Tyler Uptight, performing as part of the Toronto Drag Kings.

Toronto Drag Kings
Zipperz (72 Carlton Street)
Wednesday nights, 11 p.m–2 a.m.
No cover, 19+

Alex Rayden-Panties stands calmly in the dingy back room of Zipperz: a dark, dated space on Carlton Street just west of Jarvis. Dressed in a heather-blue T-shirt with an oversized blue cardigan and large, owl-shaped medallion necklace, Alex silently practices his dance moves and mouths lyrics to an invisible song among the empty beer bottles and kegs filling the room. As if this scene isn’t odd enough, Alex has a surprise up his sleeve: he’s not actually a real person. In fact, Alex Rayden-Panties is the outgoing male alter-ego of a rather shy woman, who occasionally lets him show his stuff on the odd Wednesday night. Why? Tonight is the weekly drag-king show at Zipperz, the only one of its kind in Toronto.

Alex takes to the mic.

“Me and Alex are two totally different people. I’m shy and he’s outgoing and crazy. He’s got some balls alright,” Alex boasts as he waits for the other kings to arrive at the bar. A guest host himself, Alex isn’t one of the regular performers at this event. The three main men of the Toronto Drag Kings are Tyler Uptight, Chase Manning, and Cameron (just Cameron), although past kings and new kings alike often join the troupe. Tyler is second to arrive tonight, dropping a massive duffel bag and suitcase on the floor with his fireman’s hat to top it off, and heads to the front of the bar. Tyler is a seasoned performer, one of two head kings who organize the events, and the only transgendered member of the Toronto Drag King group.

“I started drag performance as a way to be myself, and it created the confidence I needed to transition. Now I guess I’m more of a male entertainer who hasn’t forgotten where he came from.”

Although every king has a specific persona and style that fluctuates with each song, Tyler admits he has a specialty. “Anything Lady Gaga. It usually involves a lot of leather and all the choreography to her newest songs.”

As soon as Tyler notices Chase Manning, who has slipped in quietly, the two disappear for a heated conversation behind the bar. Alex is still going over dance moves as the two return and Chase promptly begins applying his facial hair, using the four key tools: human hair (preferably from one’s own head), spirit gum, a cork, and a lighter. Unfortunately Chase has forgotten the latter, and starts rushing around the room in search of some form of flame as Cameron hurries through the back door. The show is slotted for eleven o’clock, and Cameron is the second head king to perform: it’s already 10:50.

Chase Manning

Cameron slaps a clipboard onto the first table in sight and starts jotting out a set list, marking down names and songs with a concentrated look on his still-hairless face. As soon as the list is in adequate condition, Cameron strips and hurries to bind his chest and stuff his pants, at one point yelling, “Fuck, do I not have my dick?” half dressed, he rushes to the mirror, burning cork in hand, and starts to use it to paint on a five o’clock shadow. A sign above Cameron’s head in the makeshift dressing room reads “No glitter please” as he glues tiny chopped-up pieces of hair onto his chin.
“We put on a good show,” he says, turning away from the mirror for a split second, ”But we really have to thank our crowd, they bring the energy.”

Cameron has been performing for six years in Toronto, and in that time has been a crowd pleaser at almost every gay bar in town, from Buddies in Bad Times to Alto. It all began when Cameron saw his friend preform for the first time and something clicked.

“I wanted to do it, so I practiced for three weeks and just walked in with two songs and did them.”

As he applies the last bits of hair, the burly manager at Zipperz strides into the room demanding someone get on stage and start the show; the kings are 15 minutes late and an eager crowd is waiting. Within minutes, Cameron is out the door and on the stage with a microphone, voice cracking and words jumbled. It seems tonight’s show might be off to a rough start, but the boys get it together just in time. He gets the crowd going, shouting “You guys make noise and it makes my night!” The crowd goes wild as Chase takes the stage with Lifehouse’s “Hanging by a Moment,” staying true to the rocker persona he’s become known for.

