introducing...yummy b-rad

I'd like to add someone else to my ever-expanding cast of characters...Brad. Brad is Daigle's roommate for another few weeks, and is also in the Coast Guard, stationed in Alameda. He's quite an interesting guy, actually. Originally from Spokane, Washington, he actually reaches into rivers and streams and yanks out fish with his bare hands...a classic Pacific Northwesterner.

However, under his butch exterior hides an extremely talented photographer and gifted chef. The evening I took these photos, B-Rad was roasting lamb chops in my oven and chilling crisp salads in my refrigerator. He's kinda quiet at first, but once he starts talking to you, you find he's startlingly intelligent and engaging.

Oh, and he's straight, even though Daigle will try to tell you otherwise. Making out with a non-gender specific person at Badlands during Pride doesn't count as being gay. And the only reason why he was at Badlands was because his roommates are complete homogays.

So don't be 'judgin.

Daigle started calling him B-Rad, which eventually morphed into Yummy B-Rad, and now (in true Daigle fashion) he's Yummy B-Rad with the phat Seven Decimal Five.

Use your imagination. Daigle insists it's true...morning woodies can be revealing, apparently.

I actually feel pretty lucky to know him...he's one of the cooler cats I've run across in a while. As soon as this stupid looming BART strike is over, he's also going to come over a few nights a week for yoga in front of the fireplace (he already bought his mat and clothes), followed by a gourmet meal cooked either by me or Yummy-B himself.

Anyway, I just wanted to introduce him to the world. I feel lucky to know him.



not a bad pride at all.

You know, sometimes the world works in very strange ways. At first, I was annoyed I missed the parade, and spent most of Sunday with a whanging headache, but I'm kind of glad I did. That just meant my day unfolded much differently than it would have had I gone to the parade. Oh, and I got some news tonight...turns out a certain internet stalker I have cast a hex upon my weekend and said a spell, hoping I'd miss the parade and ruin my weekend.

No, really...I'm not kidding. But I'm not going to go into any details beyond that. It's just too...wierd.

Not to mention...Just A Bit Creepy.

So here is a photo essay of how I spent Pride Sunday. You can click on any picture if you want to enlarge it. :-)

I sent my friend Ryan a text message earlier in the day telling him happy Pride (it's a holiday here) and to give me a call later in the day. He called, and so I went over to his Tenderloin apartment to visit him.

That self-concious, sunburned cutie you see there is Ryan. It's hard to get a picture of him because he usually hides his face whenever someone points a camera at him. Let's just say I think he's adorable and I want to take lots and lots of photos of him. I did manage to get a few good ones...this is one of them:

Anyway, Ryan and his friend Patrick had just come from the Civic Center Pride party. Patrick was wearing a kilt.

No, really. It looked hot on him:

He's a cool guy...I want to get to know him better.

After Patrick left, I went over to the bay window:

I started snapping pictures of Tenderloin street life...these two were returning from the Pride celebration at Civic Center Plaza...they look like they were having a good time. I hope they were...everyone should have fun at Pride:

There was the obligatory Bus Stop Tweaker...this poor guy was twitching and shaking...I hope he gets help someday:

I sat down and watched TV with Ryan:

It was a Josh Hartnett picture:

A commercial came on, and Ryan got up and looked out the window. I followed him:

I asked him if he still wanted to go to the party at the Bambuddah Lounge with me. I had been planning to go, and Ryan said he would go with me. However, as the day lazily dragged on, I started rethinking my eveing activities. I was still feeling a bit off from the previous night's fiasco, and I was still having trouble keeping my balance at times. The warm afternoon breeze was blowing through the window, carrying up the streetscape ambience with it, and somehow, going to a crowded, noisy pool party in the middle of the Tenderloin seemed less and less desirable.

"Hey Ryan?" I asked.


"You still wanna go to that party?"

Ryan looked at me and smiled, walked over to the couch, and flopped down...looking at me wordlessly:

It was the only answer I needed.

We decided to go get some Thai food from Osha Noodle at Leavenworth and Geary. It's one of my favorite places to eat in town, not to mention it's my parents' favorite restaurant in San Francisco. It's the first place we go to eat when they come visit.

After procuring Thai food and chocolate ice cream, we returned to his Tenderloin palace, where we watched more TV...this preacher was cracking us up:

It was rapidly getting dark outside, so Ryan got up and turned on his arch lights:

They're cute. I like them.

