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ISO the boy who dumped his girlfriend (for a boy!)…
Sunday Mass shutters its early morning chapel…
Giving chase at the Eagle…
The call went out over the police blotter Friday night: agitated woman stops Volkswagen Jetta in middle of 20th and P. Now, that would not normally attract Hearsay’s attention, except for one detail: she was wailing about how her boyfriend, who she had accompanied to a gay bar — a gay bar! — evidently had proceeded to pick up a boy — a boy! — and thus left her stranded at the altar. Or more precisely the Apex, or the Omega, or the Fireplace, or the Dupont Veterinary Clinic. She got taken to the Lustre Cleaners, as it were.
A few other words — a boy! A gay bar! — written on the blotter could make Hearsay come a runnin’ faster. (Other words that would do it: dildo, indecent exposure, gang bang, Brett Parsons. Put it ’em all together and we’re talking the night of Hearsay’s life. Hearsay decided to channel its own inner-Nancy Drew, and went off Hearsay went to investigate. First stop (and only stop): Omega. Let’s see if Andreas "I’ve Poured Drinks in My Tightie Whities" Campo has seen him. The bar-bender couldn’t see over his "Don’t Tell Me" camp-cowboy hat. So Hearsay asked of the patrons: Mark "Bar-Bar-Baritone" Blaylock, tell me, have you seen him? "Oh, was he the sexy half-naked man in the shower in the music video playing on the TV above the bar?" Well, the whole bar wishes, but alas, Hearsay doesn’t think he’s quite that developed. Ed "Shatterproof" Glasscock — never mind if that’s not really how you spell your surname — have you seen the boy? "Sorry, I was too busy watching Janet Jackson’s ‘When I Think of You’ video. I haven’t seen it in so long, it’s bringing back sweet memories of when he’d take me in his arms, and squeeze me." Okay, what’s with these people and their obsession with music videos? Sigh, sigh. VJ Tony, you sure know how to get people talking. HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? “Seen who?” HIM! “Who?” HIMMMM! “Oh, him, yeah. He went thataway. Now excuse me while I cue up the next tape for the videodrones.” In the end — much, much later that evening, many videos later and many more Budweisers to boot — Hearsay found the missing boy. He was found in the secret bunker within the Bushes next to the former Badlands desert. He seemed self-satisfied, though a little out of placeÂ…
Speaking of police blotters, rumors were flying as to why Sunday Mass preemptively, temporarily shuttered its doors last Sunday. They were the usual rumors: potential raid, a Vatican censure, a club malfunction, a lovers’ quarrel, a command from on high, a sighting of the Virgin Mary, a sighting of any virgin, mary. But let’s put the mass rumors to rest. Stephen "Wings" Weber took to his church pulpit to issue an "honest and soul searching" notice that calls on the "need for immediate, visible and vast changes resulting from drug and illegal substance use that may have found its way into this event." The release goes on to implore the faithful to "educate yourselves about recreational drug use and its impact on your health." (Why, Hearsay has been educating itself for years now. In fact, excuse Hearsay while it takes a moment to further educate itself … … … … … … … … …. Ahhh, back. Hearsay feels a renewed vigor, like it could clean for days! Someone hand Hearsay the Bon Ami, please.) In any event, Weber and partner Blaine "Fly the Friendly Skies" Soileau have every intention of re-opening Mass soon, after taking "proactive measures" to address a problem that "could be at epidemic proportions." They don’t spell out what these measures might be, but Hearsay wonders if it will involve Brett Parsons’ nightstick and a long, probing interrogationÂ…
Last weekend might have ended earlier than expected for Hearsay, without Mass to attend, but it started early too, when word went out that the recently crowned International Mr. Leather would be at The Eagle Thursday night. Jason "I Make a Splash in a Sash" Hendrix is, after all, the 2004 Mr. DC Eagle. Hearsay couldn’t get near Hendrix (the man not only has a body, he has bodyguards — at least Hearsay thinks they were bodyguards, they may have just been Jason worshippers). Instead, Hearsay got its kicks from Greg "Rasslin’ Westin" Wessler, who was spotted chasing a boy around the back patio — literally chasing the boy, who was understandably afraid of the two-time wrestling champ who used to butt heads with the best of them on the Worldwide Wrestling Authority’s Extreme Queer Thumb Wrestling! Why was Wessler chasing the lad? “I need the exercise,” he told Hearsay before resuming his run. You go, girl. Sadly, Hearsay didn’t see anyone in buttless chaps all night — could the fashion trend be at an end? — and nor did it see anyone’s chapless buttÂ…
Hearsay doesn’t mean to state the obvious, but stating the obvious is something that must be done on occasion, particularly when Hearsay is looking for a way to write a Super Sized Pride Column. So here goes: Last weekend was Capital Pride. Hearsay hopes you didn’t miss it, because not only was the weather perfect (sunny and cool on Saturday for the parade, mild and overcast on Sunday, which meant no sun broasting), but the crowds were enormous. ENORMOUS. We’re talking bigger than Jeff Stryker, here. The boys were adorable and waxed, the lesbians were cuddly and unshaven, and Hearsay dare not make a joke about bisexuals or transgenders because it wants to keep its gonads intact. Hearsay, however, would say this to bisexuals everywhere: CHOOSE, DAMMIT, CHOOSE! Sexuality is not fluid! Sex, on the other hand, is one big puddle of sticky, slippery fluids and often requires a mopping up with Moist Towelettes.
