swerdloff dot com

July 07, 2002

Blogfest

I promised myself that I'd avoid going to blogmeets. I also promised myself that I'd be a dot com millionaire. So I've stopped restricting myself, and started trying many of the things I said that I'd "never" do. I mean, screw it, life's too short. Keywords to this post which is so long that I'm leaving in the "more" area: LittleYellowDifferent, Ernie, Minjungkim, Doctorgrosz, Choire, Bazima, Rana, Gay bar, Karaoke, Photos of Choire nibbling on Ernie, and much much more.

[CLICK THE "MORE" BUTTON TO SEE PHOTOS FROM THE EVENT, TO READ ABOUT IT, AND TO SEE JUST HOW MANY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE YOU CAN FIT INTO A BLOG MEETING]

Choire reared his lovely head to join us in our vicious blog-fest. Bazima, unfortunately, his partner in crime, pulled a no show over an incident involving puffy eyes, benadryl, and cell phone confusion. That's the last time I drag poor innocent Brian out just to meet someone who's been asking to be introduced to him since my very first introduction to her. Yeah, you got that right, I've lost the ability to blog grammatically.

There was a large crowd surrounding Min Jung that I didn't try to penetrate because the luscious Rana had showed up right on time to take my grumpiness away. Ernie was off talking to some boys, one of whom was apparently enthralled by my chest hair (when did I start hanging out with the gay kids, and why do I feel slightly awkward about it? Not because of the kids, but because I'm afraid I'm going to put my foot in my mouth at any time.) Ernie at one point notified me that I'm just a "Little Dutch Boy" which, if you know the definition of the term, apparently fits.

Dingo, who would really prefer it if I dropped that name and started calling him Doctor Grosz like the rest of the world does, was there being his inimitable self, rolling the bass note out of his voice, then looking slightly sheepish when MJ got the DJ to play Sharkskin Mouth off of the new Conquistador album.

Bertie got freaky on Ernie, and the whole crowd cheered as the reigning queen of the lesbians ground onto the chest of the reigning queen of the table.

I did have a few drinks, contrary to the "I'm quitting drinking" that I'd tried to do throughout April and May, but I didn't have that many. Of course, after a few, we're bound to say to one of our dear friends "you know, you're one of the only people I've ever met that I really like" and whether or not it's true, the next morning you look at yourself in the mirror and worry that you may have stepped over some invisible line you hadn't meant to.

Rana and I eventually left whatever bar we'd met these kids at, and ended up at Masat, where the Bartender took a beautiful photo of the two of us and when asked where he learned to shoot, dropped his press credentials on the bar. And then told me he'd just bought the new Nikon. The $3,000 one. God I love New York.

Rana and I ended up at Tribe, after a stop at the big gay bar on second and second (fat cock?) where the bartender first shortchanged me by an amount of money so large that even he was sheepish about it and the other bartender copped an attitude at Rana, but was pacified when he discovered that even being a big gay bartender in a big gay bar and having muscles in his forearms the size of my thighs doesn't make him half as cool as she is. We promptly left (although the cosmopolitans were wonderful.)

The crew (including Huny and her friend) were singing Karaoke, which I wasn't having any of, so we made our hasty departure and ended up ensconced in the bar stools that have seen more of my history than they should have. I told Rana some of the stories that the poles in that place have seen, and we both agreed that it's good that I stopped going there. Michael the barback agreed that it was time for me to move on, but that he'd keep me up to date with where he'd be going to next, so I could at least stop by.

It was, as you can see by my furious writing, a raucus good time. We raised a ruckus. We had fun. You shoulda been there.