40
voices >
JULY 1,2011
Remember when M T V ’s The Real World was
• relevant? Yes, I’m convinced that was a real
time that actually existed, long before R W casts
Daniel, Meet Daniel
devolved into shirtless, vapid drunks. No, I’m
lady about town I
not your grandfather and I’m not demanding
that you kids get o ff my lawn. Think pre-Andy
BY DANIEL BORGEN
Cohen and the relentless Bravo machine, pre-
WWW.JUSTOUT.COM
scanning the crowd, searching for his boy
friend. I sauntered up to him, managing to
refrain from creating a spectacle. No small
feat— I’m sort o f known for a spectacle. Once,
I was so elated to see Sleater-Kinney at an in
store record signing, I tripped during my ap
proach, dropping all I held, spilling the con
Nostalgia is at times subtle and quiet,
back again, procuring a stack o f copies for
tents o f my man-purse all over the floor. Like
myself and a handful o f sweater-folding co
the band, Danny was gracious, patient— and I
icking onscreen were, ostensibly, the smatter
sometimes harsh, always compelling
workers. From there Danny was trimmed and
finally got the snapshot I always wanted.
ing o f token gays gracing Real World seasons.
us to remember, to scrutinize.
framed.
For Pride, a couple o f old, dear friends visited,
sometimes more potent or harsh, always com
Pedro in San Francisco and ending, I’d argue,
Roberts.
aesthetically
to partake in the weekend’s big gay festivities.
pelling us to remember, to scrutinize. It mas
in New Orleans with Danny Roberts.
pleasing— but he represented much more
One o f them, Gino, worked alongside me dur
querades as a visit from old friends who dis
than another fantasy notch on my made-up
ing my retail heyday and knows better than
tract you from current worries, even reminding
celebrity bedpost.
anyone my preoccupation with The Roberts.
you who you are. W ith said friends, time in
Will and Grace— at least before it really became
gay. Before that, the only homos we saw frol
Call it the compelling gay arc— starting with
The Real World: New Orleans (the first) hap
pened over a decade ago. Perspective: We had
Obviously
he
was
Nostalgia is at times subtle and quiet,
just survived the (non-)apocalyptic Y2K de
Danny weathered religious oppression (re
Come Pride Saturday evening, still aching from
evitably passes, but it can feel, albeit briefly, as
bacle, had no idea we’d stare down the horrors
member that peculiar, hip-hop loving, super-
an all-night feathered theme party (really) the
if it’s frozen. Nostalgia can mean stumbling
o f 9/11 and W. was still months away from
Catholic roommate who repeatedly declared
night prior, I marched my cohorts to Blow
upon members o f your favorite band or meet
being appointed president. It was the year
Danny hell-bound?) and famously brought
Pony. They had no idea the glorious monstrosity
ing and greeting a revered, accidental gay icon
2000 and, looking back, we seemed wholly
attention to “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” W hen his
awaiting them; I think Blow Pony could take
like Danny.
naive and innocent. Remember all we thought
military boyfriend, Paul, was on set, Paul’s
up five city blocks and still boast lines 200 deep,
the new millennium would bring? Well, it did
face remained blurred throughout episodes.
endlessly wrapping around corners.
bring us Danny, the blonde, clean-cut, all-
And we witnessed a strained family dynamic
American gay who came out to the country
when Danny’s Christian kinfolk visited.
Whether or not said icon abhors his old
moniker doesn’t matter much. He still evokes
Outside on the patio, standing shoulder to
seemingly simpler days, ones before digital
shoulder with the usual suspects, acquain
recorders and on-demand gratification, times
I so related that I had a framed picture o f
tances whispered Danny’s name. Wearing
when I’d hole up in my apartment on a Satur
him that traveled with me from abode to
vodka goggles, I squinted— looking, but sure
day morning, watching a dozen episodes o f
I was a young, idealistic gay, convinced
abode. Ever a sucker for tangible proof o f ob
they were wrong. No way, I thought. What the
his show back to back. And I still have that
folding jeans at the Gap was the most presti
jects o f my affection— signed Sleater-Kinney
hell would he he doing here? Sufficiently lubri
photograph— it’s moved from prominently
gious job in the city. Having recently come
record, autographed Rufus Wainwright pho
cated, I decided to march up to the mystery
placed frame to refrigerator door, an obscure
out to my hyper-religious family, I dealt with
to— I trust the tactile as a stopgap when
man at whom half the bar pointed. (Not that
part o f a larger collage o f pictures and post
the rough aftermath by drinking, cavorting
memory fails me. The month Danny graced
me marching up to a stranger at a bar is some
cards. I doubt I’ll ever throw it away. J#]
with gentlemen, fancying myself an indis
the cover o f Out magazine, I sprinted from
arduous task.)
pensable fashionista and watching Danny
work to the bookstore across the mall and
during his inaugural van ride to the Belfort
. Mansion in New Orleans.
Northeast Health Center 5329 NE MLK Jr. Blvd. 2 Floor
It was, indeed, Danny Roberts, impatiently
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