Help, I hate it, but I’m a slave to the forthcoming Girls Aloud single (Sept 3 release).
It’s killing me. No official vid yet — but here’s the recordholders for most consecutive UK top 10s debuting the song at T4 on the Beach. I’ll really regret pumping this when I can’t escape this little ditty in the Castro this fall …..
Greatest career path, ever. Mental note: little flag pins.
By Marke B.
I love it. Really! Congress has just voted in a basic legal carte blanche for the Administration to spy on Americans’ emails and phone convos without any court review. Ostensibly, the new law is only to target foreigners who talk to Americans by allowing the government to tap into fiber optic networks based in the US (previously they could only tap into those based on foreign soil) — and the Administration promises — PROMISES — not to use any tips obtained this way to go after Americans on the one end of the conversation. I believe them! Only foreigners are terrorists anyway (sorry, Oklahoma).
The best parts?
*Telecommunications companies must obey the government on this. No more of those pesky legal challenges from the more skeptical among them that were gumming up the spyworks. And no more of that free market hooey from our overlords. Just make the corporations do what you want. Terror!
*Bye-bye to FISA, the oversight court set up in the ’70s in reaction to Nixonian dirty tricks re: domestic spying. Guess who gets final approval on who gets spied on when? ALBERTO GONZALES. Guess all that lying and “misremembering” and total dereliction of basic duty evidenced when he was in the congressional hotseats — what, three times in the past 3 months? — convinced Congress that he should be in charge of the nation’s privacy. Way to go Alberto! I’ve GOT to try your tactics in my own career.
Remind me why I was happy about the Dems taking Congress again? WTF?
You were just too … something … to keep out of heaven…..
› superego@sfbg.com
SUPER EGO I’m not one to get jealous when people I know get famous. Never. As Shakespeare once wrote, "You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying … in sweat." Alas, I’m flat broke — and haven’t perspired a drop since I gave up Dexatrim in ’03. But my pores are flawless, like tiny alien baby mouths. So I can only grin demurely while my Page Six homeys flash their hairless beavers from rehab. Shakespeare again: "If you shoot an arrow and it goes real high, hooray for you."
Hooray, especially, for Kiki and Herb, the blowsy, boozy, tune-slinging duo who exploded into Broadway history last year with their Tony-nominated extravaganza Kiki and Herb: Alive on Broadway. (They narrowly lost in the Best Theatrical Event category to a multipuppet tearjerker about a ventriloquist.) Tipsy yet full-throated chanteuse Kiki (Justin Bond) and her nimble-fingered pianist Herb (Kenny Mellman) are local club kids made good, proving that a lot of talent and a steady Scotch diet can launch a drag queen and her "gay Jew ‘tard" accompanist into the big leagues. Lemme tell ya, you haven’t heard the Wu-Tang Clan or the Cure until you’ve heard these two dust ’em up onstage.
Now, as part of their Year of Magical Drinking Tour, Kiki and Herb are bringing their big show to the American Conservatory Theater. Posh! I leaped on the opportunity to dish with them long-distance from their New York City home base.
SFBG I can barely recall, back in the blurred mid-’90s, both of you appearing at the legendary Josie’s Juice Joint and Cabaret in the Castro. But I was on a lot of crystal then and probably shouldn’t have been in the light booth …
HERB We were recently watching old videos of us and stumbled upon one of a show we did at Josie’s called Not Without My Napalm. This was pre–Kiki and Herb — Justin led me in on a leash, and I was wearing lederhosen! Jesus, we were young. Gay Pride of that year, we were booked at Cafe du Nord and knew we were going to be exhausted. Justin had been doing Kiki at parties, so we decided we’d just perform our material as Kiki and Herb. We got a standing ovation. We began performing every weekend at Eichelberger’s, across from Theater Artaud, and it all developed there.
KIKI The funny thing about us performing at the gorgeous ACT is that when I lived in San Francisco I never got to go there. For one, I couldn’t afford it, and then the ’89 earthquake knocked the whole thing down! So our show will be the first one I’ve ever seen there.
