By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
This is a terrible segue, but over at the Roxy, the city's best doorman, DEREK NEEN, found it touching that the queens had to wait to get in because a favorite bathroom attendant had just keeled over and died in the loo. (No, not on the bowl like Elvis. Shut up!)
Roxy still owns Saturdays, and the other best gay night remains Sunday, especially within a certain foofy five-block radius. The Maritime and the Park are both still filled with glammy cuties, Avalon's staying in the game, and now Probe (at Glo) has been trying to cut into the actionnot overly dazzlinglymaking one wonder if Sundays will explode from too much gayness. That would be the worst.
Hey, the worst! I didn't include any worsts! This could be a whole new hopeful beginning.
Wide-awake patrons at Bed
photo: Willie Davis
The lousiest recent judgment call was OLIVER STONEblaming the failure of Alexander on his having made the title character so queer. First we're held responsible for the fucking election and now we're being blamed for the failure of a lousy movie! The oddest expression of sheer gratitude was so-white-you-could-ski-on-her AMBER FREY's recent comment "I'm thankful there was me." Second opinion, anyone? As for a certain wildly overexposed socialite, in solidarity with Daily News columnist LLOYD GROVE, I vow to never mention her again, even if she cures cancer. I'm willing to take crazy chances like that.
Finally, the worst media omission has been leaving out the best allegation against Jacko: That he'd lead the boys in prank-calling people and asking, "Does your pussy stink?" His does.