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Well, babes. We’re six!
Yesterday, October 11, marked six years of QBurgh serving up local queer journalism, celebrating our community, documenting our history, and making sure Pittsburgh’s LGBTQ+ stories get told.
Six years!
That’s a lot of articles (3,423), interviews, photographs, Pride celebrations, drag queens, community meetings, fabulous outfits, and people doing wonderfully queer things across Western Pennsylvania.
And we’re still here.
Which has us thinking about something.
Queer community doesn’t just happen. Somebody has to organize the event. Somebody has to make the phone calls. Somebody has to show up when a friend needs support. Somebody has to tell the stories.
And apparently, somebody has to explain to the next generation of Pittsburgh weirdos exactly when they’re supposed to throw toast at a movie screen.
This week’s Slay Weekly is full of people keeping good things going.
A Pittsburgh organization approaching 40 years of supporting people living with HIV/AIDS.
A group of high school students who stood by their homecoming queen when she needed them.
And a gloriously strange queer tradition that’s been bringing Pittsburghers together for nearly half a century.
Different generations. Different communities. Different kinds of love.
But the same beautiful idea. We keep showing up for each other.
And because QBurgh is officially old enough to start asking some very uncomfortable questions, we’re going to keep this birthday celebration appropriately queer.
Happy Monday, Pittsburgh.
Let’s slay the week.
SLAY OF THE WEEK: Nearly Forty Years of Showing Up
Some parties are about celebrating what you’ve accomplished. Others are about celebrating the people who made it possible. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, there are drag queens.
Shepherd Wellness Community’s 2026 Red Ribbon Benefit: A Community Cabaret managed all three.
More than 120 guests gathered for an evening of music, dancing, fashion, food, and fabulousness in support of Pittsburghers living with HIV/AIDS.
Hosted by Pittsburgh favorites Dixie Surewood and Vaughn Hudspath, the benefit brought together supporters of an organization that has been helping people living with HIV find wellness, connection, dignity, and community for 39 years.
And that’s the part we want to celebrate. Nearly 40 years.
Think about how much has changed since the earliest years of the HIV/AIDS epidemic.
The science. The treatments. The conversations. The people we’ve lost. The people who fought for better care. The people who kept showing up.
Through all those changes, Shepherd Wellness Community has continued making space for people living with HIV/AIDS to connect with one another and improve their wellness.
The evening also honored three people whose contributions have helped sustain that work.
Bill Friedlander and Jim Edmonds-Harpster were recognized for their dedicated service to Shepherd Wellness Community, while Dr. Deborah McMahon was honored for her contributions to the broader HIV community.
We love that. Because organizations don’t make it to 40 years by magic. They make it because people give their time, energy, compassion, and sometimes entire chapters of their lives to keeping them going.
And as Shepherd Wellness Community looks toward its 40th anniversary in 2027, there’s something particularly joyful about seeing more than 120 people gather to celebrate that legacy.
39 years of care deserves a standing ovation.
Now that’s a slay!
The Crown Stays On
We don’t have a Reader Joy submission this week. But we’ve got something that deserves an honorary spot. And it comes with a crown.
Up in Erie, Pennsylvania, students at Fairview High School recently voted for their homecoming queen. Her name is Sammi. She’s transgender. And she won.
Now, you would think that would be the end of the story.
A student gets crowned homecoming queen. Everybody takes pictures. Somebody’s parents cry. There’s probably an extremely questionable playlist. High school!
But after Sammi’s victory attracted some ugly attention online, something beautiful happened.
Her classmates stood by her.
Students and supporters showed up at a school board meeting to make it clear that Sammi was their homecoming queen, chosen by the people who actually attend the school.
One student, Preston Johnson, put it about as simply as anybody possibly could:
“We voted, and Sammi is our homecoming queen.”
That’s it. That’s the story. Her classmates chose her. She won. The crown stays on.
And we want to give a special Slay Weekly shout-out to the students and educators who made sure Sammi knew she had people in her corner.
Because sometimes the most important thing you can do for somebody is refuse to let their happy moment be taken away.
Congratulations, Sammi.
And to the Fairview students who stood beside her? We applaud you too.
Now, Pittsburgh, we’d still love to hear from you.
