Saturday, March 19, 2011

Miracle On 52nd Street

When I was a kid, I fell in love with Xanadu. I thought being an adult meant roller skating to work and hanging out at night at some kind of 1940s-inspired dance club. Naturally, I was in for a rude awakening. In all of the fifteen years I lived in Los Angeles, I searched for Xanadu and never found it. Not because the Pan Pacific Auditorium where it was set had already been destroyed by fire, but because whatever magic had poured out of that terrible movie into my little gay boy heart didn’t really exist in Hollywood. At least not for me. I had to come all the way to New York City to find it.

Tonight, I ventured off to a place that (practically) nobody dared to go: The Hookies, the annual award show for the escort elite. I was a presenter last year and looked forward to nothing more than returning to reclaim my place in the lower echelon of fame. As I quipped last year, it is a veritable “who’s that” of New York gay society. The previous year’s event took place at’s favorite Manhattan location Club Rebel. But in honor of the Black Party weekend, it moved into the historic midtown venue Roseland.