day won
january 1

San Francisco

Nothing much to say so far about the new year, it's only been thirteen hours and I spent most of it sleeping. Last night I let duty dictate my activities and spent mostly quiet time with friends instead of tomcatting for trade (ok, it was the rain and not some noble sense of community).

Saw a friend's house for the first time, and while getting a tour I imagined where and how I'd set up my 'office'. It would be great to have my own place again where I can entertain whenever I please. Maybe I'll put something to that effect down on my resolution list.

Speaking of, my roommate and I ventured down the Embarcadero to watch the New Year's fireworks. I had never 'done' any of the civic sanctioned San Francisco New Year's events, but the possibility of seeing the Village People tipped the scale for me to go ahead and try it. Plus, I had been working hard that day right up to sundown and didn't have time to consider nightlife options.

There were lots of cute guys, that is if you're attracted to pimply, college aged drunkard scrubs less than a six pack away from exploring their queer eye. Which I'm not, but while waiting for the big hand to touch the little hand, my mind created some scenarios where these guys could work.

Speaking of, like clockwork, rain started falling the last five minutes on 2003 and the crowd cheered, not so drunk yet that it couldn't appreciate irony, or so drunk that it mistook the precipitation for a movie trailer. No matter, wet moments later the first bursts lit the area behind the Fairy Building. Didn't see any Village People, at least not from my village anyway.

Unlike Independence Day (that's 4th of July) observations, this mob was too inebriated to orchestrate collective "ooh" and "ahh", but enjoyed the show. My roommate's favorite were the red and green smiley faces; mine were the spiraling sperm. The cold combined with wetness combined with the guaranteed hysteria that would surely ensue at the MUNI station prompted us to cut out early and beat the masses.

Speaking of, I cannot recall any New Year's without some sadness. The first one I spent away from home was in Boston, and because of a snowstorm raging that night, all you could see were diffused flashes accompanied by loud explosions. I thought this must be what it's like when your city is bombed.

By the end of the night I was crying, too inebriated to orchestrate reflection on the past year and guilt over breaking up with my boyfriend. Years later, the memory of waltzing on an empty beach with a different boyfriend to ring in the new year was permanently linked to trudging back to my tiny Tenderloin apartment when he dumped me a few days later.

Since then I've abandoned the notion of reserving the making of resolutions for the first of the year, since any time is just as good, and nobody asks me if I've made any anymore, except maybe my mother, and she's exempt anyway. And after that sentence I won't use 'any' in any configura- broke it already.

Speaking of, I do have plans for the coming year. These include music, travel, fitness, compassion, action, cleaning my room and other things, I'll add and revise as I make my way. I wish you the best and hope our paths can cross in some way that leaves us both smiling.

what I'm reading: The When I Get $ome Book by me

what I'm listening to to: BBC News Hour

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