Pride, No TM

[Screw it. I was going to put up my usual cynical words about Pride. (I was even going to include a little trademark symbol to show my No-Logo-ness.) But y'know what? No. I am here to tell you that I had a great day Sunday. I bought in, for just a few hours and with a sufficient veneer of safe distance, to much of the kit and a helping of the kaboodle. I had fun, I learned a bit here and there, and my self-esteem got several huge shots in the caboose (and never mind about my actual caboose).]

[Since it's already Wednesday (I was sick Monday and yesterday, AGAIN, and this time I know it was the antibiotics...sulfa's off the formulary for me, if you please or don't please), it's list time:]

[1. Little Michael Fay as Dusty Moorhead. If you were there, I know you saw the drag queen in tall, tall platforms and all in red, white and blue. I was Dusty's PA for about a half-hour until I got bored and pushed the job on to Allen. Dusty was a disheveled mess by the end of the day, all according to plan.
2. Firefly! The very last musical act to hit the main stage, on the way up (and following Third Eye Blind and En Vogue on the way down) consisted of my becoming-a-friend Krystle Jones and her partner-in-crime David. (I almost typed "partner-in-rhyme." Aren't you glad I didn't?) Most of the crowd had left or were on their way out, but those who stuck around had a spectacular time as Krystle whirled, purred and pranced across the stage. (Yeah, yeah, I know: "Krystle Jones" is a somewhat unfortunate name for a putative gay-diva. Have your chuckle...I'll wait.)
3. I've been to my share of pridefests, and I always try to pick out one little thing about the crowd that's different from those in the past. This year, it seemed like there were fewer people trying to be self-consciously FABULOUS. It was all about the T-shirts, the shorts or the jeans, and the unfussy hairdos. Of course, there were exceptions (at least two sets of very young twins in mohawks or fauxhawks...yawn), but the few chiseled, artificially-bronzed L.A. types that I would bemoan everytime we'd go to the to-do in West Hollywood stood out in their rarity.
4. As a result, everyone (to me) looked especially good. I've been noticing lately a rather intensified susceptibility to male pulchritude. Yep, I seem to be hot for it, in a way I haven't been in...well, too long. The miracle was, for once, they were hot for it right back. To discuss this further would be descend into either smothering braggadocio or tedious self pity (Chorus: "Yes, it would! So don't!"). I've got several Jell-o molds in the fridge, and one may solidify; until then...yeah.]
5. Otherwise: a. lovely to see Casey and the Boyfriend, as always; I'm afraid I was a bit rushed with them, but I'd spent the last 30 minutes frantically text-messaging Sean and Allen for their whereabouts, and Firefly was about to come on; b. I'm easy prey to a charming, drunk twenty-something putting his head on my shoulder and whispering sweet, slurred nothings in my ear; c. drag queens should know their safe level of margarita slushy intake and stick to it, as should we all.]

[I'll be an activist again next year...]

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