Protestors, Hippies, the Homeless and Dogs
On my first day in San Francisco, the friend I was visiting had to work so I had a few hours to roam around on my own. I heard some drums in the distance, and seeing as I like bands, marching included, I followed the sound that led to a giant protest against George W. Bush—one placard read: "Lesbians Against Bush, Imagine That." An earth mother type came over and asked me what county I was registered to vote in, and I replied "Queens." She said, "Hmm…What district is that?" After I explained I was from New York, she said, "Well you can't sign the petition, but fight the power, sister." I smiled as I was just "sistered" by a genuine bra burning hippie woman, though no one was going to get me to burn MY bra, especially with all those hills I had to walk up! I felt like Janis Joplin was going to burst out into song, whereas in New York the limited protests tend to be pre-approved.

I expected this similar spirit to be alive and well in the Haight, where I thought "it" all began. When we got there I realized that the hippies that remained were strung out old homeless people. The rest of the Haight was filled with teenage punk-type kids who hung out in front of the McDonald’s each with their own pit bull puppy and outfits that looked well thought out in a homeless-grungy-chic way with their parents’ credit cards in their wallets. I was a little disappointed to see all that remained of history on these streets were St. Mark's type shops and people who seemed to only subscribe to the fashions and drug habits of their forefathers.

The homeless of San Francisco seemed to outnumber those in New York, primarily because there seemed to be no police around (I didn't see a single one!) anywhere nor anyone anxious to move them elsewhere. Now, New York does have a huge homeless population, but the typical street beggar here sits on the ground or stands in the corner holding a coffee cup occasionally asking for change.

In San Francisco, the homeless not only want money, they want a little chat as well. They approach you and literally do not leave your side until you somehow get rid of them. A little frightening at first until my friend taught me the "Sorry man" trick. Apparently, if you add ‘man’ to your no thanks routine, that is the magic word to get rid of them. However, unlike New York, some of the homeless are hilarious!

Equaling the homeless in number and ability to be everywhere were dogs. I have never been to such a dog friendly city in my life. Dogs were running loose everywhere from the beach, to the parks, to the sidewalk. Sidewalk cafés, stores, and even the subways allowed dogs with no one giving a second glance!

A Different Light
Now, the biggest part of the San Francisco experience was, of course, the gay culture. That’s not to say I have joined the homosexual ranks, but I have definitely solidified my position as “queen of the queens,” “gay magnet,” or as my friend says, "fagnet."

Anyhow, my friend works at A Different Light Bookstore in the Castro, one of the first gay-owned and operated bookstores. I expected to walk in and find some books by Sedaris, the Beats, and have some Cher playing on the sound-system. As a heterosexual female with a huge number of gay friends, I thought I knew all there was to know about the gay world, that nothing could shock me.

I walked in and to the left were books by gay authors, to the right was gay porn next to postcards and books about San Francisco. The rest of the shelves were filled with gay erotica, fiction, non-fiction, and some of the most explicit stuff I had ever seen. The patrons also shocked me, from burly looking men in leather, to lesbians who looked more manly than my dad, to a man who had a mustache, button down shirt and tie with a skirt on the bottom and a pair of heels. And this, I learned was one of the tamest stores on the block.

From bars to clubs, my gay attraction powers were apparently set on high, and I had more men talking to me than I ever had at a regular bar. One asked me how tall I was, another commented on my outfit, and at a gay lawyers’ dinner one actually touched my boobs just in a "Wow look at those!" sort of way. While it was an honor to be approached and fondled by some of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen, the only mutual admiration we had was for Wham! playing on the sound system.

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