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Castro Photos, Late-Night-TV Zingers & Funny Pictures

by Strange de Jim

February 2007

Click here to design a seal such as the one above for yourself for free. This particular design is called a "blivet." I call it a tuning fork for going "om."

Mayoral Scandal

San Francisco's Mayor Gavin Newsom, who had supported same-sex marriage, admitted he had an affair a couple of years ago with his appointments secretary, who was the wife of his campaign manager and best friend. Also, Gavin and his own then-wife had once posed for a peculiar photo on a rug in the Getty Mansion. This cartoon is from the San Francisco Chronicle, 2/2/07:

Friday, Feb. 2, Jay Leno noted, "When they say the Mayor of San Francisco is on top of things, they're not kidding. But apparently his campaign manager was not aware of all the Mayor's positions." Jay showed a clip imitating a Rice-a-Roni ad with a cable car, and then it said, "Gavin Newsom, the San Francisco Cheat."

Monday, Feb. 5, Jay called Gavin "Mayor McSleazy," and said he was "caught riding some things other than cable cars, though he wasn't the first San Francisco politician to have sex behind someone else's back. And good luck finding a new campaign manager!"

Wednesday, Feb. 7, Jay said he thought Mayor Newsom was only going into rehab to meet Lindsay Lohan. On his Celebrity Jeopardy the question was, "Something you might find on your wife," and the answer was, "The Mayor of San Francisco." Also, "What an insult. Not only did he have sex with your wife; he had to be drunk to do it."

Thursday, Feb. 8, David Letterman: "San Francisco's Mayor Gavin Newsom is now dating an actress. No word on what her husband does."

Wednesday, Feb. 21, Leah Garchik in the San Francisco Chronicle: "Daniel Detorie overheard a woman at Venticello telling another, 'The only reason I'd kick Gavin out of bed is to do him again on the floor.'"

Around the Castro

There was a good bit of welcome rain at the first of the month.

Here are cherry blossoms across the street from the famous Nobby Clark mansion at Douglass and Caselli.

The view from Sanchez and 21st.

The Cafe Flore celebrates Chinese New Year, the Year of the Pig, not to mention any names.

A Visit to the Palace of the Legion of Honor

On February 6 I visited the Palace of the Legion of Honor. The entrance is at 34th Avenue and Clement. Click here for lots of pictures.

From Neatorama.com

Click here to read Washington's translated address.

Click to learn more about the castle.

And click here to send any message you want in smoke signals from any famous building.

Below are HDR photos by Trey Radcliff. Click for more.

Sent by Andrea Jacobson

Sent by Gregg Slapak

Videos Recommended by Mike Zamb

101 Must See Movies for Gay Men

Jake Gyllenhaal on Saturday Night Live.

A boy and his classmates sing about his two gay fathers.

TV Zingers

Stephen Colbert: "Scientists have discovered that 8% of sheep are gay, and the rest are into bestiality." Speaking of which, Danny wants me to fly to London for his Equus opening. But do I want to travel all that way just to see a friend horse around?

Conan O'Brien: "Joe Jackson tried to visit his son Michael, but the staff locked the door. They have strict orders not to admit angry parents."

Sarah Silverman: "I learned that it doesn't matter whether you're straight or gay, because at the end of the day they're both gross."

Stephen Colbert on Black History Month: "I don't see color. People tell me I'm white, and I believe them, because the police call me sir."

David Letterman: "In 25 years, during commercials, 3,000 actresses have said to me, 'Let's not complicate it with sex.'" And, "What maniacal ruler who enjoyed feasting on human flesh is the subject of an Oscar-nominated film? The Answer is Queen Elizabeth."

Craig Ferguson: "Lindsay Lohan is texting her friends from rehab that she craves hamburgers and sex. I think you can get both at In and Out."

Joel McHale on Jennifer Aniston confirming she'd had corrective nose surgery: "Apparently her nose has been out of joint for several years."

