There’s a long held tradition in San Francisco that every 4th of July the fog rolls in just in time to obscure all the fireworks. What we’re left with are vague bursts of color up in the fog and random booms. This year was no exception.
One of the charms about San Francisco is its stubborn streak of anti authoritarianism. It shows up this time of year by all the “illegal” fireworks around town, especially in the neighborhood called the Mission. I think those fireworks are much more charming than the official ones; they don’t go up as high so they’re not lost in the fog and because they’re shot off in people’s backyards, they spread out all over the landscape, popping up and glittering and then another one blocks away will shoot up.
My building is in a charming elbow of town that is sort of the transition between the Castro neighborhood and the Mission neighborhood, on a rise slightly higher than the Mission. That means that our our roof deck has the best view possible of those illegal fireworks.
I know this is a mediocre picture of the wild west show of fireworks I was talking about (because really, who ever gets good shots of rockets red glare?) but the fireworks aren’t actually the point of this picture. I was struck last night looking down at it by how much I just love my little neighborhood.
This block that you see is an example of my favorite kind of San Francisco streetscape; most of the buildings are late 19th century or very early 20th century with a few newer ones scattered in just to rescue it from being too precious. Of course, being San Francisco, even the tiniest and shabbiest of them is worth some multi-million dollar obscenity, but still, very sweet to me.
The New York Times just had a story about the impending death of gay neighborhoods in America, including the Castro. It’s true and it’s no surprise to me, I see it coming every time I step out the door. The decline started in the 80s with AIDS and the death of so many of the men who had turned a frumpy but well located neighborhood into a destination. Straight people flocked in, “Thanks for making the hood so attractive and appealing; please use the back door on your way out.” Besides AIDS, reasons included everything from babies for gays to Grindr, but really the die is cast. I’m just glad I got to squeak in here at the very end.
Guys I’d like to squeak in with
A big smile and a big dick. It doesn’t get any better.
Love ’em when they are in the last vestige of softness so you can still play with them before getting down to business.
I sort of think I have featured this guy and his massive meat recently, but who’s complaining?
Summertime always seems the best time for blondes.