The proudest gay...

Friday evening I squatted 350 lbs. for three sets of ten. I practically ran home, ecstatic at having pretty much shattered a long term goal of mine. Saturday, however, my legs began to ache a little...

On Sunday morning, following much preening and fluttering, we trouped down to the Praça da Estação. The city was still waking up, but as we approached, we could already hear the rumor of a crowd and music.

At one end of the square: an enormous stage covered in sound equipment and drag queens. Under an increasingly hot winter sun, we met people and drank, circulating occasionally in search of shade. I didn't pay much attention to the lip synced drag shows or the speeches by public figures eager to assert their support for human rights.

I was too busy watching the crowd. Besides, campy entertainment and political mobilization were obviously not the point.

People were there to hook up S. E. X...

Even the festive atmosphere was a facade. Music blaring, confetti spraying, people dancing and kissing... basically a gay bar that's spilled into the streets. You get used to people not really paying attention as you talk to them. Everyone is looking for two things: a pretty face (or a passable one) and a willing disposition.

Seeing as I already had a date, I plodded along with one hand tightly gripping Ricardo's, the other shoved firmly into my pocket with my camera and money. Still, someone managed to get his phone number into my pocket without my realizing it - honestly I'm just impressed more than anything.

Poor Ricardo... one of the most intelligent, respectable guys I've ever met (he's a lawyer for an NGO, representing disadvantaged workers for crying out loud) he was the one who got an egg in the shoulder. Just as the parade was beginning, a punk kid started dancing up on him. When he pushed the partier away, I saw his cell phone had been nudged half way out of his pocket.

All along the trajectory, the people leaned out their windows watching the giddy crowd below. Along the street, people broke rank to urinate in a corner or to make out. I really didn't see many of the infamous exhibitionists, the traditional staple of gay pride parades. The two I saw in their underwear, one with angel wings and his little tush hanging out, were so young I'm not sure I can even call them men.

I would compare these two to the teenager who gets a bellybutton ring without asking her mom. Bucking society by flaunting norms... but in the process flaunting good judgment (and taste) as well.

Sadly, my friends, after my first gay pride parade, I must join the naysayers. A gay pride parade has little to do with empowerment. Pride might begin with a public demonstration like this. But an adult, hopefully, takes his or her independent identity for granted... Asserting oneself, making one's own life choices... and respecting other people's autonomy are some of the sweetest rewards of adulthood.

The goal is to move society in this direction. I'm not sure filling the streets with piss and loud music is the best way...

The real work of change happens in the courts. Not tolerating discrimination at work, in public life. Taking the trouble. Protesting. Integrity in your public, professional life. Writing. Speaking. Voting. You really don't need a crowd to help you with that...

In daily life, it's the courage to refer to my "boyfriend" instead of my "friend." Taking his hand on the bus - not to shock, but because I care for him and I expect others to respect that.
After walking for eight hours, though, I was holding my boyfriend's hand mainly because my legs were about to give way with every step. My little weightlifting feat a few days ago had come back to haunt me.

I think that's what it's all about. Someone willing to brave the snickers of ignorant people to hold you up when you're about to fall on your ass.

Cruzeiro crazies

I am staying in Barro Preto currently, which also is the home of the Cruzeiro Athletic Club, one of the main football teams in Belo Horizonte.

Last night around sundown, firecrackers began popping and horns blaring as streets started to fill with cars and trucks overflowing with shouting fans. The Cruzeiro blue was everywhere as the streetlamps flickered on. After dinner, you could easily hear the commotion from 18 stories down and two blocks away. Out the window, you could see tents and blankets streaching around the Cruzeiro athletic complex. O Tempo, the local paper, said over 5,000 turned out to spend the night on the street to buy tickets as soon as they went on sale.

Late this morning, helicopters began circling and the noise really became compelling. Curious at the change in tone, I walked around the block to R. Timbiras where the Cruzeiro administration building is located. Suddendly, hoards [there really is no better word for it] of young men came running, surging and shouting around the corner. As they pressed forward, trashcans went flying, signs came down and the storekeepers who had been watching out their front doors scurried to close the metal storefront shutters. A very restive sea of dark blue tossed in front of the Cruzeiro building. Shouts arouse from the crowd and the street rapidly emptied of shoppers who moved on or posted themselves at the street corners to observe, their hands cluching their bags or shading their eyes. A reporter slowly eased himself out of car and tentatively moved his camera onto his shoulder.

Suddenly, the crowd broke and adolescents scattered back in a wave. The cops had finally arrived. They formed a line in front of the building and tried to move traffic down the street. Overhead, a helicopter circled in tight passes. Soon, the mob regained confidence and the blue waves surged back in rivulets between the halted cars filled with very nervous passengers.

I gathered from the angry outburts hurled from the crowd that the police had cut off the sale of tickets and not all the campers had been able to get in. Feeling themselves cheated after so much effort, they apparently thought the administration deserved to learn of their displeasure first hand. Indeed, men in suits on the patio of the building stared down at stormy crowd with deathly seriousness.

I darted home to retrive my camera when I noticed serveral very well-built shirtless young men ascending the streets in knots. One picked up several shards of concrete from the sidewalk and dove back in the crowd...

By the time I got back, however, there where police on every street corner in the neighborhood. The rabble had been disbanded and an orderly line streached up the street. One particularly massive cop with a motorcycle helmet was coordinating the dealings with the crowd. Order was restored tentatively... boy, wouldn't it just be poetic if Cruzeiro lost after so much bruhaha? hehehehe...