![]() ![]() It's the moral opposite of Boys in the Band." It manages to charm even when the homoerotic talk turns raucously explicit. the laughs grow to explosive proportions." ![]() " undeniably clever and entertaining.a lot of fun is had by one and all, including the audience." "I haven't laughed this hard in years, and neither has most of the audience." I can't recall the last time I heard an audience laugh so loudly and for so long.forget the millennium - this is the real Party of the decade." "The funniest play to hit London in the 90s. a crowd pleaser.the laughs grow to explosive proportions." Los Angeles Times undeniably clever and entertaining.a lot of fun is had by one and all, including the audience." a Christmas Card snapshot of a happy extended family." And then, just before speeches began at 7:30, nature gave everyone a goddamn rainbow."One of the most uplifting and affirming representations of gay life on any stage ever." ![]() On the mile-long loop around the lake, smiling volunteers offered other items: Target passed out gallons of bottled water handed me a paper bag containing a candle and tissues 1-800-Flowers had donated over 22,000 carnations a random old lady gave me a silver Hershey’s Kiss. One of their number later rewarded those lucky enough to find a seat with blessings of glitter cast up and down the aisle. The Sisters carried that resolve forward into the amphitheater where the vigil was centered, receiving a round of applause as they entered with fists raised to the heavens. Wearing an emerald blouse and navy skirt along with the Sisters’ signature white grease paint and a glittering veil, Starry Eyed assembled glow sticks and separated freeze pops as she shared her message to the community: “We’re here, and we’re not going to stand for this sort of thing.” She was part of a contingent of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence who were preparing for the evening’s vigil. Mid-afternoon, I encountered Sister Starry Eyed on the patio of a Panera. This, I later learned from the locals, was a turn of “Balcony Bingo.” While the man did not take the square, he did remind me that wanting to fuck is a legitimate and common response to tragedy. In fact, friends of some of the victims desperately hoped that their loved one had been doing just that when their phones started buzzing last weekend.) Around 3 p.m., a less charmingly weathered man walked by my window and stopped to stare at me, aggressively, for a full 20 seconds. (One does not stay at P House, I later learned from locals whose faces soured when I announced my accommodations, though one may certainly play in its sprawling compound of bars, dance floors, and performance spaces. They debated trying a back route through a store parking lot, but I declined-faced with the opportunity, there was something about the idea of going too close to the core of this disaster, this violation of hundreds of bodies and millions of minds, that unnerved me.Įarlier that afternoon, I was working in my room at the Parliament House, a charmingly weathered gay “resort” in an otherwise desolate section of town. A turn was blocked by orange barricades, the patchy street beyond them stretching into the shadows. I’d feel this first hand later that Friday night, when some new Orlandoan friends tried to get me to Pulse by car. ![]()
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