I think about whenever I hear the name Art Agnos. 

Mayor? Yeah, I guess. 

Earthquakes. Sure, okay. 

Shot? Hell yes!

Art Agnos was SHOT by a GANG OF SERIAL KILLERS and SURVIVED. 

So, here's how the Newsom Administration can make it up for Former Mayor Agnos, who's feeling a little snubbed. On December 13th, 2009, the 36th Anniversary of Agnos' attempted murder, San Francisco should throw the "Big Bang." 

There could be educational booths about how to not join cults and not be racist. We'd have to close off streets, naturally. This IS San Francisco. There could be a Big Bang dinner, commemorating the tragic Zebra killings and celebrating this great town's ability to overcome the fact that we're a serial killer magnet. 

The Big Bang! What's not to love? Art would obviously be the guest of honor and we'd all be a little bit more informed about the Zebra Killer, which was some dicey shit I wish we'd discuss more anyway. Win, win. 

But let me just say for the record, before feelings get hurt and I give some bitchy quotes, if someone runs with this genius Big Bang idea, I'd better be invited...

a sheet and two holes means no one's going to talk to me, so forget it...

I am absoluetly desperate for a costume to tomorrow night's Halloween Party. In a sad twist, I'm my brother's date to his company shindig and these folks take costuming seriously. My initial ideas (I have 24 hours) include:
1. Poker Face/Lady Gaga. I was thinking maybe "Ghetto Gaga" with bubbles all over me and a blonde wig or some version of poker face. Maybe like an illegible poker face (can't read my, can't read my...gays get the idea.)
2. Halloween Spirit Store costume. You know, Geisha or sexy vixen.
3. Star Wars nerd. You know, this party is thrown by Lucasfilm. Either they have a sense of humor about this stuff. Or they don't. There's only one way to find out.
My brother, the ever-topical Alex is going as the Wii version of himself, which means he's green with "ALEX" floating somehow over his head. I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that.
Finally, 7x7 Magazine has some designer-y Halloween costume ideas for you, including a Gavin Newson option. This would be fabulous, obviously, had they gotten the tie right. My GOD, 7x7. My God. I don't think he even owns a red tie.
Seriously. Help me out in the comments. I'm grasping at straws here.
Wait! Could that be a costume. Grasping. At straws.
Okay, I'm getting desperate...

thumbs up is right!

I love seeing Gavin with a Ho as much as the next guy, but this is too much:

Heh. I love the gentleman on the right. "Alright, Mr. Mayor. Doin' good. Just press the red button and...no. NO! NOOOO! I said the RED butt...AHHHHHHH!!!!!"
I really hope Gavin was making tractor noises while he was playing in this thing. He certainly looks like he's enjoying himself! I recall my first thought at the notion of Gavin Newsom running for Governor being that we'd get to see him do weird shit. This counts.
Thank you, Bill Wilson for always capturing the magic of a moment. And e-mailing it to me...

So, uh, this is your job? Weird.

Step there. On the step. C'mon dude. The step. It's right there.

This is perfect for Awkward Family Photos. I'm submitting it!

I christen this hole in the gound "Gavinsylvania!"

"Wait, wait. Before I go, Ima do Affleck's monologue from Good Will Hunting."

Honestly, this has been just lovely...

this sure beats the father-daughter dance...

In between Ryan's Saturday 2pm wedding ceremony and 5pm reception (at the Bohemian Club which I'm forbidden from discussing by, like, the entire Cabinet from 1983), we killed time at the bar of the Olympic Club where Manny the bartender pointed out that Tuesday Night was Pub Quiz.

"Pub quiz?" We asked.

"Yeah." Manny refilled my Diet Coke. "You know, trivia? It's packed."

This seemed like the perfect opportunity to beat some douchebags on their home turf. Kate and I immediately agreed to attend and bring our dads.

