The Long Beach Gay Pride celebration was a blast on Sunday afternoon!
In fact, it was more or less a major block party.
All along Ocean Boulevard, as the festive rainbow parade made its way down to the heartbeat of the city core, tenants either perched on rooftops for a look-see, threw a shrimp on the barbie on the front lawn, or ceremoniously clinked cocktail glasses gaily with friends and neighbors alike.
Occasionally, there was a long low wolf whistle when some sweet young thing sauntered by. (about every two seconds)
Although most of the lower mainland was besot with an unbearable mugginess that day - cool prevailing winds offshore - set things right for the Long Beach party-goers. And, in the event that was not relief enough, a handful of plastic garden pools along the route were available for the adventurous and fun-at-heart to splash about in.
The marchers were - loud, rowdy, and proud - not necessarily in that order, of course!
As usual - it appeared to me there were more out-in-the-street in-your-face gays stridently walkin' the windin' streets - than standing along the sidelines taking a rip-roaring gander.
All of the local bars did a bang-up job of strutting their stuff; in fact, the diverse crowd was treated to a wide array of celebrated stereotypes - pot-bellied Bears, studly Leather Men, witty Drag Queens - you name it.
Even a handful of car enthusiasts got into the act. Yup, those boys love to spit and polish the chrome on their spiffy wheels, don't they?
One "Empress" of Long Beach garnered a riot of attention as she wafted by over the back of a luxury convertible - all 350 pounds or so of her. That was one big mama I'd rather not run afoul of in a dark alley. No sir - er - ma'am.
One generous gaggle of gays on a giggling float tossed my favorite wrapped candy into the throngs. Of course, I quickly snatched up a fistful of 'em, and was in hog-heaven for the rest of the afternoon. My waistline is suffering today, however.
Java Monster sponsors were on hand, too, to gift celebrants with samples of their frosty yummy product which was amply packed in blocks of ice in the back of a hot black pick-up truck.
Gay boys do everything with such style and flair, don't they?
Speaking of which - and now that my otherwise distracted train of fuzzy thought has sauntered on in that direction - fashion trends tended towards shorts in all persuasions: knee-high to mid-thigh - for instance - in plaids (which I have never warmed up to, by the way) and khaki styles (with lots of zip or button-down pockets to hide-away the necessities - lip balm, Trojans, joints, mini-bongs, that sort-of-thing). A main stay - ubiquitous fatigues - were also in attendance on the muscled bods of a studly few.
Tank tops tended to be the norm, with colorful tats sprouting out just below the sleeve, or nudging muscles on toned tanned jogger legs.
At one end - not unlike in West Hollywood each year - a band of religious fundamentalists stood in protest spewing out hateful remarks, much to the chagrin the local residents. For the most part, the gathering masses ignored them, in spite of the fact they tried to pick a fight. Turn the other butt cheek, right?
When advised to make love - not war - why do you suppose they staggered backwards?
Ah, those Christians - such hypocrites - eh?
One sign baffled me, though. It read,
"Homo sex is a threat to National Security".
Maybe the nut cases were inferring that gay agents in the FBI, CIA, and NSA, run the risk of being blackmailed for exercising their rights pursuant to the law of the land,
"Don't ask. Don't tell."
God only knows!
As usual, Dykes on Bikes roared through the street at the tail-end of the parade.
Say, was that Ellen and Portia riding shotgun on a big Harley in wedding attire?
Naw!
.jpg)
