'Bred Crumbs

Bother of the Pride

After several years in the cradle of gaydom, it's easy to get jaded about the Pride parade, to become overcome by sameness – by too many grand marshals, too many politicians in cars, too many hours. And what once was the novel thrill of the Dykes on Bikes now feels more like A Ridiculous Number of Lesbians on Needlessly Loud Motorcycles Eating Up a Whole Half-Hour of the Parade.

So we took a break and skipped it the past couple of years. But this year, we came back, and it was good for the soul – a booster shot of hope, thankfulness, and power. (Especially since we slept in a little and got there well after the D's on B's.) We saw lots of politicians in cars, true, but it was thrilling seeing the genuine love given up for Mayor Newsom, who, surrounded by a hundred pink-clad supporters, jumped off his car and ran the gauntlet of fans on each side of route. And even in the case of the less athletic ones, the total impression, of so many government officials not only willing to be in a gay event, but seeming to enjoy it, was heartening. And maybe there were too many grand marshals, but at least they were gay and none of them was Paris Hilton, who, in one of the greatest, stupidest WTFs of all time, was chosen to lead the LA parade.

San Francisco being San Francisco, every other topic in the world worked its way in the parade; for example, in a nod to the current top overblown, media-feuled local non-crisis, a contingent of gay pit-bull owners even had a float. As always, there were signs marking groups of such an exotic niche they couldn't possibly exist anywhere else, like PLUMBERS FOR TRANS EQUALITY and LESBIAN MIDWIVES. (Said a fellow spectator: "Isn't that on ABC?")

The winner for most unrelated long-shot cause this year goes to the man who stood in the street at the Civic Center celebration with a sign reading RETURN THE PRESIDIO TO THE MUWEKMA OHLONE NATION. The day after Lucas moved in.

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Top things overheard at Pink Saturday, the Pride Eve street party in the Castro:

• A woman to a male friend: "You can't be honest when you're sober."
• One of two men hurrying out of the Midnight Sun: "He's distracted! C'mon, let's go!"
• A man leaving a porta-potty: "It's awful in there, you don't want to know. But, Happy Pride!"

I couldn't imagine what could be so bad – until I entered the box next door. Even by porta-potty standards, the Castro conditions were truly appalling. Burning Man toilets (and, for that matter, the Pride potties at the Civic Center) seemed like executive washrooms by comparison.

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