Are you as wiped out as I am from our week-long work jaunt to San Francisco? I can barely keep my eyes open today.
I had even more fun with you than usual. The events may be never-ending with sharp highs and lows, but we work with a congenial group of colleagues and their camaraderie makes it go down easier.
A story: As we cabbed to our Nob Hill hotel on day one, I glanced out the window to see if the Nob Hill Theatre was still there -- and it is.
How to describe the "Knob" Hill Theatre, as we called it? Let's go to an expert source. The City Search site calls the Nob Hill a "male strip joint and gay pornography cinema featuring exotic stage and shower shows, erotic films and private viewing booths." A similar guide calls it the "premium place for porn and strippers strutting their stuff live and in-person." That about covers it.
The marquee says it all: "Touch Our Junk."
This became the expression of the week: "Touch our junk," "Touch your junk," "Touch my junk." Every time I disappeared to my room to catch up on e-mail or close my eyes for a few minutes, people acted like I had gone to the Nob Hill. I deflected with my best bemused, enigmatic smile. I think they were genuinely surprised that the theatre existed.
SG, sorry that we ran out of time before I could get you drunk and take you by for "Rookie Night." I know you would have been a hit. . . . and come home with a wad of singles. The brief visit by Mrs. Straight Guy tamped down my plan.
Gay Guy / Straight Guy Archive
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