Bring It: March 18, 2011: Let’s hear it for the girls

I have to laugh that it takes the annual “girly issue” of Gloss to remind me that I’m a girl and not actually the gay man I think I am.

My insistence that I’m not like all the other girls tends to flare up when I’m faced with purses and heels and free-flying hair on the dancefloor. Another funny reality check comes every once in a while when I’m, say, in the men’s bathroom line at the club, and some well-intentioned boy will say something like “Are you having fun tonight? How does it feel to be the only girl with a bunch of gay men?” I try hard not to sneer when I respond with something like “Are you from out of town?”

As a fully immersed and entrenched fag hag, gay men have been my best girlfriends for as long as I can remember. But every gay man needs a wingman, and that’s where I’ve gotta give it up for Joanna Parks, my boo, my BFF, my “nonsexual life partner.”

You might know her as “the other girl” on the dancefloor, and there’s real comedy in how often we get confused for one another by good-hearted gays who apparently think all girls look the same.

Joanna is my true circuit sister, and she’s always been there for me as I’ve pushed my way through the gay glass ceiling. Together, we’ve gone everywhere that no girl has ever gone before, and neither of us would change a thing about our lifestyle. It’s not that we hate girls, we just love our gays more.

There does come a time, though, when there’s no substitute for having my girly by my side. Joanna and I call that time “dick o’ clock,” when the vibe in the club changes from “let’s party” to “let’s fuck,” and the music changes from “let’s dance” to “let’s get the fuck out of here.”

It’s a time when girls need to get gone, and I take pride in knowing when a girl needs to make herself scarce. If you ever see me in the back room, I promise it’s just a drive-by to hand out condoms, or to tell one of my boys he’ll need his own ride home.

One of these days I’ll take my homosociology on the road and find my way to The Dinah in Palm Springs to see what the girly equivalent of dick o’ clock is. But for now, Joanna and I are gearing up once again for White Party Palm Springs, to be wingmen to all our girly boys, and to cheer alongside them for girls like Robyn, Zoe Badwi, Alexis Jordan and Wynter Gordon.

If it wasn’t for gays loving their girls, we’d be nowhere at all, so let’s hear it for the girls!

Bring It: March 4, 2011: We Were Here

Every once in a while the universe shows us the way. In my case, it showed me how and why to be gay.

Attending the recent Castro Theatre premiere of We Were Here, a documentary that reflects on the arrival and impact of AIDS in San Francisco, I was reminded why I was essentially “born this way.”

I lost my virginity, discovered the gay dancefloor and learned about a disease called AIDS all in the same year, 1985. Just as I started to appreciate sexual freedom and gay pride, everyone around me started dying and condoms became mandatory.

I felt robbed, and an activist was born.

Growing up in Washington, DC, it was easy to get involved, and while most kids my age were on sports teams and in theater groups, I was volunteering at ACT UP and marshalling the first AIDS Walk. AIDS charities have been a constant in my life, and I remember that just before I realized my lifelong dream of moving to San Francisco, I witnessed the last time the AIDS Memorial Quilt was displayed at the National Monument. It had grown so large that it could no longer fit in a single location.

Taking a look back at our history, it’s amazing what we’ve accomplished. We’ve come so far so fast – with the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and marriage equality slowly but surely becoming law – it’s easy to forget the depth of our struggle and loss.

What we can’t forget is that prevention is still the only cure. I worry that this gets lost among the medical and policy victories we’ve gained, and that the generation growing up gay now doesn’t realize that AIDS, for better or for worse, has defined our community and given us reason to rally.

There’s still work to be done, and I’m incredibly proud to be part of the “San Francisco model,” that continues to lead the way. As I celebrate the 2nd anniversary of my monthly fundraiser at The Powerhouse, I’m grateful to have my inspiration and motivation reignited by this poignant film, and I appreciate anew the importance of organizations like AIDS Emergency Fund and Project Inform.

Of the millions of reasons why I love my gays, our dedication to mobilizing our talents and helping our own and giving back to our community top the list. And until there’s a cure, I’ll continue acting up and carrying on, in hopes of honoring those who were here and those who sacrificed their lives along the way.

Bring It: We Are Blessed

 I’ve only been back on land a few days following Atlantis Events’ amazing Allure of the Seas 20^th anniversary cruise, and my withdrawal symptoms are already severe.

It’s hard to describe how perfect life aboard the Allure was, and how intensely real the feeling of community was at sea. Where else in the world do 5,500 sexy seamen come together with such sincere smiles and such pure intention to play nice together and make the best of every magical moment?

The scale and scope of the largest gay cruise in the world was daunting, and while the logistics and venues on the ship weren’t always flawless, the vibe and spirit certainly were. From the epic T-dances in the Aqua Theater to the Studio B dancefloor that was packed until well after dawn each day, the cruise far surpassed my expectations.

