Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Queer Eye

To say that there is a "Gayest" part of San Francisco is sort of like saying that there is a hottest part of the sun.

However, there is.

On the sun, it would be the core, the center, at 15 million degrees Kelvin.

In San Francisco, it would also be the core. In this case, it is The Castro District, or just "The Castro."

In the Castro, you will find the best restaurants, bars and antique shops in the city. Why? Because gay men know how to live better than most of the rest of us. That's why.

The Castro is the geographic and spiritual center of the city. Or at least, so I've been told. And while the folks there don't necessarily walk around in Indian chief and construction worker costumes, the ratio is certainly greater than 1-in-10.

I knew this. Tom knew this. Dr. B, well, his mind was on other things...

We were just driving around. I was behind the wheel and we were wandering. I'm pretty sure that Tom and I saw the sign at the same time, but didn't really say anything. I turned left, and started heading south on Castro Street.

We passed 14th, 15th and 16th. I approached the complicated 6-way intersection at Market and passed straight through.

Slowly, Dr B, who was lounging in the back, took notice of the two men holding hands on the sidewalk. Then another. And another... They were everywhere! Eating food. Going shopping. Talking to their friends. Just like actual people!!

We came to a stop at the next red light. Looking around, there were very clearly no women to be seen whatsoever. It was quite plainly a village of men.

We sat waiting for the traffic to pass and our light to turn green. Pedestrians passed in front of our car. Out of habit, while I waited, I glanced in the mirror to check traffic behind me.

"Holy shit!" I gasped. "Where's Dr B??"

Tom turned too. Our backseat buddy was not there. There were no back doors in Tom's tiny Probe, so he could not have bailed out.

"Hey man, where are you?" asked Tom.

"Down here," came the muffled reply, "on the floor behind your seat."

"Good Lord," I said, "what the hell are you doing on the floor of the car?"

"Hiding." He said. "I don't want the gay people to see me."

To this day, I'm not sure what his logic was. I don't think he even knows what his logic was. It was, after all, a long time ago.

And, to be fair, I asked him earlier this week whether he minded if I posted this short blurb, and with good humor, he let me post it. So, thanks to Dr. B for that!

5 comments:

  1. Remember that time we went to The Jackhammer on Sanchez? You were drinking tequilla and starting going off on "Glory Holes." Then you stumbled off to the mens room. You came back about an hour later with the knees of your pants worn out and smiling from ear to ear.

    It was pretty cool the way those guys always paid for your drinks the rest of the trip.

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  2. You know, I really have no excuse or defense for that. It's really fuckin funny to think about now.

    My parents were kind of like the neighbors Dad in American beauty. Not quiet Nazis but damn close. It was all about Religion in my house growing up. Hell, we even left our church because it wasn't strict or Godly enough.

    I was sheltered and naive. Gay people were dirty sinners and it was better to bury your head in the sand and pretend they dont exist. But, now I feel so free to express how much I love gay people.

    And to quote my lawyer friend "I'm a fag that likes pussy"

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  3. Gay Ramon11:14 AM

    Silly boy, don't you know we all have X-ray vision?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hey Dr. B, your sis likes pussy too.

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  5. You have other lawyer friends?

    ReplyDelete

Be compelling.

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