In Which Our Pride is Gay

 

Here is a an important secret about gay pride: gays, queers, homos, Nancy boys, whatever you want to call the members of the LGBTQIA+ community (and I knocked that whole acronym out without looking it up. I am a genius) grow up with the shame of being a sexual deviant drummed into our ears from a very early age. The earliest insult you could have thrown at you on the playground is to be called a sissy. So we have to learn to overcome.that stigma, or at least try to.  It's hard. And so the concept of."Gay Pride" was developed not so much to show pride in being gay (although, truth be told, I am rather smug about it,) but because pride is the opposite of shame and it's important for the community to understand that.

Anyway, here's this year's pride story:

I was out having a latte and a bit of pastry when my idyll was interrupted by the mewling sound of Wham's Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.  Decades ago, when the world was young and new and so was mrpeenee, my friends and I all despised Wham.  We were fierce partisans of the new wave rock movement.  Bands like the b-52s, Depeche Mode, The Human League, Eurythmics, the Buzzcocks, and New Order were what we'd dance the night away to.  It was certainly not the sunny, bubble gummy pop of Wham. 

As part of our growing queer sensibilities, we saved our particular scorn for the lead singer George Michael.  Long before the all-knowing internet gave us access to every hidden gem of a celeb's life, we had absolutely no question that Michael was a big ol' poof.

It was hardly a difficult mystery to crack. We even had very firm opinions about his sexual proclivities. We all took one look is at his butch leather/tight jeans/sneering/sunglasses and pronounced our verdict:  "Bottom." Of course time proved us completely correct. How gratifying.  I have to admit, even as we dismissed him and his music, we were all secretly, or not so secretly, swooning over him like some middle school tween girl reading Tiger Beat magazine.

Because he certainly was pretty. 

And that's what made the whole lurid story of his being busted in a tea room for "public lewdness"  all the more thrilling.  The idea that George Michaels' beautiful pouty lips might be the receiving end of a glory hole was so much more than any of us could have ever hoped for. Also, I just love the phrase "public lewdness." I long dreamed of visiting the restroom where he was arrested just to see the George Michael Memorial Toilet Stall. In poking around his Wikipedia article and the details about his being pinched by the pigs, I discovered that the park where the glory hole is located is in the middle of Beverly Hills and I have actually been there without even knowing I was treading on hallowed ground.  I realize with this audience, I have to rush to assure you all I was not in the restroom for dick, for once.

Anyway, that's our history lesson for Gay Pride. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. As part of this year's celebration, why don't you go stick your dick through a glory hole and imagine that the vacuum seal on the other side is the long gone but always beautiful George Michael.

Guys I wish I could meet through a hole carved in a stall wall:

Visitors to San Francisco for the World Cup games we're hosting have complained about a lack of enthusiasm locally for the games. They should understand we are simply pacing ourselves for gay pride which is this upcoming Sunday. It's our own World Cup of Queerness.

I have run into that ridiculous piece of jewelry known as a Prince Albert by knocking my teeth into it. I was not expecting it, and I did not appreciate it.

I never attend the pride festivities. As I say every year, I'm already gay enough.

I just love boys with skin as white as a freshly peeled potato.

Of course, I also love olive-skinned boys.

Bent.

I always feature this guy whenever I run across him. I think his beefiness is admirable.

Also, here's my salute to the summer solstice.