On the other hand, we're really big tippers

Sparky and I had this debate at the beach on Ibiza: Just how many men there were close to our age? We agreed on a "few dozen or less" of the more than 1,000 (Sparky's estimate) guys sipping cocktails, slapping on suntan oil, and planning drugs for that night's party at, say, Privilege. We saw a lot of hot guys. But we didn't meet many of them. (Like: none.)

So! When are you "old" according to the younger gay set? On Fire Island, it's when you hit the mid-40s. "He was at least 45,'' one gay boy was overheard hissing recently as he described an oldster on Pavilion's dance floor. "His chest hair was, like, grey.'' To which I reply: Lemme show you my pubes, darling!

Absurdly cute! What I wouldn't do for more weather today like yesterday's. It's looking close, though: partly sunny, highs in the 60s to lower 70s. Only slightly related: Have I ever told you that Sparky is a nut for weather?

Tammy Faye's grand reinvention

I first saw the diminutive preacher's wife in 1985, after I moved to small-town Pine Bluff, Ark., to start my newspaper career. At noon, I'd drive home for lunch to watch Tammy Faye and her televangelist husband, Jim Bakker, on their Praise the Lord Network. It was as irresistible as rubbernecking past an eight-car pileup.

With her tragicomic life -- heavy mascara, on-screen crying, those big wigs! -- she was a ready-made reality TV star and gay diva, the new roles she adopted after Jim was convicted on federal fraud charges in 1989 and sent to prison. Indeed, Sparky and I saw her sing on stage at the Castro Theatre in a 2001 traveling show with her co-star, over-the-top film director John Waters. "I refuse to label people," she said in the 2000 documentary, The Eyes of Tammy Faye, the New York Times said today, reporting her death Friday night from cancer, at 65. "We’re all just people made out of the same old dirt, and God didn’t make any junk."

[Photos: top row, far left, in 1987; bottom row, from left: box cover art for Eyes of Tammy Faye; in a fierce blond wig in 2005; on TV again this year, after her cancer returned; bottom inset: an undated TV appearance]

On the kindness of strangers

People usually associate Vivien Leigh (above, in 1958) with Scarlett O'Hara and Blanche DuBois. But I gravitate to her gayest character, in The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone. Warren Beatty is downright silly (that terrible Italian accent!) as the gigolo who preys on Karen Stone, an aging American stage actress who flees to Rome after her career sputters and her new husband dies. (A 2003 remake starring Helen Mirren, Ann Bancroft and the smoking-hot Olivier Martinez, below, is a no-miss, too.)

Leigh, who suffered major bouts of manic-depression, is spot-on in that 1961 movie. The scene I always recall comes near the end, when her character succumbs to desperate loneliness. She's on the terrace of her Spanish Steps appartamento, tossing the keys below to another young n'er-do-well, despite a dark hint he may kill her. I thought about Leigh last night, when Sparky and I caught the tail end of A Streetcar Named Desire. Then I read her Wiki bio this morning and discovered she died exactly 40 years ago today, of tuberculosis. She was only 54.

Of course, Streetcar has a big point in its favor, and here he is:

New in Castro Tunes: Donna Summer

I came out 30 years ago this month after seeing a photo on the front page of the New York Times showing 200,000 people marching in New York's gay pride parade. Donna Summer ruled back then with hits including I Feel Love, one of five tracks I've just loaded in the jukebox, in the right-hand sidebar. The world sure is tiny: Sparky knew Summer in the early 1970s, when he was a student in Germany and Summer lived there with her first husband, Helmuth Sommer.

I've got a thing for hairy legs (see mine here!). When Sparky and I visited my grandmother's Italian birthplace outside Naples, we saw a lot of guys who had soccer-player legs, too. Sparky says that shows my family got busy with Arab visitors at some point in our past. (Women on that side of my family really, really, really like men!) Well, hairy legs help keep me warm on coolish mornings like this. Later today, we should see some sun, with highs in the 60s.

Are you gays nuts for plaid or what?

I thought perhaps it was my imagination: Whenever I wandered through the Castro, I saw you wearing them. But then I checked out Abercrombie & Fitch today, and there they were: four styles of shorts in 13 different plaids, from $49.50 to $59.50 (left). Not exactly the madras shorts Sparky's been looking for, like these at Banana Republic, or the sort recommended by my college chum Lisa in her Official Preppy Handbook. But close!

Madras makes me think of summers in Maine, where I worked as a teen-age au pair for a rich family on their private 23-acre island in the middle of Rangeley Lake. Their friends and relatives included a Gimbels Department Store heir and a Palm Beach stockbroker who stored pot in a Carr's water biscuit tin in his bank safe-deposit box. They entertained themselves racing vintage Chris-Craft runabouts across the lake. See, Sparky? I was born to be rich!

Cruise, Cole b-days; Lachey battles photos

Frequently lampooned actor, Scientologist and reputed father Tom Cruise turns 45 today. Sparky and I debated this morning whether Cruise has a hot bod. (Sparky: no. Me: not so sure.) Also, Michael Cole -- so, so curly-haired cute in The Mod Squad -- is 62; more big birthdays here. Kinda hot singer Nick Lachey and gal pal Vanessa Minnillo are fighting to stop gossip magazines and blogs (geez!) from publishing photos of them having sex. (And we're not talking about a chaste smooch in a hot tub, either!) Plus, super big-dicked rock star Jim Morrison died 36 years ago today in Paris; he was only 27. Boo!