We ate our food, and afterward we kind of spooned together on the sofa and got comfortable. We watched The Simpsons, Family Guy and American Dad...the Sunday night Fox lineup is always fun:

After American Dad, I decided it was getting late, and poor Ryan was absolutely exhausted from the day's activities. I bade him a good night, and walked home.

This face greeted me forebodingly at the gates of Chinatown at Bush and Grant:

I love walking through Chinatown at night. It's like I've been suddenly planted in some old film noir movie set:

Some of these are blurry...the light was low, and I didn't have my tripod with me:

I ran across one of my favorite graffiti tags in the entire world, Ribity...this one was beautiful:

I've been snapping lots of pictures of Ribity...he's everywhere. I know him personally, actually...if you're in New York look out for him. I don't approve of graffiti, but to be honest, I kind of like this one. I just wish he wouldn't tag murals and storefronts.

I got home and went up to the roof to just look at the skyline for a bit:

It was beautiful.

And that, my friends, is how I spent my Pride. It was actually much more fun than last year's Pride, and to be honest, I can't think of any other way I would have rather spent it. Sometimes, just the simple things are all one needs. Besides...it was nice waking up this morning not being hung over. So a personal message to my stalker who hexed my weekend to ruin my Pride...thank you. It wouldn't have turned out the way it did, and I learned something very important about myself this weekend. It was actually the best Pride I've ever had.



this town can be so much fun

...but the Giants did not lose, they ended up beating Arizona 4-0 last night at SBC Park, and yours truly was there with his trusty camera.

I'll start from the beginning...my eye was feeling a little better, and I decided to put my contacts in for a few hours since there was NO WAY I was going to wear my old, crooked, outdated glasses to the game. Besides, I can't see very well with them, and with my contacts I have 20-15 pilot vision. (sorry, Dr. Trambley...vanity prevails)

I'm paying for it today, but my eye is continuing to heal, even if it burns a bit from the antibiotic I have to smear on my eyeball 5 times a day. Feh.

My friend Greg called me up and asked me if I wanted to go to the Giants game.

"Hey homogay," he said. That's what he calls me.


"Wanna see a Giants game?"

"Hell yeah, I love Giants games."

"Meet me at the statue of Willie Mays at 6:45."

"Okay, how much is the ticket?"

"Don't worry about it."

Greg is cool like that. He's my other gearhead friend here in town, and we once took a trip from San Francisco to Missoula, Montana in an Audi 200 Quattro with no heat in the middle of the winter, right after we had just met on craigslist. He was looking for a roadtrip companion, and I stepped up to the plate. But that's a completely different blog entry...I'll write it later.

So after we got our $8 Anchor Steam beer, $4.75 peanuts, and $6.25 hot dogs, we sat down. Greg is going to hate me for posting this photograph, but I love it...he's the one in the hat. His friend John is sitting next to him:

That's the face Greg makes when he has a stomach full of Anchor Steam.

His friend Sarah was sitting next to me. This is Sarah:

Shortly after I took this photo, she and I burst into a impromptu rendition of the theme to Family Ties, complete with the "Sha-la-la-la" at the end, and of course, "Sit, Ubu, sit! Good dog! WOOF!"

The guys in front of us turned around and looked at us funny, so we decided to actually pay attention to the game.

That's Arizona Diamondbacks player Troy Glaus there. Nice butt.

I've always hated that Coke bottle...it's so stupid. What's the point? It just looks like a giant piece of litter someone left there. Like some giant San Franciscan dropped it there. A San Francisco Giant. Har-de-har-har. Someone should lose their job or at least be fined for putting it there in the first place. At any rate, I wish a giant Sunset Scavenger truck would pull up and take it away for recycling.

The mitt is cool, though. I'm coo wit the mitt.

We were so high up, you could see Oakland. I'd just like to take this opportunity to give a big "HOW YOU DURRIN" to my friends over in that cute little area code known as The 510.

John and I decided to go get some more Anchor Steams and hot dogs. The lighting was so gorgeous at sunset on those upper decks of SBC Park...and he looked so handsome. I made him pose for a photo...I hope his boyfriend likes it:

These people are waiting for balls to come flying their way...that's McCovey Cove behind them. Anytime a ball gets knocked into the drink, there's a mad scramble for it:

Now that Barry Bonds isn't doing steroids anymore, not as many balls go flying in their faces.

Get it?

Okay, that was just dirty.

