Farewell, Old Friend

I never thought I'd get all sentimental over a club, but Backstreet Atlanta was more of an experience. I say that in a non-copywriter tone and I say it with my deepest sincerity.

Got My Cherry Popped
Backstreet Atlanta was the first gay club/bar I ever went to upon moving here in 1996. I have many a fond memory there, not to mention many a fucked up memory. A lot of the people I know I've met on its dance-floor, on its stage, in its bathroom stalls and even the parking lot.

Bitch, Did You See That?
Today, Shawnna and I drove down Juniper on our way Downtown and as we do every time we go past it, we looked over to pay our respects. This time though, it was different. So different that we pulled around the block to take a closer look from the Armory parking lot.

Cameras Ready? Prepare to Flash
The Backstreet main lot was completely fenced in and demolition had begun. First we joked about getting every tranny in the city we know to get in high whore drag for a photo shoot next to the bulldozer, but the laughing soon subsided to quiet stories of Backstreet and its glory days. These newer kids would never have survived until day break, that's for damn sure. And, their handy fake IDs wouldn't have meant a damn either.

It's Alive in Clubland
We decided whatever fancy high-rise built to occupy the hallowed space would be haunted. There would be blasts of fag house blaring in the air conditioning ducts; ghosts of overdosed circuit boys, party kids and trannies roaming its verandas; everytime anyone shut the door to their bathroom they'd hear sniffles and the popping open of tiny plastic baggies. These frou frou heteros and their 2.5 kids would experience the gay life they had been sheltered from, just in a more creepy and ghoulish manner. You wanted a view? How about this one of two muscle boys getting it on ya' Aeropostale wearing yuppie? I hope it drives the lot of them insane. Me? I'd feel right at home.

How Did We Get Here?
For years, Backstreet wasn't a destination, oh heavens no. You just kind of ended up there. And, there you'd have the best time. The liquor was ever pouring, the trade was around every corner and and the real world was light years away. Was that your boss in drag? Probably. Was that your third grade teacher doing bumps in the bathroom? I wouldn't be surprised. But, it's ok. Backstreet was like Vegas in a building -- whatever happens here, stays here OR until you call your best friend on the phone cause they weren't there yet.

B.F.F.
Ah, Backstreet, rest in peace, my friend. Yes, I revise, Backstreet wasn't just a club or an experience; it was a friend -- a friend you told your deepest, darkest secret to and they'd listen without judgement or prejudice. They'd just hold up their glass and offer a toast.

My American Idols

I’ve met Margaret Cho and Bruce Daniels; shared Krispy Kremes with Paul Oakenfold; saved Paul Van Dyk from a drunk tranny; helped Sasha push a K-holed Keoki off the turntables at Club Firestone; insulted closeted Hollywood stars with John Cameron Mitchell; and, along with Ashley Kruiz and Nicole Paige Brooks, was part of Kristine W’s entourage for an entire weekend; hell, I even brought dance icon Shannon down to Charlie Brown’s Cabaret to watch Shawnna Brooks perform to her single “Give Me Tonight.”

In the words of Missy Elliott, “I don’t brag, I mostly boast.” I mean, who else gets to do that kind of shit?

I often wonder when my luck will luck out. I have these idols that most people would never get to meet and up until last night, I’ve met them all with the exception of two: Anderson Cooper and my favorite author. The former I watched on Oprah yesterday and secured a copy of this month’s Vanity Fair with his mug on the cover, so I’ve got my fix for a while – he’s just so damn sexy and smart, not to mention a Vanderbilt.

The latter I first fell in love with when he-who-shall-not-be-named stayed with me for a little while. I had discovered Magical Thinking and blasted through its pages within days. I was hooked. I picked up Dry and Running With Scissors and read them both in large helpings at a time.

His name is Augusten Burroughs and I worship him. The man is hysterical, dark and troubled, and a damn good storyteller. Last night, Mr. Burroughs made a stop in Atlanta for his newest memoir, Possible Side Effects. He’s over analytical, deviously mischievous and is obsessed with dangerous escapisms. He went through some seriously fucked up shit, turned it right around, wrote about it and, naturally, became a New York Times Bestseller. He also met his husband and lives with him in their dream house. Can y’all see how he could be a role model? Well, I’ve got the writer and alcoholic thing down pat…

Stunts, Riggings and the Curse of the Double TD

I’m a bit disheartened y’all. I know awards and accolades shouldn’t really mean anything, that the journey itself is its own reward and all that yoga/pilates/zen garden gibberish, but what happens when the deserving get completely shafted?

Let me tell y’all about the Curse of the Double TD. About two years ago, a major part of Atlanta nightlife (see: drag queens) was blessed/cursed with the resurrection of a certain citywide pageant. Some of the A-list pageant names came out to represent as well as a few of Florida’s well noted.

