B
itter feuds. Name-calling. Behind-the-
scenes intrigue. Time again for Gay Pride!
It happens every year. As sure as
swallows return to Capistrano (incidental
ly, do Capistranos swallow?), when it’s time to
blow up the rainbow ballcxms, someone always
gets their panties in a twist about overt displays
of sexuality at Pride.
They’ll argue that the media and our oppo
nents ignore the scores of “normal” people
marching and only focus on the most outra
geous behavior. They’ll plead with the radical
fringe to behave “decently” so we present an
image that’s acceptable to straight society. And
they’ll condemn anyone who doesn’t look and
act as if they were going to a Methodist church
picnic.
Not me.
Imagine, if you will, that I’m a mere gayling
of 20. OK, imagine harder. It’s 1986, and I’m
standing among thousands of queers gathered
for my first Pride rally, held at the Chelsea
Piers in New York City. A swishy little Latino
guy, all of 5-foot-nothin’, takes the stage to
warm up the crowd. He shouts, “Waddya call a
gay dinosaur F
I’m thinking, “I dunno, Paul Lynde?” when
he calls out the answer.
“A megasoreass!”
Here we are at the height of the A ID S cri
sis— men are dying every day, the rest of us
don’t even know whether it is safe to kiss— and
this queen’s cracking dirty jokes.
“Waddya call a lesbian dinosaur?”
Now it’s one thing to make a sex joke in
the middle of a plague, it’s another to mock les
bians. A guy could get hurt.
“A lickalotapuss!”
Brave man. He probably weighed 120
Sexually inactive
The neutering of Gay Pride
THE GOSPEL
ACCORDING
TO MARC
b y M a r c A cito
SPECIAL PRIDE ED ITIO N
pounds tops, hut 100 of them must have been
his balls. That night I went hack to my seedy
little sublet (alone, if you’re interested) feeling
invigorated and empowered, like I’d been initi
ated into a huge subversive society.
The following Monday the Supreme Court
announced its decision in the Bowers vs.
Hardwick case, upholding Georgia’s sodomy
law and the right for the government to arrest
us in our own homes for committing consen
sual sexual acts.
I’m still angry about it.
Seventeen Gay Prides later we are once
again anxiously waiting to see whether the
Supreme Court will finally see reason and find
sodomy laws unconstitutional. But even if we
are victorious, we still live in a world where the
third-highest-ranking Republican senator, Rick
“Sanctimony” Santorum, thinks it’s OK to
imprison us just for having sex, which is pre
cisely why those who call for restraint at Pride
have it backward.
See, what that daring little queen in
Chelsea understood was that, even under
siege, we must show the world
not just who we are, hut what
we do. In bed, that is. (Or in the
backroom, as the case may be.) Neu
tering ourselves is exactly what our
opponents want, and they won’t be
satisfied until we become like
real dinosaurs— extinct.
So while I’m proud of our
model citizens— the gay par
ents, gay teachers, gay cops
and, most of all, PFLAG par
ents— I’m also proud of the
lesbians here in Oregon who
march bare-breasted and
shout, “2-4-6-8, proud to be the
Beaver State!”
I’m proud of the leatherman
who shows up with his slave on a
leash. (This actually makes
sense, if you think about it— it’s
so easy to'lose one’s slave in a
crowd.)
And I’m proud of any gym
rat who has the good sense to
show off all his assets by
appearing in public wear
ing nothing but a thong
and a smile.
I’m reminded of the words of that other bril
liant gay columnist, Michael Alvear, who
writes in his latest book, Men Are Pigs, But We
Love Bacon: “I believe in total sexual freedom.
You get the freedom to do whatever the
hell you want; I get the freedom
, to make fun of whatever the
| hell you’re doing.”
Alvear is a man after my
own hard-on, not just because
of the shirtless pix of him at
www.menarepigsbutwelovebacon
.com, but because he’s a clever
trash-mouth who enjoys “whacking
the piety piñata”— someone who’s
made a mission of providing straight
talk about gay sex. (Plus you’ve got
to love someone who, when asked
what two bottoms do in bed
together, answers, “Hair and
makeup.” )
So to those of you who want
to monitor our behavior in pub
lic, think for a moment about
what happens when the govern
ment wants to monitor your
behavior in private, then join
me in my mission to loosen up
all those hetero tight-asses
(metaphorically, of course).
Frankly, I think half the
reason our enemies hate us is
that we look like we’re hav
ing so much more fun than
they are.
And that, my friends, is
The Gospel According
to Marc.
in
Write M a r c ACITO at rnarcadto@ im rrcadto.com
or meet him live and in person at the Just Out
booth during Portland Pride 2003 from 2 to 4 p m.
June 15 and 16.