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My Time In Gayville

The first day and a half of my visit was wasted in the awful town of Tracy. We did manage to drive out to the middle of nowhere -- which, surprisingly, didn't take long -- hop a fence and photograph some Real Californian Rust™.

Just before making it to San Francisco proper, Damon gave me a nasty head cold and then we got lost in an IKEA. In that order. The cold helped keep me away from all of the fun city night life, as well as helped me empty two entire boxes of Tim's kleenex.

Sorry about that, Tim.

I know that there are women and straight men in San Francisco somewhere. I just didn't meet any of them.

We spent a lot of time in the Castro area, where one is hard pressed (pun!) to see a woman. Or a man without his tongue down another man's throat.

But! There are truffles! Which makes it all okay.

We spent time in the Museum of Modern Art and I had a guard emphatically shake his head at me while I was photographing a picture of some dust. No cameras, apparently. Not like that stopped me. We also wandered through some art galleries near Ghirardelli Square and saw some original Dr. Seuss art.

We walked the Golden Gate Bridge one very sunny and clear and non-windy afternoon. It was fun but not, like, WOW. Plus there was a definite lack of rust. Sorry, San Francisco, it's gonna take more to impress me.

The Folsom Street Fair was so much fun. Damon and I wandered around with thousands of almost- and completely- and oh-god-you-should-never-be-naked men, plus some good old-fashioned What The Hell? fetishists.

Like the Crisco Pig.
Seriously. What the hell?

I got all tarted up for the event, but not like a fruit tart because fruit tarts are sweet.

My new boots were fantastic up until about hour 4, at which point they shot daggers into my feet repeatedly. The rest of my Folsom photos are up on Flickr, but be forewarned: it's probably NSFWOH (Not Safe For Work Or Heterosexuals).