By the time Chase walks behind the red velvet curtain at the back of the stage, almost every seat in the house is full and clusters of people are pouring through the door. Cameron reappears, making smoldering eye contact and even dancing on a table in his cut off shorts and DC tank top. All signs of disarray from earlier have disappeared; each performer has a sexy, confident attitude that leaves the crowd swooning and cheering.

“This event is for everyone. We get a big diverse crowd together. Straight people come, and so do gay, trans, lesbian, bisexual… anyone is welcome,” Chase says, as he quickly changes costumes to return to the stage. Alex, back to planning and practice after performing The All-American Reject’s “Dirty Little Secret” adds, “Every woman should try drag one time. It’s an amazing experience to preform as someone else.”

Thanks to the King’s monthly “So You Think You Can Drag” competition, anyone can. With 14 new kings last month, the number of participants continues to grow so high that a second monthly competition may have to be added. But what do you need to perform?

“It just takes confidence and a character—and you can change your character every week!” says Tyler.

Photos by Samantha Lo.

Spunk is a new support group that’s been started by ACT, the AIDS Committee of Toronto, for gay and bisexual men who want to better manage their drug and alcohol use, especially during sex.

In slang, a session of having sex while under the influence of drugs—often, but not limited to, meth—is know as “party n’ play,” shortened to PnP. One problem with PnP is that it leads to “risk-taking behaviour” due to the drug use, says Adam Busch, Gay Youth and Gay Men’s Harm Reduction Coordinator for ACT, who has shepherded the creation of Spunk. Predominantly (but not exclusively) associated with gay culture, PnP had been linked to unsafe sex practices, leading to increased rates of HIV infection and sexually transmitted infections.

The first iteration of the program will be for men 30 and older, with a second run in the spring for men 29 and younger. Busch explains that the age groups have different patterns of use, given that younger men tend to believe “HIV is over and ask ‘is it still relevant?’”—an effect of not having lived through the 1980s, when HIV/AIDS routed the queer community. Now, “there’s not the same fear,” Busch concedes.

Participants of Spunk will be led through six 90-minute sessions with a focus on peer support and motivational interviewing, in a process that will encourage self-directed behavioural change and work through the ambiguity participants may feel about those changes. “We’re not here to tell anyone how to live their lives,” says Busch. Instead, self-awareness and an internal desire for change is key—nobody is setting out to push people into a program they aren’t themselves seeking out. The support group is for those who “don’t feel great about their [drug] use” and are “on the fence about their activities.”

The support group complements other services that ACT provides, such as encouraging safer sex by giving away free packets of condoms and lube. “Getting people to use condoms can be tricky,” says Busch. The attitudinal shift towards HIV/AIDS in part stems from the arrival of medication to help manage the disease and a new wave of pornography that moves away from condom use. People are being influenced by porn culture, he notes, and the “condomless sex [in these films] is changing perceptions.” While Busch adds that this move in perception is “not all bad,” it’s obvious that condomless (also known as bareback) sex requires a certain level of responsibility.

Throughout the interview, Busch, who has worked for four years in community outreach, is careful to frame the obstacles in a way that keeps things free of shame. Given that risky sexual behaviour has been linked by some to low self-esteem, capturing the correct tone is vital for Spunk to be effective: “We’re not judging, and that’s what allows [participants] to come here and allows disclosures.”

Photo by nayrb2.

Nick Mulé is chairperson of Queer Ontario. He says while progress has been made, there are still battles to come.

Last Friday the anniversary of an important milestone in queer history quietly slipped past: the inclusion of sexual orientation into the Ontario Human Rights Code 25 years ago, on December 2, 1986. The change meant legal protection against harassment and discrimination based on sexual orientation at a time when being fired for being gay was not uncommon, and employees so fired were without recourse.

The victory wasn’t won easily, with conservatives and the religious right arguing that inclusion would lead to moral and social decline—the same arguments that have been trotted out anytime queer rights are involved (cf. same-sex marriage and gay-straight alliances).