SFBG And now you’re Broadway luminaries. What are some of the things you miss about San Francisco and the life you led before the slavering tumult of paparazzi overtook you?
HERB San Francisco burritos. And Cafe Flore. And the Hole in the Wall. I remember spending a Thanksgiving there, and they had a suckling pig on the pool table. At some point an older leather daddy ripped the ear off and just started gnawing on it. That’s what I miss.
KIKI I miss my friends there terribly — the creative excitement and community. I can’t wait to get back, and I hope all you queens can forgive a drunk who can’t remember anyone’s name.
SFBG I wept when the dummy won the Tony. Yet both of you seemed so gracious when the camera zoomed in on you immediately after the award was announced. What were your thoughts at that moment?
KIKI I told myself beforehand, "Whatever happens, just look happy to be there." So my thought right then was "Hold face." But being there was so amazing, I just left my body through the whole thing.
HERB My thoughts were that we really needed to get out of there and get a drink! Which we did!
SFBG What’s next?
KIKI After this tour, we’re off to perform at the Sydney Opera House for three weeks. Then a Christmas concert at Carnegie Hall, and then we’ll be putting on a show in Shepherd’s Bush, London, called — this is so stupid, but it makes me hysterical — Kiki and Herb Put the Yule Log in Shepherd’s Bush. Next year I’m doing a Carpenters tribute — but without any anorexia jokes.
HERB My other show, At Least It’s Pink, which I wrote the music and lyrics to, will be getting an off-Broadway run this fall. Also, my friend Neal Medlyn and I are going to resurrect our show Kenny Mellman Plus Neal Medlyn Equals R. Kelly. Busy, busy …
BONUS KIKI Join immortal club kids Javier Natureboy and DJ Junkyard and the gang from ’90s rock ‘n’ roll queer club Litterbox for a special Kiki and Herb look-alike contest, judged by Justin Bond himself, at the fab new monthly Glitterbox on July 20. It’s a reunion, baby! Go to www.myspace.com/glitterboxtheparty for the low lowdown. *
KIKI AND HERB: ALIVE FROM BROADWAY
July 18–29 (previews Fri/13–Tues/17), $20–$60
See Web site for times
American Conservatory Theater
415 Geary, SF
(415) 749-2ACT
In a hilarious gaffe, local free monthly-ish paper for women The City Edition published a wild-eyed editorial this week accusing the Guardian of promoting prostitution, causing anorexia, keeping women from “tapping into orgasmic potential,” and basically steering any girl under the age of 18 into a hellacious vice-hole from which she’ll never return. (We caused Paris Hilton? Good for us.) City Edition didn’t identify us by name for some reason, but it ran a pic of our cover and called us a ” local alternative newspaper publishing out of a warehouse in Portrero Hill.”
Read the glorious editorial here (PDF)
So what have we done to deserve such epithets? While it’s no secret we’re an unalloyed den of iniquity, editorial writer Rosemary Regallo especially took issue with our depictions of half-naked covergirls, in particular our recent Summer Guide model, Marina Bitch:
Marina Bitch: “A sparsely clad, anorexic model who looks like she’s aching to get laid”
Photograph by House of Herrera
Thing is, Marina Bitch is a man.
In fact, almost all of our recent covergirls have been drag queens — naked club star Anna Conda graced our Sex Issue cover with a giant python wrapped around her (something SFist didn’t catch ) and Marina and Candi Gurl were peekaboo see-through on our first SCENE magazine. (In retrospect, I’m now limiting myself to one gender illusionist cover model a month. Too much of a good thing, maybe.)
Regallo writes:
“Sexualized and at times racist imagery of young women in so-called alternative newspapers is paving the way for a generation of damaged girls and a proliferating global sex trade. So why does the S.F. Public Library continue to distribute the city’s most popular porn, prostitute and adult entertainment guide at all its branches?” [italics mine]
Because of course young women can’t be counted on to make their own decisions, the poor little things. Then Regallo goes on to talk about ancient goddess cults and prescribe more images of women as firefighters. I smell Fall Arts Preview cover: Heklina with a hose!
