Last fall, Mark said that I kept saying how Eugene Pride was unfulfilling and that I should just go to Pride in New York City—so here I am! In the air and flying to NYC Pride! I took a disco nap last night from about 8pm to 1am, but kept waking up so I'm not sure how much rest I got. I kissed Mark goodbye, left Eugene at 2 am, and drove to PDX. I'm traveling by myself.
The shuttle buss was crowded. I got through security quickly and made it to my gate around 5am or earlier. The plane was full. Somewhere over Minnesota, I got a migraine aura, but it lasted only about an hour. I'm guessed whacky sleep and a change in caffeine intake was to blame. I figured I could see well enough to be able to navigate NYC MTA.
LGL will be hosting me, and there are several events planned. We were going to attend a "Gay Mass" outside of the Stonewall Inn, which is a National Monument, but the National Park Service closed the park citing security concerns, so the mass has moved to LGL's church, St. Paul (Out At Saint Paul is an LGBTQAI+ ministry).
At some point we may go for drinks at the Eagle. Mark said he thought that it was funny that we're going to a leather bar, and I'm wondered how much it might bother him. (He siad it didn't, but he kepts bringing it up). We'll also visit the Stonewall and probably Flaming Saddles in addition to some shows and Sunday Pride Events.
I'm wanting to go to the Brooklyn Museum's Egyptian Wing one day, and if we run out of Gay Things To Do, I brought my NYC Gargoyle book. We'll also visit Mary Dwyer in Suffern (probably on Saturday, and it's possible we'll run into The Child there).
Thursday evening's Gay Mass was the first Catholic Mass I've been to. I was able to fall into the ritual from my Episcopal upbringing, but every now and then there were changes in the wording (things like, "and with thy spirit" vs. "and also with you," and "with all the angels and archangels" vs. "with all the angels and saints"). The closest religious events to the mass that I've attended would be Radical Faerie ritual circles back in the nineties, and they're really not that close.
As I was sitting out in the pews during communion, my eye kept returning to the Matthew 6:7 verse about not being like babbling Pagans in the service flyer, which could have been more ecumenical, but I was able to reinterpret it to "don't be ostentatious in your religious practice."
I was surprised when the sermon turned into an interactive discussion about pride and how some folks equated it with value, or strength, or self-worth. I'm amazed at how LGL and the others at the mass operate at the intersection of their Catholic faith and their LGBTQAI+ orientation.
After the mass's social mingling, LGL and I went to one of his favorite bars for dinner and drinks (LGL is a networker and is on a first-name basis with practically everyone) and had a brief discussion of the effects of a transcendent God compared to immanent deity on the manifestation of the praxis of Pride vis-a-vis community vs family household. What I had seen in the church was a community coming together for shared worship; my sense with gay Pagans is that they move in together.
We also talked about bunting in our respective cities.
"That moment when your morning tarot card pull for NYC Pride adventures is the two of wands, reversed. I think this might be about jet lag…."
LGL had to work, and I was left to my own devices. I had breakfast at Old John's (cue music, "No one DINES like Old John, or RECLINES like Old John, no one interlocks forks by their TINES like Old John..."). The breakfast was hearty -- although I did have to fish out a red pepper!-- and the waitress thought my pride flag shirt was cute (and called me "sweetie," which, according to LGL, is her standard modus operandi).
Wandering west of Central Park, I tried to find Eden Dragon House, but missed it (three blocks too north). I meandered through Central Park. It was raining, and with no sun I got turned around and ended up using Google Maps to navigate the curving paths to Fifth Avenue.
Somehow, I wound up in the Egyptian Wing of the MET. (Sticker shock on the ticket prices, which have gone up substantially since I was here last.) Once I got into the Egyptian Wing, I tried photographing new things, but found myself re-imaging old favorites. I did manage an image of a hippo on an ostracon for Mark. Between photographs I had fun being an informal docent with hieroglyphs, especially with the offering prayer. Alas, the Middle Eastern Wing was closed for renovations, and the Rooftop Garden was closed by the rain; so no art or photographs from there (except for a long-distance shot of the rooftop from outside as I was leaving).
I got turned around in Central Park again as I returned to LGL's, but I managed to photograph Bethesda Park and gargoyles, grotesques, and decorative buildings.
Aside from wearing a Pride Progress Flag t-shirt, the day wasn't particularly gay. I suppose one could argue Queen Hatshepsut was in drag when she wore a Pharaoh's beard, but it would be a real stretch.
