Bob Seidenstein, left, speaks with Dave Staszak, right, at Tri-Lakes Pride in Saranac Lake’s Riverside Park on Sunday. (Photo provided — Skip Murray)

Western civilization’s traditional day of rest is Sunday, but for an uber-retired Dope like me, they all are. So it’s doubly ironic that last Sunday was a day of activity for me. Then again, there was no way I was gonna be home, sittin’ on my dupa and miss our Pride fest in Riverside Park.

I had a bunch of reasons for going.

The most obvious one was to show support for my friends, relatives and everyone else on the rainbow spectrum.

Another was purely selfish: Pride events, regardless of any agendas or statements, are always a hoot, mostly because everyone’s there to have fun and share their joy with each other. Our Pride was no exception. Everywhere I looked was one treat or another — face painting; balloon figures; rainbow this and that; drag queens; a fashion show; flashy and funky clothes; smiles galore; gaggles of happy kids; and last but not least, friendly dogs aplenty.

Of course there were speeches. But given the distance from the speakers to me and the dubious state of my hearing, while I could hear the sounds, for the most part the actual words were as lost as The Continent of Atlantis.

But my main activity there was people watching. They could be divided into two groups — thems I knew, and thems I didn’t know.

As for the ones I didn’t know? Just because I don’t know people doesn’t mean I don’t like to look at them. This is especially true at a Pride event, where they run the gamut. Our Pride was no exception: They were were all ages, from newborns to ancient wheezers like me and my peers. Clothing styles went from old-time conservative to full freaky plumage. A lot of the bare skin was blank canvas; a lot of it was inked up the waz. Every profession was represented, including two of SL’s finest, who looked to be having a good time (maybe even a better time than the rest of us, since they got to shmooze and groove while on the clock). Given the crowd’s diversity, it was a smorgasbord of the eyes.

Then there were the peeps I knew. Among them were the ones I got to talk with: My fellow geriatric, Dave Staszak; the Satrap of Speakers, Russ Fehrer; The Nikon Kid, Skip Murray; Millie the Manhattan Meshugge; Rachel Karp, currently Chamber of Commerce director, formerly one of my all-time rave-fave students. Then there were the ones I spotted but missed a convo with, most prominently Steve Erman, Margot Gold and Jen Curry.

The Enterprise was represented by its stalwarts: Editor, Elizabeth Izzo; Cub Reporter, Lauren Yates; the ADE Honeymooner Aaron Marbone; and a beloved columnist who must remain nameless.

Then NCCC’s jefe, Joe “The Big Kahuna” Keegan, made an appearance. We chatted a bit, then he was pressed into service in the bandshell, to deliver a speech. In typical fashion, once handed the microphone, he gave a brief but heartfelt speech that would’ve made The Boy Orator of the Platte turn green with envy. The crowd responded in kind, with a brief but hearty smattering of applause, along with a Harumph or two.

That stellar moment over, I wandered around one more time and then took my leave.

All in all, Pride was a tribute to My Home Town. It was well-organized (Kelly Metzgar having done the lioness’s share of work in that quarter), well-attended, and well-received. What the hey, even the weather cooperated.

After dinner, I went back to town. The park was empty and though the canopies were still there, there was no other sign Pride had even taken place. Its only remnants were our memories, all of which I know are positive.

All in all it was exactly what Pride is supposed to be — a tribute to civil rights, civil liberties and civil behavior.

So to all the peeps (and dogs) who made it the success it was, let me say, “Proud of ya!”