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Today was a first for me: I got my hair dyed. And then I thought, what the hell, let’s dye it ALL THE COLOURS. So, in honour of Pride and especially our lovely rainbow crosswalks, I got myself all 8 colours of the Pride rainbow.
Incidentally, this is the first time in a long while I’ve felt really happy with how pictures of myself looked. I guess all I needed was different hair colour?
Vancouver celebrated Pride this weekend. And that means a lot of things, some familiar and some not.
Vancouver celebrated Pride this weekend. And that means a lot of things, some familiar and some not.
First, the Davie Street Dance Party. To kick off Pride weekend, the Vancouver Pride Society takes over four or five blocks of Davie Street, puts in a couple of stages with DJs and performers, food and drinks booths, and then fences the whole thing up and charges an ungodly amount of money to get in. Seriously, a lot of people were less than pleased at what they considered a shameless money grab. $20 to basically enjoy what you’d get at any club, except you get a smaller selection of drinks and it closes at 1AM? Yeah…
Still, I went. Got there early when there was still some light out, paid my $20, and wandered around until I ran into friends. Then I ran into some more friends. Hugs, hugs, catching up, wishing each other “happy Pride”—really, the only reason I was out tonight. Then the crowds grew fiercer and the music got louder, and it got a bit less fun. I danced for a bit, but the party was just too exhausting for an introvert like me, and I called it a night around 11:30.
Which was longer than I’ve ever lasted, when I think about it. Once or twice I skipped the whole thing entirely: 2008, especially, because I’d been laid off that day and I just wasn’t feeling sociable. But generally, I just don’t last very long at all; I don’t like the club scene, and the street party is basically like one big open-air club with an outrageous cover price. If I’m not with people I know, or don’t immediately run into them, I’m more likely to ditch the whole thing. So hey, I guess I’m getting more outgoing!
Saturday was the Dyke March. I’d never gone, and I didn’t really have any plans until a friend in the Rainbow Marching Band invited me to tag along. I ended up helping to carry the banner, but I didn’t mind. The Dyke March is a great event, full of energy, very small and informal compared to Sunday’s parade, with much more of a sense of community. Individuals can walk along, groups carry hand-made banners, participants are invited to sign or initial the main banner (they make a new one each year and keep the old ones). No gigantic truck floats for WestJet or Royal Bank or Celebrities. No politicians that I could see, either. It reminded me of Ottawa’s Pride marches when I came out in the early-mid-90’s, back before it got all corporate.
Sunday was the Pride Parade. Corporate or not, you didn’t think I’d miss it, did you? As I’ve done for the last several years (since I moved downtown, in fact) I volunteered walk with the VGVA float; we’d be handing out freezies (insanely popular), suckers (not so much), a few of us would pass balls around, a few more would spray water at the crowd or just wave. Good times. And I got kudos on my control of the ball—because the last thing you do is have it shank off into the crowd.
Dinner, nap, shower, and I was off to the Vancouver Men’s Chorus Big Gay Sing. I’ve been going for the last 3 years (since it started, in fact) and it’s always tons of fun. We get to sing along to classics (the Sound of Music medley is always a favourite) and new material (Lady GaGa, Call Me Maybe) with cute little skits and clever costumes and production numbers.
Then after the show, I hurried home to follow Curiosity’s landing live (well, live minus the light-speed delay). I’d already seen the Seven Minutes of Terror video and knew that as crazy-awesome as this crazy-awesome plan was, it could still fall apart so easily. But that didn’t happen; atmospheric entry happened without a hitch that I could see, everything went perfectly smoothly. And when they received word Curiosity had touched down, the control room just went crazy. Don’t ever think scientists can’t get emotional! This was the culmination of years of work, one of the first steps on the road to the stars.
Then they started receiving images, and the room went fucking nuts again.
It’s times like this I feel Humanity can do something to rise above its present condition, to be more than it is now. People could say that we should hold off exploring the cosmos until we’ve solved our problems here on Earth—but, first, all the deep-space telescopes and Mars landers and particle accelerators only cost a fraction of what we spend on wars or filthy rich CEOs’ tax breaks. Second, endeavours like this give us (or some of us) some much-needed perspective. Astronauts on the moon saw the Earth rise above the Lunar horizon, a pretty swirl of blue and white, no national borders in site. In 1990 Voyager 1 snapped a picture of Earth from 6 billion km, a barely visible blue pixel in the vastness of space.
