Brooklyn Pride was a sweet shambles of an event. (Actually, though, we only saw the parade; it was
waaaay too hot to schlep down to the stalls/performances/carb fest.)
It was my first ever night parade, and I must say I don’t quite get it (the fact that it was the first pride I’d attended where I could buy the next day’s paper on my way home didn’t quite justify it).
The best part was watching all the drama. The march was supposed to set off at 8, but by 9 there were no signs of anything (other than traffic disruption) about 10 blocks past the stepping-off point. Then the dykes on bikes showed up (the usual no-helmet rule seemed even more perilous in the dark), followed by some mounted police who may or may not have been gay (if they were gay, surely there’d’ve been more women—and they were in uniform, unlike the [chubby-looking] PBA group that marched). After that came an old drag queen (my dear, the only one of the night—a record, but who wants to be strutting their fabulousness when no one can see you?) with a dog in a pram—as a lesbian mother standing next to me remarked, "Now we know why men don’t have babies," after all, he kept walking off and abandoning the poor pooch in its carriage. Then came three guys holding up a Brooklyn Pride banner. They marched by us, and then they had to stand around for a while waiting, then waiting a little more, then getting aggravated with each other. After a few minutes they were just full-on fighting, arguing over what had gone wrong with the parade, the right way to hold a five-feet-tall banner, and, from the looks of things, why the guy on the left was cruising the crowd (though quite what he could cruise was hard to see—true to Park Slope’s reputation, it was mostly women lining the street). By the time they actually started moving (and it was an inexplicable age), they were barely speaking, and the queen on the right was passively-aggressively holding the banner so that "Brooklyn Pride" was folded over and illegible from the front.
There were no marching bands or twirlers or even any floats from local gay bars (just one dyke bar, geared to the older set, judging from the folks on the float), but naturally there were a brace of campaigning politicians—
Anthony Weiner and
Gifford Miller, who are both running for mayor. There was also a lovely lesson in how to be a pol: Brooklyn Borough President
Marty Markowitz was very well-amplified (very important), had his chants down pat ("LGBT Spells Brooklyn"), and was reciting the names of candidates who were sharing his well-lit float.
The parade finally passed our street (just a few blocks from the break-up point—and I bet there were some tonight) around 10 p.m. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that pretty much every other city has its pride parade during the day!
Labels: brooklyn, gay pride, park slope, pride
Being a New Yorker certainly makes watching the
Tonys more interesting, since for once I’d seen several of the nominated works and have the chance of seeing more whenever I can snag tickets.
I think the ceremony set a new high for same-sex kisses and shout-outs, which makes me feel even better about the world of theater. Jerry Mitchell, who won the Best Choreography award (for
La Cage aux Folles; he was also nominated for
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels) had a big smooch with his boyfriend before he went up for his statuette, and he thanked him by name (as bland as that sounds, it’s hard to imagine a winner using his partner’s name on national TV until very recently—even if the Tony ceremony isn’t exactly the Oscar telecast); Edward Albee dedicated his lifetime achievement award to his "life partner," who died last month; and the magnificent Cherry Jones snogged her girlfriend (who she also name-checked in her acceptance speech) when she heard she’d won Best Actress.
It’s funny how worked up we can get strictly on the basis of hype. Since I’d seen just a handful of the nominated productions, it was a little absurd for me to have strong feelings about the winners—but even having only seen
The Pillowman among the works in which the five Best Actor in a Play nominees appear, I still had a sharp intake of breath when they announced Bill Irwin over Brian F. O’Byrne. And while I haven’t seen—and have no plans to see—
Spamalot, the craptacular number they performed during the Tony telecast confirmed every snobbish preconceived notion I had about the show. I was really hoping for an upset by
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (which I saw and enjoyed much more than I expected to) or
The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, and I was actually disappointed when
Spamalot’s name was called—even though it would’ve been a major upset for anything else to take the trophy. (And talk about a dreadful speech—even the fawning audience at Radio City couldn’t feign amusement at that appalling display; leave the jokes to the professionals, money man.)
Labels: awards, cherry jones, live blogging, television, theater, tony awards