Back at LGL's, I took a disco nap, snacked, and had tea. LGL returned later than he wanted to, but also took a disco nap for tonight's Stonewall Celebration at Hudson Yards and visit to The Eagle.
Many people referenced recent legislation to ban or erase drag and trans folks, and urged the crowd "Don't fight back, fight forward!" The most moving performance was a trans activist who created a sound-scape around the sung phrase, "I'm ev'ry woman" and then read the names of trans victims murdered within the last year.
The most professional performance was by Netta Barzilai, an Eurovision performer from Israel. The sound system had issues the entire event; these were not helped when Netta choreographed her sound box off of her outfit and couldn't re-connect to the stage's speakers. She kept on dancing and singing as loudly as she could and during the dance bridge danced off stage and pulled a sound engineer back with her to get re-hooked up—smiling and dancing all the time.
The most fun performance was BETTY. LGL was familiar with them. They struck me as an edgier, Rock-n-Rollier, New York City version of Seattle's 90's folk trio, We Three. They started out with a Pride Anthem, then transitioned into a saucy song, "Did You Tell Her?"
Christina Aguilera came out last and performed three songs. The weirdest part of the show happened: about every other person held up their mobile phone up to video the performance, so it was like a forest of techno-trees sprouted up in front of us. They cranked up the sound system for her, and I was glad that I'd brought along some concert earplugs. She has a nice voice, but everything was so loud and distorted that I really couldn't follow the lyrics.
By the time the event was finished and we'd gotten a selfie with BETTY, I was starving, so we found a place to eat nearby (where my hair got asked out for a date).
On reflection, I realized that a lot of local talent had participated in the show, and that this was one difference between NYC Pride and Eugene Pride: NYC can support a community of professional and semi-professional singers, dancers, poets, DJ's, photographers, and videographers; most of presenters and performers at Eugene are earnest and having fun—which is fine but does contribute to a "bake sale and craft fair (and group therapy)" feel of local events. Then we were off to The Eagle.
We opened the place up; apparently on Friday nights they don't open until 10 PM. There used to be a stricter dress code (or is that undress code?), but they've relaxed it, so wearing jeans and T-shirts (and a leather cuff) were sufficient to get in. There was some sticker shock at the evening's cover, but we paid it and made our way up to the rooftop part of the bar. I ordered a margarita, and LGL and I sat back and enjoyed the skyline and the scenery. Most of the guys were dressed like we were, with about a third (?or a fifth?)—mostly the staff—dressed in more scanty scraps of leather or shirtless (honestly, I saw more leather harnesses, jock-straps, and booty-shorts in the Sunday Pride Parade than I did in the bar).
What I enjoyed about The Eagle was that it was mostly men, and the crowd seemed to be in their 30's or older. You didn't need to be a gym stud with eight-pack abs to dance or socialize. The music was something one could dance to, and I did. (My hair got some more date offers.) This was a nice change from trying to dance to arrhythmic soundscapes of high-pitched beeps and water being poured into a pitcher with 20-something, half-stoned Eugene kids in a mixed-use space (or not-dancing because a cos-playing person is lip-synching and wiggling for tips on the dance floor). According to LGL, the place, especially one particular corner on the second floor, would become raunchier as the night progressed, and he pulled me off of the dance floor around 12:30.
We grabbed some matches from the bar as a souvenir for Mark and left.
"Today’s Pride tarot card is the four of pentacles reversed. This is what happens when one is discussing the previous evening’s bar tab when pulling a card…"
LGL had some business in Suffern, and so I visited my mother-in-law, Mary Dwyer, and other available residents of Dwyer Manse. There was some cognitive dissonance running into The Child, who had flown to the east coast with his mom, and who was on the East Coast Relative Circuit. Mary looked good, and I filled her in on Gay Adventures so far.
Back in The City, we visited the Brooklyn Art Museum Egyptian Wing. LGL was tolerant of my propensity to lecture on hieroglyphs and the Egyptian Netherworld Books as we rode the MTA to the museum.
There was a lot of new artifacts to see. I was particularly drawn to the Cartonnage of Nespanetjerenpare (3rd Intermediate Period, D 22). What strikes me about this image of Re is that it is ram-headed instead of falcon headed, indicating that this is Re at sunset; and also the green, orange, and black coloring—which I'm guessing may have associations with the rejuvenating properties of the netherworld.
