by Donnie Jay
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
Grand Marshal XXXI Follows the Yellow Brick Road and Why We're All Over the Rainbow!
As you all know we are in the midst of the pre-Southern Decadence season and Miss Rusty La Roux has gotten it off to a whirlwind of a start. Following the announcement of her selection by "Irish" Mike, last years SDGM XXX, at the Parade, she led a rather large contingent of celebrators on a bar run the covered the entire French Quarter and Marigny bars. As she has stated it is her main goal to bring the Decadence celebration to all the people within our community, men, womyn, transgendered, asexual, gay, bisexual and free thinking straights. All the people from our very richly diversified community.
With this is mind; she decided we should visit our gay brothers and sisters in the burbs. She rented a limo bus, and beginning at Chet’s Pub in the Marigny she began her journey with assorted friends. Then it was on to the Voodoo Lounge on Rampart Street to pick up more of the revelers. From there they headed to The Scottish Scottish Rite Temple to pick up the Diva (not The Big Diva, that’s Phyllis), but none other than I, where I was appearing in Charles Ludlum’s Bluebeard. I brought with me both my angels, the good one Mathew and the bad one Rob, more about them later. So with the press, her court, assorted friends and past Grand Marshals in tow we headed for the yellow brick road (I-10 that is) and headed toward Metairie. The music was playing, the conversation flowing, we were in great spirits and ready to party the night away. Miss Love had somehow manage to wrestle the microphone, the one they usually use to sell unsuspecting tourist all kinds of bullshit, away from the driver, and was proceeding to try and sell us all some of her bull. Needless to say she received almost as much back as she was dishing out. Laughter prevailed, as she got off some good one-liners as only she can. However the biggest joke had to really be our driver and his navigator, who just happened to be his son. They had no idea where they were headed, in fact I must confess that I don’t think they ever had heard of Metairie. As far as I could tell they somehow thought it was somewhere either north of El Paso or south of Key West or maybe in-between. I can only thank the Good Witch Glenda for seating Rip and Marsha right up front, where they could direct our course, or I would most likely be submitting this column from somewhere in Mexico or Canada.
After a rather confusing ride we finally were headed in the right direction and actually could see our first stop Angle’s on Causeway. We could see it with no problem, however getting to it was another thing. A series of left hand turns seems to be out of the mental grasp of our driver, until someone shouted out that we were going right next to Double D’s, the titty bar, at which time he executed the route with much finesse and swiftness. Alas we were in a great need of libations after the long twenty minute ride from the city, why no one had thought to bring some beverages along is beyond me and cheerfully assembled outside the front door of Angle’s, awaiting the blowing of the whistle and the Grand Marshal to lead us to sanctuary.
The whistle blew. We all flocked in and were greeted with a wild ovation and welcoming arms. The bartenders were gracious and quick on the draw serving us with breakneck speed. They also managed to introduce themselves and bothered to learn all our names, quite an amazing duo these two. The manager, Bruce, who was also the DJ that night started playing Rusty’s Decadence theme song, we all got up and danced. Even some of the womyn joined us on the floor. The party had begun. The spirit of Decadence had arrived in Metairie. We were having such a great time it came as a shock to a few of us when the Grand Marshal’s whistle signaled that it was time to move on. Our forty-five minutes had passed all to fast, as we said good-bye to everyone, I couldn’t help thinking what a great group of men and womyn we had encountered. We headed back to the bus chattering and laughing. There sat waiting Dumb and Dumber, who didn’t seem too happy that we were going to leave the Double D parking lot. They must have been waiting to catch a glimpse of something through the black doors. There is no accounting for the heterosexual male libido, actually at my advanced age I have come to realize they are only good for procreation and the occasional fantasy they may impart on my gay brothers.
Rip gave the driver detailed directions how to use the overpass across the causeway to our next destination, the 4 Seasons, and then took a head count. Our entire group had not arrived back on board as yet. We were missing one person, he glanced from seat to seat to see who it could have been, then realizing it was Miss Love, gave the driver explicit directions to close the door and move on. Just as the driver was about to do so, Miss Love bounded up the steps into the bus and blurted out "You’re not ditching me that easy you mother f——s!" The entire bus feigned surprise that she hadn’t been on board all this time.
Why is it that the passing of time seems to be directly related to the activity in which you are involved? I mean think about it. If you are doing something that you are totally enjoying, like getting it on with that sweet hunk you met at the gym, it just seems to fly by, you’ve got to admit that, something as simple as a piece of cake just doesn’t seem to last long enough. By the same token while you're sitting in the dentist chair waiting for the drill to start whirling, time is at a stand still. Let’s just say that the five-minute ride toward the lake seemed to take about an hour.
But the grand funk I had fallen into, listening to the navigator/son’s continuing changing of the bus’ radio stations, fell from me like one of the Diva’s gigantic eyelashes, as my feet hit the ground, just outside the a-frame building that houses the 4 Seasons. Warm memories flowed over my entire being, bathing me in delightful sensations, for this had been my home bar for the six years I had spent living in the suburbs. Assembling outside the door awaiting the traditional whistle blowing to signal the arrival of SDGM XXXI, my mind drifted lazily over my rather sordid past. I remembered the first time I had stepped past this doorway; long before the present owners Chuck and Bill had it. I remember when Kitty Blackwell first opened these doors and proclaimed it gay for today and gay forever. Frankly we never thought it would work, thank the lord we were proven wrong, but more about this later. The Grand Marshal is blowing her whistle and we are entering the bar.
