Number Ten: This is J, the Trojan model I voted for to be Mr. Trojan via text message at the fair following the parade. I included him because - hello? can you not see him? - but I decided that, in keeping with my politics, I'd have to put him last - if only because he's obviously spent every day of his life basking in the admiration of others, and missing out on the greater acclaim of a rinky-dink blog like this one won't mean bupkiss to him.
Number Nine: A beefy guy with a baby? How am I supposed to resist that? I'm ostensibly only human, after all. Not even the fact that he's overtly Christian is a turnoff - that's some powerful cute there.
Number Eight: As usual, the police were at the parade, trying to
Number Seven: I make no apologies for appreciating the male body as it's supposed to look, before sedentary jobs and additive-laden foods render it a shapeless, weakened mass not unlike my own. I occasionally find myself wondering what my life would have been like if I'd been born attractive - more like daydreaming, really - but in recent years don't have the energy to waste on envy, preferring simple admiration instead.
Number Six: Even in a shirt, this is clearly a tidy little bundle of cuteness; I included him despite an abundance of same simply because of his haircut, which rendered him a) the dead spit of the guys I used to crush on in high school, and b) the farthest thing from a twink clone I saw all day, which probably means he's straight. Still...
Number Five: Gifted cartoonist and quintessential artist John Crossen has long been one of my favourite people, an assessment just about everybody he's ever met will share with me. Only it's not just his mind I admire; in person he puts one in mind of an even humpier, even funnier Dan Butler. It was great running into him following the parade, and smoking a J in the shade of a tree with English Bay on one side and about 50,000 of Vancouver's finest people on the other.
Number Four: This year's living Parade Marshall (his co-marshal was the late author Jane Rule) was Sahran Abeysundara, a spicy treat from Sri Lanka, who made an impassioned plea to the assembled throng on behalf of gays on the Subcontinent, who live with far less freedom than do their counterparts in the West.
Number Three: Being painted saffron gives this fuzzy little morsel an exotic flavour, visually at least.
Number Two: Vancouver's next mayor is going to be Gregor Robertson, a charismatic entrepreneur and former MLA whose advocacy on behalf of affordable rental housing for the city's working poor has gotten him plenty of press, not to mention earning him nearly as much respect from the Pop Culture Institute as his matinee idol looks and lean frame. Given the ease with which he rollerbladed the entire route, pressing the flesh the entire time, running for mayor should prove a dawdle by comparison.
Number One: Much as I expected, despite the masses of flesh and beautiful faces on display, by far the hottest guy at Vancouver's Pride Day this year (as much for his flesh and his face as his fire) was human rights worker and Facebook heart-throb Luke LaRue, whose radiant soul is on constant display thanks to an ever-present smile. So much so, in fact, that even though this photo was taken at the same f-stop as the others, it still seems over-exposed, and thus I had to struggle to render an image from it, not least of all because my glasses kept fogging up.
share on: facebook
