One day a year

Gay Pride Parades

 

All I did was get ready to fly home from my mom’s life celebration and all the family details, and just stay in NYC for two days, and all sorts of conflicting things happened on the great gay – straight divide. It’s quite a difference, the various opinions on the matter. What we are faced with in this nation is that roughly 5% of the population says we’re gay, and are rather insistent and consistent on the point, one could say. And 95% of the population is of various and mixed and sundry opinions and beliefs on the matter. We all say the same thing, “we are, get over it.” And you all have a plenitude of divers opinions, quite extraordinarily so.

 

It’s quite a mess you’ve made, Ollie and Laurel. For you range from “unnatural intrinsic evil that needs to be eradicated from this earth,” to “gays are just happy normal fellow citizens who deserve all rights and responsibilities incumbent upon citizens of this nation.” (This latter being what Barry Goldwater, the man who started the modern conservative movement said.) There are hundreds of different combos, shades, colors, textures, experiences and such and more that range all between these two extremes. In a sense, you all don’t know what you’re talking about, for you all can’t be right. Someone of you have to be wrong. We like the more Liberty & God’s gift based concept, some of you would like the police state back at us.

 

I just got back to Louisiana after leaving Pennsylvania, where my mother’s funeral was held, and New York City, where I went out to some bars, and had lunch with my cousin Gary, and then visited the printing company where I worked for 10 years, when I read all sorts of things. But, still, the boss of that printing shop, Al Esteban, a great man who pulled himself out of the Spanish speaking Puerto Rican NYC housing projects to create a company which employs nearly a hundred people, had also died this year. There were more, but Obama’s economy has dented the prosperity, and jobs could not be saved. The guys there, all my friends, true brothers in our mortal world, all gave their condolences to myself and my family. It was an all guy shop, and they all have pin up girls on the walls. And I had pin up guys. And they all knew I was gay. Oh did they know it.

 

In the beginning they had found a male manequin on the street one day, and brought him to me. He was naked. I thought, and pondered, and came to an elegant solution to his Adam-after-the-fall nakedness,. So I bought him some underwear. A sexy bikini type; black, revealing. And I cut down a mailing tube, which we used for the blueprints we printed, and stuffed it in the undies, to give some measure of man to the eunuch we make of male dummies, and mounted him on the wall. I never named him, nor did any of the guys. But they knew who it was. They figured it out. He was my guy, my pin up doll. And they realized that no matter how weird it seems, some 5% of the population is gay, everywhere. And if a bunch of essentially uneducated (blame the heterosexual government and the hetero-Liberals) but still smart in their way, ghetto guys (an economy destroyed by Democratic policies) can accept and deal with a gay guy, and the humor that might ensure, so can everyone else.

 

Now, yesterday, Saturday, while I was still in New York City, awaiting departure, I saw a most horrendous “ad” of the type that www.moonbattery.com usually runs – conflating “homosexuality, abortion, Islamic Fundamentalism and illegal aliens.” And many people commented, particularly decrying gay pride parades, since that was the picture shown above the text. And I thought of my own one man parade, at Esteban’s, where I’m still loved by all the guys, and accepted as just another taxing paying, rule suffering, politician loathing, Liberty loving American. The picture in the ad was of a parade in “San FranSicko” as one commentator called it. The banner behind the good looking Lesbian said something along the lines of ACLU, Gay and Proud. The commentators were apoplectic about gay pride parades, much as Carl Palidino was just the other day, in his run for Governor of NY.

 

I posted a most provocative comment, which elicited a response from someone telling me to “relax.” I seem to get that word a lot from folks to whom I point out the absurdity of comparing killing babies to being in love. Or how fellow taxpaying Americans born here to your families should not be compared to those whom might cross the border will bad intent. Or how the website itself was in league with Islamic fundamentalist in their excoriation of gay folks. Relax, that’s what they told me. I am rather relaxed, fear not.

 

And then this morning I see, at www.jammiewearingfool.blogspot.com that some firefighters in San Diego were forced by the city to march in the gay pride parade. What a mess this turned out to be. But only because of your conflicting views about gay folks. Lawsuits ensued, politics was used, and once again we were both a punching bag and a basketball, for you know not which game you want to play.

 

Now, we have no problems with all your wanton displays of sexuality. From the honeymoon suites and club med romantic getaway ads with sexily glad ladies and men in lounge pants. Nor do we object to the Victoria’s Secrets and other ladies’ delicates purveyors that punctuate the malls were you all wander about in tight embrace, or holding hands, and with a whole lot of touchy-feel and bussing going on. And your films, which we watch, for we have no other option, are all fitted with the obligatory 10 to 20 minute sex scene, with clothes abandoned and beds rumpled by writhing bodies. All quite out there in the open. And oh, yes, you do have your porn and your girlie bars, and quite a lot of beastiality of a sort we never even dream of. You kiss and hug and near fondle in grand embrace, by the hundreds, at every airport in the nation. You should see yourselves. Luggage barely put down, car doors left opened to peril by other smitten couples come home to greetings, and whomp, into each others arms you go. We of course, demur from such Public Displays of Affection – PDA’s as they’re referred to. We don’t put our romantic services to your view, but do maintain a quite vibrant separate economy, right on down to retirement homes. We’re pretty much out of view, to you, but find ourselves with convenient alacrity, wouldn’t you say? Sure you would, that’s what miffs you.

