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.

Vienna Sausage Envy

There's nothing like seeing a grown man cry.

Not that there was anything to cry about at The Roosevelt where the evening began.

We arrived early and had our pick of seats in the light-filled dining room. All we really needed were the two end stools.

I always enjoy being in The Roosevelt early on before the hordes descend. The vibe is so completely different.

'Tis the season, so we got a bottle of Boxwood Rose to ease us into the weekend.

Like we needed easing.

The good news was that the menu had just been tweaked today, making for some new choices for us regulars.

Crostini thick with local ricotta, anchovies and radish slices satisfied us to start.

A new salad of peaches, burrata, hazelnuts and arugula with banyuls vinaigrette delivered the taste of summer fruit and the ultra creaminess that mozzarella only wishes it had.

Hand-cut steak tartare got a richness boost from an egg yolk and charcoal vinaigrette, making for a plate sopped clean with bread so as not to miss a trace of charcoal, beef or egg.

Between discussing Members Only, the local '80s cover band that's got everyone dancing lately and hearing about how to handle a lubricated customer from bartender T, we hadn't noticed how much time had flown.

I should have realized because the dining room was suddenly full.

Coca cola cake and King Family Loreley were requested in short order, giving us the sweet period at the end of the meal sentence.

Properly fortified and dressed appropriately, it was time for the GayRVA third birthday party at Gallery 5.

The party was still very much in the mingling stage when we arrived and the host was giving everyone a bear hug as welcome.

3-D glasses were handed out at the door, tying in to the theme "Attack of the 30-Foot Drag Queens."

It didn't take long to find friends or drinks as DJ Soigne West kept the bass thumping.

And such friends. The handsome theater critic complimented my brief dress, Princess Di ruffled my hair, telling me how much he liked my "sex" hair and a guy I met a year ago told me he reads my blog regularly and loves it.

A girl can't get too much of that kind of attention.

The buffet was courtesy of Crossroads VCU and had a '50 theme: spanikopita, cream cheese-stuffed celery, cheese and Country Club crackers.

But as a friend noted, it also had a particularly phallic theme: pigs in a blanket, meatballs, Vienna sausages.

Yes, Vienna sausages. We'll leave it at that.

Cupcakes came from Delish and the dark chocolate frosted chocolate one I tried was spicy with the heat of cayenne.

It wasn't long before the show started and it was being hosted by Natasha Carrington, self-described as "a fat guy in a dress."

Actually, she had on a bodysuit, a sparkly shrug and impossibly high heels.

Before long, press-on nails were flying off the stage and she was shimmying all over the place.

Women began approaching the stage with dollar bills for her efforts and I noticed more than one woman with a wad of bills tucked into her bra or shirt pocket.

I wish I'd known.

Talking afterwards, Natasha began having microphone issues and insisted to no one in particular that it be fixed.

Once that problem had been solved, she joked, "How many gay men does it take to fix a microphone?''

She paused less than one beat. "None!" she cackled. "Get a lesbian!"

Later when she commented on how warm the room was (the radiators actually felt warm for some reason), she called out, "Any lesbians out there with heating and air conditioning skills?"

Natasha wasn't the only performer; we also saw Scarlet Starlet in red fishnets and eventually her pasties before Deanna Danger took the stage and did the same but with a hula hoop.

But Natasha was our hostess and she never stopped engaging and provoking the audience.

"Will you look at this tuck job?" she asked, looking very feminine down there. So we did look.

When it was time for the big moment, the announcement of GayRVA's Richmonder of the Year, Natasha stood by as publisher Kevin praised the winner as someone who'd been tireless in his work fundraising for HIV awareness and the Fan Free Clinic.

And then boom, the announcement that it was Natasha, aka John, and the tears began to fall.

Accepting a bouquet and goody bag, Natasha wiped her mascaraed eyes and shouted, "F**k you bitches for making me cry!"

It was actually a very touching moment.

Eventually we moved on from burlesque to boylesque with Jebidiah Stone taking the stage dancing in a  cardboard robot costume that was eventually shed for shiny blue shorts, then black briefs and eventually a G-string.

And he never stopped dancing, flipping and flexing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Natasha roared afterwards, "That's how a man should take off his clothes!"

Okay, maybe not every time, but on occasion, it would definitely have its appeal.

Scarlet performed again and so did Deanna, although this time it was her aerial stylings.

Out of nowhere there was a large metal ring hung from the ceiling and she mounted it, weaving her body in, on and under it in any number of suspended provocative poses.

And speaking of provocative, on a trip to the bathroom, I excused myself by a large group and one woman looked me up and down and said, "Mmm, mmm, mmm!"

I think I knew what she meant, but I'm not sure we're compatible.

I can't fix a microphone.