Just as in life, maybe for all of us on the circuit there are moments when we take all that’s happening around us just a little too much for granted.  Maybe all that visceral sensation can’t register; maybe we know what to expect and want and wait for it to happen: the peak, the climax, critical mass – and meanwhile, it’s already all there.

We came home to Manhattan last night, after a blissful eight days on the Beach, and we were adjusting, unpacking – and then Robert uploaded one of the video clips we’d taken at the Pool Party on Saturday.  A brief three or four-minute clip in the center of the party, taken on the sidelines, the boyz going crazy to Maya’s “First Time” – and we were mesmerized.  Suddenly, at a miles-and-days distance, it was as if we were seeing it again, for the first time.  All that we are, all that the circuit is, all that energy, the beauty, the community – and we were left speechless.  Standing there, unable to move, now back in our Other Life – but feeling nothing so intently as our connection to the circuit.  It was beautiful.

Maybe it’s a good thing to miss a party once in a while.  Last year, we missed WinterParty because we were in Florence (did I mention we were in Florence, Italy?) and so maybe we were more hungry for all that South Beach offers: the sun, blue sky, the salty aquamarine ocean, and, this year, in addition to all the delicious snowbirds and sun bunnies, two gay cruises leaving from Lauderdale, with their passengers spilling all over the Beach – and everyone there to party.

Wednesday night, at the Surfcomber, there’s Movie Under the Stars.  Free Bacardi Bar (Hi, Drew!!!).  Think drive-in for gayz, with chaises instead of cars.  Everyone facing this huge screen with perfect sound, and cocktail waiters and the palm fronds waving like fans.  I must’ve misread the program – I thought we were seeing “Guys and Dolls” but no, it was “Guys and BALLS.”  Thank God.  Relief.  Much more fun to see European twinks and queens attempting to kick a soccer ball in the name of tolerance.  And all around us are these gay boyz cuddling on their chaises, hands working beneath their blankets.  And what with all that free booze, it’s not long before we’re schnittzled.

And so on to Score, where there’s major renovation – before WinterParty?  Hello? – but Todd and Don from Toronto are there, and they know so many boyz – we see them all week long with an ever-increasing beauty posse – and the next night, they’re at Shine for the deejay showcase, but we hardly notice anyone – because there’s this other boy.  He’s a volunteer – at least for twenty minutes – but then he’s dancing in front of the speakers, and then, atop the heart chaise in the center of the dance floor, his VOLUNTEER shirt circling around his head like a ceiling fan in high gear – and that’s not all that’s in motion. 

We lost our It Boy this year.  Five years he was our It Boy, but this year he disappeared from the circuit.  That happens.  You see them for a while, party after party – and then maybe the circuit swallows them whole.  They’re gone.  So maybe our It Boy went to Buenos Aires or maybe Smithers.  Maybe he’ll return.  But until then—

There’s this new It Boy.  Our new It Boy.  At Shine, the photogs are fixated on him, capturing him.  He dances with abandon.  He dances like he means it.  He’s got that energy, like a bunny.  Nice bunny.  He doesn’t quit.  He’s insatiable – and he’s got these eyes and you could trust him, but maybe you shouldn’t.  See for yourself at: http://circuitball.com/cb_gallery/ (WinterParty2006, ShineShelbourne, photo15)

Anyway, we have to get out of there.  We have a closet being installed in the a.m. – but once that’s done, by Friday evening, we’re ready to hit the Fashion Show on Euclid and Lincoln.  This is the cultural part of WinterParty week.  Love that – WinterParty culture: a parade of undies.  It’s very cultural.  Of course it is.  The models wearing little bits of 2(x)ist undies and pulling those little bits of cloth lower for the camera – and poking out too, as Josh points out.  Josh and Doug are directly across the catwalk from us, and Josh is not letting one minute of this spectacle pass by unnoticed by his videocam.  And especially when Quentin Elias takes the stage to perform his latest dance single.  The manboy can move his booty – and when he rips off his shirt, it’s clear he’s serious about inciting the crowd.  And Elaine Lancaster is working the Lincoln Road catwalk in hair and  plexiglass heels high enough to reach top-shelf liquor and the boyz are nearly naked and as Elaine says, “It’s another night in South Beach.” 

