April showers on Easter bonnets

It may have been March 31st, but this Easter Sunday was still winter in most of the country, and a very wet April day in San Francisco. Easter does require some sartorial splendor, and I pulled out the seersucker shirt, pink ties, and linen jackets. Bonnets were debated, and while the bunny boater was festive,


I opted for a simpler fedora with Easter chick.


After mass, Coco and I pounced on our favorite table in the Castro.


What the menu may lack in brunch glamour, it makes up for in "right sized" mimosas.


Harvey's will never win any culinary awards, but the staff and energy of Harvey's is much fun on a Sunday, and the table in the window is always a fun perch, particularly for Easter Sunday socializing and people watching—both the delightful and the WTF.

Such as:


The day started out sunny, but by 11:30 there were scattered showers. And by 12:30, torrential downpours. We decided, wisely, against the party in the park, and enjoyed our perch as long as possible, before moving to the window and the fun people in 440.




As usual, some were more fun than others...






It was fun to be rowdy with other happy-go-lucky people, as we witnessed the downpour outside, and I suppose a different sort of down-pour inside.

Atlanta Michael particularly loved my hat. And the chick. He kept saying how tasty it looked. It didn't occur to me that he was serious, and that I needed to point out that it wasn't a peep. He actually bit and tried to eat the chick off my hat!


I left him gnaw for a moment or two before declaring that it wasn't edible. Ew.


From there I walked Coco to her bus, and joined other revelers hiding from the rain in The Edge. Shouts out to Hegarty and Richardson, or as I captioned the photo: Thundercats, Ho.


Bright spots on a dark and rainy day!

millin' about

Easter Sunday tomorrow. Time to get out the hat forms and accessories.

Carmen Miranda would love Easter in SF.

dog eared

If my niece or sister-in-law were here, you can be sure that their wiener dog and all the rescue puppies would be dressed up for Easter.

and a very Happy Easter in Dolores Park, 2012

While Easter Sunday was not like those of my childhood, we had a lovely day in Dolores Park. The "events," even the Hunky Jesus Contest were entirely ancillary to the fashion and picnic love fest in Dolores Park. I particularly love that Suzan and Graig went all out with a Astroturf runway for Easter fashions, and large pink plastic thrones for their parents and relatives they brought to the park. Even the five-year old was in a white tux with turquoise accents. Despite the conservatives disdain for this very San Franciscan Easter Sunday, hosted by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, this truly is a family affair. Or as Suzan has coined, the San Framily.









I also got to spend some quality time with one of my all time favorite peeps (tee hee) Michael Smith. You really should click through his photoset. Here are some of my favorites of the photos he took on Sunday.



And of course,



Pure joy!

more Easter love

While Papa John is conspicuously absent this Easter, for my faithful family this day the grave has lost its sting.  Carolyn (Adjunct Sister) sent in this photo of Franna and Grace (adjunct niece) at church on Easter Sunday.



Love the Fran!

missing my original Easter Bunny

I posted this earlier, but this was the scene when I popped out to the Castro for a haircut last week:


I took this pic with my iPhone and edited while waiting for a chair with the new, very cool iPhoto app for iOS. I sent this pic to my Mom.

She wrote back earlier this week saying, "I love it! You look do much like Dad with that Bunny. - same smile, same humor..." I miss Dad a lot, and loved hearing that, but the reminder also brought everything back to the surface again. I really can't imagine how hard it is for Mom, who has never lived alone and has been in love with Dad since she was 19. For her, every day and every thing is a reminder of what is lost, and I don't think I could bear that.

Thinking of Dad on Easter I am reminded of my favorite Dad-at-Easter story. We got pretty awesome Easter back sets growing up. Nothing fancy or over the top, but stealthily placed baskets with some chocolates, plastic eggs—some filled with jelly beans and some filled with coins—and generally a small toy. Not Christmas, but springtime excitement and a morning surprise left by an equally magical benefactor.

And the Easter egg hunts—Dad was good at those, and the side yard was perfect for that. Mac always found the Golden Egg. Every friggin' year.  I'm still a little frustrated at that.

As we grew older and into adults, there were younger kids for Papa John to hide eggs for, and he enthusiastically did so. Dad also had a separate "Easter egg hunt" for the young adults/grown ups: strategically placed mini bottles of booze. Love my Dad.

One year the weather on Easter Sunday was less a lesson on the resurrection and more a lesson on Noah's Arc. Dad creatively hid the eggs for the kids around the living room. And he hosted another hunt for the adults in the library (what other people might call a den). Both were much fun, but here's the thing: it's not like Dad had a map or a count of the liquor bottles.

For years afterwards we would find a random mini-bottle of bourbon or vodka squirreled away in an obscure part of the library. I was having people over one night and as we visited in the library, a guest put her hand between the sofa cushions and produced a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels. She looked first puzzled then seriously concerned. She thought one of my parents had been hiding liquor around the house, which I suppose was in fact true, but not in the way she suspected.

In hushed tones she asked, "Wilson...does your Dad have a drinking problem?"
Me, laughing, "Oh no...that's just from Easter."

It then occurred to me that my answer, while also true, must have sounded like a non-sequitur, leading her to think that perhaps I was the one with the problem.

I believe it was this day that I adopted my policy: Never explain.

