This blog has made me some enemies, but it's made me some great friends as well. I tend to value the friends more highly, because they really understand me, and also it's likely that the people who learned to hate me through this blog would have gotten around to hating me eventually. The blog just speeded things up.
Whenever I've had the chance to meet a commenter, someone who has commented here more than a few times but instead has commented enough to let their personality shine, it's always been a rollicking good time. Today I finally got to meet the esteemed Hughman, who has always been the alpha commenter here, and my fellow judge in the photo contest (which we should do again one of these days; your DH is lazy and disorganized as ever). Hugh has always been a large figure here; one of my real life friends once asked me, "Who is this Hugh?"
Our planned meeting was a bit in jeopardy when I found myself derailed by an AIDS march. In San Francisco, whenever anyone marches anywhere for any reason, the police allow cross traffic to go through from time to time. West Hollywood, though, is a different story, and I had committed the fatal tourist error of not allocating enough driving time. (This reminded me of how often I've scoffed at people visiting me who make the classic San Francisco tourist error of underdressing for the weather. Poor commenter 2AMsomewhere showed up in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts on a summer evening when it was only about 45 degrees outside, and he was a good sport about both the cold and the ridicule). I bailed out of the rental car and called Hugh as I clipped along. Of course I was dressed like a prostitute from the fifties, complete with retro-looking high heels, and I cursed my decision to wear cute shoes, opposed to the Tevas I'd sported at Disneyland. "You're a long way away," said Hugh sadly after I was finally able to accurately describe my location. But I hung up, hung on, and power-walked a mile up La Cienaga in my shaky heels, with only a little abrasion from an ankle strap to show for this silliness. Someone asked me directions as I raced up the street, and I looked at her as though she were crazy. Wasn't it obvious that I was a moronic tourist?
Finally I got there, and we had a delightful time. At the end, Hugh also got to meet the Sober Husband, Iris über Alles, and an uncharacteristically subdued Lola, who was greatly affected by the SoCal heat. (Earlier Lola had confided in me, "I liked L.A. until I drank the tapwater." She shuddered dramatically). After all these years of reading about them, suddenly they had come to life and were walking about, talking, complaining of the heat, and petting Polly. And for me, I got to see Polly disregarding her owner to scrounge about outside a dumpster (Polly's attitude was clear: if only her owner were to become enlightened, he'd understand how important and enjoyable a bit of dumpster diving can be) and to enjoy sitting outside at Hugh's favorite restaurant, where the handsome waiter treated me like royalty after learning I was Hugh's friend. The internet comes alive at times, and it's delightful.
I'm waving to your picture H. Long time no read.
"The internet comes alive sometimes" Indeed it does, and has yet to undermine my expectations for such meetings. I love that you dressed like a prostitute to meet Hugh. Probably looked right at home on that WEHO sidewalk :-)
I had the best, best time. Meeting Carole was by far the highlight of my month, the fall and perhaps the year. And I don't listen to what Polly says most of the time so I'm not surprised she ignores me as well.
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