The thing about Pub Quiz at the fancy pub is that you can't have an inappropriate team name. A few members of our group couldn't wrap their head around this. I mean, my dad was playing. I didn't want to be the one to tell him our team name was "My Couch Pulls Out But I Don't."
Much to the disappointment of many, we ended up being "Crazy for Swayze (RIP)" which was, as Joey pointed out, "kinda funny and not gross."
That is actually what I look for in a date, so my night was kinda working out well. Our team grew from 6 people to eventually 11. Our number angered the other teams to a certain extent but honestly, more cooks in the kitchen is not necessarily better. We kept switching our answers because people kept changing their minds. It was all very tense and exciting.

No one gets more excited about winning at trivia than my father, who at one point actually high-fived someone from across the table. He'd gasp with widened eyes every time we got a question correct, as if we were playing for actual money or prizes.

Sadly, the winners only got free drinks, which are basically free anyway. The Bar does not accept money, only membership numbers. And our free drinks had to be redeemed that very moment.

Normally, and Grey Cloud can correct me on this, the Bar serves free stew or soup. They stick a big pot in the corner every day and forget about it. I know, I know. What the fuck? But on any given afternoon, you can find some dude in Dockers sipping a Maker's Mark and eating free soup while watching tennis and avoiding his wife.

Quiz night, however, must be regarded as a special occasion because someone set up a hot plate with spanakopita triangles and salmon tea sandwiches in the soup corner. It was bizarre, and made more so by the ridiculous line that formed. I heard some business man yell to his companions, "Tortilla chips, bro!"

The room was abuzz.

I'm glad I've added the Club to my litany of citywide Trivia Nights. It's not a raucous as say, Edinburgh Castle or the Bitter End, but it's got nicer bathrooms and valet parking.

Also, it's dad-friendly. Awww...

according to brock, going as a sheet-with-two-holes ghost is retro...

Last night's quick drink with Kate and Richard turned into a 5 hour dinner for 8. And over the course of this fabulous meal, I promised Richard I would put him in the "blog on the internet." He was adamant that he be mentioned as Richard thinks this will somehow provide him with street cred to his staff.
And so, because we made a mutually beneficial deal, here is my half of the bargain.
My favorite quotes from last night's dinner include, "I don't know if I can make it. I might have to run an election in Kosovo" and varied suggestions for Halloween costumes, most of which are too inappropriate to actually mention.
Richard, welcome to the internet.
Speaking of Halloween costumes, I need a good one by this Saturday night. My wonderful brother is taking me to his company Halloween party. And I have a feeling these folks take Halloween pretty seriously.
I like the idea of something really topical, but obviously everyone's thought of Balloon Boy and that's already old news. I'm desperate for suggestions, so please feel free to hook me up. What are you going as? Or are you too cool to dress up?
Worse comes to worse, I could go as someone from Mad Men. But my favorite character right now is Carla, which would employ one of last night's inappropriate (yet topical!) suggestions and Alex would never forgive me...

i like the way you do business, franklin county...

Dear Sam and Miss Chambers, 

My video "with" Woody Harrelson is up, as well as my thoughts on the HUGE DISS. 

Please enjoy See Spot on the SF Appeal. 

Regards, 

Carla

the peach thing, i'm still not 100% on...

If you don't watch Glee, I have 2 things to say to you. 

1. What the fuck is your problem? 

2. Everyone's going to be singing this song. You might as well start listening to it and either loving it or rolling your eyes at it. Because it'll be coming out of the Castro on repeat. As for me, well, this is my new anthem. It applies to mean comments, my workouts, my vintage treasure chest of grudges...basically what Grey Cloud calls my motivation for everything I do. 

So if you're anything like me and enjoy performing sassy music videos in your bathroom mirror while counting the years until you can be a guest on Letterman and give a very specific list of people the finger, well then, this is your song. 

What?

Also, here's the version from Glee which YOU KNOW had Bevan Dufty up on his couch screaming, "Tell it!"

guess who would not talk to us...

I experienced my first (of many) celebrity burn(s) last night. Told we'd get another red carpet interview, videographer Ferguson and I waited all evening. And Bigshot wouldn't even deign to acknowledge us. 

But guess who would!!!!

