Would You Like Some Glitter with That?
I love the gays and at this point, I know quite a few. There are the guys I dated that ended up hitting for the other team. (What can I say? There is a reason I had the nickname "the rainbow gate" in college.) There are the close gal pals that enjoy the soft touch of a woman. And every time one of my lady friends comes out (we're now up to two) and my parents find out, they ask if there's "something I'd like to tell them."
Anyway, I made my way down to the gay pride parade this weekend and I was most certainly not disappointed. There were gays of every race, proclivity, political inclination, and group you could think of. There were the metrobears, the drag queens (god bless them for walking 50 blocks in five-inch heels), the group randomly against circumcision, and every sport under the son. There was even Chuck Schumer. And of course, throughout the entire parade there was an assortment of dance music blasting.
One of my favorite moments was when a delightfully flamboyant gentleman on one of the floats who had access to a microphone decided to make up his own song about safe sex to one of the dance beats. In the middle of his song he looks out at the crowd, utters "I like your shirt," and goes right back to his song. Don't ever let what you're doing get in the way of keeping your eye on fashion, dammit.
Another highlight? The corporate floats. Delta, Starbucks, and Altoids, among others, must have combed their entire company for the hottest gays to strut their stuff in Speedos and glitter. Apparently most companies have about 11 gay employees. The ones that aren't as attractive, who must only work for Delta, are forced to sashay down the route in a blowup Delta plane, complete with wings, and most likely no inner ventilation.
Also represented was a lasik surgery company. They had a banner held by six timid girls. Behind them was a man who was half drag queen, half body hair who also held a lasik poster. Why that would compel me to improve my vision, I'm not sure.
I also learned an interesting lesson. Sometimes the best way to deflect a derogatory comment is to really own it. Sandwiched somewhere in between the gay volleyball team and the gay square dancers, was a group of men covered from head to toe in purple. They were twirling flags. They were loving it. And the group's name? The flaggots.