So yes, Curiosity is important, pun intended. This weekend I celebrated my pride in myself and my beautiful queer community, and I am just as proud of America’s achievements. Here’s to a bright future!
But no, there was no rain, and though the sun did come out in the afternoon, it never got terribly hot. Which was a good thing, because I had to move my ass for over two hours, either walking, dancing or volleying.
The day started out a little cool and overcast, and some were afraid it would rain (especially since it actually had rained for a little bit on Saturday). That would have been a first for me. The only rainy Vancouver Pride Day I remember was in ’96, and I wasn’t even in town for that. I’d moved to Vancouver in early August ’96, and remember seeing pictures of the parade in Xtra! West.
But no, there was no rain, and though the sun did come out in the afternoon, it never got terribly hot. Which was a good thing, because I had to move my ass for over two hours, either walking, dancing or volleying. I was with the VGVA group again this year; our setup didn’t change much, except for the lack of a net. That turned out to be a good thing, since it took up less space (an issue on crowded Robson Street), and we didn’t have to assign 2 people to hold it up. But the crowd-pleasers remained: dancers, volleyballs flying back and forth, and of course those two giant balls. They were too awkward to pass, so we just rolled them around and into the crowds. Kids love that, they push it back towards us, it gets them involved. It’s win-win!
A little after we turned on Denman, Symone joined us for a bit to toss balls around. I tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a six-foot drag queen, dressed so fine, volleying with perfect form—she used to play in VGVA, dontchaknow! Just not in drag.
All those hours of listening to ABBA’s greatest hits finally paid off!
And is it just me, or are there a lot more straight people in the parade lately? Besides the usual sponsors and politicians, I mean. I’m thinking especially of CFI Vancouver and the BC Humanists, most (all?) of whom had never been in a Pride parade. And maybe it’s because I’ve got my ear to the twitterverse more, but it seems to me they’re talking about Pride not just in terms of a fabulous party, but also in terms of human rights. I approve of this.
After the parade, I took a few hours to rest and recuperate, then I was off to the Big Gay Sing. Is there anything gayer than a couple hundred men singing along to an ABBA medley, Over The Rainbow or I Will Survive? I don’t think so! I had so much fun, and the aforementioned couple of hundred singers around disguised how totally off-key I was. And I’m glad that all those hours of listening to ABBA’s greatest hits finally paid off!
This event, part of Vancouver Pride Week, and taking place on July 29th, featured two excellent—and locally-made!—documentaries.
This event, part of Vancouver Pride Week, and taking place on July 29th, featured two excellent—and locally-made!—documentaries.
This film by Gwen Haworth chronicles her transition from male to female over the course of several years. It uses her own narration, as well as interviews with her parents, sisters and ex-wife along with old photos and home movies of her family, to weave a brutally honest and moving story. She takes us through every step of her (complex, often frustrating) transition process and, without judging, lets her loved ones express their feelings and concerns, in their own words.
The movie’s message (at least, what I got from it) is that finding and accepting yourself is hard work, but definitely worth it in the end. It looks like Gwen is now closer to her parents and siblings than she had ever been as Steven. And her mother was there with her at the screening. How awesome is that?
I love this flag, no matter how many tchotchkes it’s been made into
These are the words of Ken Coolen, current President of the Vancouver Pride Society, in this documentary on Pride movements around the world: Vancouver (yay!), Toronto, New York, Sao Paulo, Warsaw and Moscow. It brings home the fact that while we’ve got it easy in Vancouver (and Toronto, and New York, and…) there are many parts of the world where waving a rainbow flag runs a real risk of getting you beat up, or worse. There are 70 countries where homosexuality is illegal, including a few carrying the death penalty.
Even when it doesn’t, things aren’t exactly rosy. Warsaw’s parade attracts a couple of thousand people (as of 2007), and at least that many police officers, to protect them from some really scary (nationalist/hard-right Catholic) protesters. Moscow has similar anti-gay forces, except that their parades are illegal. Mayor Lushkov has consistently denied Moscow Pride a parade permit, which forces them to sneak about and perform quick public actions (though with lots of media present). Things are changing, though. The police still does arrest marchers, but they’re not as rough and don’t detain arrestees as long. So that’s progress, and it’s thanks to a few score incredibly brave, incredibly stubborn individuals.
