An Appalling Lack of Creativity

We will now take a break from our normally scheduled vacation programming to discuss a recent event.

Barry Bonds just passed Babe Ruth on the career home run leader board. Sadly, both the Chronicle and the Examiner came up with the same headline.

One of my guilty pleasures is listening to talk radio. And not AirAmerica -- though I do that on occasion. I like to listen to right-wing, conservative, intolerant blowhards like Rush Limbaugh and Dr. Laura. I consider it my "liberal re-con"; you have to study the enemy to defeat him/her.

Rush has been babbling about the "drive-by" media, and how they are all in cahoots to slander the conservative movement. I never believed him, but the above may be evidence of collusion. Or, it may yet again point out the problem with using the cheap cheesy joke -- someone else will probably think of it. It's sad, because I think there were a number of better possibilities. Just a few from my brain:

The Abuser Passes the Boozer

Bonds "Clear"-ly "Creams" Ruth

Bonds Shoots Up Above Ruth

Bonds Injects Own Ass, Kicks Ruth's

Can You Spell Asterisk

Other headlines not specific for 715, but that should have been used at some point:

Babe's in Roid-land

PacBell/SBC/AT & T Park; The House That 'Roids Built

***Disclaimer: If you had any remaining questions, I believe that Barry Bonds used steroids. I also think McGwire and Sosa did. I also believe that Barry Bonds would have been a great player and a Hall of Famer without "performance enhancers". Using steroids was wrong, regardless of whether it was specifically against the rules or wheher he ever "tested positive". My feeling is that if Bonds had any class and respect for the history of the game, he would have quit before or after tying Ruth. There is no question that Ruth was a great player; there is also little question that he was an a--hole.

Aaron, on the other hand, is a different matter. He has been a great player, a great man, and a great ambassador for the game. My remaining hope is that sometime in the next 40 home runs, Bonds realizes that he will be remembered more fondly for retiring with Aaron's record intact than for bludgeoning it with a steroid laced maple sledgehammer.

755 forever. Or until A-Rod. Or Pujols (Pronounced Poo-holes, which I didn't notice until my friend's wife laughed when we said his name). Or Jones. (See Jacob Luft's column on cnn.com for arguments -- it's pretty good.)

Part II -- Oh So Tawdry

We left our hero back at his NYC hotel, after a night of 80's dancing...

Saturday morning, we got up late, and did some walking and shopping. My favorite shop was a place called Yellow Rat Bastard, where they had this shirt. I didn't buy it, but I think I'm going to order one. (www.davidandgoliathtees.com)

I bought a bunch of clothes at a place called Little Big, which had fun stuff that was fairly inexpensive. They also had a number of hot, flirty sales reps.

We had lunch at a cafe, and watched the big protest. Unfortunately, I'm still not sure what they were protesting. It was supposed to be about immigration, I think, but there were pro-union posts, anti-oil signs, Hate Bush stickers, and even the "Raging Grannies" (www.boomantribune.com). I ate my salad, drank my diet coke, watched through a window and regretted the loss of my activism.

After the shopping trip, we went to the hotel and my friend took a nap while I chilled out and watched "National Treasure". I probably needed the nap more, but I am rarely able to sleep during the day unless I have been up all night. Even after 36 hour shifts in the hospital, I often wouldn't sleep until the sun went down.

We headed out to Little Italy for dinner, where we didn't think we could have a bad meal. Ooops. We were seated, only to be told we couldn't sit there. They gave us no time to eat, got our drinks wrong, and served chicken that tasted like it had been frozen. I won't put their name here, and hope that it was an isolated incident. My standing recommendation for Little Italy is La Mela at 167 Mulberry, www.lamelarestaurant.com.

Afterwards, we went to Splash, one of the clubs that was supposed to be hot on Saturday night. It was a weird scene -- the video screens showed some guy tied down and gyrating in the sand, and there were men in leather doing master/servant shit on platforms. Nothing wrong with it, but not my scene -- until I saw a cute little guy standing off from the crowd. We eye flirted for a few minutes, and I went over to say "Hi". When I asked him why he hadn't said anything to me, he said:

"I figured you were looking at my friend. People are always checking him out." Adorable (as was his friend). It stood as the cutest thing he did for about 5 minutes, when he put his head in my chest and said, "How tall ARE you?" (I'm only 6', but he was on the short side.)