This year’s Frameline is bursting with documentaries about legendary nightlife personalities. Call it the Party Monster effect. Following the release of two films about the tragedy of Michael Alig’s breakneck rise and murderous fall, filmmakers have become more attuned to the significance of clubs in gay life — or else they’ve realized that featuring outrageous club kids in their movies is a shortcut to notoriety.
Only available via online clips, the blaxploitation homage Starrbooty features an over-the-top RuPaul as a supermodel-spy who must go undercover as a New York City street hooker to rescue her kidnapped niece from an evil arch-nemesis. Pavlovian scenester stimuli Lady Bunny, Lahoma van Zandt, and Candis Cayne are on hand to spice up the (admittedly, a tad tired) proceedings. A cameo by heavily accented porn god Michael Lucas is priceless for its awkwardness.
From the other side of the country, and the comedy spectrum, comes Alexis Arquette: She’s My Brother, which documents the transgender transformation of Los Angeles scene star (and actor!) Alexis Arquette. We follow Alexis exhaustively — as she shops, clubs, and dishes on her future vagina — until she throws a bitch fit at the end about the intrusiveness of the cinematic project (how postmodern). La-la Land drag luminaries Jackie Beat and Candy Ass (what, no Chi Chi Larue?) offer comments throughout.
The Godfather of Disco purports to tell the story of Mel Cheren, the storied gay West End Records founder who presided over such dance music innovations as the 12-inch single, the instrumental B-side, and the DJ dance mix and the release of groundbreaking disco nuggets like "Sesso Matto" and "Is It All Over My Face." Three decades’ worth of superstar DJs and club promoters enthuse over their favorite West End releases of yore, but director Gene Graham gives us only snatches of the songs and little information about the commentators. Still, those in the know will find it hard to resist glimpses of old Paradise Garage flyers and photos and quick chats with nightlife doyens like Johnny Dynell of Jackie 60, DJs Louie Vega and Nicky Sano, and producer John "Jellybean" Benitez. Plus, there’s a galloping stream of zingers delivered by the Village People’s cowboy, Randy Jones.
Dynell also pays tribute to one of NYC’s hottest clubs of the past decade in Motherfucker: A Movie, which follows six months in the lives of Motherfucker’s four touchingly self-important promoters. Director David Casey works hard to import something other than sublebrity worship into his pic, giving us some beautiful camerawork, lessons about the inner workings of club promotion and operation, and a wealth of cameos by partiers both weathered and nubile, from Sylvain Sylvain and Bob Gruen to Willie Ninja and Moby to the Juan Maclean and Peppermint Gummybear.
It’s all cool, but also a little pointless — a slew of tipsy polysexual hopefuls grinding to the latest slick club music, hardly an ounce of genuine artistic inspiration or dangerous cultural exploration in sight. (To his credit, Casey allows some of the older commentators to make this point explicitly.) "We’re all just doing our thing, waiting for the next revolution," one of the participants says. Hmm. (Marke B.)
ALEXIS ARQUETTE: SHE’S MY BROTHER (Matthew Barbato and Nikki Parrott, US, 2007). Fri/15, 7 p.m., Victoria
THE GODFATHER OF DISCO (Gene Graham, US, 2007). Sat/16, 3:30 p.m., Victoria; Tues/19, 4:30 p.m., Castro
MOTHERFUCKER: A MOVIE (David Casey, US, 2007). Tues/19, 7 p.m., Victoria
STARRBOOTY (Mike Ruiz, US, 2007). June 23, 8:30 p.m., Castro
Gazelle Emami checks out Berkeley’s film-oriented BALLE Conference ….
The purpose of educational films—bear with me—are to inform the public. But here’s where they bump into their biggest obstacle. Unless Al Gore is at the helm, they’re probably not going to get wide viewing beyond festivals that are specifically geared toward showing films of their kind. Enter the first ever Business Alliance for Local Living Economies’ (BALLE) Conference Film Festival, a two-day event that was held this past Tuesday and Wednesday at UC Berkeley’s Wheeler Auditorium. The festival’s goal was to build positive sentiment for the BALLE Conference this weekend, kind of like a pep rally for the big game. BALLE, which represents 47 local networks and more than 15,000 small businesses and community organizations, holds an annual conference gathering the preeminent leaders in green industries to discuss pressing issues facing the economy.
