November 2004 Archives
Thanks to PBS, I have a new addiction. After poking around on their website, I came across the following question:
Ruin my drawing-room tea-party? I don't think so. (Ah. I always knew there was a reason that I liked backgammon.)
Take the Regency House Party quiz to find out if you are a Vulgarian.
Ruin my drawing-room tea-party? I don't think so. (Ah. I always knew there was a reason that I liked backgammon.)
Take the Regency House Party quiz to find out if you are a Vulgarian.
more bush = more boys + more booze.
Ah, tequila. She is my friend. Especially when the guy pouring is cute.
Ah, tequila. She is my friend. Especially when the guy pouring is cute.
In hopes of never having to mention W after tomorrow (election day for those of you that have been hiding under a rock), I'm going to breeze through my trauma ... I mean, my infiltration of the enemy's stronghold.
After a brief visit to Blogger Alley (read: the thinnest table I've ever seen with 10 laptops crammed skillfully on top stuck in some back corner), BoiFromTroy and I headed down through Radio Cul-De-Sac (the Republicans think of the cutest names, don't they?) on our way to see 601am and get some free soda. I briefly thought about hiding out in the Air America Radio booth, but the promise of free coke was too strong, and I was able to push past closeted gay senetors (yes, plural) and their female personal assistants with perfect hair and fabulous shoes.
Aaron was conveniently stationed in the basement of the post office next to the room of port-a-potties. Hot! After swigging down my diet coke, we headed to the nose-bleed section of MSG to watch some of the speeches.
[Insert me yawning].
While I was bored, I played a little game with myself. It was called: Find the delegation from Texas.
At first, I had a little trouble, but the 17 year old girl sitting next to me had obviously been to these events since she started appearing in beauty pageants at the ripe old age of 3, so she offered to help me out. 'Just look for the cowboy hats,' she whispered in my ear. I scanned the crowd - they weren't easy to miss. The sea of cowboy hats concentrated in one area of the floor sparkled from an over-abundance of rhinestones. Classy.
I know, I know. It's tough to capture the sparkle of the Republican party on film. They just aren't that photogenic.
After a few speeches, Arnold walked on stage to a roar of applause. BoiFromTroy brandished his "I'm with Arnold" t-shirt. I slumped in my chair and tried to look smug. The thing is, Arnold is a pretty good speaker. He didn't really say much besides some political mumbo-jumbo (with a few choice Terminator quotes thrown in for good measure), but it did the job.
At some point in the evening, a band 'magically' appeared from a hole in the floor.
It could have been and interesting entrance except for one choice bit of poor planning. You see, they started pumping smoke into the air a good 4 minutes before the band played on in order to give the two or three lighting effects that rock-concert-feel. Unfortunately, the fog machine was placed precariously close to the Al Jazeera press box. Being that it was turned on well before the band even appeared from their little hole-in-the-ground, many around me thought that an 'incident' had taken place and began to evacuate. Luckily, it was just an effect. A very special effect. We settled back into our seats.
When Laura Bush took to the stage (or, 'Bushy', as her daughters told us she was affectionately called by Dubya), we did our own little evacuation to beat the crowd. On our way out of the building, we ran into a very drunk delegate who was trying to find her way out of MSG and back to her hotel. She was nice. She was Southern. In the two minutes we were walking with her to the street, we learned that her husband (also a delegate) had sent her home because she was drunk and making a scene. However, we also learned that the real reason her husband sent her back to the hotel room was that he wanted to 'pork that fat bitch' later on that night. He apparently liked the political types, and our friend was ... well ... more the drinking type than the political type. Marriage is a funny thing, ain't it?
After pointing our new friend uptown towards her hotel ("you better take a cab honey, we wouldn't want the protesters to get you"), BoiFromTroy and I hailed our own cab and headed down to the Bowery to Beige - where the Log Cabin Republicans were also holding their RNC get-together. Crowded into the back corner, the LCR's were quite noticeable - word had apparently spread very quickly that there were Republican's in the house, and every member of the House of Good Fashion was avoiding the Republicans like the plague. Not me though. I was here to infiltrate. I grabbed a drink (highly recommended if you are ever in a similar situation) and jumped right in. The main thing that I learned is that Republican gay men want the same thing other gay men want: Sex. These are some of the pick-up lines that were used on me that night (and I kid you not):
1. Want to see my NRA card? (He showed it to me anyway)
2. I'm a tobacco lobbyist. (He showed me his fake cigarette that the company had given him to 'smoke' in public - he couldn't smoke the real ones anymore cause he had lung cancer)
3. I'm all for the constitutional amendment banning gay marriage 'cause my pastor thinks it's a good idea.
Luckily, Nick Denton saved me before the list got too long. (Thank you, Nick. I owe you one.) Unfortunately, I think he may have mistook me for a gay republican. He's introduced me on a number of occasions as 'the gay republican' ... talk about a bad reputation!
After a few drinks, I said goodbye to my real republican host and started the walk home. After getting only a block away, I spotted one of the LCRs that I had met a few hours before emerge from a secret door leading down into one of the East Village's dark, dirty, sex clubs. As we struck up a conversation, I couldn't help but think, 'Now this is how politics should be discussed: at 3 in the morning, slightly drunk, while sitting on trash cans outside of a gay sex club.'
