We have survived another High Holidays of Gaydom in Central Florida: Gay Days. In past years, I've arranged this to be the last few days of vacation. This year, I specifically took off Thursday and Friday. I've already written a preliminary report, but here's the remainder of the rundown:
Thursday
Dan and I began our celebrating by shopping. Go figure. Not all that glamorous, though: this was "we're off on the same day, so we need basic stuff for the house" kind of shopping. We did, though, meet Jorge for a swing through the "Gay Days Expo" and drinks poolside at the Hotel Royal Plaza.
Nighttime brought Dance Party Number One. As Dewayne mentioned, it was insane in there — "there" being Mannequins Dance Palace at Pleasure Island. In nine years of attending Gay Days evenings at PI, I don't think I have ever seen it that busy. I was on the dance floor from roughly 9:00 until sometime past 1:15, with brief bio- or beverage-breaks. I didn't even try to go out onto the Waterfront — a wise move, apparently, as Chris A. found himself stranded outside by 11:30, unable to return inside except to close out his bar tab. Note to management: listen to the Cast Members who have worked every Gay Day in your club — they remember what works and what doesn't, even if you are to new to know. Like converting one women's restroom to a men's restroom, as they used to do. That would have helped. A lot.
Friday
Slept late, then headed out to Disney-MGM Studios to people-watch and ride the new Tower of Terror. Ran into Jorge, Ron, and Rob (and two other guys from up North) briefly, and made plans to meet for dinner.
This year's (un)official Calendar of Events left a void on Friday night (only one $85-per-head party at Hard Rock Live — not our cup of tea), so we ate a very pleasant dinner on the balcony at Bongos, and then caught a show at Adventurer's Club. Jorge & co. headed over for a Comedy Warehouse show (and, we learned later, more dancing at Mannequins), while Dan and I hung back for a bit. I'm glad we did. One of the female improv entertainers was being visibly distracted by (in her words) "the amount of muscle in the room." She kept talking about how everyone was here for "the weekend," as opposed to just here for "the weekend." The biggest laugh was when she slipped up and called it "gay weekend," paused, and then said, "how is it we can have all this sexual innuendo but everyone panics if I say <stage whisper>GAY? </stage whisper>"
Saturday
Up early for Magic Kingdom! We met everyone at 9 outside the gates. We ended up as a party of 10, the largest group in which I've ever toured the Park. We had done most of the big rides by 2:30, and everyone actually left before the parade, even though the impending rain storm never really let loose. It seemed the Park was slower than it had been in years past.
A nice long disco-nap, small dinner, and back to PI for Dance Party Number Two. Driving to PI, the traffic trying to turn into Beach Ball at Typhoon Lagoon was backed up half a mile. Mannequins was nowhere near as crazy as Thursday — in fact, they probably didn't really need the Waterfront open. Not that we minded actually being able to get around the club, though! (And, as much as we missed Jorge & co. — they opted for Beach Ball — I will reserve comment on Jorge's whistle.) Unfortunately, they learned a lot of lessons from Thursday too late, like removing all the stools (and replacing many with extra trash bins), and placing an extra bar outside the club. Having too many competing events has finally taken its toll on PI, methinks. Of course, on the grander scheme of things, the other two big Saturday parties were both at other Disney venues, so maybe it doesn't matter all that much.
Sunday
Another sleep-late day. When Dan and I did leave the house at 1:15, we headed to lunch at P.F. Chang's, and then did a brief round of shopping at Mo'lenia, which was even more "mo" then usual. (Sidebar note: It was easy to tell the gay men from the straight ones at Chang's. The gay ones were those who, after opening the establishment�s smoked-glass front doors, closed them instead of leaving them propped open. This was appreciated by at least one particular diner — me " who was facing the doors, as well as the greeters, who kept having to go over and close the doors.)
Finally, Tea Dance at Full Moon Saloon (Dance Party Number Three). I have never seen the 'Moon that busy, either. No parking available, so we parked at Ben B.'s house a few blocks away and walked over with him. By the time we left at 9, it was so crowded one could barely walk through the bar to leave.
A fun weekend, and it wasn't completely impossible to get up in time for work this morning, as I'd feared. Why do I do it? Hard to say; maybe questioning why I find it fun would be to remove the fun of it somehow?