For those of you still reading, let’s get back to the matter at hand.
Capital Pride turned 29 this year and unlike those horny adolescent cicadas which don’t use much in the way of either fluid or lubricant (they don’t need to, they come with spring loaded sex organs), it comes every year. The week began (for Hearsay, anyway) at the JR.’s Bachelor Auction last Tuesday night, June 8, where ten hunks were auctioned off to those willing to pay for their company and an accompanying prize, like a weekend getaway or a portrait sitting or a dinner for two at a fancy restaurant. Hearsay didn’t get the names of all the participating bachelors, because Hearsay was too busy dreaming of what fluids it could swap — like Baseball cards — with the gents. Hearsay lusted mostly after Eric, the 22-year-old JR.’s barback who kicked off the contest in fine form, and it also enjoyed seeing Michael in a ultra-slimming leotard. The most versatile bachelor of the evening was none other than the jolly Wisconsin giant A.J., who answered "I can’t decide" to host Lena “Vid-Kid” Lett‘s query "Are you a top or a bottom?" Either way, at six-foot-three, A.J. topped every other contestant. JR.’s general manager Dave “King of the Dollar Vodkas” Perruzza kept the evening moving at a rapid clip, ensuring that all the bachelors revealed their finest assets (not an unsightly one in the bunch) to the rapt crowd.
The following night Hearsay found itself at Apex for the Mr. & Miss Capital Pride Pageant. It was one of the biggest, grandest pageants ever, with nearly a dozen boys and girls and boys dressed as girls and girls dressed as boys competing for either title. The winners: Monet “Pink is the Color I Most Adore” Dupree and Bruce “Imagine That, I Like Pink Too!” Ashcraft. And because they won, Monet and Bruce were allowed to do the following three things: Ride in the Capital Pride Parade and wave to the adoring crowds. Stand on the Capital Pride Mainstage and wave to the adoring crowds. Look at each other adoringly and wave.
Skip, hop and jump to Saturday for the Parade. If you’re wondering why the Parade started late this year, don’t lay even an ounce of blame on the organizers. It was the fault of D.C.’s finest Special Ops division, who were tres tardy in closing the streets off to traffic. Once the streets were free of vehicles that weren’t supposed to be there, the parade got underway with many vehicles that were supposed to be there. In short, it was the BEST PRIDE PARADE EVER. Why? Because this year participants got a clue and actually created floats. Big, elaborate floats — such as the decibel-fortified Latinos en Accion float, which won the award for Best Overall, or the helium and hunk fortified Results the Gym creation, which won Best Float, or the gorgeous Mermaid-fortified Freddie’s flatbed, which boasted an enormous mermaid and lots of bathing-suited boys shaking their tight little bon-bons, some of which were even shaved for the occasion. Hearsay questions the judges’ choice of Best Theme to HRC, but maybe Hearsay is missing the point of a float comprised of nothing more than big yellow balloons, pre-printed signs calling for a Democratic uprising, and lots of frisky Stepford Teens with clipboards trying to get personal information (but thankfully not bodily fluids). Hearsay concurs, however, that the Best Walking — not to mention twirling, pirouetting and high-stepping — was enacted by D.C.’s Different Drummers. A close runner up would have to be Mayor Anthony B. Williams, who left the confines of his car and strolled up to the commoners, clearing enjoying the feeling of pressed flesh against his palm. Hearsay enjoyed waving to and being waved at by such political parade perennials as Jim “I Used to Run this Thing” Graham, David “Read My Alerts” Catania, Carol “What Am I, Chopped Liver?” Schwartz, Harold “Boys of” Brazil, Jack “Not Much You Can Do to a WASP Name Like Mine! Ha Ha!” Evans, Adrian “If I Were Gay I’d Be the Dreamboat You Could Never Have” Fendy and Phil “Touch These Pearls, Babydoll” Pannell, who gets Hearsay’s vote as the most glorious Democratic Delegate ever. Hearsay wanted to leap aboard the man-packed Cobalt/JR.’s/30 Degrees floats and shout “BJs for all!” but then it remembered that this day is not about sex. It’s about Pride+Vote=Power. Then comes the sex, complete with a multitude of fluids. And speaking of sex, Hearsay’s favorite parade moment took place when Ziegfeld’s Ella “Parasol Protected” Fitzgerald peeled one of her bananas and took a big, lascivious bite.
