Women

I've noticed that in US gay bars, it is more and more common to find women hanging out with their gay friends. I think I'm witnessing a generational shift. Just a few years ago, it was unusual to find even one woman at a gay bar in New York. Last night, I did a bar crawl with a visiting friend. We went to five bars in Midtown West and the East Village, and every one of them was full of women. I was shocked.

I struggle with this because—I won't even try to hide it—I don't want to socialize with straight women in gay bars. I worry, however, that this is the attitude of a gay misogynist dinosaur. The price gays are paying for greater mainstream acceptance is the loss of our counterculture. Some find this acceptable, but I'm uncomfortable with it. I can, and do, interact with women everywhere else. I'd like to have a few places where I can be with just men, but it looks like there will be fewer and fewer of those.

Last Sunday, there was one very drunk and very deluded woman walking around at New York's one and only cruise bar in a bra and braces. She went into the men's room and started whining about how she was gay man trapped in a woman's body and was offended because no one at the bar wanted to talk to her. Really, honey? You're hanging out half naked in the men's room of a gay bar and feeling lonely? Try taking a walk down the street. You'll make lots of new friends.

Finally, I couldn't take anymore of her whining—she wouldn't leave the bathroom—and I shouted out over the stall wall, "You're not welcome here for the same reason men aren't welcome at the ob gyn: we don't belong there!" And then I asked security to make her leave. This was an extreme example of the trend, I'll grant, but it shows there are no exclusive gay bars left in New York, or possibly anywhere. I'm not happy about this.

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.

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.