Manhattan, From The Moon

Last weekend I made my second ever excursion to Brooklyn. My beloved Farmboyz and I met up at Grand Central, where they arrived tan and full of their typically debauched stories from their Barcelona vacation. Less than an hour later, we emerged from the G train (G? There's a G train? Who knew?) in Brooklyn's Clinton Hill neighborhood for a pre-Brooklyn Pride party at the new home of our pals Neil and Bryce.

The party turned out to be a mini-redux of the recent Manhattan blogger confab, only this one was more on the bear side, including notables such as SuperDaddy , Habitat67, and the always glamourous Foxy (who is not a bear, definitely not). I had the pleasure of meeting the lovely Jennifer (pictured), who DJs at Brooklyn's Cattyshack.

At one point during the party, most of the guests were enjoying the fantastic view from Neil & Bryce's rooftop and I gathered in a corner with the other Manhattanites to discuss the apartment below us. Massive? Yes. Beautiful? Check! Waaaay cheaper than Manhattan? Oh dear god, YES. We compared our various rents for our teeny Manhattan studios versus the rent on the sprawling apartment below us as we gazed into the distance at the tip of the Empire State Building, barely making itself known. I bet you can guess what we decided.

The party was rockin', the boys were clockin', and somebody was knockin' back an entire bottle of Maker's Mark and had to led, tottering, out the door by his patient boyfriend. But not before an impromptu Spanky And Our Gang greatest hits singalong. Lazy (hazy) Days, indeed. The party was such a hit that nobody seemed very interested in actually going to Brooklyn Pride, ostensibly the reason we were there. The Farmboyz and I decided to trek out into the wilds all by ourselves and find the parade.

After a long walk, a cab ride, an unscheduled bathroom/beer visit to what may or may not have been a lesbian bar, we arrived at a traffic circle just off of Prospect Park, precisely as the parade was stepping off. First to pass, parade dignitaries. Then the gay policemen contingent, all three of them. Then a couple of other small groups. With the rest of the crowd on the sidewalk, the Farmboyz and I leaned forward to look up the street for the next group. Whoops. Sorry, that was it. The only 45 second gay pride parade on record, I'd reckon. Kinda hilarious and sweet, really. We joined in the crowd following the "parade" up the street and within a few blocks, wouldn't you know that the crowd had swelled to almost a thousand people? We had a blast just marching along.

Hunger finally drove us to abandon the parade and we took an outside table at a restaurant on the route. Before our order was taken, a cute young thing passing by took a fancy to the Farmboyz and vaulted over the railing to sit with us. By the time our meals had arrived, several other friends of his had drifted past our table to chat, including one handsome young man with a case of Corona on his shoulder. As he chatted with his friend, I sort of drunkenly reached out to trace the line of the young man's muscular chest, straining the confines of his wife-beater, as it was. I withdrew my hand before reaching his chest, realizing what I was doing, but the young man only smiled and pushed closer to me, saying, "Oh, you can touch me anytime, Daddy!" Sweet lad. Knew how to make an old man feel good.

Declining the pleas of the young men to join them at a party Very Conveniently Located in an apartment above the restaurant, the Farmboyz and I began a long search for a taxi back to Manhattan, cursing ourselves for being in t-shirts and shorts, as the temperature had fallen below 50. Riding across the Williamsburg bridge, we marveled at how great Manhattan looks from Brooklyn. Yet, I reminded the Farmboyz of what my late Manhattanite aunt had once told her Brooklyn friend. "Yeah, well I'm sure the Earth looks great from the moon, but I don't wanna live THERE either!" I wonder what she'd think about the Brooklyn of today.

UPDATE: The Farmboyz' Father Tony gives his take on the day.
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