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?

Bring It: November 5, 2010: Double Rainbows of Hope

Typically, my multiple personalities veer toward corporate sellout vs. gogo dancer, or leatherman vs. drag queen, but a recent charity event I was so excited to attend had me of two minds in an entirely different way.

All glittered up at Project Inform’s Evening of Hope, I could barely appreciate the condom-coated fashion show that is the party’s signature. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the crisis behind the couture.

The champagne flowed freely, but the sobering message that kicked off the cabaret of Coco Peru made me feel more flat than fizzy. Decades later, we’re still talking about how prevention is the cure when it comes to HIV, and how, until there’s a cure, there’s catastrophe.

The number of new infections is beyond alarming, all these years of education and activism later. Despite our advances in medical science and social policy, the urgency remains. But then there’s the flip side.

AIDS is still rock bottom for bottoms, but when it comes to the fight for gay civil rights, we’re dominating tops, and there is no doubt in my mind that we are winning the war.

I can’t help but think there’s a connection. I suppose hope is born from the darkest places, and if it weren’t for the ferocious and flawless way our community has been forced to rally around our causes, the public dialogue wouldn’t even include phrases like “domestic partnership,” “marriage equality” or “civil union.” The closets would still be overflowing, along with the shame and self-loathing.

So as hopeless I feel sometimes about not even remembering a time before HIV anymore, there are still double rainbows of hope on the horizon.

In all the struggle for salvation from this plague that torments our beloved community, I can see clearly over the double rainbow. among my San Framily and all the righteous organizations that have risen up in arms to fight the good gay fight, what hasn’t yet killed us is making us “bigga, betta, harda, stronga.”

Our ballot initiatives here in San Francisco may earn us the “fruits and nuts” stereotype in the eyes of the rest of our ass-backward country. Yet our San Framilial intimacy with this fight has brought us together in a way that makes us a model to the haters that try to take us down. We’re definitely making progress and change. And quickly.

But just as I get impatient about how damn long I’ve been a sistah in this struggle, I find religion. Dan Savage, you are my savior. I’m holy rolling on your realness. Your keen gay wit and wisdom make you my hero of Alpha Gayness.

“It Gets Better” is the best thing we ever could have asked for. It’s the best possible representation of everything that’s good and right about the gayer and better life we have here in Oz. The message is simple and powerful. It’s one genius idea that delivers perfectly on Harvey Milk’s promise and plea, “You gotta give ‘em hope.” Thank you, Dan Savage, for giving hope to me and millions. Just like that.

I’m just so thankful to be living in the gayest city on earth. Even if enjoying and appreciating all that our beautiful little bubble gives me in return for loving my gays. It’s wearing me out before the holigay season even begins, but we just gotta keep on bringing it as best we can.

Bring It: October 22, 2010: Massive Masquerade

The thing about being a circuit whore is that you end up eating your words all the time.

I’m not saying I’m full of…glitter, but just when I think I’m completely jaded, I realize that no, I just happen to live in the Emerald City of Oz. And just like in the movie, when we find ourselves at the end of the yellow brick road, we need green-tinted glasses “to protect us from the city’s brightness and glory.”

When costumes and fantasy and fierce alter-egos are part of your every day, it can be challenging to get geared up for Halloween, especially when it comes at the end of our long and ecstatically exhausting season of street fairs and holigays.

But just when I think I’m over it, I’m surprised again. And just when I think there’s nothing new under the sun, a double rainbow appears.

This year I’m crazy excited about Massive Masquerade at 1015 Folsom on Halloween night. So many of my favorite tricks and treats are coming together at once, I must shut my mouth about how Halloween in San Francisco is dead.

It may not be the mary mayhem the Castro once was, but with Industry and Gus Presents teaming up to deliver DJs Jamie J Sanchez and Russ Rich opening for remix masters The Freemasons, there’s just no way it won’t be absolutely epic.

And I’ll keep the Halloween spirit going into the next weekend, when Nasty: A Filthy Fun-Raiser for the AIDS Emergency Fund returns to The Powerhouse on Friday, November 5.

I thought I left my gothic darkness behind in high school, but my vampyre fetish returned along with True Blood. So please rock your party fangs and join me for “Vampyres Never Get Old” night. Halloween will be over, but I won’t be over it. We’ll celebrate the fact that, in San Francisco, it doesn’t have to be Halloween to dress up and play a part and be undead or glamorous or ridiculous – or all of the above - in the name of pure fun.

It’s actually more fun to bring it “just because.” Halloween or otherwise, there’s no place like home.

Bring It! October 8, 2010: The Circle of Friends

When the party circuit that is my life starts to feels like an amazing race, I take heart in the circle of friends that keeps me running.

Whether you call your circle of friends your posse, tribe, mafia, entourage or San Framily, you know who they are. And while it’s hard to steal away enough time for even the occasional disco nap, it’s important to make enough time to reflect on the people who make up your circle of friends and what they really mean to you.

