This weekend, I didn't work at the Restaurant at all. I haven't had an entire weekend off in years (except when I've been out of town.) It was really pretty great. I felt like a normal person. On Friday night, after I got out of working, I went directly to bed. I didn't wake up until 4 in morning, when I realized that Sam still wasn't home. So, yes, the Zodiac Killer kept me awake until she did get home, which luckily wasn't that much later.

Sunday, some new DJ store opened up on the corner of Steiner and Haight -- Future Primitive Sound. Somehow these guys secured a block party permit and reigned the streets and sound waves for the entire day. Some of the music was really excellent, but more of it sucked. (Please, please, please retire the song "Respect" from all playlists forever.)

I didn't actually get out there and dance because no-one else was, though there was a lot of milling about going on. I still need to take Hip-Hop dance lessons. Unfortunately, I am not kidding. Hey - I can admit that my steps need a little bit of a refesher. Yours probably do, too.

I gave Isaac a bath and washed and ironed the curtains instead.

Later on Sam and I went to a BBQ party at Colby's house. By the time we got there, everyone was already drunk. These people all work at bars; they were very drunk. There's nothing more boring than a party full of drunken, unsexy strangers. Colby was totally loaded. She had just smoked some pot which she rarely does. She was extremely paranoid. She thinks that we judge her alcohol-intake, but really that's her own shit. She kept hugging me and kissing me on the cheek. I had lipstick all over my face. She showed me some paintings that she's been working on. Really nice. More subtle and material-based then I've seen her do before.

I got obssessed with finding out who sang the 60s song "Needles and Pins" -- it goes "Needles and Pinz-UH" -- and tried to get on the computer to find out. John, Colby's boyfriend, came over to help me. He blasted me with the worst vomit breath EVER. I jumped back with no regard for social decorum. (The song was first sung by the Searchers, and co-written by Sonny Bono.) In fact, the whole house stank of vomit. It was excruciating.

Fashion note: I was rocking the early 80s finery -- white shoes, tight black jeans, narrow leather tie, and mullet in full effect. These people did not know what to make of me. Plus, they're all straight.

Later, we walked against the wind up to the Castro. It's Pride Month in San Francisco and there are homos from all across this great nation flooding the city. It's actually kind of nice. They are always immediately identifiable. Being a jaded and cynical old queer, I haven't been taking in part of any of the festivities. I know I will miss the freedom once I move to New York.

Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.

At the Castro Theater, we saw the Tribe 8 documentary, Rise Above. It was pretty good. The film itself was very professional. They had great footage of the band, from when they first formed, into the heady days of mid 90s notoriety, and followed them up to now. Really did a good job of capturing that moment in time:
Kathy Acker, On Our Backs, modern primitives, body/gender deconstruction, post-modernism blah blah. God, the punk boys LOVED them. They had never seen anything like it. The dykes were crazy about them, too. They really blew people's minds. Way more hardcore than any Olympia straight-girl Riotgrrl noise ever was. Fierce tit-baring chicks, SM, gender-fucked band members, unapologetic super-queer aesthetic -- real subversive punk rock. And best of all - they were SEXY and COOL. Lesbians weren't all fat, lavender-wearing tea drinkers, after all.

The film addressed a lot of facets of the band, including drug use, which was important. They were all very open about their experiences. However, like with all drug tales, there was a lots of posturing and much junkie credentials being flashed around. And after a while, the movie started to feel like a star vehicle. I get so sick of the whole cult-of-personality of certain dykes in the SF scene. Back when I first moved here and was totally caught up in it, admittedly, I had a great time. But it quickly started to feel a lot like High School, with all the unspoken rules and cliques. And for all the deviance and subcultural sex and look, there wasn't really that much room for anything that wasn't part of the established order.

There was a whole lot of attention given to Lynnee. Admittedly fascinating. (If I hadn't met and fallen in love with my soul-mate, Sam, I would have aggressively pursued an affair with Lynee, but, it was not to be. I don't think I could have dealt with her personality that well, but I bet she's a great lay. Anyway...)

The part of the movie that talked about the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival was just amazing. Truly indescribable. O! What a bizarre and utterly self-referential little subculture, my people the lezzies. Other parts weren't that interesting. I could have used a lot less on the glammy personal bios and less weird pseudopoltical lip service to rape, race and feminist rage. Loved the sparkle and the flash -- just let it speak for itself. Lynnee's lyrics are (though unintelligible) pretty thoughtful and poetic.

In the end, I always get let down by punk rock though. It's an amazing physical and emotional release, but the music is pretty boring. Of course, the whole DIY thing is important, you shouldn't have to be a technically proficient musician to play in a band. And often, the best way to deliver a message is through music. (That's what my girl Kathy Acker used to say, too.) Tribe 8 was hugely successful in that way.

My favorite parts of the movie were the live performances. The sheer fuckedness of it all. Lynee always does this thing were she whips out a huge 10 1/2 inch dildo through the flap of whatever threadbare underwear she's wearing. And then she and the band cajole someone from the audience to come up and give her head. Usually, when I've seen them, innumerable star-struck little baby-dykes are happy to oblige. However, there were clips of the band chiding the straight boy punks to get up there and seriously subvert some social expectations. And they did! So fucking hot. Some grungy punk boy would get up there and Lynnee pushed him to his knees. Then she pulled out a restraining harness that buckled around his neck and cuffed his arms behind his back. Then she grabbed him by the hair and pushed her cock into his mouth. This was amazing to watch. Most of the guys really got into it. After the song, she usually layed a big smooch on them. Like Lynnee said, "You are a changed person once you've been consensually penetrated..." Hear, hear. The girls in the crowd went crazy every time this happened. You know that boy got laid that night.

This whole image is still running through my mind today, and is still turning me on. So, so, so HOT.