Folsom

I've been trying to write about my trip to SF and more specifically about the Folsom Street Fair which I'd made such a big, sloppy deal about over the last six weeks, but honestly, every post started veering off into some melancholy, melty thing about how ridiculous I am. How I get there from a balls-to-the-wall, Leather Pride festival with a ton of mostly naked and assless-chapped hairy homo's (and large, bare-breasted Lesbians of Fierceness) beats the hell out of me.

So I was in San Francisco for work and flew out last Sunday in time to attend the street fair. Jeff believes that it was too much of a coincidence that I just happen to have a work event out there during the time of the street fair, but I just call that providence. I had scheduled the work conference before I found out that it was falling over the street fair weekend but I can say that I thought it was an amazing coincidence, none-the-less.

Because I don't know anyone in San Francisco, I went to the fair alone and didn't know what to expect other than the aforementioned naked and assless-chapped hunks of meaty men, but who am I to let that deter me. Also, because I am a leather fan and observationalist rather than a participant in the leather culture, I was a total tourist at the event. Jeans and tee for me without a harness, jock, cock-ring, piercing, tat, or aviator sunglasses to make me in any way pass. As I've mentioned to a few people who have asked, the fair can be divided into two groups, participants and tourists; either you're at the party or you're watching it from TV and it was clear to me, in my frame of mind, that I was there alone, in unfamiliar territory, WAY overdressed and under accessorized. The fun of the fair, I believe, is it being taken in as a group event. It's a get drunk with your friends and abandon all hesitations and self-censorship kind of day. Swing out, sister. And I don't do that well at all, especially not alone. I'm a feeling introvert and my safe haven is standing in the middle of something that big and removing myself from it mentally as far as possible so I can observe how I'm feeling about the whole thing. It seemed extraordinarily fucked up at the time when I was able to actually watch and feel myself doing it. Of course the easy road would have been to just get beer. There was a lot of beer flowing and I could have easily lubricated myself back into a real person with enough beer but I could also recognize that beer would have been a crutch and dangerous because I could very easily have just slid way past good behavior.

So I walked the fair for two hours, peering and leering at everything and everyone, enjoying people enjoy themselves and their friends but feeling rather melancholy about being there alone. I saw everything I'd only ever read about or seen in pictures and it was pretty cool. The boundaries some people set for themselves simply amaze and confound me. Every time I walked past the naked, old guy handcuffed to the corner light post letting people alternatively flog, verbally abuse, or yank on his wang made me want to deconstruct him into finding out at what point is this something that someone feels they need to do, either to get off or get on with their lives. It was hilarious and wonderful that in this place, on that day specifically, it was part of the grand show and was awesome. I felt that way about everything I saw, whether I understood it or not. It was all just good color to a great day.

UPDATE: Bill from SF, who reminded me that infact I DO actually know someone in SF, sent me this picture as he was looking at Folsom pictures on Flickr. All I can say is the proof is in the pudding (Not Safe For Work! Seriously, not even if you work in a pork-processing factory)...I'm so deep in thought about seeing this guy (and reading "CRISCO PIG" written on his back and looking at the piggy tail butt-plug he had inserted) that I was oblivious to anything else. I swear I was having a better time then what the picture conveys...and damn, look at that gun I'm carrying around in my pants.