So it's New Year's Eve and we're cabbing over the causeway from South Beach to Miami with a passive-aggressive driver who's singing The Wanderer at the top of his lungs and I'm thinking about our friend who died in his helicopter two days before and our cat who's in the hospital in New York and wondering if we're doing the right thing in going to the party called Scandal at the Convention Center at the Hyatt -- because Alan F. went to this convention center for a party once and said it wasn't all that and also because Scott(y) thinks we should be at home with a few select friends sipping Veuve and so does legupnow, and also, isn't New Year's Eve all about amateurs anyway -- and the cabbie swerves into the InterContinental and says, Okay, boys, have a good night. This is NOT the Hyatt -- and so we're off again into the traffic and it's nearly midnight -- and I'm thinking, Well, this is swell -- trapped in the back of a cab with a lunatic at the stroke of midnight. Won't this be the perfect way to end this suspect year?

But no, we make it inside the dark chambered black and blue lit convention center at the Hyatt and it's still minutes before midnight and Abel's at the helm and Sting is singing that song which is kind of moody eerie and we walk around and see what's to see. It's not a bad convention center, the seats steeply raked, and comfortable, too, and there's no omnipresent security, and there's a main stage with two ancillary stages for a mezzanine- like view of the floor and instead of a mirror ball a kind of carbon sphere geode for laser refraction -- okay so I don't know what it is hanging overhead.

We're on the floor dancing and it seems like it's coming onto midnight, or should be, and there's a cheer going up from the floor -- but that's it? This is the new year? The big moment? Well, so be it. Everyone around us starts kissing -- and then, a countdown starts from the stage and there's this young man with an electric violin who proceeds to
play Auld Lang Syne -- and it's incredible. He's like the Emcee from Cabaret, slightly depraved, slightly sinister and very sexy.

And when he's finished, to wild applause, Abel comes on and welcomes us to the party and it's maybe one of the few times I've heard his voice and it's sweet and gentle and I think about that.

And then it seems like the party swings into gear and I think about what Josh said about how it is to be on the floor at the start of a new year, surrounded by people you've spent the year dancing with, partying with -- and so I slip off my ring and give it to Robert -- for just a minute, just to summon up Josh and Doug. (Point made: Give me back my ring.)

And then, we see him -- our It Boy's boyfriend. He's dancing on one of the ancillary stages and so we're off across the floor because if It Boy's bf is here, that means our It Boy is here too -- and just then, I see him, in one of the most private moments imaginable, our It Boy blowing a kiss off his hand to his bf on the stage -- and that's it.  Therein is the tone established for the party. It's all about romance. It's going to be fine. Seeing that most heartfelt kiss blown across the floor -- and I shouldn't have seen it, it was way too private a moment, but I did, and I love that I did, and Robert wishes he had seen it too, but he didn't.

And now it's all good. We're dancing and there are loads of familiar faces now that the Veuve houseparties are breaking up and the boyz are arriving in droves and Abel is taking us through the year that was, hitting the peaks, and there's a snippet of Bette Midler singing, "I'm beautiful, I'm beautiful. Damn it." And it's true -- no matter what the red states might think -- and we're in one of them now -- it's a beautiful community. Then it's "How Would You Feel" and there's the boy who sold us our tickets at the Surfcomber and now he's in rep tie and black opera gloves with a Dior handbag -- and he looks good and he's feeling it.

Then it's Dean Martin. Dean Martin singing Jingle Bells. And on the stage, there are six hottie Santas and six fierce Santa elves and Dean Martin gives way to a song which totally is eluding my addled mind now, but it's one we all know -- and these twelve dancers work it out, rip it up. Maybe it's the New Century Dance Company, that group that sometimes does numbers with Power down here, but whoever they are, they know their shit. They remind you how to move your body.

For a while, we're sitting in the seats, ringside, and thinking about how this kind of party is the gay community's equivalent of a sporting event. We sit in the seats and watch the action on the floor. Who needs basketball players? We've got these incredible boyz dancing the night away. And also, sitting in the theatre seats, it must be something in the gene pool, the way gay men sit and cruise, their legs wide apart, waiting and sniffing out the possibilities.

Then it's showtime again and Miss Kitty Meow in Scottish plaid and peacock feathers returns to Miami and shouts it out for Deborah Cox who tears into her sequence of anthems from the past four years and you're thinking about all the times you've heard these songs before and where you were when and who they remind you of, and Junior comes to mind, of course. Even in Miami, she's still haunting you. And Deborah's such a pro -- she works the big gesture and the boyz are loving her, and especially when she's doing Easy As Life and the glitter bombs and confetti cannons explode over the crowd.

We're leaning on one of the stages, looking over the crowd, watching our boyz -- when Ohmigod, there SHE is, it's NURSE. She's here with ggg hubby Paulo. And we wave and she comes flying over, her mouth moving at the speed of light and we're lucky to decipher five words, but they're the ones which count: Happy, happy New Year, baby. She's such a forcefield of energy and we're dancing with her and her posse--

And there's another production number with pimp daddies and crack hos and damn if Iforget what song that is too, but again, it's one we've moved to all year and all around us, people are laughing and we run into Steven Gomez and tell him it's a great party and give him thanks and he's such a gentleman, thanking us in return.

And it's then that I'm thinking yes, this is a very good party, and how even in a convention center you can let go of your defenses and the floor in this one vibrates so nicely, there's a give beneath the feet, so you can feel it moving to the crowd, and also when you're in the bathrooms, at the urinals, you can feel the floor shaking, and it's nice to know there's so much energy at work, so many boyz and girls working it out, getting rid of the old and letting in the new. Getting ready for a fresh start. Bring it on, it's going to be better, so much better than before.

And we pass by our It Boy and his bf and for the first time, we hear them speaking, hear their voices, and their voices are as gentle as Abel's, gentle and lighter than we might have supposed, seeing them, watching them -- and it's somehow reassuring to hear those gentle voices.

And then, there's a single woman on the stage. She dancing alone and something seems
familiar, vaguely familiar about the song which is just emerging from the background. And then you realize, OHMIGOD, it's THAT song. THAT SONG OF THE YEAR. Oh, God. Do
we want to hear it? Is it really?

YES, IT IS. And there's Power (who must've just left Junior's party in New York, or else is getting ready to leave in minutes) and Flava and Kitty and each one of them with a team behind them, and the three divas are kikiing and then, oh God, there she is, Miss Chacha Herself, Jeanie Tracy -- and there's no hope now, we're all in this together, the song of the year, damn it, there's just no point resisting. And then Steven Gomez is on the stage doing his own version of the chacha, his own Brazilian chacha, and from then on, it's a big break it down free for all.

Oh, yeah. Happy New Year. So maybe 2004 wasn't everything we'd been hoping for after valentine's Day hit and so many of us raced to the altar, and maybe the elections slapped us upside the head and also the planet got rocked off its axis, but guess what, we're still dancing, and I know what Larry Kramer says about that, how we're all wasting our time, not moving forward, but I don't know about that. To look around a dance floor
and to see so many people moving to music which hits you inside and makes you feel right and good, I just don't see what's the problem here. This is part of life too. If more people danced, if more people worshipped at the altar of music, if more people laughed and smiled -- and blew kisses at each other--

We left at seven a.m. and mercifully we got a cabbie who was calm and quiet and as we crossed the causeway, back to South Beach, the sky was streaked with pink and orange as a new day started.

Happy New Year. Happy 2005.