Seth Meyers on Saturday Night Live: "In Florida a sex offender won $14,000,000 in the state lottery. He said he'd spend it on a puppy and a van."

Brooke Shields on Two and a Half Men: "Lots of men want to have children."
Charlie Sheen: "Yeah, and they're all gay."

Jay Leno: "Hillary will get the woman vote, and Bill will bring in the other woman vote." Jay also said Maytag has recalled 2,000,000 dishwashers, and the INS has deported 50 more.

Conan O'Brien was showing the new state quarters. The motto on California's was, "Come see Britney's vagina."

Jay Leno on the lady astronaut who drove from Houston to Orlando to try to kill her romantic rival: "She drove 900 miles in diapers so she wouldn't have to stop to pee, beating the old record set by Larry King. With the male astronaut she was contemplating an illegal docking procedure. The new astronaut drink is Poon Tang." On the Super Bowl, Jay noted, "Flo Max spent $2.6 million on a commercial when they knew their target audience had to be in the bathroom." Jay claimed 18,000,000 American men suffer from erectile dysfunction, "and that number could double if Hillary gets elected."

Conan O'Brien: "The male astronaut was disappointed she was arrested. He'd been hoping to get some Tang. The female astronaut was charged with possession of a loaded diaper."

Rob Riggle on The Daily Show: "The Chinese have never been able to get a diapered astronaut closer than 400 miles to the person they wanted to kill." Samantha Bee noted, "A lot of women have trouble balancing a job and family with being crazy."

Dave Letterman: "The astronaut was wearing a wig and a diaper, and at first the authorities thought she was Elton John. It's amazing, 900 miles in a diaper. Britney Spears can't even make it around the block in her underpants."

Jay Leno: "eBay had some gum chewed by Jessica Simpson. She had to take it out so she could walk."

Craig Ferguson: "The police bulletin went out, 'The suspect is wearing a space helmet and a diaper. No, it's not Bob Barker.'"

Jonathan Katz on Conan: "A farmer was going bankrupt, so he opened a phone sex business. He cut the lips off his cow and sheep. Have you ever tried saying 'moo' or 'baa' without using your lips?" Also, "I've written a therapy book for 5-year-olds, Tying Your Inner Shoe." Then, "My wife and I have two beautiful kids. And two who are not so attractive."

Dave Letterman: "I thought the only space traveler who wore a wig and a diaper was William Shatner."

Jimmy Kimmel on the basketball player who announced he's gay: "People began to suspect when he had no illegitimate kids."

Jay Leno: "All day in a single diaper. That astronaut lady must have felt like one of Britney Spears' kids."
"Prince Charles wants Camilla to have $100,000 of plastic surgery. That wouldn't even cover the spackle."
"Ralph Nader will be the first person to run for President four times in the same suit."

Craig Ferguson: "All that I ask of a dog is that I can blame my farts on him."

Jay Leno "Headlines:" "Policeman loses nose in circumcision ceremony."
"The police believe the problem occurred sometime between November and Tuesday."
Menu had "feet mignon."

Dave Letterman's Valentines: "You're the only one for me, but I'd be cool with a three-way."
"Every time I gaze into your lovely eyes I forget you used to be a dude."
"Your sister could teach you a thing or two."

Jay Leno: "An 84-year-old woman admitted to having sex with an 11-year-old boy. This time Cher has gone too far."

Dave Letterman: Not to be outdone by Britney shaving her head, Rosie O'Donnell has shaved her back."

Conan O'Brien: "When Britney got out of the car people yelled, 'Hey, look, that bald guy has a vagina!'"

Craig Ferguson: "I asked her, 'How do you like your eggs in the morning?' She said, 'Unfertilized.'"

Dave Letterman: "I suspect Britney Spears will settle down once she has kids."

Conan O'Brien: "After shaving off her hair, Britney showed up at a club in a blonde wig. And to make sure no one recognized her, she wore underwear."

