Girldick Puts on a Show
To kick off the event, Girldick performed “The Star-Spangled Banner (Taylor’s Verison).” Then came the humiliation games, which started an hour later than advertised because it was Pride and of course, the gays are always late. Eddie Baker’s signature wonky synthesizer and Chuck Roth’s slamming drums turned the National Anthem into Avant-Garde art as frontwoman Blair Broll declared, “I’m the proudest American. I served in the Army, Marines, what’s it called? Airforce.” It was the New York City-based band’s first performance in over five months, although the post-punk project has only existed for two. “We put out a song and play a show every six months,” Blair revealed to me early on in the night before discussing a hack for recording their future EP with bassist Mira Bosch.
Then the games began; joke contest, drawing contest, spitting contest, walking around with eggs in your ass contest, blindfolded fresh egg hunt, toe sucking contest, infamous cigarette race, and spaghetti wrestling. It was too loud to hear anything or understand the point system. However during the toe-sucking match (which has forever altered my life trajectory as it wasn’t amateur toe-sucking either), I overheard the only thing I needed to know that everyone else was as confused as I was: “How do you win?” “I think everyone wins,” “I think I’m winning.”
During halftime, Girldick came back for an abrasive, eerie three-song set. While setting up, Baker chugged beer and spat it out into the crowd. He continued his joker-type caricature with hops and flips. Broll threw her crumbled notebook pages to the audience and commanded them to scream alongside her. It was a high-energy, in-your-face performance rooted in the DIY attitude of fuck around and have fun. A perfect segway to the long-awaited final competition.
The two referees came out in an Italian chef’s hat and apron. They dumped about six jumbo cans of crushed tomatoes and bowls of cooked noodles into a kiddie pool, setting up the battlefield. A few finalists went against one another, either winning by pushing the opponent out of the pool or pinning them down for five seconds. These fights were intense. Bodies were thrown, headlocks happened, and one doll simply knocked a twink out in a matter of seconds. The crowd even got a twink and doll to kiss.
Unfortunately, neither of my favorite dolls won — the one who confessed to having her ex-boyfriend, current boyfriend, and therapist there supporting her yet also had four shirtless guys paint her name on themselves, nor the one who wore a BALL #2 jersey, and said, “I found this in the thrift store and it’s perfect because it represents two things I have: my urge to ball and my two balls.” But the dolls did win in the end. It was simultaneously unhinged and sentimental, an event by the community for the community, where everyone is friends with one another and supports each other in their nastiest endeavors. This is what Pride is all about after all. I just hope next year isn’t majority white people again.
