*With apologies to Keith Donohue.
Screenshot of the Capital Pride homepage in a photo by Tim Evanson; unsure when this was taken (possibly during last year's event).
Blog Editor's Note: I started this entry last night but, as usually happens, it sort of grew lengthier and more complex than I planned, and I ran out of time to post it. Thus(ly), I'm posting it this early Saturday afternoon.
This weekend features the annual annoying ritual of Gay Pride, or as I refer to it, Pray Glide because, as I see it, you pray to Jesus or whatever God you believe in that the whole damn thing ...
... with the masses of drunken, care-and-thought-free, sorority gay boys and the large-and-in-charge lesbians; the off-the-charts corporate whoring; the parade involving thousands of tossed condoms, lube tubes, and beads; the 17th Street bacchanal that yearly enriches the D.C. Gay Mafia, in particular, the two bars that form the twin foci (God, I hate that pluralized word used in a non-geometry / non-mathematical context, in particular, anything having to do with corporate world synergies and government contracting deliverables) around which this 17th Street shit show orbits as if an exosolar planet orbiting some double star system in circumbinary fashion; the vapid local political figures riding in that damn parade; the garishly made-up, whacked-out, obese drag queens; and the culminating Sunday street festival down on Pennsylvania Avenue ...
... just glide by as quickly as possible and be over until next June.
Screenshot of another Capital Pride homepage photo.
D.C. Gay Pride is formally called Capital Pride, and this year marks the 40th anniversary of the event, and it runs from June 3rd - 14th with this weekend being the culmination of it. And, yes, there is a very wide range of participating LGBTA folks (I think that's the most up-to-date way to reference it, with LGBTQ out of favor), not just the 17th Street sorority gay boy crowd orbiting aforementioned bars.
It was a very different kind of event when it started 40 years ago -- back when it really was difficult to be lesbian, gay, or, heaven help you, transgendered. Now it's just a giant cluster-fuck existing for the purpose of getting drunk while parting with your money.
Updated (prior to posting):
I wrote the above part of the entry last night. It is now Saturday morning, and having been out and about last night -- including at the following places: Larry's Lounge, D-I-K, No. 9, Logan Tavern (at the bar), and back to Larry's Lounge and with Dave J. (everywhere except at Larry's Lounge) and Jamie (at Larry's Lounge) -- and seeing all the obvious out-of-towners who are here for Capital Pride, and who seem genuinely happy with this sprawling, amorphous, inherently celebratory event, I SUPPOSE I should acknowledge that there are A FEW good aspects to it.
Simply put, I must admit that it's not all about the Usual Suspects and their wheelbarrows full of cash carted off and totted up in dimly lit basements and laundered back through the system on i-Whatevers, new BMWs, and $600 Diesel jeans.
This is true even if the whole spectacle is overloaded with bar "events" such as "Pride Otter Crossing," "JOX," and "The Boys of HUMP" (whatever that means).
In short, there is SOME GOOD in it.
Speaking of things orbiting and political commentary, this piece by Charles P. Pierce in Esquire is hilarious (link embedded):
Some of the highlights (with illustrations added to break up the text):
"So, yes, the Republican primary process already is spinning out of control. A television network and a local newspaper are calling the shots. And where, you might ask, is the stern, guiding hand of obvious anagram Reince Priebus," -- ha ha -- "the emptiest suit in American politics? He's ducking behind a spokesman is where he is.
"So, I have a modest proposal before everything gets completely out of hand and we find Carly Fiorina and Ben Carson pitching blenders against each other on QVC. Why is it necessary at this point to have a formal Republican party structure at all? The RNC can't control the size of the field, because any breathing primate who knows a friendly gozillionnaire can stay alive through the entire process.
"The RNC can't control the debates, because the interests of the FNC and/or the Union-Leader are treated within the conservative movement especially as being equal or superior to the party's interest in an orderly process. Times have changed. Back in the day, a party chairman could have felt free to tell McQuaid -- and the candidates participating in his forum -- to pound sand.
"Change the formal Republican party to a purely advisory institution, a benign logistical clearing house, helpful but not vital. If candidates and media institutions are going to go their own ways anyway, let them do it. Make sure the RNC is there when they need it -- to offer advice and book the halls and, at least at the start, organize the convention -- but make sure everybody understands that it has no real authority.
"This is now the second consecutive election cycle in which the Republican primary field is essentially made up of independent bodies orbiting their own private suns. It's a miracle of nature. They should leave that system alone to evolve in its own way. That is, after all, the Prime Directive."
In other GOP bat-shit crazy news, dumbass Oklahoma Sen. James "MOUNTAIN" Inhofe is at it again, this time the octogenarian blathering that the pope -- Pope Francis, that is -- "ought to stay with his job" and refrain from commenting on human-induced global climate change, or even worse, issuing an encyclical on the topic.
This has been a theme on the cuckoo right of late because this awesome Pontiff is far too progressive, decent, and intelligent for the bat-shit crazy GOP to comprehend.
Inhofe, most famous for that stupid-ass snowball stunt and, earlier, building an igloo outside the Capitol building during a snowstorm in the winter of 2009-2010, is the Senate's and GOP's most prominent and dumbest climate change denier.
He also once declared that there has never been a homosexual, or rather, a "homosexual relationship," in the "recorded history" of his family.
I can believe that.
I may have mentioned this before, but I'd like to do it again because it is so wonderful: The late, great blogger Bartcop (who lived in Tulsa, Oklahoma) once memorably described Inhofe on the podcast radio show he used to do back in the early 2000s as follows (and I'm paraphrasing):
"Have you ever been in a public restroom, and you go into the stall and look in the toilet and see one balled-up, tiny turd at the bottom of the bowl?? THAT'S James Inhofe."
It never gets old.
Bartcop also referred to Inhofe by one of his trademark descriptors in the guise of a political party affiliation, namely (R or D - DESCRIPTOR WORD OR PHRASE), namely (R- Pisquick). I'm not sure what that means.
Of course, Inhofe is totally suited for Oklahoma, a state where this kind of stuff regularly happens and it only makes the governor more popular.
I miss Bartcop.
Evening in the 1700 block of New Hampshire Ave. NW, Washington, D.C., 7:52PM June 12, 2015. The large house is 1751 New Hampshire Avenue.
As the briefest of updates, I rode my bike home from work (where I had left it last night in order to go out with a coworker at Baan Thai / Tsunami). I then got my haircut earlier -- or rather, I got sheared, as I usually do with a number two razor -- this time by the very nice Tali at the Hair Cuttery by Dupont Circle. Tonight, I'll go out in some combo of Larry's Lounge and No. 9, and perhaps elsewhere, with Milan and/or Dave. Gary is away weekend.
Actually, it is now Saturday early afternoon (I didn't finish this entry last night). I need to get to the gym.
My next planned update will be
tomorrow tonight night after the gym with a jukebox Saturday night entry.