Naturally, giving more citizens wider protection has done nothing of the sort.

Queer Ontario marked the occasion with a small gathering on Sunday at Buddies In Bad Times theatre. Among those in attendance was activist Tom Warner, who spoke about his work for the Bill 7 campaign (named after the legislation that was put forth) that led to the change in the Human Rights Code. “We had no grand illusions that the world would change with those two words being added,” he told the crowd, “and, while there was still homophobia and transphobia, we were wrong—the world did change for the better.” It was his belief that the legislation laid the groundwork for further victories, including the right for same-sex marriage.

Nick Mulé, chairperson for Queer Ontario, echoed Warner’s words. “It is very important to remember [the anniversary] because in essence having Bill 7 pass and having sexual orientation inserted into the Ontario Human Rights code provided us with an opening to address a lot of the, at minimum, legal rights and social rights for our communities,” he noted. “Had that not happened 25 years ago, we wouldn’t be able to look at more progressive, nuanced issues today, such as the trans population and what’s happening in the school system.”

The recipients of the 2011 John Damien award were participants of Catholic Students For Gay-Straight Alliances (CS4GSA).

In Ontario, the fights for trans rights and for queer youth are shaping up to be the defining issues for this era. Addressing imbalances with regard to the trans community, community leader Susan Gapka spoke about the need to extend protections to include gender identity and gender expression. Her statements come a year after a bill to do just that was introduced by NDP MPP Cheri DiNovo in 2010, but was shot down by then-Attorney General Chris Bentley because, he said, protection was “implied.”

With the unveiling of new legislation from the McGuinty government, more progress is being seen with regard to protecting queer youth with Gay-Straight Alliances (GSAs) in schools. Credit for this work lies in large part to the advocacy being done by students at Catholic schools, who have clashed with a school board that does not want organized groups that refer specifically to sexual orientation under religious grounds. The students, who have now banded under a group called Catholic Students for Gay-Straight Alliances (CS4GSA), were given the John Damien Award For Outstanding Activism for having “caused a major stir this year,” notes the Queer Ontario website description.

The award is fitting given Damien’s role in Ontario queer history: the Torontonian was the impetus for the Bill 7 push when he was unceremoniously fired from his job as a racetrack official, out of fear that his homosexuality left him or his employers at risk of blackmail. If such a thing were to happen now in Toronto, it would seem outdated. We wonder how things will look in another 25 years’ time and if the same will be thought of current inequalities. As Mulé summed up: “It has been a quarter of a century: there has been a lot of progress and it did affect a major change in our community, but it also speaks to the fact that social justice isn’t one issue and the even when you get the rights, the battles do continue.”

Photos by Jaime Woo/Torontoist.

Ryan Kelly, Paul Essiembre, Jonathan Wilson, and Jonathan Seinen (left to right). Photo by John Karastamatis.

The Normal Heart
Buddies in Bad Times Theatre (12 Alexander Street)
October 14 to November 6
Tuesday to Saturday at 8 p.m.
Saturday and Sunday at 2:30 p.m.
$35 (PWYC Sundays)

There was a moment during a climactic scene between Jonathan Wilson and Jeff Miller at the opening performance of the Studio 180 production of The Normal Heart currently playing at Buddies when we heard some faint white noise behind the actors’ voices: the tell-tale sniffling of a roomful of people trying to not cry. There’s a great feeling of union among an audience who share the need to weep combined with the knowledge that any excess noise could ruin something they don’t want ruined. All this to say, The Normal Heart is one sad fucking play. But it’s also a wonderful one, and you should definitely see it.