LGL was drawn to a mummy portrait of an Egypto-Roman man. I'd say the Brooklyn's Egyptian collection is smaller than the MET's, with finer quality Ptolomeic pieces.
After the museum, we went bar hopping, first to Flaming Saddles (cowboys dancing on the bar!) and The Dickens (loosely based on Charles Dickens). Both bars were crowded, and the crowds were both younger and more mixed. And loud. The music was slower, and the young folks who were at The Dickens at times felt like they were there more to sing along with the songs and enact them as a mini-performance for their posse of friends (and splash their drinks onto the dance floor) than to dance to the music en mass.
Looking back on the night, I have to say that I appreciate spaces that are enclaves for men—the local Eugene LGBTQAI+ bar hosts a lot of all-family, drag, and trans events—but does not host a "men's night" other than a monthly "bear mixer," and I'm not even sure it's a dance event, unlike their "Lesbian Dance Party."
Sunday, June 25, 2023
"Today’s Pride March tarot card is the four of wands reversed. Celebration in the City! Which is fun, but it’s not my home. (Pause to miss my husband… okay, put on the sunscreen and the dance tunes!)"
After a hearty breakfast at LGL's, we made our way to the NYC Pride. LGL had once again secured access to a VIP area, and we found ourselves at the shaded review stand near 25th Street and Fifth Avenue, with access to snacks and drinks, watching politicians queue up to begin the parade.
When LGL's workplace's group came by, we left the review stand and joined in. Initially, I felt like I stood out because A) I was wearing a grey T-shirt with a progress pride flag graphic on it and everyone else was wearing their corporate white T-shirts, B) everyone but me had some kind of flag to wave, and C) My Hair. But I chanted, "Elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist-wrist" to myself and marched along Fifth Avenue with everyone.
At one point it seemed like we were floating down a river of dancing rainbow flags, faces, and sparkles. I said to someone, "Man, I wish my husband was here." And then I stopped and thought about it for a moment and added, "Nah; he'd hate this. And I'd want to smooch him, but he'd want space or to go on a hike." And it was true, Mark would have been bored after about a half-hour.
We hopped off of the float and started walking and searching for a place to have a late lunch. Someone from LGL's work was wearing huge white angel wings and waving a pride flag, and they graciously agreed to a selfie.
While we were waiting for food (and drinks) with LGL's co-workers, I realized that underneath the smiling and waving and dancing, I'd unconsciously been looking for Mark in the crowds, and how wonderful it would have been if at some point the crowds could have parted and Mark could walk out onto Fifth Avenue and joined me on the float.
"Today’s Pride tarot card is the Seven of Wands, reversed. Taking the long view, this could signify being beaten down by institutional homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, and the various -isms. Or, short view, it could be about travel anxiety."
I escorted LGL to the local MTA station on 77th Street and then went for another breakfast at Old John's. I spent the morning wandering around the 78th Street and Amsterdam area photographing gargoyles, grotesques, and dragons. I got caught in a thunderstorm, and was glad for an umbrella. I found what I call "The Dragons of Library Eden House," which was half under renovation scaffolding, so I was only able to take limited photographs of the dragons there.
5:49pm Monday, June 26, 2023
I waited for the flight out of JFK to PDX and wrote in my Book of Art. I probably could have left LGL's apartment an hour later, but that wouldn't have left any time for train mishaps. Luckily, taking the 1 MTA train to Penn Station, and then the Babylon Train to Jamaica Station and then the Air Train to Terminal 4 went smoothly.
LGL was worried that the thunderstorms today might make air (and train) travel extra tricky, but at 6 PM everything appeared to be on time.
Ha! LGL was right! First my flight was delayed 90 minutes while we waited for flight attendants from other delayed flights to board the plane (which was sitting at the gate, empty). Then, after we boarded, we taxied around on the runways while the pilots negotiated a flightpath with air control, then we parked on the tarmac, then we returned to the gate because the whole airport was shut down, and finally the flight was cancelled around 11:20.
"That NYC Pride Moment when Delta cancels your flight home, and your Wonderful Gay Husband manages to remotely find a space for you at The Box House Motel."
I took a crazy midnight taxi ride through the rain to the motel; the driver didn't know where the motel was, and navigated there with his cell phone. The mobile's map app sent us the long way, and I ended up paying the fare in cash to knock off $15 of what was still a steep price.
