Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence

Hot buns and fat bombs



How delightful! Staring this Wednesday (Ash Wednesday for all you Cathaholics), Noe Valley Bakery will quench your Fat Tuesday, aka Mardi Gras, hangovers by offering delicious-sounding hot cross buns (“Our version is made from nutmeg scented yeast dough filled with currants and almonds. Orange pastry cream decorates the top to resemble a cross.”)

The NVB folks will be selling them until Easter Sunday (March 23), at which point you can use any leftovers to bean cute boys and girls at the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence Easter celebration, hopefully during the raucous Hunky Jesus contest.

On a semi-related note: When I was a kid growing up in the Polish neighborhoods of Detroit, we used to have these great, incredibly saturated-fattening jelly donut bombs called Paczki (pronounced poonch-key) on Fat Tuesday.


If you’ve a yearning for the old country, here’s a handy little DIY primer courtesy of KQED’s Bay Area Bites. Fried! Yummy!

Nuns of the Above


The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence make the archbishop squirm

I stopped going to Mass the minute I got my drivers license. At first it was kind of a goof — my brother and I told my devout Catholic partents that we wanted to go to a different church in town, where we liiked the priests better, and on Sunday morning, when they set off for their parish, we set off for ours … only we’d stop on the way at a deli where the German owner had never respected the drinking-age laws, and we’d pick up a six of beer. Then we’d go sit in the park and drink for an hour, come home a bit dizzy and answer my mother’s interrogation:

“How was mass?”


“What was the sermon about?”


What did the priest say about it?”

“He’s against it.”

We all tried not to laugh, and lunch would be served.

Soon we stopped pretending, and didn’t even bother to get out of bed. A Catholic-school education never quite worked; I think I was born with the Atheist Gene, not the God Gene.

But 16 years of exposure teaches you a few things, and when I read about the ridiculous furor over the archbishop of San Francisco apologizing for giving Communion to two members of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, I had to laugh.

Jerry Falwell is dead



By Tim Redmond

Back in the early 1980s, after Sister Boom Boom ran for supervisor on the “nun of the above” ticket, Jerry Falwell sent out a mass mailing to raise money for the Moral Majority featuring the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. The letter included a Gay Pride photo and a description of my favorite nuns as a deep threat to the moral fiber of America.

I did a story about it, and Sister Sadie Sadie the Rabbi Lady called me to get a copy of the letter and the photo, which the sisters took to Melvin Belli, the famous tort lawyer, who then sued Falwell for misappropriation of their images. I don’t know where the suit went in the end, but the whole thing made for a lot of fun stories — because back then, frankly, Falwell was the Devil Incarnate.

You don’t hear as much about him anymore, but now that he’s dead, it’s worth remembering that this guy was a key player in the birth of the religious right, the election of Ronald Reagan, and the beginnings of a movement of intolerance and hatred that still plagues us today.

I saw him debate Larry Flynt on Nightline once, shortly after Falwell sued Flynt for a parody ad in Hustler suggesting that the televangelist had sex with his mother in an outhouse. Falwell was sputtering about how horrible it was to even suggest such a thing; Flynt laughed and said:

“You forgot to tell em, Jerry, that you had to kick the goat out of the outhouse first.”

Falwell’s suit went all the way to the US Supreme Court, and wound up in a stunning victory for the First Amendment; the court ruled that obvious parodies of public figures can’t be grounds for libel or defamation suits. That decision was key to the Guardian’s victory in a libel suit brought by a local landlord, Adam Sparks, who we had accused in a parody issue of using electroshock treatment on his tenants.

So we’ve had some history with the prick. And with all due respect to the dear departed, I can’t say I’m sorry he’s finally out of the way.

NOTE: There will be quite a rally at 5 pm on 18th and Castro to speak out against Falwell’s legacy.

Fallin’ out


Club me. Club me hard. And party me even harder, Miss Autumn — you with the burgundy hair, the tiger-striped jumpsuit, and the White Russian teeth. This is a great time to fall out in the Bay: the weather gets warmer, the nights get longer, and there’s a new crop of fresh-faced, low-tolerance Berkeley students and their future careers to fiddle with. How naughty. Do let’s dive into some fall party highlights, shall we?
Big club news first. Crusty favorite 1015 Folsom ( just underwent a massive remodel and is looking to rebrand itself as a more welcoming, less tired niche spot. So far the calendar looks full of the usual Paul Oakenfold–wacky techno stuff of yesteryear, but there’s an outreach going on to draw in more, er, post-1998-type fare, and the remo looks fabu, so here’s hoping.
1015 is spacious, but the brand-new Temple ( in the old DNA space is holy fucking cosmic. With five dance areas, underground “catacombs,” and various VIP rooms (including one you get to through a secret door in the women’s john), there’s gonna be a lot of sublebrity scandal reeking from this joint when it opens in September. I’m still all about small, but I’m mysteriously drawn to this place already. Something spiritual? Nah, I just wanna egg all the Hummers.
Also on its way is Slide (, an upscale underground speakeasy-style lounge soon to be launched by some of clubland’s wealthiest players. It really is underground — you get to it by going down a slide. Lord knows how you get out. But it’ll be fun watching people try. Look out for beaver cams, skirt wearers.
If you’re gay or a fan of the gay or a pervert nun — and who isn’t on a Thursday — you’ll squeal like a stuck pig that one of San Francisco’s literally balls-out faves, Revival Bingo (, the raucous fundraiser hosted by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, will rise from the dead on Sept. 7 and will continue to rise on the first Friday of every month at 7 p.m. at Ellard Hall in the Castro.
But Sept. 7? You may be just too hungover from the SF Symphony Opening Gala ( Sept. 6 to wet your bingo tip. OK, OK, I admit this isn’t exactly a clubby event, and maybe I’m pumping it because I want free press tickets. (Oh yes, I’ll be blogging it on But I’m tired of standing behind the velvet ropes year after year watching San Francisco’s impeccably accoutred master class promenade down the red carpet to enjoy the Michael Tilson Thomas–led aural fireworks inside. I’m a faggot, dammit. I wanna be in the sparkly parade!
Which brings us to the biggest party weekend of the year: Sept. 23 and 24. That’s when, for the third year in a row, the technolicious LoveFest (formerly the Love Parade; and the leatherific Folsom Street Fair ( share a weekend of mayhem — LoveFest all day Saturday and Folsom all day Sunday. These are both ginormous institutions that draw hundreds of thousands of visitors each. And oh lord, you should see the outfits. LoveFest boasts hundreds of top-notch live acts, including Massive Attack, Grandmaster Flash, and DJ Shadow, plus a really rickety parade of hilariously homemade floats up Market. Folsom boasts hundreds of top-notch bare buttocks and several hundred lower-notch other parts as well, plus this year it’s woken up to the whole alternaqueer thing, programming a ton of trash-drag live acts and even SF’s favorite musical curmudgeon, DJ Bus Station John, to get your chaps sweaty. Throw on a beer-stained bunny suit and hit up both events.
Finally: “Mass Culture has forced the majority’s subconscious into accepting a monotonous mindset pervaded by ignorance and inaction,” quoth the press release for Be the Riottt (, the eclectic Vice-meets-Misshapes electro-fash throwdown Nov. 11 at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium. Riott’s answer? Have an enormous concert featuring some of the biggest international draws in postironic attitudinizing. The Rapture, Metric, Clipse, Diplo, and about 20 other acts (plus, I suppose, thousands of neon Vans and white-framed sunglasses) will stoke the frozen grins of the sans blague generation. I’ll be there with a Cher tambourine. Go team! SFBG