That's Seymour Cassel, or as I call him, Bert Fischer. The full report will be up on the Appeal Monday, as well as a video of the big diss. But I just want everyone to know that Seymour is a class act and someone else...is not. 

Here's a clue: I'm never recycling again...

take a picture, it'll last longer...

If you think it's just a freakshow at GhettoGas, you'd be dead wrong. This morning's SuburbaGas was a virtual parade of carnie folk. I love coffee, but I'm hardly a coffee snob. Gas station coffee is fine by me! So I swung by SuburbaGas and went straight for the coffee. There was a short older man standing there, sporting his trucker hat and denim shirt tucked into his denim pants. He came up to my shoulder, maybe and proceeded to stare at me as I filled a cup with coffee.
He had a swizzle stick in his coffee and he stood across the little coffee kiosk from me, swirling his powdered creamer for an unnecessarily long time while blatantly staring.
As is my tried and true staring theory, when someone stares at you, you need to stare back at them while offering the "What?" face. They will inevitably look away and feel remorse.
My staring back trick did not work on The Stirrer.
He just stood there, swirling and staring. Like a serial killer, with a stupid little grin on his face. I'd stare at him unsuccessfully, then look back down. I'd try staring again. He wouldn't give up!
The grin! The swirling! The staring! I was one Tom Petty version of American Girl away from being someone's woman suit. I actually wondered if he was blind and thus, unaware that he was being so rude, but he didn't have any of the blind people accoutrement's (sunglasses, white cane, dog, piano, etc.).
Finally, I managed to get coffee, milk, Splenda, a cup cover and a cup cozie (all while being stared at) and as I went to grab my purse from the counter, The Stirrer walks past me (still stirring) and admires a display of stuffed animals. SuburbaGas has an actual display of caged stuffed puppies for "adoption." It's bizarre and clearly, called to The Stirrer. He started reading their adoption information aloud and chuckling. I couldn't figure out if he was trying to draw me into a conversation or was just a fucking psychopath, so I got the hell out of there and attempted to pay for my coffee.
In front of me in line was a gentleman who was there to redeem his winning lottery ticket. He'd won $100 and cheerfully announced, "I probably put about $390 into it, so it all works out, I guess."
Opposed to talking to strangers in gas stations, I didn't point out to him that no, it has not all worked out. He spent $290 on the joy of one winning scratcher and he should be horrified. But there is some bureaucratic complexity to awarding a $100 lottery ticket, complexity I was now privy to as I was stuck behind Mr. Lucky.
SuburbaGas is where someone recently won like, a billion dollars on a lottery ticket. I imagine this is why it's now packed with God's mistakes.
I finally paid for my coffee and as I walked out the door, a gentleman walked in who (I'm debating even mentioning this) looked exactly like Mohammed Atta.
Exactly.
I'm not saying I think this gentleman is a terrorist. I'm just saying he looks like a really famous one. He probably hears it all the time, so relax. He even gave me a look that was like, "Yeah, I know I look like the leader of the 19 September 11th terrorists. Get over it."
And why did he give me that look?
Because I was staring...

what's shakin'...

Today's Culture Blog is up! 

rainy day discussion topics...

I have two excellent and creepy rainy day subjects to discuss with you today.

The first is Victorian Death Photos, sent to me by Marcus. Please leave work, go home, curl up by the fire (or TBS showing of Home Alone) sip some tea and read THIS. Boy, those Victorians were sure obsessed with death. How fabulous is this quote: "The deceased was commonly represented as though they were peacefully sleeping rather than dead, although at other times the body was posed to look alive."

As you know, this blog should serve as my living will. While no matter what the doctors say, you should never unplug me because I'm definitely still alive in there, if by some horrific turn of events I actually do one day die, please take photos of my dead body as if I'm alive. Eyes open, hands posed in animated expression, surrounded by the living looking somber. Or pose me like this guy, who while dead, is still interested in current events. I bet he's reading the funnies.