"And today’s post-air-flight-cancellation tarot card is the three of wands. For some reason what sprang to my mind was gratitude… although I am wondering if the merchant in the card is wishing they were on one of the ships in the distance."
Hunkered down in a (expensive!) boutique hotel, The Box House Motel, in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It was the only place with a room (the JFK Hilton had all of their rooms booked by other stranded travelers). Between having fun in NYC with LGL and the room deposit for The Box House, my credit card was maxed out (this is my reward for setting my credit limit to a low amount as a preemptive method to manage credit card debt), and so I spent over an hour on the phone with the credit union to try to extend my credit and secure lodging through Thursday.
The Box House Motel had an artsy lobby with a sixties art-deco and colored glass pane feel. Magnolia or cedar scented the air--it was not unpleasant, but strong. Pop/swing ballads dominated the sound system--this made the open design of the space more private, but also made conversations difficult.
I'm grabbed a (expensive!) burger at The Eagle Trading Company, a kind of indoor/outdoor cafe with glass garage doors. The clientele looked like local neighborhood folks; lots of dog walkers, mixed ages, and mostly dudes. I asked the wait staff about place to walk (and not walk) and they said the neighborhood was a safe one.
After waiting four hours for a call back which never came, I finally managed to connect with a bank person and get my credit card straightened out. It's was a huge relief; it's crazy how food and travel are dependent on credit-card connected apps on my iPhone. I'd would have been in a really bad place if my iPhone (or credit card) stopped working.
Tuesday evening: There was only one working laundry machine in the laundry room. I gave up on laundry for the moment and walked to the Greenleaf Cafe, where I found a bench supported by two stone griffins! Then the music switched from sort of tribal-fusion to 70's Rock (oh well). The Cafes and hotels here all seemed to be converted garages: high roofs and glass garage doors, so I am imagined that rooms and houses and buildings that I write should have a history--the farmhouse with added rooms, or old carriage houses turned into living quarters, or old engine sheds turned into garages and then turned into cafes.
"Today’s Post-Pride-Still-Waiting-For-Tomorrow’s-Flight Tarot Card is the Knight of Swords reversed. This is my usual significator card, so I’m interpreting it as a warning to stay focused and be aware that I’m tired of not being home yet."
I had recovered from bank negotiations and goofy non-travel sleep that I had enough energy to go on a photo safari of Mid-Manhattan. The nearest MTA stop to the Box House Motel was about a 10 minute walk over a bridge spanning a small river (the Pulaski, which fed into the Harlem River).
Outside the station, I met a Venezuelan couple who were a little lost; I tried to help them, but we had no common language... I couldn't get a translation app on my phone, and felt inept. In the end I could only wish them good luck.
After more wandering and photography and a cloudburst and I finally exhausted my camera's battery. This was probably a good thing, as I managed to get back to the motel before five o'clock rush-hour trains.
Thursday, June 29, 2023
Thursday morning; I had to leave the motel at 5 a.m. so I could be at JFK at 6 a.m. so I could be ready for my 8 a.m. flight. At the airport, I bumped into an information desk where the attendant was giving away little rainbow ribbons; I ended up pinning it to my camera's pack. My departure gate was in a sixties-industrial concourse that could only be reached by bus, so I lingered a while in the nicer main concourse.
The floating time during the three days waiting for my Thursday flight was a contrast between the scheduled time with LGL. Instead of having a guide and host, I was on my own; instead of having scheduled Pride events to be at, I had unscheduled tourist events.
NYC Pride was fun and great and I managed to experience it from a place of privilege. Marching was fun, and dancing and waving to folks from a float was fabulous.
The only thing I'd change—aside from not having my return flight cancelled—would be the bars and venues to something where conversations could be had (all the bars and places we went to had really loud music, which made understanding folks next to impossible).
In contrasting and comparing NYC Pride with EUG Pride, I'm reminded that NYC has massive corporate sponsorship, and EUG has maybe city sponsorship. Also NYC has a larger and more diverse community, and can have groups like the Sirens (Dykes on Bikes), and The Eagle, and Gay Water Polo Players, and Education Centers, and Latina/Latino and transgender and gay parent groups. Eugene pride is smaller, with folks like the Unitarian Church, and Spectrum Bar—but the three community pools: Eugene, Springfield, and the University of Oregon, don't always speak to each other.
I suppose that I need to go to PDX for Gay Dancing with Gay Men over 35.
And volunteer more.
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