Israel: Saturday August 1st 2009

Israel: August 1st 2009

"Once a year, spokespersons on behalf of the gay community are requested to explain why we insist on the pride parade; so here is the answer. There are those who fan the flames of hatred and homophobia, and the outcome may lead to gunfire. Here is your answer, this is the reason: Because they shoot at us. At times they use words, and other times they use bullets."

Life's Checklist

Bring Mom and Dad to PrideCheck!

(Thanks again, M & D, for everything)

Pride 2009

40 years later

Ordinarily I'd try and write some lovey-dovey, all inclusive post about Pride. I would probably make it more difficult on myself by trying to write in prose, be dramatic and aim for the tear ducts. I'd struggle to tap into that root source of what all the love and visibility and pride truly mean. But I don't feel like it this year. I know what it all means. I know how love and visibility and pride twacks my heart and stirs my consciousness. I don't need to convince myself any further.

All I can say is that from the Drag March to the Dyke March to the Pride Parade to the Pier Dance I saw thousands of faces that are all special, all important and deserve to be heard and respected.

Walking with Drags, the Dykes and the entire community one bewildering question came to mind repeatedly, "How can anyone hate our community? Why would anyone want to detract from this color, this vibrancy, this diversity, this joy?" Never have I seen a greater celebration of life than within these marches. It's all so motivating, so inspiring: the fight, the cause, the oppression, celebration, tragedy and romantics that is our lifestyle. All of us together under the same banner. A community. The thought alone drives light into my body, surging through my veins and beaming out of my pores.

We are so much to this nation. To this world. To humanity as a whole. We'll wait for our marriages to pass through the bureaucracies. We'll let our politicians argue endlessly over something as stupid as "Don't ask don't tell." They can take it. Go ahead -have at it, clowns.

But all I really want is my god-damned thank you. We, the gay community, are responsible for so much beauty, art, color, life - our threads are inextricably woven into the fabric of humanity and for that I want my appreciation. I want my thanks. How dare anyone deny us of anything when we contribute so much?

I'd fight a lifetime just for that.

Dyke March:

More to come...

Countdown to Pride: Dyke March 2009

Not a parade but a protest march!

Tomorrow at 5PM is the 17th annual NYC Dyke March. It'll be my 4th year in row to attend the Dyke March. I love supporting and showing love for our lesbian/queer sisters and I suggest you do the same. Besides, it's a helluva lot of fun!

Meet up is Saturday June 27th 5PM sharp at Bryant Park.

Click HERE for everything you need to know.

It's the time to hit the streets! Make some noise. Be visible. Be heard. Demonstrate, agitate, liberate! Bring signs, banners, drums, giant puppets, flags, hula hoops, or just be there! And if you really want to make things happen - be a marshal (check out ACT-Up’s marshal training for what marshals do during a march).

The Dyke March is a protest march, not a parade -- we don't ask for a permit, because we have the right to protest. As lesbians, we recognize that we must organize amongst ourselves to fight for our rights, our safety, and for visibility. Thousands of dykes take over the streets every year in celebration of lesbians and to protest against ongoing discrimination, harassment, and anti-lesbian violence in schools, on the job, in our families, and on the streets.

My Amazing friend Rich Weaver pointed me in the direction of some old Queer Nation fem-based Artivism. I'm posting them below to get your feminist anger to a raging boil!

View from your Pride: Shanghai, China

Over the weekend Shanghai, China held it's first ever Pride Event:

New York Times reports:
SHANGHAI — It was shortly after the “hot body” contest and just before a painted procession of Chinese opera singers took the stage that the police threatened to shut down China’s first gay pride festival. The authorities had already forced the cancellation of a play, a film screening and a social mixer, so when an irritated plainclothes officer arrived at the Saturday afternoon gala and flashed his badge, organizers feared the worst.

After some fraught negotiations, Hannah Miller, an American teacher who helped put together the weeklong festival, agreed to limit the crowds, keep the noise down and, most important, “not let anything happen that might embarrass the government,” she explained after returning from the impromptu sidewalk meeting. “That was a close call,” she said.

Crisis averted, the party continued.