Apparently we stopped taking photos of the dead after World War 1 because so many soldiers had died, no one really had the time. The thrill and glamour of death had wained, I guess. Too bad. Anyway, Victorian Death photos. Start Googling and bringing up this forgotten topic with friends and co-workers.

Number two on our creepy itinerary today is all of the bizarre political assassinations that took place from the late 19th century into the 20th century. Part of the glory of my sobriety is that people buy me random presents for no reason. This never, ever happened when I was drunk. Anyway, out of the blue my mother recently handed me a huge coffee table book she saw in a store and bought me. Assassins and Assassinations: History's Most Infamous Plots is, needless to say, awesome. It also points out that killing some leader one disagreed with was de rigueur for the Industrial Age politico. I'm still trying to educate myself on what the hell was up (access to guns, maybe?) so feel free to pontificate via comments or email. I'm just adding political assassinations to my list of interests, which remain focused on serial killers, long term kidnappings, sex crimes and unsolved mysteries.

And while I hate those that discuss good weather with delight and interest, I love all conversation on rain and storms. I find the current conditions glorious...

famous last words...

Have you prepared your flashlights and candles? A massive storm of rain and wind is coming our way and much to my delight, everyone is freaking out. I keep looking outside, waiting for tree branches to crash against my window or to see people walking along the sidewalk and then all of a sudden, their umbrellas are turned inside-out by a huge gust of wind.
Nope.
I can see stars.
It's disappointing to say the least.
I love a good storm. I love big, fall weather for the worst reasons possible: the clothing and the Agatha Christie-type setting it provides for murder mysteries. This promised storm was supposed to strike at midnight, but it would seem all of that information on where to get sandbags got us riled up for nothing.
It's all a big jip, as far as I'm concerned. This is, of course, what they'll read at my memorial service when my car spins out of control in the rain and wind and I die in the middle of the storm I was complaining about.
This storm is supposed to be so big, the news is offering advice! It's all very exciting and I feel like I'm at a concert waiting for the headliner to stop dicking around backstage and start the show.
Brilliantly, Katie tweeted, "it sorta feels like Christmas, waiting for this storm."
I hope we wake up to presents...

some people wait a lifetime...

It's here! It's here! Me and Clive Owen together at last. Watch the video and read all about how the rendezvous came to be RIGHT HERE on See Spot: Meet Clive Owen at the SF Appeal...

I'm 31 years old...

sparks flying...

I felt like this photo deserves it's own post. OBVIOUSLY...

This is what it looks like when someone is completely freaking out inside, by the way. I'm not talking into the microphone. I'm about to throw up. Anyway, the video and the re-living of the experience will be up on Monday. But they will live on in my heart forever...

*photo credit: Margot Duane for the MVFF!

but i make no promises UPDATED...

While I may or may not have the opportunity to interview Clive Owen as he walks into a Mill Valley Film Festival Screening tonight, I've decided to prepare some questions anyway. I've been assured by the publicists that this interview will be shorter than my time with Mr. Benjamin Bratt (my first video ever!), but none the less, I should have some idea of what to say in case the man wants to chat.

So here's what I've got, and I'm delighted to accept suggestions.

"I understand you've spent today playing tourist in San Francisco. Where'd you go?"

"You play a dad with two sons in this movie. In real life, you have two daughters. Which are easier? Boys or girls?"

"If you could've played any role in any movie in history, what would it be? To make you feel more comfortable, I'll tell you mine. I'd be the first and only female Ghostbuster, which isn't an existing role, unless I played Ray."

And finally, Joe's favorite, "You're on my Top 5. Which begs the question, who's on yours?"

This post could be the biggest jinx ever, but honestly, to be on the same block with Clive Owen would be magical. And if I do get to speak to this dashing international superstar, I'll do my damndest not to freak out and cause a scene...

*UPDATE* It's all on video. The whole thing. Editing will take a couple of days, so early next week, please get ready to watch

ME AND CLIVE OWEN CHATTING AND LAUGHING.

working for the weekend (and clive)...

Your Weekned What's Up is Up! Also, tonight is Clive Owen night. That's right. You heard me. I'm hoping to ask him one question on the "red carpet." Any ideas? Because mine are all inappropriate...

kiss my gay ass...