Craig Ferguson [on asteroid heading toward Earth]: "An asteroid is a big rock, so we should send up a giant piece of paper."

Jay Leno on quarterback Tom Brady, whose ex says she's pregnant by him: "That shows what happens when the quarterback doesn't get protection. You've got to wear a helmet."

Peter O'Toole on Jay Leno: "The only exercise I get is following the coffins of friends who exercise."

John Oliver on The Daily Show, whose Jon Stewart hosted the Oscars last year: "Ellen DeGeneres was a breath of fresh air after last year's unpleasantness."

Conan O'Brien telling who would play whom in a documentary about the Oscars: "The Kodak Theater, which had 3,000 celebrities in it at one time, will be played by Paris Hilton."

Jon Stewart to Jake Gyllenhaal: "You were the kid in that Billy Crystal movie."
Jake: "City Slickers."
Jon: "Right. So, technically Brokeback Mountain was not your first gay cowboy movie."

Dave Letterman on the supposed tomb of Christ: "Who'd have guessed they'd find Jesus before bin Laden."

Jay Leno on Hugh Heffner's upcoming nuptials: "The bride is registered at Victoria's Secret. The groom is registered at Forest Lawn."

Craig Ferguson: "He asked how I'd like my chicken prepared. I said, 'I don't want it prepared. Take it by surprise.'" Also, "I've never had a mustache, so I've never kissed anyone with a ... Well, that's not true. Never mind."

Some Books I Loved

Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins the autobiography of Rupert Everett, Warner Books, 2006

This is an excellent memoir of an openly gay actor who's known and acted with everyone.

At about the same time my mother took us boys aside and in serious tones warned us not to go into the woods above the farm because there was a funny man there who might take us to his house, give us sweets, put us on his kitchen table and play with our "wees." My brother looked horrified but I couldn't think of anything better. Travel, sweets and someone playing with my willie; I couldn't wait to trike up there.

I was not going to be part of that gang. I was probably going to be homosexual and that meant I was going to have to learn how to act.

It was a different world. There was still a cherished, half-criminal stamp on being gay. Not so long ago homosexual practice had, after all, been illegal, and in that spring of 1976, sex was still very much conducted alfresco. Parks, disused basement areas, garages and alleyways were the unnamed but known places of worship, and being gay felt like being a part of an ancient Masonic lodge. You were outside the culture, and you loved it.

He observed me from behind his paper as I stuffed my case into the rack above the window; I could tell he was checking out my bum and I wiggled it around as if I were in a Carry On film. When I finally settled down he dropped his paper with a flourish. It was curtain up.

Roddy McDowall was the Hollywood version of Vernon Dobtcheff and he ran one of the last Hollywood salons in his cottage off Laurel Canyon in LA; knowing him was definitely a key into the forbidden city. ... He pioneered the role of the gay best friend. He lived through the whole drama of Cleopatra and was close to both the women in Richard Burton's life. He was there when Montgomery Clift crashed his car after dinner at Elizabeth Taylor's: running with Elizabeth down the canyon towards the wreck, standing by as Elizabeth cradled Monty's smashed head in her arms. These images were my dreams. And if all this wasn't enough, according to legend, Roddy was sensationally hung.

I was living in Chelsea with Susan Sarandon. We were having a strange, guilty affair. ... Meanwhile, Richard Gere, Susan's neighbour and best friend in New York, was living round the corner (under the assumed name of King David) and we often met for dinner.

"Hello, Rupert, this is Orson Welles." We talked for about five minutes. Even down the phone from thousands of miles away, I felt terrified as I talked to him. He was extremely flattering. He had loved Another Country and told me that he thought I was one of the best actors he had seen. He was rewriting a script by John Houseman about a famous musical, The Cradle Will Rock, which Orson had directed in the early thirties. ... Orson wanted me to play him (Orson) as a young man.
... Lunch was at Ma Maison every day for the next few months. Sometimes just Orson and me. Sometimes we were joined by "the prince," a faded Italian crustacean in a polo neck and dyed jet hair.

