Last night I went to meet a friend of mine, Juan Carlos, in from Peru out at a gay bar in Palermo. We met in front of the bar at what we thought a reasonable hour 11:15pm. But then this is Argentina, and people are really just sitting down to dinner at that hour. The bar didn’t open until about 11:45, and we were the first ones there. As we had the place to ourselves for the first hour or so, it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. We started talking about getting older, and the reasons for my trip these last couple of years. Juan Carlos is 38 and has a little anxiety about reaching 40 and what it all means. I assured him that it means nothing or anything you want it to mean, and not to worry too much about what society at large thinks. I told him that for me, it was a great opportunity to think about the experience of living and being (and not being), and how lucky I felt that these last 2 years had given me a completely new perspective. The bar started to fill up and we turned some of our attention to the collection of men in conversation around the bar. Juan Carlos had been talking to another friend of his here by phone who had told us about a dance party going on in another place, and Juan Carlos started asking around to find directions. At one point he asked some younger guy about the party, who looked at Juan Carlos, let out an audible if small gasp, and told him that yes, he knew about the party, but…it was going to be quite…young…and was Juan Carlos sure he wanted to go? Seeing Juan Carlos’ crestfallen expression, I couldn’t help but let out a giggle. Coupled with our earlier conversation, I could tell that this did not sit well with him at all. It was around 3am, which is past my usual bedtime, so I begged off while my friend, with a determined “I’ll show that little queen” look in his eye, set off to find his party.
My brother David and sister-in-law Jackie and I decided to have a young(er) adults night out on the town. With the kids in bed and our parents watching them, we consulted “The Google“, found what looked like a hopping gay nightclub in Myrtle Beach, and headed out for the 35 minute trip north. Once we got there, we realized Jackie had forgotten her ID and they weren’t about to let us in, despite our entreaties. The guy at the door told us there was another bar around the corner that probably wouldn’t card, so we headed over. It was a pretty sad little place that smelled of smoke and stale beer, decorated in early post-party frat house. I don’t remember what the place was called, but if I were to enter a naming contest, I believe I would submit the name “The Smelly Rainbow”. We had a beer and a dart game, said goodbye to the 6 people(including the bartender) in the place and headed back to Litchfield.
My friend Rahul (from Mumbai, but now studying in Ohio) came to visit for a couple of days while on break from school. I have been playing tour guide and showing him around the great city of Indianapolis. Since it is Thanksgiving weekend and the family is in town, I invited him to join in our yearly family traditions of hanging out and hitting the gay bars. A good time was had by all as my brother and cousins and various partners and friends hit the dance floor at Greg’s just a few blocks from home.
Last night my old roommate and landlady (Jose and Sally) took me out to a belated birthday dinner at a super swell restaurant called The Penthouse (on the 18th floor of the Huntley Hotel in Santa Monica). The food was fantastic, especially the Kobe beef steak and the bread pudding. As the name and location imply, the view was spectacular. The three of us shared stories of the past year, and good feelings were all around as we were leaving (the delicious bottle of Gigondas probably didn’t hurt). So we decided to extend the fun with a trip to a local gay bar called the Roosterfish. There I was chatted up by a 40 year old who looked as if he were 19. Seriously. It was either the best damn lighting in the world, he has a very expensive plastic surgeon or he is drinking someone’s blood.
