Jun. 1st, 2004 01:54 pm
Bear Pride Report #2: Nutts to Butts
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muckefuckSunday afternoon, I tried to nap but sleep wouldn't come, so I dressed and went over to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu's in order to send off an e-mail to my dad before he left for China. (He should be boarding around now, if he isn't in the air already.) One REALLY FUCKING AWESOME hour later, we ordered in dinner and I sent the e-mail. At that point, we had downpour, but I crossed my fingers and hoped it would blow through.
By the time I hooked up with Hector a little after half-past-nine, it had. We cabbed it to the Metro and--to our surprise--saw a line of bears heading up the block. There's no way it could be this full less than an hour after it started. Or did we have the time wrong? Nope; word came down that the previous all-ages show had run over. There were a lot of teenyboppers milling around where we were in line. (Later, someone related the story of how, last year, two young women had cruised the entire line without getting any response. Finally, they crossed the street, turned, and yelled out "ARE THERE ANY STRAIGHT MEN HERE AT ALL?" The answer was a resounding "NO!" Ha!) We eventually realised the reason was that we were standing right near the trailers for the band.
Which band? That's a good question. Some gangly young studmuffin with a vague resemblance to Ashton Kuchner was getting a lot of attention. "Is that the guy who won American Idol?" one of the men ahead of me asked. Finally, I queried two sixteen year-old tarts. "Oh, the Matches!" I looked around at the bears in earshot but everyone shrugged. "I've got some dj friends I can ask," I said. Once we finally got inside, I saw some t-shirts for Matchbook Romance. So, she was like using the fan nickname with me? Like I totally like know who they are? As I said at the time, once I hit 30, I officially abdicated my responsibility to keep up on any aspect of pop culture. I need only know marginally more than the men I date so I can play interpreter; anything else is gravy.
At first the music was 100% Gay Cliché. "Relax" (so canonical it was used in The Simpsons to telegraph homosexuality) was playing when we came in; then a Madonna song followed by...damn, I can't remember any more, but it was really obvious. Pet Shop Boys-obvious. I didn't care; I danced like a madman. Not with Hector; he apparently doesn't dance and my attempts to teach him (by dragging him to a dark corner and literally tugging on his waistband in time to the beat) failed. At one point, I drifted neartwnchicago; at another, near e_ticket and his circle of shutterbugs. But I never really danced with anybody but aadroma. A lot of the people I normally would--drubear, grunter, etc.--either weren't there or weren't on the floor. (When grunter asked how I was, I said "I haven't spent seven hours at Wet 'n' Wild, so I'm feeling pretty fresh." He feigned indignance while replying, "It was only four!")
I'll save the other names for my Namedropping entry. I saw some beautiful men, but I didn't talk to any of them. (Wait, that could be taken the wrong way. I didn't talk to any that I didn't already know. Well, one, but that hardly counts.) Apparently, I missed a golden opportunity when I saw Hector chatting with a gorgeous--and I mean outrageously so--leather daddy that I've had my eye on literally for years and decided not to horn in. The next day, when I asked if they'd gone home together, he told me "No" and added, "He's really nice, though. You should've come over." Conscious of the fact that I'd need my legs for Sidetrack the next day, I decided to be conservative and left before two a.m. It was lovely out and I walked almost half the way home, so deafened I could almost believe I was in a leafy suburb instead of the heart of Wrigleyville.
monshu's in order to send off an e-mail to my dad before he left for China. (He should be boarding around now, if he isn't in the air already.) One REALLY FUCKING AWESOME hour later, we ordered in dinner and I sent the e-mail. At that point, we had downpour, but I crossed my fingers and hoped it would blow through.By the time I hooked up with Hector a little after half-past-nine, it had. We cabbed it to the Metro and--to our surprise--saw a line of bears heading up the block. There's no way it could be this full less than an hour after it started. Or did we have the time wrong? Nope; word came down that the previous all-ages show had run over. There were a lot of teenyboppers milling around where we were in line. (Later, someone related the story of how, last year, two young women had cruised the entire line without getting any response. Finally, they crossed the street, turned, and yelled out "ARE THERE ANY STRAIGHT MEN HERE AT ALL?" The answer was a resounding "NO!" Ha!) We eventually realised the reason was that we were standing right near the trailers for the band.
Which band? That's a good question. Some gangly young studmuffin with a vague resemblance to Ashton Kuchner was getting a lot of attention. "Is that the guy who won American Idol?" one of the men ahead of me asked. Finally, I queried two sixteen year-old tarts. "Oh, the Matches!" I looked around at the bears in earshot but everyone shrugged. "I've got some dj friends I can ask," I said. Once we finally got inside, I saw some t-shirts for Matchbook Romance. So, she was like using the fan nickname with me? Like I totally like know who they are? As I said at the time, once I hit 30, I officially abdicated my responsibility to keep up on any aspect of pop culture. I need only know marginally more than the men I date so I can play interpreter; anything else is gravy.
At first the music was 100% Gay Cliché. "Relax" (so canonical it was used in The Simpsons to telegraph homosexuality) was playing when we came in; then a Madonna song followed by...damn, I can't remember any more, but it was really obvious. Pet Shop Boys-obvious. I didn't care; I danced like a madman. Not with Hector; he apparently doesn't dance and my attempts to teach him (by dragging him to a dark corner and literally tugging on his waistband in time to the beat) failed. At one point, I drifted near
twnchicago; at another, near e_ticket and his circle of shutterbugs. But I never really danced with anybody but aadroma. A lot of the people I normally would--drubear, grunter, etc.--either weren't there or weren't on the floor. (When grunter asked how I was, I said "I haven't spent seven hours at Wet 'n' Wild, so I'm feeling pretty fresh." He feigned indignance while replying, "It was only four!")I'll save the other names for my Namedropping entry. I saw some beautiful men, but I didn't talk to any of them. (Wait, that could be taken the wrong way. I didn't talk to any that I didn't already know. Well, one, but that hardly counts.) Apparently, I missed a golden opportunity when I saw Hector chatting with a gorgeous--and I mean outrageously so--leather daddy that I've had my eye on literally for years and decided not to horn in. The next day, when I asked if they'd gone home together, he told me "No" and added, "He's really nice, though. You should've come over." Conscious of the fact that I'd need my legs for Sidetrack the next day, I decided to be conservative and left before two a.m. It was lovely out and I walked almost half the way home, so deafened I could almost believe I was in a leafy suburb instead of the heart of Wrigleyville.
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