The Gong Show

By the end of the evening I kind of felt like givin' the ol' gong to my pal Scotty. Gotta love the guy. He's witty, articulate, intelligent, handsome and kind hearted (well, for the most part). Admittedly we always seem to have fun, even if we're somewhere lame, like at that fat straight drunk mess over @ re-bar he took me to the other night.

Anyway, he picked me up this evening in his roomie's ride. Actually, he has been staying with the coolest breeder couple in Seward Park (one of my favorite in-city neighborhoods) in exchange for teaching the wife English lessons. She is absolutely gorgeous and delightful. Very stylish, beautiful accent (I can't quite distinguish it - sounds Latin of sorts). Scotty just relocated back to Seattle from Rio de Janeiro via Portland a few weeks ago.

We grabbed him a small bite at Piecora's on the Hill and then onto the Stranger's Gong Show @ Chop Suey immediately following. It was a mostly breeder, hipster crowd tonight, but a good crowd nonetheless. We were packed in like a full 12 incher, and the joint was equally hot. OK, you know I had to go there to be cliche because I'm gay, oh, and stoned ...

The show was a fucking riot. There are some REALLY strange people in this town, including the guy who can hoola (yeah - that's right, I said, HOOLA) while playing the harmonica and two guitars, both of which are vertically balanced on his face! WTF!!! Who wakes up in life and thinks to themselves, "Gee, I'm going to learn how to hoola hoop with two hoops, play a harmonica with a neck rest while also playing and balancing a guitar on my face."???

My favorite act, and I think the crowd's too, was this he-monster of a drag queen, dressed as Marry Poppins, who did a number to "Spoon Full of Sugar" as well as a HUGE faux line of blow toward the end of the song. OK, I'm too stoned to write about it with any poetic justice, but trust me, it was hysterical.

After the show Scotty, who handed his car key over to me, insisted we go to this party at his friends' place further up the Hill on 19th. I wasn't really into it. Like any other thirty something Seattleite, I hate new people. OK, that's not at all true, just being a punk ass tonight. Don't know what's gotten into me. Heh-heh ...

Nah, I wasn't feelin' this party because for one I'm not secure in my friendship with Scott. It's not that I don't know whether he likes me, actually quite the contrary. I know he's fairly fucking wild about me. Despite having established many boundaries, this guy is as persistent as a meth addiction. Oh, that was a very poor analogy, but I'm about to lose my next thought if I don't continue on with my story.

So we end up at this party, coming in through the back door. No, that's not code for anything - we walked up the side yard and entered one of the most fabulous, contemporary stone patio garden spaces I have ever seen in my life. The yard was by no means big. In fact, the home is just your average, modest early 1900s cottage. But this place was dressed to the nines! The yard was very geometrically rectangular, not just the shape of it, but also of many of the stone materials and how they were laid out. Gorgeous stone patio with ground cover growing up between the stones. There were a couple of terracing retainer walls built of small, thin horizontal interlace-stacked stones. Two large, gorgeous Japanese maples stood proud and were splashed in uplights. In the very corner of the garden adjacent to the small, rectangular back deck was a square pond and fountain, which also was illuminated. Don't even get me started on the house, I haven't got all night for this post.

The people at this party were my age-ish. They were fantastic! Beautiful. Fashionable. Engaging. Warm. Friendly. Fun. Phenomenal. Several of these fine folks are good friends of Scotty's, so my resistance in going had more to do with not wanting to give the impression of being his "date," etc.

Well, despite better judgement, Scotty continued drinking. Incidentally I'd been drinking mineral water all night. Hey, I had a very sporty day and why ruin it by boozin' it up. Besides I need at least one sober night a week. Aren't I such the kidder.

Leave it to Scotty to drop a whole double gin and tonic on the original fir floors of this uber chic urban cottage. It's one thing to be a guest and spill, and I know he felt really bad/awkward about it, but he didn't even bother to help clean it up. I enlisted my services on bend and knee (don't go gettin' any funny ideas) to mop up the mess to near dry. Of course while on the floor doing clean up duty, it appeared as though I was the one who made the mess. I had just met all of these folks this evening. The artists, designers, advertising moguls, linguists, musicians - an impressive group, and I don't necessarily mean by pedigree. What a lousy first impression. I was pretty embarrassed, no more so, however, than when I engaged for a good 20 minutes in a conversation with Scotty and his roomie's brother about Bazooka, yeah, the bubble gum. That was classic.

The notable conversation I had was with a gentleman who was telling me about a recent conversation he had with a Bellevue High School teenage girl, who informed him that a girl has to shave her privates and kiss other girls to attract a boyfriend in this day and age. Boys and men are all alike; complete pigs! My how times have changed ...

The party peace de resistance (sp?) were Scott's uncontrollable hic-elches (hiccup belches). In fact, he wouldn't allow us to leave the party until he cured them. I sliced him off a big hunk of lime to eat. That always does the trick for me. It didn't work. He tried holding is breath. He tried drinking soda. He tried eating more. I told him this was likely his body's way of saying he should call it a night. He strongly disagreed. So I told him I needed to call it a night. He basically wouldn't let us leave the party until his hic-elches went away. It seemed like an eternity, but finally they subsided and after our third round of goodbyes we finally got to head toward my home.

Scotty insisted we go to the Cuff and then he wanted to go to the new Madonna CD release party @ Neighb-whores. I drove him in his borrowed car to the parking lot across the street from the Cuff, insisting he call a cab home. We'll see - he'll probably hook up w/someone so he won't have to drive home drunk. Lovely. On both counts. So I walked him to the end of the line, literally, hugged and kissed him farewell, then headed home to write this shit and fall asleep.

As you might have guessed the artists, designers, advertising moguls, linguists and musicians got me stoned. Actually, not at all true, marijuana did. I'm pleased to report it was really good shit! OK, this stoned-ass, postmodern urban fag has to gong himself. Thanks for coming out, you've been great. I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress. G'nite ...