Did something wonderful happen this week? Did you make a new friend, fall in love, get good news, find your confidence, or finally buy that Halloween costume you’ve been eyeing? Send us your joy!
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Queer Joy in the World: The Church of Rocky Horror
Some people find their community at church. Some find it at a bar. Some find it at a Pride celebration.
And some find it in a dark movie theater, wearing fishnets, screaming obscenities at the screen, and throwing toilet paper into the air.
Welcome to the church of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
QBurgh contributor Jami has written a wonderfully personal exploration of why Rocky Horror is more than a movie for generations of queer people.
It’s a ritual. A tradition. A place where misfits find other misfits.
And sometimes, a place where you discover parts of yourself you didn’t know were waiting to come out.
Jami’s own story begins on a chilly October night in 2019, when they drove an hour and a half alone to experience their first Rocky Horror shadowcast at Row House Cinema.
They were nervous. They didn’t have anybody to go with. And they had absolutely no idea what they were getting themselves into.
Which, frankly, is an excellent way to begin a relationship with Rocky Horror.
Three years later, Jami was auditioning for Pittsburgh’s Junior Chamber of Commerce Players, the shadowcast performers they’d once watched from the audience.
They went from being the person looking for somewhere to belong to becoming one of the people creating that experience for somebody else.
And that, to us, is the magic.
For generations, queer people have found freedom in the gloriously strange world of Rocky Horror.
The costumes. The callbacks. The camp. The gender-bending. The unapologetic sexuality. The permission to be weird, loud, fabulous, and completely yourself.
And at the heart of it all, five little words:
“Don’t dream it, be it.”
Jami describes Rocky Horror as something almost spiritual, a secular queer ritual where the community is just as important as the performance.
Because the movie hasn’t survived for more than 50 years simply because people keep watching it.
It’s survived because people keep participating.
Somebody brings a friend. Somebody teaches a newcomer the callbacks. Somebody puts on fishnets for the first time. Somebody joins the cast. And somebody sitting alone in the audience realizes they might have found their people.
That’s more than a movie night. That’s queer community doing what queer community does best.
Go read Jami’s full story.
And remember, the next time somebody invites you to do the Time Warp, you might be getting invited into something much bigger than a dance.
Pittsburgh’s Rocky Horror history stretches back to screenings at the former King’s Court Theater in Oakland in 1978, and we’ve got the documents to prove it. Check out the October 1978 issue of Gay Life Pittsburgh in our archives. Pittsburgh’s shadowcast was even chosen by CBS for a national feature!
Six years. That’s how long QBurgh has been telling the stories of queer Pittsburgh.
39 years. That’s how long Shepherd Wellness Community has been building connection and care for people living with HIV/AIDS.
Nearly half a century. That’s how long Pittsburghers have been gathering around The Rocky Horror Picture Show, turning a wonderfully ridiculous movie into something that feels like home.
And just a couple of weeks ago, a group of high school students near Erie reminded us that you don’t have to wait decades to make a difference in somebody’s life.
Sometimes you just have to show up.
That’s the thing about queer community. It doesn’t just happen.
People do it. People who volunteer. People who organize. People who perform. People who donate. People who tell stories. People who stand beside somebody when the world gets loud. People who make room for the next person.
And people who show up to a movie theater in fishnets and teach a complete stranger how to do the Time Warp.
We love celebrating the organizations and traditions that have been around for decades. But every one of those things began because somebody decided to do something. To create something. To care about something.
And then somebody else came along and helped keep it going.
That’s how six years becomes seven. How 39 years becomes 40. How a movie from 1975 is still bringing queer people together in 2026. And how a high school student can look around a crowded room and know she isn’t standing alone.
So here’s our birthday wish for QBurgh, for Pittsburgh, and for all of us.
May we keep building things worth passing on. May we keep making room for the next generation. May we keep celebrating each other’s victories. And may we never run out of people willing to show up.
Thank you for six wonderful years of letting QBurgh be part of your community.
We’re pretty excited to see what comes next.
Take care of each other out there, Pittsburgh.
And if you happen to see somebody wandering around in fishnets with a bag of toast this month?
Mind your business. They’re going to church.
We’ll see you next Monday.
Talk soon.
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