SFSA*

*That stands for "Seriously Freaky Shit Alert." Don't say I didn't warn ya.

Well, so much for that goal. So now I have to say, "hopefully the last two gaps between blog entries prove to be the exception rather than the rule." In fairness to myself, it's been a hectic couple of weeks. Not only trying to incorporate two new jobs into my schedule, and still make time for all my other projects and goals... but I've been super busy on other fronts since the last time I added an entry here.

First of all, I had my very first visitors from up north! Completely unexpectedly, my uncle Rob and cousin Sophia rolled through town the Friday before last. They were on their way to a really cool, week-long summer camp at Stanford that Sophia attended. Rob drove her down, and then he was going to spend the week camping in Yosemite. So I got to spend most of Friday, all day Saturday, and then Sunday morning with them. Then on Wednesday, I drove into Yosemite and met Rob, and we hung out and hiked around until Friday afternoon. It's beautiful down there; I'm already planning my next trip. I have from Thursday afternoon until Tuesday morning free and clear every week, so my plan is to roll out one Thursday afternoon, camp out for the night, get up early and get a backwoods pass, and then hike the 35 or so miles of the John Muir trail from Friday-Sunday. Head back out early Sunday evening or Monday morning. Anyone who has the time and inclination sometime this summer to take a 4-5 day trip into Yosemite let me know.

In addition to these fun activities, last Sunday I went to the Pride Festival in SF. Jesus God. I missed the parade, but did get talked into attended a BDSM demonstration. They'd cordoned off a city street for about half a block and had a variety of shows going on.

WARNING: WHAT FOLLOWS IS OF AN EXTREMELY ADULT NATURE AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE OF A SENSITIVE DISPOSITION. OR MY MOM.

I'm reminded of the scene in The Usual Suspects (can you believe that movie is 12 years old?!!), when all the guys are in the holding cell together for the first time, when McManus and Fenster first float the idea of doing a job together. The line I have in mind is when Fenster says, "I had a man's finger up my asshole tonight." Of course, Hockney's reply, "is it Friday already?" is a classic comeback. But the reason I'm reminded of that scene is specifically because of Fenster's line. Only in this case, it would be, "I had a man's arm up to his elbow up my asshole tonight."

No really.

Chalk that one up to "something I never imagined I'd see in person." My new friend that I made that day, Jose (who came over with the one friend I made in Davis, Maggie) hypothesized that the fister had lost his keys somewhere in the intestinal tract of the fistee. I thought that he'd either lost, or found, a watch.

Here's the thing; that was arguably not even the most shocking interaction on display in this particular arena. Though it was probably the most jaw-dropping spectacle, I personally was more shocked by the (ahem) "consciously-induced-and-accepted penis and testicle trauma" going on about 10 feet away from my seat. Those in the scene call it something else, of course (it rhymes with "talk and fall borture"). But, in a decided example of "throwing a damp sponge on a wild-fire," I've decided to clean it up a bit.

In addition to those two demonstrations, we got a blindfolded guy with his arms tied above his head getting whipped bloody; some very large lesbians punching each other in the chest as hard as possible; caning; and something going on in one corner that I couldn't quite figure out before we left the scene.

So there you go. My new city.

The funny thing is, seeing all that happening in the middle of the street (as I said, they'd enclosed it with fences and tarps, but still, it was the middle of the freakin street) made me feel oddly safe. I think it's the sense that everyone can feel free to be anything they could possibly want to be, and not have to worry about getting hassled for it. I can't imagine being compelled to do anything nearly as crazy as trussing myself up in a sling and letting another man root around in my lower digestive tract like he was a gardener and I was his prize-winning vegetable patch... so how could I possibly worry about expressing myself honestly and openly? I actually read a great quote from Steve Earle about this very thing the other day; he was born and raised in TX, and now lives in Greenwich Village. I don't remember the exact line, but it was something like, "I want to be able to walk out my front door and see an interracial, same-sex couple walking down the street holding hands. It makes me feel safe."

And finally: I've figured out when I'm going to be coming home; 10 days-2 weeks something during the first 2-3 weeks of August. Right around the corner. Plan accordingly.