Even Better Than Fitting In

Left to my own devices, I can find all kinds of ways to be odd man out.

First it was at Cap Ale House for Pop! the kickoff party for Pride Week RVA.

And while I'm proud of plenty, I don't think I'm exactly who they had in mind.

First thing in the door and it was pretty clear that busy hands had been at work transforming the stolid space into more of a club feel.

Photo station to the right (props: boombox, hats, chains, guitar and no, I did not), big screen straight ahead (aforementioned pics, some now with speech bubbles) and spoken word poet onstage.

The chattering competed with the mingling to make hearing poetry challenging over the clinking of martini glasses with blue contents.

It was easiest to stay rooted in one spot to let people discover me on their way to something else.

Princess Di wanted to discuss his German. A couple of restaurant types were on their way to Heritage. The host was ebullient over the turnout.

Tonight was a double whammy, one part pride and one part publication.

GayRVA's first magazine premiered today and as a contributor to "G," I was eager to see the finished product to which I'd contributed.

Fabulous.

It would be impossible to kick off Pride Week without a drag queen and we had one in the large persona of Sharon Husbands, she of the waist-length curls and plus-sized booty.

After a song, she accepted the "G" award for "Drag Queen  Most Likely to Cause Drama on Facebook."

Me, I try to avoid drama whenever possible.

Subsequent awards were announced and presented so that we could get to the fun, namely DJ Amy Alderman playing her trademark house music.

Listen, I've been to Cap Ale enough and tonight was by far the most interesting iteration of it I've ever seen.

Even if I do play for the other team.

Not content to be a misfit in only one place, I moved on to the Republic for a show.

I've got a friend who's played in a U2 cover band for years and I'd never seen him play.

Last week he'd made me write this show down in my date book so I could finally correct that.

Tonight I was going to experience Even Better Than the Real Thing.

So here I was at the Republic, a venue I've always hated because it was a smokey, eye-burning hell, only now the smokers were on the other side and the non-smokers on the stage side.

I wonder what took them so long to figure that out?

The show was in full swing when I arrived, so I slid in near the back with a good view of the stage.

I'm the first to admit that I'm no U2 fanatic; I appreciate the talent, the band's growth over the years and their place in the pantheon of rock music.

But I've never seen them live (does "U2 3-D" count? No, I didn't think so) and I don't know the words to every emotive song.

That's where I was different than everyone else around me.

More than a few people shouted every word at their mate.

Imagine Munch's "The Scream" with another figure facing it screaming right back.

The couple in front of me not only sang every note but knew when the pauses were during which they could suck face.

Their timing was impressive.

Right before the band started one song, I heard two people trying to guess what song was next based on actual U2 show sets they'd heard live.

"Yea, but the seventh time I saw U2, they followed it with (fill in other U2 song here)," one insisted like he was the keeper of the U2 discography.

So, yes, people were trying to forecast songs based on their previous actual U2 shows.

Hell, I couldn't compete with that.

I could admire the well-executed "One Love."

I could fly my Irish flag.

"This is an Irish drinking song, so if you're Irish or drinking now, you should like it," "Bono" said.

I qualified and I did like "Trying to Throw Your Arms Around the World."

People danced at the bar, in front of the stage and on the way to the bathroom.

There was even dipping and finger kissing/blowing going on.

It was a party.

"Beautiful Day" took the crowd over the edge (har, har) by changing "See the Bedouin fires at night" to "See the Republic on a Friday night."

Let me assure you, U2 fans eat that stuff up.

That song also gave my friend a chance to show off his mad skills and effects as befits a man wearing a knit cap and playing guitar.

The crowd dancing was uncontrollable at this point but I stayed tucked away as the band and part of the crowd began moving from back to front.

A hippie-looking guy with waist-length hair and a long beard joined the foursome in front of me, informing them, "This is one of the worst bars in Richmond for dancing."

The way he said it, it was apparently fact.

I listened, so I know that his complaints were with the crowd ("the ballet clique and the moms") and the thoroughfare nature of the dance area in front of the stage (it is the only path to the bathrooms for the barflies).

Clearly if you've seen U2 seven times, you want to be able to dance to a really good U2 tribute band, too.

I had no such problem.

As we learned on Sesame Street, one of these things is not like the other.

But as I'm sure some wise drag queen once said, no one said I had to fit in as long as I was having fun.

Drama-free fun, of course.