it's still necessary

Despite the last minute plan changes and such, I was still able to get out and have a good time this weekend. Six Flags was a lot of fun -- enough so that my roommate and I upgraded our tickets to the season pass, and that we'll be heading back out there a few more times. Plus, if I make it up to NYC or Chicago this summer, I can use it at the parks up there too. We slept late on Friday and didn't make it to the park until about three. A lot of the gays had headed home to get ready for their parties at that point, but that also meant much, much shorter lines for the rides. I avoided the ones that did a lot of jerky movement or required you to hold a bar to ride it out of deference to my broken arm, but did get to hop on a couple of the biggies, since they strap you in with a harness and you're not really required to hold on tight -- the ride holds on to you instead.

Saturday was the endless day at work. I had to wake up around 6 am to get in, and though I was supposed to be able to leave at 2, I didn't get to exit the building until 4. It was a long, frustrating day, but once I was done, I headed straight for the park. It was brimming with people from all over, even ran in to some people who'd come down from Detroit for the festivities. The festival had every imaginable business and every imaginable bit of swag. The tent for for the Atlanta Gay Men's Chorus was playing a video from their most recent concert and as I walked past, "Schadenfreude" from Avenue Q was playing. Of course, I grabbed my phone and telephoned my friend Mark, who happens to be the conductor and assistant musical director of that show and held up the phone so he could listen.

Also present: the protesters. A group of about 15 of them, holding up signs that take scripture out of context and claiming it means we're going to hell, stood at the entrance to the park accosting the revelers. I was struck by the irony that they've now evolved into the marginalized minority. Every few minutes someone would argue with them -- no, it's you who's going to hell, for preaching hate...

Pride began as a political statement -- it marks the Stonewall riots, which began when a bunch of drag queens, mourning the death of Judy Garland, fought back at the police when they raided their bar. Over the years, it has evolved from a march of defiance into a weekend long party, reveling in our identity and the thousands of tiny differences amongst each other. We've come quite a long way since that summer in the late sixties, but there's still quite a way to go. Georgia still has no anti-discrimination act on it's law books -- meaning if I worked for a less progressive company, I could be fired solely on the basis of sexual orientation, unrelated to job performance, and it's all perfectly legal (there are only three other states similarly lacking).

The argument over gay marriage remains political fodder, with people still screaming that the gay community wants special rights and special treatment -- which is patently false. We just want the same rights and privileges that are extended to anyone else. The recent invoking of miscegenation laws to uphold bans, to me, is particularly disgusting.

So what does it all mean? Simply put, though Pride is now more or less a sweaty midsummer party with corporate sponsorships, it's not time to bury its roots in activism. The loudest cheers at Sunday's parade were reserved for the PFLAG (Parents and Families of Lesbians And Gays) groups. You hear all the time that people's minds are changed by actually having a gay son or daughter, brother or sister. It's time now to take the next step.