Friday, March 19, 2010
Whenever I venture to dancefloors beyond the bubble, I consider myself a proud San Francisco ambassador. The response I get reinforces that San Francisco is exactly the right place for a die-hard hag like me to call home, and validates that there really is no place like home, where every minute of every day is hella gay.
On my recent trip to Miami’s Winter Party Festival, I gave a whole new set of boys a taste of San Francisco with my homothusiasm. The flowers in my hair and my excessive glitter expressed the spirit of San Francisco everywhere I went, from the Rough Waters leather event with DJ Ted Eiel, to a drive-by at the Atlantis sailaway party, to owning a section of the afterparty dancefloor with DJ Luke Johnstone to my left and a pack of Brazilians to my right.
My reality check came when my CASTRO hoodie got an unexpected reaction from a Latin boy who warned me that I’d better not wear it in Miami. And here I thought there was only one Castro in the entire world, and that it was covered in rainbow.
One of my favorite moments was in the crowd outside Palace in South Beach. I worked the pushy masses as if they were my personal receiving line, smiling at everyone that bumped into me while observing a stunning cross-section of Miami’s scene-queens.
“I sure did, handsome,” I said. Such a queer comment coming from a cocky gay without a cock apparently caught him off guard. Daddy felt compelled to gather his friends around and ask me where I had come from, as often happens when I forget where I am and that not every place is Oz.
But that wasn’t nearly as funny as the tranimal taken aback by the crazy braided ‘do my fab hairstylist Gib fierced me out with before I left for Miami, and the custom-couture Chaps t-shirts I rocked out with my travel trio. Working the rooftop at Club Manor like a runway after sneaking into DJ Manny Lehman’s booth for a cameo, Tranimal turned to me and said, “Where is you from, cuz it ain’t here?!”
San Fran Fucking Cisco, that’s where!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Hi, my name is Suzan Revah and I’m addicted to the circuit. Moving to the thumpa thumpa with my gays until I’m completely lost in the moment, covered in sweat and panting, is my favorite high. It’s an adrenaline charge, a ritualistic release, and apparently I just can’t get enough.
After a lifetime of cruise directing queens toward the disco ball - my drag name isn’t Pushy Bottom for nothing! – my excesses are coming full circle. And when it comes to disco temptation, I’m utterly powerless.
On an Atlantis cruise last year, I met a boy who owns a gay hotel in Miami. “Girl! You HAVE to come for Winter Party!” he said. I giggled politely, knowing there was no way in hell I could afford to get there. But just a few months later, I bought a ticket on Virgin and expanded my circuit frontier.
Supposedly understanding that tradeoffs would be necessary, I then swore I would NOT be attending this year’s White Party Palm Springs because I need to direct my vacation budget (a term I use quite loosely) elsewhere. But then I saw the epic lineup of DJs and the gathering storm of friends making their party plans, and now I’m on my way next month.
My addiction turned to full-on financial irresponsibility when I went from pooh-poohing Atlantis cruises - “How will I ever get to Rio or Sydney if I keep blowing my wad on those floating bathhouses?” – to signing up for the biggest cruise ever one year from now. My addiction has a layaway plan!
It’s always something on the circuit, with constant peer pressure to choose fun over reason. I seriously can’t afford my gay lifestyle, and yet I can’t afford not to. What if the party I skip turns out to be the best one ever?
Oscar Wilde comes to mind: “My only regret in this life are my economies,” he said. Spoken like a true circuit whore, and it’s the perfect rationalization for why I can’t help but bring it to one dancefloor after another, even though I think I can quit anytime.
What does your gay lifestyle say about your addictive personality? Tell me more at www.lovemygays.com.