Marke B.

Big new pianist

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I know this should technically go in the Noise blog, but I didn't want it to get lost in our upcoming blizzard of SXSW coverage, so here goes .... Read more »

Nuts to laundry!

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Divine intern Sam Devine gets soapy:

Laundry day will be different today. I’m using a new hippy product from Santa Cruz to clean my clothes: Soap Nuts, the soap that grows on trees.

Soap grows on trees?

Yeah, turns out Soap Nuts are the dried fruit of the Chinese Soapberry tree. Read more »

Jean Baudrillard is not dead.

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Ah, the ecstacy of pomo French theorizing: it feels like sandpaper, tastes like mint, and never leaves the cold bathroom. Sometimes it's a bloody butterfly. Other times it's a tongue on vinyl. And always the future conditional pluperfect leotard. Ce ca?

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And yet, the gulf may exist.

Fuck Baudrillard. Fuck Foucault. Read more »

Super Modelo

Mex-cellent adventures!
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO The sun-bleached suede pump lay abandoned in a tattered jumble of grasses, beneath a grove of swaying palms, next to a ruined hacienda. Vermillion nasturtiums burst through the hacienda's broken crimson bricks. Embossed on the pump's inner sole, one word: predictions. Suddenly, a pair of untethered horses flashed into view — one black, the other sweet caramel, weaving their way to a freshwater lagoon at the tip of the white sand beach just beyond us. The grove lit up like a David Lynch interior. Read more »

Pinkos, painters, and pansies

Daniel Hurewitz connects the identity dots among young LA's artist, activist, and fairy communities
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marke@sfbg.com

REVIEW Los Angeles has lately become quite a hot spot for queer studies scholars, their investigations slipping out of the Hollywood Babylon mode of starstruck speculation and into the lives of everyday Angelenos. Read more »

You really need to go

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Fried chicken, hot boys, and DJ Derek B. Oh, and that Oscar thingie.

PS -- you MUST check out Juanita's New Pornographers vid

You like me!

The Oscars of gay porn come to town
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DON'T FORGET TO THANK THE MOST HIGH "The Oscars of gay porn are coming! The Oscars of gay porn are coming!" I whinnied to my roommate Baby Char-Char, my girlish hands gesticuutf8g wildly. "Don't you know what this means? Soon the streets will be absolutely crawling with porn stars!"

"So what else is new?" the lovely Char-Char humphed, settling back into his vegan chicken nuggets. Thus the rapturous ambivalence that greets the arrival of the GayVN Awards to San Francisco this Feb. 24. Read more »

The new woof

Welcome to Bear 2.0
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO "If you're snorting coke out of the hollow end of a Parliament filter, you just don't care anymore," quoth supervixen Beccalicious, standing outside Madrone Lounge, spattered by a light drizzle. But I did care — I do care. The night's a mosaic of throbbing subbacultchas, and there're far too many amateur jibber-jabberers hopped up on Bolivian marching powder out there already, waxing the floor with their tongues. Shut up and dance, say I. Read more »

A sad day

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Indeed, the boopsy one has passed. I've been hoping against hope that this is just another publicity stunt -- perhaps gone horribly wrong. Meanwhile, here's our makeshift tribute altar.

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Photo by Joe Pennant

Farewell, Anna Nicole Smith. May you bring TrimSpa to the angels.

Sex on wheels

The 2007 "At Your Service" bike messenger calendar
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FIXED-GEAR FIX Mr. July, bare chested, coyly toys with a Rubik's Cube, the waistband of his Champion boxer-briefs just visible above his brown leather belt with a "Philadelphia Freedom" buckle. Mr. November, sandwiched between two Muni cars, has his T-shirt pulled up to just above his nipples, revealing washboard abs and a plethora of tattoos. Mr. February gazes longingly over the Mission rooftops, one slippered foot swinging like a come-on over the edge.

What do they have in common besides month-based nomenclature? Read more »