A limp handshake in the Tenderloin

Brrr. Has the hair started to fall off my chest? It's 56 degrees Fahrenheit, windy and spitting rain yet it feels colder. What happened to my New England flinty constitution? Or did it ever exist in the first place?

Good news first.

I took a tourist day by riding the F (the historic streetcar) to Pier 39 where I got to cavort with the sea lions. Since the 89 earthquake, they've been congregating on the K dock (we're big into single letters here). They are a mostly male bunch exuding noise and cuteness. It's nice that sentient beings were able to get closer after something as horrific as 89's Loma Prieta. The rest of Pier 39 resembles Faneuil Hall. Just add a carousel. 

For lunch, I had a mouth-watering, large bowl of seafood jumbalaya at the San Francisco Fish Company. Heavens, my! For a reasonable $10.50 I was treated to both quality and quantity with a medley of shrimp, spices and rice. This, of course, was at the creamy blue/grey ferry building, sort of the high church of dining that sits proudly at the mouth of Market Street. It's interesting to note the contrast of colors between Boston and San Francisco. Boston is marked with quite a bit of reflective glass, brick reds and sky blues. San Francisco relishes its greys, creams and whites along with these brilliant flashes of color surprising you around the corner like the GG bridge, the F cars, the murals of the Mission and the flags and lights of the Castro.

The not-so-good-news is more like a Strike One. As many of you may know, I'm staying with dear friends in Opera Plaza in the Civic Center neighborhood. Two blocks northeast begins the Tenderloin. My first apartment preview was in the Tenderloin this morning. The guy, a model in his early-20's, seemed nice enough but he gave me such a limp handshake that it insulted my subconscious. The place was filthy but he swears "it's not always like this." My abode would be the windowless half of a living room; 600 bucks for *everything* including utilities. Truthfully, it's probably the best deal in the city but I turned it down. At another point in my life, I may have already signed the lease but I'm beginning to know what my standards are, at least at this point in my life.

The Tenderloin (or TL) is amazingly convenient to BART and my place of work but it's depressing and sketchy as hell. The only sketchier place I've ever been was in Hollywood walking around at dusk in the spring of 03. I don't know what it is about the West Coast. It's not a result of gang activity although there is a lot more of that out here than back east but rather a phenomenon of the lone wolves, individuals who are so mentally ill or drugged up as to be dangerous.

Tomorrow's appointment seems much more favorable. It's a furnished room in a private home between Laurel Heights and the Inner Richmond, five blocks from GG Park where I can practice my rollerblading. Total with bills would run $800 per month. The madame of the house is a woman named Mona. I'll have my very own Anna Madrigal! The name Mona is a good sign as she was the fag hag character to Maupin's Michael Mouse.