A Night With Alicia Keys, John Mayer, and Diddy!

Gambling on being satisfied by ham on wry; finding sex outside of the city.

And speaking of the gays, no matter how opulently tacky a resort is, they always seem to think a queer club on the premises—or even a weekly gay night—would be just too vulgar. But we finally dug up an actual gay bar in the charmingly rundown town of Atlantic City—the West Side Bar & Lounge, which is a comfy, wood-paneled lodge-like place with a David Lynch–ian feel, courtesy of some entertainingly rough-and-ready drag queens, a writhing male dancer covered in baby oil, and a campy bartender drowning them all out with wisecracks. The head of the drag pack is Lady Labelle—yes, that's one more tribute to Patti—who impressively grabbed tips with her mouth while lip-synching a Mariah Carey tune. And thanks to the all-night liquor licenses in A.C., she can do that till about 7 a.m.!

Back in the city that used to never sleep: Sex and the City is supposed to be a chick flick, but it's really tailor-made for men; it's about the universal need to forgive guys for the ways they fuck you over! Sadly, there's not much explicit gay stuff. There are two surprise gay smooches (one between two lonely flamers who are the only ones unattached on New Year's Eve) and a quick shot of a guy in high heels (who's weirdly presented as a freak). Oh, and Carrie and Miranda are mistaken for lovers by a waitress who must have heard about Cynthia Nixon. But though the rollicking first half is way better than the corny second half, I submitted to it all, unlike my friend who thought Jennifer Hudson's character should have pummeled Carrie with Pilates equipment. (Let us confess our wrongdoings, etc., etc.)


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