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query mannequins. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query mannequins. Sort by date Show all posts
Monday, June 09, 2003
Friday, November 01, 2002
Officer's Ball
Finally, Halloween fell on a Thursday — free admission to Pleasure Island for me, and the traditional gay night at Mannequins (a.k.a. Many-queens). The last time this happened was 1996, back in the waning days of the club's heyday. Back then, they plussed up the hourly on-stage dance routines; brought back glowing, smoking bins of mannequin parts; and interspersed "live" mannequins with static ones on the old third-floor catwalk entry, to prey on the unsuspecting. It was a one-night return to glory. Little did we know then that by the next time we had a Halloween Thursday, the third floor would be closed more-or-less permanently, we could walk right in on the ground floor, there would be absolutely no entertainment (save the DJ), and no efforts to decorate (save allowing the Cast Members to dress in the costume of their choice). If it wasn't for all my friends who go there, the fantastic DJ (most nights), and our favorite bartender, I doubt I'd set foot on the Island anymore.
That said, though, I had a blast last night. This year, Dan and I went Army. He was in woodland camouflage; I was in desert. (By my accounting, this is one of two Halloweens I've celebrated with Dan that didn't involve him wearing a wig and/or dress. Thank goodness for small changes.) I struggled with this year's costume for a month. I'm not exactly pro-military, and I figured that with my luck, W would decide to take some form of military action yesterday morning, making our costumes tacky at best, a mockery at worst. Of course, I also toyed with making it even more controversial: I wanted to buy iron-on letters and put "Don't Ask" on the back of my shirt, and put "Don't Tell" on the back of Dan's. Lack of time killed that idea.
The early portion of the night featured revelers in the requisite pirate, "death," vampire, and not-really-a-costume attire one expects. One group had selected Batman-related villains as their theme. (Actually, I'm not sure they all planned it, actually — I think they may have found each other on arrival.) I didn't notice any UPS Delivery Persons this year.
My good friend Chris A. from Tampa arrived, and fortuitously, he was in his Airman's jumpsuit, so we matched — it looked planned. Unfortunately for us, military was extremely popular this year. We counted two other airmen (with Marines or Air Force patches), two full-dress-whites Naval officers, two Seamen complete with nifty white cap, and a handful of assorted camouflage arrangements. I don't recall seeing this much military in the past; Is it the current political environment, or (as was suggested — and who am I to deny) the man-in-uniform fantasy informing people's choices?
"Most Fabulous" costume goes to the woman in the Egyptian Queen dress and headgear (enhanced by her graceful dance skills), accompanied by a mummy.
Also got to see Bj, who (we realized) I have not seen since about October 6. After calling me while I was in the restroom (actually fortuitous, because I never would have heard it ring on the dance floor), she stopped by the rotating dance floor to say hi and introduce us to a friend from work, before heading off to catch the Halloween shows at Comedy Warehouse and The Adventurers Club. Today she wings her way to New York City for her second full marathon in 3 weeks. Wish her well on her run — I know I do. Even if she gets to see even more Broadway shows before all the running.
Finally, Halloween fell on a Thursday — free admission to Pleasure Island for me, and the traditional gay night at Mannequins (a.k.a. Many-queens). The last time this happened was 1996, back in the waning days of the club's heyday. Back then, they plussed up the hourly on-stage dance routines; brought back glowing, smoking bins of mannequin parts; and interspersed "live" mannequins with static ones on the old third-floor catwalk entry, to prey on the unsuspecting. It was a one-night return to glory. Little did we know then that by the next time we had a Halloween Thursday, the third floor would be closed more-or-less permanently, we could walk right in on the ground floor, there would be absolutely no entertainment (save the DJ), and no efforts to decorate (save allowing the Cast Members to dress in the costume of their choice). If it wasn't for all my friends who go there, the fantastic DJ (most nights), and our favorite bartender, I doubt I'd set foot on the Island anymore.
