By Alex Distefano
By Scott Snowden
By Anna Merlan
By Steve Almond
By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
By the way, add George Clooney as a downsizer/consoler in Up in the Air and you've got a trend, especially if you want to also throw in that real-life Army psychiatrist in the news lately (though that guy only got our attention because he allegedly went on a psycho shooting spree and killed 13 people—and no, the military didn't approve that.)
Atlantic City's Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy is finally waning, thanks to the way they've started actively reaching out to the gay market in the new depression. First came September's "Weekend OUT in Atlantic City" and, just the other day, I went on a casually fun "Trump Rainbow Fall Fam '09 Weekend" to the Taj Mahal. Someday, they might even say the gay word, but in the meantime, I'm going to keep plugging AC as the most accessible place for shopping (the town has a strip of outlet stores with sales so alluring even Levi would buy something to put on) and glitz (the Taj's color-changing lobby chandeliers are like the three biggest drop earrings in the world.)
In that hotel's arena on Friday night, the "Freestyle Free for All" concert trotted out an array of nostalgia acts reprising their hits a few pounds later, from Stevie B ("Put your legs—I mean hands—together and sing along!") to Judy Torres ("This is for the chunkies but funkies in the house!"). And the out-of-left-field but somehow de rigueur Michael Jackson tribute dropped into the middle of the concert—complete with the all-too-appropriate young dancing boys—passed the white-glove test; it was immaculate.
Back in New York, it's frustrating to be the gayest person in the queerest city on earth and have to wait for same-sex marriage to even get to the floor of the State Senate. Of course, they're not rushing it for fear it'll be voted down faster than my last bid for refinancing. And even if it goes through, the populace might get to gleefully line up and vote it right back out à la California and Maine. So all we can do is keep pushing and waiting and hoping that, at some point in our lifetimes, we'll get to go to my—well, my friends'—weddings, wearing the same awful outfits as straight people do at these things.