Flamed

I have written before about the events for Fireflag, the gay firefighters group, at Ty's bar on this blog.

A couple of weeks ago they had another event. There is, as I have said, a buffet, and for five dollars you can enter a raffle in which the prizes include a substantial amount of cash [at least $100 and generally more].

There are guys who come in, stuff their faces with food, and never buy any tickets. The issue that some customers wouldn't be around for the drawing was addressed: consider the five bucks a donation they were told [I mean you're getting good food]. Or give your tickets away. If you know somebody in the bar, given them your tickets and ask them to let you know if you win.

Well, at this particular event one of the Fireflag members sat by the buffet selling tickets. A few people slipped by while he was getting ready, but he told everyone else that they had to buy tickets before they ate. I thought this was an excellent idea and told him so. "It's an uphill battle," he told me. And this for the gay firefighters who risk their lives ... ?

Suddenly two guys I had never seen before rushed up to the buffet, grabbing plates. He told them the buffet was only for ticket holders. The first guy started screeching at him that he "gave every month" or something along those lines, even though I had never before seen him at a Fireflag event or even at Ty's. He became hysterical, and even called the fireman a faggot. Then the other guy who was with him snapped at the same fellow I hope your house -- or the bar, I foget which -- burns down.

Lovely! Talk about bitchy queens who need some valium -- or therapy.

Some people go berserk when they see free food [or an open bar]! The night before the Fireflag evening I had been at a wonderful event given for the 30th anniversary of the Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation. [No, I was not one of the old wrecks they were preserving!] After awards were given out to notable village establishments and individuals, there was a reception up the block at the Forbes Gallery. Inside the lobby there was a table of food. I went in the other room to get some wine and when I returned the table was absolutely surrounded by people -- mostly seniors -- three deep who were gobbling everything they could get their hands on and wouldn't make room for anyone else to get a nibble. I said to a young lady watching this spectacle; "You'd think they hadn't had a decent meal for weeks!"

Luckily, as this was the 30th anniversary, the Society went all out, and there were not only two open bars with every kind of top shelf liquor imaginable, but waiters came around with trays of delicious appetizers, so nobody went hungry. It was a Class A event.

Now most of the people gobbling up everything on that table were straight, but I bet they wouldn't have paid a measley five dollars for all the free food and booze,either. It's not that the people at the Society gathering -- or the men at Ty's -- can't afford it, but there's just something that makes people go crazy when it's free. I know of at least one man who goes to every free buffet at every gay bar he can find, even though he has plenty of money and goes out to dinner two or three times a week. No, he doesn't give five dollars to Fireflag. Fuck him! [I mean even Larry, the wonderful guy who makes the food every month, buys tickets!]

I guess it's human nature, and not especially a gay thing. But I do wish that some of the hungry tightwads at the Fireflag events were more supportive of the organization and their gay brothers.

As for those two screeching queens who made such a fuss. Happy Gay Pride, brothers -- and go to hell!

Thanksgiving Horror Stories

Turkey Day reminded me of thanksgiving dinner parties I went to quite a few years ago that were hosted by a man I'll call Horatio.

Horatio was as gay as a goose -- he was basically what is known as a "brittle queen" -- but when he was in his forties he got married to an 80-year-old woman - I'll call her Betty -- who had been a close friend of his late mother's. Horatio wasn't trying to fool anybody or become an ex-gay -- although I can't say he ever had much of a gay identity -- the marriage was simply an exchange of favors. Horatio would take care and look after, be a companion to, his aging wife with the understanding that he would inherit her 12 room apartment and her money.

I missed the first Thanksgiving day dinner Horatio threw after the marriage. I was told it was a disaster. Despite the fact that his wife was loaded, Horatio had an old friend, Hedy, who had fallen on hard times, use her food stamps to get the turkey and trimmings. I am not kidding! An altercation broke out in the kitchen when Betty wondered why Hedy was packing away all of the leftovers in her bag. "I paid for the fucking food!" Hedy was said to remark.

Well, you would think that I might have known better, but I decided to go to the dinner party the following Thanksgiving, primarily because certain friends and other interested parties had also been invited. I thought it might be a hoot. I might even get dinner.

Horatio was a lousy host, mostly because he didn't give a damn. You were given a drink -- yes a drink -- and then had to hunt all over the place for the liquor bottles (on a table in the kitchen) so you could pour yourself another (even if you had brought your own booze). The turkey was bone dry, and served sans gravy or wine to wash it down with. The stuffing was the cheap stuff out of a box. There were never any hors d'ouevres to nibble on as you waited for dinner, something to nosh on so you weren't drinking on an empty stomach. It was as if Horatio essentially had contempt for everyone there and wasn't going to put himself out for us peons. You had to eat fast and get the fuck out!

