We took the umbrellas, carried them all day long – and could’ve left them at home.  But we were prepared.  Which is what the message seems to be recently: be prepared in case something happens when you’re walking home, and be prepared when an entertainer slings crap out of her mouth about the community which supports her – and so we were prepared for rain, which never really came.  Instead, the Parade down the lavender line was almost as cool as June in San Francisco.  And because we watched the Parade from 23rd Street and south, we avoided any protesters – and instead saw only scores of young people marching behind banners for their public high schools as well as for Ali Forney and Hetrick-Martin and the Community Center – and what could more inspirational than the sight of happy young gay people marching as one. 

And there was Kevin, astride the elephant on the HX float, with Peppermint Gummibear at Ringmistress cajoling the crowd into cheers, and also the Summer of Love Starbucks float with all the LGBT baristas, and – get this -  a LAS VEGAS float – gotta love that, that town got no prob with The Gays – and the NEXT float (without Kim English, who must’ve jumped off at St. Partrick’s....) filled with Superboys, and also that contingent of banner-twirlers which incited the crowd into hysteria each time they performed their routine.  Is that on the gene code, too – a propensity for brightly-colored fabric sailing in sync through the air? 

The t-shirts this year seemed to be all about SIZE.  Such as the words IT REALLY IS THIS BIG bracketed by hands stretched across the chest, and also HALF MAN, HALF HORSE, and another which stated I’M A LEGEND IN JAPAN, which we first read as SPAIN. 

And L’Oreal’s float tossed out bracelets and facial product, and leis from the Gay Men’s Chorus and candies and lollipops and chihuahuas draped in rainbow flags and a brigade of Ginch Gonch undie boys and everyone taking photos and one boy going, “You taking my photo?  Make me famous.”

It’s nearly six by the time we make it to John and Tim’s party at their place around the corner from Henrietta Hudson’s and inside, it’s wall-to-wall alcohol and a boy wearing MASTURBATION IS NOT A CRIME on his chest.  Kids these days are so sensible. 

And it’s nearly seven by the time we swim through the oceans of pier kids alongside Hudson River Park where they’re giving it right back to any stares from the stalled West Side Highway traffic.  So many people, so many gay kids and gay parents and gay couples -- and walking toward the Pier Dance, it feels as if no place is more gay right now and the whole world has finally got smart (and please, make them all vote when November rolls around). 

We haven’t been to a Pier Dance since Junior was in control and really, we don’t much like dancing on a parking lot, but it’s the 20th Anniversary of Pier Dance, and so this year, instead of paying to paint some of the lavender line along Fifth, we bought the vip tix which makes entry so much easier, straight back along the water, and out to the end of the Pier where sailor boyz in tiny swimsuits are waiting to take our order: alcohol and salt, please, what more do we need?  And as an armada of rainbow-flagged sailboats float by, we’re toasting to another Pride – when who should appear but the three Supremes: Patrick Forrett, Jeffrey and Ernie Sauer – who’ve got nothing on their horizon but an entire summer in the Pines.

The Pier’s packed – big surprise – and Susan’s got everyone happy.  It’s that up-journey the Disciples of SM love.  She makes it easy to dance, even on asphalt.  And there’s Joe Caro – already without his pants, werking his cellie, taking one call after another.  And the Empire State Building is glowing lavender, its spire in white, shrouded in mist.  The skies are produced by Tim Burton – and any minute, we’re going to see Batman – but no, first, it’s Kat and Jay.  Kat who wins T-Shirt of the Weekend Award, hers reads KEVIN AVIANCE FIGHT CLUB complete with a pink stiletto embroidered in the middle.  And there’s Matt K. too, which means time for a photo op beneath the vip toilet sign.  Purrfection.

We wade into the crowd, thinking we’ll find Alan and Joey directly in front of Susan – but instead, we find sardines.  We are sardines.  Our organs squeezed and wrung out.  And we’re listening to the jabber, someone saying, “They thought I was falling out, so security took me to MedEvent – but I was only sleeping on the floor.”  And someone else going, “There’s no way I can eat a banana whole because it’s like a dick in my mouth.” 

We hightail it back to the far end – closer to the river breezes.  We’re dancing with Kat and Jay – and Steve Weinstein who freaks in delirium when Susan plays “Where the Streets Have No Name” and we cop a photo of him in joyful abandon – which he has to have, because “That’s my new photo for Manhunt.”  And Kat’s urging us deeper, saying “Come into the light.  Come into the light,” so we follow her lead, and finally we see Alan and Joey, and later, J.Lo appears – at the stage way down there, and who knew she was so little?  Maybe three inches tall at best – and at least two inches of that is hair.  We could fit her in our pocket; put her in our ear.  Our own little J.Lo iPod.  The crowd certainly seems to love her.  And she seems to love the crowd right back.  She sounds sincere when she says she loves us.  She says, “You have no idea how glad I am to be here.”  And maybe she is, because let’s face it, she used to pal around with Ben A. who used to bf with Matt D., so at least J.Lo’s been around some boy hanky-panky. 

She doesn’t take up too much time.  There’s a party going on.  And we’ve got a joint and Kat goes “Oh my god, you’re a brother from another mother.”  And we’re standing on the landing, up above the crowd, facing the River as the fireworks explode, and there’s not one but at least three fireworks songs: “Love Is In the Air,” and then Frankie Valli’s “Soul/Heaven Above Me,” and finally “It’s My Life,” which seems, at least to us, to finish with the words: It's my life/Don't you forget/It's my life/IT NEVER ENDS................. 

And that’s how Susan leaves it.  Or, at least, how the 20th Pier Dance rings in our ears: our energy going on and on, out into space, pure love radiating onward.