2005 -- Year of the Cock

I went to the S.F. Chinese New Year Parade this evening. It rained off and on, which in a way was kind of nice because there wasn't any competition for a good view. I saw the mayor, lots of dancing lions and dragons, and had to plug my ears for the eardrum blasting fire crackers. Overall, it was a good parade, but way too many participants if you ask me. So many dance teams, drum teams, and bands looked alike that if you left for an hour you wouldn't miss much. I did leave after a hour and the parade was still just beginning at the starting point near 2nd and Market.

Wow.

Then, I get a call from Amy. We decide to meet some of her friends at Andalou for sangria. I get off the phone and head down to catch Bart back to the Mission. The train isn't scheduled to come for a few minutes so I sit down a reasonable distance from a couple of white guys. All of the sudden, I feel this powerful slap on my back. I look up and it's the guy seated farthest from me and he says, "How you doing buddy?"

It's clear he doesn't know me. I know I don't know him either. And he's annoying, not to mention kind of scary carrying on in that way in an urban setting.

What do I do?

I simply get up and start to walk away.

Then, I hear them laughing and a loud, "FUCKING FAGGOT!"

Oh, did this sissy pacifist's blood boil. San Francisco is not the place, not the city for racial slurs, or put-downs directed at one's sexual orientation.

I stared at them the way a three toed sloth stares at a boy throwing coconuts into his tree -- full of furry, full of wonder, and most of all, patience. Enough patience that the transgressor feels discomfort and agony from merely being stared at...straight in the eye...for at least ten whole seconds.

The patter's friend gestured with his hand for me to come hither, to fight I assume. I did not go thither. I went to a new seat next to a police officer.

Minutes passed and I thought about the whole encounter more thoroughly.

Here's my take:

I looked gay to these men. They had been drinking. They aren't from San Francisco proper. They feel uncomfortable here. Clearly, actions such as theirs wouldn't last long in the city. You'd either be bitch slapped until you were pink on all four cheeks or you'd be eaten alive by a hairy leather wearing bear.

Yes, they were from an outlying land, and guessing from there southerly direction of travel, it was a place like Daly City or San Mateo.

My take is that they were out drinking together and had no luck with the women. They were with each other all evening and, after a few beers, one of them found the other strangely attractive. Repulsed by his own feelings, he took it out on the next cute guy he found himself strangely attracted to -- me. Hence, the third grade "I like you, you give me a funny feeling in my tummy, so I think I'll hit you" bullying.

These are the same guys that stand on the street corners holding signs saying "GOD HATES FAGS!"

These are the same guys that shoot young gay men, or beat them after they drink a few beers and forcefully sodomize them.

People, when are we going to understand, it's not being different, or being gay, or even being seemingly gay that's the problem? It's the hatred within ourselves, the way in which we are out of touch with our own insecurities that drives such violence.

What will I do next time?

My mind is full of scenarios.

Push them onto the electrified third rail.

Fight.

Be severely beaten.

Befriend them.

Befriend them and take them out for more drinking, then take them to a gay bar where they can act out on their repressed fantasies without any barriers.

I don't know. All these thoughts played out in my mind over and over again all the way until I reached 16th and Mission. There I got off the train and saw my upstairs neighbor, Michael. He's just back from New York where he sets up convention booths. We talk about nursing, sperm donation, and fashion all the way home. He opens the gate to our apartment. It's obvious he finds me attractive. It's obvious I find him attractive. The year is 2005, and neither one of us finds it necessary to slap the other on the back and call him a fucking faggot.