Kito was back by my side for the sixth night of the Crawl, devoted to finishing off the gay bars located downtown. As it happened, all of these establishments were simply crawling with straight people.
FIRST SUNDAY
18. Baton Show Lounge. 436 N. Clark. 8ish PM.
Just about the only gay people we ran into that night were Craig and Phillip, a visiting couple from Kentucky who seemed to have come to the Baton expecting it to be more like a regular gay bar and not the bachelorette party amusement it is (also, far be it from me to judge, but Phillip ordered an amaretto sour, which I'm pretty sure is what they serve at Brownie Scout meetings). The place was fairly busy for a Sunday night. In addition to Craig and Phillip, there were several tables of birthday revelers and, seated next to us, a large group of Red Hat Society members, those old ladies known to terrorize botanic gardens and outdoor concerts with their aggressive brand of post-menopausal merriment. When the mistress of ceremonies went around the room asking what we were all celebrating, one of these women shouted that they were celebrating the virginity of another member, much to the shrill delight of all. In short, I found them delightful.
The show itself hasn't changed much since I last saw it--indeed, it hasn't changed much since I first saw it: eight or so drag queens come out one by one to lip sync to some pop song or other, with occasional interruptions by emcee Ginger Grant (also in drag, of course). Some of the performers seem to be on display more for their astonishingly convincing illusion of femininity than for their showmanship, which is fine I guess, but a lip synching pretty girl is only interesting for so long (just look at Britney Spears). I prefer my drag queens with a little pizzazz or bitchery, which is why my favorite Baton cast member is the ferocious Chili Pepper, with her snarling demeanor and contemptuous demands for better tips. She seems to understand what some of her sugar-coated castmates haven't grasped: it's not a drag show until the audience feels a little uncomfortable.
19. Gentry on State. 440 N. State. 10.18 PM.
Sunday is open mic night at Gentry, which means Kito and I were the only ones in the cabaret room without binders full of sheet music. The event is hosted by Beckie Menzie, a cabaret performer who introduces the singers and provides piano accompaniment (with a strange look on her face, I might add: glassy-eyed, her mouth set in an open-mouthed grin, she appears, from the neck up, to be in some kind of vegetative state throughout the course of the song).
All of the participants, most of them in their thirties and forties, seemed to know Menzie and each other well, which leant the proceedings a chummy air. I assume some of them were professional or semi-professional music and musical theater people, but the only one I recognized was Suzanne Petri, who I last saw in American Theater Company's Oklahoma! She played Aunt Eller.
20. Underground Wonder Bar. 10 E. Walton. 11.something PM.
Our night of performance and straight people ended at Underground Wonder Bar, a narrow garden-level saloon dedicated to live music. A reggae band played while we sat along the wall next to a girl who complimented Kito on his facial tattoo (it's a scar), and I doodled cartoons on a paper tablecloth. I have no idea why the place is listed in Gay Chicago's nightlife directory.
ELSEWHERE:
My review of Blindfaith Theatre's Woody Guthrie's American Song is in this week's issue of Time Out Chicago.
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