Weekend Recap
I scurried around madly on Friday afternoon, trying to get myself up to Manhattan. I decided to forego driving, instead selecting Amtrak in the hope that paying the premium (500% over the Chinese bus) would get me to GB:NYC-2 close to on time and allow me a much needed hour and a half nap. The train ran 30 minutes late and the young woman behind me screeched Cantonese into her cell phone the whole trip. I can't escape. A quick cab hop to Hell's Kitchen brought me to a bar filled with especially articulate name tagged homosexual patrons, stumbling over a minefield of those stupid tiny cube ottomans which litter every bar decorated after 1998 (George PUSHED me. I swear).
I was delighted by the mix. Beardom was heavily represented (with the exception of the fashion bears, who must have been off somewhere fabulous and exclusive, collecting catty anecdotes and mean spirited photos). There were alterna-queers, adorkable grad student types, compact hirsute men, and a few smartly turned out haute' gays. Two bewildered bartenders managed the crush. The crowd became gradually friskier, though no, that wasn't MY silhouette pressed against the frosted glass men's room door by a handsome and known-to-be-sexually-generous diarist. Or maybe it was.
Saturday began with us too tired and hung over to meet social commitments. Homer arrived, and we set out for lunch in the East Village wandering eventually to the West. We finished up with an early drink at the new multi T.V. screened bar in Chelsea where a packed roomful of fags in sports drag watched baseball and the Kentucky Derby while practicing their "masculine". We returned to the U.E.S. for a slumber party, to talk about boys, watch "Fat Actress" via cable-on-demand, and eat take out rice bowls from the corner chicken joint. The other houseguest and I did NOT make out so hot and heavy as to chase our host from the apartment. Or maybe we did.
Late Sunday morning we had waffles(!) followed by what turned into a Bataan Death March of touristy wandering and unsuccessful shopping efforts over miles and miles of Manhattan. We visited the Christopher St. Pier where we rested our tired dogs huddled from the wind on the grass in the intensely sunlit lee of the undulating concrete benches. We ran into some other bloggers , and all wandered over to The Dugout. Hung out with some of my NYC buddies (who were impressed by my new vintage boots) and chattered about next weekends ICFF and the current Diane Arbus shows. Later the pack shifted over to The Eagle for part II of our Sunday Beer Blast. We ate cheese burgers prepared on grills out front. Inside, we met MR. NYC Eagle 2005, who read us the draft of his upcoming IML speech, and made sure we each had a slice of the flourless chocolate cake with butter cream frosting he'd prepared. He'll surely win the IML bake-off at the end of the month. I tripped on the catwalk stairs leading to the roof deck, sprawling face down onto the metal grate landing and adding knee, shin, and elbow bruises to the shoulder gash from my collision with the garage door facade of Barrage. I did NOT spill my beer. Outside, we surveyed the roof top crowd playing who-did-fuck-would-fuck-who before the shivering of those of us who'd dressed for June rather than early May forced us all back into the building. Downstairs, Blogdaddy sent us packing but stayed himself, resolutely fending off the amorous attentions of cubby young fans he could very well have fathered. Or maybe he didn't.
Woke up Monday morning and frantically threw my things together in order to catch the 10AM Orient Express back to Philly. Cabbed home to Fairmont, and dropped the top of the sleek black leopard before driving the allergy symptom inducing tree lined boulevard to Spring Garden, watering eyes shielded by sunglasses from brightness if not pollen. Took the cage elevator up to my floor in the studio building, arriving just before 1pm, tired and happy and eager to tell you ALL about it.
I was delighted by the mix. Beardom was heavily represented (with the exception of the fashion bears, who must have been off somewhere fabulous and exclusive, collecting catty anecdotes and mean spirited photos). There were alterna-queers, adorkable grad student types, compact hirsute men, and a few smartly turned out haute' gays. Two bewildered bartenders managed the crush. The crowd became gradually friskier, though no, that wasn't MY silhouette pressed against the frosted glass men's room door by a handsome and known-to-be-sexually-generous diarist. Or maybe it was.
Saturday began with us too tired and hung over to meet social commitments. Homer arrived, and we set out for lunch in the East Village wandering eventually to the West. We finished up with an early drink at the new multi T.V. screened bar in Chelsea where a packed roomful of fags in sports drag watched baseball and the Kentucky Derby while practicing their "masculine". We returned to the U.E.S. for a slumber party, to talk about boys, watch "Fat Actress" via cable-on-demand, and eat take out rice bowls from the corner chicken joint. The other houseguest and I did NOT make out so hot and heavy as to chase our host from the apartment. Or maybe we did.
Late Sunday morning we had waffles(!) followed by what turned into a Bataan Death March of touristy wandering and unsuccessful shopping efforts over miles and miles of Manhattan. We visited the Christopher St. Pier where we rested our tired dogs huddled from the wind on the grass in the intensely sunlit lee of the undulating concrete benches. We ran into some other bloggers , and all wandered over to The Dugout. Hung out with some of my NYC buddies (who were impressed by my new vintage boots) and chattered about next weekends ICFF and the current Diane Arbus shows. Later the pack shifted over to The Eagle for part II of our Sunday Beer Blast. We ate cheese burgers prepared on grills out front. Inside, we met MR. NYC Eagle 2005, who read us the draft of his upcoming IML speech, and made sure we each had a slice of the flourless chocolate cake with butter cream frosting he'd prepared. He'll surely win the IML bake-off at the end of the month. I tripped on the catwalk stairs leading to the roof deck, sprawling face down onto the metal grate landing and adding knee, shin, and elbow bruises to the shoulder gash from my collision with the garage door facade of Barrage. I did NOT spill my beer. Outside, we surveyed the roof top crowd playing who-did-fuck-would-fuck-who before the shivering of those of us who'd dressed for June rather than early May forced us all back into the building. Downstairs, Blogdaddy sent us packing but stayed himself, resolutely fending off the amorous attentions of cubby young fans he could very well have fathered. Or maybe he didn't.
Woke up Monday morning and frantically threw my things together in order to catch the 10AM Orient Express back to Philly. Cabbed home to Fairmont, and dropped the top of the sleek black leopard before driving the allergy symptom inducing tree lined boulevard to Spring Garden, watering eyes shielded by sunglasses from brightness if not pollen. Took the cage elevator up to my floor in the studio building, arriving just before 1pm, tired and happy and eager to tell you ALL about it.
posted by circleinasquare at 6:34 PM
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