That said, though, I had a blast last night. This year, Dan and I went Army. He was in woodland camouflage; I was in desert. (By my accounting, this is one of two Halloweens I've celebrated with Dan that didn't involve him wearing a wig and/or dress. Thank goodness for small changes.) I struggled with this year's costume for a month. I'm not exactly pro-military, and I figured that with my luck, W would decide to take some form of military action yesterday morning, making our costumes tacky at best, a mockery at worst. Of course, I also toyed with making it even more controversial: I wanted to buy iron-on letters and put "Don't Ask" on the back of my shirt, and put "Don't Tell" on the back of Dan's. Lack of time killed that idea.
The early portion of the night featured revelers in the requisite pirate, "death," vampire, and not-really-a-costume attire one expects. One group had selected Batman-related villains as their theme. (Actually, I'm not sure they all planned it, actually — I think they may have found each other on arrival.) I didn't notice any UPS Delivery Persons this year.
My good friend Chris A. from Tampa arrived, and fortuitously, he was in his Airman's jumpsuit, so we matched — it looked planned. Unfortunately for us, military was extremely popular this year. We counted two other airmen (with Marines or Air Force patches), two full-dress-whites Naval officers, two Seamen complete with nifty white cap, and a handful of assorted camouflage arrangements. I don't recall seeing this much military in the past; Is it the current political environment, or (as was suggested — and who am I to deny) the man-in-uniform fantasy informing people's choices?
"Most Fabulous" costume goes to the woman in the Egyptian Queen dress and headgear (enhanced by her graceful dance skills), accompanied by a mummy.
Also got to see Bj, who (we realized) I have not seen since about October 6. After calling me while I was in the restroom (actually fortuitous, because I never would have heard it ring on the dance floor), she stopped by the rotating dance floor to say hi and introduce us to a friend from work, before heading off to catch the Halloween shows at Comedy Warehouse and The Adventurers Club. Today she wings her way to New York City for her second full marathon in 3 weeks. Wish her well on her run — I know I do. Even if she gets to see even more Broadway shows before all the running.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
The Day(s) The Music Died?
It's posts like this that make me wish I had an editor. I was originally going to write this at the end of March, but life got in the way (as it has been known to do) … and the content that fit the title just kept rolling in.
It feels a bit like, for the past few months, life in Orlando has been undergoing a death-by-a-thousand-paper-cuts kind of slow decline — lots of little things that have made me wonder if, one day, we'll look back and say, "that's when the party started winding down." Not that any or all of these are on par with each other — some are far more important than others — but in my stream-of-conciousness writing today, I present to you what I'm seeing.
In and about town, there was a shift in the going-out scene. Lava closed. Dennis, the long-time bar manager (and our favorite bartender) at the Moon left to focus on his restaurant business. A new favorite bartender at Savoy left (though he did surface at PH shortly after.) A bartender got shot at while closingStudz Paradise, which is still trying to transform itself into … something. And Mannequins continued its slow decline through ongoing poor decisions — the latest of which are large, backlit menu boards that promote overpriced "specialty" drinks that don't taste any good — and the boards themselves give bar patrons an unhealthy blue glow on their faces to complement the black-light glow on their backs. (Never mind how an entertainment company can run a nighttime entertainment complex without any entertainment offerings. Just having a live DJ doesn't justify a $10 cover.)
In a time when we're being told how great it will be to live downtown, one day, we held a Chorus concert downtown and had to hire off-duty police to make our patrons feel safe. Even so, we suffered a bullhorn-bearing religious-wrong group of protesters. And just a few hours after we broke the set and went home, there were gunshots fired in a parking garage the next block over from the concert space — and the next night the police did a sweep and confiscated drugs and guns, including semi-automatics. Remind me again why the incredible new performing arts venue that's being built will do swimmingly with inadequate parking nearby, because patrons will be fine with walking a half mile through the downtown nightlife?
On the personal scene, I had four friends move away (to Washington, California and Texas). Spider first suffered a major health situation, and then had to close his blog. (Glad to see him writing again!) April wrapped with this, just in, which left me absolutely speechless.
That's not to say I'd like personally to erase the last two months or anything. It is the time, for example, when we got to meet Lewis in person. Heck, it's when I met a bunch of the other bloggers for the first time, too. It is the time when Orlando's AIDS Walk finally got some of the traction it deserves. Good exists, and perseveres. People connect in new ways even as old connections bend, twist or break. I just find myself cautiously wondering if we've been having a boil-the-frog, coal-mine canary kind of spring.
