From down the beach, we could hear Annie’s unmistakable voice, “Sing, my sisters, sing.”  And hello—the sisters were doing it for themselves—and singing was just the beginning.  It was Winter Party Beach Party 2008, on 12th Street Beach, and Joe Gauthreaux was in the booth.  And sisters—and brothers—by the score were passing under the three successive flamingo-pink entrance gates.  Turquoise pylons supported roof trusses woven together like a turquoise-and-white placemat framing a photo perfect sky.  Yellow Winter Party Festival banners flapped in the breeze.  The dance floor was PINK!  And every sister had an opinion—“Better than last year,” “Not what I imagined,” “It works for me.”  It was Miami Beach Technicolor.  It was Hollywood’s idea of the Beach in turquoise, yellow, and flamingo pink—and as if to complement set design, there was Holly, circuit diva extraordinaire, on a box—showcasing a new outfit every hour—from Miami Beach matron to tennis-ball-nippled Brickell socialite.

Everyone was there!  Seriously, everyone was there.  No, really—EVERYONE was there.  It was the most social Beach Party, the most gregarious bunch of boyz and girls.  It was a big long dancing gabfest—with the most sublime musical journey as accompaniment and complement.  It was gay Winter Music Conference, with music peeps and deejays—Manny! Warren! Wendy! Randy!—schmoozing and kissing.  It was a six-hour celebration of fifteen years of progress—because the first Winter Party in 1994 was to help defeat an anti-gay amendment—and even though much is still not right for us, there’s much good that has happened in those fifteen years, thanks in part to the Dade Community Foundation and the Task Force. 

And those volunteers—  Those ever-gracious volunteers, so helpful and cheerful—and adorable.  Our sisters, and brothers—working to make it better.  Because, think of it like this: there are 1,318 federal benefits denied us by denying us the right to marriage—and that’s just one issue.  So it matters, this party, this Winter Party Festival—and it was right to celebrate—where we’ve come from and where we’re going.

And that’s where Joe G. came in.  He led us on the journey—from where we were to where we are.  He took the baton from Alyson Calagna who’d played the Pool Party the afternoon before—and he ran with it, hitting musical markers all the way home.  It was a kind of tag-team challenge.  He threw down “Make Me Work,” as if challenging the crowd to join him—and we did.  There was “Big Love” back and forth.  It was a crowd of beach-combing pleasure-seekers washed ashore for the day.  It was Goa; it was Ibiza—it was Winter Party 2008. 

And it was in the details.  The girls from Macy’s passing out Shiseido SPF 55—to keep those noses and faces as gorgeous later as they are now.  And the beanbag chairs under the parabolic tent and the couches in VIP and the go-go boyz with their costume changes—from Undergear to Aussiebum to rainbow-toweled Carmen Mirandas. 

Everyone was happy.  The weather was flawless.  You could stand on the staircases or the bleachers—and stare out at the ocean, the cruise ships sailing out to sea—and then remember you were already there: right where you wanted to be with everyone you wanted to see.  And that’s when Joe G. threw down “Let’s Get Together”—and that’s when it happened: the complete coalesce.  Everything coming together for that perfect moment—a song-long moment where everything was perfect and euphoria reigned.  The sun, the boyz, the music, the peak—it doesn’t get better—   “Never felt like this before.  Oh, let’s get together.  Oh, let’s get together now.” 

But it did—get better.  Another whole hour of better—when suddenly Robert Shaw of the Task Force got on the mike and asked, “You want another hour?  Another hour of Joe G.?”  And the crowd roared, as if an answer were necessary—and on we went, dancing on the beach with complete freedom and abandon, as the sun set behind us on Winter Party Beach Party 2008.