With the parade successfully over for another year, Hearsay turned its attentions to Sunday’s Capital Pride Festival. Tons of vendors, tons of organizations, tons of friends bumped into, tons of drama from Sophie “The B Stands for Beast” Hawkins. Yes, the earthy performer refused to relinquish the stage, insisting on extending her set forty minutes past her designated twenty. When informed that she must leave now please, she proceeded to let loose a string of profanities that made even an unblushable sort like Hearsay turn beet red and then proceeded to berate the Capital Pride folk in public. (She later reportedly fired her manager on the spot for the whole snafu.) Hearsay has this to say about Sophie: 1) Pounding on a bongo doesn’t take much in the way of talent. 2) Simone “Roust the Crowd” Denny was better. 3) As was Melissa “Fiercly Lesbian” Ferrick. 4) As was Ari “If I Were a Bling Bling Man” Gold. And all were gracious about their allotted time.
Hearsay enjoyed, as always, The Gay Men’s Chorus (also known as The Red Shirts) and the D.C. Cowboys (also known as the No Shirts). The D.C. Drag Kings were phenomenal as well. Such energy, such talent, such perfectly affixed whiskers. And let’s not forget the dazzling Joey O., he of Apex, who DJ’d the whole day long from the mainstage. Joey, you rock Hearsay’s musical world.
The Street Festival was extraordinary this year. Hearsay won’t pick a favorite booth but it will say that it enjoyed the beach bally baubles handed out by Evan “I’m So Incredibly Homosexual It Hurts!” Johnson and beau Tom “My Brother’s A Raging Heterosexual!” Bauer. Hearsay found that it one stuffed the balls in one’s pants, one attracted a new sort of groping man. And then one can shuttle said man over to the Leather Rack booth where one can stock up on lots and lots of free lube packets (those Leather Rack guys are so generous with their lube). After that, one is on one’s own.
Incidentally, Hearsay heard that one of its closest friends, the Mautner Project’s Kathleen “Don’t Fuck With Me, Fellas” DeBold — who rarely comes down to Pride because she’s too busy practicing safe sex techniques with Twinkies (the cream-filled sort) — showed her delightful mug (and she even showed her face too). And when Lady DeBold shows at your Pride event, you know you’ve made it. And if you can make it here, why bother going anywhere else?
That said, Hearsay congratulates everyone at the Whitman-Walker Clinic and the Capital Pride Festival for another pride perfectly done. But let us bow our heads and give special thanks to the tireless Director of Capital Pride Robert “Sleep? Who Needs it?” York, who serves his community with a passion that is genuine and a purpose that is true. And let’s also say thanks to WWC staffers Chip “Ster” Lewis and Andrew “What Am I, Gefilte Fish?” Litsky and all the Pride volunteers — including Larry “Here to Help” Stansbury, Larry “Here to Help, Too” Guillumette and Shawn, Kate, Marc, Jeff and Alana of the Entertainment Committee, who are reportedly going on the road as Ari Gold’s an opening act. They’ll be called “MmmmSync.” Maybe they’ll even headline at next year’s PrideÂ…
The old guard hold down he fort at Rehoboth
while Lifeguard lollipops get the boys a licking
at CafÃ© Zeus and Aqua threatens to open soon…
Hearsay loves getting sweaty in this town, and there are buckets worth of sweat-worthy activities nearly every weekend. Black Pride had it going on this weekend, with among other things warriors battling and an untold number of naked men and women taking it to the Edge and getting Wet. Talk about drenched! But this year Hearsay got it wet in the sexy, manly armpit of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Dammit if Mother Nature didn’t threaten a laffy taffy weekend. It was chilly and cloudy much of the time. Then again, it wouldn’t be Memorial Day Weekend in these parts if it weren’t cloudy. Thankfully, it didn’t truly rain until Monday, and it didn’t keep away a largely Washington-area crowd from amassing en masse for beachfront mass.
