Last modified: Fri Jun 8 04:50:48 PDT 2001

Sacrifice, and Nary a Virgin in Sight

"Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing."
- Tyler Durden, in Fight Club

"Don't you try any of your voodoo on me, you native woman!"
- Mrs. Prudence Pingleton, on her way to rescue her daughter Penny (who is permanently, positively punished), in Hairspray

The fifth official Guerrilla Queer Bar outing, on August 9 at Sacrifice, was most unique because of one thing: It came off without a hitch. It felt positively organized, didn't it? The friendly vibe, the bartending, the snappy conversation on all sides, the exchanged phone numbers, the going-home-with-one-another. All so easy, efficient, and successful.

For example, the convenient row of tables along the wall opposite the bar became a de facto review stand for early arrivals to judge the entering masses/asses. These self-appointed reviewers were all eyes as fellow GQB'rs filed in. Front view as they walked in, back view as they bellied up to get a drink. Very nice. Even with the front-door runway effect, the scene was welcoming. One incredulous guy said, "I love this. In five years, I have never entered a gay bar and felt good doing it. People are actually smiling here." Incredulity looks good on you, sweet-cheeks. Here's hoping it paid off.

People were recognizing each other from previous GQB events, continuing interrupted conversations and flirtations, maybe feeling the first inkling of cohesion. We had doctors, waiters, lawyers, bikers, techies, architects, cooks, strippers (or maybe just one stripper), bankers, and much more.

The half-baked décor of our seamless fifth venue is tiki/voodoo, hence the name. Rumor has it that the owner is a former member of the sexy-Satan-techno band My Life With the Thrill Kill Cult. Whether the guy was in the band or not, he demonstrated the attitude and business sense we like to see in our invaded bar staff. Upon witnessing the mobbed bar, he got back there and helped his cute blond employee sling drinks. At some point they added a barback, a very gregarious soul who charged around yelling for empty glasses and taking tokes with the bad kids in the back of the bar. Now that's the way to do business.

The innocent non-GQB regulars, about twenty of them when we started to really pack the place, took the whole thing in stride. For the most part, they struggled valiantly not to seem impressed in any way. This nonchalance must have been grueling to uphold, as our official body count reached more than 120 people. The crowd peaked at about 10:30, after which the "I gotta go to work in the morning"/ "I'm too old for this craziness"/ "It's past my bedtime" crowd started to trickle out. The dregs finally hit the sidewalk at about 1:30.

Music was courtesy of Brother Jukebox on the wall. Brand New Heavies were featured beyond what their talent and prowess might suggest, but otherwise it was an appropriate mix of music.

There was even a photographer there from Odyssey magazine. He was a very friendly guy with a big camera, and he wasn't making anyone take their shirts off. How annoying. Mr. Photog: Next time you visit us, please get some skin exposed, okay?

So, GQB #5 was the easiest yet. Maybe too easy. Maybe not quite guerrillesque enough. Maybe next time we need more thrills, more danger, a new Mr. Asshole like at our very first party (see "Midnight at the Hoasis" writeup if you weren't there). Stay tuned, everybody. Thanks for coming out, smiling, chatting, scamming, and scoring (or any combination of these things).

(Confidential to the Tonga Room lesbians: Where did you all go? We had so much fun with your large contingent that night. Return to us, ladies.)