Valley of the Shadow of Death

Last Saturday night, feralboy called me up just as I was ready to pop in a DVD and call it a night. We decided we would go to the Valley and check out the gay bars there. Ever since he moved to LA several years ago we have been planning to do this. He wanted to check out the scene, and I was going more as an anthropological study of sorts.

We end up going to two bars: Oil Can Harry’s and Fu/el. Harry’s was a very interesting place. It had a very country western feel to it that just inundated your senses with kitsch. So much so that it sort of induced nausea and diarrhea simultaneously. To boot it was disco night, so you had a bunch of aging fags trying to relive the entire Donna Summer experience.

There was this one guy on stage that could quite possibly be my grandfather. He looked like he was having a blast dancing with his arms in the air and eyes closed. Which is good for him. Totally enjoy life and all that, but if I ever get to that point in my life just put HCl in my brain immediately. At least I know now where they put all the old gays out to stud. (And don’t get me started about the crazy lessie with the tambourine. Yes, tambourine.)

Over at Fu/el, it was a little more comforting in a way. I can’t believe I would ever describe a cheap West Hollywood knock-off as comforting, but after Oil Can Harry’s well… The boys there were prettier, but there was a huge problem: there were only 15 people there. So I’m just led to believe that in the Valley people just can’t handle West Hollywood.

That leads to me to something else. Since I haven’t been in West Hollywood in years, does this mean I can’t handle it either? Have I just resigned myself like they did to a different part of the city content to never go back? Am I that weak? The answer to all of those questions is a resounding “YES”, but the odd part is that I just don’t really care. So I’ll just lead my lonely existence trolling Manhunt for sex and being quite comfortable in the ghetto that is Echo Park.

One final item to note: it was freezing that night. And by freezing I don’t just mean that is was cold. No. It was literally freezing. I slipped on frozen gutter water getting back into the car. I don’t know what’s happening to the weather in LA, but let me just say that I choose to pay a higher cost of living than most people in America so that I don’t have to deal with weather like this. And for now, I’ll just blame the bone-chilling weather on Canada and John Basedow.