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This personal account is for anyone who has ever wondered "What is Pride in Toronto really like?" Everyone's experience is quite different, of course - this is mine. Thursday Pride begins with a patio dinner @ Hair of the Dog with my new friend, MC. Bring it on!!! I am so ready ... Off to Cheap Queers @ Buddies, hosted by someone I wish well, but would prefer not to be exposed to again. Unequivocally the oddest show I've seen in a while. Or ever. Although there isn't, theoretically, anything wrong with starting Pride off with the evening's emcee showing us her, um, vulva, live and, well, gyrating ... through the magic of video and giant screens on each side of the stage. Anything beyond about three minutes felt like overkill. 10+ minutes was a bit much. As was the business with the cell phone and cycling through seven irrelevant messages before getting to the actual intro that was the eighth message. As was singing the entire song The Rose, naked while smearing one's breasts, belly and pubic hair in Elmer's White Glue, pasting fake flower petals against these areas and then jamming a dried flower arrangement in one's butt as the finale. These are supposed to be INTROs to other PERFORMERS ... not attention-seeking mini-performance pieces. "... she's not ... no, tell me she's not ... not cutting herself. Yep, that is exactly what she is doing. She is cutting her calf, pretending to be shaving ... I can't believe this ... that's a paintbrush. She is painting the next performer's name in her own blood on her thigh. I do not believe I have vocabulary for this ... " I wish I was joking. Individual performances were, in some cases, wonderful. Chad Walasek performed a South-East Asian dance (Thai, maybe?) that I would have happily watched much more of - spellbinding. Laura Barrett - quirky, sweet and compelling... really, go to her MySpace and listen. She plays the kalimba like nobody's business. Evalyn Parry - very charming opening act ... Micah Barnes is always powerful. Kaleb's striptease was deeply moving in unexpected ways, taking us on a gender journey that combined aggression and tenderness ... and joy. I just wish the show had been hosted by Bob Barker. I felt sorry for the performers who were constantly being asked to take the stage after the emcee had just pushed the envelope just a bit farther each time, often leaving the audience murmuring and reeling and, sadly, not always "open" to the first few minutes of the next performer's time - which was a shame. Friday Pre-Dance Pride Party @ Riv's " ... nice smart funny women ... oh, look - there's boob cake! Yay! I'll have me some'o'that ... and some wine ... yes, more of both please ... yes - let's sing a song about breasts ... wheeee ..." Drenched @ Opera House H20 only for me at Drenched, which seemed somehow appropriate. Great vibe, as per usual. "... wow ... who is THAT?" (person with hearing loss attempts conversation with her friend N over impossibly loud music) "N, who is THAT? .... What is her name? .... what? ... Irma? (that can't be right) ... what? ... WHAT?... oh, never mind ... " Much dancing and revelry. More H20 for me. As the evening progresses, Drenched becomes more like a rave than a traditional dyke dance ... and a pretty sexy rave at that. I went over to the bar to get another bottle of water. "... I wish the lesbians would just chill and let loose a bit ... these bi-women rock ... they know how to party ... most of these dykes are irrevocably coupled, or they want to believe they are. I mean, look at that cluster. They are dying to dance with each other's partners. I can read that from here ... but will they? No ... they'll cling to each other with some patriarchal notion of ... wait ... omigod ... she's coming over here ..." The Most Beautiful Woman whose name I've been trying to determine strides directly over to the bar, stands beside me, looks at me, pulls a five dollar bill from her bosom and says, "What kind of beer do you think I can get for five dollars?" And I am suddenly, completely and utterly without intelligible speech. "... gawd, I love Pride ..." Saturday - Dyke Day TDgenderequity The street festival part of Pride always seems to have the same beginning for me, going on over 20 years now. Sometime around noon on Saturday, which is now brilliantly and perfectly known as Dyke Day, I walk along either Gloucester or Isabella towards Church, already grooving to some beat or other, either real or imagined. The sun is usually shining and something in me at a cellular level just starts to open up. I pause for a good long while before actually entering the swirling mass of humanity on Church, looking up and down the street. The street will be half full at this time on Saturday, meaning it looks pretty damn full already. About four hours from now, and for most of tomorrow, it will be almost impossible to move along sections of Church St. To my right, a few blocks up, will be the Dyke March marshalls