Together, we go through life’s ups and downs, ins and outs, and all the drama in between. Sometimes we’re there for each other in a big way, and sometimes not as much, but the circle always holds true.

Sometimes the people in your circle of friends make you crazy, but in return, they sometimes let you drive them crazy, too. Sometimes you go crazy together, and then you make everyone around you crazy by reliving those moments again and again.

There’s giggles and tears, hopes and fears, and there’s moments where you question everything and can’t make sense of anything. The nearest and dearest in your circle of friends tell you what you want to hear, and also what you don’t want to hear but need to hear anyways.

Your circle of friends is your reality check. Sometimes it’s comforting, and sometimes it’s confusing, but when you’re living the dream in the land of Oz, it’s priceless.

From the outside, your circle of friends might look like a silly circle jerk, but the reality is more like a sewing circle. By joining forces, we get things done, make a difference and process it all, and along the way we grow up, learn to get by and get better all the time.

In San Francisco, there’s no reason to choose between friends and family. They’re one and the same, and the San Framily model holds together a community that everywhere else in the world is under a microscope, if not under attack.

But San Framily values hold up against anyone’s moral code. In staying true to our selves, we gain the strength to be a force for what’s real and right in the world. When we have room and support to be good to our selves, we can be good to everyone around us, over the rainbow and beyond.

Bring It: September 23, 2010: Gay Standard Time

There’s no time like Gay Standard Time, and that’s just another reason why I love my gays so hard. Just as there’s no one way to be gay, there really is no standard “gay time.”

People come out at different ages, and being out has various stages. The gay life cycle can be very different from “average,” but the gays of our lives also have their own special rhythm.

For me and much of San Francisco, the gay calendar year starts some time around the Oscars, Easter, or White Party. It builds momentum through Pride and then picks up pace through to Folsom weekend, which leaves us worn out and weathered.

The season changes somewhere in between Folsom and the Castro Street Fair, and allegedly our downtime begins, just in time for Halloween and then the “traditional” holidays.

I prefer holigays to traditional holidays, so while most people are organizing their Christmas ornaments and ringing in the new year, I’ll be planning group costumes and purchasing swimwear for the Atlantis cruise I’m going on in February.

Gay Standard Time is more like a law of nature than a time zone. There’s no set timeline for our rites of passage, and we’re more likely to mobilize or celebrate around the passage of laws than the passage of time.

Being gay is timeless, an organic and fluid approach to life that can profoundly surprise and delight, at any age. It’s never too late to go to your first circuit party or don drag, and it’s never too soon to become a fundraiser or join the gayby boom. And there’s no time like the present to start appreciating and questioning the legacy we leave by loving our gays, every day and every way.

As another huge year of gay goings on winds down, I’m looking forward to planting the seeds that will blossom come springtime, and to regrouping and recharging every time it’s the right time between now and then.

Bring It! August 27, 2010

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and one gay’s night-on-the-town triumph is another’s tragedy.

It’s all relative, and it’s all a matter of perspective, especially when it comes to parties. It’s a subjective search for the perfect “swirl,” and we never know what’s going to make it just right, or when. But when it’s right, it’s SO right, and that’s what keeps us all returning to the dancefloor.

I’m always amazed by how differently people can perceive the same event. What sounds like pots and pans to me moves other circuit boys into a sweaty cardio craze. And when I feel like I’ve just “gone to church,” other boys are in line at the coat check, unable to escape the screaming divas fast enough.

We’re all hoping that tonight’s gonna be a good good night, but even when it’s off for me, I take comfort in knowing that somebody’s on an epic journey. I’m confident that I’ll get mine soon enough, and we all must be, because we just can’t stay away from the discoball. Like gay moths to the flaming flame.

And while we’ve all become experts at critiquing the music, venue and crowd at the parties on our own personal circuits, the experience isn’t really about any of those things nearly as much as it’s about feeling a sense of community.

The dancefloor is my happy hour, and I live for that thumpa thumpa the way a lot of people salivate before their first sip at cocktail time. A sappy theme song comes to mind, from “Cheers,” a show that begins, lives and ends at “the bar.” That concept is so straight, I could never really relate, but now it all makes perfect sense to me.

“Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name,” (even if we all call each other “sweetie” because we just can’t remember. “And you’re always glad you came.” Damn straight, come to think of it!

My friend Hysterica once told me that alcohol is for straight people. The boy bars of the Castro suggest otherwise, but the spirit of that comment rings true.

There’s a lot to toast in our town, which always offers more options to dance it out than a girls knows what to do with, and which more often than not delivers a sweet swirl. I may have Gatorade in hand when I drink “to life,” but the sublime joy of leaving behind life’s daily grind is just as sincere.

Cheers, Queers!