Hearsay

Lizard Lounge, Cobalt, and Ziegfeld's


Published on February 26, 2004, 12:00am | Comments

It's a Beachy Keen night at Lizard Lounge...
Cobalt's second anniversary lights up 17th...
Dazzled by drag at Ziegfeld's...

Before Hearsay could have one last gasp of Sex and The City last Sunday night, it slithered over to Lizard Lounge, where it partook in an annual pre-Rehoboth ritual known as Sand-Sifting for Roommates. Because Hearsay's usually too busy watching others go through the motions of sex in the city, Hearsay hadn't had the chance to go through the motions of getting a house for sex on the beach. Putting Hearsay in a decided minority during all three hours (what is this, Les Miserables?) of the annual Rehoboth Beach House Rush & Reunion Marathon. You see, those hawking beach houses for rent or share (identified with blue name stickers, usually with their beach abode's address) far outnumbered those little chickadees seeking beach abodes (identified by red tags). Politically speaking, having far more blue gays than red is expected, but ChazzKandy” Korn said it was the first time in his many years of attending the rush that beach house-holders outnumbered beach house-seekers. The reason: Rehoboth's hot, hot, HOT real-estate market, where many gay Washingtonians bought secondary property in the past year, in part due to Washington's own overheated market. The result: “It's like being a top with a ten-inch-dick in a gay bar, where everybody's after you,” said a positively gleeful house seeker, clearly not accustomed to the dynamic. So it was a buyer's market, like being a Big Fish (or a Big Fag) in a little pond (or in a little Jacuzzi). But whom to sugar shack up with? Well, Scott “Everything's Coming Up” Bloom's house actually has a Jacuzzi and a prime location just stumbling blocks from the venerable Cloud 9. Speaking of stumbling, Kevin “Hawaiian Shirts Are Back In Fashion” Morris gave a disquisition on just how long it would take Hearsay to get home from the bars from his Rehoboth beach berth, depending on whether Hearsay took a direct route (10 minutes, give or take), passed out in the gutter on the way home (30 minutes, maybe longer), or tricked with a boy in another house (anywhere from eleven and a half minutes to 72 hours, depending on the quality of the boy). Only later did Hearsay read the fine print about Morris's house rules regarding tricks: “Get ready for huge amounts of humiliation and ridicule once the guy is gone!” Charming. What a supportive group. Marc “Hold the Pickles” Yesberger and Steve “Capture the Flag” Leraris definitely had the best house guidelines: “Wear only small swimsuits and never last year's model,” “Shower alone only when absolutely necessary,” and “You may have as many guests stay in your room as required for a standard porn film.” Hearsay likes Marc and Steve. Kevin “Grand Old Prognosticator” Ivers and Meyer “Emco” Persow exhibited more photos of their property than anyone else present, and of course they did. Their pool, surrounded by greenery and chaise-lounge chairs, must be the perfect spot for a frolicking sunning party, with a large DOUBLE-headed outdoor shower in a rock garden that must be the perfect spot for an Herbal Essence orgasm, especially if the hunky boys come with it. But Mario “Soya Fabulosa”  Acosta-Belez had the best classified notice about his “tastefully decorated by marvelous landlords” house, with its “beautiful earthen ceramic tile floor” and “large bright bedroom with private Evita balcony.” Hearsay bets Acosta-Belez has lip-synched from that perch, maybe a little Peronista serenade to hottie housemate Ruben “Prime Argentina Beef” Yano, who also happens to be a Cobalt bartender. And speaking of Cobalt…

Hearsay had Rosie “Taboo Busting” O'Donnell on the brain last Friday night, and it wanted O'Donnell in the liver, too. Who knew Cobalt's 30 Degrees Lounge had a cocktail named for la Tulip? Bartender Nick “Old Reliable Cock Tale Shaker” Thompson knew it, naturally, though he admits he hasn't tried the flavored vodka times two plus Crème de Cacao concoction. “I stick to beer,” he said. In fact, no one behind the bar had tried Rosie's rose-colored water, so Hearsay opted for its usual Crème and Scream drink from Thompson, whose -- wouldn't you know it? -- “milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.” Grinned Thompson, “I've never had any complaints.” Hearsay bets he hasn't. But is it better than Ashley “Apple Brown Betty” Wright's milkshake cocktail? Hearsay thinks perhaps not. Friday night Ash, as he's known to his close personal associates, was floating around the bar, without the fire body paint that burned up the already scorching bartenders. That night's Fire Party -- followed the next night by an Ice Party -- was in honor of the club's second anniversary since reopening… well, two years ago. All hail to Eric “The Donald of 17th Street” Little, who brought the club to its current glorious, must-be-seen-at-with-absolute-regularity state. And, incidentally, did you see the new Blue Dancers? There was David and Bobby, the twink could-be twins who filled the white-cloth columns surrounding Cobalt's stage at one point. What a fabulous performance.

     Rosie was nowhere in sight at Cobalt Friday night, but another famous lesbian was -- famous in this political town at least. Chrissy “Push My Belly Button and My Hair Grows” Gephardt radiated as much modest Midwestern optimism as one would expect from Big Dick's daughter. She was at Cobalt with a gaggle of her girls, all seeming to have a good time with the predominantly boy crowd, many of whom were taken to whispering and pointing as she walked by. “Isn't that…?” “Isn't she…?” “Do you think she'd sign my penile cast?” Robert “Capital Pride's Birthday Boy” York was whispering about his past weekend in New York, hanging out with Carson “Can You Believe I'm the Fashion Guy Wearing This Loud Shirt?” Kressley and Kyan “Shhh…That's Not My Real First Name” Douglas of the Queer Fab Five. Yes, York's always thinking and scheming for Pride, and he's set to make this year -- his fifth at the post -- the queerest and best yet. Some people were already on their walking way by the time Rachel “Penne” Panay sang her affirming new club tune, “The Walk of Shame.” By that point, both Matthew “Film Fanatic” Cibellis and Steve “I Look More Like Bruce Willis than Tom” Sellick had already bid adieu to the blue space. But Daimeon “All I'm Missing Is U” Pilcher was there till nearly the end…

On Saturday, Hearsay wobbled into Ziegfeld's, where it was dazzled -- and it means ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY DAZZLED -- by a bevy of powerhouse performances, particularly from the queen impersonating Cher and the one impersonating Celine Dion (sorry, Hearsay can't keep track of names when it's had more than one Cherry-Vanilla Cosmo). One name Hearsay never forgets is that of Ziegfeld's legend Ella Fitzgerald, who remains one of the best showgirls in town and is without question the funniest, most outlandish hostess of any drag show on the East Coast, and perhaps, the West Coast as well.

Ella brought the house down with her one-and-only “Show me your Pussy” routine, even though her hand-picked audience member refused to show anything more than her panties. Hearsay was going to barge onto the stage and ask Ella to show us her pussy as well, before suddenly remembering that Ella's got a Mister down under. It's so exquisitely well-tucked, though…


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