Dance to The Beat (pt 1)

This post is so long, I decided to break it in half. I swear this is not a transparent attempt to increase my post count and cover up the fact that I’m running short on ideas.

Also, I don’t know what the future holds, but I bet it involves having my blog discovered. I write [well wrote, a few days ago, but still unedited] this as I get back, still basically drunk and enjoying shortbread cookies. So read through entirely, involved parties, before drawing judgment.

Yesterday was my first taste of the Valley. Bus took us to a neutral club, but me and my friend decided to go exploring. The Family was closed, The Zoo had a $45 cover charge to see the band. The day before, OK GO came out to pay them a visit. Luckily, I’d already seen them for free.

We pass The Beat. After reading about it in Sushi Central, I knew it was only a matter of time. It was inevitable really. I suggest to my friend that we go in, and tell him point-blank that it’s a gay bar. But he’s interested anyway, because after waiting 30 minutes per drink at Birdee’s, he wouldn’t mind the shorter wait.

But he doesn’t want to pay the $7 cover charge, so we don’t go in. As we walk down the city, I discover he’s actually a deep well of religion-induced homophobia. Yet so willing to visit a gay bar. I don’t bother analyzing Mr. Haggard. I settle on returning a different day.

Turns out a different day was actually the next day. I get a call from the gay boy I met during orientation (no, not the MC), and he invites me out with him, his boyfriend, and that French guy I met once too.

We pay his house a visit, and pregame. Turns out he also loves vodka bitters. They’re pretty good, and I enjoy them for free.

Turns out we actually start at The Wickham, the other gay club. It’s pretty empty, but the drink specials are nice. I consider trying to get someone else to buy me a drink, but flirting with a sketchy old stranger isn’t worth the hassle. After a beer, I decide to take a piss. Each urinal has its own personal aquarium, and is bordered by complimentary mirrors to check out your neighbor’s junk. I enjoy the fish.

The bar itself was pretty normal, with only the music being noticeably gay. Hell, I even spot a heterosexual kiss in the corner. It’s like I’ve just beaten “Where’s Waldo?”

Off to The Beat. Is it anything like Sushi Central?

Well, not really. In fact, the first floor is a heavy metal straight bar. The light show nearly induces late-onset epilepsy. However, I’ve heard there’s no better place, except maybe The Family, to satiate all your illegal needs. Maybe later. We head upstairs, which was the sexing place in the book. It’s not, but we’re greeted by a bar-within-a-bar called Crystals. I can only assume this is intentional. Sad epithet, if you ask me.

Passing Crystals, walking past the terrace where the smokers are penned up, and to another bar and dance floor. More to drink, but I’ll sum it later. I try to dance, but we all know already that I cannot. At least 3 people have tried to fix me so far, and at least two more will before the night is over. The music sucks, American reject trash like Backstreet Boys and Pink mixed with local crap techno. The bartenders are wearing belly shirts and showing off their flabby hairy midriffs. And no Kylie Minogue in earshot.

Next to me, a man sniffs poppers right on the dance floor. I had believed this only to occur in Queer As Folk. I was wrong. So I return to Crystals with the French boy. Maybe we’ll have a revolution.

Well, that’s one way to put it. We’re dancing. He grabs my wrists and tries to lead me along. I’m pretty miserable at it. Somehow he gets me into a compromising position. Somehow his tongue is in my mouth.

And I leave you to a cliffhanger.