Still from Manufactured Landscapes, a film the opened the conference
According to festival organizer Lisa Katovich, she knew they would be preaching to the choir for the most part. Therefore, Katovich and others tailored the festival’s content to approach the subject matter from a difference angle. So it didn’t really matter that only about 30 people were scattered around an auditorium that can hold roughly 700. By the end, at least all 30 left the room a little more enlightened, as opposed to the hundreds that left Spiderman 3 disappointed, if not a little dumber.
Cheryl Eddy wrote: Did you see that interview a few weeks ago where Keira Knightley was all, “I wish I had Beth Ditto’s sexy body, but I’m just so naturally skinny! Tee hee!” Sure, beeyatch.
This month’s NME. FIERCE!
UPDATE: I ADORE all the controversy this post is causing (thanks BeyondChron!). Admittedly I wrote this almost a month ago, then hightailed it to the jungles of Peru — just as the facts of the case were becoming clearer. Steve Jones elaborated on the case later in the game here. It’s encouraging that Sixth Street residents are organizing to protect their living conditions, but the reality is that Club Six is zoned properly and obeying the rules, as far as I know. And I stand by my opinion that Six is one of the liveliest clubs in the city. Also admittedly, I jumped to some distasteful conclusions right away (although I was acting at the time on the info available — like any good hothead blogger). But that’s the fun of being a drama queen.
So now some whiny “Not In My Backyard” folks are after one of the best big hip-hop/dubwize/ragga/house spots in the Bay — the six-and-a-half year-old Club Six.
I love Six — the subterranean downtown-ness of it — definitely a little rough around the edges, but nice and soft inside. The irony of this whole sad affair is that the complaining neighbors are saying that Six is too loud — ON SIXTH STREET! Bwahahaha! Are they kidding? Not only has Six’s owner, Angel Cruz, invested a ton o’ duckets into soundproofing the place, but — C’MON! –it’s Sixth Street. The rowdies on the street fart louder than Club Six.
Still, Six faces its license getting pulled for a month, which would break the place. Click here to read an open letter from Angel to the nightlife community, and see how you can help (PDF). Folks like us helped save Hole in the Wall last week — let’s pitch in and keep nightlife diverse in the Bay!
› superego@sfbg.com
SUPER EGO "We’re trying to reverse the great Berlin brain drain," DJ Solekandi of the Bay Area Beatdrop crew told me, with great determination in her voice. She was preparing to launch Filter.SF, the latest and so far biggest monument to the return of peninsular techno, an "official" Saturday monthly at Fat City, that would later spill over — ecstatically — into 8 a.m. "Is that where my brain’s been draining?" I replied, emptying my scotch glass warily. "I honestly thought it was circling somewhere over the Hebrides."
But of course she was speaking of the years-long flight of local electro and techno talent to the undisputed club capital of the early Ohs. Reunification — and a city full of unguarded construction sites — definitely has its advantages. "Let’s face it: techno’s a dirty word here," Solekandi reminded me. "There’s still so much great electronic music evolving in the States, though, transcending itself, working the polyrhythmics. People are shocked that we’re fiddling with grooves at 120 bpm — we’re just as much in reaction to the whole ‘techno has to hit you over the head’ thing as everyone else. We don’t want to be pigeonholed. We’re into stripping all musical genres down, foregrounding different patterns and sequences, but not getting so heady or minimal that you want to stop and think — or jumping off the rails into breakbeat. We mainly started this party because we want to have someplace where people can dance all night. I mean, where did that go?"
