There is some sort of assumption that I've been here before, but then a self-correction that I have not. And even having attended, there is a jealousy that my mileage probably varied from that of others. Why that is will be explained later.
So what to actually write about?
Logistics. The alarm was set for five in the morning, but somehow my body didn't make it there until seven or so. And within two minutes someone had their hand on my ass, but just to say hello. Knowing that my visit was going to be different than most I chose to go it alone. Seeing friends there was good enough for me. Not having been to Roseland since that time I fainted at Broadway Bares (a story that should be told sometime) the first order of business was to figure out the layout. Dance floor, balcony, chill area, um, dark area. Got it.
State of mind. That recent illness has caused all sorts of new cleanliness obsessions and hyperhypochondria. So there in a long sleeve black thermal, dancing was I. For fifteen minutes, then that was off and through the belt loops. But there could be no release or relaxation because something was going to happen at ten. More on that later.
Music. Yes, there was music, by the very competent Tony Moran during my tenure. Granted my personal taste would have seen some Ratatat or some Hot Chip up in there, but as the "gay dance genre" goes, Moran is pretty awesome. And the legs and the hips and shoulders were able to get into Moran's motion. And soon enough my form was amongst the (2000?) others on the floor.
Decor. Gigantic lighting system. And it turns out that the "Holywar" theme was a play off of the Nascar theme, something I had not figured out until arriving. The purpose of the protective carpeting eludes me as it bunches up and is trippy in the wrong way.
Dudes. Small dudes, big dudes, lady-dudes, dudely dudes, pretty dudes, ugly dudes, dancing and diddling and dilating dudes. While I arrived alone, by nine there was one in particular that could dance and move in the same manner, and was a recent arrival like myself (thus, in my mind, clean), and was of the same mental state and was the obvs choice of fulfilling the cliche of making out on the dance floor for half an hour or so with full knowledge that at 9:50 I would just become a new phone number.
Overall. Great fun, for my limited time there.
So what's this 10:00 'thing' to which you are ungracefully alluding? That's the time that a (really awesome) videographer met me to interview people as they were leaving the party. We were able to find boys, girls, men, women, trannies, bears, twinks and people of every ethnicity to share their experience with us and tell awesome stories. It's a great little celebration of the awesome diversity of crowds. The results of this will be revealed when they are up later today (on other sites) on Gawker and Fleshbot (same video, different editorial).
