Last Saturday I went to Morgantown, WV to perform at the Military Ball in a club called Vice Versa. What a cute name for a bar! This was my second visit to the venue. The first time was four years back when I was a wee porn pup. I was pleasantly surprised with the atmosphere. The crowd was so young that I was a little alarmed at first, but I found that the crowd was completely unaffected by the gay bar scene and were just there to have fun and have fun they did!! I loved their energy and their disinterest in posing, having an attitude or wearing their sunglasses indoors. It was a most agreeable change of pace for me.

Two of the resident drag queens went on before me. Jezebel and Seduca, two of the Midwest’s finest, and let me tell you those girls could move. Jezzie did a cover of Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary” and from that I could see why she was in demand. Fiery Seduca tore it up with “Toy Soldier” moving those feet in an effortless swing that made me smile and cheer. I always seem to like the girls that can really dance as well as lip sync a tune and those two did not disappoint.

These two cuties gave me my first real lemon drop shot.

and this “shy” young lady wanted me to sign her tits.

Next destination….Las Vegas - with a surprise guest!

On the final evening of a not-so-recent trip to Boston I was treated to an evening of laughs with old friends and arguments with new assholes.

The friend I was visiting ditched me for a date that night so I made plans with her roommate, Mikala, also an old pal of mine. We met after her shift at the restaurant and sat outside making our plans. A small man walked by and instead of blatantly ignoring him I nodded a congenial, “Hello” in his direction. Something about his eyes suggested that my choice may have been a poor one and I immediately returned to the discussion at hand.

Mikala and I ended up two blocks down at Sister Sorel, a favorite of the locals here both gay and straight. As we sat enjoying our nightcaps I noticed that the guy who had struck my defenses earlier was sitting just two stools over. To make matters worse, the bartender mixed up our orders. I was caught off guard as I looked to see which lucky guy received the smashing India pale ale. It was him. Eye contact was achieved a second time and I would soon be wishing I had stayed with the Irish stout.

I turned to Mikala and asked if he was staring our way.

She replied with a quiet “Yes.”

Great.

Mikala visited the WC and in her three minute absence I managed to involve myself in a slight altercation with a woman that felt justified using the word “fag” in a derogatory fashion. When I refused to call her a dyke to “even the score” she proceeded to try her case to every gay man in the bar seeking any sort of validation for her ridiculous opinion and behavior. Not surprisingly, the small, staring man had befriended the group of people belonging to the poor word choice lesbian and I knew it was prime time for a switch of venues.

We continued to another local hotspot, Stella, which has more space and a less offensive crowd. Just as we were getting settled the entourage we left behind at Sister Sorel staggered in the door. I can’t be certain, but it did seem like Mikala and I were the subject of many hushed discussions between members of the hostile posse. We kept our distance in hopes of salvaging what was left of the evening.

As the night progressed and the liquid courage flowed I narrowly escaped several attempts by the small, staring man to engage me directly. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can pull off with fake mobile call tactics and he finally caught me off guard.

Standing on his tip toes he slurred into my ear “What difference do you find with the people of Boston and the people of the rest of the US?” I took a deep breath and looked down at him long enough to say “Sometimes they can be very annoying.”

He grimaced in defeat and returned to the growing group of drunken patrons. Glancing in their direction I took notice that the self-proclaimed “dyke” was making out with some guy and eating something from another restaurant’s take-away container with her fingers.

A few more of my Bostonian friends had joined us by the time the persistent and completely pissed small, staring man returned for yet another go with me. His entrance statement this time was “Has anybody heard the new Pink album?” I was done. The time for diplomacy had expired. I hissed into his face, “Yes, my favorite song is the one that goes something like “don’t talk to me, keep your drink and give me the money? I can really relate to that”.

The level of hostility I exhibited cued one of my newly arrived friends to intervene. He sent me to the gents and tried to neutralize the situation with the aid of Mikala. Somehow even after all she had been through she still had faith in the power of kittens, rainbows and bubble gum to make everything better. That didn’t last long. Once the small, staring man thought he could intimidate her with a little close proximity verbal abuse Mikala traded in the sunshine approach from some good old fashioned whoop ass and shut him down pronto. The small, staring man finally departed with a half-assed finger gesture that nearly caused him to lose his balance.

I was happy to see him leave, but most of the night has been tainted and it was nearly closing time anyway. I started to feel bad about my thoughts and actions towards the little man, who meant no harm and probably just wanted to make some new friends albeit in an intrusive and rude manner. I am not usually impatient, but I just didn’t have it in me this time around. I think the encounter with the “lesbian” at Sister Sorel served to strip all of my patience reserves for the night.

