Santa Diega: Day Cinco
My stay in SD has whipped by mighty fast.
I saw my little sister in the school play "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". Adorable. And raise your cups with me now, won’t you, to virtually shirtless high school boys with surfer haircuts and tight li’l bods. It was also the first time I was back on the school’s campus since graduation eleven years ago. And I must say, hasn’t changed a bitch.
I visited my great-grandmother, who has kindly been storing three boxes of my crap from high school and college. Fashion, music, and fag mags, ancient cassette singles, and incriminating diaries were all deposited into the dumpster that day. Will have to pick up my old yearbooks and photo albums another time.
The trolley is not the Muni. Point A to Point B is more like Point A then settle-in-for-a-stretch-’til-you-finally-roll-in-to Point B.
Hillcrest is not the Castro. Granted, I went on a mildly rainy day, and we wicked fags eschew the rain for fear of melting, melting… But I expected those old warm feelings of nostalgia to kick in when I popped in, but no.
All the CD stores are gone. I kid you not.
There is nothing to do on Sunday nights. Don’t bother.
Where did all these palm trees come from? Are we in Hawaii? Were they always there?
Vacations inevitably entail relaxed eating- and exercise habits. I plan to go on a fast upon my return to SF. Again, not kidding.
Today, I’m hangin’ out with sister Jo downtown. It’s finally sunny out, so I plan to soak it all up for the remaining time I’m here. I feel like there’s something on the tip of my tongue that I just can’t say or express. Guess that means I’d like to spend more time here, but I can’t.