It feels a bit like, for the past few months, life in Orlando has been undergoing a death-by-a-thousand-paper-cuts kind of slow decline — lots of little things that have made me wonder if, one day, we'll look back and say, "that's when the party started winding down." Not that any or all of these are on par with each other — some are far more important than others — but in my stream-of-conciousness writing today, I present to you what I'm seeing.
In and about town, there was a shift in the going-out scene. Lava closed. Dennis, the long-time bar manager (and our favorite bartender) at the Moon left to focus on his restaurant business. A new favorite bartender at Savoy left (though he did surface at PH shortly after.) A bartender got shot at while closing
In a time when we're being told how great it will be to live downtown, one day, we held a Chorus concert downtown and had to hire off-duty police to make our patrons feel safe. Even so, we suffered a bullhorn-bearing religious-wrong group of protesters. And just a few hours after we broke the set and went home, there were gunshots fired in a parking garage the next block over from the concert space — and the next night the police did a sweep and confiscated drugs and guns, including semi-automatics. Remind me again why the incredible new performing arts venue that's being built will do swimmingly with inadequate parking nearby, because patrons will be fine with walking a half mile through the downtown nightlife?
On the personal scene, I had four friends move away (to Washington, California and Texas). Spider first suffered a major health situation, and then had to close his blog. (Glad to see him writing again!) April wrapped with this, just in, which left me absolutely speechless.
That's not to say I'd like personally to erase the last two months or anything. It is the time, for example, when we got to meet Lewis in person. Heck, it's when I met a bunch of the other bloggers for the first time, too. It is the time when Orlando's AIDS Walk finally got some of the traction it deserves. Good exists, and perseveres. People connect in new ways even as old connections bend, twist or break. I just find myself cautiously wondering if we've been having a boil-the-frog, coal-mine canary kind of spring.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Quod in obscurum, sileo.
This year's edition of The Birthday Weekend was spent much the same as last year's: a land cruise down to Ft. Lauderdale, where the weekend was spent sunning by the pool, shopping, eating, sleeping, consuming adult beverages, and watching folks in town for Miami's Winter Party. The weekend was made even more festive by the presence of two different gay-focused cruise companies arriving and departing... providing four shiploads worth of guys either on pre- or post-cruise nights in the area hotels. This meant that Ft. Lauderdale's existing men-not-kids population was enhanced with, literally, boatloads of tourists.
On the Arts side of the trip, we managed to take in the Las Olas Art Festival, as well as the touring "Tutankhamun and the Golden Age Of the Pharaohs" exhibit. In between destinations, we took a nice leisurely stroll along the New River on a sunny, breezy 78° day.
On the shopping side, we discovered a Crate & Barrel Outlet, mere miles from the presumed location of the Miami IKEA, due to open sometime next year. If IKEA manages to open by my 36th birthday, we'll need to equip Dan's Jeep Liberty with a trailer hitch.
At our hotel, we made a poolside discovery: diet Coke and vanilla rum. We've been threatening to try this for years, and consumed half the rum bottle over the course of 2-1/2 days.
Of course, a stay in an all-gay hotel never seems to be without its drama. I received two, well, kindasorta indecent proposals — not that there's anything wrong with that, we'll blame it on birthday generosity — both of which I politely declined. I don't know if you can call it "irony," but I did discover that zero-degrees-of-separation isn't just an Orlando phenomenon: indecent proposer #1 ended up being, well, kindasorta indecent with the husband of indecent proposer #2 that evening. To each their own. Ahem.
When I first moved out here, I was apprehensive about going to Disney's Mannequins dance club on the so-called "gay night," much less going to a real, honest-to-goodness gay bar. Oh, how I've changed: This weekend, we spent enjoyable evenings at dark, rough-looking bars with names like "Jackhammer" and "Ramrod." Good times.
Sitting in (or, when overheating, sitting by) the hot tub at night, staring up at the darkened night sky, I alternated between being in the moment and being pensive. My thoughts ranged from, "this is as good as my life is going to get," to, "just be and take things as they come, come what may." I was doing my best to just be there and be still, and not worry. (Lather, rinse, repeat.) Maybe this pensiveness is just an annual birthday-time thing...
