Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

Strangely now I'm feeling better about the whole thing, but I like the poetry of these earlier thoughts

Filed By Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore | June 24, 2007 4:36 AM | comments

Filed in: Living, Media
Tags: Pride, San Francisco, swimming

I always forget how horrible Pride is, I mean no I don't forget how horrible it is. What I forget is how all-encompassing it becomes. I've only seen a few gay tourists so far, and I haven't been to anything remotely Pride-specific except film screenings, but I already feel like I'm supposed to be experiencing something.

Usually, I think of Thanksgiving as the worst holiday -- celebrating 300 years of genocide with miles of dead turkey, no turkey is what you eat these are dead turkeys. Then there's July Fourth and all of that hyper-patriotism and blasts of mineral-laden bright-skied fury fantasia -- oh no, that's right around the corner! Of course, Christmas is the religious consumer family nightmare (yes, whether you're crossing yourself or just crossing the street). But I actually think maybe Pride is worse than any of these, especially here in San Francisco where it's such a consumer spectacle -- I'm going to a movie later tonight and I'm already worried that it will feel like Pride, just shoot me up with a hundred cocktails and then I can swim!

That's the scary part -- wanting to hold my arms around someone like recognition, like exposition, like heavenly higher-than-the-sky extradition -- do you know what I mean? Oh, the lure the lure the lore the lure of that right-around-the-corner blast-off-and-never-come-down arms out mouth wide open take me, tell me, hold my eyelids open and then pour Budweiser in, drink me I'm nothing but a body waiting, a body waiting for the rest.

Mattilda blogs at

Leave a comment

We want to know your opinion on this issue! While arguing about an opinion or idea is encouraged, personal attacks will not be tolerated. Please be respectful of others.

The editorial team will delete a comment that is off-topic, abusive, exceptionally incoherent, includes a slur or is soliciting and/or advertising. Repeated violations of the policy will result in revocation of your user account. Please keep in mind that this is our online home; ill-mannered house guests will be shown the door.

A. J. Lopp | June 24, 2007 2:09 PM

Yes, Mattilda, I get your message ...

... the first few Christopher Street West festivals (local name for the GLBT Pride event in West Hollywood) were fun because they were such enormous spectacles, and so overwhelming for this hayseed hick from the Hoosier state.

... Then, later on, they began making me feel insignificant, like an ant crawling about between the exhibitor booths ... and eventually I felt like an Invisible Man walking about, taking in the sights in an out-of-body experience. ... And then, finally, I decided, "This is no fun, no fun at all," and quit going.

Mattilda, come to the Midwest, or any other small town, to plug in again to the Purpose of Pride. The smaller Pride events here in the Midwest are actually more relevant. Here, we are struggling still. These smaller events have a sense of purpose, and when I attend them, I can feel it in the air.

Even after I've downed my third overpriced corndog, and can eat only half of my $8 Bloomin' Onion.

Thanks, A.J., for the thoughtful comment... I will admit that the smallest Pride I've been to was in Seattle (hardly a "smaller event in the Midwest"), although it was much less horrifying than Pride in San Francisco or New York -- if only Pride were some sort of intervention where people got together and took over City Hall (anywhere, really) and turned it into housing for homeless queer youth...