Gay Pride Week

I’m sifting through the handbags in my favorite Mission thrift store, when the man next to me taps my shoulder. He’s attractive, well-dressed, late forties.

Him: Excuse me, can I ask your advice?

Me: Sure.

(He holds up a feminine red blazer and two purses.)

Him: Which of these purses goes better with this blazer?

Me: Well, the left one won’t work because the reds don’t match, and the one on the right is a little crazy. Is the woman artistic?

Him: I sure am.

Me: So, you’re the woman.

Him: Yep.

Me: Then it’s perfect. Have a fun weekend.

ONLY YOU

This morning I noticed a smoldering cigarette in the street. As most of the western United States is on fire right now, I walked a few steps over and crushed it with my toe. Then I realized how silly the impulse was. It’s not as if the asphalt were about to ignite. For a moment, it made me a little sad to live in a place where nothing burns.

MASTER OF MY DOMAIN

I’m way too excited about this. Two days ago, I successfully registered mightygirl.org and mightygirl.com. Triumviratacious. Troikarama.

Speaking of Seats

I don’t like it when my seat is unexpectedly warm, it seems too intimate. On the bus, on the can, in the diner–I don’t want someone else’s heat on my bum.

Raise Your Hand

When someone is sitting next to you on the streetcar, then rises to take a single seat that opens up, should this offend you?

Minority Report

I liked this movie. Tom Cruise looks good bald. This means that we can look forward to watching him decay onscreen as he’s paired with increasingly attractive 19-year-old leading ladies.

Hootenanny (Or Thanks, Mr. Dave)

Saturday night, I went to see Chris Isaak and Natalie Merchant at the Chronicle Pavillion in Concord. Ms. Merchant, you may be surprised to learn, is a mover. She bends at the waist, rips her head back and forth, and uses her elbows to do a convincing airplane propeller imitation. It’s fascinating and somewhat terrifying. I wanted to catch her head and say, Natalie, Natalie, you’ll need your neck in the morning, love. Stay away from that bad man with the Minithins.

Chris Issak is so much the better once you have a good wine buzz. This was easy to come by, as the walking vendors were selling carafes of red wine. I shit you not. This was when I knew I’d landed squarely in my target demographic, and I went down without the slightest struggle. The audience was a sea of happily bouncing white thirtysomethings wrapped in fleecy goodness. I had my Calvin Klien Jeans, a cellphone in my pocket, and a general sense of goodwill. I’ll be expecting my Pottery Barn Kids catalog in the mail next week.

Point of Interest

We went on a hike in Lassen National Park this last weekend. (Hike is a euphemism for seven hours of off-trail snow plowing in running shoes while clinging to the nice young man with the GPS.) Some favorite things from the trip up:

A billboard for Colusa Casino advertising high-stakes bingo.
Hogsback Road, where an obviously important hog-related event presumably took place sometime in the 1900s.
A truck with “Chevrolet” airbrushed on the back in flowing script. There were rose vines circling the word, and a big red apple in place of the “O.”
James and Son Prune Dehydrators.

Ovrheard

Scenario: Homeless man approaches woman waiting for the bus.

HM: Hi, Lorraine!

Lorraine: Hi.

HM: Think it’ll rain today, Lorraine?

L: Maybe.

HM: Maybe it’ll rain, Lorraine?

L: Maybe it will.

HM: Because it’s like “rain” from Lorraine. Then “lor” like “folklore,” like it might be true. So maybe it’ll rain, Lorraine.

L: Yep.

HM: Do you understand me?

L: Yes.

HM: Really?

L: Well, not all the time.

HM: We need cue cards like they have on I Love Lucy with Desi Arnaz.

Covet

I passed a store window in the Castro that featured a pair of socks with the slogan “I (heart) my penis” embroidered on each one. I must have them.

Down

On my way to the mailbox, I sighed and stepped over a baby bird that had fallen from his nest to the sidewalk. A few moments later, I noticed a well-dressed man walking in my direction. I could see from half a block away that he was talking to himself. We had just passed one another when I heard him mutter, “I’m still lonely.” So that was a bummer.

Pretty in Pink

Have you ever tried Pepto-Bismol? Even the name sounds like someone vomiting. Bismol. Biiiismmooooohhhhl. But when I’m about hoik up my intestines, I always think to myself, “Boy, howdy! What I could use right now is a nice little plastic cup brimming with pink, minty, viscous fluid.”