Move Therapy

I bought an antique desk on Nextdoor over the weekend and last night Bevan and I drove the half mile from our house to Duboce Triangle to pick it up. Upon our arrival we discovered that the desk, a squat, chartreuse tank measuring four feet wide by two and a half feet deep, was stationed on the seller’s second-floor back patio that was accessible only by way of a narrow, low-ceilinged alleyway. It was during the hauling of said desk through said alleyway that the following conversation took place.

Me: Lower your end, Bevan! I can’t lift mine any higher!

Bevan: I’m trying, Corey! This thing’s heavy!

The Seller: Do you guys need some help?

Me (straining out a smile): Nope, all good! I said lower it, Bevan! Jesus Christ!

Bevan: Thanks for the offer though! You wanna do it yourself, Corey? I’m more than happy to let you try!

The Seller: How long have you two been together?

Me: A trillion millenniums. Tilt it to the right, Bevan!

Bevan: Seven and a half years. I am tilting it to the right, Corey!

The Seller: Do you live in the neighborhood?

Me: In the Castro. Dammit Bevan, watch the corner!

Bevan: Just above the flag. You watch the corner, Corey!

The Seller: That’s close to my office.

Me: Neat! Ow, Bevan! You could have told me there was a pipe behind me!

Bevan: What do you do for work? I would have, Corey, if you weren’t pulling so damn hard!

The Seller: I’m a therapist.

Me: Great! Walk faster, Bevan!

Bevan: A worthy profession! Walk slower, Corey!

The Seller: A couples therapist.

Me: Oh, neat. Lookin’ strong, B! Keep it up!

Bevan: Therapy is very important. Doin’ great, Core!

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.

B2B Take Two

Despite the messy weather, tens of thousands of runners, many of them in costume, joined me at the Bay to Breakers starting line just before eight o’clock this morning. Included in the throng was a shirtless older gentleman who stood directly in front of me during the national anthem and then oh-so-casually slipped out of his tiny green shorts as the go gun sounded, granting me an unavoidable view of his bouncing, pasty white tush for the first few minutes of the race. Remember when Sunday mornings were for church?