Lots of people seemed to stand for marriage. The kind of guy who once was dressed in leather, now had on a wedding dress, it was liberating -- odd, sort of cool and made me aware of the importance of standing out. Couples that had been together for a long time marched with signs touting their commitment; a few groups of marchers thanked Albany while being hopeful about reform.
I don't know if my view of pride has changed, or maybe I've changed; it's probably a bit of both. But I really enjoyed myself this year. It was fun. I had no expectations. I figured, I have the chance to hook up with hot guys all year long, I had a really amazing birthday the day before -- so I was simply content to enjoy the diversity and leave my pride expectations behind. So many people get caught up in the flutter of colors and pressure to connect, to find a hot boy for the night, that it never seems fun.
The friend I was with constantly reminded me the importance of just showing up and being in the parade. To have our presence felt. That was the concept behind pride and the rest is just garnish (forgive the fluttering prose).
It amazed me how many politicians where represented and marched. Chuck Schumer reminded the crowd he was the first senator to march. Mayor Bloomberg paraded (I think he opened the event); former Mayor Koch was there. It seemed like every politician was represented.
The branding and companies trying to reach out was at the same time perplexing, wonderful and struck me as weirdly accepting (I can only think of the meetings where the decision to send a delegation or a billboard happened). Everyone seemed to want to market to the gays. From local bars to companies that marketed their marketing of companies (does that seem right?), there was Nivea, Delta and Bacardi. I lost track and couldn't take notes anymore, a lot of efforts in guerrilla street marketing happened in tandem to the parade.
Fresh Direct was followed by Hillary for President supporters. Shortly followed by Las Vegas. Altoids littered the ground (people told me they had a great float), Google employees marched. Kiehls employees threw moisturizer into the crowd. Obama supporters were also there. Other supporters from the bevy of presidential hopefuls also stymied for attention.
I randomly talked to a cute guy from Russia that was staring wonderfully at the world, the only thing he could murmur, "We don't have this in Moscow." I tried to mention their budding attempts to have a parade; he just looked away.
The parade seemed bigger and more elaborate then before -- at the same time more subdued, mature and together, the young gays and the old, co-habiting in tacit understanding. I realized fedoras were in fashion. (As well as short shorts worn by 70s porn star types.) I only saw one guy in chaps and one in leather. Everyone else choosing more subtle ways to assert they're sexuality. It was pushing five. The parade doesn't seem to be ending. The men are just getting hotter; the parade finally ends at 6:40. I'm a blocks away from Stonewall were it all began.
At the bars later, people mumbled and mused, wondering if Hillary herself had been there, past accounts of when she marched were shared; I reminded everyone that she just couldn't do it this year.
I saw a lot of former lovers and one night stands. Some looked better then I'd remembered, some worse or some simply had stayed the same. For some reason, cocktails always seem to shrink and the drinks are weaker.
I met up with bar acquaintances and sipped vodka; we pondered the changing nature of pride. A former lover that I've had torrid few years with entered the bar; I glanced over and saw he was on a date, watched him flirt around, the date staring on, watching him, pondering his inability to connect, I stared, noticing the repeating pattern, yet again, turned to my cocktail once again and made the conscious decision to move on. So I talked to a gorgeous gay, who I've had my eye on for a very long time. Moving on is excellent, as is understanding that change happens in small steps as we learn about ourselves slowly.
I continued to hang out on the porch of a favorite bar and a little old lady walked by, she mumbled something about hotdogs the bar had been grilling, and I said there weren't anymore. She asked if I was at the parade, I said I was, she smiled broadly and raised a fist in the air singling her support, "Good for you." Then she moved away, mumbling about hot dogs and grills.
I went home, needing to sleep and charge for a packed week to come.
[Picture found at Towleroad, taken from Boss Tweed's Flickr Stream (who seemed to catch a lot more salaciousness then I did)]