Doctors to avoid.

Lonewacko appears to be correct in writing about the cruising for Dean proposal:

Good luck, but I don't think it's going to work unless someone is either crazy, drugged, or otherwise already fairly pro-Dean.

But what the hell: I had to give it a try. This Sunday I went to Lalos, which, as Young Bradford has described, "is a small, Mexican restaurant in the Castro that has miraculously turned into a throbbing hotspot on Sunday." (Especially throbbing last week, when the temperature went way hot.) I decided I might have more luck with the more inebriated boys, so I followed the tequila shot guy around and talked to the people who seemed to like him the most.

Starting off with "could I talk to you about Howard Dean," predictable, makes people just a little bit scared. They probably think you're some kind of plant for an ex-gay organization. Most of them, it seems, had never heard of Howard Dean, or were too drunk to remember.

My friends, however, would not let me stop. So I tried some other kind of opening line ("hi, I'm originally Southerner, and by nature hyperintroductory"). After striking up a conversation, I tried to change the subject to Howard Dean, but things got confused when I said "oh my god, I can see my bedroom from here!" (It so happens that I live across the street, just having moved to the Castro recently). I really could see my bedroom, but the comment, coming out of nowhere, confused our conversation beyond any possible recovery.

(Note: I'm in no way officially connected with the Howard Dean campaign.)

By now a familiar story, but very well experessed, about the over-production of Phds in the Guardian, many of whom, I would swear, are now lecturing for free to anyone who wants to listen on the streets of San Francisco. I've heard some interesting theories about Eliot while walking to my car.

Thanks to this this post from Tympan, (what product does he use in his hair?) who pointed to and Ron Silliman's recent discussion of a spate of articles on this subject.