Did you hear about that crazy shit going down at the Fairmont last night? Kindergarten Cop? Screaming and yelling? Gay asses?

Yeah, I was there.

Buzz abounds, but you can find my version of the marvelous mayhem and shit flying on today's See Spot Write...

i bet it was over who gets the window seat...

I just saw this on Facebook, posted by Kate H. who said, "Thanks Derek." If Derek is this video's writer/producer/director, he deserves the goddamn Palm d'Or.

You're really got to watch the whole 2:32 masterpiece. It almost makes me want to take the bus. I can't help but wonder, "Would I have held her back?" I can't decide.
You?

you know you want that t-shirt UPDATED...

Today's Culture Blog is up, with further adventures and observations from Alaska. AND, here's See Spot Write on the SF Appeal. Did you know you could help Gavin pick his logo?
Please for to enjoy...

*DISCLAIMER* I just read this comment, which I'd anticipated and feared getting when writing today's Culture Blog, as evidenced by my writing, "Please forgive my sweeping generalizations, but here's what I noticed." None the less:

"I'm glad to hear that the vacation was fabulous...a very gay word, thank you very much. My impression of your observations is that you have not spent very much time around lesbians. You sound almost anthropologist-like. Describing how they act, what they wear, how they fit into very particular gender roles. I would expect a little more sophistication and familiarity with the huge subculture of LGBT life in the SF Bay Area from you."

I like how their first sentence just negated their whole point. However, let me just say that had been on a gay-man cruise, an old people cruise, an Asian cruise, a family cruise, really any type of specific cruise at all, my observations would be equally "anthropologist-like." And no one would have accused me of ignorance and a lack of sophistication. I think it's the nature of the best, being an outsider in any capacity. But it was a lesbian cruise. So, you know, see above...

oh my god, you're the meanest...

As far as I'm concerned, since I'm haven't had a drink in 324 days (but who's counting), I should be able to do pretty much anything else I want. Murder? Shop lifting? Rape?
Yeah. I'm totally allowed.
Alas, Tim the Trainer disagrees.
Thus, he's kicking my ass 4 (yes, four) days a week and telling me what I'm allowed to eat. I disagree with this plan completely. Again, I'm not drinking. I don't know if I can really drive home how much this sucks, but I assure you, it drives me to hysterics frequently.
Melissa asked me on the cuise, "So, do you ever think about it?"
Are you kidding me? I was able to point out to her from memory what every single person in the dining room was drinking. I was like Jason Bourne in the diner scene when he knew all the license plate numbers in the parking lot. I should be some kind of undercover spy for Alcoholics Anonymous, I'm so conscious of any and all booze within a 100 yard radius.
(I'm at work right now and I know the number of bottles of wine in storage and that there's an opened but untouched shitty Chardonnay sitting in the fridge that's been there for weeks. I still want to down it like there's no tomorrow.)
Anyway, as I sit here eating my salad with proteins and Pellegrino (fuck you, Tim), this is my promise to keep you relatively posted on my progress. The more I see pictures of me when I was a drunk, the more I'm like, "Oh hell no."
So in the interest of my massive vanity, and because Tim is good enough at this that I'm wearing my clothes from two years ago, I'll give you the skinny. (heh.)
And if you live in the Bay Area and wish to join me on this shitty, crappy journey through hell, where apparently, biscotti counts as a cookie, you should hire Tim. Which you can do HERE.
Or you can email me and I'll hook you up.
Maybe we can even work out together and you can laugh as I cry, complain and use my latest excuse, "I think I have an undiagnosed heart condition."
Also, if you're going to hire Tim, which I recommend that you do, you should also watch The Biggest Loser so we can discuss. Tim will even do the Coach Mo voice, which is the 4th in his repertoire of training voices.
Be warned, however, that 100 calorie packs are not allowed.
I know...

i won't be ignored dave...

Do we want to talk about Letterman? Or is it too painful? 

