All killer, no filler. And, surprisingly enough, not one drag queen dressed as Phyllis Diller. This is the apropos synopsis of this week's post-pride phenomenon. Please to enjoy all of my lovely pix.
Not satisfied? Well, you're just a little hard to please, huh? In any case, for more pix, check out this week's Windy City Times to see how the parade looked through Tracy Baim's eye. Being much taller than Tracy, and having a penis and all, you'll discover the view was astonishingly different. Plus, more in Nightspots next week.
As the parade wound to an end and I was once again plagued by overwhelming rage at the gross commercialism which has crept its insidious tentacles into the event, I struggled with the possibility of writing yet another 'I Hate Corporate America' column ( See last year's post-pride issue. Boy was I unhappy ) . But after mulling for quite a bit of time, and reviewing the pictures I came back to the office with, I decided rather to focus on all that is still good and pure within our yearly celebration of queeritude. It just seems better in a universally karmic kinda way.
Thanks to PFLAG for showing humanity what true love and support can really mean.
Thanks to all the religious organizations for reminding us that God or not ( that's up to you, I ain't gonna preach ) , we all are equal, loved and blessed.
Thanks to those politicians whose contingent in the parade backs up a longstanding record of advocacy and instrumental change benefitting our diverse community.
Thanks to all the dancers, singers, actors, drag queens and otherwise fabulous individuals for reminding us that, above all else, we need to party.