On the Arts side of the trip, we managed to take in the Las Olas Art Festival, as well as the touring "Tutankhamun and the Golden Age Of the Pharaohs" exhibit. In between destinations, we took a nice leisurely stroll along the New River on a sunny, breezy 78° day.
On the shopping side, we discovered a Crate & Barrel Outlet, mere miles from the presumed location of the Miami IKEA, due to open sometime next year. If IKEA manages to open by my 36th birthday, we'll need to equip Dan's Jeep Liberty with a trailer hitch.
At our hotel, we made a poolside discovery: diet Coke and vanilla rum. We've been threatening to try this for years, and consumed half the rum bottle over the course of 2-1/2 days.
Of course, a stay in an all-gay hotel never seems to be without its drama. I received two, well, kindasorta indecent proposals — not that there's anything wrong with that, we'll blame it on birthday generosity — both of which I politely declined. I don't know if you can call it "irony," but I did discover that zero-degrees-of-separation isn't just an Orlando phenomenon: indecent proposer #1 ended up being, well, kindasorta indecent with the husband of indecent proposer #2 that evening. To each their own. Ahem.
When I first moved out here, I was apprehensive about going to Disney's Mannequins dance club on the so-called "gay night," much less going to a real, honest-to-goodness gay bar. Oh, how I've changed: This weekend, we spent enjoyable evenings at dark, rough-looking bars with names like "Jackhammer" and "Ramrod." Good times.
Sitting in (or, when overheating, sitting by) the hot tub at night, staring up at the darkened night sky, I alternated between being in the moment and being pensive. My thoughts ranged from, "this is as good as my life is going to get," to, "just be and take things as they come, come what may." I was doing my best to just be there and be still, and not worry. (Lather, rinse, repeat.) Maybe this pensiveness is just an annual birthday-time thing...
Monday, February 28, 2005
Marching On
It Really IS All About The Banana: With a husband who works in retail, I often get interesting before-the-mall-opens stories. Like recently, when he walked by Banana Republic as they were redressing the window mannequins.
And he discovered that they are anatomically correct.
Yes, the male ones.
And, — get this — it can be BENT and POSITIONED to maximum effect in those khakis. No wonder the gay boys are strangely drawn to the Banana. (Less so, now that dress shirts have met or exceeded the price of Hugo Boss, but that's another story.)
Timing Is Everything: When I booked our January cruise, I lucked out and missed the cutoff date for my credit card billing cycle. Instead of having to pay immediately, I paid the week we sailed. Sweet.
Not so, the recent (impulse!) buy of an iPod photo. (I got a 40gig when they were discontinued last week, for LESS than the cost of a new 30gig. How could I refuse [he said, still trying to justify the purchase]?) It arrived today, along with the credit card bill. Happy birthday to meeeee...
Weather, or Not: We've been planning to spend my birthday weekend in Ft. Lauderdale for a while now. So, of course, the forecast includes chances of rain and temperatures barely above 70. (OK, there could be worse weather this time of year, but this does not sound like ideal sunning weather to me.)
Late Walter or Early Arlene? Yesterday was an ugly rainy Sunday. (It felt like an average spring day in Oregon, but I've been here 10 years. I've adapted.) Forecasters talked of the low-pressure system that produced winds in the 40-50 mph range, lots and lots of rain, and even tornadoes along the coast. Excuse me? That sounds like the kind of thing that would have earned itself a name any other time of year.
Annoying Radio Ad Of The Day: Car dealer "reminding" listeners that this isn't a leap year, so you don't have another day in February to take advantage of end-of-month pricing. Got the memo, thanks. (Besides, I know quite well when it becomes March, and when it becomes March 5, thank you. Looks like I'll make it past 33...)
And he discovered that they are anatomically correct.
Yes, the male ones.
And, — get this — it can be BENT and POSITIONED to maximum effect in those khakis. No wonder the gay boys are strangely drawn to the Banana. (Less so, now that dress shirts have met or exceeded the price of Hugo Boss, but that's another story.)