A couple of segments looked back on our history: Ken interviewed one participant of the Stonewall Riots, as well as Gilbert Baker (creator of the rainbow flag, and one of three Grand Marshalls in our 2008 parade). It’s easy to think that the old queer revolutionary spirit is gone, what with the relentless partying around Pride Week, the massive sponsorship and commercialisation. But no, it’s not gone: witness the hilarious (and unofficial) New York Drag March, witness InterPride, where Ken initially connected with many of the people we saw in this film; witness efforts in Vancouver events to put our rights and privileges in perspective, with (e.g.) posters on Vancouver/Canadian queer history at the Pride Picnic, as well as a map showing how queers are treated worldwide.
And it’s easy to think that these parades are pretty pointless, except as huge parties and billboards for corporations eager to court the queer dollar. But hey, there’s more to Pride than this. It’s about visibility, and empowerment, and connection. Ken argues that Pride marches/parades are not the end, but a step on the road to true equality and human rights. And that the rainbow flag—overexposed though it is, maybe—has meaning, beyond just a pretty pattern to put on your bath towel.
I’m not as cynical as I used to be, back when I stayed away from the parade altogether. But even when I went back to watch, and later participate, I think I was missing something, and now I know what it is: a sense of perspective. About where Vancouver Pride fits in the grand scheme of things, and how yours truly, with VGVA, fits in Vancouver Pride. Food for thought, definitely. And, a renewed belief in the value of the parade.
Nikolai Alekseev, founder of Moscow Pride, was one of the special guests at the screening, and will be one of this year’s parade Grand Marshalls. After the screening I plunked down $5 for a lovely Moscow Pride ’06 keychain (which they were selling to raise funds). It’s the least I can do; gawd knows it’s not like they’ve got corporate sponsors!
Vancouver Pride Week kicked off Saturday with the Pride Picnic in the Park, a fun and casual all day event at Brockton Oval, near the eastern tip of Stanley Park. I was there with a small group from VGVA to set up a volleyball net for picnickers to enjoy. Last year we put it up way over at the south end of the park, and hardly anyone came over until the end of the afternoon. This time we were playing near the booths and beer garden, and you know that’s where the action is.
Vancouver Pride Week kicked off Saturday with the Pride Picnic in the Park, a fun and casual all day event at Brockton Oval, near the eastern tip of Stanley Park. I was there with a small group from VGVA to set up a volleyball net for picnickers to enjoy. Last year we put it up way over at the south end of the park, and hardly anyone came over until the end of the afternoon. This time we were playing near the booths and beer garden, and you know that’s where the action is.
The picnic’s a very casual, family-friendly event. There were lots of parents (queer and otherwise) with their kids and/or doggies, hanging out and enjoying the day. But there’s lots to do besides getting some sun (or staying out of the sun)! The kiddies (and kids-at-heart) can enjoy a number of fun queer games, such as the high heel toss:
(Unfortunately I snapped this picture a tiny bit too early, getting only the windup.)
Then came the sack race:
And the drag race. The challenge here is not to race in drag, but to put on your outfit piece by piece (bra, dress, scarf, purse, wig and hat), then race back to the starting line. No cheating by wearing your dress around your shoulders like a cape!
Then the tug of war. The picture here is (I think) of the second round, with gay men against lesbians. One of the guys said they were going to, quote “beat some pussy.” Joke’s on him, because the lesbians won.
Lastly, melon eating is a good way to cap off a scorching hot day.
We took down the nets around 5:00; the picnic was winding down by then, almost all the remaining people were sitting in the (cool, shady) beer garden. I got home, showered and changed, and got ready for some fireworks…
It was the August long weekend so you know what that means? The Vancouver Pride parade. The sun was shining, the rainbow balloons were floating, the leather queens were buff and be-harnessed. The idea this year was to have a moving game: a few players would bump the ball around while two held up the net, and a few more would run around giving out free junk to the crowds.
It was the August long weekend so you know what that means? The Vancouver Pride parade. The sun was shining, the rainbow balloons were floating, the leather queens were buff and be-harnessed. The idea this year was to have a moving game: a few players would bump the ball around while two held up the net, and a few more would run around giving out free junk to the crowds. We were supposed to (a) watch out for the overhead wires, and (b) not do any hard hits, because the ball would go into the crowd and someone might get hurt. Which happened many times anyways, though nobody was ever hurt. Besides, the crowd loved the spikes and hard hits. Hey, you gotta give the people what they want.
I played for a while, then switched off to hand out goodies. And, hah, part of me flashed back to those days of yore when little hypershy me had to sell chocolate bars for the scouts. Let’s face it: everybody wanted the t-shirts, but the fridge magnets? Not so much. I had to be a bit more assertive and in-your-face to move those suckers. Plus, we ran out of t-shirts early on while we still had stacks of the magnets at the end. Which reminds me, I should have gotten one for myself. Oh, but we also had some bitchin’ press-on tattoos with the VGVA logo and Web site; I put a couple on myself, and they made me feel all tough and butch.
