More Videos and stuff coming. Here’s a teaser:
The night before Pride and all through the street, not a creature could beat him
In his pre-Pride gyrations.
The Lesbians had had
Their march of solidarity
Their placards were down
The drunk straight kids
Prevailing.
As a salute to Pride Week starting up and Father’s Day this weekend, I’m digging up my speech to nominate my father to be the Grand Marshal for Pride 2007 for all you new readers. Long time readers can snort and say “slow news day” if you like.
As you know the room was stacked in Michelle DuBarry’s favour and votes cast for her resembled an Iranian landslide. It was a bit disheartening to find out it was a popularity vote and not a decision by committee. I think if my dad did drag he might have had a chance.
My mom just emailed my gay brother, The Professor, and myself:
“What/Who are fats and fems???”
I responded with:
“In personal ads in newspapers and online, less sensitive people would ask that “no fats or fems” respond to their article. “Fats” are persons with weight issues, “fems” are the more flamboyant type of homosexual. It’s a sexist/body fascist remark that really defines the user’s intelligence.
In our family, I’m the fat, Dan is the fem.”
My asthmatic brother replied:
“I’m the phlegm!”
My less than busty sister replied:
“I’m the flat.”
My brother gets a mention in the University of Toronto’s magazine ‘s summer issue in an article called “Out and Proud”
He’s the angry homo, mid-article.
So you’ve decided to visit Toronto and enjoy it’s #2 outdoor attraction (second only to The Beaches Jazz Festival, according to their site). Regardless of who tells you their numbers are numero uno, Toronto Pride reels in a crapload of cash for the city (The Gay Community has it’s own subsection on Toronto’s tourism website – take THAT Caribana!). It’s a good idea to research your options before opening your wallet and organize your fun before hitting the street.
That’s where I come in! Hello tourist! So glad I could help!
You may recall my article last year: Pride Tips for Out of Towners. I’m bitter happy to report that not much has changed. The bar you are drinking in will have a draconian liquor inspector grumpily wander through to see if they can make some money in fines. And some circuit party will try to seduce you with their glossy posters of near-naked men, but there will be a chance that you choose incorrectly and spend $95 to find you’re not at the “A-List” bash and wind up with a crowd that looks more at home at a Phish concert. The Parade tips still hold true (early, sunblock, elbows), as do the street crowd crush. Don’t forget that “bagging and bedding a Torontonian” is still a bit like coaxing a snipe out of the bushes. We seem to have tightened our shy little cocoons around ourselves during this long, cool spring! All I reported last year are still valid tips. Take heed!
At this time I need to reiterate my number one peeve about Pride: You should NOT, repeat NOT eat at any restaurant on Church Street during Pride. Eat from a hot dog cart (blarg!), bring your own food, starve, devour your travel companion or gnaw on your own foot. Do not eat at any Church Street restaurant.
Wait… I think I need to nail that home:
Got it? Just want to let you know. All restaurants will take you in their arms, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, thrust a pre-set menu in your hands and then jizz in your face while rifling through your wallet for your cash. And not in a good way.
Here’s a list of restaurants that are off the strip and worth your money:
Daybreak – This place is popular, pricey but has big portions. At the corner of Carlton and Church, just outside the Village.
Studio – When Daybreak is full, two doors south is this crumbly greasy spoon. Cheap alternative great for breakfast.
The Coachhouse – Same as The Studio, but over on Yonge and Wellesley. Greek twist on a diner.
Chew Chews, Johnny G’s and Gourmet Burger – Three Cabbagetown options that are a little walk away from the Village.
Sizzler – Late Late night burger place with baby sized meat patties at Yonge and College. Not much to look at but BABY SIZED BURGERS!! Late at night!!!
Olympic Pizza – Been in the village forever. Consistently good but unremarkable Italian food the recipe for a great restaurant!
Tokyo Grill / Okanomi House – uncommon Japanese food (read: NOT sushi).
Ginger – Not the one on Church, but over at Yonge and Bloor, there’s an outlet that will most likely not fuck you for cash. Great non-restauranty hot and sour soup.
Oja Noodle House – Right beside a pricey “EggRoll” restaurant. Dishes more authentic and way cheaper. Charles and Yonge.
That’s a good start. Yonge at Bloor has had an explosion of Asian Fusion dining places. All seem “good” if not a bit dollar-y.
