Sunday, May 28, 2006

Shotworthy has an interesting, and telling, posting about cyber-etiquette. Perhaps it's a bit stronger than my usual cup of java,
but the basic tenets couldn't be truer.

I remember "back in the day" when, after a night of dancing (read: not cruising) you called your best buddy and raved "you won't believe what song they played last night..." (standouts in my history include Patrick Juvet|I Love America, Voyage|Lady America, Amii Stewart|Knock On Wood, to name just a few) and that's what it was all about: the music. You danced alone, you danced with a partner; hell, you even danced in groups. Another definitive stamp of that time is that you really didn't take women with you to the gay bars (yep, we were a bit territorial then) and while the serious parquet polishers amongst us did take our shirts off, generally, there was only one guy there who had "the body" and, of course, everyone wanted to go home with him.

Reminds me of my nights with my good friend Bob Braucci (God rest his soul) and how Bob, who had the only torso, would walk around with no shirt, and in my foolish, youthful bravado, I would do the same, t-shirt tucked into my belt behind my back. What made this especially funny is that more often than not, Bob would hit the bar for a drink, and the bartender would say "what are ya' havin'?" and we'd each give our orders, and ready our cash.

The drinks would be placed up on the bar, with a wink and a nod from the bartender, accompanied by "this is for you and your friend, from (voyeur of the evening)" and Bob and I rarely paid for drinks (including the infamous evening at The Ground Round with pitchers, and I mean PITCHERS of kamikazis, and no waitress/waitstaff to take our cash, but that's another posting!)

Clubs have degenerated into the Tina and meth, steroid crowd, with this insane noise which is indistinguishable from the last clanging beatbeatbeat, causing anyone to flip over into a manic panic mode. House, trance, techno, hip-hop, breakbeat, industrial, names names names. And the DJs have become "DJ Culture" and celebs in their own (dubious) right (I can think of one absolute prick from my Miami days who wouldn't even look at you unless your biceps were the size of my neck (17.5") and you were packing a serious beercan in your button-fly Levis. Who really cared he was a member of the bar. Fast-forward he must have done something right as I hear he and his partner adopted a few kids, and that really says something about gay guys these days, unless children are the new accessory.)

I should, at this point, shout-out to Mark Leventhal, who really was one of the coolest DJs on the South Beach scene, circa 1994's T|Dances. That guy really knew how to spin disco, and he never ceased to surprise me when I'd request something one week, and the next week, after he was sure to catch my eye, he'd hit the vinyl with the needle.

I kinda got side-tracked here, but will finish up this post later. I seriously need some Café Cubano, especially since I'm on a Miami kick.


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