This weekend, I went to the customary celebration of Pride in San Diego. It was different this year. For the past several years, I marched with St. Paul’s Cathedral, but this time, I wanted to watch the parade itself. I got to hang out with my friends Scott and Kay, along with his neighbor Eydie. I missed visiting with all the groups pre-parade (and taking pictures of them) this year, but I got to see most floats in action. I wound up taking a little over 700 pictures this weekend. Here are some of them.
Obligatory display of male flesh for my Pride Post. This House Boi represents the clothing and furniture shop in North Park.
Clever, snarky caption alluding to some emasculated fundie (fire)men’s lawsuit that they were sexually harassed while riding the firetruck through the Pride Parade in 2007.
Spooning spoons at Adams Avenue Grill. I went out with my friend Scott on Sunday morning for breakfast, celebrating 11 years of friendship. On their tabletops are butcher paper and crayons, which I couldn’t resist drawing.
On Twitter, I mentioned that Pride was better than Facebook. I ran into friends of a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. Also, I saw the ex-partner of another friend of mine. Then I saw Juan, someone I dated a few years back. We remained friends, but he’s been in and out of my life. Then, there were many people I saw walking around (and even chatted with a few) at the festival. Fortunately, for me, no ghosts of Prides past this year.
From Scott’s home in University Heights, our group walked all the way to the parade route on University Avenue.
On the flip side, there are these protesters, the bane of everyone’s existence at Pride. They live in a special kind of hell as they’re not happy unless God is barbecuing everyone (especially the gays) in the Lake of Fire except them. They also make the rounds at Earth Day as they’re guaranteed to piss people off by the thousands. Their numbers become less and less each year, but they have a knack for proselytizing young men who are so far in the closet they’re freezing in Narnia. Oh, and there’s a certain poetic justice to them being behind horse shit.
Third obligatory display of male flesh. There were pedicab cyclists/drivers all over Hillcrest and Balboa Park. Of course, they were all good looking and fit. They kept asking me and Scott if we wanted rides, but we turned them down. We’re perfectly capable of walking to where we need to go. However, they provided a great deal of viewing pleasure for the walk.
Overall, this Pride was a lot of fun. Most of the floats could be counted on to be colorful and flamboyant, the exhibitors at the festival are the same year after year, but Pride’s best spent with friends, which I got to do. Here’s to the next one.