Timing Is Everything: When I booked our January cruise, I lucked out and missed the cutoff date for my credit card billing cycle. Instead of having to pay immediately, I paid the week we sailed. Sweet.
Not so, the recent (impulse!) buy of an iPod photo. (I got a 40gig when they were discontinued last week, for LESS than the cost of a new 30gig. How could I refuse [he said, still trying to justify the purchase]?) It arrived today, along with the credit card bill. Happy birthday to meeeee...
Weather, or Not: We've been planning to spend my birthday weekend in Ft. Lauderdale for a while now. So, of course, the forecast includes chances of rain and temperatures barely above 70. (OK, there could be worse weather this time of year, but this does not sound like ideal sunning weather to me.)
Late Walter or Early Arlene? Yesterday was an ugly rainy Sunday. (It felt like an average spring day in Oregon, but I've been here 10 years. I've adapted.) Forecasters talked of the low-pressure system that produced winds in the 40-50 mph range, lots and lots of rain, and even tornadoes along the coast. Excuse me? That sounds like the kind of thing that would have earned itself a name any other time of year.
Annoying Radio Ad Of The Day: Car dealer "reminding" listeners that this isn't a leap year, so you don't have another day in February to take advantage of end-of-month pricing. Got the memo, thanks. (Besides, I know quite well when it becomes March, and when it becomes March 5, thank you. Looks like I'll make it past 33...)
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
More Decade of Difference
Continuing on this trend...
Roughly 10 years ago, I was in Orlando on my first (and, really, only) vacation to Walt Disney World. My parents and grandparents chipped in together to send my sister (graduating from high school) and me (graduating from college) as a combined graduation gift. Of course, I figured this would be my only vist to Disney, so we had to do absolutely everything.
Part of "everything" was Pleasure Island. Since my sister is one of those young-for-her-class group, she graduated at 17 years old — and you have to be 18 to enter PI without a parent or guardian. She could, however, manage the Magic Kingdom on her own, so she headed there (and, incidentally, got stuck on the big climb of Splash Mountain for half an hour in the process) while headed to my first visit to the Island.
I don't recall much of the visit, but only because of how long ago this was. (Remember, at this stage of my life I rarely drank alcohol.) I'm pretty sure I skipped Cage (now 8Trax) and Neon Armadillo because of the music, and Comedy Warehouse because of the line. Other than going out to watch the New Year's Eve show and fireworks, the only club I specifically recall is, appropriately enough, Mannequins. I remember being put off by the guy selling beer from a vat of ice at the exterior elevator — he seemed to pushy to me, and it didn't fit my goody-goody image of Disney at the time. I remember noticing a bar as soon as I got off the elevator on the third floor. I remember grabbing a seat along the second floor to watch the dance floor below, and the stage show (barely remember details of the show — but one dancer carried another off like she had frozen into a real mannequin), and repeatedly being asked what I wanted to buy to drink. I finally left because I was tired of being asked if I wanted to to buy alcohol. It was probably my least-favorite part of my vacation.
This all hit me this past Saturday, standing on the same second floor, watching the much-more-crowded dance floor from the same vantage point, after having consumed a pleasant number of Adult Beverages, enjoying the heck out of myself. Who'd have thought? It occurs to me to wonder now if one of those cocktail waitresses might have been bartender-extraordinaire Dawn...
Roughly 10 years ago, I was in Orlando on my first (and, really, only) vacation to Walt Disney World. My parents and grandparents chipped in together to send my sister (graduating from high school) and me (graduating from college) as a combined graduation gift. Of course, I figured this would be my only vist to Disney, so we had to do absolutely everything.
Part of "everything" was Pleasure Island. Since my sister is one of those young-for-her-class group, she graduated at 17 years old — and you have to be 18 to enter PI without a parent or guardian. She could, however, manage the Magic Kingdom on her own, so she headed there (and, incidentally, got stuck on the big climb of Splash Mountain for half an hour in the process) while headed to my first visit to the Island.
