3g . justjOUt S eptember iS, zope
Santa Fey
Homo on the range
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abor Day has come and gone, which means
if you haven’t had fun this summer, you’re
shit out of luck. Fortunately, Marc and 1 got
away for a week of frolic in Santa Fe, N.M.,
where we stayed at La Casita, Brian
Wilson’s homey hacienda near the plaza.
Santa Fe has certainly changed since the last
time I was there. The sleepy artists colony has
transformed into a playground for the wealthiest
bad drivers in America. Every narrow, unpaved
street is clogged with SUVs carrying Texas,
Colorado or California license plates. The good
news is that the increased crowds bring more gay
people, which means the Southwest is a lot wilder
than it used to be.
Our first afternoon, we discovered a Sunday tea
dance sponsored by Southwest C.A.R.E. Center at
Vanessie’s Restaurant. Imagine Salon Q, sponsored
by Cascade AIDS Project, at Sylvia’s Class Act
Dinner Theater. (In fact, as our affair ended, blue­
haired matrons poured into Vanessie’s to pine away
for a Liberace-esque pianist with a bad comb-over.)
Your Business?
Marc, Floyd and Brian Wilson contemplate art in
Located in the heart of Sellwood
7703 SE 13TH AVE STE. 3
M-F 8:30-5:30 Sat 10-2 & by appt.
503.236.8775
walk on style
www.floortrendsnw.com
CARPET • HARDWOOD • LAMINATE • TILE & STONE • AREA RUGS • MARMOLEUM
The event was hosted by Ken Sears and Peter
MacCorquodale, a delightful duo who’ve relocated
to the Land of Enchantment and found a perma­
nent position as house sitters. Afterward they
invited us for drinks atop La Fonda, the oldest hotel
in town, which sits at the end of the Santa Fe Trail.
As we got up to leave the beautiful rooftop deck, a
pair of stylish blondes from L.A. leaned over and
whispered, “We didn’t realize this was a gay bar."
“It wasn’t until we got here,” Ken said.
Santa Fe has to be among the most picturesque
places in America, and the natural scenery explains
why many retirees flock to the area. In fact, a queer
retirement community, Rainbow Vision, opened
just a few weeks before we arrived. With condos,
independent living and assisted living facilities,
Rainbow Village calls itself Santa Fes Community
for the Second 50 Years.
Fortunately, I’ve still got a few (albeit only a
few) before I qualify for a membership. But in those
years, I’m going to maintain my commitment to
seeking new adventures, which is why Marc and I
drove to Albuquerque with Peter on our last night.
Our first stop was The Ranch, where cowboys
and the men who love them celebrated the conclu­
sion of a gay rodeo. PBRs (professional bull riders)
drinking PBR circled in denim and leather chaps
looking for their rodeo queen. Alas, the atmos­
phere was too smoky, so we headed out to The
Pulse disco for the third annual Foam Party.
But first we stopped at a friend of Peter’s, where
we changed into surfer shorts and flip-flops and
smeared Vaseline all over our bodies (and 1 mean
all over) like we were champion swimmers about to
cross the English Channel. According to Peter, the
Vaseline would protect our skin from drying out.
Having been warned, Marc and I had brought
along a small squeeze tube of the sticky petroleum
jelly. But watching our
hosts, we quickly discov­
ered we’d need more.
Much more. So I reached
into the large vat they
supplied and scooped out
a fistful like a drag queen
slathering on cold cream.
Fortunately it was
warm and our hosts lived
just a few blocks from
the disco, because walk­
ing through the streets of
a foreign city in very lit­
tle clothing with sticky
goo all over me made me
feel a bit like a hooker at
New Mexico.
the end of a busy night.
Once inside, we encountered a giant inflatable
pool in the middle of the dance floor with a Willy
Wonka-like tube suspended from the ceiling, out of
which poured a flurry of suds. In the froth, dozens of
dancing, shirtless men laughed (because, of course,
you can’t shimmy in suds without smiling). Stepping
in, the first thing 1 felt was a couple of inches of cold
water around my ankles. (Dancing in foam is like
sloshing in a sink full of Ivory Liquid.) The second
thing 1 felt was a lovely Latino boy rubbing his rear
against me. This was my kind of party—and, suffice
to say, what happens in foam, stays in foam.
As 1 frolicked in the froth, the lather level would
sink (just as I was getting a rise) and the machine
would kick in, sending another burst of bubbles
cascading over us. Often the floor got so filled with
foam, it was like being smothered in cotton candy.
As suds reached my chin, I'd raise my arms and
begin waving them overhead—the way you’re
instructed to do in the event of an avalanche.
Finally, stepping out of the foam, I discovered
that the Vaseline was gone and my skin was as dry
as sandpaper. Lesson learned: Next time, bring a
replenishing supply, because I was chapped and
chafed in places I’d have a hard time explaining to
Marc.
But that’s what I get for being Out Going. ©
FLOYD SlCLAVER wan« to know about your event.
E-mail him at floydsklaver@comcast .net.