I have been an enemy of television in almost all its forms and a person so allergic to gay bars that I'd find it hard to list three, even in the Sodomite capital of Gotham. Yet there I was, on a rope line, inside a queer club, a member of a hopelessly exposed queue winding back through a crowd of lesbians. We were secretaries from the Island and hotties from grad school, dyke daddies from Harlem, tourists from anywhere. We wore pinstripes and tank tops and those heavy silver rings that are the dyke equivalent of... More >>>