Yeah, it was an awesome day. But afterwards I was exhausted, sweaty and disgusting. They’d asked us to wear league t-shirts, but maybe I should have thought twice about wearing this year’s colour. Because dark purple and blazing sun don’t really mix.
…while accompanied by a woman dressed like a volleyball and a man wearing an itty-bitty speedo, with volleyballs painted on his ass cheeks.
Yes kids, it was Pride Day, and I walked with the VGVA posse. Since most of them were in Montreal for the Gay Games, it was a pretty small production this year, just a small truck with rainbow balloons and streams and music… nothing too special.
…while accompanied by a woman dressed like a volleyball and a man wearing an itty-bitty speedo, with volleyballs painted on his ass cheeks.
Yes kids, it was Pride Day, and I walked with the VGVA posse. Since most of them were in Montreal for the Gay Games, it was a pretty small production this year, just a small truck with rainbow balloons and streams and music… nothing too special. We handed out little rubber bracelets with the VGVA Website on them, sprayed people with water, and I practiced my setting for the enjoyment of the people. Well, and also my own enjoyment.
Incidentally, a feather boa isn’t the best accessory to play volleyball in, especially when it’s, like, a hundred degrees. I was surprised at how warm those things are, at least around the neck. Gads, I don’t know how drag queens do it, I really don’t, with the dresses and the wigs and the accessories. How did they even keep their makeup in place, in yesterday’s heat? Laura (the human volleyball) had a bit of mascara on, and by the end of the parade it was running all over the place. But I had lots of fun. It was a nice change to be in the parade instead of watching it. On the one hand, I could only check out the floats just in front and behind us. On the other, I got to dance and play in front of all the people crowded along Denman and Pacific. Though I wasn’t exactly the centre of attention (see above, re: speedo, volleyball ass cheeks) it was a powerful experience to a formerly very shy, now not-quite-so-shy, guy such as myself.
Hey, that was fun.
Here’s the thing: I hadn’t been to the Pride parade in six years. I swore off in ’99 because I was disgusted at how commercial and corporatized the whole thing was, with the huge floats for the bars or mainstream sponsors (Air Canada, CIBC, Royal Bank, VanCity… come to think of it, is there a single major bank who’s not hot for gay money these days?), with less and less visibility for community or political organizations.
Hey, that was fun.
Here’s the thing: I hadn’t been to the Pride parade in six years. I swore off in ’99 because I was disgusted at how commercial and corporatized the whole thing was, with the huge floats for the bars or mainstream sponsors (Air Canada, CIBC, Royal Bank, VanCity… come to think of it, is there a single major bank who’s not hot for gay money these days?), with less and less visibility for community or political organizations. (The worst part for me was seeing parade volunteers with the KFC logo on the backs of their t-shirts.) It was all just a big show, long on glitz and short on substance and meaning, and I simply didn’t see any point in going if I’d just get riled up. So I didn’t, and everybody was happy. Plus, I got to keep sleeping in on Sundays.
So what’s changed? Well, for one thing, I’ve gotten used to getting up on Sunday mornings for volleyball. And there’s the news of same-sex marriage being legal now—which, I know, is not the end-all and be-all of queer politics, but is still a big deal. I’m still as cynical as ever, but not politically active, and I think I’ve gotten a bit more relaxed about some things, ready to take the good with the bad. And there is bad: corporate sponsors are even more visible now, especially at the after-parade festival at Sunset Beach, where booths for actual community groups were even more sparse than six years ago, edged out by the mainstream corporations. Though I have to say, I was grateful to the Fabutan booth for giving out free sunscreen. Sweet Jesus, but yesterday was a scorcher.
But there’s also good, because the parade and the Sunset Beach festival—KFC and Air Canada notwithstanding—are safe spaces where you can be as queerly outrageous as you want. And now that I’m back home in the suburbs, what are the odds I’ll see same-sex PDA’s, or gender-bending freaks, or topless women walking around? If I had a boyfriend, I’d never have the nerve to walk down the street hand in hand with him here. Hell, I’m not even 100% sure I’d necessarily do that in the West End either.
So. This was a good outing after all. I got out of the house, I ogled buff boys in their underwear, snapped some pictures… and I’ve got some food for thought. And you know something else? I think I’ll go back next year.