The Church and Wellesley intersection -- Toronto Pride Central -- lies one short northwest block from my home of the past 16 years. Here, Pride is a week-long affair.
In the early days, I went to everything: the bars, the street events, the concerts. OK, maybe not everything: I skipped the hairy butt contests.
This weekend, I stopped for a nano-second to listen to a outdoor concert but got turned off by the rowdy drunks poring out of the subway just behind us and decided to go home.
I'm sad to say I no longer go to Pride, and now you now why.
There is still a lot of good to be said about Pride, and I'm happy that I live in the heart of the LGBT community the rest of the year, but Pride weekend has been taken over by people who just want to ogle bare tits (or asses) and get drunk. Not my thing anymore, if it ever was.
I did go for brunch in the hood while most people were watching the parade -- figured it would be safe from the a-holes, and it was -- and my server forgave me for skipping Pride because I was reading a book on Breakfast at Tiffany's (little did he know I'd just found out the narrator is gay. I'm slow that way.).
I am glad to report, however, that not everyone is an ole curmudgeon like me. Read this lovely account from a first-timer (and forgive him or her the tacky virgin reference.)
Happy Pride, everyone!
In the early days, I went to everything: the bars, the street events, the concerts. OK, maybe not everything: I skipped the hairy butt contests.
This weekend, I stopped for a nano-second to listen to a outdoor concert but got turned off by the rowdy drunks poring out of the subway just behind us and decided to go home.
I'm sad to say I no longer go to Pride, and now you now why.
There is still a lot of good to be said about Pride, and I'm happy that I live in the heart of the LGBT community the rest of the year, but Pride weekend has been taken over by people who just want to ogle bare tits (or asses) and get drunk. Not my thing anymore, if it ever was.
I did go for brunch in the hood while most people were watching the parade -- figured it would be safe from the a-holes, and it was -- and my server forgave me for skipping Pride because I was reading a book on Breakfast at Tiffany's (little did he know I'd just found out the narrator is gay. I'm slow that way.).
I am glad to report, however, that not everyone is an ole curmudgeon like me. Read this lovely account from a first-timer (and forgive him or her the tacky virgin reference.)
Happy Pride, everyone!
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