We're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy

After days of resisting the urge to prematurely unleash our costumes on the general public, Amy and I finally got introduce New York to J.F. Gay and Jackie Ho. Halloween in New York City had finally arrived.



Even though we completely pulled off my original concept of being a warped version of iconic figures, we paled in comparison to the elaborately costumed demons, sluts and board game characters we encountered at the Village parade. Unfazed, I roamed around the various floats and crowds with Amy as she shot any and all interesting costumes that passed by, and what a spectacle that was. The best costumes were the ones that made me go, "How'd they do that?" This is the most sterling example of that:



But after two hours or so of non-stop shooting and crowd-shoving, Amy and I were tuckered out and needed a breather. So we grabbed burgers at the Broome Street Bar and parted ways shortly thereafter because she'd been on autopilot since 7 AM, running errands at work. But the night was still unbearably young — the clock had just struck 10. It was time to meet up with Joey for the gay portion of the evening.

I head over to Chelsea to meet up with him at his friend Steve's apartment. Steve is in fact the 50 (60?)-something friend of Joey's aunt, a retired Broadway actress I have yet to meet but seems absolutely fabulous; the ultimate gay aunt to have around in New York City. To say that Steve was a character is an understatement — he's not just a character, he's a whole friggin' movie.

Witness his remarkably put-together Elvis costume, the vintage drag Judy outfit he found for Joey and his immaculate, horn-clad living room.



Steve is one of few remaindres of the dying breed of gay men (literally — his husband is tragically due to die of cancer any day now...so so sad) from the late 70s heyday who summered in the city and partied at Studio 54 and had crazy, coked-out nights in Hollywood with Halston, Raquel Welch and Truman Capote. He tells stories in such a theatric, Robin Williams-in-Birdcage way that I wouldn't have believed him if he didn't have the photo album (all Polaroids, no less) to prove it. He even dished on one of his celebrity conquests. I won't name names, but let's just say he has a rather key role in a film often associated with midnight showings around Halloween...

So anyway, Steve accompanied me, Joey and Sean out to Avalon in the West Village. The trip there was probably the most fun I had all night. While my Jackie Ho/J.F. Gay combo might have had low impact to the paraders, the cumulative sight of seeing me, Joey as Judy and a middle-aged queen dressed as Elvis was a huge hit with random passers by (nearly all of whom seemed to be tourists, in fact) who stopped to ask us for pictures. Never have I posed for so many strangers' cameras before. Now I know how the real JFK must have felt...

After Steve finagled our way on to the guest list at Avalon (where he and his husband naturally once performed a show back when the venue was still a church.."they had to desanctify it, darling"), he offered us up to the club kids for the rest of the night because "I'm 50 years old [crickets], I don't like sweaty clubs and my husband's about to die any hour. Be safe, kids."

A hilarious yet melancholy note to start an evening of debaucherous dancing, but there was a dramatic shift in tone as soon as we entered the main floor and saw this spectacle:



She's not in this picture, but Amanda Lepore was there, grinding upon a rocking horse to the beat of some truly skanky house music. I said to myself, "You know it's a New York Halloween when you end up at the same club as Amanda Lepore." It's easy to think that this could be the modern equivalent of a Studio 54 or Michael Alig Party Monster bash, or at least a direct replication of all the parties I dreamed of attending during my teenage years after seeing them in the pages of Interview and Paper.

It was an incredible night, definitely one for the memory books. I observed much more than I participated, which was the bulk of why I enjoyed myself so much. I could've been one of the numerous glitter-caked boys in briefs and angel wings at Avalon, but instead I danced my minimal cares away in a dead woman's shirt (thanks Grandma Mitten!) while twirling a truly flamboyant ascot around on my finger. Isn't Halloween grand?