It came again this year, with all the trannies and torrential downpours... But at a personal level, this Pride included slightly less cruising at parties with poorly punned titles. This past weekend I entered the wave of gay the same day I was U-Hauling with my girlfriend of exactly a year (we met in a dance off to 'Push It' at a lesbian pride party CHOICE CU*TS).
Our itinerary was glittered with shows, drinking Guinness, dancing to Kylie, and overhearing all the Midwestern tourists that accidently stumbled into the pride parades: "Is that a man or a woman?!"
The L was even kind enough to integrate the queer experience into the Northside Festival with MEN's show on Friday at the Knitting Factory. Too distracted by the obscenely well-dressed gay crowd to realize the connection, I failed to take advantage of my free pass. But the onstage titty fest (the first act was No Bra) redeemed every single one of those fifteen dollars. The unofficial after party at Metropolitan was a repeat of this venue, except with more clothes and clove smoking.
The following day's Dyke March was predictably peopled by a mix of Park Slope mommy dykes, and the soupier sceney dykes, who were anxious to remove their shirts and used the slight drizzle as an excuse to show their nipple stickers. The parade wrapped up at Washington Square, where most of the crowd dispersed and initiated the "That was fun... what next?" conversation, while the remainder (mostly the formerly awkward NYU kids) jumped in the fountain to frolic to half-existent drum beats.
That night included parties at CHOICE CU*TS, That's My Jam, and Cubby Hole. I was too overwhelmed by the options, so I didn't go to any of them. Oh, I also was too tired from U-Hauling that morning.
The last day of gay began with a super-dense crowd surrounding the parade: Floats included the 'first queer church in Harlem,'Go! magazine's careful selection of grinding femme girls in construction gear and the largest transgender breasts I have ever seen.
Stilettos proved to be a happenin-enough after party for all the femme celebrity types (ok... just Sophia Pasquis from 2001 Road Rules) and even included a 'Dunk a Dyke!' The DJs, however, misunderstood gay music, and applied a techno beat to otherwise perfect pop songs (Beyonce stands alone people!).
This led me to the Autrostraddle Rodeo Disco party, where my girlfriend and her dear friend Nicole Pacent (both in the lesbian web series Anyone But Me) were offered the VIP section, i.e. the best view of the 80s tribute dance troupe's mini shorts and failed attempts at bull riding (lesbians suck at that game). We wrapped up with a dramatic dance rendition of 'Alejandro' and then went home and snuggled.
Whew. After this weekend and this small essay on exhausting gay stereotypes, I'm officially looking forward to some quality time with straight people (thank god for the L offices!). We'll leave discussions of a 'the Real L Word'-themed issue for another time.
PRIDE! (with a dyke bias)
While you all you music happy hipsters were attending Northside events, the queers, gays and transgenders were busy confirming stereotypes.