It's around noon, Saturday. I had planned a nice stroll over to the Phillips Museum to visit a few old friends...the kind that hang on the wall. Instead, after stopping by the March headquarters first, I found myself wishing for more coffee after already having three cups this morning.
Phil asked me to media wrangle for the Camp Courage training this afternoon. It's easy. All I have to do is look old enough to know something. I do that everyday. Perhaps, I'll get to sit.
And, speaking of old enough to know nothing, old NAMES Project people are all over the place. We'll have dinner at Georgia Brown's tonight.
Ran into Cleve and Gilbert Baker (a combo of which I am particularly leery) on the street, discussing how to cover up the corporate logo on a truck that had been donated to haul something (not Cleve) down the street. I'm sure Gilbert has a football field sized rainbow flag stashed in somebody's garage in somewhere in Maryland..or something. Gert from the NP is here, so there will be sewing involved, no doubt, at dawn.
Meanwhile, nobody here can get onto Facebook. The genderfuckqueernerds have crippled the system...we rule the waves. Except we can't ride them this morning.
Maybe I should blow it off and go to the Phillips after all. After coffee.
5:30 PM ..In my room for a quick hour or two off my feet. Then off to Georgia Brown's for some laughs over drinks with some dinosaurs. Gert reminded me today that it was 22 years ago when we brought Quilt to DC - the 1987 March. And, we were young too. Maybe an average age of 24 or so.
And our elders thought we were moving too fast, not organized, too radical.
If I remember correctly, Barney Frank said we were wasting time and money then, too. Blah, Blah, Blah, Barney. We were over you then and we are over you now. Being smart doesn't make you a leader.
Compassion and the willingness to take risks make you a leader.
There are plenty of leaders here.
I spent the afternoon with the Courage Campaign folks at their training. Did I agree with everything I heard?
Sort of. It is a ragtag army, defending the right to process... and at some point I tune out on all that.
But, I do live in Berkeley, after all. I live that shit everyday, everywhere I go. Even at Peets. God, I'd kill for an Americano from Peets.
So. OK. Enough of my withdrawal symptoms. Here's what I've learned today at the National Equality March on Washington.
Our movement is in good hands. Caring hands. Damn young hands, but ones that are capable. Caring and compassionate.
I originally planned to stop by the HRC dinner picket line tonight to witness firsthand the never ending War of the Bitter Homosexuals.
Screw that, I'm going to take a nap then off to Georgia Brown's.
My shift tomorrow starts at 7 am. Perhaps I'll be on time. Or... not.