I hung out yesterday evening with the new occupants of the Eagle Tavern (now known as the SF Eagle, apparently) at a celebration of the lease-signing at the Lone Star Saloon. Alex Montiel and Mike Leon seem perfect to replace the former Eagle operators Joe and John: Tough-looking and leather-bearish, a tad gruff at first but friendly once they warm to you, and a wee bit shy of the press right now.
They'll be releasing their full plans for the storied queer bar in a couple weeks, but I did manage to squeeze some juicy info out of Alex. They hope to open the bar in time for Halloween, the liquor license has indeed been secured (in fact, they have two!), and they'll be doing their best to return some of the Eagle's ambiance to the now-pretty-much-gutted space, with a few slight modifications to the bar layout for code and traffic flow reasons.
It's certainly been a long, winding, super-convoluted road to get to this point!
SUPER EGO Veronica Klaus, jazz chanteuse extraordinaire, is one of the most sincerely charming people I know — especially when she breezes up to Momi Toby's cafe in Hayes Valley on her bike one recent morning, fresh from a brisk ride to Ocean Beach, flawless in a casual black wraparound top, ivory kid gloves, and a vintage black bag full of her chihuahua, Charisse. (Yes, queens, named after Cyd — and no, not sporting matching gloves.) "Sorry I'm a little late," she smiled, barely out of breath, gesturing toward her sculptural figure. "Just trying to keep it all in place."Read more »
To celebrate the incredibly engaging Cindy Sherman retrospective at the SF MOMA (through October 8), we asked four of San Francisco's premier drag performance artists to re-enact four of Sherman's iconic portraits. It's all about looking twice -- or in Sherman's case, four or five times -- and we wanted to see how many layers of gaze her work could hold.
Uhhhh.... yes, I'm finally recovering from Pride, which was quite a thing. Here's the quick tea: our SFBG Pulling Pork for Pride party was chill in a good, busy, porky way. Nightlife at the Cal Academy was a breezy, star-filled affair -- with baby ostriches, even! The lovely Mr. at Monarch on Friday was packed with stylish yet soulful dancers (along with Quentin Harris at Saturday's Mighty Real shindig, one of the most diverse parties of the weekend, too).
Juanita More's double-venue marathon on Pride Sunday was a high-water mark: its throbbing, post-runway crowd dressed in custom black separates and dripping vintage gold chains. Hard French was also a rockin' delight, its post-Tumblr crowd dressed in custom neon separates and dripping in silver netting. And Honey Soundsystem was just far too hot-hot-hot (both temperaturewise and bodywise), its crowd pretty much naked except for glimpses of Southwest-patterned motifs, whether shaven into baroque haircuts or flashed from acid-washed scraps. The music at every party was pretty amazing, and I even stumbled upon a secret shisha bar in the TL, woot.
Visual alchemy, fabulous feminist story-telling, and something deemed “hyper-literate busking” abound at 2012’s Queer Rebels of the Harlem Renaissance fesitval, three nights of art and performance (Thu/28-Sat/30) by 21 LGBTQ African Americans.
Part of the 15th National Queer Arts Festival, Queer Rebels of the Harlem Renaissance continues the legacy of the droves of artists, performers, and activists who questioned stale societal standards in a myriad ways during the heyday of the New York City neighborhood's 1920s and 30s creative blossoming: from sensual lyrics of Bessie Smith to the pointed poetics of Langston Hughes, the artists of the Harlem Renaissance continue to testify to the assertion that social causes are rarely separate and constantly progressing.
“People at sex clubs are looking to hook up. It’s usually my safe sex practices that get me turned down more and not the fact that I’m transgender”
I thought it would be cute to conduct today’s interview in a bathhouse sauna. Instead I found myself sipping a soy milk latte in one of the Mission’s many hip coffee shops -- not as intimate of an option, but probably better for my note taking. For once, I was on time, and I patiently awaited San Francisco sex educator Niko Kowell.Read more »
SUPER EGO Zounds and gulldurnit. Figures I'd fall ill right at the start of street festival season, when the weather was gorgeous, the freaks were How Weirding, and two new clubs were throwing open their fresh-painted portals. Why can't my body just obey my mind and be invincible! It's nothing but an overgrown orang-oo-tang. Oh well, I guess when you have only one sinus left — thanks, 1997 — every day of health is a smelly blessing.Read more »