Connie Crosses Over

Connie is in France this week. She turned 50 on Sunday, and said that she was looking forward to being in Paris "on his own" on that very special day.

She was packing for at least three months before leaving for this trip. When I met her for dinner the night before she left, she showed me around her new digs as we stepped around piles of clothes...pretty much as it was in his Concord house, only darker. He has a ground floor apartment, with a private, gated entrance (I believe they're known in the ghetto as "bar doors" because they are made of iron bars...clever, eh?) His bedroom window looks out directly to the sidewalk, and the only chance for direct light in the place.

He slyly let me know that he plans to explore his sexuality while he's in Paris, and he's been studying up on "dirty French" as well as collecting advice on different "scene" places to try. I guess he noticed my disdain, or assumed it, when I suggested that there are a great many things to do in Paris that don't involve having sex.

"You take the easy way out," he said. "With Jeremy and all of that."

I remember a year or two ago I hosted a dinner party. Matthew, Mike, and Connie were here, and Mike was excited to tell us about all the "super hot" men he had had sex with in Brazil. He described how he would instruct his cab driver to go slowly through a certain part of town, and when he saw someone he liked he would have the driver take the cab to the curb. He'd then roll down the window, and the Brazilian boy would come forward and pull out his wares for closer inspection.

"They'd let you do anything for, like, $2US!" he exclaimed.

"Oh my god, and they're dripping with venereal disease!" I shrieked, which I guess didn't make a friend of mine in Mike Finn. Connie, however, concurred that they are "filthy" and was most visibly disgusted by the whole idea of purveying flesh in the slums of Rio.

So is it more chic to be prowling for anonymous sexual partners, oh, pardon, "liaisons" in Olde Europe than in the New World?

Apparently so.

Golden Girls

Matthew joined me tonight for dinner and the show. He kept mentioning how well he knows Justin, and they've been such close friends for so many years, and Matthew knew him back when they were performing "South of Market" all those long years ago. I reminded Matthew that he STILL performs South of Market...and just North of South Van Ness. He didn't want to say "hello" after the show, and high-tailed it home for a night of frantic smoking and packing before boarding a 6am flight to Seattle where he and his cohorts are doing a hit-and-run with a couple of "Golden Girls" episodes in drag. Heklina is quite the producer, having created "Trannyshack" ten or twelve years ago he continues to put together a monthly revue, and licenses the rights to produce "Trannyshack" events internationally.

In the true spirit of the thespian artistry, he sells the tickets for cheap and jacks up the prices on the two drinks minimum. Oh, and these are the "must-see" sold-out shows of the season. Really. I had to apologize for not making it to Theater Rhino to see him perform as a marine in Iraq, and it really was a shame because the experience really taught Matthew a new way to look at the war. (I didn't mention that "enthusiasm and energy" aren't necessarily terms that are used with the intention of meaning "good theater."

Matthew shared a horrific tale of a near brush with death experience he had while performing a "Golden Girls" episode at the home of Mike Finn, former circus performer and cat sitter whose favorite cat-sitting clients left him their cat, and their Victorian home in their will. Well, they were doing this without any sort of permit, four nights only (sold out!) and raking in the bills selling shots of hooch. Saturday night they had so many oversold seats, they pushed the audience forward into the space that had been considered downstage. Matthew had to step over legs and feet in the dark as he took his place in a straightbacked kitchen chair, when he heard a nearby crashing of glass. The lights came up to reveal Matthew in a pink peignoir, the large plate glass window directly behind his head in large, grizzly shards.

Being the professional that he is, he didn't turn around to look. He barely acknowledged the audience's gasps, but when it came time for his character to turn to the window and comment on how much she enjoys the rain he cleverly said that she enjoys "looking at the rain through the broken window."

It. just.doesn't.get.any.better.

Dead Zone Frogs

To live in a wooded area in California is to be aware of the elements of fire danger. Trees are tinder, grasses tender. We are advised that we should maintain a cleared 100' "safety zone" around our properties, to prevent the spread of flames from foliage to structure. We cut down the trees, then, and mow the grasses, to abate the fire hazard, until...voila.

We should implement a forestry study at Irish Beach, in which a map is made of the area indicating the location, size, age, and species of every acknowledgeable spec of flora. From such a plan could be determined the relative nature of each growth, whether benign, melignant, or benevolent.

The scenic pond is brimming with life: singing frogs, crickets, insects, bats, birds of prey, bears, and mountain lions. An abundant insect population is sufficient to support a proportionate number of bats. If humans were to suddenly eradicate the bat population, there would be a sudden surge in the numbers of insects looking for a meal.

Tonight we also learned the value of "sachet" in repeling insects. It appears that the buggers can't smell how tasty you are under your lavender halo.

I can easily imagine the insects eating us alive...