Twenty-five years ago this month, the Saint opened in New York. As much a philosophy as a club, the Saint was Bruce Mailman's vision of a tribe of the most beautiful and well-connected gay men – and Mailman might be interested to see how his vision lives on in Ric Sena's Alegria. To walk into Crobar at three-thirty a.m. on the Monday of a holiday weekend is to be confronted with the sheer excess of beauty in this town. The Saint was so well-known, as well as notorious, that people from all over the world flew into New York for an opportunity to party with such staggering beauty – and the same thing is happening now with Alegria at Crobar. The most beautiful males, in all shades and sizes – a wall of beauty, comprehensive beauty, from their heads to their toes. Think of all the photographers whose work on the male subject you've admired – from Bruce Weber to David Morgan, to George Platt Lynes – and imagine all their subjects set loose in a club for sixteen hours. The mind reels. Such a smorgasbord of beauty – it's enough to make you lose your breath.

And yesterday morning was no exception to the standard established by these parties. It was a rough week, for everyone, and we wondered how the events of this week would impact the general atmosphere of this party. Could Ric ever have imagined how his theme – Construction – would mirror what's now needed in New Orleans? There was no line outside Crobar at three-thirty a.m., only a big security guard who smiled widely and said, "Have a good time" as we passed through the velvet ropes. And another security guard who told me I smelled good – well, actually, he was talking about the woman in front of me, but I'll take a compliment wherever it lands.

Inside, we paused in the Reed Room, and took deep breaths – before plunging into the white tunnel and into the Big Room – and there it was, that famous wall of beauty. My God, but it's incredible when you see them all again, as if for the first time. All the Alegria family. The ones you don't see the rest of the month. The ones who just seem to materialize for this party – or else descend from the heavens.

The set: construction mannequins scaling safety netting, and flashing construction lights and bartenders in highway repairmen vests and hardhats and MEN AT WORK signs and the unmistakable ALEGRIA mirror ball sheathed in silver scaffolding. And Abel working Cokina which is working the crowd and it's right to be hearing this song as we make our way upstairs. And there's Chris/Legup, and his hottie boyfriend Dennis, and we jabber and do the circuit boy rock from the skybox and blow kisses to Joey Cumley who's on the floor surrounded by a hottie posse. And it's really crowded and so we dance on the banquettes so we can see over the sea of beautiful men. It doesn't matter how many times we've taken in this view – from the skybox over the crowd to the staircase beyond; it's our version of a scenic vista on the highway. We love looking at the boyz, the mass dancing together as one. Nobody parties like the gays – and these are the professionals. Yeah, this party costs more – but you get a beautiful club, well-maintained and well-staffed with polished behavior and you feel safe without feeling your freedom is compromised and you get set design and lighting and you get the entire beautiful cast – and you get Abel.

We were wondering how he, too, and his choice of music, would be impacted by the events of this past week. And, dare I say it, it seemed to us that we could detect a little Sander Kleinenberg in Abel's set on Monday a.m. Perhaps Sander left a bit of his own good karma there, from his set at Crobar on Friday evening, but something about what Abel was playing, and how he played it, reminded us of Sander's CD from last year, "This is Everybody, Too." There were moments, more like minutes, when Abel would bring it all the way down, until there was only a beat, and the lights focusing solely on the other Alegria ball, the one unsheathed in scaffolding, and for a moment, it was as if the world slowed down again, the Alegria world and the world beyond, and there was something slightly elegiac in the air -- before gradually, so gradually, Abel brought it back up and off we went again to the races.

We wandered into the Prop Room for a bit and caught some of Dudu Marques' set, and he seemed to be turning it out for the boyz in there – but for us, we had to be back in the Big Room. It's fun to chill for a bit in the Reed Room (where the A/C was in full blast) or wander through the back hallways and into the Prop Room – but it's always about returning to the Big Room to see what Abel's churning up.

A performance of Doncha. Robert caught the opening chord and then it was a long intro so that you didn't even know it was "that song," which has maybe become "the song you think you don't really want to hear again," but something about what Abel was doing with it, the way he was stretching it out so that you weren't really thinking about the lyrics, just catching the beat instead, and not seeing the Dolls in your head, but just letting the beats move your bod – and then, onstage, there was this massive showgirl/dragqueen with a mane of blond tresses to rival Rapunzel and she worked that number with three construction workers, thereby erasing all other less-energized performances from your memory banks. How could you not hear this song, the song of the summer, at the traditional end of summer? It all started three months ago, with the Pier Dance, and Alegria Greatest Pride thereafter, and now, here we are, Labor Day, and
Doncha's another song of the summer about to be put away for the winter.

And then there was that Spanish guitar— Another song that reminded us of something from Sander and then Abel brought it down so low that there was only this Spanish guitar – and the lights were so low, it was almost pitch inside the Big Room of Crobar and only the Spanish guitar echoing above the buzz of the crowd and how could you not take hold of the boy you love and give thanks for where you were.

What was so incredible about Abel's performance yesterday was how it seemed to us that his music was so totally one with the space. There was no division between sound and light and space. They all flowed into one holistic experience – bound together by Abel's music, the lifeblood of the party, the pulse that kept us all moving, fueling us with joy.

And so many pretty boyz. The one from last weekend at Junior's who wandered around with his dick protruding from his open fly. Such a young boy and such a big one. And the one from the gym who uses the locker room as a catwalk. And around seven-thirty or so, a whole bunch more fashionistas and diva boygirls who might just have been released from Junior's Klear. And Mother Juan Aviance. And yet no matter where we looked, we didn't see Joe Caro. It worried us. It wasn't raining – and so we knew he wasn't sifting through the garbage looking for his clean laundry. And we infiltrated Asian gangs but we didn't find him sandwiched on the floor. And we didn't see Ric either. But then again, that's how it is with Alegria: it's a parade of beauty and if you look to the left, you miss the one floating by on your right.

We wanted to stay all day. The way Abel was playing, how he was charting our journey. He would keep us moving and then let us slow it down for a little – before cranking it up again. He was trippy and atmospheric, eerie and haunting, even as he was infecting us with his Latin-tinged beat. And even as Simone Denny's Cliche came on and we were heading out the tunnel, I was thinking, We should stay another hour. Or at least for this song. For maybe a little longer. I kept wanting to dance more but it had already been six hours.

And so we left at nine-thirty, out into a brilliant September morn, and it was fine. Because that's the thing about Alegria, there's another one on the calendar. And while all good things come to an end, just as the Saint did, for now there's Alegria – and we cherish it.