and they will be scurrying around, looking at their watches, barking into their headsets and wondering where all the registered Marchers are already. In front of me, and to the north and south, will be booths from various artisans, organizations and corporate sponsors. Speaking of corporate sponsors, TD finally decided to move towards gender equity in their exposed flesh marketing campaign. I'd be happy to debate the relative pros and cons of the corporate presence at Pride, however I will state that I am in favour of the TD movement towards gender equity. "... yet another person has brought their dog to Pride. Poor doggie - it is hot, crowded, people are behaving unpredictably. Dogs do NOT have a good time at Pride. They don't look proud - they look scared. This is SO avoidable ... poor doggies ... why would anyone bring their dog to Pride ... mumble, grumble ... " Texting - texting - 1-2-3 ... how did we ever do Pride without text messaging? Have you ever noticed that some lesbians don't look very happy about it? There are so many subsets and tribes in the dyke community and I noticed one in particular this year. The Grumpy Lesbian. The Grumpy Lesbian looks like she has been practicing her Grumpy Lesbian Face for several weeks leading up to Pride. This is usually a partnered person who is "holding her partner's hand" (read: dragging her chosen one through the crowds) with both of them looking like they'd rather stick pins in their eyes than be at Pride. Occasionally, but not always, sporting a mullet - in fine lesbian tradition - and often seen in a golf shirt. Best to stay out of their way - handy to have in front of you if you are trying to get through a crowd quickly. "... hi ... nice to meet you ... wow - you have really beautiful arms. Seriously. Those are the arms I want when I've done a few more months of circuit training. How many push-ups??? Whoa .... alrighty then, maybe six more months of circuit training ... " " ... hi ... yes, I'd like the Christmas CD please. How much? OK ... here is an extra $5. I bet you could use it. Hope the new director is fabu - I've heard good things. What? Come back? Me? I'm sorry ... I don't think that will be possible at this time." "... wow ... look at that gorgeous woman ... mmm ..." "... no, seriously ... DO NOT bring your damn dog to Pride ... poor thing ... did you at least remember to pack some water? Did you? ... no, obviously not ... even if you did, the poor dear is too stressed to actually drink it ... " "Why do dykes march and 'gays' parade?" "... wow ... look at that gorgeous woman ... mmm ... I wonder if there is an increase in incidents of whiplash on Pride Weekend ... " " ... ooo ... yummy boxers ... ooo ... yummy environmentally-friendly bi-women ... yummy mommies ... call it a march, call it a parade ... I call it yummy ... " Night-time ... Party @ Pam's "... whoa ... check out this patio ... SA-WEET! ... where is my wine? ... Dancing ... Live music borrowed from the Wellesley Stage ... where is my wine? ..." "... there she is again, the MBW ... don't stare, it's rude ... why can't I get her name to stick anywhere useful in my brain? ... where is my wine? ... a conversation about guitars, yes ... this will help me to not stare but does nothing to help me nail down this woman's name ... where is my wine?..." "You are leaving? Now? (long pause) I am profoundly sad about this." So, now I'm drunk and speechless. Not good. She leaves, taking all the air out of the room with her. I stare at the space she just occupied, my mouth moving, helpless, like a fish trying to breath out of water. Finding oxygen outdoors on the patio, I recover. I dance. I make new friends. "Chips - anyone want some chips?" Time passes, I run out of wine, and it is my turn to be ready to go. "Bye everyone ... nice to meet you ... thanks for the great party!" Note to self: When leaving this apartment building, do not mistakenly (or drunkenly) press "GR" in the elevator. I now know this stands for "Garbage Room" or "Garage Rear" or "Gone wRong" or some such. I was promptly deposited in an outdoor, fenced area where garbage bins are stored. There are no handles on the doors that have just slammed behind me and I am now fenced in with giant waste bins behind a restaurant and beside a parking lot. Somewhere out there, close by, even at this hour, techno-beat is thrumming away. I see only fences and bins. " ... uh oh. Groggy ... Think. ... Well, if I call upstairs, they'll never hear it. That fence doesn't look so high ... I think I can manage it ... " The knapsack went over first. Now, I'm committed. I got half way over and I heard footsteps running across the parking lot and a commanding-sounding female voice hailing me. It would seem, from the parking lot side of the fence, that I look like I'm breaking into a private event. Did I mention that I think women in uniform are really hot? Sunday - Pride Day! *slight pout* " ... I wish I'd made some arrangement for brunch today ... rats ... " Two phone calls and