And oh, that sun, and the sky, so blue.  It’s Saturday morning and there are two mourning doves building a nest in the palms beyond our balcony.  It’s Love Boat Pool Party day, with Joe G. at the helm.  Montreal is the sister city host(ess), and she goes all out with the decorations.  Nautical flags and twisted inflatables and pretty boy scrims – though Joey Cumley says it’s the same as last year.  So jaded, that one, at such a young age.  No wonder someone stepped on his toe and broke his nail.  He has to go to MedEvent and get it taped and while he’s in there, flat on his back, he hears someone walk by the tent and go, “Oh, my God, Joey Cumley fell out again.”  Whereupon Joey leaps up and shouts, “I DID NOT FALL OUT.”   

It’s packed when we walk in at two p.m.  Another flawless day in boy paradise.  Joe G. has the dance floor at the end of the pool packed.  Boyz, such boyz.  This is such an easy party.  The meet and greet, schmooze cruise fest.  And it’s more crowded than usual.  All the balconies overlooking the pool are open and set up with little cabana tents and chaises and bars.  The mezzanine for this pool club, perfect for mesmerizing vistas.  And they’re tossing Admiral’s caps by the dozen into the crowd and soon it’s a sea of officers and sailors.  Last year was Doncha year at WinterParty, and Joe G. lets out a few Donchas, and a bunch of other songs which make the boyz jump.  It’s an afternoon party and he’s got his patter down perfectly.  The sun is high and the boyz too and the crowd’s energy so contagious you have to dance.  And oh, my God, there’s Joe Caro.  Joe Caro in South Beach.  Joe Caro at the lip of the stage.  He’s got good news to tell us – and not just that he’s heading off to another cruise – provided he makes it back to Lauderdale by tomorrow at eleven. 

It’s the kind of party makes you love summer: when the day seems so long and everyone shows up.  Doug and Josh on the floor, and there’s Hilton, and also the Other Half of our former It Boy couple.  He’s a trouper and even more a looker now.  And deejay Patrick Forrett arrives with Ernie Sauer who looks around at the crowd and says, “God, I should’ve taken more heart medication.”  And Ric Sena with his bf and Tony and Beau, and a guy named Turbo who says, “Sure, take my picture, because right now I’m dealing with this asshole.”  And the bartenders are sweet and the drinks too and there’s a ship on the horizon but no one in this crowd is leaving until the last song plays.
http://homepage.mac.com/markandrobert/PhotoAlbum1.html

And even then, there’s a long lazy migration – through the allee and the Surfcomber lobby and along Collins and Lincoln and Luiz goes with Dave to the Delano where he leaves the room for ice and can’t remember the room number he left and so he knocks his way down the hall, “Excuse me, excuse me, have you seen—“  He can hardly remember Dave’s name and later walking into the terrace door, he smashes his sunglasses.  The moral: have a back-up pair.  And seriously, how can you live in South Beach and not have at least four pairs?  

For the first time in years, Saturday night is free.  Maybe it’s a good thing.  There are house parties all over.  We head to one which becomes The Laundry Room Spin Cycle, filmed by ChiChi LaRue.  Which leads to an early night, which means climbing into bed with Circuit Noize and reading Scott(y)’s poignant article about his conversion from Mormon boy to circuit boy, and then Robbie Leslie’s memoir of the Saint and its mission – to make all of us dance for joy, in the name of our history. 

And it’s no wonder we wake feeling happy – for it’s Beach Party Sunday.  We cab to 14th Street beach, where there’s a two-blocklong oasis in white with tiki huts and bamboo scrims and billowing white fabric, and Phil B. is making this sandbar his own.  The floor is already packed.  And Jason Walker is on the stage – apparently singing on his knees.  Or no, it’s just that the stage is buried in the sand, six feet under.  Or else the performers got small, or else the audience got tall.  But as Joey Cumley says, Jason Walker’s performance is riveting, even if you can’t hardly see more than the top of his head.  That boy don’t need no jewelry; that boy can sing.