And so it went for Shanghai Pride week, a delicately orchestrated series of private events that revealed how far China’s gay community had come, and how much further it had to go. In the 12 years since homosexuality was decriminalized in China, there has been an unmistakable blossoming of gay life, even if largely underground. Most big cities have gay bars, and social networking sites ease the isolation of those living in China’s rural hinterland. Antigay violence is virtually unheard of.

But official tolerance has its limits. Gay publications and plays are banned, gay Web sites are occasionally blocked and those who try to advocate for greater legal protections for lesbians and gay men sometimes face harassment from the police. For years, movie buffs in Beijing have tried, and failed, to get permission for a gay film festival.

This month, public security officials forced Wan Yanhai, a prominent advocate on gay issues, including AIDS, to leave Beijing for a week because they feared he might cause trouble during the 20th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square crackdown.

“Sometimes I feel like we are playing a complicated game with the government,” Mr. Wan said. “No one knows where the line is, but we just keep pushing.”

We've certainly got our battles here in The States but we're still further along than some many people and so many places. This should not be taken for granted.

40 Year Old Table

'69/'09

On Saturday The Ali Forney Center hosted a panel discussion on the involvement of queer youth during the 1969 Stonewall Riots. The panel consisted of two actual Stonewall Riot participants, Martin Boyce and Tommy Lanigan Schmidt as well as Ali Forney Center Executive Director Carl Siciliano and four of today's LGBT youth, all in their early twenties, answering questions relating to the ever changing now vs. then Queer spectrum.

The youth, two of whom were transwomen came across as confident and sturdily self possessed when discussing topics like being gay in today's world, coming out and how history serves as a backdrop for today's sense pride and personal identity. As a whole the four seemed ambitious and spoke to their current lives and potential futures as though their identity and diversity serve only as an asset to who they are and who they hope to become.

40 years down the table Thomas Lanigan Schmidt and Martin Boyce, who were both twenty somethings during the summer of 1969 spoke of gay life during that time, their experience, struggles and triumphs and being the first in history to step out. Lanigan Schmidt talked about realizing his attraction to men when a best friend protected him from a local bully and Boyce described a New York where gay bashing was a city sport and electro-shock treatment a consequence. Yet still there was much talk of celebration, of life. A jukebox at the Stonewall, the rage in a queen's eye.

Below Martin Boyce sets the stage for life as a queen living in NYC in 1969 and at the 4:30 mark describes being at the Stonewall Inn the nights of the historic riots.

It's Never Too Late

Standing with my brothers in Sheridan Square

This past Saturday, October 11th, was National Coming Out Day and I purposely waited to post something to make the statement that it's never too late, nor too right or too wrong to come out and say, "I'm gay!"

Oh and by the way just so everyone knows: I'm gay!

Happy coming out and having made it this far everyone!

For information on the statues I'm standing with visit this link.

The Fence

Sure. I was a restless, unfocused, could-not-concentrate youth, which my parents tried to cure by putting me on Ritalin twice a day, every day from the age of 7 to 17, but it wasn't so much misbehavior on my part as it was the inability to sit still.

My teachers all liked me. I wasn't known for calling out or disrupting class or bothering other children. Rather, it was my constant seat-shifting or "perching," as my second grade teacher Mrs. Wilson called it. To this day, even as I type this post, I'm sitting with one foot tucked underneath my tush and the other foot on the ground, pushing back and forth so that my swivel chair is in constant motion. When I stop to take a thought I instinctively take my hand off the keyboard, put my finger in my mouth and gnaw at my fingernail. Then, back to the keyboard.

