Pride Weekend Summation

Thursday

I start on Thursday not because I am one of those "the weekend starts on Thursday night!" types of people, but because Thursday night was the Transforming Communities show, which I haven't commented about yet. It was awesome and moving and thought-provoking, and it said some important things, and it inspired me to say something of my own. G.'s right, it was hard to leave that night and go home to bed. But we did.

Friday

No bedtime restrictions on Friday :) After work, G. and I came home and did a quick change into marching clothes (see my previous post, and pics to come), then drove into the city for the evening.

First event: the Trans March. This was the first time for both of us. We got to Dolores Park just before everyone left. I tried not to trip over my skirt too much. We ran into many people we knew, and had a fun social catching-up time while we marched. We tried to figure out what flagging red drink stirrer left means. I got covered in stickers, which made me feel very nostalgic for the old Queer Nation look. We were silly and happy together. It was still light out, and that was glorious, too. Everyone seemed happy. We waved at the gay boys watching us in the Castro, and then we turned around and walked back to Dolores Park.

Second event: Queer Open Mic. Dropping by QOM was sort of impromptu on our part. We had time to kill before our next event, we knew that friendly faces would be there, and it was midway to our next destination. Neither G. nor I read, but I think we caught most of the show. Both features (Ryka Aoki de la Cruz and LotSix) were wonderful. We would have liked to accompany hthe crowd to the post-event Zeitgeist outing, but I really, really, really needed to eat some dinner and the Zeit's grill is too iffy to count on. So we went across the street and ate diner food. I was so hungry, I started shaking halfway through my hamburger. I'm probably lucky I avoided both migraines and fainting. But I did!

Third event: G. was happily still up for what had initially been our first and only plan for the night: Queer Playground. We finally made it! Both of us, together! QP was small, but full of my tribe. I really felt comfortable and at home. I tied G. up and he says I was mean to him, but if you want the details you'll have to ask in private :) He didn't seem to mind, anyway. By the time we left, it was after one o'clock. I don't know where all that stamina of ours came from.

Saturday

After a short jaunt to the Grand Lake Farmer's market with Steven, it was time for me to get ready for the Dyke March. We packed up our outfits and BARTed into town.

We assembled with our friends, got dressed, and then spent a good chunk of the afternoon patrolling the Dyke March. We were Gender Cops. We had tickets to issue, and pink highlighters to issue them with. I had a gender-sniffing dog on a leash. A very well-behaved working dog. In my suit and pants and earpiece, I was clearly the Undercover Gender Cop. In fact, I was surprised that absolutely nobody I ticketed that afternoon said, "hey! you're a girl and you're wearing a suit! No fair!" I totally had a spiel ready for that event, but it never happened. Most people I ticketed just laughed. Some folks threw themselves in front of us and demanded to be arrested. We told people that their clothing -- shoes, underwear, electrical tape -- was too "male identified" and would need to be removed before the March began.

At one point, we had a chase. We tried to cite someone and she ran. The dogs tracked her down, she was thoroughly inspected and, eventually, ticketed. Please do not defy the law. Thank you for making the Dyke March safe.

I had so much fun I can't even tell you. I want to do it again next year and every year.

Someone asked me later if this was a protest against society's perceptions of gender, or a statement about the Dyke March's policies. The answer is yes. But it's also just silly. Never forget the power of silly.

Then we changed into more subdued attire and hung out in the park until the March started. Ate some overpriced but still delicious bacon-wrapped hot dogs. Saw many people we know (and yet missed seeing so many more!). Walked back to BART.

We had grand plans of eating, changing, and then heading out for dancing that night, but no. Exhaustion caught up with us, and we sat at home and watched soccer instead. And went to bed early, with satisfied smiles on our faces.

Sunday

Sunday started with the Gold Cup soccer final: U.S. v. Mexico. And OMG, it was an incredible game. Both teams played their hearts out. We were screaming at the TV in our finest sports voices all morning long. Even better, this was a very clean game, no cheap fouls, no fights, no bad attitude. And that makes me very, very happy. Also, the US won 2-1, which means a) the US won, but b) Mexico scored on them, which hasn't happened for a while.

After that, we had a grill party in the back yard. Guests trickled in and out all afternoon. As usual, we had way too much food -- chicken, hot dogs, three kinds of potato salad (I was only responsible for one, I swear!), squash and eggplant and peppers, and more. The weather was perfect. When it stopped being perfect and began being a little chilly, we went inside and messed around with the Wii. Now a whole crowd of our friends are hanging out on the console. Most of the dishes were clean after two rotations of the dishwasher. It was low-key, low stress, high fun. Thanks to everyone who came by.

And I'm not even totally exhausted or sore this morning! Pride creates many small miracles, it seems.

Now It Can Be Told

This post about Pink* reminds me of back in the day...

I was asked to write an article for Girlfriends about the history of women in hip-hop. So I did. Because I'm good that way. There was some hellaciously tight deadline, too. I made it.

I either wasn't told, forgot, or ignored the fact that this article was basically an excuse to put a picture of Pink on the cover. The problem is, Pink wasn't ever really hip-hop, was she?** Certainly not by her second album, which is when this was being written. I think I thought that my article was the substantial slice of text to accompany a fluffier article someone else was writing, or maybe a short interview, or something. My article had one (weak) sentence to hook in Pink to the concept. It wasn't enough.

So with about 24 hours turnaround, I concocted a sidebar: "10 reasons why Pink is a lesbian icon." They made it a full page, with a big picture.

The fun I had pulling that sidebar together was almost worth it.



* I'm sorry, I can't type it as P!nk.

** In fact, if she was anything, first-album-wise, she was R&B, which is not the same thing at all, and the fact that my editor thought otherwise should tell you a thing or two.

fucked-up QOTD

One of those "I don't even know where to begin" moments:


"After watching Buck Angel's film [Buckback Mountain*], my imagination went wild. If half of gay men were born with vaginas, it would change the world as we know it. I don't have the time to go through the whole scenario, but THINK about it. What if in utero, male embryos, who will lean towards bottoming were born with vaginas; grow up as self-identified males like Buck or straight-acting gay men (including the effeminate), can you imagine how str8 men would react to that segment of the gay populous? If those gay men (w/vaginas) had the same mindset regarding sex as most men (gay or hetero), the female "no" factor could all but be eradicated from the dating scene as str8 men now know it.

Most gay men I know fuck on the first date and most women won't. If they could, most hetero men would too, but usually they must deal with the "no" factor. During my years (in this gay business) I, along with zillions of other gay men, thought that a first date without sex was a failure!

Just think, str8 men, who deep down inside, really don't LIKE women as people, but like having sex with the them, could eliminate what they mostly dislike about females (too much talk, wanting gifts, compliments, MONEY, at least six dates before sex, other female rules & regulations, etc.) and have a debauched sex life featuring gay men with pussies! Afterwards, they could talk about football and other man-stuff. Think about it."

(http://www.lucasblog.com/archives/2007/06/hx_column_a_cha.html -- in the comments section, "Wolfgang.")




* Yes I have a copy.

W/we are not amused.

I will tolerate creative capitalization in many contexts. It's just not a big deal to me. As long as it's readable, I don't care. But what I do care about is exactly that: readibility.

Which is why I hate, loathe, and detest the BDSM writing convention illustrated in my subject line. Pick We or we, but don't fucking slash it! Spare my poor overworked eyes, please.

one last picture post: me at the Trans March

Photos by black_pearl_10.