Speaking of which, at one point, John and I were talking about porn stars. He asked me if I had ever heard of Matthew Rush (speaking of steroids). Of course I have! I'm gay, aren't I? He went on to say how big Matthew's penis was. Emboldened by the three Anchor Steams in my stomach, I blurted out, "Oh, huge cocks are SO overrated!" in a very loud Outside Voice when perhaps I should have used my Inside Voice to say that.

"Gee Chad," said John, laughing hysterically, "could you have said that any louder?"

Apparently not.

I then realized, hey Chad Fox, you're not in the Castro, you're at SBC Park. Shame on you! Watch your mouth! I looked at the people sitting in front of me, who wrinkled their noses and blinked at each other. They probably did not appreciate my Matthew Rush huge cock comment. I clapped my hands over my mouth and blushed as Greg and John practically pissed their pants.

Great. Now the homos behind them were giggling and making tatas in their panties. That's what happens when you let homogays to go baseball games.

The game ended, and we all went out front to Willie Mays Plaza. Greg and Rose, apparently still in a sporting mood, started a game of Giggle and Grabass:

Sarah was having none of it:

Neither were Joanna and Bob:

Yet they continued:

By the way, Greg is gay. Very, very gay. He's not just gay, he's a homogay. Just thought I'd clarify.

And that wrapped up the baseball game. Now, if you're wondering WHY we're all bundled up like we're going to a Cleveland Browns game in the middle of November, it's because this is San Francisco, and it doesn't get warm here in the summer, especially at night. In fact, it gets hellamotherfucking cold here, especially when the fog rolls in and the wind kicks up. It's like natural air conditioning...while Oakland and the rest of the East Bay swelters, we're nice and cool over in the 415.

Hey, at least it's good sleeping weather.




Sometimes, you just have to make certain assessments in your life -- cleaning out your attic, if you may -- and decide, "What needs to stay, and what needs to go?"

These can be excruciatingly difficult decisions.

However, you must always do what's right for you; don't ever sell yourself short by pouring your heart and soul into something that may seem worthwhile, but is nothing more than a sewer carrying your good, often misinterpereted intentions away with the collective chaff of many that have been there before you.

It's so not worth it, and always leaves you feeling foolish.

Clarity can be quite painful, but it's a good thing to have...it allows you to stand up, brush yourself off, and move on with your head held high. To do anything less would be selling yourself short.

I believe you should never stop growing and learning...and improving yourself and making positive changes in your life. If you don't, you stagnate. Most importantly, if there's one thing I've learned, don't ever stop loving yourself...because if you do, it prevents you from moving forward. It dulls your edge, and ultimately sets you up for failure on multiple levels.

When I was younger, I used to disagree with that, "You have to love yourself before loving anyone else."

Blah blah fucking blah, I thought; how wrong I was.

If life has taught me anything, if you don't love yourself, not only is it almost impossible for you to love anyone else in a healthy manner, it makes it extraordinarily difficult for anyone to love you.

Nobody jump to any conclusions...this blog is cheap therapy for me, and sometimes I have to vent here, even if I insist whatever I'm blathering about remains private.

And that's all I have to say about that...because I feel better already.


no more blind jokes from now on

Do you have any idea how scary it is to take the 38 Geary MUNI bus from the VA Hospital to downtown San Francisco (a 7-mile trip) then walk through the Financial District blind as a bat? No wonder why I've been so cranky yesterday and today. Yesterday, on my way home from the clinic, I had this fluorescent dye in my eyes, they were watering so much I couldn't see, and they were too sensitive to light so I couldn't wear my glasses in the bright sun. I had to wear an old pair of Jackie-O sunglasses I had while walking down Montgomery Street, eyes watering, tears running down my cheeks, eyes burning like a motherfucker, not able to see the traffic signals, or even differentiate between taxicabs and police cars (I flagged a cop and asked him to take me to North Beach...he thought I was on drugs when I tried to open the rear door). I even had to ask someone on the bus where the hell I was...I honestly couldn't even see what street we were at.

I felt like goddamn Mr. Magoo.

Of course, the guy I asked generously offered to walk me home, but this is San Francisco, and you don't let a complete stranger from the 38 Geary walk you home when you're blind.

It just tends to end badly.

Well, my eyes are much better today...not 100% mind you, but I just might be able to wear my contacts to the San Francisco Giants game tonight...because I'll be damned if I wear my clunky old glasses that have an out-of-date prescription anyway.



off. the. hook.