For those not up on their AIDS activism/queer art history, Larry Kramer is a pretty important figure in both fields. He wrote the Academy Award–nominated screenplay for controversial Ken Russell movie Women in Love as well as the classic gay novel Faggots. He also founded the Gay Men’s Health Crisis, the first-ever AIDS service organization, and when that group ousted him for his controversial views, he founded ACT UP, probably the most well-known AIDS advocacy group in existence, with chapters all over the world. And he wrote the plays The Normal Heart and its sequel, The Destiny of Me. There’s been a definite resurgence of interest in the 1985 off-Broadway hit recently. A Broadway production starring Jim Parsons, Ellen Barkin, and Lee Pace just completed a Tony-winning limited run earlier this year. And Glee mastermind Ryan Murphy claims to be preparing for a film version starring Mark Ruffalo and Julia Roberts.

In The Normal Heart, Kramer dramatizes his experiences with GMHC, using the protagonist Ned Weeks as a proxy for himself. Usually, we’re supposed to avoid looking for autobiography in fiction, but in this case Kramer wants us to. In his program notes from the Broadway revival (reprinted in the Studio 180 production’s program), he urges us to “please know that everything in The Normal Heart happened.” He goes on to outline the names and histories of the real-life counterparts of all the characters in the play, several of whom are, sadly, no longer with us. With this in mind, it’s tempting to view The Normal Heart as a historical document; a record of the bad old days when politicians were criminally negligent about the AIDS crisis, gay men were dropping like flies, and no one even knew what HIV was or how you got it. And, sure, it’s a fascinating chronicle of that moment in history, as well as a compelling call-to-arms against institutional homophobia and gay apathy. But in a way, that’s all gravy. Exciting politics are fine, but they don’t make an audience of hundreds of people cry unless they’re grounded in compelling characters, story, and relationships—all of which The Normal Heart has in spades.

Jonathan Wilson plays Ned Weeks, a writer and reluctant activist who founds a never-named AIDS service organization with the help of Mickey Marcus (Ryan Kelly), Tommy Boatwright (Jonathan Seinen), and the handsome Bruce Niles (Paul Essiembre), who beats out Ned to become president because of his broader appeal, despite his being semi-closeted. Ned is a real gem of a protagonist. He’s kind of an asshole, but he’s also really likeable. He’s extreme, but he’s also convincing. And watching his relationships with the other characters develop over the course of the evening is a real joy. He’s got a complicated relationship with his brother Ben (John Bourgeois), who loves him fiercely but doesn’t understand homosexuality as something more than another of his brother’s neurotic tics. Their scenes together are electric, but so are his scenes with Emma Brookner (Sarah Orenstein), his doctor and the only person telling him that he actually needs to make more of a stink about AIDS, not less. As are those with Felix Turner (Jeff Miller), the closeted New York Times fashion writer he falls in love with, and loses, and Essiembre’s Bruce, whose style of advocacy through politeness and respectability is anathema to Ned while still understandable to the audience.

It’s a fantastic cast, and Wilson does a great job anchoring the evening (he’s onstage nearly the entire time). Orenstein has practically made a career out of playing hard-edged women who tell it like it is, and if you’re going to listen to someone yell at you about something, she’s one of the best yellers our country’s got. Ryan Kelly also deserves a shout-out for his last Mickey scene, where he breaks down after realizing that the sexual liberation he and the gay rights movement have espoused for years has contributed to creating a promiscuous environment where AIDS was able to spread in the horrific way that it did.

Studio 180 artistic director Joel Greenberg directs the play, and while he draws great performances from his cast, some of his choices feel a bit arbitrary. Why the dance music during scene changes? Why stage the show in-the-round? Why the all-white chessboard stage? But it’s basically a straightforward production of the play, and it works. Greenberg also directed Studio 180′s acclaimed production of The Laramie Project. The reason The Laramie Project is one of the most frequently produced plays of the last decade is that as well as having a vitally important political, gay-rights message, it also works as storytelling: the unjust murder of a good man and the community it tore apart. The Normal Heart is another example of a brilliant marriage between great theatre and great politics.