one instant message chat later, I've secured a brunch plan. It is a very Michigan moment for me. I like it. Loved the dim sum too ... whoa ... that was a whole lotta dim sum ... we sure can pack it away! Once more into the breach, my friends ... also known as Gloucester and Church. " ... more texting ... where is everyone and do I really want to watch the parade this year? Yes, a bit of it perhaps ... texting texting ... shady spot on Gerrard with Sister Crisp and Co ... sounds great! ...wait ... I want a massage first from that lovely woman in the hat ... nice massage chair ... mmm ..." OK - now, I'm ready for the parade and I start down Church St. towards Gerrard. " ... ok ... you, with the EIGHT WEEK OLD TERRIFIED-LOOKING PUPPY in your arms!! Are you fucking serious with this?? Honest to Pete, you are so damn lucky that there isn't a Grumpy Lesbian barreling her way between me and you, honey ... wait a minute ... in this moment, I AM a Grumpy Lesbian ... harrumph ... " After about 40 minutes of the sheer fabulousness that is the Toronto Pride Parade, I've about had it. Unfortunately, that means less than one third of the parade. Here is the thing though ... and if this long, rambling, mostly random post has a punchline, it is right here: The amount of sheer energy, human celebratory energy, gathered in a few city blocks, is mind-blowing. Sure, some people are there for the party atmosphere. Some people can't really see the political perspective of it - and, yes, the politics of this event are up for debate. What is NOT up for debate is that 95% of the people present - well over a million people from all over the world - are having a terrific time being in a place where the answers to central identity questions about orientation, attraction, gender - the answers DO NOT MATTER and whoever you are, you can find kindred souls here, somewhere, in the melee. And, for some, this is still the one place, sometimes only once a year, where that can happen. We are so lucky in this part of the province. We forget that the Rest of Canada, even the Rest of Ontario, is not so free and easy with the social issues around our individual and often swirling sexual identities. Pride draws in the people who need to be here and feeds them on some deep level that the rest of us who have the privilege of drinking from this well of societal and self-acceptance as often as we like would do well to remember. The other 5%? Those are the Grumpy Lesbians although, in truth, I think they are actually enjoying themselves too. They just have a funny way of showing it. Stormthreatens I make my way back up Church. "... hope the weather holds out ... " It did, actually, although it looked pretty threatening from time to time. That building on the left in the photo is the almost abandoned Maple Leaf Gardens. Just slightly north of MLG, I acquire two new temporary tattoos. An air-brush stencil of a gecko on my left arm (green of course) and a water-applied arm-band of musical notes on my right. The lovely TD goddess left me with a TD tattoo yesterday, so I'm all stenciled up now. Just north of the temporary tattoo booth is the SPCA booth. " ... mmm ... another woman in uniform ..." " ...excuse me but have you noticed all the people who bring their dogs to Pride? Why do they do this? Is there anything that can be done to encourage them NOT to bring their dogs? Arresting them perhaps on charges of cruelty to animals? No? Oh. (pause) OK - Damn. I'll take some plastic bags then, please. Are these bio-degradable? ... so, how long have you been working for the SPCA? ... " Incoming text ... beer possibilities at 519. From where I am standing, on Church south of Alexander, the 519 might as well be in Timmins but, undaunted, I begin that crazy thing that you do mid-afternoon on Pride Sunday. The hunched-shoulders, slightly sideways shuffling walk through crowds thicker than those found on a Tokyo subway platform. Four years later, upon arriving at the 519, the entry line-up is eight miles long and the beer garden is full anyway. Via text, I accuse my friend of having slept her way in there however, looking at the bear-like security guard on shift, I think that is unlikely. Incoming text ... Lex, Ger, Nancy and Andrea have secured a table at the south stage. Ever the glutton for punishment and tempted by being able to spend even more time, beyond dim sum, with these fine people, I breathe deeply and plunge back into the seething masses. At Wellesley, everything stops. No surprise. Total log jam. On my immediate right, almost standing on my foot, there is a beautiful woman wearing stunning aqua-green glass earrings. She may have been wearing clothes but all I saw were the earrings. They were, of course, green and thus of interest. I asked her whether she got them at a booth here and if so which one? She said her girlfriend, who appears immediately in my line of vision, brought them for her from Argentina. I compliment them on excellent taste as the earrings were really[...]