One of my favourite blogs to visit is the ever-entertaining Capital Diary in Macleans, written by former fab magazine editor Mitchel Raphael.  So it was fun to be perusing the online version and spy the below in Mitchel’s recent Pride coverage:

Photo: Spencer Xiong.

Oh, Child.

What. An. Awesome. PRIDE.

Wonderful balance between work and play, emphasis on play.  Herewith, some Pride 2009 favourite memories (fuck I love Pride) in no particular order followed by pics upon pics:

- Being showered by a glitter fairy (aka Xtra’s arts editor Gordon Bowness) so much that I was picking gold off my nether regions days after Pride was over.

- Deborah Cox and Divine Brown.  Both in studio on the show and on stage Pride Saturday / Sunday respectively.  Friday Cox comes on-air and puts me in my place about one of my favourite Toronto Pride memories of her performing in aqua PVC: “I can’t let you tell that story one more time without correcting you.  It was Montreal, honey.”  Saturday on stage she electrifies with her set before a packed, jubilant parking lot.  Brown also guests pre-Pride and headlines Sunday night before an adoring crowd.  Backstage with ten minutes left of her set getting ready to perform ‘Sunglasses’, Brown grabs my arm: ‘WhatamIgoingtodomysunglasseskeepfoggingup???’ 

- Flirting with the Mayor.  Good sport, that guy.

- My pal Rico’s date Rick telling everyone (anyone) that he loved them, Pride Sunday.

- Michael Jackson tributes of all sorts, everywhere.

- ‘Shrooms?  Really?  Sure, seems like the next logical step …

- Slow dancing with Deb Pearce at the back of the PROUD FM float to thumping disco beats down Yonge Street, my hands on her ass like it’s high school gym.

- Miss Butter’s fierce rhyming at the O’Grady’s beer garden parking lot Saturday afternoon.

- Dancing in the sun to ABC singing ‘The Look Of Love’ … WTF? 

- Working a frenzied crowd before Kelly Rowland’s performance Sunday afternoon.  (Dealing with their disappointment after her 15 minute set, not so much )

- That we had our first Trans March this year.

Final Thought: I can’t believe Pride weekend’s partying used to be my lifestyle.

Somewhere in the middle of all that was Pride Toronto 2009 I learned something.

Friday afternoon in the studio in the midst of Deborah Cox and vodka shots and other such debauchery I got a Facebook message from someone who was not all too pleased with Miss Proulx.

I know, because the first few words were: How. Dare. You.

But I didn’t want to put a damper in any way on my Pride kick off, so I decided to wait to read it.  (It went on and on and on, anyway.)

It was from someone who didn’t like what I’d written here about my experience at an event she had put on, and so she decided to speak up.  Which is fine, people send hate from time to time (I actually used to cut it out and staple it together in a chain hanging in my kitchen for guests to read and giggle over while I mixed cocktails).

Over the weekend I mentioned to Patrick that this person had written me.  I got the best advise back immediately.

“Delete it,” said the wise Marano.

I’m pretty good at avoiding negativity in my life, paying little attention to mainstream news, for example, but it had never dawned on me to not give attention to something someone had written me.

I decided to try something new.  So I enjoyed my Pride, and then, sometime this past week (I don’t remember which day , I deleted that angry Facebook message without reading it.

It felt terrific, cleansing, liberating, and I can’t believe I didn’t ever think of it myself.  Little aggravation gone without ever feeling aggravated.    

Moral of the story: Just because someone throws you a ball, doesn’t mean you have to catch it.