I don't recall much of the visit, but only because of how long ago this was. (Remember, at this stage of my life I rarely drank alcohol.) I'm pretty sure I skipped Cage (now 8Trax) and Neon Armadillo because of the music, and Comedy Warehouse because of the line. Other than going out to watch the New Year's Eve show and fireworks, the only club I specifically recall is, appropriately enough, Mannequins. I remember being put off by the guy selling beer from a vat of ice at the exterior elevator — he seemed to pushy to me, and it didn't fit my goody-goody image of Disney at the time. I remember noticing a bar as soon as I got off the elevator on the third floor. I remember grabbing a seat along the second floor to watch the dance floor below, and the stage show (barely remember details of the show — but one dancer carried another off like she had frozen into a real mannequin), and repeatedly being asked what I wanted to buy to drink. I finally left because I was tired of being asked if I wanted to to buy alcohol. It was probably my least-favorite part of my vacation.
This all hit me this past Saturday, standing on the same second floor, watching the much-more-crowded dance floor from the same vantage point, after having consumed a pleasant number of Adult Beverages, enjoying the heck out of myself. Who'd have thought? It occurs to me to wonder now if one of those cocktail waitresses might have been bartender-extraordinaire Dawn...
Friday, May 30, 2003
You've Come A Long Way. Baby.
Ten years ago this month, I graduated from college. I also had my first kiss. A few days after said graduation. Kinda geeky to know the date, I suppose, but it's in my journal. For those doing the math, I was 22 and never-been-kissed. I suppose that's sweet for a girl who's turning 16. For a guy turning 22, well...
Granted, things are a bit different these days. I kiss — heck, I'm married. I drink. I dance (didn't do that then either). Whether or not you could say I've progressed is probably pretty subjective.
What got me thinking on this was a cute 21-year-old who apparently was rather smitten with me this past Sunday at Full Moon. (Not that I noticed until after he left and someone spelled it out for me.) When I turned 21, I'd only had my first drink of alcohol (wine) a month before. I'd never been to a bar, much less a gay one — and if you don't count Mannequins (which you shouldn't) I was probably closer to 24. I didn't move from wine to true "adult beverages" until about the same time. This kid (okay, fine, not that young, but still), quite adorable, is at the Full Moon (not always the least intimidating place to the uninitiated) with friends, out drinking and enjoying himself. And did I mention, shirtless (on, ahem, my suggestion)? (There's more to the story... but it's not in my character to write self-incriminating evidence if I can help it. <Evil Grin>) My, how the times have changed. Maybe I've just barely kept up.
Wherefore art thou, Sonarstrange?
Does Bj need to add herself to her own "Missing in Action" list of blog links? Methinks this is the longest we've gone without Sonatstrangeness — as of now, 29 days and counting. There was a time when 5 days' absence implied death. Fortunately, we have made contact with her in real-space, so we know this isn't true, merely (we hope) an unannounced hiatus. There was a moment's panic the other day when attempting to visit the site brought back a DNS error — the kind that means "nobody lives here anymore" — but it was a fluke.
Hang in there, Bj. Hope things look up soon.
Granted, things are a bit different these days. I kiss — heck, I'm married. I drink. I dance (didn't do that then either). Whether or not you could say I've progressed is probably pretty subjective.
What got me thinking on this was a cute 21-year-old who apparently was rather smitten with me this past Sunday at Full Moon. (Not that I noticed until after he left and someone spelled it out for me.) When I turned 21, I'd only had my first drink of alcohol (wine) a month before. I'd never been to a bar, much less a gay one — and if you don't count Mannequins (which you shouldn't) I was probably closer to 24. I didn't move from wine to true "adult beverages" until about the same time. This kid (okay, fine, not that young, but still), quite adorable, is at the Full Moon (not always the least intimidating place to the uninitiated) with friends, out drinking and enjoying himself. And did I mention, shirtless (on, ahem, my suggestion)? (There's more to the story... but it's not in my character to write self-incriminating evidence if I can help it. <Evil Grin>) My, how the times have changed. Maybe I've just barely kept up.
Wherefore art thou, Sonarstrange?
Does Bj need to add herself to her own "Missing in Action" list of blog links? Methinks this is the longest we've gone without Sonatstrangeness — as of now, 29 days and counting. There was a time when 5 days' absence implied death. Fortunately, we have made contact with her in real-space, so we know this isn't true, merely (we hope) an unannounced hiatus. There was a moment's panic the other day when attempting to visit the site brought back a DNS error — the kind that means "nobody lives here anymore" — but it was a fluke.
