By Adam Goldstein goldstea@mscd.edu

The disco ball is ours, thank you

NIC GARCIA
ngarci20@mscd.edu

   When you’re queer, you must pick your poisons carefully.
   My drugs du jour: vodka and MySpace. But, I never mix the two. I’ve learned my lesson: if you think drunken dialing is bad, well, in this digital age, drunken MySpacing is just as bad, if not worse.
   I do, however, love filling out surveys—sober—and posting them as bulletins. Most of my friends tell me they love reading them. And who wouldn’t? After all, I’m witty (and pretty and gay).
   In all seriousness, I pride myself on being clever and quick to the punch. Once, I filled out, in 20 minutes, a survey with 200 questions. I know that has to be some kind of record. And it was hilarious from start to finish. However, one of my straight friends, recently, took offense to my flaming faggotry.
   “ Nic, god damn it (sic), why do you have to be such a homo? I understand the gay thing, but quit being such a … flamer,” he wrote me.
   My response went a little something like this:
   “ Augie, god damn it (sic), why do you have to be such a breeder? I understand the straight thing, but quit being such a … Neanderthal.”
   Well, just the other night, much to Augie’s dismay, I filled out another survey and came across this question: “(What is your) current hate?”
   And without blinking an eye, I answered: “Breeders.”
   Full disclosure: I have straight friends. Heck, I even have more straight friends on MySpace and in the—gasp—real world. But of late, the heterosexuals have really been getting on my nerves.
   Speaking of the real world, the disco ball at a gay nightclub I frequent, seems to shine just a little brighter when Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” is spun. All the boys and girls love that song. After all, it is the quintessential I’m-better-off-without-you-keep-on-walking-and-don’t-look-back-song. And no one does I’m-better-off-without-you-keep-on-walking-and-don’t-look-back than us ‘mos. Especially if you’re all done up in glitter and bass is in the background.
   We were all on the dance floor not so long ago and what do you think they played? That’s right, “Since U Been Gone.” We all began to jump around and spin. Some of us, OK, most of us, sang along with the diva.
It was a splendid time, smiles all around. And then I spotted them. Under our disco ball was a straight couple. A straight couple! Making out, under my disco ball.
   Of course, in typical queen fashion, I pointed it out to all of my friends and made a big deal about it.
   I ran around the club screaming, “Who the hell do they think they are? ... What are they doing under our disco ball? … They have their own club! … They need to get out of ours!”
   Some of my friends agreed with me. Some of them didn’t. Let’s just say the conversation we had at breakfast was rather heated.
   “ If a gay couple made out in a straight club, we’d be hated on so fast,” I explained.
   “ Why can’t we have a club where we can all be, together?” Mr. SpeedRacer asked.
   I, not so politely, rolled my eyes and went back to drinking my coffee.
   Later, I overheard another heated conversation last weekend at a birthday party for my friend, Ms. Yam.
   Drunk Straight Guy No. 1: “Don’t step on me. Fag.”
   Drunk Straight Guy No. 2: “You’re the gay one.”
   Luckily for them, I was Drunk Gay Guy No. 1 and wasn’t about to pick a fight. After all, we were in Fort Collins and the breeders outnumbered the gays 3-to-1 at this party. I did warn one of my hosts, DJ Chaotic, if I as much as heard one of those idiots breathe, I’d show the entire party why stilettos are a pain in the ass.
   I’d show the entire party why stilettos are a pain in the ass.
   Luckily for me, the breeders were kept in the basement with the beer while the gays were upstairs with the hard liquor, and rightly so.
   The only thing more right would be a world where I didn’t have to worry about a few straight guys coming into a gay club to make fun of my friends and me.
   You see, for about a month now, a group of straight guys have been frequenting Tracks on kiddy night. I think one of them has a girlfriend. As for the others, well, as my friend Mr. EuroTrash said, “I guess they couldn’t get a girl at the straight clubs.”
   So they come and make fools of themselves. They attempt to dance and try and make fun of us ‘mos. Once, one of the guys—who looks like a Beatle done up by Kevin Federline’s stylist—came up behind me and started to faux-dance. He did that to a handful of other gays that night.
   I almost decked him, but I would have broken a nail. And people like him just aren’t worth that.
   As a gay man, I embrace diversity. After all, what kind of a world would we live in if we only had bars that served beer?
   Diversity is perhaps one of the most important aspects of our life. Think of all the colors in the rainbow. Each red, orange, violet, brings something more to our world. And while together, they are magnificent, each color stands by itself.
   We have to respect each other’s lives. We have to respect other people’s humor. We have to respect other people’s space. And we have to respect other people’s dance moves.
   I never question my straight friends. I play along when they talk about what chicks they want to bang. I’d never kiss another boy in a straight club—unless, of course, there was a lot of vodka involved. And I would never, ever, harass anyone for their dance skills, or lack thereof.
   But still, I get flack. So I must affirm, because I respect myself, straight people in gay places don’t belong. Just like vodka and MySpace can’t coexist safely.
   So here is a message to all you breeders: respect my disco ball.
   Luckily for me, the breeders were kept in the basement with the beer while the gays were upstairs with the hard liquor, and rightly so.
   The only thing more right would be a world where I didn’t have to worry about a few straight guys coming into a gay club to make fun of my friends and me.
   You see, for about a month now, a group of straight guys have been frequenting Tracks on kiddy night. I think one of them has a girlfriend. As for the others, well, as my friend Mr. EuroTrash said, “I guess they couldn’t get a girl at the straight clubs.”
   So they come and make fools of themselves. They attempt to dance and try and make fun of us ‘mos. Once, one of the guys—who looks like a Beatle done up by Kevin Federline’s stylist—came up behind me and started to faux-dance. He did that to a handful of other gays that night.
   I almost decked him, but I would have broken a nail. And people like him just aren’t worth that.
   As a gay man, I embrace diversity. After all, what kind of a world would we live in if we only had bars that served beer?
   Diversity is perhaps one of the most important aspects of our life. Think of all the colors in the rainbow. Each red, orange, violet, brings something more to our world. And while together, they are magnificent, each color stands by itself.
   We have to respect each other’s lives. We have to respect other people’s humor. We have to respect other people’s space. And we have to respect other people’s dance moves.
   I never question my straight friends. I play along when they talk about what chicks they want to bang. I’d never kiss another boy in a straight club—unless, of course, there was a lot of vodka involved. And I would never, ever, harass anyone for their dance skills, or lack thereof.
   But still, I get flack. So I must affirm, because I respect myself, straight people in gay places don’t belong. Just like vodka and MySpace can’t coexist safely.
   So, here is a message to all you breeders: respect my disco ball.

I ran around the club screaming, “Who the hell do they think they are? ... What are they doing under our disco ball? … They have their own club! … They need to get out of ours!”