Presumably through the Brandenburg Gate. In the "we" above, Solekandi’s including the other half of Beatdrop, her mate, DJ Kontakt. (She was a journalist in Budapest. He was a soulful loner in Toronto. When they met online, listening to Deep Mix Moscow Radio, it was love at first IM.) Solekandi then launches, as any fierce DJ would, into a rundown of her cutting-edge technical equipment: Tracktor software, Faderfox controllers from Robotspeak, Ecler Nuo4 MIDI mixer … Visuals by VJ Mike Creighton? Edirol V-4 Video Mixer, HP ZT-3010US laptop, custom VISP Flash-Flex-Apollo software, Wacom Intuos Graphire tablet …
Phew. When I hear tech heads, even hot ones, geek out over their digital apparatuses, I sink into languid bafflement. Suddenly, I’m a sultry ’60s housewife, lounging on my lime green sectional, slightly pinched by my girdle, nodding while Hubby blathers on about structural changes down at the aeronautics plant. Sounds complicated, darling. Shall I fix us another batch of martinis? May is officially techno month, however, with Movement, Detroit’s legendary electronic music festival (www.demf.com), drawing hundreds of thousands to the Motor City and Montreal’s gargantuan Mutek (www.mutek.ca) following hard on Movement’s gravel-pitted heels — so technology’s the ultra. Yet I’d naively thought that since techno and vinyl had been pushed from the clubs by laptops and mashups, iPods and electroclash, they would join forces in a retrofuture comeback assault. No can do, it seems. So rock on, techno mama!
"I hate the word Wii," my yummy pal Noel reflected at the recent LCD Soundsystem show when I told him about the latest DJ craze, WiiJing. "It’s just so … happy. Wii. Ugh."
WiiJing, you ask? Hell yes. You knew it was only a matter of time before some genius couch potato hacked their Wiimote to start mixing, as they say, Wiimotely. Well, that time is now, and DJ_! (pronounced "shift one") is that genius. He’ll be here May 12 at Bootie, debuting his skills to the mashup crowd. ("I’ll probably be mashing up my favorite video game themes — anything from Centipede to Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six," he claimed.)
I asked Turlock’s Obi-Wii Kenobi over the phone how he did it. "I basically used GlovePie to patch the Wiimote through a Bluetooth dongle into my Ableton Live," he replied. Again the gizmo glaze descended. Still, that must be one heck of a dongle! What’s the range on that thing? "About 15 feet, I think." I riffed on the WiiJ potential, now that DJs won’t be tethered to the decks. Refresh your cocktail midset! Stage-dive without any skips! Embed your Wiimotes into lightsabers and duel other WiiJs!
"Maybe," DJ_! said. "I’m happy just to be able to take a bathroom break." Now that’s putting the wee in Wii, no pun Nintendoed. *
FILTER.SF
Last Sat., 10 p.m.–8 a.m., $20
Fat City
314 11th St., SF
BOOTIE
With DJ_!
Sat/12, 9 p.m.–late, $12
DNA Lounge
375 11th St., SF
(415) 626-1409
› marke@sfbg.com After circling the same late-night block in the Tenderloin for any number of years, I recently donned my fabulous ’50s air hostess uniform with matching kicky white pumps, splashed on a dash of Wind Song, and decided to experience the magic of travel. Why, there’s a whole world knocking at my back door — and no length I won’t go for a taste of adventure. Local Web sites such as 71miles.com, which explores nearby Northern California, and the fantastically rough-and-ready newsletter from WeekendSherpa.com are chock-full of neato getaway ideas, but I also did some wide-ranging research of my own, as evidenced below. Remember, travel can be harsh on the environment, so plan your trips well, pack light, and try to hoof it as much as possible (sans stilettos, of course) — that way you won’t miss a thing. Five or so hours up the coast and through the gorgeous wine country of Anderson Valley lies Mendocino, an achingly quaint city on a peninsular cliff, full of retired ex-hippies, impromptu music festivals, hilarious whale art, and delectable bursts of natural wonder. Stay at the incredible Inn at Schoolhouse Creek (www.schoolhousecreek.com), a collection of renovated century-old cottages run by the very friendly Steve