Editor's note: I work nights — though not for long! — so I couldn't attend the recent gay pride events in Kansas City. My friend Lisa, however, was gracious enough to send me a few live updates via her cell phone. She did such a great job as a live correspondent that I commissioned a full report. It's long — and, to preserve its authenticity, unedited — but absolutely worth the read, especially if you want a taste of the glamorous gay life in Kansas City.
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Okay, so up until tonight I had never been to a Pride event of any kind. I know, shameful! I was invited to go to the Street Blast with a few friends. For those of you not in the know, the Street Blast is the event held on Friday night – the first night of the festival – where the 18th block of Main Street is shut down so that house music can be broadcast at ear splitting volumes. Come on, you know it sounds like fun!
In the days leading up to Pride weekend I have felt very ambivalent and apathetic about going. I know, I know! It seems awful of me not to go in support of our people, but I detest Tootsies as a general rule, with its poorly lit, dingy interior and its nondescript house music. The.Street.Blast! sounded like an outside version of Tootsies. But in the name of research, I decide to go. I wonder what kind of drama will unfold tonight. Think of all those ex’s contained in such close quarters! There are a few people that I do.not.want to run into myself.
Two things I’m looking forward to:
- Seeing large quantities of gay people. This is something I don’t often get to witness. I’ve really only ever seen as many gay people that can fit inside Tootsies. And since I don’t go to Tootsies anymore, I rarely see our people en masse.
- The unfettered public groping. You know, the kind of groping that we gays never get to do in public normally? Yeah, that kind.
As a general note, it is troubling to witness the number of people who brought their small children and infants to the event. Who does this??!! Infants. Like four week old babies. Right up near the stage. Next to the very loud house music playing. Poor babies. Look at the child in this picture. This was one of the older ones that I saw. Look how sad and tired she is. Meanwhile, her father chats on a cell phone.
5:00pm – Jay, Dena and I meet in the parking lot across the street from Tootsies. The Street Blast is still an hour away from its scheduled start. For the most part, it looks fairly empty, with the exception of some people setting up. We amble over to Manny’s for some pre-SB chow.
[sidebar: I’ve been to Manny’s a number of times. I’ve never realized its proximity to Tootsies. I’m now momentarily disoriented]
5:06pm – (methinks) OMG, WHY is it so HOT? Summer can be so unfeeling and inconsiderate sometimes, no?
6:00pm – We walk back to the closed off block that is now, officially! The.Street.Blast! It still looks empty. I’m slightly disappointed. We decide to “walk around”. You know, check out the scene.
6:02pm – That was thrilling. It took roughly two minutes to walk the length of the block. And really, there is nothing to see with the exception of what appears to be a single, oddly placed, carnival-like booth where you can throw darts at balloons tacked to a wall to win a stuffed animal, some of which were quite large. A word about the stuffed! animals! They were rough looking. From further away the largest of the stuffed animals compels thoughts of a wonderfully plush, parental surrogate. Up close they look tattered and worn. And unloved.
6:10pm – We all file into Tootsies so that I can use the bathroom. Sure, there is an entire row of porta-potties available for use, but I want to use a real bathroom. Wait. Let’s remember where we are. Tootsies and “real bathroom” are not synonymous. Anyone who has ever used the bathroom at Tootsies knows that it is only a half step above an outhouse; however, it did seem better than the alternative.
[rant] It astounds me that Tootsies has been in business as long as it has, making as much money as I’m sure it does and still offers a sub par bathroom experience. Namely, shower curtains in lieu of bathroom doors and what must be the smallest sink known to man. I first went to Tootsies in 2000 and they had shower curtains in the bathroom then. On a slow night you might find soap in the dispenser, paper towels and toilet paper. The perfect bathroom trifecta! On a busy night, forget about soap and paper towels - you’ll be lucky if there’s toilet paper to be had. The only truly lesbian bar in town and this is what my people are subjected to. [/rant]
I digress . . .
There is a $2 cover at the door, which, even though it’s usually $5, seems like profiteering in view of the happy occasion (Pride! 2008!); however, we were thankful we paid the usage tax later because we didn’t have to wait in line to get back in. Now, it’s been quite some time since I last frequented Tootsies. Some subtle changes have occurred, mainly in the form of signage. Shortly after walking in the door you are assaulted with excessive signage and then again at the “bathrooms”. The signs at the entryway read: “OVER 21 ONLY” and “MUST HAVE TWO FORMS OF ID, ONE WITH A PICTURE”, which I guess they had suspended for Pride! 2008! since my driver’s license alone is accepted. I say assaulted because the signs are written in all caps. Internet, if you have taught us anything it’s that all caps is not used for emphasis, it’s used for yelling. Bad form.
[sidebar: who goes to a bar with two forms of ID? I don’t even possess two forms of ID unless you count my passport (which is expired anyway). So I’m supposed to show up next time with my driver’s license and birth certificate??]
The second set of signs (I counted two or three) near the bathrooms, yell out “WOMEN ONLY!!!!!” This is obviously a product of the rape allegations that were leveled against Tootsies in April.
[sidebar: I think if a man (and there are many that frequent Tootsies), has the intent to harm and/or rape a woman, a sign proclaiming “WOMEN ONLY” (even if it is in all caps) is not going to serve as a deterrent. Neither are the shower-curtain bathroom doors. Shower curtains don’t lock.]
Finally, there are a few signs at the bar that yell “TWO DRINK MINIMUM”. This is all beginning to feel very Shawshank-like.
