Several years ago when I was what could only charitably be termed as a “baby” queer, I had gone to meet some friends for a drink at the carpeted mineshaft that was the former incarnation of the Midnight Sun on Pride Friday.  The Castro was already pulsating with hundreds of

  Its mid-June, folks, which in San Francisco means we are heading into the home-run stretch of Pride month.  As Market street gets all polychromatic and workers frantically try to blast all the dried “character” away, all across town festivals, booze- busts, lecturers and shindigs are popping up like so