Musser and Maureen Gilbert, complete with hot tubs, hearty breakfasts, ocean views, and a pair of cute-as-heck Sicilian pygmy donkeys (really!). Chow down with elegance at gourmet vegetarian legend the Ravens’ Restaurant at Stanford Inn (www.stanfordinn.com), and spend a day or two drifting lazily down the Big River, past harbor seals and exotic ducks, in a flotation device from nearby hunkily staffed Catch a Canoe (www.catchacanoe.com). Turtles, ospreys, three kinds of heron, deer, eagles, and maybe even a winery or two — such are the Russian River delights that await if you hit up River’s Edge Kayak and Canoe Trips (www.riversedgekayakandcanoe.com), in the ever-so-sunny boutique town of Healdsburg in Sonoma County. Whether you’re an experienced water rat or a casual paddler (watch that French manicure!), there are several nature-filled routes and levels of difficulty to choose from. Especially scenic is the 11-mile course via Rio Lindo, snaking around mountain bases through heavily wooded areas, with plenty of picnic spots and — I love this phrase — secluded swimming holes. About three hours northeast of San Francisco, right before you hit Sacramento, lies the fertile, humid, natural wonder of the Sacramento Delta (www.sacdelta.com). Consisting of numerous islands and inlets along the Sacramento River and its tributaries, the Delta is an environmental marvel, full of roadside levees, quirky small towns, and abundant agricultural land reclaimed from meandering waters. Islands are traversed by constantly running car ferries, mostly piloted by sweet, sun-seasoned lesbians (dykes and levees — how can you miss?), and visitors often come away with bushels of farm-fresh asparagus, cherries, strawberries, pomelos, and other juicy produce. The eerie jewel of the Delta, however, is Locke (www.locketown.com) — a full-on Chinatown in the middle of a grassy nowhere, founded in 1915 by Chinese farmworkers after a fire in nearby Walnut Grove destroyed their homes. Locke’s Dai Loy Museum is an authentic ghostly gambling house replete with Asian gaming tables, displays of early 20th-century pictures and artifacts of the town, and oodles of fascinating historical tidbits. (Example: in the 1920s the white police force used to raid the town dressed as "Hindus.") If you’re reading this in time, you may want to take a jaunt up to the city of Eureka, near the Oregon border — not just because the downtown area has been retooled into a quaint historical shopping district, but also because of Memorial Day Weekend’s famed and amazingly wacky Kinetic Sculpture Race (www.kineticsculpturerace.org). It’s kind of a miniature Burning Man on wheels — folks of all stripes build unique human-powered contraptions and engage in a wild three-day race over land and water, in a scramble around the city and nearby countryside. A couple years back, I rooted for the tandem bicycle contraption with a disco ball on top that shot out actual flames, but it got held up by a herd of cows blocking the road and lost. *
Summer trippin’
MARVELOUS MENDOCINO
WET ‘N’ WILD SONOMA
DOIN’ THE DELTA
KINETIC EUREKA
You really gotta feel for LCD Soundsystem — fresh off the “dance-punk” darlings’ conquest of Coachella, bopping untold thousands of the dehydrous ecstatic, there they were the next day, at Mezzanine, playing big to a relatively teensy roomful of adoring fans. Adoring fans, in SF’s case, meant a whole lotta surprisingly hoochie mamas grinding against their frattish dates’ pelvises (hot, but weird!) and the cream of our post-electroclash scene. Going in, I’d made a joke to my homeboy that the group’s hirsute leader, James Murphy, was probably the superstar aspiration pinnacle of every sensitive tweaker bear who fiddles mindlessly with ambient-electronic music in their room — and sure enough, there was a fair representation of them as well.
Lil Mama — I love you and your gloss. Baby Pride!
If I can score an interview with her, I’ll totally freak out. I’ll get lip gloss all on the receiver. L’Oreal! MAC! Watermelon Crush!
I’ve always fondly called legendary rock ‘n roll queer SoMa suds spot Hole in the Wall the “TGI Fridays of leather biker bars” because of its insane decor.
