Aug 21, 2011
NYC notes, #2: Gay Pride Parade
I saw beautiful freaks, shaved & greased Mediterranean men with gauzy neon fairy wings and glue-diamond-encrusted eyes, black bodybuilders in bondage, congressmen waving and pandering to the whooping crazies in the crowd leaning out over the blockades onto the shoulders of cops, soliciting hugs and kisses from passers-by. I joined the march mostly for the amazing vantage-point — I got to see the city's entire population, or so it seemed, streaming out around me from the middle of the street.
There was confetti dripping from the trees. There were people crowding the sidewalks, swinging off poles like sugar-hyped monkeys, hip-thrusting at traffic-lights, lounging on tenement balconies, standing lined up in shop windows like warm grinning mannequins, on the roofs looking down on this rainbow caterpillar wiggle-line dominating the streets of New York City. I had no props — not even a gay pride flag — though I wish I did. I wish I could’ve swirled in with my lime & magenta psychedelic priestess shawl that was lying scrunched in the bottom of my suitcase back at the apartment.
The parade petered out in Greenwich Village, & I was left milling around tents of free condoms, sex-ed brocures, rainbow hemp jewelry, and sizzling mozzarella corncake patties. Almost got picked up by a skinny Columbia-grad skeezball who said that it would be in the spirit of the occasion if we went off and had random sex.