Too, Well, Common

I just finished my second queer memoir of Pride Month, I Am Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell, and below is my favorite passage:

I try to make myself realize that I have learned the difference between right and wrong. That there is such a thing as right and wrong. But instead I’ve learned that these are things—this “right,” this “wrong”—these are things that we are told. Simply told to believe. These are things we have not tested. And while most of the things we are told may be true, it is not until we have tested them, taunted them, flaunted them, that we truly know they are right. Or wrong. Or true. Or false. Or somewhere in-the-fucking-between. And I think I know now a little better which is which. And I also know I’ll never quit testing this world. I’ll never rely on common knowledge. Or common denominators. Or even common sense, for that matter. To do so would be too, well, common.

Hot in Herre

For the third consecutive day San Francisco is as hot as George Clooney in the hallucination scene from Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity, so B, Sid, the dogs and I are planning to ditch our upstairs bedrooms tonight in favor of a campout in the main floor living room where it’s a much more tolerable O Brother, Where Art Thou? on the George Clooney Movie Hotness Scale.

LGBTour

We started with a stroll down Macondry Lane, the inspiration for Barbary Lane in my best friend Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City novels.

Then we hauled ourselves to the Tenderloin to the site of the Compton’s Cafeteria riots, one of the first recorded LGBT-related riots in United States history and the beginning of transgender activism in San Francisco.

And finally, after a pit stop at the new beer hall on Market (for sustenance), we posted up in front of Gilbert Baker’s glorious rainbow flag for a photo.

Thank you, Judy, for indulging me my big queer tour of San Francisco.

All eight miles of it.