wildcat

Cole Porter and Joan Jett are an interesting combination. "Let's do it," indeed.

Deciding to go to the bar once this millenium, we ended up in line at Prism for far too long listening to the obnoxious people all around us ("Oh my god," one particularly prize example of why gay people shouldn't breed said, "Why are there all those girls taking up space back there with no gay boys to hang out them?") Rather than listen to every stereotype imaginable nattering away about the most pointless things in the world, a bunch of us decided to skip the line-up to an inevitably bad scene in favour of Hush.

I hadn't actually been to Hush in a while. I think the last time was the "Disco Hell" incident with Matthew and the Hindu Spy Gods. I don't know why, because that wasn't the case this time. The sound system's a bit iffy - way too loud - but the vibe was so much better. Danced, danced, danced for an hour and a half in the screamingly small space, got Michael to dance, Joanna was HI-larious in her own right ("Is my bra showing under the black light?"), and the music was sweet. So were the vodka-cranberrys. Jason was working but I only saw him in fleeting moments while he was collecting glasses; at random, I ran into Fiona when she was about to drain the girl-porpoise, and then she was off into the night.

The upshot was that I had a blast and I am very glad we went there instead of the other place. Sure, girls giggled uncomfortably when Michael and I kissed (did they never notice the rainbow flag on their way in? They must be used to the sexless castrated homo-sexuals on Will and Grace).

Then we took a cab home. My ears rang and I was happy.