Do what you must. Arrest me, or worse, force me infront of a mirror after squeezing me into a teal Spandex onesie [yuck! I shudder at the thought], because as far as gays go, I’m the worst! A traitor to my own kind for not being more enthused and engaged in this year’s San Francisco Gay Pride festival. I don’t know if it’s an age thing or what, but I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore. I mean it’s not like Gay Pride is actually for the local gays to celebrate anyways, right? I’ll explain.

Against my will– and because I’m just that awesome of a boyfriend who’s always making sacrifices for his boo– I forced myself to walk around Civic Center and the Castro on this past Gay Pride Sunday. From what I observed, the people who dress up in way-too-tiny rainbow tutus of tulle with their fat pimpled hairy ass-cheeks hanging out above their skull and dragon tattooed calves in steel-toed Doc Martin boots with glittery Band-Aids on the heel; who are topless sunburned and carelessly waving cigarettes around, nearly igniting the entire festival of cheap sequined flammable fabrics and mismatched raver costumes, are anything but locals. As my friend Mark from Los Angeles used to feign with the back of his hand against his forehead anytime we found ourselves surrounded by the dregs of the human race, “OHHHH THE HUMANITY!”

Gay Pride is no more a civil celebration of the struggle our elders endured in the name of equality for all; than it is an excuse for the white trash straights and gay besties from the surrounding counties to flock to San Francisco to sell drugs at a parade, get naked in public, and trashed in the streets. There are indeed gays who go to Gay Pride, but they’re usually young and either Asian, Black, or Latino, and they’re legitimately in search of a respite, however brief it may be, to celebrate themselves freely, because they can’t back home where life is less progressive. For these ingénue homos, the Gay Pride parade and celebration is a chance to be as “flamboyant” and “profoundly same sex oriented” as possible, before they have to go back to keep’n their gayness on the DL.

I guess that’s why I’m a little nonplussed by Gay Pride celebrations in general. We still have so much more to overcome, and I feel like celebrating in such a crazy-ass fashion is not only premature, but potentially sets us back a step. Think about all the homophobes and right-wing Tea Partiers who still think, “being gay” is bad. Obviously I loathe them and wish they’d disappear, but it’s dangerously naive to think we can blink and POOF their gone. Instead of showing them we’re no different, they’re watching the news coverage from Gay Pride and thinking, “this is exactly the lewd behavior we don’t want to expose kids to.” I might get struck by lighting for saying this, but—who can blame them for their warped view of what it means to be LGBTQIA if this is what they’re seeing on the eleven o’clock news?

Seriously? That backpack does NOT go with those gold shorts?

That and the fact that I hate crowds and it always feels like I’m being herded like cattle (yes, I know what that feels like) as I shuffle an inch at a time through the throng of sunburned back-fat, greasy chest pubes and nestled-in-neon nut-sacks. Ironically I end up leading our pack, and Jonathan sails through the sea of people effortlessly in my wake, while I—in all my wannabe OCD glory—fail miserably at keeping an invisible hermetic seal between myself and anything with a pulse. I can’t tell you how many sweaty jockstraps swiped and smeared up against my forearm or thigh, and as much as I’d normally like that….the men wearing those jockstraps were anything but attractive.

So I asked you… Am I really “supporting” the gay cause by being there, even if I’m not wearing a bare midriff cut tee, drunk off cheap beer, and eating funnel cake with my iPhone as my balls slouch out the base of my American Apparel boy shorts? No. Besides, I celebrate gay pride all year around. I do it by being gay, and by celebrating myself 24/7. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t supporting one gay better than supporting none?

In all seriousness, this year’s gay pride coincidentally came right after the thrilling Supreme Court’s overturning of DOMA (the Defense of Marriage Act) and it’s repeal of California’s controversial ban on same sex marriages (Proposition 8), making it a gay pride for the history books. So I was more than glad that we walked through it for a few hours, even if it was just to arrogantly judge others and eat “street meats.”

With my soapboxing aside, let us all rejoice in the achievements we’ve made towards equality for the human race. You can do it with flare and fashion faux pas, and I’ll do it by eating bacon wrapped hot dogs fried on metal trashcans in makeshift sidewalk carts.

Regardless, no matter which style you choose for your celebration, it’s not every day we find ourselves proud to be an American, and that alone is worth a little revelry.

Street Meats- Bacon Wrapped Hot Dogs with Onions and Peppers

At Gay Pride I indulged in one of my favorite guilty pleasures—the bacon wrapped hot dog. These big juicy hot dogs are the kind with pieces of ground up meat that you probably don’t want to know about, but purposely ignored because they’re wrapped in bacon (the purest of ingredients), and cooked in grease. Then their put on a soft yummy store-bought hot dog bun and covered in grilled onions, bell peppers, and a grilled jalapeno. They drizzle on some ketchup, mayonnaise, and yellow mustard and voila, a little piece of heaven in every bite.

You can sort of see the bacon wrapped around the hot dogs in this picture, but the camera was too close to the steaming tray and blurred a little. Whoops!

These hot dogs are effectionately called “street meats” (or if you’re feeling a little racist Beaner Weaners because they’re always made by Mexicans) because they’re made on little propane powered carts on the sidewalk. My bacon wrapped hot dog cherry first popped years ago in West Hollywood, after I spilled out from The Abbey at two in the morning drunk as a skunk. There’s nothing better for preventing a hangover than these, and they’re only $5. Can’t beat that! They take less than 20 seconds to prepare and even fewer to scarf down and wipe up from the sides of your mouth and down your arms.

Checkout our previous post titled Don’t Judge a Monger by the Price of His Fish

Checkout our next post about Polly the Pot Brownie Pusher

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