Santa Claus is gay! Who knew! I was presented with this fact on Saturday afternoon. Not only is he gay and has been spotted walking the streets around The Castro, holding hands with male ‘lookalikes’, he also downs beer from bottles whilst parading around loudly in the street…and, AND he then revisits the contents of his stomach strategically, right where I want to walk. So, our streets may be devoid of long skid-trails of stepped-in dog poo, and plastic wrapped dog poo mountains may be threatening to take over planet earth and it seems now that ‘vomit is the new poo’, according to San Francisco this weekend! I guess we will have to let all the small children of the world down gently this year and explain Santa will not be delivering festively wrapped, fluffy toys, electrical Wi thingys and i-what nots, due to AA meeting commitments and interests which lay elsewhere! Seriously, I had fierce and rather hairy competition at the Thrift store womens ‘vintage’ rail today by a man who looked like my brother’s old sports teacher. This was not the only competition I faced this weekend, if I was even looking…which I am not because I’ve sworn a lifetime of celibacy and am quite happy by myself thankyou and don’t need all that fuss and nonsense…but if I was, I would have not been able to just exert a faint chortle when I witnessed, on three separate occasions along one, three-block street, four guys taking sneaky..and not so sneaky..backward glances at each other, whilst this weekend, I…even in my cute black boots, tights and retro shorts, remained as invisible as a flea.. Which leads me to my next subject of American TV. Public Broadcast television which hosts a rather dazzling display of random…very random shows. Top of the billing today, whilst I sat incarcerated under a determined weather front, was a black and white five-minute scoop of a very serious looking guy in a bow tie, who made his living from tying (how…HOW!) twine around the body of a flea and getting it to pull objects along behind it and flip, pinhead sized balls of white cotton fluff, placed on it by aforesaid bow tie wearing man, in the air. This show was only then to be trumped by…wait for it….HOT KITCHEN, no reference here to mercury rising from busy ovens and glowing hotplates but to the mean cut of the chef’s costume in a Santa suit and stockings. Her thighs got top billing…(now the chickens know how it feels to get overlooked!). Her show ended, after she’d made a few platters of beige food, lavished with lumpy gravy, with a man joining her on the set and them smooching (cringe!) to a Christmas tune, the title of which I could not possibly recall as my brain was now being shaken in its housing in disbelief! Thank the Lord that I managed to pierce the film of bemusement (maybe that should read amusement..no its more like the face a parent makes when a child is doing something totally unexpected and parent is entertained by it…..sorry, please shimmy back from that sidestep I maneuvered) which covered me this weekend, with some decent conversation, some about zoom lenses and macro capabilities in a large Best Buy establishment and some, more genially, in a cafe, maxed to human capacity with steamy windows as the rain tried to ascend to whence it came, from discarded brollies and sodden jackets. One highlight of the weekend, Nia dancing http://www.sfbaynia.com/writer.asp?region=sf and our, perky as a button, teacher Zack. He had us spinning, twirling, making agressive hah! noises and kicking our legs, reaching up to the sky and acting like candle flames ‘to light the world’ and I LOVED it. I couldn’t help but giggle whilst I let out far more ‘whoops’ and ‘weeeee’ noises than I would if I was in the UK and joyfully flung myself around the room with abandon, the sort not usually the display of a British person, because no one knows me and I’ll probably never see them again…AND.. we’re all crazy, at varying degrees, anyway so who bloody cares!
In this city where nothing seems to stand in the way of progress; Internet giants grow steadily from a spark, freedom of expression is listed high on the charts, houses get built on a 31.5% gradient despite sitting atop fault lines, schools embrace meditation and individuality, to try to stop their walls being pinned with pictures of students who killed themselves rather than face the torment of bullying, I cannot help but be in awe. I love San Francisco and not even 70% chance of precipitation, the cheery news delivered online by http://www.wunderground.com/ which would back home usually score 97% chance of irritation, could soak my spirit today. Rain usually wouldn’t stop me from going out exploring. In the UK, I’d don my Hunters and zip my trusty waterproof mac and head out regardless (albeit swearing like a hooligan under my breath). Today, to be honest, I think I’m giving myself the day off from boneshaking hikes on unyielding concrete sidewalks, and I’m staying at home to read, write and ultimately revel in the feeling of gratitude I have at being free of the British winter and my fortune instead of being right here in San Francisco.