The Roxy Rollerblades Onto Gay Cable


The Roxy was the legendary roller-rink-turned-gay-dance-club that happened to be where I spent most of my formative ’90s. (I mean the decade, not MY 90s. Hush.) Well, having gone kaput last year, the Roxy has now become—no, not a Starbucks or a Chipotle, but a documentary! On Logo! Airing Saturday August 16 at 8PM, the film will look back on the shirtless, sweaty gays dancing to music that sounded like random dental drills, while a fruitier crowd enjoyed the upstairs swirl of kitsch and cruising.

Was the Roxy an ancient Greek symposium of arts that elevated our culture every moment it existed? No, in fact it was mainly an exercise in nipples–from the pecy guys on drug combos to the bosomy drag queens who rampaged around the place until their tits made the guys’ look inadequate and they were suddenly not welcome anymore. But the place was fun, girl! And I’m in the movie—this time commenting about something I actually know. In fact (see above), I was such a part and parcel of that joint that I was on the fucking drink tickets! And back then, I even used them!