Pride Weekend. It's basically upon us. (Insert exclamation of fear and/or loathing here.) Bend-It and F.U.S.S. kicked it off last night with an all ages carnival and dance party at Black Lodge. There was an organ grinder's monkey. There were elephants. There were free vegan corn dogs, popcorn and cotton candy. The dance floor was so sweaty that half the party was outside on the sidewalk at all times. "Diva" and "Bad Romance" got multiple spins. I heard one older lesbian couple remark, "I feel like a chaperone at a high school dance." But what's wrong with that? I was impressed that the whole shebang stayed alcohol-free. (Save that one dude who wandered in, repeatedly puking and blaming it on the popcorn.)
There was a time in my queer, queer youth that Gay Pride replaced Christmas as the thing I looked forward to most out of the entire year. Now, I feel a little bit more like the scene in Return of the Jedi, when Luke Skywalker faces that giant vagina dentata in the middle of the desert. (Fitting, I suppose, since Princess Leia, shackled to daddy Jabba in that gold bikini, is most definitely my root.)
Know what I mean?
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