Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Greetings From The People's Gaypublic of Drugifornia

What it is, reader! The relentless march of the holiday season has begun. Thanks to genius marketing, we no longer have a series of discrete celebrations but rather one long holiday that begins after Labor Day, HalloThankChristYears, the purpose of which is to buy all manner of shit.

After going out for Chinese with some friends this Hallo, we decamped to a nearby bar to watch the World Series (obvs I was not driving this agenda), Lucita's. Lucita's wasn't a "dive" bar populated by white urban hipsters but was just sort of seedy. Tended by a platoon of ladies costumed at various stops along the sexy continuum: nurse, cat etc, there was a surfeit of cleavage.

Shortly after we arrived, two men dressed as cops came in. Except they were really cops, as it turned out. They posted themselves directly in front of the entrance, such that you would not be able to enter or exit without their physically moving out of the way. Odd. At the same time, we also noticed a steady stream of men going up a half flight of stairs at the back of the bar, then returning a few minutes later.

It did not take an especially fertile imagination to conclude we had stumbled onto a police-protected sex ring. The cops were essentially bouncers--your tax dollars at work! I was semi-outraged.

Turns out, San Francisco has a rich history of police-protected prostitution rings, as documented in Erotic City: Sexual Revolutions and the Making of Modern San Francisco by Josh Sides.

Might those busty bartenders have been B girls, who receive a cut of drink sales that they entice men to buy with their wiles and wares? Additional sleuthing yielded this review of the bar. The writer, a bit of a sexist ass, did seem to pick up that something was amiss in Lucita's but neglected to notice the sex work happening all around him. Perhaps it was just the timing of his visit. If at some point the SFPD gets interested, since hey, they can't seem to solve any homicides, tell them you read all about it on Professional Critic.

In other news ...

Stupak Amendment: What. The. Fuck?

File under: Late to the Party but Sure Am Glad I Made It: Cashmere. Reader, why did it take me thirty eight years of life to start wearing cashmere? Soft, light and delightfully warm, cashmere is indeed God's gift to woolens. If you feel so inclined to buy your favorite blogger a HalloThankChristYear present, do consider this one from Restoration Hardware.

Hi future robe!

The first minute of this episode of 30 Rock still makes me howl:

The suck known as Trauma has been canceled. Not surprising. Here's a taste of Trauma:

Yes, it's all that bad.

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