The annual Southern migration of homosexuals to Piedmont Park is a sight to behold. My friend Jennifer injected a little class into my weekend by suggesting we go to the Krog Bar on Friday night. They have an excellent wine list and tapas. A very nice evening of fun and good food.
Unfortunately the weekend was all downhill from there as I de-evolved into my more natural and primitive Pride state...Drinking whatever alcohol I could get my hands on, sweating, wandering through herds of people, and rolling around in the grass like a heathen.
The tent area had some R-rated action in the afternoon. Our tent had a strategic location just downhill from the breast-painting area so the view was pretty good. As the afternoon wore on the casual partiers packed it up and the R rating got closer and closer to XXX. Only the use of huge floodlights by the organizers and the Atlanta PD kept it from getting too out of hand. Dang.
One disappointment was the lightweight entertainment schedule. There were no big headliners like the B-52's or the Indigo Girls. Not even a Michelle Malone in sight. Instead, the lineup was dominated by the likes of Debbie (excuse me, Deborah) Gibson. Maybe that's why I was so anxious to pay $ 8 for a Hurricane with extra vodka.