 

And then one day a year we have a parade, and OK, so some of us go a little wild, in some cities. We got our Jerry Springer candidates too. Sorry for that, but clean up your own front porch of the skanks, OK? But for the most part, among the several hundred gay pride parades, picnics, festivals and events around the nation each June, there’s very little anything but some hand holding, embraces, busses on the cheeks, some small PDA’s that one might see among you everyday of the year on a street corner, mall, airport or beach near you. So we do it once a year, when you let us have a permit to gather, no longer able to find a legal rationale to prevent it. Yet, we’re roughly 5% of the population, and we only get 1/365th of the year to play out in public. Still, it bothers you.

 

And so the city, Wrongly, (did I stress that enough?) forced the employees to participate in a non-official function. It would have been as if they required the firefighters to march in the St. Patrick’s Day or Columbus Day, or Latino Day, or German Day, or Native American Day, or Martin Luther King Day, or any other of the dozens of days a year that have parades in which firefighters might march. They don’t force firefighters there, do they? No, say it ain’t so. Now too, the city does sort of have a “civic pride” thing going on, in offering firefighters and their trucks to march in parades of all kinds. Perhaps so the populace might know the point of their taxes, and if the mayor be worthy of a second term. So the city should offer marchers for the gay pride parades, but only if they can find the firefighters willing to volunteer to show to the gay taxpaying citizens of the city that they give a damn about the scorned 5% too, and might come to be a hero and save a life and snuff out the flames devouring sustenance, like a firefighter might do for a straight guy in peril.

 

 

Now, since we’re only allowed out one day a year to play as you do, then it turns out that “catcalls” — which sounds so negative somehow, doesn’t it? – were made at the heroes the gay people pay for too. I’d rather think it was a multi-part display of adulation –

 

  1. having the guts to make the march – (but being forced now defiled that concept.) 2) showing that the city really does appreciate the contribution of the gay citizens – (even if you only do it once a year, begrudgingly, and decried yet by some,) 3) letting the gay community see where it’s tax dollars go, and 4) a great admiration for the fine and masculine, hunky firefighter that deserves a “hey cutie pie” every so often. Now, surely, you do know, that firefighters are very prone to display themselves in fine form, shirtless, in suggestive pose, with muscles a-bulge on calendars available to the general public in every city in this nation. You did not? Hmm. One can gain say that a minimum of 12 firefighters have shown an absolute fine regard for adulation of the sort thrown by the gay men of that parade. And surely, surely the fine people of San Diego do not think that the gay men hadn’t already bought the calendars by the thousands, and that at the same time the city firefighters in charge of sales did not know what Big Bob’s Gay Emporium in the gay neighborhood of San Diego was.

 

Really now. So, if some firefighters want to march in the gay parade, cool, and if they get adulated, cool. And it’s just for one day. That must be one of those “special” rights that gays get. That you don’t have, except on TV where salacious poses sell the most sundry products, even Pontiacs. Meanwhile, on your TV screens, in magazines, billboards, malls, movie screens, the internet, and at every parade of your kind comes the ladies in leotards, and bikinis, and less even still, and scanty indeed, and not just woman, not just over 21, but no, youths, impressionable too, to await the catcalls and hoorahs of the men in the crowd, and strut all the more dainty for the pleasure of it. Oh the horrors visited upon the children. And quite a few men, of late, like firefighters, do pose for adulation by the citizenry. And the catcalls are made, in various guise. What do you think “Top Ten Sexiest Men Alive” on People’s cover is all about? Oh, come, don’t be bashful.

 

And isn’t it amazing how you all seem to think that one day a year potential exposure to openly gay men with a little PDA is going to change your sons into raving homosexuals and screaming queens, and yet your constant barrage of heterosexuality, so normal even, you say, did not make us straight and does not budge us one iota. Indeed, we eschewed such indoctrination from the very first moments we started to figure it out. Hmm, what powerful minds we gays have, to escape the constant indoctrination you present, as you say we imperil your children by “indoctrination” by having a public moment all together, peaceably assembling, with First Amendment fervor, and take a census of ourselves, for one stinking day of the year. And for this you’re upset. Aw. At least those of you not in jail for committing a crimes against nature by killing your fellow man, woman or child or the lot. But a little public display of affection by us, one day a year, to which you don’t even have to subject yourselves to, and can avoid with amazing completeness, gives you the vapors. Give me a break.

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