"You're a smart kid, Eric. If only you would sit still for a little bit would you get out of these classes in no time," my 5th grade special education reading and math teacher, Mr. Cantalosi, said to me as I bit my bottom lip and looked down at the ground. But something that day clicked. For the first time I felt recognized, realized, noticed and was given encouragement opposed to instruction. It wasn't the "Oh Eric, would you just sit down and pay attention" mantra I had heard ad nauseum throughout my entire elementary school career. I felt like I could do this and immediately I got a sense of breaking out. It was a feeling of wanting to kick, of wanting to punch my way through and succeed. I wanted to prove people wrong. This is the same feeling that would visit me when my mother told me I'd be seeing a "special doctor" who wanted to "run some tests." It was around Passover when she delivered this news and despite her code words, at 10 years old, I knew exactly what a "special doctor" meant. I was going to a therapist! What? Did she not think that I watched TV for hours on end every day and knew what it meant when a kid was told he was about to see a special doctor? My family was hosting that year for Passover and because of this my mother was clearing out the cupboards to find the once-a-year fancy plates off which we eat. When she removed the giant stack of plates I crawled into the cupboard and slammed the door behind me and shouted, "I'm not going!" My Mother opened the door and said quite sternly, "You're going," and shut the door, leaving me in the cramped darkness. I remember the feeling, laying on my back, that I just wanted to kick. I just wanted to kick and scream and keep kicking until the walls of the kitchen island were split apart and broken. Of course, I did none of this but instead kept a feeling of rage very alive within the pit of my stomach. Therefore, it was no surprise on the first visit to the therapist when the doctor asked quietly and softly, "Well Eric, why do you think your mother brought you here today?" and I responded dryly and smugly, "She's sitting right next to me. Why don't you ask her?"

The Special Ed classroom I went to twice a day was located in a separate building on the school campus. When school started it was easy to hide the fact that I wasn't in any mainstream classes, but by the time winter came around, I could not keep it a secret any longer, for I had to wear or carry a jacket which inevitably told the other students milling about the hallways that I was one of those kids who left the building each day to go to one of those classes. Everyday I had to walk along side James, notoriously known for his semi-retardation and who caused a stir amongst the students each time a teacher would reprimand him for having his hands in his pants. I remember walking past a group of students waiting outside their class when one of them got out of line and said, "Eric is going to class with James? Boy, he must really be stupid!" Once again I felt the rage build up. "I am not stupid," I said to myself as if I were saying it to that particular student, "I have a learning disability!" Regardless, I remember wanting to punch the bricks at the entrance of the separate building.

The days carried on. Winter became spring and the support from Mr. Cantalosi continued. I had made a plan to sit as still as possible, to take my Ritalin, to do well and by next year I would be back in classes with the normal kids. However, being on Ritalin, seeing a therapist and walking with James everyday had afforded me the perspective of being on the outside of the fence looking in. Before the weather called for shorts I was carrying a sense of confidence about being different, about not being just like everyone else, and I had Mr. Cantalosi, a teacher nobody else had. My confidence grew. I began to like going to a therapist and being able to talk out loud about anything and play games and get to answer questions, not based on math or reading but about emotions and feelings. Through Dr. Elfenbein I had learned that I wasn't taking "stupid pills" and that I wasn't "dumb," it's just that my brain functioned differently from others. Soon enough I was explaining to other students and friends what taking Ritalin actually meant, and I enjoyed teaching them about how every one's brain works differently and James no longer was an embarrassment for me to walk to class with everyday. In fact, he made me laugh and became my friend. I stuck up for him when the other kids made comments. He was under my watch now and that made me feel good.

By 6th grade I was back in mostly mainstream classes. I was out about seeing a therapist and all my friends knew I took Ritalin. In fact, a new friend Matt was also taking Ritalin and we shared our thoughts and feelings about being on medication quite regularly. I had a big group of friends and we became famous for playing handball every day during recess. We played against a giant brick wall next to the exit steps from the gymnasium doors. Everyday that we played handball, a girl named Marsha would sit silently on the steps and read her books.

Marsha was a brainiac- she was socially awkward, chewed her hair, wore pink 4th grade-esque jump suits while we all wore jeans and shirts from The Gap. She didn't curse, she didn't know about making out yet, she didn't have any friends and all she did was read. She was an outcast. Too smart for her own good and too geeky to be understood. I would notice her more regularly than I wanted to and I tried to avoid looking at her because I knew, at this point, what looking at her would cause me to do: feel. And I also knew, if I felt, then we would both wind up disappointed. But I couldn't help it and so the day came that I approached her and invited her to play handball. She stood in line behind me. Our hearts both racing at the same speed just waiting for the inevitable outcry from one of my friends. Then there it was, said by none other than Sherry herself. Go figure. "No, she cannot play with us!" "There's too many of us already," was Sherry's excuse but all three of us knew the real reason was simply that Marsha wasn't cool enough and we were no United Nation accepting open applications for friendship. Marsha, used to this treatment, simply walked out of line, found her spot on the steps and resumed reading her Beverly Cleary. I remember the feeling that surged through me at this point. I related to Marsha. I knew what it was like to be on the outside of the fence. It wasn't fair! She deserved a chance just like everyone else. I wanted to rip Sherry's head off and make her feel the pain that we felt. It's been more or less 15 years since that incident and I still cannot forget how Sherry acted that day and how Marsha just assumed her role.

