A memorial to my car…struck down by an arsonist in the prime of its life on 17 September 1996, at the tender age of six.
On Tuesday afternoon, I went out to my car, hoping to drive to Safeway for a reckless grocery spending spree. Unfortunately, my car wasn’t there. Being the jaded city dweller I am, I didn’t think much of it. “Guess I hit that five parking ticket limit”, I thought, as I walked to the police station a block away to pay my way out of the tow yard once again. Only this time, the Department of Parking and Traffic was not involved…
“Sir, your car was towed on an arson hold.”
“Oh great! Someone stole my car and started a fire?”
“No sir, that’s not exactly what ‘arson hold’ means…”
The next day, when I went to Pier 70 to identify the body, I was shocked. The car which brought me to Planet SOMA, among other places, resembled a charcoal briquette. I was not really prepared for the immense destruction. It was pretty ugly. I was really shocked most by the fact that what used to be the spare tire was sitting in what used to be the front seat. I was also pretty amazed that what used to be everything else inside the car wasn’t much of anything anymore. Looks like it was a pretty dang nasty fire. At first I thought a street person might have decided the car looked comfy enough for a cigarette and a good night’s sleep. Now I’m not too sure.
Maybe someone was pissed off by the ACT UP sticker. Maybe some some crazed tourist was retaliating against my “Mystery Spot” sticker. Maybe the commercial radio “powers that be” were not amused by the college radio ads. Could it have been a rabid environmentalist? Or perhaps a psychotic suit monster from Merrill Lynch or Charles Schwab upset that I turned down his request to do the impossible (immediately) one day at work? What do you think?
An ideal personal ad I’d respond to:
Queer-acting, queer-appearing omnivorous male into sleazy bars, pop culture, road trips, and “The Simpsons”. Hate long walks in the park, unless there’s cruising involved, and the “great outdoors” means an alley off Folsom Street. Meet me for dinner at Denny’s. We’ll have sex first and then see if friendship develops. I’m sometimes moody but generally cheerful, feel love intensely when I bother to feel it at all, and have no patience with one-sided relationships. No gym clones, granolas, fashion victims, or people who act their ages. Must understand the irony of MTV planning a new channel which actually plays music videos. Understanding irony in general is also non-negotiable. (Read my take on Sex, Love, and Relationships if you’re really interested.)
- Individuals with a sense of perspective: your job is not your life, the world will not end because there are spots on your copies, and gridlocked traffic will not move even if you blow your horn for ten straight minutes.
- People with an unpretentious attitude: be willing to eat at Denny’s and spend an evening watching something other than nature documentaries on TV.
- Anyone who values his/her book collection over almost all other possessions.
- Southerners who got the hell OUT!
- Those who possess a healthy attitude about sexuality and are comfortable with their limits without being critical of others.
- Dykes who will invade “all boy” bars with me.
- People with an all-encompassing sense of humor. How can anyone live in the 1990’s without one?
- All those who regularly quote lyrics from obscure pop songs and TV themes (mid 60’s to mid 80’s) as a matter of their daily existence.
- Fags whose musical experience ranges farther than house and techno.
- Drag queens who don’t give a fuck if you call them “drag queens”.
- People who look at parts of my site other than the dirty pictures.
- Mac supremacists.
- Fags who describe themselves as “straight acting” and/or “straight appearing”. More appropriate terms would be “closet case” or “self-loathing”.
- Spoiled yuppie brats who are too uptight about work, keeping up appearances, and proving their “innate white-boy” superiority. Stock brokers and investment bankers often fit this profile pretty well, but they’re not the only “type A’s” around, and I’ll get my revenge when they all have strokes, heart attacks, and ulcers.
- People with no work ethic whatsoever and who think they are owed a living just because they happened to be born into an “unjust” society.
- Fundamentalist Christians who think that God’s love is expressed by being just plain hateful. “Loving the sinner” doesn’t involve taking his/her home, job, or child away.
- Gymbots and persons with bodies which call way too much attention to how they got that way.
- Gay Republicans. These people are the scum of the earth and are completely correct in their belief that they are unwelcome among either group.
- Marin County types who bask in their “liberal” ways until the time comes to allow affordable housing in their mecca and who moan about the destruction of the environment while driving their BMW’s and Volvos across the bridge every morning.
- Speed freaks. Crystal has destroyed many of my good friends. It makes otherwise intelligent people stupid and untrustworthy and basically useless, and has replaced cocaine as the drug I fear most.
- Whiners of all persuasions, but particularly those “inclusive” types who are as narrow-minded in their “liberalness” as even the worst Baptist ministers and as paternalistic in their protectiveness as most plantation owners. These people refuse to allow anyone (including themselves) to have a sense of personal responsibility; they’re too busy blaming “society” to do anything to improve their own lives. Gay dogmatists are very prone to this mentality.
- Retail customers who wait until the total appears on the cash register to begin even looking for their checkbooks and ID. All those in line behind you share this pet peeve and secretly hate you as well. (This is pretty nit-picky of me, but I’ve always wanted to express this publicly.)
The day started earlier than it should have and ended much later. The early afternoon saw David guiding Jeff through a last-minute shopping extravaganza in the Haight. There was also a trip to the very top of Buena Vista Park, where the views were great and the cruising was unconsommated. In the early evening came Macy’s and Union Square, so Jeff could exercise his credit cards (which were, of course, positively dusty from lack of use).
Dan drove the vacation boys to Twin Peaks about 11, and then dropped them in the vast mall known as the Castro. The evening’s bars included Badlands, the Phoenix, and the Detour (which was surprisingly entertaining). A quick cab ride led to Planet SOMA, Hole in the Wall, and My Place. Jeff picked up two strays, J’Tao and John, but lost them trying to crash the oh so trendy “Piss Party” on Ringold Alley. Bedtime came late. The morning, and Jeff’s airport shuttle, came really early.
Jeff has returned to Greensboro, David must return to work, and vacation season is over.
About 3:00, Jeff and David attempted to take a Market Street historic streetcar to the Castro, but settled for a bus. Jeff shopped while david whined about the complete sterilization and gentrification of the Castro. Beer at the Detour, dinner at Welcome Home (yumm…), then home for the Simpsons.
The evening progressed to the Stud for 80’s retro night (which actually was much more fun than David expected), then to the EndUp (which was as scary as David thought it would be) and back to Hole in the Wall and My Place. Quick beer at home and then off to the Power Exchange Main Station. David was most favorably impressed with the changes. Jeff was thrilled to have sex in a tent. David met a very cuddly 22-year-old tow truck driver from Sacramento. It was a late night.
The second of the historic west coast blackouts of 1996 occurred today, rendering grocery shopping difficult, transit unpleasant, and driving damn near impossible. The non-functional ATMs were a special added blessing. Planet Hollywood had power, although the food took so long I think it was cooked over an open butane lighter (but loved that Cap’n Crunch chicken…)
The birthday bash was…well…low-key. Let’s just say there’s lotsa beer and munchies left. That’s what David gets for planning a party at 5AM on Friday and sucking dick in an alley when he should’ve been out inviting. Jeff managed a little fun at My Place while smoking unknown subsatnces which made him dizzy. Derik was not at all pleased with the country music at the Lone Star (nor was David). After five minutes and one beer, Jeff had had enough too.
Derik and David went home (Derik being a wee tad fatigued) while Jeff trudged to Blow Buddies again: “more peering than action, but the peering was good!”. Extra points to the completely hairless boy in the jail cell (at Blow Buddies, not a real jail like where Jeff spent David’s 29th birthday).
David, being a discreet sort, will reveal no further details of his evening…