I've got a seven-year itch for the beach

East Coast natives like me grew up looking forward to Memorial Day because it was the traditional start of the summer beach season. Lucky families with second homes would hustle off to the shore to re-open houses boarded up since Labor Day. That was how Tom Ewell got a shot at Marilyn Monroe in the Seven Year Itch.

We weren't one of those lucky families, since both my parents worked. I didn't go to the beach much until I came out in college, and started making weekend trips to Newport. We'd spend the day working on our tans, then head to David's, one of the city's two gay bars. I think it's still in business, although I haven't been there in at least 25 years.

San Francisco's no beach town. The Baker Beach sand sucks; it's more like dirt to me. And the Pacific Ocean is cold enough to shrivel up the balls of even the mightiest of men.

Here's one of the opening scenes of the Seven Year Itch, where Ewell tells Monroe they're the only two people in their building -- other than the two interior decorators upstairs: