Toothsome stuff, Our Lady of Zesty Boites. Ignatius J. Reilly himself could not have attracted a more motley (and delectable) crew of glittering stars and satellites on his best weekend foray, even with his gravitational pull. This installment was a “three belly-laugher.” Choice. I’m not sure who is my favorite character, aside from you; they all boast such enigmatic points of intrigue. The “most squat and squeaky” of your recalcitrant roomies might be a sleeper fave; I’d love to get a look at her, or the egg that hatched her.
But then Tony, Hurricane, and your copaine francaise who regaled the bewildered attendees of ‘Pantyland’ all merit a place in this weeks’s cavalcade. “Smacked in the face with a wet steak”??? I rolled because I visualize everything I read, lucidly, in the first place, but hardly needed to do so in this case! I FELT that ribeye. Brava!
Lady, you and your orbit. Ya know, I gathered your life had been more than a tad eventful after reading ‘Colors Insulting to Nature’ (it’s Cintra’s magnum opus novel, thus far, fellow CWFYP fans & readers—if you haven’t read it, FIND it) because only a true denizen of the Haightiest Haight could have gestated and birthed that cavalcade of characters. What a time to have haunted the Lower Haight! Damn. I only came to know the area in 1994 after it had become fairly homogenized, in a way, but a bosom (and bosomy) friend, Roberta, a sweetie pie, true earth mama, hippie-cum-schoolteacher, bought a five-story Victorian just four houses “up” from Haight-Ashbury itself. She bought it for $50K in 1970 and lived there the rest of her life. She had some (tie)dyed-in-the-wool stories of Janis Joplin, David Crosby, and that whole set, as well as piquant testimony about the grittier period when you were there.
She always loved living there and what a place. (I won’t mention what she sold that house for a few years before she passed. Top of the market, bless her patchoulied heart. You can guess very well.)
I can just see you trundling along in that metermaid cart. Plastic pumpkin brandished high. You really are a treasure, you know it?
Oh, and you are NOT a bimbo. My word, no you ain’t.
Jeez, we lived somewhat parallel lives, roughly a decade apart. I moved into a beautiful 3-level Edwardian in the lower Haight with my gay pal Burling in about 1980. Page St, between Pierce & Steiner, if memory serves. It was still dangerous enough then that the girl on the first floor was accosted at knife-point one night as she was returning home. I moved back east in 1984 but was returning from a visit to SF when the Loma Prieta quake hit; the pilot informed us about an hour after takeoff that there'd been a major quake & that the Bay Bridge had "collapsed." In those less-connected days, that was all we knew until our hysterical & weeping planeload got to NY.
Toothsome stuff, Our Lady of Zesty Boites. Ignatius J. Reilly himself could not have attracted a more motley (and delectable) crew of glittering stars and satellites on his best weekend foray, even with his gravitational pull. This installment was a “three belly-laugher.” Choice. I’m not sure who is my favorite character, aside from you; they all boast such enigmatic points of intrigue. The “most squat and squeaky” of your recalcitrant roomies might be a sleeper fave; I’d love to get a look at her, or the egg that hatched her.
But then Tony, Hurricane, and your copaine francaise who regaled the bewildered attendees of ‘Pantyland’ all merit a place in this weeks’s cavalcade. “Smacked in the face with a wet steak”??? I rolled because I visualize everything I read, lucidly, in the first place, but hardly needed to do so in this case! I FELT that ribeye. Brava!
Lady, you and your orbit. Ya know, I gathered your life had been more than a tad eventful after reading ‘Colors Insulting to Nature’ (it’s Cintra’s magnum opus novel, thus far, fellow CWFYP fans & readers—if you haven’t read it, FIND it) because only a true denizen of the Haightiest Haight could have gestated and birthed that cavalcade of characters. What a time to have haunted the Lower Haight! Damn. I only came to know the area in 1994 after it had become fairly homogenized, in a way, but a bosom (and bosomy) friend, Roberta, a sweetie pie, true earth mama, hippie-cum-schoolteacher, bought a five-story Victorian just four houses “up” from Haight-Ashbury itself. She bought it for $50K in 1970 and lived there the rest of her life. She had some (tie)dyed-in-the-wool stories of Janis Joplin, David Crosby, and that whole set, as well as piquant testimony about the grittier period when you were there.
She always loved living there and what a place. (I won’t mention what she sold that house for a few years before she passed. Top of the market, bless her patchoulied heart. You can guess very well.)
I can just see you trundling along in that metermaid cart. Plastic pumpkin brandished high. You really are a treasure, you know it?
Oh, and you are NOT a bimbo. My word, no you ain’t.
Good morning. I fell asleep waiting for this episode to drop.
Jeez, we lived somewhat parallel lives, roughly a decade apart. I moved into a beautiful 3-level Edwardian in the lower Haight with my gay pal Burling in about 1980. Page St, between Pierce & Steiner, if memory serves. It was still dangerous enough then that the girl on the first floor was accosted at knife-point one night as she was returning home. I moved back east in 1984 but was returning from a visit to SF when the Loma Prieta quake hit; the pilot informed us about an hour after takeoff that there'd been a major quake & that the Bay Bridge had "collapsed." In those less-connected days, that was all we knew until our hysterical & weeping planeload got to NY.
Wonderful ending.