Here in Seattle the Pride parade takes place in late June, and I want to make sure I’m properly prepared.

I seized on a chance to attend a different parade as a warm-up. Every year the historically Scandinavian section of the city stages a Norwegian parade. My friend Mona and I decided to go.

The sweaters were beautiful, the children in their outfits adorable, and the parade had all the pizzazz of a plate of lutefisk.

It isn’t that I believe men in g-strings and boas are what make a parade. But I think a parade of and for people who are still battling for acceptance can pack an emotional wallop both participants and spectators feel.

Not that the Norwegian parade was devoid of emotion. We stood next to a group of handsomely costumed youthful senior citizens who alternated speaking English and Norwegian. Whenever someone joined their party, there was enthusiastic hugging and pushing and an elbow to the kidney for Mona.

They apologized to her. Had this been Pride, she would’ve gotten an apology and a date.

Rather than attending such warm-up affairs, a better way to gear myself up for the Pride parade would be to take a moment to concentrate on slogans and other aspects of the event, and come up with a few new ideas. The Pride organizers don’t have to pay me for my suggestions. This is my community service. And I haven’t even been arrested for anything.

I think it’s time to expand on some of the well-known chants that arise during Pride. Consider the chestnut “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!” A number of variations suitable for the times leap to mind, like “We’re here, we’re queer, not to mention intersex and two-spirit!” Or “We’re here, we’re queer, get a load of our buying power!”

I have a soft spot for “We’re here, we’re queer, and so was Will Geer.”

A chant heard at Dyke Marches could now include a sequel. A few minutes after bellowing “Two, four, six, eight, how do you know your wife is straight?” folks could follow up with “Two, four, six, ten, last night your wife came ‘round again!”

It’s my impression that chants aren’t as pervasive at Pride as they used to be. Maybe we’re less political now, or more diverse. Or maybe we’re too sophisticated to keep intoning, “Hey, hey, ho, ho, homophobia’s got to go!” Or maybe, to a degree, it has.

Turning now to the signs people carry, last year women with the Seattle Lesbian Cancer Project displayed some that earned applause. The front of one sign demanded, “Spread ‘em!” The back explained “Lesbians need pap tests too.” Because the GLBT community is targeted by the tobacco industry, another sign read “Tell Philip Morris to stick it up his butt.”

I applaud this kind of informational signage, and offer a suggestion for a sign concerning breast exams: “Touch each other. What could be better?”

Other signs I expect to see at this year’s Pride include “My partner is in Iraq,” “Message to Supreme Court — bugger the sodomy law,” and “I volunteer to be Will’s boyfriend.”

One of my all-time favorite signs was attached to a stroller in Boston some years back. It read “Hatched by two chicks.”

With the gayby boom in full bloom, I am bedeviled by the question of propriety at Pride. Chants, signs, floats, attire or the lack of it. How do we balance our need for self-expression with the need to parent appropriately? I remember thinking last year I could explain most of the parade participants to a child — until the Golden Showers group walked by.

I have no suggestions for tackling that issue. I do, though, have a suggestion for any protesters who plan to appear.

Don’t.