After you've been to a certain number of Folsom St. Fairs, they all tend to look pretty much the same. In spite of this week's cold and gloomy weather, the sun came out on Saturday to shine on the leather daddies and the pony girls, the naked old men and the women in ill-fitting corsets, the cock rings and the brightly-colored fur-covered ( Read more... )

Don't get me wrong - it's not that I don't like the Folsom Street Fair. I like the idea of the Folsom Street Fair. I like living in a city where the bar for perversion is set so totteringly high and yet we continue to leap over it, like so many PVC-clad pole vaulters. I like pretty girls in latex and pretty boys with horns stuck to their foreheads ( Read more... )

I'm so cool ( Read more... )

It is hard to live with other people, even one other person. It is hard to live with another person's dishes and laundry and stubble in the sink. It's not enough just to clean up after yourself - there are a thousand little chores and errands that keep a household moving. It ain't easy keeping entropy at bay, especially in the concrete bunker, ( Read more... )