2010

Webmaster's View

This is the first year I didn't have my costume idea firmly in mind months prior to Pride. As July arrived and we were now just weeks away I came up with an idea that I thought was 'okay' but didn't really strike me as being quite the right thing. But with nothing else to go with I went ahead and spent the time getting it ready.

However on Friday, July 30--just two days prior to Pride I suddenly decided to run down to Dressew, the large fabric shop just 10 blocks from home. I started rummaging through their fabric and suddenly the idea hit me. There was a bolt of camouflage fabric--very thin and actually see-through when you got close (you can't really tell that in the photos!)

I'd go with a simple loincloth of that fabric. Talk about simple! However the trick was I didn't want to have a waistband. No strings attached. I recalled having read a book on European history this past winter where they talked about how people would sew their full-body underwear on in the autumn and not remove it until spring. The book made a point of noting that it didn't just mean sewing the fabric to itself, but sometimes actually stitching the fabric directly to the skin.

So I got out a needle and gave it a try: just ran the needle through the top layers of skin. Two interesting things I discovered. First was that--thank goodness--it didn't hurt. Not in the least. The second was that skin is freakin' tough to sew. I had one helluva time getting the needle to go through the skin. I felt like I was working with a thick piece of cowhide or something. Seriously tough. But it told me what I needed to know: sewing into my skin would be the perfect solution, and if the skin is that tough the stitches wouldn't break out easily. I ran back to the store and purchased 3/4" Velcro discs in a tan color.

Sunday morning I grabbed the 'hook' side of the velcro disk and peeling the backing off stuck it to the edge of my crotch. Then with a needle and thread I put one single stitch through the point furthest away from the center-down direction everything would naturally pull. I did the same on the other side of my crotch. Then I grabbed the little piece of camo fabric I'd chopped out and stuck it to the Velcro. That was it: I was done.

My costume was a hit and I discovered I was able to make a few great jokes about my "army uniform".

There were a couple down moments to the day and one bizarre moment as well. The bizarre came just after I'd arrived and sat down at the curb, over an hour before the parade's start. A guy wearing a Pride volunteer T-shirt came up and told me that while having my feet down on the street was fine now, I'd be required to move them totally up to the curb for the parade. I politely asked him to confirm what he'd just said--it was too ridiculous but it was true. So I said, "Well, with all respect I know you're just doing what you're told but whoever gave you that instruction can't expect their orders to be followed. I'm sure that most people will just ignore it because it's illogical for everybody not to be able to use the curb as a seat. I know I'm going to ignore any such demand. It will be impossible to get people to do what they want." He said he was indeed just doing what he was told, and I saw him rush straight off to the "volunteer" tent that happened to be only 50 paces away. I decided to move down the street a block! I never heard anything about that requirement again.

The first 'down' moment came when the Transit union group came on a bus all with super-soaker water guns and one giant pressurized hose on the bus roof. About four or five of them including the operator of the hose decided to go crazy on me and I felt like I was being pressure washed for a good 20 to 30 seconds. It was miserable and quite frankly I think the best way to describe those people is as "unthinking idiots". A couple of nearby spectators were yelling at them to stop and everyone near me scampered away from the waters deluge. They soaked me so well that even the pavement around me never dried out in the roughtly 90-minutes that remained for the day.

The second 'down' moment was when I was out on the street taking a photo. One Pride volunteer came and firmly told me to get off the street. I replied that I would in a moment, I'm just taking one more picture. He got very demanding and worked to block my photo. Being made rather determined by his actions, I just started moving down the street to keep with my intended subject and worked to get around him. Meantime there were a few people screaming from the street to leave me alone--he was fighting a losing battle. My subject happily posed for me when I finally did get the shot. I can understand and support them wanting to keep the street clear, but there's a balance: half the enjoyment of Pride is being able to get good photos. There are supposed Pride volunteers wandering up and down the street with their cameras doing nothing but taking photos with their personal cameras. Furthermore, I get numerous people telling me every single year--this year being no exception--that I am "the best part of the parade". They adore my crazy antics of interacting with the parade. And I have yet to find anybody in the parade who doesn't love it as well. I think the Pride volunteers need a bit more instruction on "balance".

Thankfully those two moments were brief and left the rest of the entire day to be an absolute blast. Fortunately the water didn't destroy my camera though I was worried about it for a brief period. So life goes on with a great Pride Sunday.

The two stitches held very firmly in place until I cut them off late that evening despite a lot of tugging and abuse they got later in the day. It may have been very last-minute, but it was a great costume.