Before we walk away from the Great Gay-Bar Bar Crawl forever (after five installments spread out over eight years), I'd like to propose a toast.
To barflies who drink alone,
To furtive cruisers and glory-hole trolls,
To fats and femmes and undesirables,
To the newly single and the new in town,
To fag hags and drag queens and go-go dancers who don't get tips,
To bears and pig bottoms and leather daddies,
To has-beens and never-weres,
To misfits and sissies and tomboys and fags,
To sloppy drunks and solitary dancers,
To the makers of poor decisions and the givers of unreciprocated blow jobs,
To former Adonises and present-day Quasimodos,
To closet cases and brothers on the down-low,
To the socially awkward and the overly friendly,
To those who laugh at the wrong parts and don't know what to do with their hands,
To transfolk and tourists and underweight twinks,
To show queens and bull dykes and bull queens and show dykes,
To BDSMers and the havers of stigmatized fetishes,
To those who carry torches and live in the past,
To the doughy and the pasty and the balding and the dull
And the horny and the lonely and the lost and the sad:
Here's the last toast of the evening,
Here's to those who still believe
All the losers will be winners,
All the givers shall receive.
Here's to trouble-free tomorrows,
May your sorrows all be small.
Here's to the losers,
Bless them all.
My review of Circle Theatre's Reefer Madness is in this week's Time Out Chicago.