If good help is hard to find, a good mistress is even worse. Diane D'Aquila (Solange) and Ron Kennell (Claire) in The Maids. Photo by Jeremy Mimnaugh.

The Maids
Buddies in Bad Times Theatre
(12 Alexander Street)
September 17 to October 9, Tuesdays to Saturdays 8 p.m., Sundays 2:30
PWYC–$33

Expectations are tricky when it comes to season openers, and in the case of the The Maids at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, expectations were high.

Not only is it the follow-up to artistic director Brendan Healy’s Dora Award–winning smash Blasted last year, and not only does it star two ex-Stratford names like Ron Kennell and Diane D’Aquila, but even the dusty pink curtain, glass chandeliers, and classical music that greeted audience members before the play began piqued our curiosity. Then the curtains opened, revealing a half-naked Kennell with rouged cheeks, flowing curly locks done up like a countess, and wearing stockings of a lady of the night. From then on, we knew to throw all of our expectations out the window.

If there is one absolute truth about Buddies in Bad Times, it’s that it is certainly not afraid of a challenge. With The Maids by Jean Genet and translated by Martin Crimp, Healy tackles an important piece of the queer theatre canon as his follow up to Blasted—a tough script to begin with, before adding his own interpretations as director.

The Maids is inspired by the 1933 murder of the wealthy Madame Lancelin and her daughter by their two maids, who claimed they were acting in self-defense against an abusive employer, making the servants heroes to the working class and monsters to the bourgeoisie. Loosely inspired, we should say. Because instead of acting out the story scene for scene, fact for fact, the script examines what we assume to be a normal evening at the house before the crime. The two maids, sisters Solange (D’Aquila) and Claire (Kennell), begin with their daily reenactment of their mistress-idal fantasy, Claire assuming the role of the dramatic Madame (and it’s at this point that the curtains open). While their mistress is away, Solange and Claire bemoan their stature, curse Madame for her cruelty, and begin plotting their revenge in seriousness when Madame comes home, heartbroken over the arrest of her lover.

Genet, a thief before he turned to writing, never takes a clear side and blurs the lines between victim and oppressor. In appearance, Madame (Maria Ricossa) is a world apart from her two employees: she with elaborate makeup and hair, high heels, a tiny waist, and a silky green suit that matches the sheen of her massive rose-coloured bedroom, while Solange and Claire are dressed in simple black uniforms, stringy black hair pulled back into buns, Solange with an unappealing limp and Claire with masculine features. But in character, the differences are far more hazy. None of them are particularly likeable, though there are moments that paint the two sibling servants as equally manipulative and tyrannical as Madame, if not more, and just as caught up in their own sad story.

Just as Genet blends the morals of the characters, Healy blurs gender by casting Kennell as the younger, more emotionally fragile Claire, and D’Aquila as the more domineering elder sister, Solange. The choice is apparently because of the differing opinions over whether Genet always intended for his female characters to be played by young boys. Claire is quintessentially feminine while Solange plays a more masculine brute, their sexual ambiguity enhanced by their shapeless uniform and matching buzz cuts. It’s strange, off-putting, and uncomfortable, mostly because D’Aquila and Kennell are so convincing in their performances (we’re expecting their names to be on the Dora docket next year). And because they’re two accomplished actors capable of carrying out Healy’s vision, it works.

This isn’t an easy play to watch—scenes between Solange and Claire are heavy and dense, both in subject and language, and sometimes lose pace and our focus—but just like this iconic company, audiences must be ready for the challenge. But with Genet’s script, Crimp’s translation, and Healy’s vision, the performances by D’Aquila, Kennell, Ricossa, and the work of production designer Julie Fox, lighting designer Kimberly Purtell, and sound designer Richard Feren, The Maids presents a challenge worth facing.

Greg Gale, Richard Donat, and Daniel MacIvor get ready for a night at the theatre. Photo by Seán Baker.

