I was informed at press time by a concerned individual that I should try in some way to work into my column the fact that Buena Vista Park, the enchanting municipal park on Haight Street, lush-with-vegetation and huge ancient trees and one of the easiest places to go when you feel the need to commune with nature but only have a half hour to do so, has been literally clear-cut, mowed down, left bare like the patches on mountains I grew up around in Oregon, the constant reminder that the lumber industry dominated the state’s economy. Well, San francisco aint no logging town and this sudden de-forestization smacks of a long time battle of the bush caused by the neighbors complaining about gay men cruising for sex there, as well as homeless people taking shelter and all the immediate danger that implies to wealthy ashbury terrace-type condo owners and . It’s a pretty homophobic reason to turn a glorious park into a desolate amputated wasteland, clear-cut within inches of sliding top soil when it rains, but that appears to be the chosen solution. Of course the parks department maintains that it’s a restorative effort to return the park to it’s natural state of vegetation but I doubt it. You’d think the said problems with cruising and the homeless camping there could be controlled by other means besides clearing an entire portion of the park of all the plants trees and shrubs that make it a desirable place to visit, walk dogs in and possibly find a bit of seclusion in a natural environment. The stark removal of what makes a place beautiful, in this case living vegetation, reveals not only the barren, unaddorned ground, but the somewhat base and low suspected human behavior that stands as the true reason for these changes. My friend jerry suggested bringing your own bush to cruise the park now. To be honest, walking through Buena Vista Park occasionally, I haven’t noticed anything slightly resembling gay men cruising for sex going on there in about 7 years. I was under the impression that such a “tradition” had long fallen to the wayside like it has on the infamous Ringold Alley and before that, Dore Alley, very suddenly. In the Castro the police have started rounding late night cruisers up around Collingwood park more frequently than ever, wanting to stanch out yet another behavior they had learned to tolerate or accept, kind of like poppers. What is really happening here? Why are gays being policed in areas they’ve not had any troubles with for years?
Speaking of poppers, I was told by certain scenesters and art fags about town that after his very well attended star-studded art opening last Friday exhibiting his recent photographic works, Bruce Labruce attended an after-party at the Eagle, continued on to the Stud, and from there went to Fag Fridays where he and some friends were kicked out of the club for doing poppers. What can I say besides bless his dear bad-boy heart. On some things one can always rely. The gallery opening was truly fun, his works cagey and provocative and very much him. One very pleasant surprise was running into Vaginal Davis, blacktress, writer, comedienne and superstar there, who is visiting San Francisco for a couple of weeks. It amazes me how this multi-talented living legend and huge personal inspiration is such a warm and engaging delight to chat with, always so funny and sweet, even in the face of adversity, like her recent eviction from her longtime home in Los Angeles. She tells me that the affordable L.A. housing market which many folks left San Francisco for a few years ago has taken a wicked turn and is now more expensive than rents here seem to be. She’s housesitting here for friends and enduring the plight of the homeless superstar. I’m certain she’ll find an answer to her current housing crisis soon, she deserves a nice comfy place to continue creating her art unhindered, genius visionary black woman that she is.
Speaking of meetings with superstars, I had the distinct honor of finally meeting one of the greatest actresses to ever portray a mental health care outpatient descending into madness and an abused child ascending to the love of Krisnah. That’s right, backstage at The Folsom Street Fair Sister Roma introduced me to the one and only Mink Stole, who gave me a big hug for the review I wrote of the play they were both in a few months ago, “Sleeping With Straight Men.” Mink Stole has a band as well and was one of the featured performers on the 12th Street stage but I missed that portion of the days roster. She was just hanging out cutting up with the other entertainers as they prepared to go onstage, meeting and talking with an occasional big fan who had called her to the edge of the backstage area for an autograph. The ever busy star of stage and screen and musician as well would soon be behind the wheel driving all the way home to L.A. She was completely charming and funny and obviously having a great time being at the Folsom Street Fair.
I wished I could have said the same thing about myself on that day but that would have been a lie. As I sort of anticipated, many things about the fair don’t really thrill me very much any more, like incredible crowd congestion and the inability to just get from one place to another because it’s so packed and slow moving I start to get panic attacks about not being able to move freely if I wanted to, and its usually the result of people gathering and gawking at some retardo new nipple clamp technology system demonstration or a couple of muscle queens who look exactly alike posing for pictures in gladiator skirts with their dicks out. As the day rolled on it became increasingly clearer and clearer how my hatred of people could only stand to grow. The only meat I enjoyed all day was the kind on a stick for five dollars. The best thing I saw entertainment wise was a local would-be supergroup of musicians assembled especially for the fair called Bad Ride featuring Gary Floyd(Sister Double Happiness, Black Kali Ma), Doug Hilsinger (Bomb, Waycross), Danny Roman (SDH, Black Kali Ma), Bruce Ducheneaux (Bomb, Waycross) and Ed Cagnacci (All About Evil) who basically did a set of songs best described as Gary Floyds greatest hits, only there were some fantastic and powerful variations on the originals, like the incredibly saucey ode to sucking fresh-out-of-boot-camp dick on crew cut wearing soldier boys called “Down on My Knees” that infused the original with twice the dirty low down blues guitar angst and an almost violent sexual edge. It was so good I thought it should be re-recorded this way. Unfortunately there were not a lot of people taking in this wonderful set of songs, opting for watching people bind, whip, or hang things from their naughty bits in all new and extreme ways instead.
By the time the fair was winding down I was extremely ready to go to work at the Hole and spin music for the fair enhanced crowd—I was really just dying to play, perhaps as a way to express some of my personal feelings about the day. I couldn’t wait to tear into it and the overall response was pretty animated and positive. As the night rolled on I grew really tired of looking at people having sex in front of me and I couldn’t think of any songs that might have an extreme libido diminishing quality besides christmas carrols maybe, but my night was made when Justin Bond came in and sat around in the booth with me and I played my favorite new stuff for him and we talked shit. He took off for his hotel and shortly after that Bruce Labruce came in and we had a very fun alcohol-drenched visit and listened to a CD he brought by a Gay latino rapper who had apparently been doting on him all day long. Unfortunately the artists’ name escapes me now but just as I said I sort of felt like killing people Bruce read the first song title, which was something like, “Kill People.” We played it and it was actually really good. The bar finally shut down and we proceeded to my house for more listening and booze and at my gate someone (probably Bruce) said party and suddenly two dozen people were trying to come in my house. We had to explain very emphatically that there was no party and they had to get out of my doorway and my but some of them were very pissed off and quite nasty about this situation. Imagine.