Day 14: Faggotry

Tonight I was a pinball, bouncing around Boston and letting whatever (and whoever) I bumped into decide my next move.

First homegirl who runs my volunteer program rolled into my bar. Our conversations, previously, pretty much had been limited to things like rape culture and socialized gender norms. So it was a good and blessed thing to get to know her on a little bit more of a human level. One thing I said to her (and this will be important in like four paragraphs) is that the only time I've ever gotten a black eye was when some douche called me a fag at my friend's birthday party.

After that, my friend Frank and I walked around Downtown Crossing smoking a joint and taking our surroundings. As we were sitting against the Macy's building--looking, I'm sure, like a couple of homeless guys--my friend Scott walked by (he later told me that he was thinking, "who are those homeless men, oh wait, it's Tommy O'Malley") and told us he was going to Felt to watch his friend's show.

Frank and I finished smoking and headed to Felt, a place, having visited three times, I can safely say I never want to go again. We made it in time for the very end (as in the last half of the last song) of Scott's friend's set.

While the band was breaking down and the next group was setting up, I noticed that my friend Erich, who volunteers with me and Meg, was running the sound board. Weird, I thought.

To finish the night, my friend Scott and I came back to my place to watch some Charlie Chaplin clups on Youtube. As we were getting out of the cab in front of my apartment in South Boston, a black SUV crept by, and the two dude bros in the front started hollering "fags" at us. The best part is that the Boston Phoenix's cover story this week is about Southie's newfound acceptance of the gays. Unbelievable.