[Fast forward 2 hours]
Him: ...and that's why I think that there cannot be morality without the tight reign of religion. Hey, I like you. Wanna go back to my place and fuck?
Me: Um. No.
And with that, I walked home - not understanding the Republicans one bit more than I did at the beginning of the evening. The night wasn't a total waste, though - I'll treasure my 'I'm with Arnold' shirt forever ... and at least I'll wear it with some irony.
After a brief visit to Blogger Alley (read: the thinnest table I've ever seen with 10 laptops crammed skillfully on top stuck in some back corner), BoiFromTroy and I headed down through Radio Cul-De-Sac (the Republicans think of the cutest names, don't they?) on our way to see 601am and get some free soda. I briefly thought about hiding out in the Air America Radio booth, but the promise of free coke was too strong, and I was able to push past closeted gay senetors (yes, plural) and their female personal assistants with perfect hair and fabulous shoes.
Aaron was conveniently stationed in the basement of the post office next to the room of port-a-potties. Hot! After swigging down my diet coke, we headed to the nose-bleed section of MSG to watch some of the speeches.
[Insert me yawning].
While I was bored, I played a little game with myself. It was called: Find the delegation from Texas.
At first, I had a little trouble, but the 17 year old girl sitting next to me had obviously been to these events since she started appearing in beauty pageants at the ripe old age of 3, so she offered to help me out. 'Just look for the cowboy hats,' she whispered in my ear. I scanned the crowd - they weren't easy to miss. The sea of cowboy hats concentrated in one area of the floor sparkled from an over-abundance of rhinestones. Classy.
I know, I know. It's tough to capture the sparkle of the Republican party on film. They just aren't that photogenic.
After a few speeches, Arnold walked on stage to a roar of applause. BoiFromTroy brandished his "I'm with Arnold" t-shirt. I slumped in my chair and tried to look smug. The thing is, Arnold is a pretty good speaker. He didn't really say much besides some political mumbo-jumbo (with a few choice Terminator quotes thrown in for good measure), but it did the job.
At some point in the evening, a band 'magically' appeared from a hole in the floor.
It could have been and interesting entrance except for one choice bit of poor planning. You see, they started pumping smoke into the air a good 4 minutes before the band played on in order to give the two or three lighting effects that rock-concert-feel. Unfortunately, the fog machine was placed precariously close to the Al Jazeera press box. Being that it was turned on well before the band even appeared from their little hole-in-the-ground, many around me thought that an 'incident' had taken place and began to evacuate. Luckily, it was just an effect. A very special effect. We settled back into our seats.
When Laura Bush took to the stage (or, 'Bushy', as her daughters told us she was affectionately called by Dubya), we did our own little evacuation to beat the crowd. On our way out of the building, we ran into a very drunk delegate who was trying to find her way out of MSG and back to her hotel. She was nice. She was Southern. In the two minutes we were walking with her to the street, we learned that her husband (also a delegate) had sent her home because she was drunk and making a scene. However, we also learned that the real reason her husband sent her back to the hotel room was that he wanted to 'pork that fat bitch' later on that night. He apparently liked the political types, and our friend was ... well ... more the drinking type than the political type. Marriage is a funny thing, ain't it?
After pointing our new friend uptown towards her hotel ("you better take a cab honey, we wouldn't want the protesters to get you"), BoiFromTroy and I hailed our own cab and headed down to the Bowery to Beige - where the Log Cabin Republicans were also holding their RNC get-together. Crowded into the back corner, the LCR's were quite noticeable - word had apparently spread very quickly that there were Republican's in the house, and every member of the House of Good Fashion was avoiding the Republicans like the plague. Not me though. I was here to infiltrate. I grabbed a drink (highly recommended if you are ever in a similar situation) and jumped right in. The main thing that I learned is that Republican gay men want the same thing other gay men want: Sex. These are some of the pick-up lines that were used on me that night (and I kid you not):
1. Want to see my NRA card? (He showed it to me anyway)
2. I'm a tobacco lobbyist. (He showed me his fake cigarette that the company had given him to 'smoke' in public - he couldn't smoke the real ones anymore cause he had lung cancer)
3. I'm all for the constitutional amendment banning gay marriage 'cause my pastor thinks it's a good idea.
Luckily, Nick Denton saved me before the list got too long. (Thank you, Nick. I owe you one.) Unfortunately, I think he may have mistook me for a gay republican. He's introduced me on a number of occasions as 'the gay republican' ... talk about a bad reputation!
After a few drinks, I said goodbye to my real republican host and started the walk home. After getting only a block away, I spotted one of the LCRs that I had met a few hours before emerge from a secret door leading down into one of the East Village's dark, dirty, sex clubs. As we struck up a conversation, I couldn't help but think, 'Now this is how politics should be discussed: at 3 in the morning, slightly drunk, while sitting on trash cans outside of a gay sex club.'
[Fast forward 2 hours]
Him: ...and that's why I think that there cannot be morality without the tight reign of religion. Hey, I like you. Wanna go back to my place and fuck?
Me: Um. No.
And with that, I walked home - not understanding the Republicans one bit more than I did at the beginning of the evening. The night wasn't a total waste, though - I'll treasure my 'I'm with Arnold' shirt forever ... and at least I'll wear it with some irony.