"There you are," he said. "I thought you were in Sydney. Julie Andrews is making Duet for One. They want you for the role of her protégé but you've got to get over here soon."
I nearly fell off my bar stool. Could it be true? All those years pretending Julie was my mother, and now art was finally imitating life, or rather fantasy life, which was better.

[Hearts of Fire.] The reason I was there, apart from the pay cheque and the gamble—because you never knew, the movie could have been one of those freak runaway hits; many a wooden clog turned into Cinderella's slipper at the box office—was that the part of the has-been was played by none other than Bob Dylan, my hero.

... On the odd occasions when he did talk, it sounded like a lyric. He spoke just as he sang, and "Where's the toilet?" sounded as interesting as "Lay across my big brass bed." But he had a hard time remembering his lines, and it was touching to be with him during a scene.
... For my entrance, I arrived down a staircase from the back. Searchlights slashed across me, and the crowd went berserk. They were paid to, but I didn't care. I've never been fussy about paying and I got an erection.

[Transgender Lychee] Both of us had vowed to change everything about ourselves. All our dreams were of escape and although becoming a movie star was not quite as complicated as becoming a woman, we both needed good lighting and tons of make-up.

[Quiet Flows the Don] Time stood still in Soviet Russia. But not in the good way.
... The next morning Dame Edna and my KGB agent came to collect me and we went to the studio, Mosfilm, which was built by Stalin from plans his spies had stolen from Twentieth Century Fox.
... On the first day I had to get on my horse with a saber at my side and a gun over my shoulder, and charge with 2000 other riders towards the enemy trenches. It was extremely dangerous and would never have been allowed anywhere but in Italy or Russia. If I fell I would undoubtedly be killed.
... Our regiments had been called back to defend the White House. Yeltsin had deposed Gorbachev in a military coup.

A year or so later I was back in Paris. Robert Altman was making Pret-a-Porter, a comedy expose about the world of fashion. I hustled a meeting with him in Paris and explained that I'd been a model and there was no excuse for me not to be in the film, so that I would either have to give up acting or move to a different city if I didn't get a role.
... Fortunately, I got a part playing the son of a fashion designer; Mummy was Anouk Aimee. "You are very old to be my son," she said testily when we met at the initial get-together.

[He was in a play in London] The director, Roger Mitchell, asked Uri Geller to come and talk to us about spoon bending, because there was a scene in the play where I had to throw an extraterrestrial fit and all the spoons in the house bent and the clocks went backwards. Uri was a strange man, as thin as a rake, but very amenable. He bent spoons for us and totally cured my bad knee. We invited him to the first night, and after the show, which in my opinion was pretty cranky, he came backstage.
"I worked on all the critics during the interval," he said. "The reviews are going to be sensational." And they were. One unbridled rave after another. Nobody could believe it.

285 - The shoot of My Best Friend's Wedding was one of those enchanted times for me, where the prevailing winds were in my favour. They blew me along and everything fell into place around me.

[His aunt brings his mother to visit.] Theirs was a delicate mission. Now was the time for my mother to officially recognize the fact that I had turned out the wrong way and was married to a man.
... Everybody in our house loved the sisters, particularly Larry the cook. Pretty soon they were out shopping together every day and at least my mother taught him my favourite dishes.
... As a parting present they gave Martin a cashmere sweater that he valiantly put on, despite the fact that he was hyperallergic to wool. Within half an hour he was purple and oozing snot and almost passed out at the table. "Rather a waste of a good jersey," said my mother as we pulled it off him. "I think I'll give it to your father instead. Goodness, what muscles!"

[Elizabeth Taylor's party after Roddy McDowall's funeral.] Elizabeth knew Roddy as well as anyone. They had met, after all, during the filming of Lassie. Both were far away from home, two of the biggest child stars of their time; one could only imagine the enormous bond that was forged between them as they acted together and were educated together in those bizarre schoolrooms set up by the Hollywood studios.