This feeling would continue to aid me through my childhood and up into my adolescence. The feeling of pride-as-an-outsider. It was the feeling I had when I picked up Punk Rock to sooth the relentless pain of the stress-related canker sores I would break out in when I was reminded of my same-sex attraction I so desperately tried to avoid.

The feeling would return as I read Jack Kerouac and learned that life doesn't have to follow a cookie cutter mold and that everyday can be its own special adventure. That life doesn't have to be an experience from one day to the next, but rather, an expansive journey with no end in sight.

The feeling would return when I was forced to grab my balls, suck it up and enter the LGBT Center at my college student union. It was the feeling that would force me out into the world, to ride my bike to IBT's, Tucson's premier gay club with my fake ID in hand, and just "do it!" This is the same feeling that would thrust me out into the world, meet people, shake hands, listen in and appreciate different points of view. To understand hippies and mushrooms and raves and music and goths and queers and punks and artists and people afflicted with disease. It would be this same feeling, which I would use as armor, to never again allow myself to return to that angst-ridden angry teenager with the painful canker sores and the plea to be just like everyone else.

It would be the same feeling when I would learn first hand of the thousands and thousands of deaths caused by AIDS and our government's slow response because the only people it seemed to affect were those on the "outside of the fence."

I've spent my entire life on the outside of the fence looking in and I would not have it any other way. So it was this same feeling that boiled up last night as I spoke with a gay man who is undecided, yet leaning toward McCain/Palin as his choice, because "gay is just one aspect of me." This feeling made me speak fast and point my finger in his face and shout, "They think they can pray away our lives! They don't give a shit about us! They would put us in camps! Don't let them put us in camps!" My friends pleaded for me to calm down. But I didn't want to. I wanted to kick and scream just like that little boy hiding in the cupboard because it isn't fair that they don't recognize our lives and feel like they can pray us away. They would put us in camps, I don't care how "radical" that sounds. Things like that have happened before, history will tell you, and I'll fight for my life to prevent myself from ever being on the inside of any of those fences.

BFLAG

Bear on Board

Tonight's episode of Kathy Griffin's My Life on the D-List followed her to the San Francisco International Bear Rendezvous where she did a cover shoot for A Bear's Life Magazine and preformed before a hefty crowd of 1500 at the Castro Theater.

When I got home I picked up my latest issue of A Bear's Life- The Pride Issue (aww, nuzzle nuzzle) and I read about the history of the lovable autumn colored symbol we now know as the bear flag.

"The International Bear Brotherhood Flag" was created 1n 1995 while Virgina Beach native, Craig Byrnes, was working toward his degree in psychology and needed to design a senior project that would explore the rapidly growing Bear culture developing since the 1980's.

"As a member of the Chesapeake Bay Bears (CBB), I had become involved with first hand experience of the growing bear movement. While developing my senior project, I thought it might be fitting to design a flag that would best represent the Bear community since there was no "official" Bear flag, and include it with the results of my research."

[...]

"It's a field of simple horizontal stripes with a black bear paw print in the upper left corner- a layout familiar to anyone who has seen the Leather Pride flag. The colors represent the bear fur colors and different nationalities: brown hair-brown skin, red hair-American Indian skin, blonde hair-Asian skin, white and gray hair-Caucasian skin, and black hair-African skin. We designed it with inclusivity in mind.

Soon after, a few computer generated images were created and woof! the Bear Flag was born.

What I love most in reading about all these flags and all these artifacts is that I learn they're not just simple symbols dulled out to the community because they're an easy fit, rather, they are well thought-out creations paying homage to both history and a sense of togetherness.

