Met up with Al Sather, the minister’s husband, on Robson, more or less by accident, after Patricia said farewell (she went to the beach to do yoga, healthy chica that she is). We sat in the wrong spot for a while and then joined with the rest of the U*U’s. Peggy and I and some other woman – me and my distinctly dopey inability to get names at appropriate junctures – carried the Beacon banner. Then the Parade was so late getting going that Al had to jam to go pick up Katie Sather from the airport, as she was returning from being with her father at the close of his life. I light a candle for Katie and her family.
There was a large, active and CELEBRATORY bunch of U*U youth there, who kept up the energy level in the mindblowing heat. Fortunately the breeze kept up for most of the parade. Katie K, who went through at float 28 (we were back at 128) was done by one, but I didn’t get to sit down and relieve me feet (among other portions of my anatomy) until 2:52.
I got approached by 2 guys and a cop to fill them in on parade stuff -where, when, how many entrants. Do I have that kind of motherly, middle aged, middle class face that people associate with having paid attention enough to know the answers and sufficient public spiritedness to share the gay dope, or the straight dope, whatevs? Okay, as long as SOMEBODY still thinks I’m hot, for all that, I can live with the role.
It took 20 minutes to get the attention of the waitron at the sushi place; it had been a stressful wait, so I ordered two beers while waiting for Katie K and offspring. This meant that when Ian, Katie K’s son, strolled in with her, an ice cold Asahi, which had been cracked open not thirty seconds earlier, was waiting for him, which, frankly, disposed him to like me. He’s a professional journo and one opinionated dude, which is okay, as I have no diff keeping up with folks like that, even more so when they fly all over the libertarian/socialist divide in much the same manner as I but with a different wing and engine config than I have…. We had to disagree over the personal is political thing though – I find that the overwhelming majority of white guys I have spoken to about it have a total problem with the concept, in much the same fashion as atheists have a problem with God. Somehow the whole notion of being told that ‘smart people don’t think that’ is old and freaking lame with me. Rather than take him on, I just winked at his mom and told him I felt sorry for him, which in itself is the lamest copout evar. I just can’t DO the flamewar in person. Frankly he was better equipped…
After inhaling a dynamite dragon roll (best eel I have ever had) and splitting an order of salmon nigiri, and another two beers between the three of us, Ian declared himself fond of the notion of going to the Two Parrots – one of my fave downtown watering holes (Chipper, Colin, you have both been there with me…) which we did, and then we got on the bucket of beer. Katie K and I had been contemplating a dance at the Rowing Club but with each passing beer, de feet spoke louder and louder. With trepidation we walked up to Granville Station (I was afraid my feet would fall off, but they held out okay) and learned HUZZAH that there’s a COLD BEER AND WINE STORE in Granville Station right now (Dunsmuir entrance, for those who care). This will make treks downtown ever better, in my opinion, seeing as how they are open 9 am til 11 pm daily except for Christmas. Ah, my slide into soft alcoholism continues apace. Only four beers yesterday . . . I think I’ll refrain today, and work my way through the fruit juice instead.
We picked up Beauregard, the P.O.S., at a Skytrain station and Katie K kindly drove me home. Then we collapsed. I’d had a lot of sun. When we got up the next morning, we found that Beauregard, bless his little innards, had puked tranny fluid (right after Pride day, how amusing) all over the visitor stall.
It’s no fun finding out stuff like that, but for two things. Katie K had ATP in the car AND ALSO CAT LITTER. This is the kind of behaviour that has Allegra in gobsmacked mode. Then brekky at the ABC down the hill and a brief shop (I wasn’t going to let the opportunity to haul groceries on somebody else’s gas money go to waste) and back to the world of life maintenance and dirt that doesn’t care who you love. I am contemplating the truth that, except for my dishes, which are done, my apartment looks like teenagers have been camping here for a week.