Cleveland Rained Out, But Not A Complete Wash

I flew to Ohio for Cleveland’s Pride festivities this weekend. It was a smooth direct flight and when I got in I got a good night’s sleep and got up the next day and headed to the hotel gym, which was in the basement floor. The hotel was alright, I think a four-star, which I really have no idea what that means. When I got to the Fitness Center, the gym consisted of a pool, 3 cardio machines, two of them occupied; and a broken assisted-dip machine. Although I brought my swim trunks in my luggage, I hadn’t fully intended on the pool. I have been in my own pool many times now without anything up top, but that’s with an eight foot wall around the whole backyard. Shit, back there I go completely naked and love it. But in Cleveland at my hotel pool, it would have been my first public appearance with a bare chest. I would have been more comfortable with the support of a fellow trannie boi or my girl, someone to remind me that it’s okay and that I don’t look, I don’t know.. too unusual with my incisions. I left without a workout, there wasn’t anything really to do there. I suppose I could have done a bunch of pushups in my room – ooh, that would have been totally butch if I had. After the stale air of the plane and the hotel, the air off Lake Erie was calling. I wanted to see a little of the Theater District so I walked for a bit.

I needed protein! Eggs! I found a little café right next to the giant theater on Euclid that was housing a run of Jersey Boys. I always wonder how they do so many productions of the same show in different cities. Is New York’s better because it’s in New York? How do they cast it? Are the actors from New York? Were they second string to the ones in New York? Do they rotate them to different cities? Curious. The café was empty and the girl with the Eastern European accent made me an egg, cheese croissant. She accidentally put bacon on it and at first I thought, I’m in Cleveland, whose going to know if I eat this bacon or not. I remember thinking something similar once when I moved to Idaho a long time ago.

By the way, I’m a recovering alcoholic, I proved myself as a drunk, did my research and the results were in when I was 21 and I quit drinking (the first time) shortly after my 21st birthday. When I was 25 I had that quarter century crisis, hopped in my car to drive around the country on my last paycheck. Technically, it was my last $180 unemployment check and it got me as far as Idaho, that includes getting a used alternator at a junkyard in Seabrook, New Hampshire and a new battery in Syracuse, New York.

I remember on my drive out there I thought about going to a new place where no one knew me. No one knew that I was an addict and that I couldn’t drink normally. For several hours in the car before I snapped out of it, I thought how I might be able to drink there and no one would ever be the wiser. This insured me of my sickness and I went to a meeting upon arrival to my new town, Boise. I went to the meeting because I knew if I drank, my new town might not know (for a few days at least) that I was an alcoholic, but I would. I knew the guilt of my promise to myself and the time I had put in and lost would bother me too much. I’m too sensitive for that stuff. I’m a terrible liar, even to myself.

So likewise, if I ate the bacon on my egg sandwich, I would know and the guilt would eat away at me and I could no longer say I started my veg pledge on May 1st and I haven’t eaten meat since. I actually like be able to say that. So I nicely asked the girl with the cool accent in the empty café to fix me some vittles without the bacon.

And what does this have to do with Pride in Cleveland? Nothing really, it was just a MAJOR sidebar.

My first driver, Connie couldn’t make the trip to get me to the stage for my performance, she was picking up someone at the airport. PJ the young Butch from Youngstown, styling a sizeable red faux-hawk took me town. She was an especially careful driver, it was sweet. She told me she was a new Drag King and she had a good drag name, I just can’t remember it right this second. We pulled in and I stepped out into the heat and sunny, smiling crowd of queers! Yay! I love queers. No matter who you sleep with, if you are queer or queer by proxy, this is the group of people who you want to be around when you want to brave that fucked up outfit you’ve been dying to sport. I think it’s the most forgiving fashion day of the year. My Dad could come in his black socks and white paten leather shoes and shorts and get still be love and get laid – which is just a weird thing to say about my almost 70 year old straight Dad.

