Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I took the Tickler to the Hardcore German Sparkle Party at the Mercury. For those who don't know, it started out as a joke and has since become the Mercury's biggest and most over-the-top event of the year. It's organized, decorated, and DJ'd by the only cishet woman I know of who regularly passes for a drag queen, DJ Hana Solo.

Seeing as how this was the ninth such party, the theme was "Deep Space Nein!" I'd been twice; the Tickler, never. The Tickler loves all costume parties and especially space-themed ones, so she painted herself up as an "Orion independent sex worker" based on the pilot of the first Star Trek series. There is green body paint in my bathroom sink and glitter all. Over. My. Apartment. Yeah, I expected that and it's OK with me.

To give you some idea of just how meshugah this party was, the Merc's legal capacity is 200. Hana Solo says there were over 500 through the door over the course of the night. The drink line stretched around the middle of of the club to the opposite corner from the bars, i.e. into the dance floor, despite some streamlining. Even at the wild, sardine scene nights of the early aughts that didn't happen.

The costume game was first rate: '50s retro spacesuits, a tentactled techno-Cthulhu, Trills, gay Star Fleet officers, and of course sparkly corsets, just to name a few. I wore my sparkly "unicorn vomit" harness & booty shorts that I got from Bawdy Love for Burning Man, along with my tall black patent Docs. I was surprised to find myself the only one with nipple tape.

I think I may have made a convert out of the Tickler. It's good to a) have a date for that event, b) go early, and c) wear comfy shoes. Afterward we took care of drunchies - or was it really early breakfast? - at Lost Lake at about 0300. I'm proud of myself for eating my vegetables.

Today we woke up crazy late, and made it to lunch with the Wendling at Uwajimaya. After that, the Tickler headed home and the other two of us went to the Wing Luke Museum, which is a museum of Asian American history, especially the Seattle area's, just a few blocks away. We didn't spend as much time as I would have liked because of my son's work schedule, but I have to say it was educational.

And, as you might expect, dark. From 19th-century expulsions and race riots to the internment camps to housing discrimination to post-9/11 suspicion of Muslims, much Asian American history here is a sorry tale exactly as long as Seattle's. (Did you know Native Americans were banned from living in the city in its original charter? Ordinance 5.)

On the lighter side, there's lots of Bruce Lee stuff. He was, after all, a favorite son of Seattle and is buried here. I didn't know he was a child actor from a theatrical family.

I took the day off and spent it with m'boy today as a swap with Aspiring Ex for my date with Temptress on Saturday. The Wendling expressed a desire to go to the Nordic Heritage Museum, in Ballard, where we'd tried to go several weeks ago only to arrive right at closing time.

Given that m'boy & I are about as Nordic as tofu, some explanation is in order. The house where AX lived in when I met her, and the neighboring one we lived in when we were first married and when our son was born, are about two blocks from the museum. We kept meaning to go but never got around to it. Before long we were living in Kirkland, so Ballard wasn't exactly convenient. Going there the first time was my idea; the second time was my son's.

I reminded m'boy that the experience of the bulk of Nordic immigrants would have had a lot in common with the latest and largest wave of Jewish immigration, which brought his great-great-grandparents at about the same time. Where the Jews and the Scandinavians part ways, though, is that the latter did their best to pick up where they left off, living, working, and worshiping just as they did in the old countries. I've heard many stories, some from AX's family, of the Jews' determination to do and be something new.

The building that houses the museum used to be a school. It was fun to imagine kids climbing the stairs between the three floors - kids with Nordic names, who might still live in the surrounding neighborhood.

Two words: Lego Valhalla.

Sure, we learned some things at the museum, but I couldn't help noticing how... low-budget and not quite professional it seemed to be. The signs were in several different fonts, and what was written on them had copy errors or was worded clumsily. There was a lone man playing the accordion on the top floor. I think we were the only visitors in the place when we showed up. We lost track of time and left almost half an hour after closing, but nobody bothered to tell us to go. I'd hate to see that museum die, but I wouldn't bet on its being around in another twenty years.

As we were leaving, we participated in a metaphor: to our right, the museum; in the car, the two of us; to our left, an African-looking girl in a headscarf, maybe ten years old, riding a bicycle into a driveway across the street from the museum. Past, present, future.

I was saved from not knowing what to do this weekend at the last minute (or what passes for last minute for me) twice: Riz's 20th anniversary in Seattle at Re-bar, and co-worker B's party.

Riz is a sweet, sweet man. I'd told him about my comings out and he congratulated me. "You look well," he said.
"I feel well," I said. I got to talk about my favorite subject, how and why to change sex, with his boyfriend husband John.

Riz introduced me to a couple, K & A, who'd met there twenty years ago. K pointed to the exact spot. He had blundered into a job at Re-bar shortly before they met. He told me that somewhere under the surface of the dance floor, in spray paint, is "K+A". Awwww!

Also from K, the Re-bar space has been a succession of bars continuously for almost 100 years. Several employees & owners of these establishments report seeing, well after hours when they're closing up, someone who doesn't quite exist. That's right: Re-bar is haunted. A young man from the 1970s - that space held gay or lesbian bars quite a while before it became Re-bar in the late 80s - and a woman from when the building was new.

Of the two founders of Re-bar, one still owns a different nightclub, and the other nearly drank himself to death, but got sober. K said the place has "grown up", but I think it's been owned since by people who also loved the idea of "a gay bar, only for everybody". Every city should have one.

My other deliverance from tedium was a text from B, who invited me to his place near the zoo. I finally saw things I'd only heard of on Texts From Last Night: beer pong and keg stands. A piñata full of candy, condoms, and lube. I finally made up for missing the ice luge at Das Haus. I didn't leave until 3:00. B and his girlfriend managed to put together a fantastic party, and they only decided to throw it yesterday afternoon. I envy them that ability.