His Greatness
Factory Studio Theatre (125 Bathurst Street)
September 20 to October 23
Tuesday to Saturday at 8 p.m., Saturday 2 p.m., Sunday 3 p.m.
$40–$60 (some PWYC Sundays)

The weirdest thing about Daniel MacIvor’s new play His Greatness, currently playing at the Factory Studio Theatre, is that it isn’t a new play. It premiered in Vancouver all the way back in 2007, and the script was published by Playwrights Canada Press in 2008. It seems like an incredibly easy sell: an accessible two-act play about Tennessee Williams written by one of our country’s most celebrated theatre artists. As a bonus, this particular production even features MacIvor himself (a rare appearance in one of his multi-character plays) in the pivotal role of Williams’ personal assistant. What took so long for this show to come to Toronto? And why wasn’t in programmed into a season at any of the theatres in town instead of debuting as a rental produced by the brand-new independent Artists Repertory Company? Whatever the answer to these questions, it was worth the wait. His Greatness is, well, great.

In a way, the timing makes sense. Tennessee Williams was born in 1911, making this the centenary of his birth. And while we think of him now as the celebrated author of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire, and The Glass Menagerie, in his theatre career Williams had at least as many flops as hits, and the last 15 years of his life were not marked with success. In 1980, he premiered a re-worked version of Red Devil Battery Sign—a show that had already flopped in both London and Boston—in Vancouver, to little acclaim. Increasingly reliant on drugs and alcohol, Williams’ time in Vancouver is better remembered for his own notorious rehearsal-hall behaviour than for the play he created.

His Greatness takes place over the course of a few days in Williams’ hotel room in Vancouver before and after the opening night of Red Devil Battery Sign. Kind of. MacIvor’s script never actually mentions Williams by name, or Red Devil Battery Sign, even though the poster features a picture of Williams and the play tagline “A potentially true story about two days in the last year of the great American playwright Tennessee Williams.” The word “potentially” should tip you off that this isn’t a slavishly faithful bio-play, and MacIvor plays fast and loose with the facts: Williams actually died in 1983, and produced four plays after Red Devil Battery Sign; the assistant character is surely inspired by Frank Merlo, William’s longtime personal secretary/boyfriend, but Merlo died of cancer in 1963, long before the events of His Greatness. But that’s all a bit academic. This show feels like Tennessee Williams, and it feels true.

Richard Donat, who actually appeared in the Vancouver Playhouse production of Red Devil Battery Sign all the way back in 1980, is perfect as an aging, debauched Williams, peppering the tragic, ruined genius role with moments of genuine charm and levity that make his present state all the sadder. Greg Gale gives a surprisingly goofy turn as a young rentboy who falls under the playwright’s spell and doesn’t leave in the morning when he’s supposed to. But the real heart of the show is MacIvor as the nearly fed-up assistant. The relationship between him and Donat’s Williams is palpably real; it’s bitter and mean-spirited in a way that makes you know it was once loving and kind. Ed Roy directs the piece in an even, naturalistic style that makes great use of Kimberly Purtell’s frankly astonishing hotel room set. The highly detailed playing space looks like a million bucks and is absolutely the best (and the biggest!) the Factory Studio has ever looked.

This show’s a real treat for Tennessee Williams fans. But at the end of the day, His Greatness is as much a story about addiction, decaying relationships, and the fickle nature of artistic success as it is about the great American playwright. And so, even if you don’t know Blanche Dubois from Blanche De Chambly, it’s still well worth the trip.

A promoter knows a party is good when people travel from out of town for the night. And what better vote of confidence for Pitbull than when partygoers from Montreal, known for its nightlife, are crossing the provincial border for the monthly event for queer men? Co-founder Francis Gauldreault chalks the success up to a focus on dancing and a lack of pretension. He says the goal of Pitbull was to create a space without judgement and throw a party for “any guy who wants to dance to great music, hang out with other dudes for beers and fun, and just generally have a good time.”