And there’s Ari Gold and Billy Porter, such the sweetest couple.  And Billy fresh from his engagement with Kate Clinton the night before, and Ari radiant because he knocked Madge from the top vid spot on Logo online.  And Manny Lehman happy too, from his Friday night score at Space.  And then there’s the cops harrassing one of our boyz outside the party – and we’re all standing there in the loo line, waiting with bated breath, hoping they’ll let him go, as they search his every possession and make him take off his shorts, and then, whew, he’s set free.  But without his wristband.  Buzzkill.  Ewww. 

And then back at VIP, Phil B. comes racing into the bathroom, cutting the line, saying, “It’s okay, right?  Let the deejay pee?”  And someone in the urinal next to Phil B., who’s laying it out after storing it for three hours, this guy goes, “Say, would you mind playing—“  Hello?  No requests to the deejay.  And Robert says to Phil B., “So it’s probably not a good time for a photo, right?”  Right.

But it’s such a good party.  The sun high and bright, not a cloud in the sky.  Kim English doing her thing – also on her knees.  What’s with these performers?  Are they all three feet tall?  She’s singing from a sand pit.  What’d they do, dig a hole and push her in it?  Note to NGLTask Force for 2007: Fill the hole, build a stage.

And there’s Joe Caro again – he made it to Beach Party, after all.  His first time to Miami.  “I can’t wait to hear what you think after you’ve had time to digest it all,” I say, and Joe Caro looks at me and says, “I can tell you right now, I’ve got indigestion from riding all over this sandbar.”

There’s 5400 of us on the beach and it looks like this:
http://homepage.mac.com/markandrobert/PhotoAlbum3.html

And when the sun sets, we don’t want to leave, and neither does Ric Sena who’s carping on the phone, “Six p.m.  No, the floor is packed – but it’s over.”  But there’s no reason to quibble – because Victor’s up ahead. 

Victor at Crobar, it’s like the old days.  That’s what Doug says when we slam into them upstairs.  It’s after one, barely, and there’s no other competing party, nothing at Mansion/Level/Paragon/Salvation.  Tonight it’s nothing but Victor at Crobar and there’s a line out front, halfway down the block, and inside, it’s so crowded, the upstairs floor is packed and the balconies almost impassable, and guess what, everyone’s eating it up, because Victor is on.  This is Victor on the Beach.  The other side of Victor at Black Party.  Victor home from Ibiza and Tel Aviv.  Victor who’s soaked up the South Beach sun.  Victor who’s pouring it on, without stop and no one’s letting up.  It’s hysteria, it’s contagious, it’s wonderfully out of control, and for a long while, we’re lost in it.  We’ve lost Doug and Josh, but we’ve found our It Boy.  He’s banging on the box right to the left of the booth – and we’re there, grinding below him because that’s what he does.  That’s what he does best: he makes it so you love what you’re doing, bumping with your boy.  He’s an inspiration, a vision, and he’s falling back into his buddy, his arm flung around his neck, with a hand slipping down, deep into his jeans, and he closes his eyes, slipping deeper into joy.  That boy, those boyz, the endless delicious hedonism of it all.  We can’t stop dancing.  It stays so crowded, so densely crowded, so sticky slick steamy crowded, and still we can’t stop.  This is what we came for, what we waited for, what we want, what we need.

Which is just what we feel about the whole WinterParty week.  Oh, yeah, and here’s the link to the little vid clip which let us live it all again:
http://homepage.mac.com/markandrobert/iMovieTheater5.html

Thanks to all the volunteers, in excess of 300 apparently, and all the 5400 who partied on Sunday at the Beach Party, and to the Task Force for continuing to fight for our rights.  You come home from a week like WinterParty and you can’t help but wish for the world to be more like the one we make when we’re all together.  It’s all about the love – all we’ve got to do is keep it on.