The amazing thing about gay bars, at least for me, is that I somehow feel self-conscious and invisible all at the same time. A brilliant combo, which does nothing but encourage my tendency to fidget (and I’m not much of a drinker, so the caffeine and sugar in the endless 3-dollar Cokes don’t help much, either) and get distracted easily. What’s worse is that I lose any skill I have to make idle or funny conversation, even with people I already know, let alone with anyone new. Sure, a lifetime of supressing wallflower tendencies has given me some ability to conduct myself with some composure, but basically I still fold under the pressure to be casual about hanging out in a bar. I should probably just get drunk once and for all. (That’s another bit of trivia for you: I’ve never gotten drunk, because I never really liked anything that would get me there.) Of course, I’m totally jaded about being around flogging demos or public sex or tranny whores or anything like that, it’s just the social graces of being a barfly that escape me.