Great is the mystery of our faith.

this place is hopping

I love living in a town where on the Saturday before Easter, there is a giant Easter Bunny in the neighborhood business district.  And he grabs your ass.  And you recognize who is in the suit by his squeeze.


Sunshine inside and out.

Later, walking back from my haircut, I passed a family of five walking up Castro Street and spied the Easter Bunny about 20 yards behind. I said, "Look, you can get your picture taken with the Easter Bunny!" The kids went nuts, and the parents were equally excited. The Easter Bunny kindly got down to their level and posed for pictures and played with the kids. I was struck by the scene when Dad, cheering on his brood for the photos, said to them, "Wave your flags!"

The parents (a mom and dad) had bought each of the kids a rainbow flag at Cliff's. Festive and inclusive.


Love this town.

not a peep out of you

Usually I get really into Easter. Mister loves a theme. I have a wreath for my door and decorations for the apartment, and usually host or attend some sort of dying cocktail party. Nothing this year. It's Good Friday and I have not gotten into any sort of holy spirit. My mood has been maudlin as of late and it will be all I can do to rise again myself.

I did, however, pay enough attention to send Easter treats to my niece and nephews and a centerpiece from The Tulip Tree to my mother who will be hosting all the family but me on Sunday.

Among the treats sent to little Leland (five and a half years old) were Cars and Toy Story sticker sets (he loves those characters), a large paper egg he can decorate with another set of stickers, and a couple of boxes of those little yellow chicks that I have always loved for reasons I cannot articulate.

His mother and father called me iPad to iPad using FaceTime to thank me and watch Leland play excitedly with his Easter treats. Risen Jesus that was cute. We played together for a while and then he asked if the chicks could go in the water. I said he could try it with one, but only one at first in case they did not do well in the water. It wasn't bath time yet so he tried putting one in the sink, and the chick looked like a tiny wet dog that loses 90% of it's volume when wet. It was pretty hilarious.

The chick, however, did not recover from the experience.

This morning his mother sent this pic to my phone:

"We told you you weren't waterproof!"

To me it looks like an intervention. "We are here as your friends. We really need to talk about your eating disorder."

Happy Easter

sacrilicious.

just try to get a rise out of that guy

Slightly belated, here are some scenes from a very Happy Easter which may have started with drizzle but appropriate to the day rose into a brilliantly sunny Sunday.  Thanks to Rob and Todd for hosting the hoppy happiness.

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Happy Easter

May your Easter weekend be Pretty in Pink!

I'm not Beach Blanket Babyloning a bonnet this year, but I do look forward to Easter Brunch at the House of Ho followed by the sunshine and madness that is the Sisters' Sunday in Dolores Park.

Porno Pete has of coursed released another hate-filled press release. I LOVE how the Sisters rise above and are more clever and more Christian than he could ever be.

The response from Sister Boom Boom (Via Sister Zsa Zsa Gabortion), emphasis mine:

Assalaamu Aleikum!

First of all the Sisters would like to thank Peter La Barbaria for all the
free publicity he is providing for our Hunky Jesus Contest. Even in the
most reactionary communities and families there are brilliant young queer
children aching for something truly revolutionary, a chance to be utterly
glamorous, and to royally piss off their uptight, puritanical parents. The
Sisters often declare their love for Peter and especially appreciate Mr. La
Babar's effectiveness in getting news and images of the Sisters to those
children. Of course we don't hate anybody, but his saying we do is a great
way to grab the interest of angry resentful children, and we have much
experience in helping GLBT youngsters work through their anger to find a
more joyous spiritual path.

However, as much as Mr. La Barbarella is promoting our appeal to rebellious
youth, it is not really our intention or purpose to offend Christians. Many
of our friends and fans are Christians as are some of the Sisters. It's not
even our intention or purpose to offend uptight, humorless prigs, though we
often do so by suggesting that the Deity has a sense of humor. After all,
God created a garden of paradise for us, declared His/Her love for us, and
created such laughably bizarre creatures as the platypus, the naked mole
rat, and Sarah Palin. But our mission is not to offend. Rather we are
dedicated to the expiation of stigmatic guilt and the promulgation of
universal joy. Still, we do understand that any sort of liberating theology
is offensive to those who want to keep others under their thumbs. Offending
prudes and tyrants is not our purpose, but we consider it a bit of a bonus.

As nearly all of us grew up in Christian-dominated America, many of us come
from Christian backgrounds, and we include a number of believing Christians,
some still active in their respective churches, we are all familiar with the
ideas and images of Christian culture. These are for us the best vehicles
for promoting our ideal of a God who loves and laughs. We also have some
Jewish sisters and since nearly all Americans have some familiarity with
Jewish culture - if only through sit-coms - we sometimes include some Jewish
humor. And why not? It couldn't hurt!

Mr. La Boobaria is correct that we seem to neglect our Muslim brothers and
sisters, many of whom are clearly in need of a good laugh. We must confess
that we don't have the same sort of inside knowledge of Islamic culture as
we do of Christian and Jewish cultures. From "The Axis of Evil Comedy Tour"
to "Little Mosque on the Prairie" we've seen that plenty of Muslims can take
a joke and deliver one, too. We trust that, especially in the current
political ferment, our Islamic friends will find their voice, their humor,
and their own ways of standing up to pompous prigs and puritans, to assert
that the one true God who is all mercy and compassion also loves a good
laugh.

Maa salaama.