I had known John [Schlesinger] since I was seventeen, when he came into a shop where I was working, because "everyone was talking about you, my dear." He tried on a pair of shoes, and I was rather cheeky. ("Our feet are too tiny, aren't they?" I'd said. "We don't carry shoes for such delicate pixie paws.") From then on, we were friends, and John was always someone I looked up to.

[The Next Best Thing] Benjamin Bratt, Julia Roberts' boyfriend was playing Madonna's love interest. In a scene where he had to drop her home after their first date, Madonna rather sensibly drank a cocktail before the kissing scene. It worked; the curious little thing only needed one drink to become demure and giggle. It raced through that macrobioticised frame to great effect, and after two drinks she began to improvise. I was watching on the monitor and she was right on track. But things had already turned sour between her and John, and he was furious.
"Will someone pour a bucket of water over that slit!" he screamed from behind the monitor. Tom nudged me, delighted.
At about the same time, somebody began a website called Lourdes' Diary where details of the day's events on our set were described in minute detail. It was really funny. Madonna accused me of being the leak. I wasn't, actually. But everyone became suspicious of everyone else, as the diary kept on coming, and we all raced home at night to guiltily read what Uncle John and Uncle Rupy had done to poor Mommy that day. Personally I always suspected Old Mother Childers, John's boyfriend since the dawn of time.

I took part in debates at international AIDS conferences. I listened to an archbishop peddling abstinence, and a witch doctor who prescribed rape. Interestingly, both men had HIV.

I had crossed paths with Sharon [Stone] on numerous occasions, but she was always wrapped up in the protective arms of her attentive husband Phil Bronstein. We kissed and chatted, raised our eyebrows (in the days when one still could) as her husband seethed beside her, and we each kept moving. ... Many of the girls from the old school end up at some point with a bruiser. Initially they love the feeling of protection and exclusivity. The intense power they have achieved at the studio has left them completely isolated, hard as nails and yet vulnerable as twigs, deliciously snappable. They cry out to be wrapped in love and taken home. The man in question is usually decent, simple and well hung.
... Soon Phil was eaten by a dragon and Sharon had a stroke. By the time A Different Loyalty came along, the marriage was over.

[Sharon wanted Rupert for the male lead in the Basic Instinct sequel.] The head of MGM told my horrified agent during a conference call that to all intents and purposes a homosexual was a pervert in the eyes of American and the world would never accept me in the role and therefore MGM would never hire me.
... Sharon, on the other hand, never gives up. One Sunday morning, two weekends later, I was in Miami staggering home after a twenty-hour binge in a string of clubs. It was about noon and the phone rang; Sharon was calling from San Francisco. "Honey," she said. "I can't believe what's happening. I'm with my pastor and we agree that we should stop the film and sue the studio. I've put in a call to SAG. What do you think?"

[Joan Collins' longtime boyfriend Robin wouldn't go out in public with her.] Joan unceremoniously dumped Robin and took up with a much younger man, theatre manager Percy Gibson. A lot of people took Robin's side until the wedding bells began to peal, at which point, realising that they would be missing an event of considerable magnitude—Rank's last shout—everyone began to revise and defrost. Percy was in the business. They could work together, etc., etc.
I was on Robin's side, and Joan had not invited me to the wedding. But one night we were at dinner with Valentino, and we had it out.
"Now look here, Rupert," said Joan, deadly serious. "I'm not twenty-five. I can't show up to awards and fashion shows on my own. I want my man to be with me. If he feels embarrassed or compromised, or whatever it was he felt, then fair enough, but too bad. It's a bore always having to rely on a queen friend to get from A to B. It wasn't fair."
I had to agree. "I'd love you to come to the wedding," she continued. "We've been neighbours in the South of France. We've had a lot of laughs. So pull yourself together."
I did.

