PART ONE: '04 Chrissakes!
Welcome to the whirlwind which was New Year's '05. By this reading, I'm sure it's been long enough that your lost memories of the evening, besotted with champagne and the groping hands of this great gay populace, have begun to resurface, like the bloated body of remorse. Unpleasant analogy, I know. But some of you were really tearing it up. As was I. Here we go.
First off, my self-pledge to not touch a drop of liquor until '05 proved to be my finest hour. I needed the focus. Started by driving around looking for parking for about 36 years until I finally gave up and paid the nice gouger for a spot. I began at Annex III, where Rho, Fabby and several familiar faces from the Empire were settling in for the New Year. It was a pleasant amuse bouche. They always know how to amuse my bouche.
So then I high-tailed it up to Cocktail. Geno, when I told you I only had 10 seconds to talk to you, I meant it. Hope you enjoyed all ten.
After a sufficient amount of time drooling over the dancers, I stopped in to Bucks for a few snaps. Matthew, I know I took your picture, but it will have to wait until next week. I like to keep you dangling.
Big ups to Robert at Hydrate. The fact that you even recognized I was there, much less took time to wish me a happy new year, to me, is astonishing. You better be on vacation after that night, bitch!
The hour was approaching and I had just enough time to power walk down to Berlin before midnight. And this is where it gets weird.
PART TWO: '05 Offended Anyone, I Apologize.
Berlin was the place for me. They eschewed the traditional champagne toasts and such malarchey in favor of the ever-popular 'I'm too cool to care about New Year's' attitude. Right up my alley. By the way, a humongous apology to the boy in picture 3. It was only after I left that I realized that I had indeed hung out with you at The Heartland. I hope you see this column. If not, I will clip it and carry it around in my wallet until I see you again just to convey to you how foolish I felt. Good to get that off of my chest.
Holy Star Gaze! The renovations look great. It's twice as big in there now. Sorry, Dusty, but the picture didn't turn out. And after you went through the trouble of putting your shirt back on.
Check out Johnny at Touché and his big glass dick. Only in dreams. It was about now I started drinking.
More local color up at Jackhammer, where I do believe I kissed a few random dudes. It was the overpowering aroma of men. Does me in every time.
At The Eagle I encountered a fister. He was pissing. I said, 'Hey mister, can I take your picture?' Check out page 21 in the print version or The Spread online. I put it in the mixture. So when you see Mr. Pissing-Fister-Picture, say 'Hey, sister! You're Mr. Pissing Fister! I saw your picture in the mixture.' How's that for a fister tongue twister?
Also Clark's, Crew and Scot's. More details on those particular exploits next week.