Black out

I attended the Black Party last weekend, and I did it sober, like a chump. See, I don't care for circuit parties, but I always forget this when March rolls around and the Black Party is all my friends talk about.

Getting ready for the Black Party is always fun: the shopping for something suitably slutty or "heavy," the grooming, and then the pre-Party parties. Lots of gays come to the city for the weekend, so there's a strange quality in the air. I thought of getting a new outfit, but one gets so hot and sweaty that most of it will end up checked or lost. I went with my old standby, leather chaps, and a mesh jock for easy access. As if.

Everybody I knew there took E, but I thought it would be amusing and helpful to take Viagra, which had come in very handy at my first Black Party. I had little need for it this time, as no one would touch me. I felt too skinny, too fat, too old, and overdressed in those chaps. It was nice to have a ready bulge all morning, but by 6:00, eyes throbbing and fingers swollen, I regretted it.

Further thoughts:

• Why were the creative DJs sequestered in the balcony while the thud-thud zombies got the main stage? I'm so over crystal meth dance music.
• Is there any way we can get a one-night suspension of the blue law prohibiting the sale of alcohol after 4:00 am?
• Did anything sensational happen after 7:30? Because not much did before.
• Did I miss the fabulous outfits? Everyone was either in jeans, jocks, or less. And harnesses of course. Easy on the eyes, but hardly fabulous.
• Must a dark room be pitch black? I prefer to see protuberances before they start poking at me, not that this was an issue.

Anyway, see you next year.

Singing surgeon

Got a postcard today from my proctologist, who is having a concert in April and invites me and my ass to attend. I knew she likes to sing while she works, but I had no idea it went beyond that. I think I'll go.

Don't even pretend you don't have a proctologist too.

Euro trashy

Friends of mine planning a European vacation invited me to tag along. This would give me the chance to attend Folsom Europe and spend some time in Berlin, which I have wanted to do but would never be brave enough to attempt on my own. It would also fit nicely with organizing all my vacations and travel this year around leather-themed events. This decision simplified travel planning immensely: as soon as I got back from MAL in January, I booked flights and hotels for IML in Chicago and Dore Alley in San Francisco.

That didn't take long

Grafitistas work fast.

I got picked up on Friday night

Literally, by this guy, at the Albatross Bar. Tall drunks always have a point to prove when there's a shorty like me in the house. Grotesque violation of my dignity aside, I kind of enjoyed it.

I have written off the Albatross more times than I can remember, and things were looking bleak during the overlong tenure of the last drag queen hostess, Vanessa Valtré, who delivered the same witless banter and performed the same tired songs week after disappointing week. She had nice wigs though, I'll grant her that.

Now Friday karaoke is in the capable hands of Jeremy Hovies, who understands the night isn't about him but rather the patrons. He sings better than Vanessa too. I've noticed that more people have been participating and that the night goes on longer since he took over.

A guy named Spyro performed Patti Smith's "Because the Night," which I thought was a splendid choice (I downloaded it the next day, after my hangover passed). He sang it as Cher might, which is the new trend in karaoke. I thought it was just the shtick of a certain Irish guy here in Astoria, who can perform any song in the key of Cher, but apparently it is a widespread phenomenon.

So I'm enjoying my neighborhood gay bar a lot more again, meaning I get shitfaced more often, and I guess that's a good thing.

I really missed blogging

Mostly for the benefits.