If you've just returned from abroad, allow me to catch you up. Last month, Dave gets into his car only to find an Alex Forrest-esque package resting on the passenger seat. Inside the package, he finds incriminating photos of him banging chicks on his staff (I'm paraphrasing, obviously) and a demand for 2 million bucks. Or else!

Dave goes to the cops, the cops and Dave get all John Grisham/recording conversations/fake 2 million dollar checks. Turns out, Dave's being shaken down by the ex-boyfriend of his ex-ho/assistant. The ex-boyfriend, incidentally, works for the television show 48 Hours, which is about how long it took for his jig to be up. 

Anyway, what I think we all care most about is...Dave? You bang your staff?

Had I known this, I would've majored in communications and gotten a job as a page. 

I kid, I kid. I'm actually kinda creeped out by the fact that David Letterman, while only recently married, has been with his wife for 20 years. 

The ex-ho/assistant is basically my age. (Okay, she's older. But most are.) Anyway, the point is that Dave's obviously been screwing around on his main squeeze. 

I know he's a big celebrity, and possesses the sexiest quality imaginable, humor. But Dave? David Letterman? Ladies man? 

Gross. 

Also, why is David Letterman, who strikes me (perhaps incorrectly) as a pretty normal, low-key guy, always surrounded by bizarre capers and scandals? There was a thwarted plot to kidnap his son. There was his stalker who broke into his home. And now there's mysterious blackmail packages left in his car. 

You're telling me LETTERMAN doesn't have a car alarm? Shit, I'm amazed he drives himself. When I've got my late-night talk-show, I'll be requiring the services of a car and driver, if for no other reason than to avoid unfortunate situations like these. 

To answer my mother's question, asked during our weekly post-Amazing Race phone conversation (Team Asperger!), I think Dave handled the scandal really well, going on the air, revealing the foiled plot and admitting that yeah, he bangs his staff. Tonight, apparently, he'll apologize to his wife. (You can see it online from the East.) 

Good. He should. 

I mean, I'd love having a hilarious, successful, worshipped and rich husband. But I don't need him and his scattered ass splashed all over the tabloid rags. It's humiliating and unfair. 

Ugh. Dudes. 

I think Mrs. Letterman deserves some serious bling, Dave's dick in a jar and a romantic trip to Rome...

seeing spots...

Thank you to my mother who pointed out that I failed to link to my recent SF Appeal posts. One day, I'll make that woman happy. 

Please enjoy my thoughts on Val Diamond's "retirement" and the Weekend What's Up, which is over...

you had me at valet...

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Brock and I will go anywhere with free drinks and free sliders. We will also go anywhere for Mark Leno. Last night, all of those glorious factors were combined with free valet parking and a gay club.
I almost died.
State Senator and Saint Mark Leno was having a fabulous party, the reasons for which I still can’t put my finger on. But he’s gay. The man doesn’t need a reason. The Who’s Who of the Homo Community was there is full force and here’s what I can report:
Supervisor Sophie Maxwell introduced Assessor Phil Ting as the Treasurer. Somewhere, Jose Cisneros is gasping, “Oh hell no!”
Supervisors Bevan Dufty, Ross Mirkarimi and David Campos were also there, although I spoke with none of them. Ross kind of scares me, Bevan was swamped and…who wants to talk to David Campos? Actually, I’ve never heard him speak. Maybe he’s fascinating. David Campos could be the most interesting person in the world. He just doesn’t look it.
I chatted with D8 Candidates Rebecca Prozan and Scott Wiener, both of whom were lovely, friendly and funny.
I also spoke with D8 Candidate Laura Spanjian.
Mark gets a little flack for never meeting a microphone he didn’t like, but I have to say, he’s a wonderful speaker. Suddenly, I care deeply about some ballot measure in Maine. In fact, I think Mark and I should go to Maine and protest. By protest, of course, I mean sitting in matching Adirondack chairs in front of a vintage lighthouse watching the waves of the Atlantic crash upon the rocks below and discussing Mad Men…

*See Brock's version of the event HERE and Bill Wilson's version of the event HERE.