Well, if it were ever my life long dream to wave an American Flag as the first “Gay Day” Pride March of San Francisco passed by, I would now be able to check that off my list. Pheuw.
I strolled into the Civic Center wearing clothing that I've been known to wear since 6th grade, clothing that belonged to others a decade before me. Corduroy vest, stunner shades, platform clogs, Levi’s… Every six weeks during the school year I love going back to 1978 or so, not because of my latent hippy ways, but because at that time I was a kindergartener, not a teacher, which means that as long as I stay in that era, I couldn’t possibly have homework or grading to do. So rather than work this particular day, I transformed myself into the picture perfect unpaid crowd extra for Van Sant’s Sean-Penn-as-Harvey-Milk movie - not to be famous, but because my grading avoidance is really leading to all new heights.
A stage hand elevator eyes me two blocks out and says, "Hey, um, could you do us a favor? Could you be an extra in a '70s film, because you could pass." So... lemme get this right; you cannot tell if I am dressed up? OK, that's cool; this is San Francisco after all. Actually, on the set it was ridiculously really hard to tell who is dressed up and who is just around, because people have not changed much. Particularly the gay boys and the cops (imagine overlapping Venn Diagram here). Without the cars to clue me in, I wouldn’t have been able to tell Pride 70s from Pride 00s.
And I got to watch two strutting bare chested gay boys do a push up contest. Yawn. Testosterone. It never changes.
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