You see Horatio apparently came from money, or at least wanted people to think he did. His "marriage" was an act of sheer desperation. No one on the planet would have ever thought the man was heterosexual. He had a superior air that was really the product of a deep, deep and overwhelming inferiority complex, relating to his sexuality, his "obviousness," his status in life versus where he'd hoped to be, and probably many other factors.

But that's not the strangest part. The really weird thing was that Horatio had an obsession with stuffed animals. No, not cuddly toys stuffed with cotton, but animals hunted, killed and stuffed by taxidermists. Horatio was not a hunter himself, but he filled the entire apartment with dead animals, covering the walls with them, every single bit of counter space, every table top -- everywhere you looked there were glassy-eyed critters to give you the heebie jeebies. I turned my shoulder at the dinner table and found myself staring a moose in the face. Out in the living room there was a rattle snake beside my cocktail. Little furry things literally took up every spot imaginable. Right inside the front door was a life-size grizzly bear! [I am not making this up!]

And the place stunk to high heaven.

I swear, when you got off the elevator all you could smell was a stench like boiled cabbage.

I went to these parties two years in a row mostly because I enjoyed some of the other guests, and especially the comments they made on the way out of the lobby. They were hands down the worst dinner parties I ever attended -- with the worst food, the cheapest booze, and the least warm and welcoming host I have ever encountered.

Still, when he got a little drunk Horatio could be fun, and I think he was forgiven a lot because of that.

He got Betty into a nursing home as soon as possible, but after her death, while he stayed in the huge apartment, he did not act like a wealthy man. I think Betty had left him rather cash-poor. There was something strangely pitiable about the fellow. But he was a character.

And that's better than nothing.

FIREFLAG -- and Cheap Gay Men

The second Tuesday of each month the local chapter of the gay firefighters, FIREFLAG, meet and have a party at my favorite bar, Ty's, on Christopher Street. There is a buffet with wonderful food made by Larry, and a raffle in which the top prize can be a couple of hundred dollars. You can go up to the buffet more than once; all that the guys from FIREFLAG ask is that you buy a few raffle tickets for a measly five bucks. [You would think that they wouldn't have to ask, but they do.]

Some guys go up, stuff their faces with three or more plates of food, buy one lousy drink (without leaving a tip) and never buy any raffle tickets.

Talk about cheap! Talk about not supporting our gay firefighters!

Some guys will give the excuse that they won't be around at 11 PM or later when the raffle takes place. Bug fucking deal! The tickets are only five dollars, and the food (especially if you have three to-the-brim platefuls!) is worth a lot more than that. [And whether it's hot dogs with potato salad or something fancier it's always delicious.] These guys could certainly support FIREFLAG and help pay for the food with a $5 donation. Most of these guys know one or two people who will stay for the raffle, so they could always hand them their tickets and say "tell me if I win anything." Or they could just give the tickets away [as many who can't stay late do] and say "if you win, you win." [Which is what I would do if I couldn't stay for the raffle.]

I have a friend who talks about "cheap gay men." He's not saying that all or most gay men are cheap; he's referring to friends and acquaintances of his whom he knows have plenty of income but are tight-fisted with the cash -- I mean five dollars to support a gay outfit and get several plates of food! Even if you didn't have something to eat most people could spare five dollars.

Some of these guys may be senior citizens on a fixed income [but it's still only five dollars and free food!] Yet some of them worked hard all their lives, have plenty of savings, no children or grand-children to support or spoil, and no serious financial worries. So what's up with them?

I mean we're talking five dollars!

And supporting a gay organization made up of fuckin' heroes.

Okay, Freudian slip. Some of these gay firefighters are quite attractive. [There's one cutie pie I've been after for two years; not that it's likely I'll ever get him. When he tells me to hold out my arm so he can measure off the raffle tickets I get a tingle. Sue me.] I'm not a firefighter groupie, believe me, but firemen have to be in good shape, after all.

It's unfortunate that one of the raffle prices isn't a date with a firefighter. They'd collect even more money than they do. [One of the prizes is $20 towards your bar tab. That would last me about an hour.]

But, as usual, I digress.

Anyway, if per chance you head over to Ty's to support our gay firefighters, buy some raffle tickets, have some food, enjoy some inexpensively priced cocktails, and generously tip Gary, Donnie, Jesse and the other wonderful bartenders.

And no, they're not paying me to say this!

Ciao. Or rather, Chow!