I haven't had the chance to blog in a few days...I'm currently fighting a nasty little conjunctivitis infection in my left eye. Seems something blew into my left eye and lodged itself under my contact lens - causing a nasty infection - as I drove back from Santa Cruz on Sunday morning...and now if I cover my right eye, I look like a Tenderloin crack whore.

I mean, even more so than usual.

Anyway. The party.


Man, this party was just...well, it was like no other party I've ever been to. Part of me wanted to put down my camera and just hang out with everyone. Hell...my ass was grabbed enough by members of both mainstream sexes (being inclusive of those among us who are non-gender specific). The party started with a live disco/funk band who rocked the crowd and warmed them up.

Then the Iceman came out...he opened his set with Hot Sex and it just rocked on from there.

Then Ms. Gloria came on stage...and everyone, including myself, was spellbound by her majestic presence. She's probably my mom's age, but she can sing...her pipes are as strong, loud, and clear as they were in 1978. Go Ms. Gaynor!

The guy who threw the party also hired some go-go boys from Philadelphia...they were so hot...and incredibly sweet. One of them slipped me his card with a wink, telling me to look him up next time I'm in Philly.


I'll be able to post some of the pics soon...but the guy who threw the party owns the photos, which means they'll remain private until he tells me which ones I'm allowed to publish here. He said he'd probably let me publish most anything, but he wants to see the photos first. Fair enough...he was a really cool guy, and I look forward to working with him again.

Sigh...Gloria Gaynor. Vanilla Ice. Hot go-go boys. Future photo contracts. Coming home afterward and being surrounded by some of the best friends anyone could ever ask for.

Life is good. It really, really is. Who cares if I look like a Tenderloin crack whore for a few days?



landed a gig.

Oh, hell yeah.

I just came down from dancing around on my roof with my iPod...anyone in any of the North Beach-facing skyscrapers in downtown San Francisco must have seen me, especially the ones in the Transamerica Pyramid, Embarcadero 1, 2, 3, and 4, and the Bank of America building.

Yeah, that was me. Woot! :-)

About a half hour ago, I got off the phone with someone in Santa Cruz...specifically, the guy who runs the Verve Party (formerly called Swank). Turns out, he needs a photographer, doesn't want to hire a wedding photographer (he says he doesn't want anyone who needs a tripod) and he likes my stuff.

Yay! Validation! Money! Finally!

The featured acts at this party are Gloria Gaynor and Vanilla Ice...um, okay. Who would have ever thought I'd be taking photos at a party with those two? Just an odd pairing, that's all...it's like going to a party and hanging out with Marilyn Manson and Snokey Robinson. Or going to a Tony Orlando and Ween concert.

It should be interesting.

Once again...my surreal life just gets...stranger.

I love it. BTW...be sure to scroll down and check out The Daigle Project...I guess those pictures really did come in handy after all. :-D



the daigle project.

I promise...I have more stories about my travels through Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania.

However...for now, I give you what I've been working on the past three days...The Daigle Project. I don't have a lot of experience taking photographs of people, so I needed a charismatic, animated subject who works well with me and responds well to instruction. Daigle stepped up the the plate...and we've had an absolute ball. We were running around North Beach tonight, me giving him instructions, he responding brilliantly. In fact, there was a gaggle of tourists kinda following us around who thought we were famous or something, and actually snapped pictures of me photographing Daigle.

This is them huffing and puffing up my street...it's pretty steep:

Go on, girl! You can do it!

They also snapped Daigle exclusively, effectively eliminating me completely from their "Our Trip To San Francisco" photo albums, thus trampling my self-esteem in the process. However, I picked up the shattered pieces of my pride and self-worth, and bravely moved forward, blinking through my tears. I also refrained from cutting any of those bitches because I didn't feel like cutting any tourists tonight.

Too damn tired.

We actually had a lot of fun...I've said it before, and I'll say it again...I love that boy. He's proven to me time and time again what it means to be a true friend, and I trust him with my life. I mean, he has a set of keys to my apartment...and he's the only one besides me who has them.

That says a lot.

Here's a sneak peek...I still have a lot of work to do on these photos...there are almost 700 of them I need to sort through...but it'll be worth it. These are by no means finished...they were just edited in Picasa before I threw them up online...they're a bit different than what the finished product will be. Tonight, Daigle and I were just having fun with these...making some black and white, adjusting color levels and temperature, brightness, contrast, and cropping.

Oh, and here's a link to Daigle's blog. Be sure to stop in and say, "How you durrin?"

So please...be gentle with your criticism.

© 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008 by Chad Fox. All rights reserved.