For instance, did you know Gilbert Baker assigned meaning to each color in the rainbow flag?
Original:

hot pink: sexuality

red: life

orange: healing

yellow: sunlight

green: nature

turquoise: magic

blue: serenity

violet: spirit

Modified

red: life

orange: healing

yellow: sunlight

green: nature

blue: serenity

violet: spirit

And did you ever notice that there's a nice red heart in the corner of the deep blue and black stripes of the leather flag?






And a Transgender pride flag-
Creator Monica Helms explains the colors mean: The light blue is the traditional color for baby boys, pink is for girls, and the white in the middle is for those who are transitioning, those who feel they have a neutral gender or no gender, and those who are intersexed. The pattern is such that no matter which way you fly it, it will always be correct. This symbolizes us trying to find correctness in our own lives.


Or that there's a Bisexual pride flag? Who knew?
(Creator Michael Page intended for the colors to mean: Pink- attraction to the same sex. Blue- attraction to the opposite sex and Lavender- attraction to both sexes.)



Geez, what a bunch of flags, eh?

Big "Arf" to Bear's Life Magazine for sharing the history- and whatever flag you carry or whatever color is your favorite- wave it out, baby.

Wave. It. Out.

Happy Friday.

Pride: 20 - 27

Below an unedited, untouched excerpt from my Journal dating June 2001:
6/24/2001

"Well, I am officially 20 years old. God this has got to be the best birthday I ever had. After spending Saturday evening at Jeff's house I woke up, rushed out the door and headed to Rich's. Rich and I made it to his friend Trisha's house, great woman, and from there went into the city to celebrate ourselves, who I am as a person and lastly my birthday!

Pride 2001 was INCREDIBLE! I amaze myself at how easily I can assimilate to the community! Five minutes within NYC and I'm getting pawed at and taking my shirt off. Man, I love that.

Rich and I hit the Duplex first, had a few drinks and socialized with fellow teammates. The main thought on my mind was, "I want to go to Pier Dance." Anyways, I had a blast- we went bar hopping and I cruised and got cruised more than I ever expected. I don't know. Maybe it's an aura.

So we did that for awhile- even hit up the lesbian bars which rocked!! Haha, It's refreshing to think that one can have eternal fun by completely letting their guard down, and just simply, "letting themselves have a good time." It's just wonderful! Rich and I decided it was time to search for Pier Dance tickets and of course, within 5 minutes we found two. I knew I would get in!

WOW WHAT A PARTY! Tons, tons, tons of great looking guys and a few girls dancing hard, sweating, smiling, touching, living, celebrating ourselves! I danced my ass off and danced well.

I swear it was so powerful- the men, the energy, the happiness, the PRIDE that I began crying, thinking what a mountain I climbed, what an obstacle I overcame and with that life became so beautiful, so real, I began to cry out of sheer triumph and happiness. I said to myself, "Remember this always, this is your 20th Birthday."

I hope the memory of the fireworks and the emotion sticks with me- dancing on the platform, seeing the lights, seeing the heads, seeing the community! After dancing with thousands of hot guys (NYC ROCKS!) drinking, smiling, and flirting the party ended. Rich and I hit up some more bars and now at 4:00AM on the button I put a close to this glorious, emotion-filled, HOT, beautiful birthday of mine and Pride 2001 NYC."

-LOVE YOURSELF-
-------------------------------------------------------------------

The Man with the Flag- Gilbert Baker

6/29/08

My alarm clock buzzed obnoxiously at 9:45AM and I could still feel the alcohol in my stomach from last night's Blowoff Party. I had an hour to get my shit together, meet up with Gwen and Nicky and hop a cab uptown to 52nd street to meet Gilbert Baker and Jay Blotcher to march in my first NYC Gay Pride Parade.

I downed a bottle of water and threw myself into a cold shower, a pair of shorts, my "Where is the Outrage?" tee shirt, my Leather Daddy shades, my rainbow gear and headed to The Bean to meet Gwen and Nicky. When Blotcher told me some days ago about the open slot for two people it was only fitting that I invite Gwen to walk with me for my first march in a Pride Parade. After all, she is my first gay hero, having so boldly come out of the closet when we were just 14 and Freshmen in High School.