Maybe it was because my San Framily was heavily represented on the “dick deck,” or maybe it was because this third cruise for me was the charm in terms of knowing how to prepare and pace myself, but I was repeatedly blown away by the sense of love and privilege everyone seemed to be taking so deeply to heart. The cruise was sold out for nearly a year before we embarked, and by the time we finally set sail, everyone was set on making it the experience of a lifetime.

When you dance around the clock for seven days and barely stop to eat or sleep, it’s hard to even remember, much less select, a list of highlights. But I was literally brought to tears by one spontaneous expression that sums up the sublime joy of the journey. At the “Final Rinse” T-dance, a group of guys did flip cards on a terrace high above the crowd. “My chosen family” was the first message, and the last was “We are blessed.”

Blessed indeed. The gay world has come a long way in 20 years, and the Allure of the Seas was the best representation I’ve seen of living proud and out loud, with full appreciation of common cause and hard-won victories. Anthems like “I’m Coming Out” and “We Are Family” took on new meaning as we celebrated the freedom and joy of such a validating voyage, and I know I’ll never forget the feeling of being totally satisfied and totally at peace with my Love My Gays lifestyle.

Bring It: January 19, 2011: The Gay Standard

As I’m about to embark on the largest gay cruise in history (Atlantis’ 20th anniversary Allure of the Seas), my every waking thought is about high queens on the high seas.

The amount of planning, organizing and purchasing (not to mention grooming and starving!) going into this gaycation is more than a little bit daunting, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it will be more than worth it.

The gaytopia of what I lovingly call The Dick Deck is hard to overstate. It’s life as it should be for anyone who loves their gays, and that’s saying a lot coming from the gay capital of the universe. The gay agenda is proudly on display 24/7 (along with 6,000 men in speedos!), and it really is a beautiful sight to behold.

I love my gays for always wanting to make everything beautiful, whether it’s the coordinated costumes for all the theme parties or the idealized vision of “the way we play,” with silly poolside games, dramatic shows and customized trick cards so you can remember all the friends you made along the way.

I often refer to “The Gay Standard” as the reason why I always felt like an outcast among straight people. Gayer is simply better, and it’s because of the intention and energy that go into making it so. It’s no accident that arts and design and lifestyle professions are dominated by high queens who insist on making everything just so.

Whether it’s my fabulous hairstylist Gib at G.H.Bolton, or my gorgeous Brazilian trainer Carlos Mandacaru at Sessions Training Center, I’ve had a lot of help and inspiration building this beautiful life I’m living. I’m bursting with excitement about sharing it with the Men of Atlantis, who are coming from all over to experience something like San Francisco at sea.

Aside from the most beautiful version of our selves that we’ll have on display aboard the Allure, the San Framily will represent the inner beauty and palpable joy that’s possible when everyday life offers as much freedom as the open ocean. Because living out loud and proud is just how we marys roll along!

I won’t be writing Bring It! while I’m on The Love Boat, so this column will skip an issue, and I won’t be hosting Nasty at the Powerhouse on February 4, either. Even the hardest-working hag needs a break, and beautiful Walter Gomez will be making sure there’s still a chance to STICK IT IN for charity while I’m busy swooning over seamen.

Bring It: January 7, 2011: Set Your Intention for Harm-Reduction

My gays have always taught me that “more is more, less is a bore.” While that’s certainly true with glitter, there’s also something to be said for moderation, and the excess of the holigays gave me an opportunity to practice something I’ve been preaching on the dancefloor for ages: harm-reduction.

The idea of harm-reduction is basically personal responsibility, but it’s also about taking care of our own. It’s a fine intention to set for the new year, and all it really requires is general awareness and a little bit of compassion.

We all love to test our limits. We’ve all felt the high from getting away with it, and we’ve all experienced the danger and humiliation of not knowing when enough was enough.

No one wants to have her head in a trash can or leave the club on a stretcher. A little empathy can go a long ways when you see someone melt down into a hot mess under the discoball, and it’s really not hard to just treat that person as you hope to be treated when it’s your turn to go too far. And if your turn never comes? All the better. You can thank that hot mess for reminding you why your last drink, bump, pill or whatever needed to be your last for a minute.

This is a situation where community really makes a difference. It’s a perfect moment to let go of judgment and extend yourself beyond your boundaries. More times than not, simply reaching out to someone who looks like they might be in trouble can shock that person back to their senses and pull them back from the brink of disaster.

It costs nothing to give someone a gentle nudge, look him in the eyes and ask sincerely if he is ok or needs help. I know I’d much rather get help from a circuit sister than from law enforcement, and many times an emergency medical situation can be avoided simply by telling someone they need to pull themselves together.