I am human first and foremost and deserve to be left alone to enjoy my time by myself or with my friends. I tried to be kind, polite and even used sarcasm to get the message across without hurting or even worse, embarrassing him. We all have our limits and he pushed me to mine. There are people with no social filtering mechanism and when they are inebriated it seems like nothing will get through to them. If he has any recollection of the night at all it will probably be what a raging asshole I was to him. He will gloss over his terrible behavior and label me a jerk for not inviting him into my circle. Perhaps my guilt is somewhat misplaced, but at least I took the time to see the situation from his perspective.

My last meal of 2007 was shrimp tempura and it was amazing, but it was my second to last meal of 2007 that deserves mention.

Having missed every blessed holiday of the season due to a job that ended up in the crapper I thought it only fair to surprise Ma Hazzard on her birthday. This meant an ungodly early flight out of LAX on January 1. Thankfully, my webmaster lives in close proximity to the airport and had no conflicting plans to prevent me from crashing at his place and begging a lift.

Boy Wonder suggested we visit a spot he found called “Raw” in Santa Monica. It’s not sushi, but raw cuisine, living foods that are not cooked above a certain temperature and are considered “alive”. I was torn. I had “living food” once before in San Francisco and it did not agree with me or anybody in my party. I suspect it was the coconut soup. I did enjoy the rest of the lunch though and figured what the hell, I will try it again this time avoiding coconut milk or anything that billed itself as a living soup.

The menu was sent to me via e-mail by Boy Wonder due to the extensive list of items. It was a thoughtful and efficient idea, but I wish he had not because we waited for ages to be noticed at our table and I would have liked to have spent that time looking at the menu instead of wondering where the hell our server was. I had to get up twice before we got our first course. This food had better sing and dance because I was hungry and getting annoyed. In my opinion, being a high standing member of the service industry, the first couple of minutes before you approach a table are very important. Chances are the guests are hungry and a minute or 30 seconds to you can and does usually seem like an eternity.

Eventually she came around and we began our experience of the living dinner.

The menu is set up in a suggested order of courses; one of the ideas behind this sort of thing is to eat things in an order that maximizes efficient digestion. This meant dessert first!

First course, THE ORGAZMATRON, a rustic parfait of sorts with a buckwheat crust and creamy avocado finished with nuts, ginger and mint. We were in heaven. Amidst the exhaust fumes of passing vehicles and a seemingly endless onslaught of construction noise there was a party going on in our mouths - and everybody was invited. The Orgazmatron truly lived up to its name!

I had THE SEA WITCH for my mid course and Boy Wonder had the MAKI S&M SPECIAL. I said I was going to avoid living soups, but I love seaweed soup and I saw no mention of coconut milk or anything else ominous. The MAKI S&M SPECIAL was an interesting take on sushi with a Pumpkin Seaweed Walnut Pâté rolled with Avocado, Cucumber, Purple Cabbage & Tomatoes served with a spicy mustard & Nama Shoyu.

My soup was perfect, warm and loaded with ten varieties of seaweed. Meanwhile the “sushi” was really something; the thought and energy that goes into a production like that is worthy of high praise and hard not to enjoy.

We finished with what we thought to be the most intriguing items, the PESTO PIZZA, a deep dish warm “pizza” and a BACON WESTERN DOUBLE “cheeseburger”. The pizza was made with a buckwheat crust topped with a walnut pesto, tomato, Italian herbs, olives, marinated onions & mushrooms. That was mine and let me tell you it was amazing.

Boy Wonder’s “burger”, a Mushroom Nut Burger with Macadamia “Chez”, heirloom ketchup, Fig Mustard and Zucchini fries was arranged open faced and we ate it in pieces with this on that and that on this. So good, the “cheese” was nothing short of a culinary masterpiece.

Dinner was the perfect amount of food, any more would have been gluttonous and uncomfortable. Not a bad price point for what was a creative and difficult dinner to prepare. In my opinion, not cuisine for the every day, but perfect for those special occasions when Pumpkin Ravioli, Cornish Hens and Flourless Chocolate Torte don’t float your boat.

Normally I would not be found out drinking on a Wednesday night, but I had guests and the venue promised strippers in addition to an underwear contest. You may find it surprising that the strippers are what interested me the most. Upon arriving with my posse I took notice of a tall, hairy, somewhat plump looking man flailing himself around the torso of an older gentleman with a vacant expression on his face. I naturally assumed this toad was one of the strippers. As I turned around to return home for an episode of “Sex and the City” and a frozen pizza, my friend assured me that this was one of the contestants getting a “jump” on the event. He explained that the winner is chosen by the reaction of the audience so it pays to gain a fan base before the contest begins.