I saw Nicky, Gwen's girlfriend of 2+ years, wearing a deliciously sexy green short-short jumper of sorts and immediately hugged her.
"Would you look at this! Nothing but blue skies! SEE, God loves pride," I exclaimed as I hugged her.
"I know, right?" She responded hugging me back, "every year they say it's going to rain and right now it's nothing but blue skies!"
"You look great!" I responded giving her an extra kiss on the cheek, "Happy pride!"

Gwen quickly joined us wearing black shorts, a black tank top, boots and a black hat. I hugged and kissed her as I did Nicky. The three of us jumped in a cab with 15 minutes to spare.

Outside the cab Nicky helped me snap on my rainbow suspenders, the perfect icing to the cake that was my outfit for the day. I saw Blotcher almost instantaneously- who could miss him in his bright orange Hawaiian shirt? He stood there glowing as usual, smile from ear to ear and I hugged him with a "Happy Pride." He introduced me to Grand Marshall, Gilbert Baker, and I told him it was an absolute pleasure to meet him and that I was honored to walk behind him in my first march. He looked at my shirt and said, "Love the shirt- you're coming up front." I smiled and got pulled away into the frenzy of the pre-pride march organizational mayhem. Walking with me were other friends I've made along the way. Well known Cinematic Art Director, Charley Beal, who just wrapped on his latest job working on the Harvey Milk film and Mark-Sam Rosenthal, someone who I've read next to at Reading For Filth nights at Rapture Cafe.

We had about an hour to kill before the March began so I decided to hit up Madison Avenue and strut my rainbows outside of the Pride Boundary of 5th Avenue. I love it and always will. People don't know what to think! I stood in Cafe Europa thumbing my suspenders proudly purposefully taking a long time to get a sandwich making sure every straight eye had the opportunity of seeing me. I drank half my water bottle standing next to a garbage can, swiveled on my heel and split.

By the time I made it back to 5th Avenue the Dykes on Bikes and Biker Men were ready to peel out. I took my place behind the car Gilbert Baker was riding in and held the banner which stated, "Original Rainbow Flag." It was all pretty overwhelming and stressful at first, keeping up with Gilbert's car, following the orders of the wonderful Heritage of Pride organizational staff (I don't know how they do it) and behind me a tremendous rainbow flag with at least 20 people carrying it! And then suddenly, we were marching.

In all my life I've never walked in front of so many people. The sidewalks were jam-packed from 52nd St. down to Christopher. And what people to pack the streets with! Such wonderful, colorful, bold, happy people lined the streets, shouting and screaming and blowing whistles and waving flags and cheering each other on. Joe's right- Happy Pride isn't about having one day to recognize that we're not alone, it's about congratulating one another on being who we are, on having made it this far and not letting anybody else tell us who we should be. I quickly got lost in all of it and couldn't have prevented myself from blowing kisses to those smiling the brightest, to screaming at the top of my lungs to working the crowd up into the frenzy. So many people, so many wonderful people- my family.

We approached Bryant Park in a flash. Ten blocks already. I couldn't believe it. The edges of Bryant Park, from the sidewalks to the steps of the library were packed with people of every color and every age. Above this crowd hung a huge banner stating, "We Remember" and it took every muscle in my neck and all the hard-clenching of my teeth to hold back the tears so desperately wanting to fall. I looked up at the sky and paid my respects and I looked forward into the crowd and said a blessing for everyone today living with HIV/AIDS and with that my lip trembled and I let the tears drop down my face. I held myself there for a brief moment until I noticed the old drag queen wearing a dalmatian-dotted swim suit complete with white fuzzy slippers and I found the smile I needed to continue marching.

The West Village was coming up fast and I found myself wishing there were an extra ten, twenty blocks to walk. It was all too much fun. I didn't want it to end. I kept looking back and smiling to Gwen and Nicky, to Blotcher and forward to Gilbert- the man responsible for all the rainbow we see on this day and I kept smiling and cheering and revving up the crowd.

Turning on to Christopher Street was by far the most exhilarating part. It must be what a marathon runner feels when they know they're reaching the final stretch. Christopher Street was more densely packed than anything we had seen in the last 40 blocks. Here the colors were brighter, the screaming louder, people were on each other's shoulders, standing on high-rise balconies and as it rained rainbow colored confetti people were just screaming- screaming and hollering and cheering each other on.

