All You Strange Rock and Rollers, You Know You’re Doin’ Alright

40 years ago yesterday, a truly wonderful thing happened:

stonewall revolution

Yup, forty years ago yesterday, the first night of the Stonewall riots occurred.  Seeing of course how I’m never less than entirely timely with this blog, I’m commemorating yesterday’s anniversary today.  Timeliness, y’all, is what I do best.

Anyways, in case you’ve somehow spent your life under an ignorance rock, yesterday New York City held its annual Pride Parade, and it was nothing short of full-on fabulous.  After weeks of cold weather and overcast skies and rain, we got warm weather and sun and a gentle breeze.  Perfect Pride weather, really.  Of course I’m now sunburnt and my legs feel like I’ve got thunder thighs from all the standing, but these are the sacrifices one must make.

More than the weather, though, we had an absolutely lovely crowd, both in and out of the parade.  I’ve never seen so much rainbow attire, public snogging, old lesbian titty, older bear crotches in itty bitty underwear, and intricate body painting in my life; in other words, it was Pride done perfect.  And this, of course, brings out the crazies. 

Case in point: I actually saw a woman get into a shouting match with three fabulously dressed teenage Latina lezzies.  Seriously, she must have woken up and put on her best pair of dumb-bitch bloomers to think that she was going to step into the West Village on Pride and not see some impressively glittery of GLBT celebration.  Was she thinking that maybe this year we’d be more subdued?  Hahaha, NOPE, Our Lady of the Crazy!  If anything, we’ll hopefully just push the envelope further each year.  

I saw families with their children, hoisting them above the crowd so they could see the drag queens and leather daddies and dykes on bikes.  It’s as though many people, be them friend of Dorothy or a friend of a friend, realized that, even at our crudest, Pride’s an earnest celebration of, as Bono would call it, “the right to look ridiculous.”  The closet doors were thrown wide open the evening the police tride to raid the Stonewall Inn, and Pride is a big flamboyant part devoted leaving the closet and entering the public.  

I mean, if you see the Pride parade and the smiles of everyone involved, and that only reaffirms your conviction that we’re a bunch of sex-obsessed perverts, then, to be honest, fuck that noise.  Or, if you prefer, aggressively spoon it.    Whatever the way, this party’s open to everyone, so if it doesn’t strike you as your cup of tea, then don’t bother attending.  You weren’t on the guest list anyways.

Fortunately, crazy bigot lady aside, Pride was a wonderful time.  If you could distill the excitement and joy and sense of camaraderie and love into sonic deliciousness, it would sound exactly like Cyndi Lauper & the Minus 5’s cover of “Midnight Radio.”  Really it’s so good, but keep the Kleenex’s handy if you, like me, have a tendency to get the teary eyes.  Seriously.  3, 2, 1 TEARS:

You’re welcome.

2 Responses

  1. Well said. I can’t wait for what Pride will look like in 40 more years! Maybe I’ll be one of those wrinkled old guys with rainbow nipple clamps! Who am I kidding.? plan is to stop aging at 35 and reverse again like Benjamin Button!!!


  2. “And this, of course, brings out the crazies.”

    Sydney’s Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras has an annual crazy – Rev. Fred Nile. He’s a conservative Christian state politician prays for rain on the day of the parade.

    Sif rain would stop our fabulous bitches.


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