During the late 1970s and early 1980s, a tv show hosted by one Leonard Nimoy titled In Search Of filled the sci-fi/quirky wonderment stuff niche that The Twilight Zone truly created. The stuff which makes us wonder 'what if...?' or 'where are...?' I believe this show was originally hosted by Rod Serling until he died, but I may be mistaken on that. It was the Bicentennial year, after all, and so much red-white-blue-Paul Revere-Boston Tea Party-Bicentennial Minute (remember those?) filled the airwaves and my nubile adolescent mind, I may be mistaken on the hosting thing.
At any rate, Nimoy's show searched out the para-normal: Aliens, the Bermuda Triangle, Easter Island, the Devil, and so on. There was always a disclaimer at the beginning about the nature of the evidence used to demonstrate and back up their "theories."
I too am in Search Of...the odd, the para-normal, the pondered but not often discoverable, the lost, wandering, or meld-into-the woodwork O-40 Single Lesbians. Do they exist, these singlets, these lawyers, graphic designers, these librarians, truck drivers, cashiers, and non-profiteers? Are they clustering in some underground organic root-vegetable cellar or saddling up to a wine bar in Sonoma? Nibbling crumpets under a string quartet or digging ditches under the leering eyes of male, shovel-leaning co-workers? Where art thou? Or, do they exist at all? In octets, duos, or on uni-cycles?
I decided, for the sake of my singlet pal, Terry, whose online match-up adventures have gone horribly south as a result of basic Lame-o, Lackluster, Lesbo-ball-dropping (not hers, by the way), to do a bit of "field research" and attempt to locate some. Just as a little insight, this was about as successful as locating a bison in Golden Gate Park. Oh! There are bison in GG Park, but one cannot see them unless you know where to find that diminishing herd. The forest through the trees, needle in a haystack, contact lens in a pool. You get the idea. Not impossible, just not obvious.
Time of day: after 11:30am, Thursday. Grocery stores: I started with mainstream stores like Safeway & Lucky's. I spotted two in each. Safeway's was a couple of dykes, paired up, wandering around the pasta & ethnic food aisle in search of tomatoes, tomato sauces. Lucky's: luckier, actually. Two separate citings of singlets, slightly grayed. One fondling cucumbers (hello!) and carrots (mmm-hmmm), the other reading nutritional labels in the cracker section. Neither of the missies in Produce gave me a glint of the upward head nod, the 'yea, I'm one too.' Or the scan-my-basket-eyebrow-raise 'I see you have a soymilk drink', which I suppose would imply I'm lactose intolerant or just a fan of natural, sweetened, thirst-quenching hormones. Nonetheless, it didn't happen. On to starches.
Where Ms. Cracker and I -- I decided to ponder the merits of the TLC vs. Triscuit Low-fat, for conversation sake -- engaged in a humorous banter about the trade-offs between more crackers, but less taste, or fewer crackers, more taste, but less fat and, of course, more salt. Back and forth between the Wheat Thin or the Breton, the Kavli versus the Sociables. I told her that Chicken in a Biscuit still were a hands-down favorite, followed immediately by the two-flavored "Duoz" Cheese Nips. She bumped the latter to first place without even considering a C.i.a.B. but clearly felt that the Waverly Wafer was in contention. For calorie sake, though, she settled on a low-fat Wheat Thin, preferring small, palette-ripping squares to any other. We bid each other well.
Field Research Part Deux. Coffee. We love coffee, the scent, the warmy-ness, the cartoony steam that rises from each luscious cup and into our nostrils like a roast turkey with those papered feet to Foghorn Leghorn's black and white dog buddy. Coffee has that cobra-in-the-basket allure not only to me, but to so many lezzies out there. It's the wooden flute to my hooded nose, you know, all taken by the hypnotic tune or scent that I'll just rise from a deep, pillowed slumber and walk my zombied self to the nearest mug o' joe. Most of my gal pals are this way; I know a few tea drinkers, though, and I've opted to maintain an open mind about their, mmm, 'choice.' I forgive them for this gastronomical life-path divergence.
Coffee houses and cafes. This is where I was certain I'd spy a few wandering O-40L-eyes. 9:45am I ventured off towards Berkeley. College town, hip, youngish, and foggy and a little drizzly. Mist and fog are good. It means that people are a little chilled and need warm liquids to ward off Nature's perspiration resting on their Gore-tex and the cloudiness settling into their minds.
I started at Peet's, mostly because this is the only liquid beanery that I consume. I'm costumed in my usual moist weather garb: old LLBean rainboots, jeans, t-shirt, and a long, mid-shin raincoat. I'm identifiably gay by such equipment and the short hair doesn't hurt either. I get my joe, settle into a tiny table and chair with my back against the wall, and casually open my Sun magazine. It's a literary thing, sure to draw a lurking O-40 literate eye for sure.
30 minutes into this little survey, and I've shared not much more than a couple half-mouthed grins to some 20-something, backpacked dykes (prob undergrads), cute, for sure. One grandmotherly Berkeley woman who just seemed solid, strong, and, well, a smart yet straight grandmother (I'm guessing 80s, btw) who simply needed a little help with the door as she juggled her umbrella and two coffees. One very straight woman clad in heels, slacks, and a sparkling boulder on her left ring finger who I'm assuming fit the 'literate lurker' but not gay bill. And one toothless homeless woman seeking change. My cup was dry and my research proved little. Strike one.
A little buzzed, I move onto Cafe Numero dos: the side tables at noneother than The Berkeley Bowl, the awesome super-produce, super vegged, super-organic, super-selection of deli and bakery foods, and just plain, super-market in, duh, Berkeley.
When I'm not doing "research" I bump into hoards of lezzies fondling bottles of strawberry kefir, scooping almond-stuffed olives, pondering 'green' lotions in cobalt plastic bottles, or digging into the bulk granola. They're always strolling every aisle, making eye contact over egg plants, colliding their carts into my overflowing handbasket, and pawing every food on the pyramid. It's a great store.
The O-40s should be there, as should everybody else..... I mean, the store's always busy. Even at 10:30am. Except today.
I actually bought a Powerbar and a banana: something to soak up the yummy, carmel-colored coffee (I always add a little milk to cool it and skim some of the bitterness). I took a seat and, magazine in hand, peered over the pages for research purposes.
20 minutes and many pages actually read, because the Lesbians were not shopping this aisles. Baked goods and hot deli items clearly not on the cuisine radar today. Not even a lez-mom w/child-in-stroller sauntered by. What's with that? A little drizzle gettin' you down? Get outside, people! Strike two.
What will come of my research?
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