At one point a young tiny lesbian, no older than 18, reached out and grabbed my hand and as if it were instinct we looked each other in the eye, squeezed our hands together and smiled simultaneously mouthing the words, "Happy Pride." This is one of those moments I'll take with me forever. One moment in the millions throughout life that I'll have with me always as proof, that even if for just one day, we are all together as one community.

Gilbert Baker's crew finished just as the rain began pouring down. Blotcher, Gwen, Nicky and I stood under a scaffolding waiting for the rain to let up. They both invited me to their next destinations but I declined wanting to absorb the day on my own. After the rain let up and the sun came out I tried making my way to Pridefest but no such luck. I meandered a bit before finding the perfect spot and stood there for what had to be hours, high-five'ing and Happy Priding my brothers and sisters until my hand was sore and I again needed to seek cover from the rain.

I know who or whatever is up in the sky never lets it rain long on Gay Pride day. So I waited patiently for the sun to peak through and made my way to my 8th Pier Dance. At the dance I did as I had done at my first: I danced my ass off, surrounded by hot men, dancing hard, sweating, smiling, touching, living and celebrating ourselves. I threw imaginary love in the air as the speakers blared "Love is in the air" and smiled wildly at my kin. Just like my first dance, the fireworks went up and the men around me ooo'd and aaah'd as their arms reached over one another's shoulders and held each other close.

As I walked toward the exit of the pier and shuffled my feet past empty water bottles and beer cans, I puffed my bare chest out toward the city and my back to the Hudson. And as rainbow suspenders dangled by my legs, I put a close to another glorious, emotion-filled, hot, beautiful day and Pride 2008 NYC.

-LOVE YOURSELF-

Happy Pride.

(photos: 1. Gilbert Baker- Organizing his Group. 2. Banner holding. 3. Gwen, Nicky, Jay Blotcher holding the flag (Edge New York.) 4. Me pointing at Blotcher)

Countdown to Pride: We Love Our Lesbian Sisters

I joined Randee Riot and her kittens at the Dyke March today. I made a sign before going out that stated simply: "We Love Our Lesbian Sisters."

The march was fantastic and the rally before, electric. It rained briefly but the dykes toughed it out, of course, and marched on.

Many of the dykes shook my hand or snapped photos and replied to my sign with a warm smile and a "Hey, we love you too brother. Thanks for being here!"

No, thank YOU, queer and lesbian women...
We are all ONE family-
Happy Pride!

(L2R) Brooklyn, Riot, Spinner's Girlfriend, Spinner











Bryant Park Dyke Swarm












Other gay boys showing some love














Riot's Famous "Three Fingers Please" Dyke March Tee












Spinner and Girlfriend loving-out

Countdown to Pride: It's Just a Drag March

No joke. I turn the corner on 9th St. on my way home and look what my silly ass runs into. Go figure.

Fortunately I had my camera with me.

Relax. It's Just a drag March!

Countdown to Pride: Dyke March

Billed as a protest march and not a parade the Dyke March is one of the best rallies throughout Pride week. Although only women are allowed to actually march men are encouraged to rally from the side lines and show their support.

Saturday, June 28th.
Step off at 5pm SHARP
from W. 42nd Street and 6th Avenue at Bryant Park.

It is such a hoot! Please come out and show your love for our lesbian sisters!

For all NYC Dyke March information visit: nycdykemarch.org!

from wikipedia:

The first Dyke March in the United States was held in New York City in 1992, on the Saturday before the annual Pride Parade. It was intended as a woman-only event, organized by the direct action group, the Lesbian Avengers. Gay and bisexual men (as well as other well-wishers) were encouraged to show support by cheering the marches on, a tradition that continues to this day.

The first U.S. Nation-wide Dyke March was held in Washington, D.C. in 1993. This event was also planned by the Lesbian Avengers. Close to 10,000 women marched at this event. The large turnout can be attributed to the fact that the Dyke March coincided with a larger march on Washington. There was a global feel to this Dyke March as lesbians from the United States and other countries marched.