I ordered a round for us at the bar and discovered the advertised stripper in my line of sight. He was physically perfect. No fat anywhere, not a blemish or a misplaced hair. I immediately hated him and fantasized that he had an eating disorder or recently had a hump removed, anything to give my insecurities some comfort in the hot glow of his flawless appearance. After five minutes of glaring and internal turmoil I thought it best to ignore him and concentrate on my friends and our evening together. While we sipped our Newcastles I began to draw up my chest workout for the next morning in my head.

The contest began and the announcer looked all of 13. He was appropriately dressed in black, square-cut Calvin Klein’s and nothing else. It must have been his first attempt at using a microphone because he held it so close to his mouth that all of his words blurred into a muffled mess. It was hard not to appreciate his enthusiasm though. Amidst the breaths and sighs he seemed very eager to get the crowd into the show or at least into their underwear.

There were three men of various shapes, sizes and levels of intoxication that lined up on the stage ready for their turn to turn it out for the crotch-starved crowd. The first guy was the scary one that nearly caused my premature departure. He had an ear-to-ear Cheshire cat grin on his face and appeared to be really happy to be on stage. I suspect he took notice of his competition and was already calculating just how he was going to spend his winnings.

The second contestant was the smallest and drunkest by far. He was about 5′5″ and 115 pounds soaking wet. A very, very thin man, the sky blue bikini bottoms he chose as his costume practically drooped on his fragile frame. The poor guy almost lost his balance as he undressed in the spotlight. We’ve all been there, right? Trying so hard to be suave and sexy while making extraordinary effort just to remain vertical? He meandered out of the spotlight following his drunken introductory salute and began to walk away. The announcer politely herded him back to his position next to the Cheshire cat guy who was still appearing confident and poised.

Number three was my favorite and the one who got my vote in any category. He too was very short and very drunk, but not as thin. He reminded me of Jim Henson’s Fraggles; short, pear-shaped with bright yellow hair that was sticking up everywhere. Now this guy had set out to win. As soon as he was announced he strutted on stage in a red baseball cap with his bright yellow tufts pointing East and West. He wore a Hawaiian print shirt in the same tone of red that hung to his knees overlapping a pair of shorts in the same style. To cap his Pacific fashion motif he wore bright red flip-flops. He started to remove his pants midway through a turn on his heels and I was honestly looking forward to seeing what was beneath his shorts. Keeping true to form a bright red thong was revealed – much to my delight. I held up my beer and hollered in enthusiastic approval of his thoughtfulness and dedication to the ensemble.

When it came time for the winner to be decided I got butterflies and a wave of embarrassment swept over me. I was nervous for them. I stood there watching them and realized that I was alone in my shallow pool of shame. They were happy to be there, proud even. Who was I to feel anything but happiness for these guys? If they were enjoying themselves then I should be excited for them. When it came time to cast our “votes”, everybody in the house voted for all the guys in claps, hoots, hollers and cat calls.

Somebody had to win however, and it was, as expected, the Cheshire cat guy from Long Beach, California who, by the way, was named Ed.

I finished my beer and thought of how many times in my life I watched somebody in outlandish dress or manner and felt sorry and embarrassed for them. It dawned on me that the feeling of sympathy and shame stemmed from my own insecurities and internal rubbish. We should be so lucky to have the courage to present ourselves to the world without regard for judgment and scorn. I envy them. They are all winners.

What better way to bring in the next third of my life than with somebody who has been there since day 1, my Mom.

She came out to spend my 30th with me. Aside from giving her a much needed break, I also set out to really do some special things with her. First was sushi with our really great friends Mike and Mitch. It was her first time and she was a little hesitant, but she has come very far and willingly obliged. I eased her in with California rolls and miso soup; that was a must. We also had tempura something followed by some more adventurous nigiri sushi. She liked it, she really did and I was happy to bring something new to her that she enjoyed.

The Sunday after my birthday we headed west to Santa Monica to meet up with my friend, Scott. Ma had never seen Venice Beach and being a Sunday I thought it was a most perfect time. Boy Wonder met us at a Cuban café called Café Mercedes and we chatted laughed and drank on the patio.

The stroll along the boardwalk was nothing to us, but really something to dear mom; her eyes were wide open taking in the people and the sights. Scott, being the photographer and master documenter of events was in a most creative mood and put this slideshow together featuring my new dog, Petey. Thanks Scott. It was a most wonderful present for everybody!