A sister fears Halloween in the Castro


OPINION Any attempt to organize an official Halloween in the Castro is a terrible idea, maybe even a deadly one. But before I rant, let me give a little history. In the wake of the Oct. 17, 1989, Loma Prieta earthquake, a BBC story reported that “a massive rescue effort is now underway in what experts believe is the second biggest earthquake ever to hit the United States.”
More than 3,500 people were injured and 100,000 buildings damaged. For this reason, a few members of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence made a spontaneous decision to stand in the Castro among the drag queens and costumed folk that Halloween to put on street theater and collect donations for the mayor’s relief fund for the victims of the earthquake. A brilliant move. We collected thousands.
This put a bee in our bonnets … er … wimples to use Halloween as a fun fundraiser the next year. A tremendous success. Each year the caliber of entertainment drew more people and brought in more donations, enabling us to entertain the otherwise unruly crowds while collecting donations for AIDS charities. The events were a hit, until we saw attendees getting hit — with bottles, bats, and other deadly weapons — by drunken gay-bashers out to get their kicks. The next year we saw that police checking for weapons had collected garbage cans full of baseball bats, hammers, knives, axes (none of these were the rubber kind), and many blunt instruments that could harm people. I saw someone with a mask running a gas-powered chain saw. But when police told us that among other weapons they had confiscated an AK-47 assault rifle, that was the year the Sisters were through with Halloween in the Castro, frightened that an event we had sponsored might bring about death.
So we tried something different. Luring people away from the Castro and into a private club, we turned the Pleasuredome in SoMa into a Halloween-themed party space with ornate All Hallows Eve–oriented backdrops and props. We had stellar entertainment, and the door charge went to AIDS and cancer charities. There was only one rule: you had to be in costume. The event was called HallowQueen, with the slogan “Evolve with the Sisters as Halloween moves to the next level.” It was successful in getting people out of the Castro and into a safe space, but we couldn’t afford to do it again on our meager budget.
The attempt to move the party to the Civic Center did not work because of poor planning and insufficient advance public relations. And since the Castro was still gated off, the queer-bashers thought that was the better locale in which to be violent. There were several stabbings that year.
There should be no official gathering in the Castro. No gates set up to make it look like an event. Police should infiltrate the area to keep peace but not harass the costumed folk. And something must be scheduled by the city outside the Castro and managed well to draw the crowd away to safety. Then perhaps the Sisters will get involved again. Then maybe the Sisters will MC and run a stage. But as it is now, the cordoned-off section of the “official” Halloween will end at Market and Castro. That is potentially deadly — inviting bashers and spoilers to assemble right at the very entrance of the Castro. Boo! SFBG
Sister Dana Van Iquity
Sister Dana Van Iquity is a member of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.



club overload!!! ???? !!! here’s a brief update. and yes, this is her royal pain in the assala Marke B.

ok so first is junk tonite at the stud — yay! back after all these years, the ska-tinged queer living room you always wished your great aunt ida hung out in.


tomorrow is a bunch of fun shit I can’t quite remember (oh yeah! THIS and THIS), then Saturday is Cookie Monster at Harvey’s in the Castro hosted by the nicest drag queen in the world (also quite a Gladys Kravitz, I hear) AND one of my fave new joints ever, Frankie Sharp and Brontez’s gig WORK ME GODDAMMIT at the Gangway in the Tenderloin, it costs like 5$ and has some great and random music. Lots of drunk ass ho’s. and me.

all that stuff above is too queer and I’m too gay. I’ll be into more straight stuff, like, Monday. Sunday I’ll be at the symphony in Dolores Park (1812 Overture! how perfect while we’re at war, again uselessly… ), and then Eagle Beer Bust (for the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence) and the Super Soul Sundays for DJ Spen.

you can comment to add in your own damn party planssss. I wanna k-now! ;)m.