“Eyes open and upright” is a great rule of thumb, and dancing it out always makes for a better night than falling out. There really is safety in our numbers, and I hereby resolve that you can lean on me the next time your swirl goes south. It’s the least I can do in return for all the ways I love my gays.

Happy New Year!

Bring It: Many glittery blessings

This might sound more Grinchy than glittery, but for me, the holidays are more of a ritual of survival than celebration.

Somehow, the sparkle of the season just doesn’t do it for me when the weather outside is frightful, and the constant temptation of sugar cookies and egg nog wreaks havoc on my circuit starvation diet.

Growing up Jewish certainly doesn’t help me appreciate reindeer games, and when winter and darkness arrive, the call of the disco ball is often overpowered by my inclination to be a bear and hibernate.

But this year is different, much to my surprise. When I recently attended “Light in the Grove” at the National AIDS Memorial Grove - a unique, stunning and solemn gala honoring so many who have given so much to the cause - I was reminded that giving is at the heart of the holidays.

I was also reminded that Christmas (I prefer to think of it as Xmas) is about appreciating our loved ones and counting our blessings, and for this I have Miss Donna Sachet to thank. While her Songs of the Season show benefits my favorite charity, the AIDS Emergency Fund, and while I was so honored to be invited by the empress herself (my personal hero), I really didn’t know how I’d respond to an evening packed with Christmas songs, which generally irritate me no end.

Not surprisingly, Donna stole the show, irreverently adapting the songs to fit her bubbly yet biting wit, and also her personal holiday narrative. Her tales from 18 years (!) of  raising funds for AEF had me all choked up, and helped me get in the spirit, in spite of myself.

Typically, I reserve my holiday spirit for two of my favorite dance parties of the year, and this year I’m no less excited to attend both Black XXXmas on December 18 and Mass on January 2 (both at 1015 Folsom). It’s no secret that I’m a ho ho ho for DJs Abel and Jamie J Sanchez, and that I love nothing more than a leathery overlay to any kind of “traditional” holigay.

Which brings me to another surprise of the season, my very first Xmas tree! Normally I get all agro-environmentalist over the fallen trees that litter Christmastime, but I couldn’t help smiling like a kid on Christmas morning when a tree festooned with leather flags, rainbow tulle and enough disco balls to kill any queen showed up in the living room of my apartment, also known as The Home for Wayward Castro Boys. Thanks to Graig Cooper and Tod Epperson for bringing it!

As this year comes to a close, I’ll actually have some sappy sentiments moving my spirit on the dancefloor, and I’ll be sure to count my many glittery blessings. Getting to be the Original Fag Hag of San Francisco is a gift I never take for granted, and something I live to celebrate all year long.

Bring It: Finding religion on the mat and on the dancefloor

I’m not a religious person, but with seasonal change and holiday rituals, I can’t help but reflect on where and how I find religion in this crazy life.

For me, the circle of life goes from reckless release under the discoball to reprieve and reflection on the yoga mat. When there’s balance between both, bliss is mine. When one or the other is neglected, even glitter can’t make me right.

On the dancefloor, divinity comes from the DJ. On the mat at Gold’s Gym Castro, it comes in the form of a goddess named Maria Stanford. Every Sunday morning she preaches to our gayborhood “church,” encouraging us to set an intention about whatever it is that we hold sacred.

I’m a true believer in what Maria describes as “prana,” or “life force.” It’s exactly what I’m seeking, whether I’m moving my body to the beat or getting grounded in downward dog.

Breathing hard, sweating hard, and manclimbing hard (like I do on the dancefloor) are what remind me that I’m alive and that life is damn good when you live over the rainbow in Oz. The music that moves my spirit is what some would call church music - anthems with a classic gay sound, upbeat and soulful, rooted in disco with vocals almost certainly derived from gospel choirs. My spiritual songs have themes about redemption and salvation.

In yoga, we learn about “energy work,” and everyone in the room can feel the vibe as we soak up the sense of communal connection that Maria inspires. On the dancefloor we refer to a tribal sensibility, with the beat moving us collectively as one, and lately it’s our local DJs – Craig Gaibler and Russ Rich, to be specific – that leave me feeling blessed by their beats.

When the connection is there - when the prana is flowing - it’s magical. A simple smile from the shirtless man on the yoga mat next to yours, or from the shirtless boy at the club who accidentally bumps butts with you, can turn what might otherwise be a mindless workout into a mystical revelation.

I live for these moments, for what DJs call “the nod.” A mutual recognition of the life force we share is the best kind of high, and I’m lucky enough to experience it regularly, with friends and San Framily that inspire me to keep bringing it as hard as I can.

Can I get an amen?