Yet this tiny bar with the enormous AIDS remembrance candle was always my favorite spot in the city — not least because I’ve been one of the lucky few 86’d from it (don’t ask. I mean really don’t ask.) But especially after a fire in its host building last year, it needed a change of venue, and the awesome-cute grizzly biker owners John and Joe bought a spot around the corner to relocate.
And of course the NIMBYs (“Not in my backyard” folks) are trying to block its move by complaining their little suburban-wannabe asses off about it. A gay bar? In SoMa? GASP!
What I have to say about that you can find in my comments posted on our article about what’s happening. Suffice it to say, John and Joe have been incredibly beneficial friends to the gay community through their fundraising efforts at the Eagle and Hole, and are more a part of what makes SoMa SoMa than any complainy nitwit.
But the NIMBYs just might win — the future of the Hole looks grave. Here’s how you can help, from a letter sent out by John and Joe:
By Marke B.
Maybe I’ve become horribly desensitized to unexpected, unexplainable, realtime violence in the past four years, thanks to constant devastating casualty reports coming back from the country we fucked up even more, but the first thing that jumped into my head on hearing about Virginia Tech — other than thinking the AP had made a typo when they reported 29 dead an hour after reporting 1 dead — was: “Isn’t this what it’s like in Iraq, like, three times a day?”
The V-Tech tragedy is horrendous and hits geographically closer to home, but try watching this, called “Brains on Campus,” from the amazing “Hometown Baghdad” series of independently produced vids, and not freaking out about the terror that Iraqi college students have been going through for years during our occupation.
› superego@sfbg.com
SUPER EGO Fuck green — I want emerald, I want turquoise, I want veridian. I want shades of chartreuse cascading down the sides of my highball glass and mint cream swirling at the lip of my rim. Mmm. I was going to write this week about how much I’m head over loafers for Lil Mama’s clover new vid, "Lip Gloss," and what the deal is lately with so many trash-tragic newbie chicks wearing flip-flops and fleece to the clubs (did I miss a memo from Target?), but it’s the Green Issue — yay for Earth! — so I’m going in on the recent trend toward "green" cocktails.
Green cocktails? Easy! All you have to do is down eight or nine shots of Fernet, and — voila! — you’re green. And let’s not even get into how some drinks instantly recycle themselves. Yet in terms of mixology, green usually means organic — juices, vodka, ice cubes, fruit flies, what have you. Organic, however, doesn’t necessarily mean green: it probably took five tons of jet fuel to plop that native Guangdong lychee into your tropical Bellini. Conundrums! When it comes to partying green, it seems, the snifter of a conscious tipple is somewhat bruised with environmental irony. It’s environy.
But if you can snag some local fresh-squeezed mixer, shake it with small-batch liquor, and consume only what you need — not hard, since organic cocktails are kind of freakin’ pricey — you can still get three sheets to the wind and not feel like you’re littering. Usual suspects such as gourmet vegetarian legend Millennium (milleniumrestaurant.com — house-infused kumquat–star anise gin, anyone?) and the snuggly bar at Roots Restaurant (theorchardgardenhotel.com) in the grandly green-built Orchard Garden Hotel have been in on the organic, fresh-brewed tip for a while. And a few surprising spots have begun wearing their green hearts on their sleeves too. Vesuvio (vesuvio.com) in North Beach is bursting with ecofriendly drinks such as the Pojito, a mojito with local-made 209 gin and organic Pama pomegranate liqueur. SoMa restaurant Coco500 (coco500.com) features a nifty lemongrass Bloody Mary, with lemongrass-infused organic vodka, organic tomato juice, and sriracha (sun-dried chili paste).
As for less immediately intoxicating spirits, Yield Wine Bar (yieldsf.com) offers a vast array of biodynamic, sustainable, and organic wines with some of the more harmful of the 250 chemicals involved in production filtered out — that’s almost as many chemicals involved as in the first 10 minutes of a drag queen’s night out. Harmful. Wine’s pretty easy, of course — we live in wine heaven, and the products of conscious vintners such as Beringer (beringer.com) and Five Rivers Ranch (fetzer.com), as well as those from distributors such as the Organic Wine Co. (ecowine.com), can be found all over. Beer’s getting in on it too: local foam-meister Anderson Valley Brewing Co. (avbc.com) pumps out the suds from a solar-powered brewery, even.
