I understand Jon has the right attitude, that the celebration is the result of hard work and real sacrifices by better men and women than me who struggled in the face of oppression. I know the idea of a huge parade and citywide party that lasts for days in honor of sexual deviancy is one which would have amazed and delighted those people. And yet, I don't want to go. I feel, keenly, that I am ingrate.
Plus, I'm sure this year's shindig will be unusually full on. A major victory in the Supreme court is reason enough to celebrate and the timing of it seems almost deliberate. The weather is even cooperating, unusually balmy and California-y, after a freak summer rain earlier this week cleaned everything up just in time.
I still don't want to go. My bad.
I think a problem is having been exposed to Mardi Gras for so long and New Orleans' brilliant grasp of how to have a good time. That's what I want here, the sassy lack of inhibitions, carpe fucking diem, that full throated WHEEEEE. Certainly, Gay Pride here tries for that, but somehow misses. Maybe it's the earnest fussing over not hurting anyone's feelings that hides behind the curtain of "inclusiveness." Maybe it's the corporate sponsorships butting in: "Gay Pride brought to you by Miller Lite, Citibank and Various Other Entities that Would Have Fired Your Gay Ass Fifteen Years Ago if They Knew You were a Cock Sucker." Although they'd probably have a hard time fitting that on the banner. Maybe I'm just turned into a grumpy old man who dislikes crowds and fajita stands. That's it, it's evolution.
So I'm not going. I am an ingrate and a bad person, but here's what it comes down to:
What we want for Gay Pride:
What we get:
So where can I go for coffee?