The DNC seems to be bringing out all the protesters. Including the protesters who feel that both the number of (1) women killed by a lack of access to reproductive healthcare, and (2) the number of car accidents stemming from drivers being distracted by giant fetuses, are far below what we, as a nation, could achieve.
(Disturbing fetus picture below the cut.)
1. I went to a steampunk wedding last week, and it was awesome. A mutual friend officiated, and the ceremony ended with everyone chanting, “And so say we all.” Brilliant!
2. My computer works! It’s been kinda-working for a while now, but I just got everything set up with a new hard drive, and it’s all shiny and stuff. This means I’ll be around more, except…
3. …We’re having a cupcakes and wine party tomorrow, so probably not before that. We also have a ridiculous amount of wine, which in a great show of fortitude, I did not drink last night.
4. Of all the spam I just went through, the spam that said only, “Cunt!” took me the longest to positively identify as spam. This may perhaps be a commentary on me.
I got back from San Francisco pride a couple of weeks ago, and that is one intense. fucking. party., let me tell you.
I thought I would be writing right now about the commercialization, commodification, and normalization of “the gay lifestyle.” I thought I would be talking about how the rainbow-banner Bud Lite banners were vaguely cute but also vaguely sickening; about how the marriage industry is opening its arms to (heteronormatively-attractive and “normal-looking”) gay couples without missing a beat; about how the entire pride industry is a concerted force to push “normalish” (white, affluent, could be straight if they, y’know, wanted to be) gay people into the mainstream whilst marginalizing everyone else.
And I expect much of that is true, but those words didn’t come, in part I’m sure because we didn’t go to the “core” pride festivities at the civic center. We went to the tranny march and the dyke march, both at Dolores park; we also went, albeit briefly, to the giant rave held at the intersection of Market and Castro, where twenty-thousand people pack into the streets and just… dance. And my girlfriend and I cuddled in my friend’s backyard, and watched fireworks that we and nobody else made, and talked about moving to the city.
We thought, just a little, about getting married.
I got back from San Francisco two weeks ago, and I’m still processing. I have many words to say about the experience and the city. A summary:
raw vegan tiramisu! / has that wheel always been there? / dykes on bikes! / no scripts / civic center is so overrated / so many queer girls / we must move here / omgwtfbbq.
I saw Nightwish a bit earlier. Opening for them was a band called Sonic Syndicate, who I think really demonstrated admirable restraint in not calling themselves Sønïc Sinndikæt. At one point, the lead singer said something that led to the following exchange:
“Did he just say this song is about…”
“…gay rights”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Neat!”
Death metal being what it is, I had no way of knowing if the song was in fact about gay rights, but I bopped my head along agreeably all the same.
Nightwish made me really want to see a big, steampunk-anachronistic blockbuster about Anne Bonny and Mary Raed.
It’s funny how few words are required to radically change a dynamic.
Cab driver: “Do you want to touch my dick?”
I’m fine. I left, dropping money and saying that no, I like girls.
But I am glad, at the moment, that I live in a concrete box.