February 2007


Why, if it came down to it, I would live in a Tenderloin SRO before I would leave San Francisco was explained in Leah Garchik’s column in today’s The San Francisco Chronicle:

Probably the biggest showstopper in “Legally Blonde” is the song “Gay or European?” which asks the question about a suave gent with an accent. Before the show set out for New York, Emily Nozick attended a performance at the Golden Gate Theatre that included what she calls a “true San Francisco moment”: 6-year-old Sarah Graup asking her mother, “What’s European?”

Which reminded me that thirty years ago when Allen had joined me in San Francisco and started working down the peninsula and attracting this mob of co-workers with his combination of radiant personality and great talent, his friend Laura started coming to the City to hang out. After she’d met a few of our San Francisco (i. e. gay) friends, she remarked to Allen how much she enjoyed them, as they all seemed so……. and she paused to think of just the right adjective, ” European.” Which immediately became a code word among us.

That one. Whaddya think?

Oh yeah, European. Definitely.

And now, a cute little balconette on 21st Street:


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First Date

Today I carefully prepared for a first date. 

I showered and shaved with extra care and smeared some deodorant in my pits. I thoroughly brushed my teeth with extra toothpaste. Hell, I even trimmed my nose hairs. 

I’ve been dressing much better than usual this past week to go to the SAP Open, but today I put even more effort into it. Like the newest pair of Dockers in my closet with my best belt and my finest LL Bean shirt, which I buttoned at the wrist (both buttons) and tucked in. 

I allowed double the estimated driving time, which was a good thing because there was enough traffic that the trip took longer than I’d estimated. I parked a block away and waited until two minutes before nine to pull up in front of her place. 

A lot of the things my parents tried to teach me just rolled right off my back, but I did for sure pick up on the importance of first impressions in establishing relationships. After all, I want Colleen to do my taxes for the rest of my life.

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Miracle Plan

My big news of late is that while sitting there at the SAP Open (see the 2007 tale in Lobs and Volleys I had an intellectual breakthrough and am going to do some reprioritizing: Learning some more damn Dutch has moved to the top of my list. I want my improvement to blow my friends there away when I arrive in May. Besides, I’m in too deep now: my German has been destroyed or at least verschmutzt by my Dutch study and my Spanish and French, forgot.

That stack of books I haven’t read yet can just wait awhile. That list of books I haven’t bought or borrowed from the library can just get longer. Some of those magazine subscriptions can just expire. The tedious emails I’ve been sending folks are going to become less frequent, or at least shorter. Etc.

The other breakthrough I had at the Open I already mentioned, the intention to return to the gym. And this morning my resolve was still firm, so I Segwayed down there.

After suiting out, I approached the scale with some trepidation, wondering just how bad it was going to be. What? I reset the scale and tried again, but got the same result. A third try confirmed it. I’ve lost weight.

How the hell is this possible? I mean, could I have maybe lost a dozen pounds during that three weeks of illness before the Open and then gained only half of it back during my week of gluttonizing in between watching the matches.

I was thrilled. I was ecstatic. I had been emotionally prepared to grit my teeth and get through the workout on sheer shame. Instead, I hit those machines like a galley slave who’s just been told he can get time off for extra effort. It’s been ages since I had so much fun at the gym although the giggling did attract some disapproval from the devout. But then, it always did in church, too, didn’t it?

And while I was pumping away on the step machine it hit me: I must have burned a lot of calories at the Open while I was wriggling around so much during crucial points that I rubbed the skin off the backs of my thighs.

Hmmm. Can I maybe market this? Coach Bryan’s Miracle Weight Loss Plan: Squirm Your Way to Thinness.

Here’s a red doorway I like:

red door

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