Hang in there, Bj. Hope things look up soon.
Tuesday, September 03, 2002
"Dance Like Nobody's Watching"
(Sorry for the sporadic content; I'm taking all week off from work in an at-home vacation.)
I can't find it now, but I'm reasonably sure I once wrote about how, even as the consummate introvert, I am often the first on the dance floor, dragging my understandably reticent friends along behind. This was evidenced twice again over the weekend — first, in being the first couple on the floor at Mannequins on Friday (nevermind being the only gay couple in the bar — way to scare the tourists). And again, on Sunday afternoon, as usual, at the 'Moon.
I actually hit the realization about "why" the week before, while talking with Brian C. Getting all philosophical at the bar, I said, "You know what? I'm 31 years old. I don't need to impress anyone here. In fact, I don't give a damn what any of these people think. Now let's go dance." Or something like that. Anyway, shortly after, the DJ played a song by Deborah Cox, Absolutely Not, which features the following lyrics:
Now, I wish I could claim that I have somehow arrived, or am self-actuated or something like that. If it were true, I proabably wouldn't still buy new clothes anywhere new as often as I do — so somewhere, I do give a damn, I guess. After a couple of years of pretty unfulfiling work, though, and times when it didn't seem like I could do anything right in my job, I've finally overloaded on needing lots of validation externally. Now, I just have to plug along and do what's enjoyable, and hope for the best.
(Sorry for the sporadic content; I'm taking all week off from work in an at-home vacation.)
I can't find it now, but I'm reasonably sure I once wrote about how, even as the consummate introvert, I am often the first on the dance floor, dragging my understandably reticent friends along behind. This was evidenced twice again over the weekend — first, in being the first couple on the floor at Mannequins on Friday (nevermind being the only gay couple in the bar — way to scare the tourists). And again, on Sunday afternoon, as usual, at the 'Moon.
I actually hit the realization about "why" the week before, while talking with Brian C. Getting all philosophical at the bar, I said, "You know what? I'm 31 years old. I don't need to impress anyone here. In fact, I don't give a damn what any of these people think. Now let's go dance." Or something like that. Anyway, shortly after, the DJ played a song by Deborah Cox, Absolutely Not, which features the following lyrics:
Always waitin' for someoneand:
To make me happy, pick me up
I realize that someone is me
Do I measure me by what you think?and:
Absolutely not, absolutely not
Now I see, life means more to meThe moment was perfect.
More than fancy clothes
More than you'll ever know
All the ugly words that I heard you say
Made me stronger everyday
Now I live my life for me
Now, I wish I could claim that I have somehow arrived, or am self-actuated or something like that. If it were true, I proabably wouldn't still buy new clothes anywhere new as often as I do — so somewhere, I do give a damn, I guess. After a couple of years of pretty unfulfiling work, though, and times when it didn't seem like I could do anything right in my job, I've finally overloaded on needing lots of validation externally. Now, I just have to plug along and do what's enjoyable, and hope for the best.
Monday, February 18, 2002
The Britney Channel
Not to be confused with "channelling Britney"
I've heard the remix at Mannequins, I've heard the radio version while passing by/through Virgin Megastore. So why did it give me pause to smile and think, "I never thought I'd hear that here," when I heard Britney Spears' "I'm A Slave 4 U" blaring out of the Planet Hollywood retail outpost on Disney's West Side yesterday?
I'm impressed by Dewayne's powers of clairvoyance: Music mixologists Thunderpuss have done a dance remix of "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman" — so even if you don't hear it in the show bar, it just might happen on the dance floor.
I've heard the remix at Mannequins, I've heard the radio version while passing by/through Virgin Megastore. So why did it give me pause to smile and think, "I never thought I'd hear that here," when I heard Britney Spears' "I'm A Slave 4 U" blaring out of the Planet Hollywood retail outpost on Disney's West Side yesterday?
I'm impressed by Dewayne's powers of clairvoyance: Music mixologists Thunderpuss have done a dance remix of "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman" — so even if you don't hear it in the show bar, it just might happen on the dance floor.
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