AND ON THE FIFTH DAY THEY RESTED

the balenciaga exhibit at the de young museum was divided thematically into about a half dozen displays, each of them representative of an aspect of spanish culture and its particular influence on the designs of cristóbal balenciaga, and each of them introduced by an explanatory written statement. scattered in between the different groupings were single pieces -- or groups of two or three -- that were of special import (the dress in black silk gazar that when viewed from above recalled a shape from the painting "blue" by joan miró, for example) or pieces that seemed to have been too nebulously inspired to warrant classification under a single theme, the identification of which must have been an exciting task for the exhibit's curators as many of the pieces on display straddled multiple realms of influence and inspiration.

but the show really stopped for the brown silk gauze evening dress from 1962 that was displayed with the other pieces that were notably influenced by spanish dance. the skirt of the dress ended in a foot and a half of ruffle and was asymmetrically gathered up and secured at its left hip, mimicking the look of a flamenco dancer who had picked up and held her skirts to display a set of footwork. in front of a reproduction of john singer sargent's "el jaleo," which depicts a dancer at just such a moment in her dance, and the reproduction of which filled a large part of the wall behind the display on dance, the effect of the brown dress on its mannequin with arms akimbo and chest thrust forward was expansive -- and so a premature ejaculation of excitement on the afternoon of friday, day two.

the walk from the de young in golden gate park was pleasant, even for the wind, and it wasn't long after the exaltation of the exhibit that the group found itself together again in dolores park for the party before the trans march, which marched without them, and probably for the better since the sun made it difficult to gauge the time and it was already certain to be dark (and that much later) by the time the train made it back to neighborhood of the crash pad, where there were necessary costume changes to be made before public transportation marooned anyone outside the city and away from the parties.

the parties carried day two into three, and although no one caught the drag show at the stud, it was enough for them to have arrived to make their connection to the after hours speakeasy some blocks away. the music and the decor were remarkable (as the three who made it there remarked to the people from the party they ran into the next day), but time changed there, and that's where the morning was met, a harrowed morning once the sun started showing itself (this time very much betraying the time), a morning (or early afternoon for one of the group) that meant another two trips on the train, one back out to the costume department and the other back in to the park.

the dykes were marching from the park on saturday so the dykes marched, leaving the rest of the group sitting on its borrowed sheet on the grass of the slope in the northwest part of the park. the venezuelan princess who joined them "wasn't that kind of girl" who would use the tracks behind the park and so delayed the group in meeting the lesbians on valencia by insisting on waiting in a ridiculous line to relieve herself. those kinds of girls don't have any interest in what was happening in the mission, so she didn't last much longer than it took to leave the park, and that was definitely for the better.

had she continued on she would have had to witness the raid on taqueria el toro, which, for the record, may not have happened exactly as it was described, but also just like at stonewall, the people inside held their ground against the police officers come to take them away. the cops came to break up the party and the queens said "no more." after all, the diners at el toro were already on edge when the officers arrived from the station across the street. the wait for food was understandable, but the line for the bathroom was ridiculous. the shit show in the castro couldn't have been much worse, except that it was. who would go there during pride? the fun's more casual in the mission.

sunday morning, day four, the fag and the pansexual beauty queen left nothing incriminating with the animals at the crash pad and left it. no last train: pickups would be done in the city -- but in a car and only to drive home. despite that the ritual cafe in the mission only does $3.50 plus pour overs, that's where the two went for coffee and postcarding before rounding up the rest. ritual serves it up strong, rich and sumptuous, and what the baristas were slinging on sunday morning was absolutely necessary for coming up with the other euphemisms that would be the most of what went down on the postcards. the same amounts of sex and drugs don't work for everyone, and the recipients of those postcards weren't any exception. sometimes you have to downplay the size of the baby's arm.

already over caffeinated, the duo stopped at four barrel on the way to the car to fill up a travel mug. (ritual's post-divorce competition still serves french press.) that guy from the fresh pot on mississippi in portland was behind the counter (and that guy from the acorn works in the back). what a mess. worse than that shit show in the castro, but not enough to affect the sparkle of the rest. the two impeccably styled men sitting together near the door looked like they might have lived in portland too. unfortunately, even knowing it was pride, they didn't have the decency to hide their lust for the beauty queen. shock and awe. but not really.

the drive home was uneventful. after so many euphemisms, there wasn't much left among the people in the car for excitement. there was, however, a diversity of dead animals on the sides of the highway, and now moniquipher has a roadkill raccoon staked up in the backyard to warn raiders away from the chicken coop.

the impala rolled into portland close to two o'clock on monday morning. it made a round of drop offs and drove over a curb.

monday morning, after a long long weekend of euphemisms, not one of the pilgrims had any problem checking back into celebrity rehab.