A Photographer's Life by Annie Leibovitz, 1990 - 2005

This is a fascinating mixture of photos of her family, of her lover Susan Sontag and of the many celebrities she photographed. I was struck by the elegant library in Keith Richards' mansion.

Wintersmith by Terry Pratchett, Harper Tempest 2006

Tiffany, a young witch, rashly dances with the Wintersmith, and he falls in love for the first time with a human instead of the Summer Lady.

Some people had a very strong I-am-here signal. They were the people who got served first in shops. Granny Weatherwax had an I-am-here signal that bounced off the mountains when she wanted it to; when she walked into a forest, all the wolves and bears ran out the other side.

Even thinking about Mrs. Earwig made Granny Weatherwax angry. She wasn't born locally, which was almost a crime to begin with. She wrote books, and Granny Weatherwax didn't trust books. And Mrs. Earwig (pronounced "Ah-wij," at least by Mrs. Earwig) believed in shiny wands and magical amulets and mystic runes and the power of the stars, while Granny Weatherwax believed in cups of tea, dry biscuits, washing every morning in cold water, and, well, she believed mostly in Granny Weatherwax.

"No, Granny, you just showed me how to do it, not ... how to do it!"
"Can't tell you that. I know how I do it. How you do it'll be different. You've just got to get your mind right."

Miss Eumenides Treason had gone blind when she was sixty years old. To most people that would have been a misfortune, but Miss Treason was skilled at Borrowing, a particular witch talent.
She could use the eyes of animals, reading what they saw right out of their minds.
She'd gone deaf when she was seventy-five, but she'd got the hang of it by now and used any ears she could find running around.
... You had to have a high threshold for odd to put up with her. It was traditional that young witches traveled around and stayed with older witches to learn from a lot of experts in exchange for what Miss Tick the witch finder called "some help with the chores," which meant "doing all the chores." Mostly they left Miss Treason's after one night. Tiffany had stuck it out for three months so far.
Oh, and sometimes, when she was looking for a pair of eyes to look through, Miss Treason would creep into yours.

Ah, thought Tiffany, is this the famous "dancing around without your drawers on" that I've heard so much about? Actually, not very much about, because as soon as anyone mentions it, someone else tells them to shut up, so I haven't really heard much about it at all, but haven't heard in a very meaningful way.
It was something people thought witches did, but witches didn't think they did it. Tiffany had to admit she could see why. Even hot summer nights weren't all that warm, and there were always hedgehogs and thistles to worry about. Besides, you just couldn't imagine someone like Granny Weatherwax dancing around without— Well, you just couldn't imagine it, because if you did, it would make your head explode.

The book was called: Magavenatio Obtusis.*
*Er ... Witch Hunting for Dumb People

A small fire burned. It lit the faces of a horde of Feegles, although it may not have wanted to.

Some people think that "coven" is a word for a group of witches, and it's true that's what the dictionary says. But the real word for a group of witches is an "argument."

"Miss Tick, that is not up to me," said Granny sharply. "We have no leaders in witchcraft, you know that."
"Oh indeed," said Miss Tick, who also knew that the leader the witches did not have was Granny Weatherwax.

The Wintersmith was moving through the world without, in any human sense, moving at all. Wherever winter was, he was too.
He was trying to think. He'd never had to do this before, and it hurt.

Witches soon picked up ways of controlling people with their voices, but Nanny Ogg listened at you.

"It says here the Summer Lady is fairer than all the stars in heaven ..."
They all looked at Tiffany.
"You could try doing something with your hair," said Nanny Ogg after a while.
"Like what?" said Tiffany.
"Like anything, really."

"I don't like her," said Petulia, who was knee-deep in pigs. "She calls me the pig witch."
"Well, you are a pig witch," said Tiffany.
"Yes, but when she says it, there's a good deal too much pig and not enough witch."

A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest, Granny Weatherwax had once told her, because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.