I walked around checking out the booths of merch, cold drinks and corndogs. Corndogs seemed to be a popular item at Pride in Cleveland and I might have chuckled watching a gay boy deep-throating the stick to get the last bit of corndog into their mouth. I know, I’m childish and have watched too much porn lately that I can immediately sexualize a gay guy eating corndogs. I’m sure there’s a fetish site for it somewhere on-line.

My performance was scheduled for 4:10pm and they were running a little bit late so I hung around stage side to make sure I hopped up there when they needed me. erforming comedy at an outdoor Pride can be tough. Comedy outside in broad daylight, it’s just not the best way to perform or see comedy. Having said that, I had a decent set. and the audience were good listeners and laughers.

Right before I went on I heard the Stage Manager, Tibbs talking about a weather report that just forecasted a nasty storm headed our way. After word spread of the forecast, all these lesbians started hauling ass around with bungee cords and wide rolls of various kinds of tape, hooking, strapping and taping everything down in site. Those dykes were ready and got shit done. Yeeow!

I got off stage and the very cool and talented, Bitch went up and began her set. She brought the crowd of young dykes up to the front and worked them up into an awesome little frenzy. It was a sea of dancing, chanting dykes She twirled through the grass and people, dreads flying, skirt rising, as if to summon the Goddess of rain and wind. It was really quite awesome to see. Watching her made it look like she was making it happen. The wind kicked up and the sky started to spit. We all thought perhaps this will pass in a matter of seconds it was mayhem. Bitch kept on, the rain was coming down harder, the dancing dykes were toughing it out, they loved her and all of it. But Tibbs had a moment of thinking, shit, there’s electricity, water and people involved here, and made the call.

The next thing all of us performers knew crowded into the giant stage side tent, one of the few things not blowing away in the 40-50 mph gusts and most everyone drenched. We were one giant, wet, queer circus family. One of the music groups from New York, a women’s percussion band called Paprika, and their equipment was out it’s cases and ready. They began to play inside the tent, it was louder than the thunder overhead. I have no idea if it was Bossa Nova or Tribal or a mixture, but it was sinking in deeper than he moisture and we all started to dance. Like a great circus family of beautiful freaks, we were making the most of this crazy storm. There we were, all the performers and some audience stragglers under the big top, waiting for the weather to let up. This is exactly what I have imagined the Michigan Women’s Music Festival to be like, but the I think that festival might have less clothes. Just sayin’.

We must have been in there for over an hour with Paprika drumming, chanting, whistling and us all still shaking our asses, just smiling. Ohh, ohh my, yes, I almost forgot.. there was this one person out in the middle of the storm still sitting in a lawn chair with an umbrella that they managed to keep from getting blown inside-out maybe trying to wait out the storm hoping that the show would start again. But the fact was that all the equipment on stage was soaked and they had to cut the power to everything up there so that no one would be injured. I’m not sure who it was, Brynna, Grand Marshall of Pride or Tibbs who made the call to officially abandon the rest of the performances in the park on Lake Erie that day. But that hard core Lone Ranger did eventually pack it up and head out.

For some of the folks who didn’t get to perform, they tried to rebook them at Venues around Cleveland for that night. I was done for the day and eventually caught a ride back to the hotel with one of the drivers. Gratefully, I wasn’t that wet, but I did go rest a bit in my room. I went to the hotel restaurant downstairs. If nothing else, hotels usually have a decent salad. After dinner, on my way out I walked through the bar and saw the ole salty ole dog herelf, iconic Butch musician, Ferron. You can learn a lot from your elder Butch sisters and brothers, so when they ask you sit, DO IT! Check out my next blog about my Butch bar date with Ferron and lovely new friend, Bitch.

All in all, I consider this a great trip! Thanks Cleveland Pride for having me, I’m honored to have performed at your celebration. I am also proud to have danced with my beautiful and queer circus family. Thank you, that is true living, thank you.

Love you, mean it!
XO – Ian