An attempt at a slightly anthropological study of the gay bar scene in NY, finale.

And by anthropological study, I mean I went out and had quite a few tasty cocktails, and decided to write about it.

Final Night.

After a few underwhelming days in New York, I decided to give my last day in this city another shot.  And while most of my day had virtually nothing to do with the gay scene (until the end, which I will get to), my faith in this city was restored.  I still don’t hold any glamorous views of what this city is—it’s just a big city with a lot to do.  But I most definitely had fun doing it.

I started my day off with shopping.  A lot.  I bought shoes.  A lot.  And I bought clothes.  A lot.  And then, when I was done shopping, I went shopping again.  And just when I thought I was done, I decided to shop again.  It was glorious, decadent, opulent.  And lots of fun.

After a full day of shopping—we’re talking 9am to 5pm (seriously, no joke)—I met up with my eccentric and wonderful younger cousin.  We decided to go to a gay bar (Stonewall Inn) for a beer.  She’d never gone, and I was thirsty.  So off we went.  It was during this little excursion that I realized I might not have given the gay community enough credit.  I ran into a friend from LA before we even got to the bar.  While at the bar, we were greeted by a homo or two who I had met at some point during my stay.  And as we were leaving, we ran into yet another person who was familiar with my homoland.

All of this was a little surprising to my wonderful cousin—after all, I had just been complaining about the lack of community within the gay New York scene.  As she noted, I had been recognized and greeted by more people in a 30 minute period of walking around the West Village, then she gets greeted in any neighborhood she belongs to.  And she lives here!  So, perhaps, I was wrong.  I’m not entirely sure.  But I’m willing to compromise, and suggest that maybe the gay community is just like a New Yorker—hard on the outside, but once you stop them and make them notice you, they are really quite kind, compassionate and helpful.

As a side note, after we left the bar, my cousin invited a complete stranger to eat dinner with us because he looked lost and she thought he was following us.  This embarrassingly shy and awkward 18 year old happened to be Robin Wright’s nephew.  Yes, as in The Princess Bride.  As in one of my all-time favorite movies.  So thank you Nora, for lessoning the degrees of separation between me and that movie.  Keep being weird, girl.

My evening ended back at the Stonewall Inn, where I spent nearly 3 hours being immensely entertained by a show of truly epic proportions.  I will keep the hilarious details to myself, because they feel like special memories to cherish and keep to myself, but to give you a hint:  A drag queen dressed as Mary Poppins.  Spontaneous dance numbers and live singing that put Glee to shame.  And 3 hours where every single person had a smile on their face. 

You done good New York.  You done real good.