Half the customers knew what that sound meant and began clapping and shouting their accolades for the visitors from the city. Most of the other half looked on in stunned silence, I think that some had feared the sound of the whistle was the beginning of a raid or some other police action, and the rest, well, I think they were log cabin republicans. But it only took a few minutes for us to start circulating and enlightening some of them to what was taking place and they almost to a person warmed up at once. Of course Rusty in her wisdom realizing that we were cutting into their cruising time ushered us outback to the patio bar, cleverly called The Outback. Here the crowd was livelier, a little younger perhaps but they already had their party hats on. People in our party spotted folks they knew from the Quarter and I saw a few folks I hadn’t seen in years. We mingle, we talked, we sang, we danced, we drank and I’m not really too sure but I think I draped myself across the pool table offering myself as a substitute for one of the holes. Finding no takers, I pulled down my pantsuit legs and demurely headed to the bar. Heavens were my eyes deceiving me or could it be? Was that man behind the bar one of my favorite bartenders from the Double Play? My stars, it was Toby. He knew exactly what I wanted, but he gave me a Michelob Ultra anyway, so I settled for satisfying my thirst and not my lust. Rusty blew her whistle about an hour or so later and we all headed to the bus, our next destination, the Rainbow.
I will not describe poor Rip’s ordeal in guiding us there. Let it suffice to say that driving in the maze that is Fat City for our driver was akin to asking a first grader to solve a set of algebra problems.
Rainbows is located in one of the many non-descript small shopping malls or strips that dominate this section of Metairie. The parking lot was full and the place looked warm and inviting. Not having ever been there we all disembarked the bus is a flurry of excited chatter, we like new experiences as much as anyone. We got a few wolf calls from some of the girls in the parking lot and joked back with them in a good-natured exchange. I believe it was Javier who opened the door for the Grand Marshal, I followed them in. Glancing back I noticed Rip and Marsha were not with us, it seemed odd at the time. As our group began filing in I heard words being exchanged in front of me. The doorman was asking a cover and someone was explaining we just wanted introduce the Grand Marshal of Decadence have a drink and be gone. Now it is not the point of the five-dollar cover that sent us flying, but rather the attitude. For the doorman’s reply was and I quote "I don’t give a f— who she is there’s a five dollar cover." I was sure that the wicked witch of the west had taken possession of the doorman’s senses. Madame Grand Marshal was so incensed that she blew her whistle for departure before we ever arrived. Javier being the gentleman he was stayed behind trying to handle things diplomatically. He must have succeeded for he waved for us to come back, but as we had called for the bus and it had arrived we boarded to go on. Madame had been insulted and we all were well OVER THE RAINBOW!
As fate would have it several days later I received an e-mail, announcing that the Rainbow was bringing Decadence to Metairie, announcing their forth-coming parties for that weekend. Well to the owners there, I found out it is owned by straights, SDGM XXXI tried to bring Decadence to you and was sharply rebuked. I wish you well in all your upcoming Decadence events. I only hope that somehow you can capture the spirit and essence of loving debauchery that goes along with this wonderful celebration of southern gay life.
Once upon the bus, somehow the driver and his son even seemed gay friendly, which tells you the bitterness we left with, we headed for our final destination, Masquerades.
Upon entering Masquerades it was as if we had clicked our collective heels three times and had been magically transported home. Yes Dorothy, there really is a land over past the Rainbow, where all the natives are friendly, playful, welcoming and gracious. This place just has a feeling of real about it. The customers here were an electic blend of men, womyn, races and cultures. We hadn’t been there fifteen minutes when it seemed like we knew everybody on a first name basis. The gals were dancing with us and we were exchanging all kinds of tips and gossip. The men were hot and extremely friendly. They put on the Grand Marshal’s Decadence theme song and everyone in the place was moving to the Latin beat. Miss Love took to the stage and so began an impromptu show, that proved to be if not professional in nature, lively nonetheless. Now Masquerades is connect to a restaurant and suddenly our hosts were passing around homemade hogshead cheese, some of the best I’ve ever tasted. Nor did they stop there. Johnny and Sal truly you are both the most hospitable of hosts. They placed trays of finger food on several tables. The shrimp ring was incredible. The veggies and dip divine. You truly brought our night in suburbia to an outstanding finale. We spent quite a bit of time here, but as it goes in life all things must draw to a close. Most reluctantly we drug our sated bodies one by one aboard the bus and headed home.
I’m not sure who it was but someone on the bus started singing. It may have been one of my Angels. During the evening I started to realize that my good angel wasn’t as good as I thought he was, and my bad angel was even better. But that’s another story.
As we approached the city a voice started singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow. A chorus of voices shouted out "We sure are!" Enough said, the Grand Marshal suggested we sing ONE LAST SONG, anything other than that.
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