Yeah, but; and more Edward Gorey

I should be asleep but I've been working. When the contractor has people in China and my internal customers are in Finland, it's rather difficult to put shit off. And now that I'm done for the night, I'm too tired to have the smarts to go to bed.

Anyway, here's some useful input for you if you were a man and were coming with me Saturday: How to Dress For The Edwardian Ball ~ Part III: The Gentlemen.

I like the casual manner in which San Franciscans will dress any damn way they please to have a good time. Do they do this shit anywhere else? They may. But I doubt it. Not with the same relaxed panache. I fucking love that place.

But I'm not getting a lot out of the article. In fact, having read it once, swiftly, about two hours ago, while trying to do two other things and tired and hungry besides, I came away with the impression it mainly consisted of clever sartorial repartee and exhortations to make an ass of oneself pretending to be out of an Edward Gorey illustration.

Wear all black, and throw the largest scarf you can find around your neck. (In the book, the Guest’s scarf is red and white striped, but a red, black, or grey scarf will do just as well.) Once again, don a pair of white Converse. Add guyliner or, if you really want to go all-out, black your eyes with some eyeshadow or greasepaint (think skull eye holes).

Congratulations. You’re now the long-lost cousin of the Doubtful Guest. For added effect, lay down in a doorway or two and dolorously refuse to move. People will love you.

I'm thinking "love" isn't exactly what people will do. Tell you that you remind them of some self-important asshole from the high school performing arts department, is what they will do. Except they're Sanfriscans (did I coin a word?) and will just release their annoyance with a shrug, or a comment about people who try too hard. Am I projecting again?

Guy on the left is named Steve. He let us in to the Burning Man storage unit down in India Basin (a San Francisco neighborhood of industrial ports along the southern edge). I don't remember if I wrote about that. Probably not. A great dusty room full of stacked and cast-off furnishings, props and large art works meant for use on the playa or any other related event, tools, ice chests, everything really that a theme camp or eight could use. We were there to collect some custom sparkly furniture that was used at a fundraiser and that were being surrendered to the Sacramento people. When the gentleman let us in of a Sunday afternoon, he wore no makeup, just a dark suit and hat very reminiscent of an Orthodox Jew, along with that wiry beard thing, which I guess goes with him everywhere. It was because of that beard that my friend Zoom-Zoom knew him at a thrift store he happened to be in down there a hundred miles away, having met him once at Burning Man, god, years ago. The beard is not a new accessory.

Okay, what have I done? I've dragged you down a corridor, possibly two, and am now going to bed. You can find your own way out.