Although Pitbull caters to queer men, Gauldreault explains that everyone is welcome, and he takes pride in the variety of people who are drawn to the event. “We’ve had women in cocktail dresses, men with fur boas, drag queens, men in leather, men in Abercrombie, even two guys dressed up in TRON outfits—one was orange and the other yellow,” he says. “We are giving people a place to go out and express themselves.”
Nightlife has always been a portal into the cultural zeitgeist of a community. Will Munro’s now-legendary Vaseline parties heralded a shift to Queen West away from the big, glossy club nights that dominated the Village, and newer queer gatherings like Pitbull and HER have a decidedly smaller, more intimate come-as-you-are vibe. Gauldreault makes note of the change in men’s appearance from highly androgynous to hyper-masculine to now a more relaxed T-shirt and jeans look. Pitbull doesn’t fetishize youth and drug use as circuit parties can, and Gauldreault says part of the appeal of Pitbull is its unwillingness to be categorized as targeting a specific part of the community, or to be for “one specific guy type.”

The Pride edition of the Pitbull event drew more than 1,300 attendees. Photo courtesy of Pitbull.

Pitbull may have hit a winning formula as the event has steadily grown since its first edition in March 2010. “The first party was literally about a hundred of our friends,” recalls Gauldreault. “They had come out to be supportive—which was great—but it seemed like it was pretty much just our friends.” Awareness of the party soon spread through word-of-mouth, and by the time Pitbull threw a Pride-themed party, attendance had grown to 1,300. “We had to turn away 400 people,” says Gauldreault, a decision organizers made because they preferred to maintain a good experience, as the bar already couldn’t keep up with demand fast enough.
Gauldreault is quick to credit community support for the popularity of Pitbull, with sponsorship and promotion coming from businesses like the bar Woody’s and the cruising website Squirt. Having worked at different businesses within the Church-Wellesley Village over the past seven years, Gauldreault says he has witnessed the cooperation between businesses there. “The bigger the Village is, the better it is for everyone,” he says.
Now, Pitbull is ready to expand into new markets. Montrealers will get their first taste of the event at home in September—and Gauldreault is excited to see how the “relaxed sexuality” vibe of Pitbull changes as Montreal tends to be “more sexual and less conservative.” In addition, there has been talk of holding Pitbulls in Chicago and Provincetown. Those are ambitious expansion plans for any business, let alone one yet to reach its second birthday, but what else could you expect from a party with a name like Pitbull?

The march started at Hayden and Church, made its way up to Bloor, then west to Yonge and back south into the heart of the Village. Its participants proved political indeed, from the actively supportive and openly gay Councillor Kristyn Wong-Tam (Ward 27, Toronto Centre-Rosedale), to the infiltration of Giorgio Mammoliti (Ward 7, York West). Rob Ford’s right-hand man tagged along with his video camera, and despite the many #PeepingMammoliti jokes that soon started flying across Twitter, it turns out he was there on a hunt for evidence he hopes will convince the City to pull Pride’s funding—specifically, evidence of intolerance, in the form of “Israeli apartheid” protesters. (Before the day was out his demands that Pride should lose its funding had hit the papers.)
Joining the march for the first time was 16-year-old Leanne Iskander, who entered the spotlight earlier this year when her Catholic high school in Mississauga turned down her request to start a gay-straight alliance. Thanks to her school’s refusal, Leanne now has the support of not just a group of students, but the entire queer community. Before this year’s Dyke March began, she was one of several speakers at a rally at Norman Jewson Park, on Isabella Street just west of Church: “For me, being queer, being a woman, and being 16, I’m kind of just expected to take a lot of shit and not stand up for myself,” she said to the crowd. “I think my school board assumes they can just deny me my rights as they please, but I know my rights, and my fellow students and I are standing up for ourselves.”
In our photo gallery, a full timeline of this weekend’s Dyke March, which marked yet another appearance by “Not Ford”, plus one very festively attired puppy.
Photos by Laura Godfrey/Torontoist.