Being an event producer, what amazes me is that the rules and regulation shifted on several occasions and were never posted for validity. One contestant was told certain rules, another was told differently. This is neither here nor there, but this type of uncertainty would make several people make mental notes.

The following year, the pageant’s contestants doubled due to the strong support from neighboring bars and clubs. As the pageant got closer to its date, the rules changed again. Yes, you must have won a preliminary to enter the contest. Oh wait, that one contestant won an alleged “preliminary” two years ago and that other contestant just gave up a national title that prohibited her from entering smaller scale contests so what “preliminary” did she compete in? Color the contestants and preliminary hosts ten shades of confused. TD1 (think the code word to Crystal Meth) would answer a prospective contestant’s question one way, TD2 (think Frosted Flakes) the polar opposite.

Where are those damn rules?

The outcome of the pageant wasn’t ever in question to the audience. They had chosen their champion. So, when their champion was named the 2nd runner up, the “stunt” flag was thrown. But alas, the scores are the scores, even if the entire judges’ panel consisted of a former national pageantry system which was the same one that prohibited one of the surprise contestants from entering smaller scale contests. This same contestant also went on to win that night over the people’s champion. Not to mention that the second of the surprise contestants took first runner up status with an extremely questionable presentation and talent. Curious.

And, where the hell are those rules and regulations again?

Oh yeah, no where to be found.

Fast forward to this past Monday, how did the Double TD manage to get the ATL’s infamous dick dancer club to buy a preliminary contest? They don’t even have drag shows, just nude men. Six contestants at $125 a pop; not a bad take. A week ago, the theme was one thing, this week it was the same theme, just a little bit more specific. And, that little bit could change the outcome of the pageant. Oh, and it really did.

At least two of the contestants are close friends and with an objective eye, I watched the entire Presentation category. These two dear friends burned that category to the ground. At the end of the night, neither of them would be crowned. The winner had everyone in the audience dumbstruck. You see, there were a few questions regarding the outcome:

• Why was the Double TD judging the preliminary to their own pageant?


• Why did one of the other judges get up from the table during talent?


• Why didn’t the Double TD catch this judge before she completely walked away from the judges table?


• Why were they going to let it all slide until one of the host bar’s entertainers called it out?


• How did the winner win when her Presentation and Talent carried no entertainment value?


• Why was the winner selected before the pageant even started?

And, just to make your brain hurt, let's consider a few more things:

• Why did the preliminaries drop from about ten to oh two (including the Monday night fiasco of a preliminary?)?

• During last year's preliminaries, why didn't the previous year's reigning queen ever appear to perform or represent the system?

• Why did their current queen hit it right out the door after she finished her two performances?

• In three years worth of contests and preliminaries, why hasn't there ever been a set of rules posted anywhere?
  

• Why is the Double TD so fucking rotted?
  

Stunts, Riggings and the Curse of the Double TD, y’all are a smart bunch; you know who I’m talking about. Yeah, it IS all a bit disheartening ain't it? I'm holding a silent protest on this one and you guys know how silent I can be.

Dueling Divas

I love my friends. I hate it when my friends argue. I hate it even more when I can see both sides of the argument. This one isn't even an argument really; one wants to explain, the other doesn't "want to talk about it right now."

Oddly enough, it's the latter that is infamous for her 20hz voice (20hz is a measure of noise where the sound is no longer being heard but felt as well). Yeah, you do the math.

Oh, and class, despite how much you respect your friends' opinions, see where they are coming from, know what they're talking about and so forth, if two are feuding, stay the f*ck out of it. Period.

Repeat after me:

"I don't know anything about it." (Or for those with street cred, "I dunno nothing 'bout that shit.")

"I see where you're coming from, I hope you two can figure it out." (Or for those with street cred, "I feel ya', ya'll need to get y'all shit together.")

"That doesn't have anything to do with me." (Street cred, "That ain't got shit to do wit' me.")

"Are you seriously asking me to take sides?" (Street cred, "F'real?")

Or, when in doubt, go for the ambiguous "mm hmmm." Don't forget to cock your head to the side a bit and slightly nod as IF to say "yes, you are quite right." Just don't say anything else.

Don't get me wrong, break your friends up if they're close to swinging, but for the most part try to be a sounding board. Friends don't ask you to take sides, they expect you to, which in most part is the obligatory part of a friendship. However, if two of your friends are expecting obligatory alliances, then said alliances null and void each other out.

Update: Too late, "drag"ged into the middle.

I should have heeded my dear friend Shawnna's advice and told them "I don't wanna hear none of this mess; I like you, I like her, fuck both of you and call it what? A day."

And yeah, she's got street cred to spare.

I hate my friends sometimes.