The first San Francisco Dyke March was held few months later, in June 1993, and is still celebrated every year on the Saturday evening before the annual GLBT Parade which is very corporate-sponsored. The Dyke March is more informal, with marchers creating their own signs and most people showing up to participate, rather than to just watch. The streets along the march route are lined with thousands of enthusiastic spectators, mostly gay men in support of the women.

New York City's Dyke March is another well-loved tradition. On the Saturday before Pride, lesbians gather in Bryant Park as they prepare to march down Fifth Avenue towards Washington Square Park.

The reason for the creation of the various Dyke Marches was to protest what many women saw as the control of Gay Pride events by white gay men at the expense of lesbians in general and women of color in particular. Many of the Lesbian Avengers were also concerned that New York's Gay Pride March was losing its political edge as it became more accepted by the city courted by corporate sponsorship.

While the Dyke March in New York has always been nominally open to all women, there has been a movement to push for transgender women and bisexual women to be more accepted and visible in the March and within the queer women's community. Men have been asked to stand on the sidewalks during the New York Dyke March and cheer on the marchers, and a small number of primarily gay men often join the marchers after they reach Washington Square Park. As with the San Francisco Dyke March, the organizers do not seek out a permit, and put a high emphasis on the political. Even though there are many club nights and parties after the March, the event is not so much about entertainment as it is about educating about Dyke issues and promoting the visibility of lesbians within the larger LGBT community.

Dyke Marches are now held in Toronto, Montreal and Vancouver, Canada as well as Seattle, Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, and other cities around the United States.

Countdown to Pride: New York LGBT Center Turns 25

Found in Today's Metro NY Newspaper

Remember 1983? I do. We were in the throes of the AIDS epidemic, burying our lovers, partners and friends. Who could have imagined that 25 years later, same-sex couples in New York could marry legally in California, return home and have their marriage recognized by the state of New York.

As the executive director of the New York LGBT community’s “Grand Central Station,” The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center, I have a front row seat to our community’s struggles and triumphs.

This weekend in New York City, as the center marches with our float in the Heritage of Pride parade, we will be celebrating a wonderful achievement — the center’s 25th anniversary. Of course, there is work ahead of us, especially the Center’s urgent need to grow in order to meet the needs of our diverse community.

Let’s go back to the early 1980s, when the time was right — New York’s gay community needed a center. The Center appealed for gifts and loans to raise the $150,000 downpayment for 208 W. 13th St.

Aquarter century later, we have more than 6,000 people a week come through our doors, and thousands more from around the world connect with resources and community at www.gaycenter.org. More than 80 staff members and hundreds of volunteers provide services for all the diverse parts of our community — from youth and families to transgender people to individuals struggling with crystal meth addiction. Every day there is a broad array of art, culture, music and other events to attend. You can browse the stacks of our library or surf the Internet at our cybercenter. The Keith Haring room is an international art-lovers destination. You need to see it to believe it.

Today the Center is an established home for LGBT New Yorkers in all our diversity — just as our founders envisioned in 1983. But even now the LGBT community lacks basic civil rights protections at the federal level and incidents of prejudice and violence are still common, even in New York. We still have far to go to achieve full equality. We still need a place where the community’s heart and soul can reside safe and secure. That place is the Center.

When you walk into our lobby, you enter, in the most profound sense, a safe, queer space built for you. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender people and our allies own our piece of New York City. Of that, all New Yorkers should be proud.

By Richard Burns

I have been to The Center time and time again. The Center is where I attended my first ACT UP meetings, where I first met Larry Kramer, where I attended and helped run meetings for the Queer Justice League, where I heard Michael Cunningham read, where I attended disco blaring hairy chested dance parties. For 25 years The Center has been home to so much - I wonder what it will bring in the next 25...

What have you seen or done at The Center?

Happy Pride.

Blog/Work Balance

I had huge plans this week to post something about Pride or Gay History every day until the actual Pride event this Sunday but unfortunately work has been kicking me in the groin lately and because so my plans have been disrupted and I somewhat dropped the ball. Grumbles.


Until work settles, go ahead an pop over to This. That. No Other written by my blog BFF Brett Stewart and empower yourself on his rant about Shirtlessness, Public Sex, Pride and those who roll their eyes.