The Angry Young Man

The guy who jumped me the other night came over and apologized. He told me he's a former Marine who upon hearing me kick the trash cans had a flashback and flipped out. I told him not to worry about it and he invited me to meet up for a drink some time. Only in Poland.

Speaking of Poland, Huntington, his buddy Kevin, and I went over to Dolores Park yesterday to watch a bunch of idiots reenact the zombie dance scene from Michael Jackson's Thriller. I imagined they would take over the whole park and looked forward to seeing the hill strewn with dancing zombies, but they were wedged in by an anti-war rally. The rally was an abortion of infinite stupidity and I found myself getting annoyed beyond all reason as we walked among the various booths demanding the typical justice for Mumia Abu Jamal (so, retro) and no war for oil. Cliche Guevara's face was festooned everywhere, even on T-shirts people were selling. Some business hippies were trying to hock "peace beads" and peace sign stained glass window thingies. Oh, and they were selling garlic fries and offering free spinal exams too. Disgusting. A whole cottage industry has risen up around protesting the war. Later, I pointed out that the anti-war movement is a cash cow that is just waiting for us to exploit for shopping bags full of American dollars. Huntington cleverly suggested we sell protest candy. He thought a gummy version of Mumia would be a perfect product. We can call it Gumia.

Several of the hippies tried to hand me various pieces of literature, as they tend to do at these things, and I self righteously refused to accept any. I told them that they should just put up their information on a banner somewhere and stop wasting paper and other resources. This confused them. I mean, it's not like any of the shit they're protesting over has actually changed in the last 20 years. If they're really all about no war for oil, maybe they should spend more time demonstrating the actual alternatives to oil and how by changing our wasteful ways, we can eventually reduce if not eliminate our need for the stuff. That, I suppose, is too constructive an approach for people who really just want to stand around being pissed off. The only display of green technology at work that I encountered was a solar panel some guy set up to power a TV showing a video on Oaxacan rebels or some such thing.

Ultimately, what I found annoying about the entire operation is how tiresome and predictable it all was. It was yet another highly sanitized attempt at reenacting the 1960's and frankly, I've had enough of Boomer nostalgia trips. Furthermore, the complete lack of focus at these things is retarded. I mean, what the hell do Cliche or Mumia have to do with the war in Iraq? Why does the so-called left always have to be so fractured? On our way out, we passed the stage and some France lady was ranting on and on about the plight of the Palestinians. Relevance to the war?

After the park, we retired to the Pilsner where we proceeded to drink ten or twenty cocktails. Breetard joined us and we had a pleasant couple hours hanging out on the patio. Huntington and I then decided to head to the Castro for more drinks. The Castro, of course, was a madhouse, stuffed full with people in costume and cops everywhere. I met a nice couple at The Mix and they told me about a literary salon in North Beach. I asked them if Kate Braverwoman hung out there but they'd never heard of her. I told Huntington we need to become Braverwoman's groupies. When she first moved up here from LA, she was so enthused about being back in a City that appreciates art and literature. She started doing a monthly salon at Edinburgh Castle and then, just as quickly, she disappeared. I wonder whether she's as enthused about SF now as she was then. Anyway, will check out salon and report back. Must dig out beret.

After The Mix, we hit some more bars and I was kissed repeatedly by drag queens wherever we went. Both cheeks were smeared with bright red lipstick. Huntington made out with some guy dressed as an angel and got glitter all over his maw. That was hilarious. I also met an adorable boy who lives in Vallejo and who was in for the evening with a friend. We talked about Vallejo and the gay, Gary Cloutier, who's running for mayor there. Then, we made out. Good times. He called and left a vmail saying he wanted his voice to be the first thing I heard this morning. Should I call back? Hrmmm.

OK, I need to go put my head in a bucket of ice water now...