"That's from your young man, is it?" she added, because old women like to know everything, or a little bit more.

"I dinna like the way yon cheese is lookin' at me."
"It hasna got any eyes, Rob," said Willie meekly, holding on to Horace.
"Aye, that's whut I mean," said Rob sourly.

No one who met the Nac Mac Feegles ever forgot them, even if they tried hard.

The statues showed athletes and gods, very much like the pictures in Chaffinch's Mythology, doing things like hurling javelins or killing huge snakes with their bare hands. They didn't have a stitch of clothing between them, but all the men wore fig leaves, which Tiffany, in a spirit of inquiry, found would not come off.

"I've got business down in the town right now," Granny Weatherwax said. "It wouldn't worry me if you came, too." That was, from Granny, as good as a brass band and an illuminated scroll of welcome.

Tiffany took a deep breath. She'd been through this in her head dozens of times: what she would say, what Granny would say, what she would shout, what Granny would shout ...

When the noise had died down a bit, the drummer beat the drum a few times and the accordionist played a long drawn-out chord, the legal signal that a Morris dance is about to begin, and people who hang around after this have only got themselves to blame.

The Morris dance ...
... is traditionally danced on May 1, to welcome in the summer. Its history is a bit confused, possibly because it's often danced near pubs.

Caffeinated by Jonathan Katz, CD

He's really dry and funny

When the Leaves Blow Away by Steven Wright, DVD

He too is really dry and funny. Pre-order DVD due in April.

Bad News, a Dortmunder novel by Donald E. Westlake, Warner Books, 2001, starts as a scam to switch bodies buried 70 years so DNA tests will show an Indian woman to be entitled to 1/3 of a casino's profits, and then gets really funny.

John Dortmunder was a man on whom the sun shone only when he needed darkness.

And then there were the friends he'd loan money to. If he had it, they could have it, and the kind of people they were, they'd take his two hundred dollars and go directly to jail.

"Out in the air," she said. "Getting some exercise. You don't get enough exercise."
"I don't want enough exercise," he said.

Tiny Bulcher is another matter. A man mountain, with a body like an oil truck and a head like an unexploded bomb, he mostly looked like a fairy tale character that eats villages. "Hello, there, Kelp," this creature rumbled.
"Whadaya say, Tiny," Kelp greeted him.
"I say," Tiny rumbled, "you got some rude cabdrivers in New York."
Kelp raised an eyebrow at J.C., who grinned and shook her head and said, "He'll be okay. A couple days' bed rest, he'll be right back in the cab."

Judge Higbee brooded. In the long march of stupidity that rolled past his eyes day by day, there was rarely anything that required him actually to stop and think, and he didn't like the experience. He found it discomfiting.

Also, John rarely spoke about his upbringing in the orphanage run by the Bleeding Heart Sisters of Eternal Misery, which was fine by her.

Roger Fox and Frank Oglanda, whose stupidity had rolled the clouds away from over Judge Higbee's head, were here, trying not to look sheepish, which made for a change; usually, they tried not to look lupine. Even little Marjorie Dawson, Ms. Redcorn's first and extremely local lawyer, was here, blinking in the glare of all this high-wattage legal talent, and serving by her presence, her dimness, her simplicity, to reassure Judge Higbee that it is still the meek who will inherit the earth. After everybody else dies, of course.

Stan stood at his pump and read all the options, the different grades of gasoline and the different payment methods, cash or credit, as the bald guy put his nozzle away and screwed on his tank cap. Stan chose cash, and so did the bald guy, who was walking over to the convenience store. Stan put the nozzle in the gas tank filler neck of the Cirrus, then walked over to the Mercedes, got behind the wheel, and drove off. The Mercedes was a much better car. Also, the gas tank was full.

... and Max Schreck, as pleased behind his great black-frame eyeglasses as though he'd just finished dining on a corpse.

Click to see my photo history of San Francisco's Castro.

Castro photos March 2007

Castro photos January 2007

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