6:18pm – We go over to buy our drink tickets. I am aware that you are required to wear an arm band signifying your eligibility to consume alcoholic beverages. What I did not know was that you had to pay $5 for that arm band. Again, seems like profiteering. Also, each day of the festival uses a different colored arm band, meaning you have to re-buy an arm band each day that you want to drink. Jay and I attempt to negotiate and/or argue this injustice, ultimately in vain. We are bitter.
There are few drink options available: water, sodas, some bottled beers and the very exotic sounding “mixed” drinks with alluring names like: twisted tea, Malibu mango lemonade and Stoli blackberry lemonade. Unfortunately, we quickly realize that the “mixed” drinks were mixed . . . in large orange coolers. Like the ones that you used to drink out of at your old soccer games? Yes, those.
[sidebar: Think back to the early 80’s - do you remember that orange drink from McDonalds? It wasn’t carbonated – it was just orange drink. I had it everywhere as a child: at soccer games, at church events, at large family functions . . .]
Jay, a self-confessed germ-o-phobe, took one look at the orange coolers and ordered a Miller Lite. I followed suit.
6:30pm – I think the dart game might be fixed. At least that is what Jay proclaims after trying her luck. She pierces enough balloons only to qualify for a stuffed animal from the lowest tier; however, the fast talking “carnie” attempts to dupe her into spending just.$15.more! to upgrade to the surrogate size stuffed animal. She isn’t biting. And she is incensed.
We decide to sit up by the stage (and the very large speakers) on one of the curbs and people watch. The sun has not yet set and is beating down on me from directly over the buildings on the West side of the street. We see the first infant of the night. Here’s something else troubling, although I feel kind of bad for pointing it out. We people watched for over an hour. We saw lots of people – our people. In a word, they looked rough. Like 95% of the people that walked by looked unemployable. And sort of mean. Jay agrees. I start out the conversation like this: “Can I say something kind of rude”? (Jay) “Of course”! I console myself with the thought that it is still pretty early as I wonder aloud which section of The.Street.Blast! contains the professional, employed over-thirty crowd? It was apparently not the section we are sitting in.
8:05pm – (Jay) “Look they’re walking”! Her statement doesn’t register with me at all. My eyes have glazed over by this time. It isn’t until I notice the group of people that have formed two parallel facing single-file lines that I ask what is going on. This is when I learn of the phenomenon that is cat walking. Have you heard of this? It’s where the boys and trans-gendered walk – to pulsing house music – like they are walking down a runway. Complete with all the hip shaking, hair flipping, posturing and associated flair/pizzazz you would expect from any runway model. Apparently, it’s all the rage amongst the trans-gendered community. It’s all taken very seriously and such, with organized practices and everything.
I am fascinated.
8:56pm – Crowd is getting much thicker now. By this time we are down at the South end of Street.Blast.2008! where the previously talk-prohibiting house music was now just a non-descript “thumpa-thumpa” sound. You know the sound. It’s the background music in every Babylon scene from the defunct Queer as Folk.
9:30pm - No soap in bathroom at Tootsies. What a surprise . . . As I’m walking through that smaller room that leads to the bathroom, I hear two Pride Staff people talking about how there should always be someone watching the liquor and that there had not been. I look and sure enough, against the wall is what looks to be twenty cases of bottled liquor. I’d never seen it there before. It was obviously Street Blast overflow. I’ll come back to this in a moment . . .
9:50pm - I just ate a funnel cake. O Supreme Goodness! Seriously. Have you had one of these lately? Amazing! I was curious as to how such a thing could come into being. It’s a fascinating process.
First you pour some batter into a cookie cutter like thing sitting in a vat of grease.
Then, after the prescribed amount if time, shake the new funnel out of the cookie cutter thing into vat of grease.
New funnel should float around in vat of grease for a prescribed amount of time.
Pluck new funnel from vat of grease and place on paper plate. Sprinkle powdered sugar liberally. And voila! There you have it! A little grease endowed slice of heaven right here on earth. Seriously, if I could begin each day with a funnel cake I would.
10:02pm – The crowd is growing bigger by the minute. At this point it’s getting harder and harder to move around. As a result, there is a lot of standing around and crowd watching.
These ladies graciously agreed to pose for me. I loved their outfits. They even had matching carry-on luggage that they pulled around behind them (on wheels of course).
Not pictured is the tight fitting mankini that this guy is wearing. I was sad it didn’t make it into the picture.
10:28pm – All is not well. It’s really too early to tell but it appears as if my intestinal tract is rejecting the funnel cake offering – say it isn’t so!
10:30pm – I make my way to the bathroom to check out the disturbance. By this point, there is a helluva line to the bathroom, extending all the way to the pool table. Well of course there is. And then I notice what all the cases of liquor are for. It’s the site of the mixing station for the exotic “mixed” drinks! Up walks a Staffer with an empty orange cooler. He dumps in the prescribed ingredients, gives it a stir or two and then heads back out to the street with it. Not exactly the cleanest of environments. What isn’t pictured is the half full ashtray sitting just feet away from the mixing station. Lovely. I finally get through the line into the bathroom to see that not only are there no paper towels but the soap is gone too. Well what was I expecting? It is a busy night after all – Street.Blast.2008!
11:10pm – There is now a large mass of people in front of the stage. We decide to see for ourselves what is going on up there. As we make our way up front, past the throng of people, I realize that the non-descript thumping I have been listening to for the last few hours is actually music! Martha Washington is on stage singing.
11:22pm – The crowd is dutifully whipped into a frenzy at last call with “It’s raining men”. I’m talking, hands in the air, crowd-jumping frenzy. Can you think of a more apt way to end The.Street.Blast?