New tips? Got a couple!
In some cases it’s polite to ask if you can take pictures of random hot guys/gals/gender-fucks, but in most cases it doesn’t matter – cameras are everywhere during Pride and if you’re shy, stay the fuck home! But asking for a photo is not only as polite as a Canadian in a foreign land, it’s an excellent way to break the ice. So if you do go this route, may I suggest little business cards with your Twitter/Flickr/Facebook page URL on it so you can ensure your subject can view your work later when they’re at home slathering on the aloe vera. And for those people you were jokingly taking a picture of (“Good lord that outfit!! I must ridicule it online tonight!“) and get caught doing so, may I suggest a separate card with www dot lemonparty dot org on it.
I failed to mention last year that to avoid the crush that is the uncomfortably crowded street in front of Woodys and the parking lot Beer Tent (Church and Maitland), the Pride Committee has smartly enshrined the alleyways behind these two venues open for easier access past this bottle neck. There are similar North-South routes between East-West streets if you need to dash up Church Street. Any Pride volunteer will gladly point them out.
Keep your cell phone charged. The crowds are so large you will want to know where your friends are. Twittering may not be such a good idea since it goes down more often than a career drag queen 2 days before rent is due. Thankfully iPhone users will have MMS texting by then and you can send your friends your location (or trick’s face) for group approval.
And lastly:
Please take some time to consider what you will wear. Feather boas are for straight boys who were dragged to Pride by their girlfriends. Outrageous drag is fine, but consider it will be hot and you may be outside for some time. Melty creatures does not equal funny drag. You’ll scare children. May I recommend something clever yet not too noticable…
Whatever you do, enjoy your Pride. If you see me, say Hi!
Last Saturday I finally got an offer on my Casio camera and started into the fun process of weeding through online consumer sites that offer comprehensive and unbiased product comments ( here ends the seething sarcasm). “Camera good, wish touch screen!” Seriously, were these people sleeping through grade 10 English?*
I head off to BestBuy (I know… I know…) and had 4 staff standing around me at once not looking me in the eye. You know the eye, the one that says “I have a question…?” but is met with personal conversations between the floor staff, awkward maneuvering out of my field of vision and outright ignorance to my plea. In the end we went over to Blacks across the street where one of my compadres managed to rip the security lock off a display camera, setting off an alarm. As dutiful white boys we were, we stood there and waited for a staff person to come and shut it off. And waited. And waited. To the point where the alarm started to die and croak. We just left, off to Henrys where I was ready to drop my $279 (plus SD card and taxes) for a Canon SD780 SI. Until I found out that Henry’s flagship store isn’t open on Sunday. Huh? Oh well, Downtown Camera’s doors were wide open and I didn’t mind paying $10 more for the convenience. They were extremely helpful and knowledgeable about their product and bent over backwards to find a battery and a SD card so I could test the camera indoors. From now on, I’ll do all my demo testing at big box stores and then head over to specialty stores for my final sale.
It’s toted as Canon’s smallest, but no where near as small as the old Casio. It looks a lot like SharkBoy’s camera but with more beveled edges. It has all the familiar feel of my old A640 but without the big hard-to-move scene selector knob on top. Poof! Gone.
They’ve moved around some items in the menu system due to the new AutoScene function – no more flicking through menu options to find the Macro or Fireworks options, the sensors see it and then set it up with one press of the shutter button.
It shoots “HD” as well, which means video at 1280×720 at 30fps with HDMI output (720p). Now I need to get a mini-HDMI cable and try it. You think with all the new doodleydoos for video they’d have autofocus during recording. For now, here’s a vid for you. Be sure to click on the HD button in the controls:
*I know… I’m one to talk. But come on…
Happy Birthday Dad!
I am so happy you are my father, a friend and a role model.
Thank you for not being like this:
…and you should be too!
Here’s why:
I’m baffled why this man is holding any sort of seat of power at all, let alone Science Minister. His refusal to respond to a basic science theory (I’ll call it theory for you Creationists), of which all scientists of any credibility believe to be fact, just shows ponderous ignorance towards his position. Let’s get someone in there who can at least respond to questions with aplomb and intelligence.
Let’s continue on in that vein, shall we? An Immigration Minister who has spouted hate will not pepper his decisions regarding the applications of people he’s bad mouthed? I find that extremely hard to believe. Hey! As a good religious man I am sure he will not let his prejudices get in the way!
