I first heard this song last Monday night at a club on Fire Island whilst waiting for a drag performance to start (side note: Wanda Sykes and Tim Bagley were standing behind me). When the opening notes landed every last queen in the place lost their damn gay mind. Drinks were discarded, chairs were shoved aside and all the little bootie shorts in the place got bouncin’. My little bootie shorts haven’t stopped bouncin’ since.
It’s Pride Week in my neck of world and to kick it off I rode Bevan’s coattails all the way to the state capital last night to rage at the governor’s mansion.
Unbeknownst to me it’s two thousand degrees in Sacramento in June and I forgot to put on deodorant so I thought it appropriate that the first hand I shook upon entering the manse belonged to someone v. tolerant of dude sweat—former NBA player Jason Collins, the first openly gay athlete to play in any of the four major North American pro sports leagues.
Other LGBTQIA+ movers, shakers and allies in attendance were Governor Gavin Newsom, Senator Scott Wiener, Empress Nicole and the Stuart Milk.
Oh yeah, these studs, too.
Remember when I didn’t wanna be gay?
We started with a stroll down Macondry Lane, the inspiration for Barbary Lane in my best friend Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City novels.
Then we hauled ourselves to the Tenderloin to the site of the Compton’s Cafeteria riots, one of the first recorded LGBT-related riots in United States history and the beginning of transgender activism in San Francisco.
And finally, after a pit stop at the new beer hall on Market (for sustenance), we posted up in front of Gilbert Baker’s glorious rainbow flag for a photo.
Thank you, Judy, for indulging me my big queer tour of San Francisco.
All eight miles of it.
The sole lesson gleaned by 8th Grade Girlfriend Megan’s five-year-old daughter Olivia after last night’s bedtime reading of Pride: The Story of Harvey Milk and the Rainbow Flag made me feel seen.