Yesterday was one of those startlingly beautiful rare and amazing days in San Francisco, a summer day that was indeed both warm and sunny. The Pride Parade went off without a hitch and even the mayor found it necessary to leap out of his convertible in the middle of Market Street and do a partial strip tease (well... he took off his jacket and untucked his shirt) before waving to the crowd and hopping back onto his seat top perch.
Around the corner from where the parade began, the Giants were actually WINNING a second game in a row, and against the Yankees no less. Things may have been turned upside down around Civic Center for the Pride celebrations, and most people were wondering what happened to the fog, but not much was more surprising than the short-lived streak from the boys in orange and black.
The best thing about the Pridefest, at least for me, was the real sense of joyful chaos expended to celebrate the idea of just being whomever, and whatever, you are. The crazy, full-hearted, ebullience of living this strange adult version of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. The celebration is for me a little like Mardi Gras Day in New Orleans, a time to completely give in to the absurdity of living on this spinning planet hurtling through space. Days like yesterday (whether parading or ball playing) are the real point of existence. PEOPLE... really... ARE AWESOME!
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