Dances With The Stars sucks this season. Even with Woz on it. Belinda should have stayed and glue-huffing-for-a-dollar Steve-O should have walked. ‘Nuf said.
You Americans are dealing with AIG’s utter arrogance towards their bailout, like a bratty child at Xmas tossing aside it’s under appreciated gift from an angry aunt. We in Canada have to deal with Chrysler Canada making threats of pulling out of Canada if they’re not given money to continue to make shitty product. So far, they’ve asked for the money and provided very little in the way of confidence that the bailout will go towards creating innovative product.
I open my Twitter account to find an entry from Davewordswords: davewordswords: Smokey lead quite a life. Farewell to the six-fingered, bat-catching Haligonian cat.
Yes it’s a long post about someone’s cat. But it’s well written and ends on such a bittersweet note that I gulped back tears and pretended to suffer from allergies. Bite me, Davewordswords (kidding…).
It’s Wednesday. I need a cuddle.
We’re watching “Trantasia” a documentary about The Worlds Most Beautiful Transsexual. It’s funny, sad and interesting all at the same time.
So I’ve been schooled as a captive audience, on the mechanics and now as a 16 year old kid not wanting to grow up. In this installment, my Mom kicks some sense into my head.
When I was almost 16 I was biding my time until I could leave Brockvegas to …anywhere. I hated Brockvegas growing up. Still do, for reasons that will become obvious.
I knew I was gay and I was 99% certain I’d be like that for the rest of my life. Not exactly knowing what it was to be “gay” I expected I was headed for a life of shame, ridicule and secrecy. At that time, Dan, my oldest brother, had come out and had brought his boyfriend home for social events. Meeting his significant other was like discovering life on another planet – I could have a relationship and not have to get guys drunk behind the dumpsters at school! Dan’s brazen display of same sex affections prompted me to ask my sister 1000 questions about what it meant to be gay. That’s what sisters are for.
“You know the show Soap?” She started after my landslide of questions about Dan’s personal life.
“Yah.”
“You know Jodi? He’s gay. Dan is Jodi. Dan is gay.” And so it went.
Meanwhile, my father and mother had started their separation proceedings and Dad had moved into his own apartment while Mom was dating a real estate agent and spent most of her time at his house. At the time I was dating a 19 year old woman nearly 3 years my senior, named Donna. I see your two warning flags: yeah it was illegal and yeah I knew I was gay but the social status and allure of being with an older woman who had her own place with no parents around was a high school level career move I could not resist. Can you say “beard”?
One day while at Donna’s place she casually mentioned that she had heard the reason my parents were divorcing was because my Dad was gay.
“…What…?”
“What? You don’t know?”
Back and forth it went between us until Donna revealed that she had a passing conversation with an acquaintance at the local mall. When she told the friend she was dating me, my town reputation came out. So to speak. I was the “gay guy’s kid”.
Naturally, as a teen, emotions are turned up to EXTREME DRAMA proportions and I didn’t confront my father with this for two months. In fact I stopped talking to him entirely because, being an idiot, I thought that since my Dad was gay he was going to molest me. Yes. Naive and stupid and living in a small town, thanks. My behaviour spiraled down into angst-ridden teen lows and spent weeks being the most moodiest, ill-behaved son ever – staying out all night, stealing booze and finally letting slip I was dating an older woman. My mom sat me down and in the discussion about my behaviour, I confronted her with it.
There was a pause with tense glares from each other.
“Go talk to your father.”
That was all I needed. I ran from the room and holed up at Donna’s for a couple days.
After not speaking with him for two months, Mom called him and told him to “man up” as it were. I remember getting a phone call from my Dad asking me over for dinner. Despite the menu being my favorite (lasagna and the “one beer”) and Dad peppering the conversation with fun suggestions (lending me his boat some weekend, trip to Toronto, etc.) I remained the vision of stoicism. After a long quiet dinner of terse conversation Dad opened up.
He spoke of being scared. He talked a lot about love and it’s mailable, intangible forms. He talked about being sorry and mostly he talked about wasted time. I am fluffing it up, of course, because he was an Irish Catholic boy and he basically communicated his regurgitating feelings and thoughts as if they were festering gasses from a sputtering lava pool. The meaning was communicated, at least.
And yet I didn’t come out to him. More on that later.