Once I convinced him that he was the subject of my interest, things warmed up nicely until it was time to leave. It turned out that he lived in Queens, and I was sharing a bed with my buddy, so we really had nowhere to go. I was about to get in a cab, when he remembered "a place" he had heard about from a friend. We walked for a few minutes, and were suddenly entering a PORN STORE. Turns out that if you pay for a private viewing room in the back, you can pretty much do what you want. There were signs with rules about how many people you could have in a room (one) and things you couldn't do (fellatio). (If you can break the latter rule without breaking the former, more power to you. I've tried many times since seeing Clerks, and still can't quite get there.) (www.vulturezoneb.com)

We broke those rules, and a few others, before I took a cab home. Getting blown in the back of a porn shop has to be the most tawdry thing I have done. At least now I can chime in during the "Where's the weirdest place you have ever done it?" conversations; previously, I just blushed and wished for a more interesting life. I am well aware that this does not vault me into the upper eschelons of sexual experience, but hey, I grew up Catholic in Erie, PA, and came out late in life.

Sunday we went to a Yankee game, which was a blast. The Trambleys have been loyal Yankee fans since Grampa decided it was the best way to piss off all the Cleveland Indians fans in Erie. I had given passing thought to a ball game, but didn't figure it was in the cards when hanging out with a gay Jewish boy who works for Sephora. So I was thrilled when he asked, rather timidly, if I liked sports, and then if I wanted to see a ball game. (www.soulofamerica.com)

The Yankees won, which was great. But the most memorable part was the two drunk guys behind us who were redefining politically incorrect. They reminded me of Statler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show (www.bbc.co.uk).

My buddy and I must have looked at each other and shook our heads at least 20 times. I think they peaked when Hideki Matsui struck out:

"What do you expect when his eyes are shut 3/4 of the way all the time?"

Either that, or when there was some confusion over the price of a Bud, and one guy yelled to his friend:

"Great, now I have to drink a warm beer because you're a retard." I wonder if they took the short bus to the stadium (www.justtottheleft.com).

The funny thing about Yankees fans, and New Yorkers, is that they probably would have tried to beat the crap out of anyone else (especially a Red Sox fan) who said word one about Matsui. Kind of like my grandfather, who was occasionally intolerant of groups, but treated everyone he actually knew rather fairly.

That night we went to Hiro (www.ictv1.com), which lived up to its billing as THE gay place to be on Sunday. I was getting whiplash looking at all the hotties (including my boy from the Pyramid Club, who made an encore appearance and was still interested) until I had a blast from my past. As I don't like to identify people in my blog without their knowledge, we'll call him Ray.

***Flashback sequence. Pretend it's in black and white.***
I met Ray while flinging bracelets and T-shirts to the crowd on the gay.com bus last Pride. My jaw dropped when I saw him, and once I actually got up the nerve to talk to him, we seemed to hit it off a little. We met up in the 'Stro a couple of times, and I walked him home once, got a kiss, and got a date scheduled.

The date, however, was a bust. We went to Badlands for a pre-dinner drink, and started to dance. Ray could danced like crazy -- he had a day job, but took lessons, and danced at the Mezzanine mostly for fun. While we were dancing, he suddenly paused, looked me in the eye for a minute, and then said "You like me too much." (I would still like to know when this became a bad thing!) Unfortunately, he then invited a friend to dinner with us (not a bad guy, but there was no way it wasn't going to be awkward). Turns out he had a "sort-of" boyfriend in New York, and was planning to move there, so he didn't want any new attachments. Despite this, he ranks as one of the cutest guys to ever show and interest in me.
***
So, I managed to run into the one person I knew in NY other than my travel companion. Ray said "Hi", we chatted briefly, and we made blatantly fradulent plans to touch base later. Unfortunately, it became abundantly clear to me that I was not "over" him, so I slowed down the drinking and had a mellow night.

That's the end of the New York tale. I flew out to Atlanta the next morning -- details to follow.

Part I - Off to New York

"Start spreadin' the news
I'm leavin' today
I want to be a part of it
New York, New York"

You can bet I woke up humming Sinatra on the morning of my departure. (BTW - It's from the show On the Town, www.soundtrackcollector.com). Normally, I lug my suitcase a few blocks, take MUNI to BART, and get to the airport in 90 minutes. Since this was my first "I have a real job" vacation, and tax season was kind, I took a cab. Under 30 minutes, and no profuse sweating -- short of a limo, it's the way to go if you can.

