Have you ever been to Club Café? If you’re a gay male over the age of 21 in Boston, I’m sure you’ve at least heard of it. It’s Boston’s preeminent gay club/restaurant/bar etc…an amalgam of moods, lighting, atmospheres, people, and, of course, drinks! After I moved back to Boston most of my high school friends had moved away and those that hadn’t were straight (and not very into ‘going out’), so since then I haven’t actually explored much of Boston’s (minuscule) gay nightlife. I did find some gays to hang with eventually—through Grindr, what else?
G and A are a couple and who like to have a third around and we’ve been to club café together a few times. Some nights it’s been fun; the sort of nights where nightlife is exactly as it is in the movies, in one’s dreams. All pulsating bodies, no definitive edges, smoke machines, pop songs running into one another through a tunnel of remixes…and… laughter. And real dancing. Hardly anybody dances anymore, it seems.
But other nights a gay club can be everything you fear most about nightlife. Two weeks ago G and A invited me over to their place for dinner. Afterwards we went to over to Club Café and…let’s just say that it was not one of those nights where life seems to embrace you on the dancefloor.
G and A were meetings up with their friend’s Y and S. Y was A’s old friend and S was his new boyfriend, a friend of G’s. (Try to keep up with the consonants here…)Essentially, they played matchmaker. We didn’t plan on staying very long, didn’t even check our coats. We just walked over to where Y&S’s table to find them sitting with a friend. And maybe it was because I was tired or wasn’t well acquainted to begin with, but the conversation was impossible. First, I have to explain that one of my pet peeves is when someone doesn’t make eye contact when you are speaking to them. I think it’s the most disrespectful thing in most situations but in a situation where I make desperate attempts like “what are you drinking?” and “how’s your week been?” to get one word responses like “water” “fine” without so much as a glance, then… I mean, throw me a bone! It was only the second time I had met S and to be honest I’m not sure he even knows what I look like. He didn’t look at me once! I swear. But the cherry on top of it all was when, upon exiting the bathroom, I heard (clearly directed at me), the louder-than-normal declaration “he’s so not my type.” What, I wonder, makes someone think this is an appropriate thing to say about a complete stranger in earshot of said stranger? I didn’t see the person who said it. Maybe he was “my type”, maybe he wasn’t… but I’d never say something like that out loud like that with such malice.
Anyway, I couldn’t wait to get home so I ditched G, A, Y, and S on the basis of being far too tired, which, after that sober half hour, was not exactly a lie. And look now, I’m not some Midwestern teen who is new to the big city and thinks that a gay club should be a source of validation. But it would be nice if people were a little bit…nicer? Who was it that said “hurt people hurt people”?
Anyway, I was talking to L, a German student studying here at BU about the difference between boys here and boys in Germany.
“Well, the big difference is they’re uncut.” He laughed. And then, more seriously, “no but really, I think they’re just nicer, over there.”
Maybe I should move to Berlin?
Near the Chinatown Gate, Boston.