Hearsay spent much time amassed itself at the standard bearer Blue Moon, where it spotted Dave "Bachelor #3" Peruzza, who took leave of his managerial perch at JR.’s for the weekend. Cobalt bartender Reuben "Mano a Mano" Yano was also there in a rainbow lei. Finally, Nin "Ride Air" Tran and Dan "Two-Stepper" Hewitt were also among the weekend Moonies.
The "newest" outdoor bar area at the beach is the Sunday Tea at CafÃ© Zeus, in the former Yum Yum restaurant space which, few people realize used to be home to Bob’s Beachy Keen Pretzeltorium. Frankly, Hearsay thinks it’s a conspiracy to get you to stay longer. As if Hearsay needed its arm twisted to have just one more cocktail and avoid the trafficky jam back home. The entire gay Greek restaurant’s space is given over for the occasion, so you can wander from the front seating patio to the attractive Argos Lounge bar to the narrow bathroom hallway. The draw, naturally, is the large outdoor courtyard — said to be the town’s largest. Mark "Peterbilt" Morgan and Keith "18 Wheeler" Petrack helped pack the space, as did J.T. "I’ll Never Tell" Powell and Shane “Come Back!” Griffith. Also presenet was one of the weekend’s best beach bods: Humberto "Buns So TightÂ…" Gonzalez. And then there were the super-friendly bottles-in-bins-bartenders (for mixed drinks in much of Rehoboth you have to wait in much longer lines). Memorial Day at Zeus saw the Return of ‘The Lifeguards,’ presumably real Rehoboth lifeguards who got their Jagermeister on for boys to lick off. It took a while to get willing lickers (did they really expect to draw gay boys with Jagermeister?). Well, soon enough they had boys licking Jager off the two Lifeguard lollipops. How many licks does it take to get to the bottom, Hearsay wondered. Peter "Rabbit" Rosenstein didn’t know, but he guessed correctly that one would get to the bottom of a Jager bottle first. Rosenstein was a latecomer to Zeus, since that same afternoon he co-sponsored a Memorial Day benefit at the Silver Lake home of Jim "D’Lorda" D’Orta for Delaware’s Governor Ruth Ann "Tax-Free" Minner. By the way, does the Rehoboth "Friends of Ruth Ann Minner and Dorothy and Toto too" have a benefit featuring Minner every week? Or just when Hearsay is in earsight?
A Rehoboth weekend wouldn’t be complete without one wait-in-line, pop-in and take-out at Cloud 9. The restaurant-bar-nighttime dance space will turn 10 years old next month, and it looks as if it hasn’t aged at all, even after all the wear and tear from the worn and torn and shorn and horned. Among the summer regulars there memorializing the space were Chris "Chuck &" Buck, Paul "Red-Neck Woman" Watson, Arturo "Party-Hopper" Ramos, Kevin "Smiley Face" Brown and Keith "Papparazzi" Simonsen, who announced to Hearsay his imminent departure from D.C. to New York. That got Hearsay a little down for a little while. Until Hearsay looked up in the sky. Look, over there, why wouldn’t you know it? It’s Chris "Would You Buy a Used House From Me?" Riss, the most inescapable vision in Rehoboth and a fellow gossip-cohort of Hearsay’s. It’s been years, Chris, yearsÂ…
Of course Hearsay also made stops for breakfast at the bad-for-the-heart, good-for-the-hardy and better for the hard-on Crystal Restaurant. On Sunday, it was off to Celsius, for the best Sunday brunch bargain in town. And what would a Rehoboth stay be without a visit to Beach "It’s Bigger Than It Looks" Essentials, for a new skimpy bikini to alternate with Hearsay’s new sheer-when-wet Aussiebum number, which several other Rehobiebums sported as well.
What’s new for 2004? For starters there’ll be no more excursions to Highway One for dancing, with the Renegade long gone and AM a faded late-PM memory. So besides Cloud 9, there’ll be little dancing at the beach until — if the rumor can be believed — the opening of Aqua. The "coming soon" sign doesn’t say it will feature dancing, just a "raw bar." Aqua is going in where Scalawags went out, catty-corner to Iguana Grill, with a large outdoor patio. Also new is Confucius CafÃ©, which hasn’t even been open a week yet but is already spouting Ancient Chinese advice to passersby. Confucius is an excellent upscale but not uptight Chinese restaurant, where the vegetables, the meats and the General’s Chicken crowd are all super-fresh and seasonably tasty. But they need to do something about those Fortune Cookies — the all predicted rainÂ…
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