In 2038: Biloxi is the new San Francisco

(Apparently I moved to Mississippi after raising children. Talk about life going full circle. I can't even imagine moving to the place my father called "the old country.")

We had the Pride parade today. It was like going back in time to Oughties New York. A whole bunch of shirtless men and women waving rainbow flags down Main Street. The local PBS1 station covered it live. They even had their own float, which I joined them on.

I was sitting smack dab between Lyle Ralston, the 5 PM anchor, and his 2nd husband, Peter. He doesn't like to talk about Jonathan, which, fair play to him, I wouldn't either since all and sundry ask him about that kiss at the Superbowl. You know, I try to be witty and entertaining whenever I'm on air, but in ultra-humid Biloxi I was just trying to stay lucid.

Sample exchange:

Lyle: You've been living here for 2 years now, what d'you think of how we do Pride down here?
Me: It...good.
Lyle: Come again?
Me: Hmphbleaha...Could you pass the water bottle, please?

I recovered by the time we got closer to the beach, but in one [unfortunately live on television] moment, Lyle and State Senator Moxon (aka "Fox-on Moxon" and yes, he is) doused me with water. Now, that may have been cute when I was in my twenties and thirties, but I'm nearly 60! I don't like surprises even if they come from hot men.

The big dance was held out on Deer Island. That's right, Deer Island, the marshy wildlife preserve. I don't know how they did it, I don't even know why they did it, because honestly, the casinos were practically begging Pride Biloxi to host the dance. It was one nasty battle that seemed to prove that the Dixie Mafia had indeed gone gay. I just hate to imagine the cleanup bill after 10,000 people. (Oh yes, 10,000, and they were saying this was a light year.)

Nonetheless, it was worth braving the mosquitoes to hear Bobbi Kristina perform. That woman is still kicking ass in her forties. She's like Cher, Liza Minnelli, and Streisand rolled into one, and I'm just talking about her image. If indeed the old saying about greatness coming from crazy is true, then she's superb. (It also makes me a little optimistic about Four's success. She most definitely is the product of two deranged parents.) The best thing was seeing her come onto the stage and the crowd greeted her with "I'm not doing this with him, todaaaaay." She started laughing.

After she did her set, the other act was Sunny, the drag queen whose Shirley Bassey-esque voice has kept her on the charts since '30. And she's only 32 now. Seriously, 32! You know how they're always saying how people are fainting at her concerts? Well, I always thought that was a bunch of hokum, but they aren't kidding. This group of big strapping frat boys from Ole Miss (I think one of them is the quarterback up there) practically parted the crowd in their rush to see her. Midway through "Diamonds are forever" those boys fell with a thud straight out of a movie.

Being that I no longer have the stamina to dance all night, I caught the GulfRail home. (You know, we used to always think that Disney was so outdated with the monorail. Who knew? The thing takes you straight from downtown to Brasher Bayou in 10 minutes.) I got home just in time to get a call from Ken--who seems to forget that there's a serious time difference between Osaka and Biloxi, when the first thing out of his mouth is "Wow, you look wrecked."

Ain't he a charmer?