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Mistaken Identity Crisis!

Brian Hibbs

Just a quick story here (maybe reviews in the next few days), because I thought it was funny, and if I don’t type it up SOON, then I never will.

So, it’s last Tuesday, Halloween, and I super-double rush through work early so I can take Ben Trick-or-Treating (3 years old is the BEST time for that, yes)

(Digression: We went to his grandmother Michele’s neighborhood, Seacliff, because we could go there and not feel like carpet-baggers. Michele has an apartment there, but its home to some of the nicest houses in SF — and some of the richest. Robin Williams’ house is there [handing out glow in the dark lanyards, which I think is an EXCELLENT thing to give out to kids who are wandering in the dark] for example.)

(We went into all of these fancy courtyards — y’know, courtyards that are bigger and nicer than our entire house! — in front of all of these fabulous mansions overlooking the ocean. The nicest, I think, was the one that was owned by, I’ll assume, the 49ers owner or head coach or lead player or something. There are big burly security guards at front, with like earpieces and whatever. The gate opens down to this path with a “velvet rope” [well, there were stanchions, at least] between TWO side-by-side mansions [on the same property] that leads out to this bluff overlooking the water. There, literally in a 135-degree or so view, like the whole range of your eye’s peripheral vision, is the Golden Gate bridge. I’m not even slightly describing what an impressive and magical view this is. I’d need hand gestures. There, on this bluff, the 49ers cheerleaders [!] are handing out candy to the children. Um, wow.)

(It was a nice Halloween. End digression)

Anyway, like I said, I was on my way home, its maybe 4 in the afternoon, couple of hours before the festivities start in the Castro, and I’m waiting for the 35 at 18th and Castro, watching the police set up the barricades and whatnot for the street parties.

Because I’ve come back from processing this week’s comics, I’m holding some comic that I was reading (52, I think) while I wait for the bus.

A really nerdy (Don’t *think* it was a costume, but it *could* have been) black guy comes up to me, and says, “Um, excuse me, are you Rich Johnston?!?!”

Now, if I had any web skills of any kind, I’d link that cover shot of Rich from CSI: DYING IN THE GUTTERS next to a picture of me, and you’d think “Yes, I can see why someone might possibly make that mistake”; but I don’t have those skills, so you just have to trust me.

And, if I hadn’t just come back from racing through the comics and the subs and the racking, so my head wasn’t all filled up with a bunch of stuff, I should have answered “Crikey, Guv’nor! Aye, oy’m bleedin’ Rich Johnston, like. Strewth! Chim-chimmeny-chim-chim-charooh, didjer know tha’ bloody tosser Mark Millar ‘as a tattoo of Princess Di snoggin’ Superman on his wee arse? Throw another shrimp on th’ barbie! Beggorah!”

But I was tired and engrossed in my funny book, so I just sadly shook my head, and said “No.”

“Yeah, because I thought it would be really weird to meet Rich Johnston in the Castro on Halloween in San Francisco”

“Yeah, that WOULD have been weird. Have a good day”

And he wandered off.

Ah, the things we think of in hindsight. Oh well.

Anyway, there’s this week’s funny story, and tale of why I love living in San Francisco. I hope you relish it as much as I.

(Also, for the funny, go read Spurgeon’s minute-by-minute account of THE GUIDING LIGHT/Marvel crossover — I had tears coming out of my eyes: http://www.comicsreporter.com/index.php/briefings/cr_reviews/6715/)

-B

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