But the green drink ground zero in San Francisco has to be Elixir in the Mission. Not only does it foreground organic cocktails, but the whole Elixir enchilada is officially green certified by the city in terms of recycling, cleaning, and waste disposal — the first bar of its kind. H., Elixir’s wryly gregarious owner, mixes up fierce experimental environmental drinks at the bar’s monthly green drink happy hour, which brings in an enthusiastic crowd of ecoliquor seekers (who are also really into baseball, judging from the reactions to the big-screen TVs). At a recent green grog gathering, he whipped me up a luscious Eldersour, using organic Square One rosehip-infused vodka and elderflower syrup, and a kick-ass — I can’t believe I’m seriously about to type this word — GreenTeani, a Square One martini with organic green tea infusion and lime zest. It was gone in a minute — gulp.
"There’s the green side of our business — stuff like installing low-flow toilets and making sure we recycle as much as possible," H. says. "And then there’s the organic side, with the drinks, that people seem to be getting really into lately. The little things you can do every day to feel like you make a difference matter more and more, the principle of it — even if it’s related to being a bar or going out. Nobody can be perfect when it comes to environmental stuff. I mean, I drive an old BMW to work — and it doesn’t run on used fryer oil. But it’s paid for."
After a few more GreenTeanis and a quick trip to the low-flow, I had to admit that I certainly felt better about my environment. Global warming? Pshaw. Everything was just ducky. Now where can I get an organic date? *
GREEN DRINK HAPPY HOUR
Second Thursdays, 6 p.m.–late
Elixir
3200 16th St., SF
(415) 552-1633
Wanna travel? Wanna get away? Why drive when you can fly, right? Wrong. There’s tons of great travel opportunities right here in the Bay — not all of them boutique-y in that precious Wine Country way or “Look at all these distressed and antiqued finds up here in Half Moon Bay” way. Not that there’s anything wrong with that….
But lately — and post-Spring breakly — we’re lovin’ 71 Miles, a local travel site put together by former television travel commentator and late-night heartthrob John Vlahides — who certainly seems to know a lot about the Bay’s “hidden spots” …
And why not? Who doesn’t want to fondle the soft, white, nearby underbelly of the Bay in terms of restaurants, B&Bs, shops and other such getaway stuff? So forget about Puerto Vallarta — we’ve got Truckee! Yes, Truckee. The “next Aspen.” Really!
This just in from drag icon Juanita More and more …
A More Perfect Union: Mr. David and Fauxnique Stage a Fashion Uprising
Uprising, upfrocking
This Friday, two of my favorite performers — Mr David and Fauxnique — have put together a fashion extravaganza in honor of fashion luminary Vivienne Westwood’s show at the De Young. It’ll be a punkrock-drag-drunk-politico-darlings revolution — full of SF’s most flamboyant underground stars. All up in DeDe Wilsey’s DeDe Young garden no less.
Friday, April 13, 2007
6 – 8:30 PM / Show @ 7 PM
de Young Museum / Wilsey Court
Golden Gate Park
50 Hagiwara Tea Garden Drive
SF, CA 94118
Free
PLUS — FUNKY CHICKEN: Dining Out For Life (after the jump)
Well, I didn’t get to go to any Cat Circus like Ms. Cheryl Eddy (see previous post), but I DID get to attend the fantastic International Ms. Leather competition at the Holiday Inn on Van Ness on Easter Vigil Saturday.
The contestants — a little blurry cuz the lens was steamy
(All pics by Hunky Beau)
The leather community still manages to amaze, and pump out enough fetishistic mojo to keep cultural critics scratching their spinning heads. The International Ms Leather contest — IMsL, or “imzel” — is only a small part of a grand weekend for leather women (and admirers — there were a lot of men and pansexuals in attendance) that’s been going on annually for 10 years. This year, it was also accompanied by the Internal Ms. Boot Black competition — or “imzbuhbuh.”