I booked my trip on Delta since I have their Skymiles and AMEX card from my days in the ATL. I noticed that one of my flights was technically on Song (www.usatoday.com), but didn't figured it mattered. WRONG! Turns out, it was the last weekend of Song's operation (a tragedy if you've ever flown them), and they were out to have a little fun.

They exit row instructions were fun. The seat belt and oxygen mask instructions were done by a Barry White imitator with Smooth Jazz behind him, and were hysterical. Natalie and Tom, my flight attendants, then came around offering drinks.

Said Tom, "Would you like something cool and refreshing?"

"No, I would prefer something cool and sedating," I replied.

I got one of their "signature drinks"...a Cosmo, shaken up in my presence, and charged at a discount rate (Mom would be so proud). Then they started calling me by my first name. (This wigged me out, until I realized I had paid by credit card, their "preferred method"). After I finished my Cosmo, another drink arrived on the following napkin.

It was Fresca and Mango Vodka. For you mixologists, it wasn't bad at all. Needless to say, we all flirted for the rest of the flight. My seat neighbor got jealous of the attention, and played airplane trivia (another great feature of Song) with me (against her husband) to get in on the action. I also made my own playlist from their music collection (I love Song). Too bad it's gone. Demon Delta, I rebuke thee.

I realize at this point that if I write the whole New York trip in one post, it'll take a week to read. So I'll finish Friday night and the rest will follow.

We landed uneventfully at JFK, and I grabbed a cab to the Lower East Side. I let my friend make our rooming arrangements, and he did a great job. We stayed at the Blue Moon Hotel, on Orchard at Delancey. It's a refreshingly quaint and homey little place, run by a Jewish family who lives downstairs (and will lend you their corkscrew in a pinch). There are Mezuzahs on the doors, and the rooms don't have numbers, but are named after actors. They take your room key when you leave, so you can't lose it -- they remember who you are at the desk and let you in. 24/7. It was cool. (This was during construction -- believe me, it looks awesome now. www.newyorkology.com)

After primping a little, my buddy and I hit the town. We started at a mellow little bar, but quickly decided to look for something more energetic. On a whim, we went into a place called The Pyramid Club (members.virtualtourist.com) that advertized an 80's night. While waiting in line for el bano, I saw a hot boy in a Longhorns hat. I mistook him for Vince Young, until I realized he was cuter and more ripped. We chatted for a while, traded drinks, and boogied to the likes of New Order, Blondie, and George Michael.

I think I won him over by knowing the lyrics to both Gloria (Laura Brannigan) and 9 to 5. Shortly thereafter, we were making a spectacle of ourselves at the bar. Unfortunately (given he may have had the best body I've gotten to feel up), his friends dragged him home, so nothing tawdry happened. Instead, my friend and I shot some pool at another bar and went home.

Tawdry happened Saturday night, and I'll put it in the next post. Ta.

A Series of Unusual Events

What do the following possibly have in common?

• Free Drinks
• 80's Music (including the Go-Go's)
• The Back Room of a Porn Store
• Baseball
• Racial Slurs
• Expert Legal Testimony
• Gun Oil
• Lectures on HIV
• Hashing

Give up? These are some of the highs and lows of my recent vacation.

I have a great schedule for travel -- I work one week and have the next free. Unfortunately, I haven't had anyone with whom to travel for most of the year, so I haven't done much. The only major trip I had planned, to the Bahamas, was superceded by a death in the family (some day I will say more about her).

This all changed when my friend took a new job. He works for a cosmetics company, and now jets around the continent to help open new stores. This gives him long stretches of time on and off the job. He told me about a trip to New York at the end of April, and I altruistically volunteered to go meet him for a few days after the opening.

As the NY trip was developing, an old friend invited me to his going away party in Atlanta. (He's joining the CDC in a few months, and moving to New Hampshire.) Since I was going to be on the East coast anyway, and my boss agreed to cover me a few extra days, I added Atlanta to my itinerary.

I consider this my first "adult" vacation -- I've never had a real job and money to spend before. I had a blast. I'm going to break it down in the next two blogs, and let you in on the zaniness and debauchery. I wish I had taken more photos, but somehow, I always forget. Maybe next time -- my buddy's opening a store in Austin soon.

(Photo from oops-music.com and cnn.com)