No room for dessert on Church Street

I just noticed that the Just Desserts cafe on Church Street closed yesterday after 20 years. A note in the window says only that management decided not to renew the lease, and directs customers to the store at the Metreon building on Fourth Street. Most annoying for Sparky and me because we're not big fans of Sweet Inspiration on Market Street. We had to fight before they refunded our money for a stale birthday cake years ago, and I haven't forgotten that unpleasant experience.

Tonight: Ecstatic over thump-a-thon?

Pride Weekend's biggest club event is called, duh! Colossus. But I dunno: $120 for two tickets for Sparky and me? I've got a surprise that might entice him to a big, noisy event full of young, buff, Ecstasy-horny guys (yahoo!). But I bet we'll happily grope our way through Pink Saturday instead. SFScene says go, if only for "the grand spectacle of it all." See you there!

So: Sparky gave me a pair of those aussieBum engineered-to-pooch-you-out "Wonderjock" briefs last night. They didn't stay on very long. Hah! From my vantage right now, it looks as nice outside as the beach scene above. Today's going to be mostly sunny, with highs in the lower to mid-60s. [Photo: aussieBum]

Yahoo's gaydar is working really well

Sparky just sent me an e-mail from his Yahoo account. And would ya look at the little text ad the gay-lovin' but way-strugglin' Internet company slapped at the bottom of the message: "Moody friends. Drama queens. Your life? Nope! -- their life, your story. Play Sims Stories at Yahoo! Games."

Oedipal Olympia?

I'm thinking of Olympia Dukakis today, her 76th birthday. Even more than Laura Linney's Mary Ann, it was Dukakis' Anna Madrigal in Tales of the City who inspired my move to San Francisco seven years ago.

In many ways, Madrigal is like my mother -- minus the pot. Come to think of it, Madrigal is a lot like Sparky, too.

Oh.

Is it just our imagination?

. . . or does it seem awfully quiet in the Castro this close to Pride Weekend? Sparky and I noticed kind of thin crowds today when we went to the 2:15 Frameline31 showing of The Fall of '55, which I posted about here. Good picture, though I didn't much like the score. I'm so glad I live in San Francisco right now.

It's a gorgeous San Francisco day: Sunny, with highs in the upper 60s to lower 70s. Sparky and I have been sitting on his magnificent new rooftop deck, enjoying views to the Bay and beyond. Pass the Soothing After-Sun Balm, $21 at San Francisco's own Nancy Boy!

Sparky and I saw lots of tourists last night in the Castro, so I guess the Gay Pride hordes are already streaming in. Oh! Let's hope today's weather doesn't disappoint: Mostly sunny, with highs in the 60s.

This one's for Sparky! We should have more amazing weather today: Sunny. Highs in the 60s to upper 70s. [Photo: aussieBum]

What next: The return of Trocadero Transfer?

Coke may have faded from the headlines, with coverage limited to not-so-veiled references surrounding exploits of waify celebrities, but it's still very much a part of the social scene, the New York Times says today. And darned if that story isn't right: It mentions all the "snow" and "skiing" euphemisms in Craigslist ads. Sparky and I hopped on the Internets this morning and quickly found the same stuff here. But we wonder if there's a gay-straight divide: Many of those Bay Area ads are in the M4W casual encounters section.

Another Sparky b-day dinner, at Firefly

Dinner with friends, Colin and Colin. Much discussion about wine country real estate and wineries vs. San Francisco real estate and the merits and proper cooking of rhubarb. Bowing to Alice Waters & Co.'s crusade against imported bottled water, we drank just one bottle of San Pelligrino.

Big shout-out to the spring lamb stew with baby turnips, fava beans, rosemary rösti potatoes and roasted spring onion ($19.75). What: Firefly. Where: 4288 24th St. 821-7652. Open at 5:30 p.m. seven days.

They've got the squid nailed down

It took nearly five years -- that's how long ago it opened -- to eat at the Peruvian restaurant Limon. When I tried to get reservations in the past, I was always told they'd be happy to seat me in three weeks. Somehow, our buddy Brent managed to snag us a table last night to celebrate Sparky's birthday.

We all loved the calamari. And Brent and I lapped up the Arroz con Mariscos (clams, scallops, mussels, shrimp and calamari cooked with saffron rice in a pepper shrimp sauce). On the other hand, Sparky wasn't so wild about his Pollo Latino (pan roasted chicken breast; truffle infused mushroom mashed potatoes with aji Amarillo jus).

The waiter was perfectly attentive and very sexy. Peruvian? No. I'd say Mexican. But the noise level was atrocious; next time, we won't sit on the mezzanine level. Last, an odd moment came when a guy -- one of the Castillo brothers, Martin, Antonio or Eduardo? -- came to our table after the entrees were served. He then described the dishes in great detail to the four of us. It was like a final sales pitch. We'd ordered these plates ourselves; why did we need a refresher course? Still, great food; we'll be back.

What: Limon. Where: 524 Valencia St. When: Open seven days; hours vary. How much: kind of pricey, Sparky says. All the entrees were in the $20s and up.