…no no no, no here! At Torontoist! I am their newest Queer news correspondent!

My first post is a quick and dirty email interview with Richard Ryder, a man I would bed in seconds (sorry Sharkboy!).

I’ve been busy the last few weeks with going away and such and missed reporting on the AIDS conference (I wrote a snappy article called “Steve’s Not Here” but tech problems blocked it) and the Church Street Fetish Fair, but I think I’ll be on top of things from now on.

Go figure! Me! A cub reporter reporting on cubs! Grammar and all.

Last weekend the southern Ontario BDSM group DSSG took over the entire campsite for their annual “whack-a-bum” weekend. The park, usually filled with drunken trailer trash manboys, was filled with straight men and women who communally believed in higher sexual prowess through pain and humiliation, made obvious by their thoughtful displays of St Andrew crosses and dog cages placed carefully beside their tents. How prepared! For those gay men who had rented for the year (the Seasonals), they were allowed to come and watch the festivities ($30 extra to actually join in on the slap-happy fun) and Sharkboy and I went to check it out.

One notable difference with this group as opposed to a regular weekend crowd was their energy level. It was up there and not in a FLY Nightclub kind of way. The music coming from their sites was a bit more rockish compared to the Cher beats that usually go on (and on) into the night. The DSSG people laughed in earnest, not in drunk/drugged hysteria. They smiled at the thought of being paddled. They dressed however they damn well pleased with not a word of displeasure coming from their fellow brothren/sisters. Despite all this, they weren’t as openly friendly as the usual trailer/campground gays. Why? Well, what happens when you insert a group of heterosexual women into a bastion of gay males? Right! Mysogonistic Cunt jokes! And I am sure that the tense comments regarding sexual identity and catty laughter coming from the Seasonal sites wasn’t falling on deaf ears as the DSSG women walked by. There was a palatable tension between the gay men and the straight women. I guess because they’re both after the same thing – a straight man. Regardless, it seemed to me that the most chatty, friendly people were the straight guys because they held all the cards.

Sharing the park meant that we shared everything. Including the tiny washroom/shower hut. One morning I exited a washroom stall after doing my morning poo, to clean my hands. I was stopped short at the sink counter by a woman who had her night bag and towel strewn across the only two sinks. I hedged a bit, making a “Um… Uh oh!” gesture with my hands.

She looked at me and glared: “I guess my stuff is in your way. You don’t want to touch my stuff?! Is it because I’m a woman?”

“No. I just took a dump and I don’t want to put my shitty hands on your towel.”

Regardless, the weekend was a nice change from the gossiping and trailer park politics.

After that weekend of whips. whacks and screams, we came home to the Church Street Fetish Fair. To compare the two S&M events would be like watching Philip Seymore Hoffman (DSSG) and John Goodman (Church St Fetish Fair) giving their best interpretation of Truman Capote. CSFF was embarassing, overbloated and over-hyped. No demos? No more than ten vendors? Only one bar doing an extended drinking patio into the street, and NOT the Black Eagle? Really Church Street BIA and Folsom Fair North: Make nice, stop this stupid, inane, in-fighting and get your shit together. The FFN boys know how to run a party. The CSFF people have a great party space. What happened between the two groups that split them like Nicole and Paris? Will they ever make up?

…getting caught in the throngs at the tail end of the day.

Sharkboy and I came back early to people watch as the parade went down Yonge. Some quick impressions:

Video link of the parade in progress: Bravo! Brilliant! Especially beside the big beer tent. A great use of technology!

Red Bull at the corner of Church and Wellesley: Can of Red Bull Energy Drink = $3. Bottle of Water = $3. Booth next door selling water = $1. Gay Dollar gougers seem to be pretty rampant.

JackFM’s Giveaway (and any other booth that gave away promo items): I pity these people. So many hands outstreatched in their faces for a sample of crap. I got a rainbow slinky with “Steward” stamped on the side. Huh? Rod? Jon?

The Police (or poor po po): Bless their hearts. One female officer outside the Market was hit on by a guy and his girlfriend as we slowly walked by. She just laughed it off. At the corner of Carlton and Church, 6 bike cops had subdued a gentleman in cuffs and sitting while he shamelessly puked on himself.

The EMTs: Corner of Church and Wellesley, two EMTs in a golf cart honk like mad to get to the other side of the intersection (I guess some tweaker crashed at the electronica stage). While most moved over, a pack of girls looked at the cart, laughed and continued dancing which made the passenger EMT get out and shove them aside. Bravo!

Best Advertisement: Spamalot, the Musical. Wandering the crowd was a guy in full chain mail, tunic and boots singing to himself the song “Always Look On The Bright Side of Life” while his Serf followed close behind with two coconuts making the horse hoof sound.

Least Interesting Product: BearWear. Sorry guys. Your tees might be of great quality but your graphics look like they were created by someone using Illustrator 6. Gradation circles are out. Admittedly you had a cool “gas station attendant” shirt with patch that I would have bought.

After a while we stood with The Postman just out front of the Bear Store in the middle of the street and let the crowd go around us like we were an island. That was fun but after a while, people bumping into me just got annoying.

I had just enough Pride. Hope yours was fun!

…never having to be in the city for it.

I loved Pride. I mean I love what it stands for (sans most corporate sponsorship) and I love how it’s a huge party and such, but as I grow older I’m getting pretty crotchety.

I remember the exact moment Pride became a burden for me:

When I use to do bar work at the Black Eagle I would get home around 6am during Pride week due to the sheer volume of clients, not because I was partying after hours (which I would have loved to do). One Pride Saturday morning I failed to notice the “Lesbian” stage that was set up yards from my apartment. At 6am I wasn’t very observant, I thought it was a beer garden. At 9am there came a roar of horridly bad, amplified Dyke poetry through my window. Menzies! Earth Mother! Blood! Rebirth! Yadda yadda all in a nasally voice that welcomed the dawn of a new sapphic day. The morning prayer was followed by accoustic guitar hooting, like Hee Haw had been overrun by Xena.

I realized from that moment on that Pride serves not it’s immediate community, but a concept.

Slowly, over the years, my rosey optimistic glasses slipped from my face and I started to see Pride in a harsher light. The thudding disco music from 9am to whenever; drunken straight “tourists” (sorry, AP! You can stay!) come to look at the “freaks” or open-minded thirds to spice up their lovelife; drunken gay “tourists” vomiting on my doorstep; friends and residents so wrapped up in getting laid by fresh meat they’re unable to hold a conversation with you due to their head scanning the crowd. And the crowds. The crowds trying to get past each other while a poorly laid out “drag stage” blocks the through-fare, forcing frottage fanatics to frollic freely.

Don’t get me wrong, I support Pride. I’ve done my time volunteering and being on either side of the parade baracade. I value it’s contribution to our visibility. But as a resident of the Village (and in speaking to others who live there too, straight and gay), Pride is like an 800 pound drag queen gorrilla that sits in the corner, demanding bananas, poppers and a DJ.

Maybe it’s time to move the celebrations to another part of the city? Sharkboy once commented that Riverdale Park would be ideal. I’ve been to Vancouver’s pride and it ends up in a large park. Why do we have to stay in the Village?

Regardless, I’m off camping. Be good, don’t puke in my doorstep and have a great Pride.