Rhymes with Cough

It's Gay Pride AGAIN? Already?  I can tell because the lovely warm weather we had for the better part of a week has imploded and we are back to the San Francisco norm: chilly and gray and foggy.  As a San Franciscan, that's ok with me (I always feel underdressed without a sweater or two,) but one does feel sorry for the pathetic tourists, foolishly dressed for what they thought was California as they stand around shivering and their bare legs turn blue.  I snuggle into my summer suede coat and think "Sorry, suckers," and hurry past them.  Sad, really.

Tourists were very much on my mind this afternoon hanging around my favorite little cafe, Peet's, trying to read as a table of them loudly debated the correct pronunciation of the local major thoroughfare, Gough Street.  There were several brave cracks at it, including the classics "Goh" and "Gow" and "Joff" and one of them even landed, briefly on the correct "Goff," but was voted down by his fellows.  Again, sad, because I'm sure the snotty cab drivers hereabouts will refuse to take you anywhere you can't pronounce to their satisfaction.

Possible gays, but pretty much what representative of what you can be sure will be in the decided minority come Pride Day.

Sos anyway, I'm preparing to hunker down and ride out the rainbow colored madness of it all. I have some errands on Friday and after that, it's me and the cat home all weekend casue I'm already plenty gay enough, thanks.