The Way Pride Was

Rod Townsend (aka our commenter Momo), sometimes receives telephone calls from The Past, a mysterious entity that remembers where things used to be in New York before Starbucks and Whole Foods came to town.

"Hello?"

"Glittergash! Happy Pride! Do you have your weekend all planned out?"

"Honestly? I've been so busy, I haven't thought about it. I think my friend Rafael is having a birthday party, but other than that..."

"That's insane! There's so many things to do! So many boys to do! Not even one event?"

"Well, maybe. Anything you can recommend?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Get your ass down to Christopher Street!"

"But it's so crowded down there. And there's, well, an undesirable element."

"The crowd is the point, scrunchysac! When else are you going to be squeezed between a bleach blonde octogenarian lesbian and a barely legal Peruvian transsexual? My dyke-friend Regina throws this fab party at her place on Christopher. It has a huge fire escape and we fit as many people on it as possible and spray champagne (well, beer actually) on the floats as they go by. Since it's usually a hot day, even the most heavily made up drag queen is thrilled to get a little golden shower."

"A golden shower! That's disgusting."

"Not what I meant—but probably true too. Anyway, once her apartment becomes unmanageable, we'll bail on her and head down to the huge street fair at the end of the parade. There are booths for everything in the world there, from gay rights to gay fetishes to gay gyros and gay elephant ears! And all those condoms! And the lube!"

"Condoms and lube?"

"Every booth you stop by is giving out a Trojan and Wet! by the bucketful. You can get a year's supply just by walking that little strip of Washington Street. And if you haven't found a year's supply of people to use it with, then you're obviously doing something wrong."

"But the people that attend are, well—"

"From all over the world, baby! This is where it all started! It's like Gay Homecoming Weekend! You just walk up to some hottie straight off the Concorde, raise an eyebrow, smile and slam your tongue down their throat! And all those tourists totally want to take your picture. That's why I always buy a fresh pair of easy accesses."

"Easy what?"

"Accesses. A pair of shorts with an elastic waistband, preferably by Jocko. When somebody points a camera at you, you don't want to fumbling with a belt and a zipper when they ask to photo the phallus."

"You expose yourself in the street? In front of a camera? Is that a good idea? Those pics could end up anywhere in the world!"

"What? You think they'd send my member to Playgirl or White Inches? Doubtful. (Not that they couldn't, as the pinga is be-gorgeous.) They'll just develop the picture and put it in an album at home. Everybody does it. It's Pride, bitchybutch!"

"Okay, okay. I'll check out the street fair on Washington. Then, let me guess ... then you head over to the Pier for the big dance?"

"I have before, but probably not this year. It's fun to kiki around, pop a pill, and snag all the random bumps going around, but I'm really thinking there's going to be way too much Crystal this year."

"Yeah, methed-up messes are the worst."

"No, no. Not meth. Waters! She's got a new album out and I'm just sick to tears of it already. I'm more into Amber now. Anyhoot, I've got to trim and shape my goatee, get my chest waxed and trim my pubes over at Randee Elaine. You better go to the parade, brilloballs, and no bourgeois bullshit excuses. It's Pride. Spread the love."

The Way Pride Was

Earlier: Past, Over

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